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cloversnstrawberries · 15 days ago

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platonic!yandere!alastor & 1950s!teen!gn!reader ! ! [chap. one]

series masterlist !

description; You know where you were, and there was no kidding yourself on it. After taking in your surroundings, you stood from where you'd woken up and headed out of the patch of stinging nettle. You didn't know what your plan was, but it definitely wasn't to get stalked and subsequently chased by a very tall, inhuman deer-man.

additional notes; woo!! this chapter introduces alastor, but it's pretty much just at the end. reader does not have a good time. have you ever been stung by a stinging nettle? i haven't, but i saw my brother get stung on his leg by one and. and it's such a funny yet terrifying sight to see a 6'1 20 y/o scream like a banshee and run around like a mad man because he brushed up against a plant. it's not fun (he told me so himself). i hope you enjoy, i, once again, had a lot of fun writing this!! there might be typos to begin with, but i'm usually much better at catching them after publishing fics (i don't know how it works D:) so i'll probably be coming in and out to fix them :]]

warnings; general terror, anxiety, isolation, lots of religious references (enough to be tagged)/mentions of sunday school, mentions of death + death of friends, grief, reader is terrified for their life, gratuitous use of symbolism done by yours truly, being 'hunted', Alastor is referred to an 'it' (this will change in the next chapter when he introduces himself), and let me know if i missed any major ones !! :D

w/c; 3.0k

You just sat there for a while, looking around. There was no trace of whatever had killed you, whether you’d succumbed to the blood or the unspecified brain injury you definitely sustained-- there was no lingering lightheadedness or nausea.

Physically, you felt… fine. Your mouth felt crowded to the point of discomfort, your hands felt quite heavy because of the claws now adorning the ends of them--

And you’re pretty sure you’d landed on your tail. Yes, you have a tail. At first, you couldn't believe, that you'd fall down into hell and suddenly gain a tail; but you’d shifted around and pulled the large, furry mass from where it’d been pinned underneath you.

There was no beating around the bush with it, you had a tail now; and you were pretty damn accepting of it.

…Or you were just too tired to care. Not physically so, but mentally. You could hardly believe it, that in such a short amount of time, so much had changed.

One moment, you’d been happily hanging out with your friends, and the next you were in a car accident, hunted down the spoiled brat that caused it (because God knows he would’ve gotten away with it on account of his filthy rich folks) and slaughtered him.

With that in mind, you completely understood why exactly you were in hell, surrounded by a bunch of stinging nettles-- you looked down to your left, having felt something brush against your hand. It didn’t feel like stinging nettle at all.

When you looked down, you saw a small patch of 4 Zinnias. One was yellow, another orange, then a hot pink, and the last a bright cherry red.

You don’t know what it was about those flowers, but something stirred deep in your in response. Those were their colors, you’d realized. And maybe it was just one big coincidence, a fluke that the yellow was the exact shame shade of the cardigan Lorraine had been wearing. Or that the orange reminded you of Rudy’s carrot-top hair, or that the hot pink was exactly the color of Marnie’s cat eye-framed glasses—

Or that the red was awfully too close to the color of Matty’s Chevy convertible that he’d so lovingly named “Sheila”.

It was silly that spotting the flowers was what got you to stand, to finally get off your ass and leave the field you’d woken up in. But no matter how silly the reasoning was, at least you finally stood, right?

You considered being slow with it-- it'd be leagues safer then just yanking yourself upright and immediately heading out. But you weren't really thinking clearly on that end-- you just wanted away from the flowers.

It was stupid. It was stupid, the unease you felt because of those-- but something in the back of your mind reminded you about unit you'd done in home economics the year prior.

You don't know why it was required by the curriculum to learn how to pick just the right flowers for a gift (in the case of the boys in the class), or to decorate your home with (regarding the girls, which you thought was ridiculous that there was a separation between the two, but you could do nothing about it). You thought it was a little silly, but your teacher at least tried to make it entertaining.

She included a mini-history lesson, something that brought back some of the history parts of the etiquette unit done the previous semester. The Victorian language of flowers,

You couldn't remember what zinnia's represented, but you don't remember it being anything good. You think it's something relating to grief, and at that point you put a hard stop to anymore prying into the subject.

When you stood, you stumbled a bit. For a split second, fear shot through you-- were you still affected by the brain injury? did that carry over, and you just hadn't noticed until you stood suddenly?-- but those fears were replaced with annoyance at what you figured out to be the actual cause.

Weight distribution and whatnot, you weren't used to your ears being on top of your head instead of the sides-- so that messed with your balance just as much (or perhaps even more) than having to readjust for the added weight of your tail.

Luckily, you caught yourself before tripping face first into the stinging nettle right next to you. You'd put your foot down quick, just a hair away from brushing up against the plant.

"Shit!" You tried not to swear too often, but you felt like it was appropriate for the situation. You were quick to take a few steps back, relieved that you hadn't touched the plant.

One time, when you and your friends had been at sleepaway camp right before the start of freshman year, you and your friends had came across a patch of stinging nettle, smaller than the one you stood in now-- but still pretty sizable.

Rudy, ever the class clown, said he bet 10 bucks that he would jump into the nettle. Matty tried to discourage him, and Marnie had already preemptively turned her gaze away and covered her ears, readying for when he'd start screaming his head off (and boy, did he scream).

Lorraine was always the smartest, most level headed of the group. Though, at that point, she wasn't as used to Rudy's antics as the rest of you were; she took him up on the bet, thinking it'd make her an easy 10 dollars. That Rudy would chicken out.

He took off his shirt and jumped into the patch. It was awful, he'd jumped up almost immediately and started running like a bat out of hell-- he screamed so loud and so blood-curdlingly that camp counselors barreled to where your group was, afraid that someone had broken a leg or something of the sort.

When they got one look at the angry red welts on Rudy's back, they rolled their eyes-- you're sure they'd encountered more than a few risk takers that'd done close to same thing as Rudy had.

Rudy was always one to play up things for the laughs-- but that was one of the few times you were absolutely certain he wasn't doing anything to make it seem worse. It looked awful.

You weren't too keen on trying it for yourself, thank you very much. Eyeing the plant wearily, you made sure to steer as clear as possible of it as much as possible.

While you'd been sitting, you'd noticed a path right near where your head had been laying. You turned that way, and looked at it-- real closely, this time around.

It was pretty narrow, all things considered, but it was doable. It stretched on pretty far, but-- and this might be perspective, but it didn't seem that way-- it looked like it gradually widened about half a mile down.

Sure, it wasn't ideal, but this was hell, after all. You'd take what you could get, and you really didn't want to stay in this patch for any longer. You didn't know if hell had a day/night cycle, but if it did, and it turned to night-- you're sure that wouldn't spell anything but trouble for you.

Honestly, you could've probably walked straight forward-- like a normal person-- but for some reason, that still felt too close for comfort.

You felt something brush against your leg, and it didn't hurt-- but you didn't know how fast a nettle's sting settles in, so you snapped your head down and--

Huh.

Your tail-- which, you knew that, realistically speaking, it would move. Considering it's just another limb-- was swinging in agitation, and you hadn't meant to do it.

With a frown, you came up with a quick solution. You scooped it up with one arm and held it close to your chest with both. Then, not wanting to waste another second in this open field, you turned sideways and started cautiously making your way down the path, being painfully careful as to where you put your feet, or if you felt even a teensy bit off balance.

By the time you got to where the path widened-- thank God, you thought; even though He definitely had nothing to do with this strike of unexpected luck-- you took a chance and turned, no longer feeling the need to move sideways.

Most of the time, your eyes were focused whole-heartedly on the ground. Tracking where your feet were, if the path started narrowing again-- all of that fun stuff. But you made sure to look up a couple times, and look behind you as well. Just to be careful.

You don't know how long you'd been walking for. It must've been a while, probably a couple miles-- the sky was getting darker (and you mentally noted that hell did in fact have a day/night cycle. isn't that just swell?) and your feet were starting to hurt.

It felt like a miracle, that right as you started to get a little reckless with your footing-- hunger, exhaustion, and discomfort being one of the main sources of you being less and less cautious as the trek through the field wore on and on and on-- the end of the path was within sight,

However, it was a forest. Not a smart idea to go into-- even if it was day, the large trees would probably block any light from filtering through the leaves. You were certain it'd be awful in the dark, and all you had was the clothes on your back.

It was getting cold-- which surprised you. The temperature before was far from pleasant, it was what you'd expect from hell more or less. Scorching, to put it lightly; but it didn't affect you too badly-- maybe on account of your new biology made to better suit Hell's climate--

But it was cooling down, and it was cooling down fast. A shiver ran up your spine, a soft breeze turning into raging, cold wind that seemed to blast you from every which way.

In Sunday school, they didn't talk about hell much; it scared the kids, the idea that them, or a loved one, could go to such an awful place. It was a necessary evil when it came to discussing anything relating to God, however.

This... hell, it had to be hell-- felt worse then what you'd learn about. You've been here for hours, and have encountered not one person. Not one thing, nothing but plants and the fear of expectation.

This can't be all there is, rang out in your mind. It was terrifying, that hell seemed so similar to your time alive. A day/night cycle, temperatures that changed (even if it was from uncomfortably hot to uncomfortably cold).

As you thought about it more, you decided that maybe this was hell, your own personal one. You'd lived your life as someone who held friends and family in high regard-- you much preferred a night in than out, always opting for a cinema over a drive-in movie; but bending to your friend's wills if they so demanded.

To be stuck out here, in an unfamiliar field where there was no sign of someone-- something else, no trace that there had ever really been anyone else-- with by far one of your least favorite-- if not the least favorite-- plant being all your eye could see.

When you made it to the edge of the forest-- a nice little 'peace zone' between the nettles behind you and the foreboding, dark forest ahead of you, where there was just grass. Nothing more, nothing less-- you contemplated not going in.

Maybe... Maybe instead of a one-size fits all fire-and-brimstone, closed in with a bleeding stone ceiling and chains hanging down, the sound of screaming, tormented and damned souls being the only thing you could hear-- it was much more... personalized.

That seemed so, so much scarier than anything you learned in Sunday school. If you got a choice, you think you'd pick the other, only because it'd be predictable. You'd know what to expect.

And now, and you stand in front of the daunting forest ahead-- you find yourself torn between two worlds. On one hand, you can just stay here in this field. It's safer, if only by a little-- because you've been here for the past however-many hours, and not much had happened (save for a few close calls with the nettles you were carefully skirting around),

Still, staying out in the open didn't bode well in your mind. Going into the forest wasn't any better, it was just as scary as the nettle patch-- except for the fact that it was far more unfamiliar.

You must've stood there for at least 10, maybe even 20, minutes before finally making your decision. It was getting colder and colder-- you looked behind you, and despite how freezing it'd become, there was no frost covering the plants behind you.

Right. So, no 'hell freezing over' kind of situation. The temperature was just always set 100, whether that be in one direction or the other. Fine-- that's fine, i can deal with that you told yourself, crossing your arms over your chest to try and conserve what warmth you can,

Before stepping into the forest. The path had let right to an opening, a trail leading through the woods as well. You had full intention to follow it the whole way through, not wanting to stray off if possible.

You kept looking behind you, seeing the dim moonlight coming from the entrance growing further and further away-- when it was no longer visible, you swallowed hard and focused your gaze ahead.

This was fine.

You can deal with this.

This is just dandy, swell-- amazing! You're fine, you're okay. You aren't hurt, there's nothing behind you, there's nothing watching you, nothing hunting you despite what the deep-seeded prey drive in the back of your head tried to tell you--!

Snap!

You tried your best to not look back, but it was getting harder and harder as the moments went by. There no other noise, save for crickets chirping, and fireflies buzzing by (though, they didn't look like any fireflies you'd seen before, not while alive), and your own footsteps and shallow breathing.

Then, you stopped dead in your tracks. There was a fork in the path-- one leading down a steep hill, the other turning sharply into a more densely populated part of the forest. It was impossible to see all the way down the hill, or through the trees.

You stalled, not a smart choice, but... you didn't know what to do. The hairs on the back of your neck stood straight up, posture becoming more hunched as the cold feeling of dread curled in your gut and refused to leave you alone.

It went quiet.

Entirely so.

No crickets chirping, no fireflies buzzing, no wind rustling the trees-- nothing. Your ears began to ring oh-so suddenly, and you flinched. Clapping your hands over your ears, childishly hoping that'd fix-- or at least help-- the ringing in your ears, that was getting so loud you felt your brain starting to rattle in your skull,

You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing and pushing and pushing your hands harder and harder against your ears, and at some point, it seemed like you were trying to crush your skull into pieces out of pure desperation. Desperation for the ringing to just stop already!

Just when you felt your head was about to explode-- or implode, maybe; considering how much pressure you were putting on it-- the ringing stopped.

A hand was on your shoulder, but you didn't feel it settle there. You don't know long it'd been there-- it's a hand, you know that much. It was large, and clawed, and bony-- it didn't feel like a person's hand, so much as it felt like the hand of a monster. The kind that you'd ask your mom to check under your bed for as a small child,

Before you could properly react, besides the way your blood seemed to turn to solid ice in that second of realization and your eyes flying open, another hand-- just like the one on your shoulder, grabbed one of your wrists-- delicately, almost gentle, but a hidden threat lied beneath it-- and pulled it from your ear.

"Hello, my dea--!"

You turned around, and all you needed to get you rushing past the- the creature, the man(?) that stood before you was to realize just how tall it was, the antlers adorning it's head, it's red eyes that seemed to glow all on their own--

and oh.

oh god, those teeth, bared in what you assume was meant to be a friendly smile, but got horribly twisted upon execution-- it's mouth could be considered more of a maw then anything,

Before it could get another word, before it could even finish its damn sentence, you ripped your hand from it's grip-- it was loose, easy to pull your wrist from its clawed hands--

And swerved around it, taking off the way you came. You didn't dare look back, your tail trashed wildly with anxiety-- surely getting sticks and leaves and burrs stuck in it all the while, but you didn't care about that right now,

All you cared about was getting away from whatever the hell had just approached you.

A foolish, almost naive part of you assumed it wouldn't follow you. That it wasn't that interested in you, or that it'd already got its fun from spooking you like a flighty rabbit.

The laugh that seemed to trail after you, seemed to worm into your very head and make itself a nice, cozy little home right in the back of your mind-- told you otherwise.

It dawned on you, maybe a little too late, that this was probably its intention. To get you to run, run like a rabbit being chased by a hunter-- knowing that if it turned around, if it looked back for even a second; it'd be staring down the barrel of a shotgun, one held by a man with a trigger finger when it came to things like rabbits.

You were being hunted.

Pretty fitting for your first night in hell, isn't it?

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#yandere hazbin hotel #gn reader #yandere alastor x reader #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #hazbin hotel #platonic yandere x reader #platonic alastor x reader #requests open #tw mentions of death #i never realized just how fast i write until i remembered #that i wrote the prologue yesterday #thing is i don't get burnt out easily so this is probably going to become the norm #because i have 0 self control when it comes to creative projects and jump at any chance to work on it #my writing

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

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GET MINE, GET YOURS

— your ex-boyfriend is a mechanic, and you still jump his bones on occasion ❤️‍🔥

——

2004

Heavy raindrops cascade off the roof of the mechanic shop, its metal shingles mottled with splotches of orange rust. The sight forms tight knots in your stomach as dreary storm clouds loom over the town. You stall outside for another minute, soaked pebbles crunching under the soles of your shoes as you pace near your car.

After exhaling a quelling breath and rolling your shoulders back, you slowly walk toward the half-closed garage. Harry is running the shop all by himself this afternoon, working gruesome nine-to-fives just about every day of the week. You don't know how he does it, so you try to visit and keep him company once in a while.

Today, however, is different. The brakes on your car have been squeaking incessantly, and you know jack squat about anything car-related, so you had no choice but to ask your ex-boyfriend for help.

Yes, your ex-boyfriend.

You would honestly rather listen to him drone on about all the intricate parts of an automobile than some wise guy who makes you feel stupid when you confusedly nod along and attempt to ask clarifying questions. Harry is much nicer about it. He simplifies terms for you while your mind drifts away to things much more interesting than the anatomy of axels and tires. For example, Harry's pink lips or the beautiful veins protruding from the backs of his hands.

You've gone to him with car problems before, but you mostly visit to hang out with him. It's never awkward since the breakup was mutual, and you are still on good terms. Plus, you find contentment in the routine of bringing him fast food and talking his ear off while he does the strenuous work.

And so what if you still fuck him on the down-low?

There's nothing wrong with having no strings attached, especially since he gives you heavenly sexual experiences each and every time. It's not like it's a weekly thing, either. It's just that whenever you cross paths with him, it always ends up with his body hovering over yours and his cross necklace dangling above your bare chest.

Unfortunately, you're not in the mood for that right now. The stress caused by your shitty car and having to probably pay a hefty amount of cash just to be able to safely drive anywhere has quickly turned your day sour.

As you duck your head to enter the garage, the smell of rubber and oil instantly permeates your senses. The plug-in air freshener on the wall is doing the absolute bare minimum. Soft bass creeps into your eardrums, and a groovy R&B track plays from Harry's boombox sitting beside his reliable red toolbox. You grin and roll your eyes when you recognize the eminent growl of Christina Aguilera coming through the speakers. You're greeted with a song you'd never expect him to listen to whenever you visit.

Turning your head to the left, you spot Harry working under a beat-up vintage Cadillac. He's lying down on a roller with his knees bent, metal clinking from whatever he's fixing. The black skinny jeans he's wearing are faded, and he's not wearing any shoes for some risky reason; only white socks cover his feet.

"Hi, baby." Harry's voice rumbles, jolting you. You've told him to stop calling you that, but it falls on deaf ears every time.

"How'd you know it was me?" you ask, running your fingertips across a stray wrench.

He laughs huskily. "I can see your dirty ass sneakers from under here."

Before you can defend your mud-stained shoes, his hands grip the bottom edge of the car as he rolls himself out from underneath, revealing his face decorated with smears of grease and his long hair tied into a bun. It's been two weeks since you saw him last, give or take, and you swear he gets more physically buff each time. His biceps are practically bulging as he wipes beading sweat from his forehead, the sheened muscles filling out his grubby uniform deliciously.

You break away from your lustful trance and nod your head toward his boombox. "Stripped on cassette, huh? You keep on surprising me."

"Is there a problem?" He slings a soiled rag over his shoulder.

"No, not at all," you reply lightheartedly. "It just isn't really a manly record to fix cars to."

He teasingly sticks his tongue out and saunters over to you, bending down a bit before wrapping one arm around your waist and lifting you in a firm embrace. His mouth breathes warm air against your neck, and you can smell the spearmint gum he's been chewing.

"Came to visit me?" he murmurs as he gently sets you down, keeping a firm grip on your hip and hooking his middle finger through your belt loop.

You pout and tell him, "My car is broken."

He mimics your expression. "Yeah? What happened?"

"I was driving home from the grocery store, and the brakes started squeaking out of nowhere."

Harry stops smacking his gum and furrows his eyebrows. "And you drove all the way here without calling me?"

You grimace. "Please don't be mad."

"You're not supposed to keep driving when your brakes are acting up," he says seriously. "You know better."

"I didn't want to make you leave work," you reply, fidgeting with your hands.

He softly tuts while flinging the rag somewhere behind him. "I would've come and gotten you if you had asked."

You just shrug helplessly and look around the garage, admiring Harry's workspace, which completely encapsulates his personality, even though he shares the space with a coworker most days. Various cassettes are stacked haphazardly on a shelf, ranging from girl groups to classic rock to spa music for meditation purposes. He has an opened bag of organic potato chips on his workbench, the brand he always buys from the gas station just down the road. There's also a shallow pottery bowl in the corner where he puts his rings so they don't touch oil.

He's a moody motherfucker, but you know all of his soft spots.

"I'm guessing I'll be spending the entirety of my last paycheck on the repair," you mutter while wandering around, picking up random tools.

Harry leans back against the car he's working on and crosses his arms. "It'll probably cost around two hundred dollars to replace the brake pad," he says.

"What the hell?" you say incredulously. "You need to talk to your boss about lowering the prices around here."

"I am the boss."

"Oh, that's right."

He laughs through his nose. "Negotiate with me about it, then. Convince me to lower the price."

You stop in your tracks and stare at him, unimpressed with the upper hand he tries to have over you. "Nope. I'm not doing that."

"Why not?" he asks. "C'mon, I'm bored out of my mind."

You groan and stride over to stand in front of him. He's so hard to resist. "Fine. Will you please give me a discount?"

Harry drags out a monotonous hum before plainly saying, "No."

Standing on your tiptoes, you touch your nose to his and whisper, "Pretty please?"

He narrows his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering against yours. "You're getting warmer."

"I'll help you fix my car," you plead, willing to do anything to save a little money. "I'm really good at following instructions."

"You are, sweetheart, but absolutely not."

You frown and bury your face in his neck. He's sweaty, yet there's a hint of some pine-scented cologne coming through that drives you insane. "If I let you fuck me," you suggest boldly, leaving a slow kiss near his pulse point, "will you give me a discount?"

Harry moves his head to look at you straight on, smiling smugly and using his teeth to stretch his gum across the tip of his tongue. "That's more like it."

"But don't you have a car to fix right now?" you ask, feigning innocence to get under his skin.

"Baby," he murmurs, "you can't come here and expect me to actually get work done. You're too distracting."

You pinch his thigh through his jeans. "Stop calling me that."

"No," he says softly. "You're still my baby."

"Not anymore."

"Then no discount for you."

You scoff and step away from him. "Stop being a jerk, Harry."

"Letting me fuck you just for a discount, hmm? Is that it?" He raises his eyebrows.

"You know I'd let you fuck me anyway," you admit under your breath.

The muscles in his jaw twitch. "God, you give me whiplash."

You get up in his face and say, "Yeah, well, you give me a headache."

His hand quickly reaches out to push the back of your head toward him, messily smearing his lips against yours. "I hate when you're like this," he mumbles into your mouth. "My baby's so stubborn when she doesn't get her way, isn't she?"

You bite his bottom lip and tug on it before releasing it. "Don't want to be your baby."

His hand gravitates toward the curve of your ass, squeezing just once. "Then tell me what you want."

"I want to be your brat."

Harry's head tilts as he visibly swallows. "Get on the couch," he orders lowly. "Face down, ass up."

You grin, pleased to the max, and stroll over to the black leather couch in the back while Harry shuts the garage door for privacy. The screech of the lock makes you wince, and the sound of the pelting rain becomes muffled. The continuous drops on the roof match the speed of your racing heart.

Placing your forearms on the cold, cracked leather, you bend your knees to get into position and tilt your head so your cheek rests on the cushion. Harry swiftly removes his hairband, his curls messily falling past his shoulders. Next, he unbuttons his shirt, revealing his swallow tattoos and chest hair, both slick with sweat. His cross pendant rests perfectly against his skin as he comes up beside you and leisurely trails his fingers down your spine until they reach the waistband of your low-rise bell bottoms.

Goosebumps erupt across your arms when his other hand goes to unbutton his skinny jeans. You can see his bulge strain against the tight material, and it makes you squirm impatiently.

"Sit still," Harry says, pulling down his jeans. His black boxers and thigh tattoo are now directly in front of you.

You pitifully moan when he crouches and grabs your wrists to place them behind your back. "Not fair," you grumble.

"Oh, really? It's not fair that I'm about to fuck you."

"You know what I mean."

Harry tugs down your pants and underwear in one go, the material bunching at the back of your knees. He then takes his boxers off, placing one knee on the cushion and lining himself up as he grips the top of the couch to stay balanced.

"Still on birth control?" he asks, planting a quick kiss on your shoulder blade. The cold metal of his necklace against your skin sends an avalanche of chills down the length of your spine.

You nod, and Harry immediately thrusts into you. You gasp as the burning sensation spreads like wildfire all the way to your thighs, your hands clenching into tight fists as he continuously rocks deep strokes in and out. You whimper with each one, and Harry's hand holds your hair back in a makeshift ponytail to watch every pleasurable change of expression on your face.

"You good?" He pants while slowing down his thrusts, keeping them long and purposeful.

"I want to touch you."

His hips pound into your backside. "Yeah? Where do you want to touch me?"

"Anywhere, just please let me."

"I didn't know brats begged like whores," he says, tugging your hair.

You wiggle your fingers behind your back, trying to touch his stomach, but it's to no avail. Harry stops thrusting, his hair hanging over his face as he looks down at you. "Want it that bad?" he says in awe.

You muster up fake tears and nod pathetically to get your way. "Please, daddy."

It always works like a charm. Harry grunts and instantly pulls out, hastily sitting on the couch with his legs spread and grabbing your waist to make you straddle him.

You kick off your pants and underwear the rest of the way, along with your shoes, then sink down on his cock, slowly grinding on him with your hands in his hair. You want to touch him everywhere, so you rub your palms down his chest and then hold both of his hands as you arch your back and tilt your head up toward the ceiling rafters. The new position tightens your orgasm more quickly, and the way Harry is desperately moaning with his hands clutching your thighs causes heat to prickle all over your body.

"Such a pretty brat for me, right?" Harry praises you, kissing along your jaw and down your neck. "Getting your way like you always do."

"Mm-hmm," you hum, every grind making your stomach rub against his, all sweat and smooth skin. "Only for you."

He nips love bites along your collarbone. "It fuckin' better be. I don't want you doing this with anyone else."

"And what if I do?" you ask, the slickness of your arousal sticking to the inside of your thighs.

Harry opens his mouth with a scoffed moan when you circle your hips. "Th-think I'd die from jealousy."

The fact that you got him to stutter makes you grind faster until his jaw is clenched and he's clawing scratches on your back. "What's there to be jealous about?"

"That they get to stuff this tight pussy, and I don't." His eyes roll back as he starts to stimulate your clit with his thumb.

Not only is he a moody motherfucker, but he's a filthy one too.

"You're doing it right now, though," you say, and Harry nods briskly. "Consider yourself lucky."

"But I want to be the only one."

"I know." You suddenly choke out a moan when your orgasm approaches. "I'm gonna come, Harry. Oh, God..."

"Me too," he says, his chest heaving. "Give me a good one, baby."

You hold onto his shoulders and tense your thighs while you release, Harry stilling as well as his hips jerk to meet yours. You feel him fill you up, and after he runs himself dry, you fall against his body from exhaustion, whining into his neck as the pleasure consumes you. His arms wrap around your waist, bringing you in for a lazy hug while his cock slowly softens inside you.

The rain pours outside, and the ambiance calms you down while your body relaxes. It reminds you of a time when things were easier, a time without complicated feelings or unresolved issues.

Harry abruptly begins giggling, his chest raising with each breathy laugh. You join in, but you don't necessarily understand what's so funny. You lift your head to see deep dimples carved into his cheeks and the devastatingly gorgeous crinkles near his eyes.

Once his laughter dies down, he says, "We just orgasmed at the same time to "Beautiful" by Xtina."

"No way," you reply, breaking into more giggles.

Harry starts cackling as the dramatic piano ballad plays from the boombox, possibly the worst song to listen to while having sex. It's so ridiculous that tears form in your eyes and your sides start hurting from laughing so hard.

"We also just fucked with our socks on," Harry adds, resting his covered feet on the couch and wiggling his toes.

"Sexy."

"Super sexy. And quite comfortable."

You smile and glance at his lips, feeling an intense urge to kiss them, but you know you shouldn't. As soft as they look, it would only make things more complicated. Well, besides the fact that you still have sex with him. You're okay with the equal exchange of satisfaction, even though the emotional boundaries seem to blur more and more each time.

"You can kiss me," Harry whispers.

You swallow and shake your head, playing with the ends of his curls. "That's not what we do anymore. I get mine, and you get yours, remember? That's it."

"You let me kiss you earlier," he points out.

"That was a different kind of kiss."

He just makes a disappointed face and lifts your hips so he can pull out. He then stands still, holding you with one arm, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he walks over to the boombox.

"What should we listen to next?" he asks in your ear, delicately pressing a button to remove the black and white cassette.

You tilt your head sideways and read the names on the stack of cassettes. "Hmm... how about Time and Form: Celestial Meditation? Sounds like the perfect soundtrack for aftercare."

Harry snorts. "Shut up."

You laugh and dig your heels into his lower back, wanting to be even closer to his bare skin. The full-fledged urge to kiss him returns again, this time with a bizarre wave of sadness.

You can't. He's your ex.

It would cross the line that was never really there in the first place, but it's a faint one, and it still matters. To you, to him, and to the stakes of what you are to each other. Yet you spend days and nights lying in bed, wondering if he'll call you on the old wall phone at the shop and ask you to come over just because. Or when he tells you he missed you when you do show up, hugging you tight and thanking you for lunch. Or when he's glum and sulky to everyone else but you, his face immediately lights up when you step into the room.

It all means something, but you'll never allow it to become more than that. Just fleeting moments make up for the emptiness you felt when you stopped being romantically involved with him. It quells the ache, but only in real-time. Afterward, you go home to the apartment you live in by yourself, wishing he could follow you there and stay with you like he used to.

You didn't cry when you broke up with him because you knew there would still be some sort of relationship present, even though it wouldn't involve dating. That's when you both agreed to keep having sex without the strings attached; however, the buried feelings you have always seem to burst into uncontrollable flames when he touches you. You'll never admit it, though, because a purely physical relationship with him is better than not having one at all.

It'd be a shame to lose the fire where the smoke is.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry styles #adore-laur #get mine get yours

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daisykihannie · 10 months ago

Text

𝚂𝙺𝚉 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚃𝚊𝚕𝚔

CHAN

His cock is definitely pale on the length and has very prominent veins running along the length.

His cock curves upward in a soft arch perfect for hitting the best spots inside someone.

The head is a soft pink color. The prettiest cock. The pale length matching the pink head perfectly.

The head doesn't protrude off the length much but just a little, perfect crevice to run your tongue along.

He keeps himself shaven or with stubble.

I think he'd be about 8 inches in length and a bit girthy but nothing too thick.

If you can picture the prettiest pink cock, soft and defined, length and girth the perfect size, that's Chan's cock.

MINHO

His length is tan and honey colored with one prominent vein running up the underside of his cock.

It curves slightly to the left but nothing extreme.

It's heavy and about 7 inches long and not as girthy as Chan's.

It's almost delicate looking, as delicate as a cock can look.

The head stands off the length, a deeper crevice between the head and length.

The tip is a pretty mauve color. Pinkish Purple in color, contrasting the tan skin beautifully.

He doesn't like being completely clean shaven so he always has perfectly trimmed stubble.

CHANGBIN

Heavy and girthy. Tan length as well.

He's about 6.5 inches long but what he lacks in length he makes up for in girth.

VEINY. Multiple obvious veins decorate his length.

The head is a soft brown and pink color.

Again, his cock is heavy in the best of ways. If you can imagine a muscular cock, it'd be the best way to describe Changbin's cock.

It Curves downward because of the weight. His balls on the larger side as well

Stubble is the most pubes he'd have but never completely bare and clean shaven. Man scaping is very important to him.

HYUNJIN

Pretty pretty pretty soft and delicate

Another pale and pink cock. The head a deep pink color bordering on red.

The veins in his cock are visible but not protruding. Keeping it looking so soft.

Clean shaven 24/7. Adding to the feminine and delicate look.

I wanna tie a pretty pink bow around it.

His cock doesn't really have any curve to it, mostly straight but with the tiniest barely visible upward curve.

I think he'd have a long and skinny-ish cock. Maybe 8-8.5 inches and the length the same girth as the head.

Uncut and pretty, the soft pink head poking out of the foreskin but in the prettiest of ways.

He'd have a mole/beauty mark on his pubic bone, right above his cock and slightly to the right. Perfect spot to kiss.

JISUNG

A pretty deep honey color with a red head.

A couple of veins travel the top and sides of the length that poke out more towards the base of his cock.

Either clean shaved or with a tiny bit of stubble. Mostly keeps a small amount of stubble tho but his balls are always clean shaven.

7ish inches long, maybe a tiny bit less. Not particularly girthy but just enough to stretch his partner open for him.

Curves slightly up and to the right. With heavy and pretty balls. His balls don't hang far from his cock.

Picture a pretty, tan, soft, leaky cock and that's Jisung's cock.

His cock is like a mix of soft boy and fuck boy and God does he know how to use it.

FELIX

Pale with a red mushroom head.

Also uncut and pretty.

His cock is on the smaller side at 6-6.5 inches, not very girthy but he knows how to use it.

Curves upward a bit with soft veins going up the length. 2 veins standing out the most

He also stays clean shaven with pink swollen balls.

Another very soft and delicate cock. But very leaky as well.

Resembles Hyunjin's cock the most but shorter with a bright red tip.

SEUNGMIN

His cock is about the same size as Felix's but a bit more girth to it. Heavy cock.

Tanner than Felix's and Chan's cocks but not as tan as Minho and Jisung's.

He'd have longer pubes. Not a jungle or even a bush but long enough to be softer than stubble but short enough to lay mostly flat to his skin.

I also can't see him being circumcized. the foreskin a soft pink color to match the darker pink color of his head.

His veins aren't very visible but can definitely be felt inside his partner.

Soft downward curve. Not as heavy as any of the others cocks.

Light, delicate, pretty, tan cock. His balls are smaller and don't hang very low.

JEONGIN

Long and pale. Porcelain skin covers the length and a dark purple/pink mushroom tip.

Not girthy at all, his girth is about average but he'd be the longest at 9-9.5 inches.

Not the biggest fan of manscaping but he keeps himself trimmed and pretty.

Smaller but heavy balls that hang a bit lower from his cock.

Beauty marks paint the skin around his cock. Some on his pubic bone, on the inside of his thighs, traveling up to his hips.

Veiny as well but still softer looking. The veins visible but not standing out too much.

He'd have a slight curve to the left and his head would definitely be the leakiest.

Very very sensitive on the tip and the underside of his cock where the most obvious veins is. The vein his partner would love to follow with their tongue.

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wishmemel · 1 year ago

Text

so high school, ft. fushiguro megumi

synopsis: you’ve known megumi, nobara, and yuuji since freshman year of high school, but it's only recently that you and megumi have started realizing that your feelings might run deeper than friendship (that is, if either of you have the courage to make the first move...) tags: megumi x f! reader, non-curse au, this might be from megumi's pov idk, friends to lovers, all fluff, all characters are about 17, reader is an older sibling, megumi being his usual reserved self, reader is more bubbly, definitely self-indulgent (reader is a sanrio lover), probably ooc but this is just for fun, no beta reader so let me know if there’s any errors cw: i don't think there are any? please let me know if you spot anything, i'll add it! wc. 5.9k posted: 22/10/23 a/n: i've been working on this fic forever and i didn't think i was going to post it at first tbh... most of my fics stay in the drafts but i spent a little more than 2 weeks on this so i thought why not. also, yes, i know you can't legally drive a car in japan at 17, but we will ignore that for the sake of the fic!

Megumi chewed his lower lip, feeling the weight of the necklace stored in the lower pocket of his black backpack.

He and Yuuji had stopped by a comic book store before school started at the latter’s insistence—Megumi had already stopped by yesterday and picked up the copy he’d wanted in secret, stashed underneath his pillow—so he’d split from Yuuji and made his way to the Hello Kitty Shibuya store a few feet down. He didn’t want his friend to see the romance mangas that he was interested in, and he’d already spent most of his allowance on the two copies he’d bought yesterday. He didn’t want to be tempted any more.

Stepping into the store, dressed in all black, heavy eye bags present, his hair unkempt and spiky, he must have frightened the employees, but they’d done their best to greet him with a cheery smile and welcomed him inside. Megumi had pulled down his snapback and wandered around, wondering what he was doing flipping through a rack of cinnamoroll earrings.

By the time he was at the front counter, ears red, using the last of his allowance to buy a pink heart-shaped necklace of My Melody, he was convinced that he was insane. It was the last one on the shelf and it was… expensive, to say the least. He almost put it back on the shelf after seeing the price, but he hesitated, your sweet smile flashing in his mind. To see you rave and gush about him buying this necklace for you, which was supposedly out of stock everywhere online… Well, he really wanted to see your smile.

The employees at the register giggled over his flushed expression and prodded him about who he was buying it for, when he would give it to you, if you were already his girlfriend or if you were just a friend. They wrapped it in a pink box with a white satin ribbon and he left the store with the tiny amount of dignity he had remaining, his ears brick red from dodging all their suggestive questions.

He hardly remembers stuffing the box deep in his backpack, underneath a spare sweater he keeps in his bag, and rushing over to the manga store with his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly waiting for Yuuji outside as if he’d never left.

They’d walked to school together, chattering away: well, it was mostly just Yuuji talking. Megumi listened, but that was the way he preferred it.

He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been labelled talkative. Even as a child, Gojo, his guardian, had complained about Megumi’s blunt and silent nature. Yuuji didn’t mind the silence—it just meant that he had a chance to talk. Nobara despised it—she was always rolling her eyes or pressing him about one thing or the other. When it came to you, you liked the comfortable silence. You didn’t feel the need to fill it with conversation, and even when you did, it was because you wanted to, not because of some awkwardness that you felt between the two of you.

The two boys met up with you and Nobara, both of you bleary-eyed and early at school for once.

The two of you had this awful habit of staying up late and talking on the phone to get your homework done and then waking up hours after school had started, practically missing your first period classes.

Megumi and Yuuji used to wait outside the gate for you two in the beginning, but now they knew you too well and usually headed inside, talking at Megumi’s locker. On the off chance that one of you arrived on time, you knew exactly where to find them.

“Where were you two?” you asked, tilting your head to the side with a confused scrunch of your brows. “We looked for you at your locker, but you weren’t there. Nobara and I actually got to school on time! Aren’t you proud?”

Despite your weariness, your makeup was always done to perfection, uniform ironed and straightened, hair silky and shining underneath the scorching sun, so Megumi always thought you looked good.

It was just recently that you had started looking beautiful instead of nice and seemed more funny than even his best friend, Yuuji.

“Megumi and I ran to the comic book store,” Yuuji said, eyes lighting up with excitement. “I got the one-hundred-fifteenth edition of Human Earthworm. Basically, in this edition, Worm Man falls in love with this woman, but there’s a catch! She’s also half-worm, but she’s a worm from the top half of her body and the bottom half—“

“Itadori,” Nobara barks. “It’s too early in the morning for your SuperWorm stories.”

Nobara glares at him, looking like she hadn’t even had time to do her makeup.

Yuuji peers at her. “You look kind of… sick.”

Nobara’s eyes flare with uncontrolled rage and she leaps on Yuuji’s back, wrapping her legs around his waist as she pulls at his pink hair. “Do you want me to kill you?”

Megumi sighs while Yuuji laughs and dodges Nobara’s advances. You just giggle, your arm brushing against Megumi’s, though he wonders if he’s the only one who notices the warmth of your skin on his.

The bell rings, startling them, and Nobara slowly unlatches herself from Yuuji. You bound over to her and fix her hair and she allows you patiently.

“Good?” she asks, checking her phone’s reflection.

“Good?” Yuuji mocks, patting down his own hair.

“You both look hot,” you affirm, giggling at Nobara’s murderous look. You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and check your phone. Your expression brightens as you glance over at Megumi. “Megs and I have Chem together first. We have a lab today, remember?”

He doesn’t return your smile, mostly because he’s starstruck at the sight, but nods slowly to let you know he’s heard.

Nobara groans. “Yuuji and I have Gym first,” she gripes.

You snort, flicking her cheek. “I don’t want to know why you would ever decide to take that class.”

“It’s not bad or hard,” she defends, but then she puts her fist up and grits her teeth. “But there’s this really stupid teacher who always picks on me for being a woman. He thinks I’m slower ‘cause I have a vagina and that makes me want to pull out his hair.”

“And he hates me because he always says I’m cheating during our run,” Yuuji complains. “It’s not my fault I’ve trained a lot!”

You laugh again before bouncing over to Megumi and wrapping a hand around his bicep. “Let’s go,” you insist. “We have to get the seat at the back before Miwa gets there again! Last time, she took my spot and she knows it’s my spot. I always sit there!”

You drag him with you, calling your goodbyes to a stunned Yuuji and Nobara, the two aware of how much Megumi hates physical touch. They wait, watching for their friend to remove your hand, but he never does. The two exchange nervous looks as they follow you through the front doors.

You’re sitting on a large boulder, your back to him, as you listen to Yuuji and Nobara’s insistent speech. He can almost imagine your confused look: your eyebrows scrunched, lips pouty.

The three of you haven’t spotted him yet, nonchalantly strolling towards you, hands tucked in his pocket, but even at this distance he can hear what the pair are telling you.

“You cannot touch Megumi,” Nobara insists. “He hates being touched.”

“The last time I tried to hug him, he squeezed my wrist so hard I thought it’d break,” Yuuji points out, cradling his arm. “He hates physical touch.”

Megumi sighs and rolls his eyes.

Just when he’d started getting close to someone, his cursed friends had to interfere. Even if their intentions are in the right place, can’t they mind their own business? He isn’t exactly the people-pleasing type: if he’s letting you touch him, it’s on purpose.

Both Nobara and Yuuji share exactly one brain cell, he thinks.

“Oh… really?” Is he imagining the hint of disappointment in your tone? “Ah, I didn’t know. Okay… I’ll try to keep my distance from now on. Thanks for telling me.”

“What are you three talking about?” he asks, stopping at your back.

You still as his leg brushes against your back. You tilt your head back, meeting his eyes with a tentative smile. He’s awestruck all over again, like every time you flash him that smile.

“You,” Nobara answers truthfully, taking his attention off of you.

Yuuji elbows her and laughs awkwardly. “She’s kidding. W-we were talking about Human Earthworm 5! Yeah, Human Earthworm. Obviously. I told them we should go see the fifth—“

You roll your eyes, watching him take a large step over the boulder to stand next to Yuuji. “I don’t know why they’re lying. We were just talking about where to go for lunch. Yesterday, Nobara and I got to pick and we went out for sushi, remember? We thought you guys might have a preference today.”

“That’s what we were talking about,” Yuuji affirms quickly with a painfully bright smile. Megumi isn’t so awestruck at the sight.

There’s a collective moment of silence; they’re all holding their breath, waiting for his answer.

He looks at you. You give him an innocent smile, blinking, and he finds it slightly frightening how easily you can lie to his face like that.

“Okay.” Megumi shrugs, accepting your words. “I’m in the mood for tteokbokki,” he says, despite his lack of allowance, if only to change the topic. He remembers Yuuji salivating over the thought of the street food yesterday in Math class, even after lunch.

“There’s a place near here that has corn dogs and tteokbokki,” Nobara mentions, checking the Maps app on her phone. “It’s a five minute walk.”

“I want tteokbokki with a boiled egg,” Yuuji announces eagerly.

“Tteokbokki is best with egg,” Nobara agrees. “Wanna share?”

“I want the whole egg,” Yuuji warns.

“You can spare me half,” she insists. “I want it too!”

“If we want to go, then we should go now,” you interrupt. “We only have thirty minutes left.”

Both Nobara and Yuuji start bickering over their order and you take that chance to sneak a quick glance at your phone, frowning at the recurring texts you’ve been receiving.

Megumi looks to you, eyes catching onto the worried crease between your eyebrows. You put away your phone at his watchful gaze.

“Sorry,” you say, feigning a smile. “Let’s go.”

He nods, wondering if he should ask you why you had that concerned look in your eyes. But Megumi isn’t good at words; he always stumbles and trips over them and can never quite get his thoughts out properly, unlike you. He’s always admired the eloquent and seemingly veritable way you speak, even when you lie. You’re always able to put on a mask.

He’s not so good with words, so in a rare display of bravery, he resorts to offering you his hand, as if extending his heart to you. His ears turn red as he looks away from you, realizing that Yuuji and Nobara have stopped arguing long enough to watch.

You blink uncertainly, then beam up at him and take his hand.

Your hand is warm in his and much much softer than the callouses that roughen his. Often, you offer him hand lotion in Chemistry and he hasn’t the heart to refuse you. You squeeze a dollop of the rose-scented cream in his hand before doing the same on your own. He gets the pleasure of watching you beam as the two of you rub the lotion into your palms. As a result of your generosity, his hands have been feeling softer than usual.

You thank him for the gesture and he just shrugs, bumping shoulders with you as you enter the address into your Maps app, trying to avoid the awkward atmosphere in the air.

“We can get two eggs,” Nobara attempts, to break the tension.

Yuuji agrees immediately with no argument.

The jewelry box feels especially heavy in Megumi’s bag.

When the three of you reach the restaurant, Yuuji and Nobara immediately fight over who’s paying for the extra eggs. Nobara insists that it should be Yuuji who pays because he should be the one paying penance, while Yuuji wants to split the cost in half. The two of them bicker a little more, embarrassing you and Megumi in front of the cashier before they place their order, and then continue to do so while taking a seat at a table for four.

You just sigh and muster your brightest smile to make up your friends. Megumi hovers closely behind you as you place your order, feeling slightly protective of you in front of the handsome male noting your order.

The man is tall, maybe taller than Megumi himself, and he has this air of easiness that Megumi instantly dislikes. What, with his eager grins and frequent winks sent your way, it’s clear that he just can’t—won’t—take a hint. His name tag reads Haru, which has many many meanings, but the one Megumi decides on is sun. He’s overwhelmingly sunny, much like Yuuji. But while Yuuji’s is a natural sunniness, a disposition that comes easily to him, Haru has this overbearing nature, like when he leans over the register to take your cash and purposely lets your fingers brush his. He has these charming chocolate-coloured curls and he keeps brushing them out of his big, dark eyes. Even through his instant dislike, Megumi can’t help comparing himself to the man.

He keeps wondering: Is this your type? Would you be interested in someone like this, so sunny and bright, almost as much as you are?

“A mozzarella corn dog with cinnamon sugar and the small tteokbokki, no egg,” you’re confirming, cutting through the jealous haze that is his thoughts. You glance back at him, finally taking his attention off of Haru. “Want anything?”

“Naah, I ate earlier,” he says with a shake of his head, sidling closer so that your back brushes against his chest. You startle slightly, but don’t move away. Haru’s smile falters a little. Megumi wants to stick his tongue out at him petulantly like a little kid who’s just won a game of rock, paper, scissors.

Somehow, Megumi can tell you see through his lie, likely because you’ve been with him for almost the entire day, but you don’t argue and he quickly pulls out his phone and distracts himself with the Weather app so that you won’t suspect him further.

A forecast of rain, he notices, startling.

He usually stores an umbrella or two in his bag because he knows you never bring one—it doesn’t rain as often as you’d like, but even when it does, you enjoy the water soaking you to the bone. Megumi usually watches you, Nobara, and Yuuji splash in puddles, his black umbrella already opened up to keep him dry. When the three of you get tired or cold, you can count on him to lend you one, and you often plaster yourself to his side, getting his clothes wet as your teeth chatter underneath the umbrella.

His fond expression breaks when you nudge his shoulder and the two of you make your way to the table where your friends are already seated, Nobara sitting cross-legged on the seat to face Yuuji, hands waving about animatedly.

“You know, you were checking that guy out for an awfully long time,” you tease with a cheeky smile.

Megumi’s mind doesn’t put two and two together. In fact, he feels like it might be short-circuiting. “What?”

None of what you’re saying makes sense to him—isn’t it so obvious that he’s interested in you?

“You know, Megs, if you’re gay, you just have to tell me,” you say solemnly, trying not to let your face crack. “I’m sure Nobara and Yuuji will also support you. Nobara likes girls, and, besides, that’s what friends are for. We’re here for you, even if you’re into the douchey cashier.”

“You thought he was douchey?” he blurts, the only thing that his brain seems to process.

“So, you are gay!” you exclaim, slapping your receipt onto the table where Nobara and Yuuji are sitting. They jump at the thump sound the receipt makes on the table, their conversation interrupted.

“Fushigoru’s gay?” Nobara asks skeptically with a raised brow as she turns around to face the two of you. An amused smile plays on her mouth. “I knew it. I called it first!”

“I said it first!” Yuuji protests. “Remember when he punched Kai in the face and I said that he did it because he thought his was was just too pretty to—“

“I’m not gay,” Megumi snaps, cheeks on fire. “And I don’t like Kai!”

You stifle a giggle, sliding your receipt in Nobara’s direction. “I got a corndog and tteokbokki. We can share.”

Nobara scans the receipt with a raised brow, letting Yuuji read off her shoulder. “Another phone number?” she teases slyly.

“What?” you and Megumi blurt at the same time.

Megumi snatches the receipt from her freshly-manicured nails and his eyes widen in horror at the series of numbers that are, indeed, printed at the bottom in black pen next to a winky emoji. Beside him, you cringe and Megumi crushes it up in his palm and shoves it into his pocket.

He raises a brow, sliding into the booth, and asks, “Did you want that?”

You shake your head almost immediately and follow after him, sitting across from Nobara. She taps the side of your sneaker with her own and you look her way long enough to see a mischievous glint enter her eyes.

“You’ve just been collecting phone numbers left and right, haven’t you?” Nobara sings, wiggling her brows at you to break the silence. “Quite the player, aren’t you?”

“This is the first number I’ve gotten all year,” you protest, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You know that—you guys are always with me!”

“What about the guy at the vending machine yesterday?” Yuuji asks.

“Kai?” you ask in disbelief. “He’s not—We aren’t—”

Megumi blurts, “Kai asked you out yesterday?”

You groan aloud, burying your face in your hands. “No, he didn’t! He just expressed his interest. I told him I didn’t like him and we left it at that.”

And here Megumi was thinking that the guy had learned his lesson—It was true that Megumi had punched him in the face, but not for the reasons that Yuuji predicted. If Yuuji had truly heard what Kai had said about you, he wouldn’t be nearly as lax with his teasing remarks. And, fine, it was true—Kai did have somewhat of a pretty face and Megumi did have this tiny inkling that Kai had feelings for you, but he’d done his best to ignore that small, jealous whisper and tuck it aside. He never imagined that Kai would act on his feelings.

Maybe Megumi hadn’t punched him hard enough.

Megumi removes his snapback and places it on the table, rubbing the material between his fingertips to soothe the burning in his chest.

Yuuji raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing on his mouth. He looks like he’s about to make another unnecessary comment, but he’s interrupted by Haru, the cashier, serving them their lunch on a long, silver tray.

You make eye contact with him and suddenly regret your decision to sit on the outside of the booth when he smiles at you for long moments while serving, explaining each and every dish with precise detail to you and only you. He flatly ignores your friends and keeps his eyes locked onto you, even while serving—you’re half afraid he might drop something that way. On the positive side, he knows exactly what he’s talking about—each dish, each flavour, each part is explained down to a T.

You know more about canned Coca-Cola now than you ever have in your entire life. Who knew that the drink used to contain cocaine before 1929? Not you. But you’re thinking you could use some right now to get out of this awkward situation.

On the negative side—Yuuji is stifling his laugh, Nobara looks like she might explode any moment now, and Megumi… Megumi is glaring daggers at the man who ignores the icy look and continues his long-winded speech.

You break eye contact and try not to roll your eyes as you lock gazes with Yuuji across the table. He gives you a knowing look, pressing his trembling lips together to hold in the laughter that dances in his eyes.

He seems to be saying this is all your fault.

You just sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll pay for your eggs," is what you mouth back at him.

Yuuji’s smile widens and he makes out, “Deal!”, right back at you.

Haru has only just moved on to explaining how tteokbokki is made in their kitchen when Megumi tucks his black snapback onto your head, bringing it down to cover your view. He opens his mouth to argue but is interrupted by Nobara who snaps, “I think we know what we ordered. And Chef doesn’t seem like it’s part of your job description.”

The silence that befalls the restaurant makes your face burn hot with embarrassment. You sigh and cover your face with your hands, wishing a hole would appear in the floor so you could crawl into it, roll around, and just die.

Megumi is not sure whether to feel grateful to Nobara for speaking up or annoyed because he was going to say something first.

Haru mumbles, “It’s not. I’m a server.”

“I think we can handle it from here,” Yuuji coughs awkwardly.

“Thank you,” you mutter under your breath, nudging Megumi with your knee.

“Thanks,” Megumi repeats tersely, unpleasantly reminded of the existence of social etiquette.

“Men take a hint,” Nobara mutters, glaring at Haru’s retreating back. “Level: impossible.”

You snort under a breath and point a set of packaged chopsticks at her. “And you made fun of me for rejecting Kai. He also wouldn’t take a hint and was incredibly insistent—I mean, what kind of guy waits outside of class for you every. single. day. after you reject him?”

Nobara slides her tteokbokki in her direction, seeing as how all of the dishes are placed in a spot advantageous to you. You give both her and Yuuji a pair of chopsticks, then push Megumi’s smaller tteokbokki dish towards him.

“Megumi and I wait outside your classes for you,” Yuuji points out, breaking apart his chopsticks with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

Indeed, Megumi is frozen, awaiting your response with bated breath.

Do you find him creepy or weird when he waits for you? He’d always thought you might appreciate having someone to walk to your classes and chatter with, especially when Nobara isn’t around. He hadn’t considered the fact that you might think of him as a creep…

“You and Megumi don’t count,” you insist, glancing at him with your brows furrowed. “We’re friends. It’s different. Kai would bring me a different flavoured chocolate each day and deliberately hand it out in front of a group of guys that are known to gossip. He’d make these stupid comments, put his hand on my shoulder, and act like we were dating.”

You unwrap a set of chopsticks, snap them in half and offer them to Megumi who takes them with a troubled look.

“Stop it,” you argue, nudging his leg with yours. “I already told you: I’m uncomfortable when Kai does it. You guys are my friends—it’s not any different than when Nobara waits for me.”

“Preach,” Nobara says solemnly, shoving another rice cake in her mouth. Yuuji startles and protests at the fact that he’s been too busy conversing with you to even have a bite, but Nobara just sticks her tongue out at him petulantly.

So now he’s being compared to Nobara, Megumi sulks. He’s not sure which is worse—being likened to a creep or to Nobara.

You nudge him with your elbow this time, shooting him an effortless smile. “Come on, cut out the whole protective older brother thing. I can see it in your face. Nothing happened, Megs.”

Megumi starts, then just nods, though he hadn’t been thinking of Haru. Unfortunately, your words do nothing to ease his mind.

Now you’re referring to him as your older brother… He can’t say he’s not used to it, but… he doesn’t want to be your older brother, nor does he want to act like one.

Nobara smirks. “Yeah, Megs, listen to your—”

He kicks her shin from across the table and her eyes blow wide. “Hey! You didn’t do anything when…” Nobara’s train of thought is cut off when Yuuji elbows her. She settles for glaring at Megumi with a look that says I’ll get you back.

Megumi looks indifferent to her nonverbal threat as he takes the first bite from his meal. Seeing him eat spurs you into action and you open up the container with your mozzarella corn dog.

He knows you see Nobara as a fun, sister-like figure: someone you can laugh with, go shopping with, and call whenever you need advice, gossip, or a pick-me-up. With Nobara, your time flies by in seconds, the two of you always busy giggling and laughing on FaceTime.

You see Yuuji as a younger brother: someone to indulge and take care of, especially because Megumi doesn’t humour him and Nobara bickers with him day and night, much like a sibling would. You ruffle his hair when you’re pleased with him, making him beam, and you graciously tag along to the movie theater with him when a new Human Earthworm movie is released, since he and Nobara staunchly refuse whenever Yuuji pleads.

So, maybe Megumi’s role has been predetermined from the start. He’s always been overprotective of his friends and he nags like a mother hen, especially when it comes to you. Whenever you text him that you’re going out, accompanied with a few pictures, asking him what to wear, he always makes sure that you have your location on, your ringer on, that you aren’t on silent mode, or you haven’t muted his texts. He makes sure he knows exactly where you’re going, when you’ll be back; he makes sure his phone is always nearby so he never misses a text from you, in the rare case that you might message him to pick you up. After all, he is your group’s designated driver. He figures you might need him once in a while.

He chews his rice cakes slowly, trying to ignore the burn in his chest. He glances over at you, busy in conversation. The three of you are used to his frequent silence; you don’t take it as odd anymore, nor do you press for him to join the conversation. You all know he’ll speak up when he wants to.

Is he overbearing?

Actually… he’s not unlike you, in that sense.

You’re the first to remind Yuuji, as always, that he’s left his phone in Megumi’s car, or his books in the classroom, or that his hoodie is in his locker, as always, but you’d picked it up for him because you knew he’d forget. Before he can even tell you that he’s lost his pencil for the third time this week, you’re pressing one into his hands with a skeptical eyebrow raise that asks, anything else? He’s like a little puppy that you look after when no one else will.

With Nobara, he’s seen you often calling her when she’s alone in a taxi and she texts you that the driver is being weird. You stay on call with her, purposely raising your voice loud enough for the driver to hear you ask repeatedly, “Where are you? When are you getting here? We’re all waiting for you.” You always wait on her text that tells you she’s reached home safe before your shoulders loosen and you feel some of the tension leave you.

Before Megumi goes out, you’re over at his house, fussing over his clothes (the same ones he wore a day ago), his hair (that never seems to settle, no matter how much gel or hairspray you use), his face. You pinch his cheeks, tell him to go wash his face again because he still looks half-asleep, toss him a rose-scented lotion tube, straight from your bag, and insist that he keep it. You completely baby him.

And when the four of you go out for lunch, more often than not, it’s you who orders for the rest of them, Megumi tagging along sometimes, if only to insist on paying. You half-listen to their conversation, half-wonder when the food will arrive. And when it finally does, you’re the first to urge them to start: handing them their utensils, breaking apart their chopsticks, and reminding them to eat well.

You’re used to looking after others and putting their needs before your own, as the eldest daughter of your family. Megumi is overprotective as well, but he’s also hyper-independent, used to caring for himself without anyone else. Around you, he always finds his demeanor molding, softening—he acts more spoiled, more sulky, almost as if he’s trying to catch your attention, to make you fuss over him. And you do. You always indulge him, though he’s sure you can see right through his act.

You’re laughing at something Yuuji says when you notice him looking at you, as if he’s seeing you in a new light. You hold your corn dog up to him, a sweet smile on your face.

Megumi blinks, ears reddening, as he shakes his head. “N-no, I wasn’t—“

“Have some. It’s good,” you insist, and he can’t refuse you.

So he leans forward in his seat, his thigh brushing against yours—he shouldn’t feel so flustered by that action, right? But you’re still wearing his snapback on your head and it looks ridiculous on you, oversized and just barely hanging onto your head.

Sharing clothes or accessories isn’t new between the two of you either, nor are brief touches like his leg against yours. For some reason, he’s starting to feel hyper-aware of his every movement around you in a way that he doesn’t feel around Nobara, or even Yuuji.

Often, when the four of you have sleepovers or movie nights, typically held at Megumi’s house (he’s always playing host, but he’s grateful that you help out by always arriving an hour earlier with bags of snacks. Gojo adores you for that reason alone), you don’t shy away from physical touch. You’ve fallen asleep on his arm more times than he can count, laid your legs in Yuuji’s lap while the four of you argue over which movie to watch, and squeezed Nobara’s hand throughout countless horror movies.

And yet… Your thighs brushing through your jeans as he leans close is somehow the most intimate feeling he’s had since his kindergarten crush had hugged him tight on the playground in front of his friends.

You hold your corn dog up to his mouth and he takes a bite, relishing in the stretch of mozzarella as you pull the snack away from him with a laugh. He keeps his eyes locked on your lit smile, unaware of Yuuji and Nobara’s troubled gaze trained on him.

You’re like the sun; wherever you go, you shine so bright, making him want to reflect you: he can’t help smiling back.

Sharing food has never been a big deal between the four of you—well, three of you. Before you had found them and became involved in their little friend group, Megumi used to firmly refuse to drink from the same bottle as Nobara or eat from the same spoon as Yuuji, on account of “hygiene”, he claimed. Then you’d stumbled and tripped right into their world and the easy way you’d steal Yuuji’s gatorade from right under his nose and take a sip or share a bite of the cake pop you’d brought for lunch with Nobara had been enough to make him loosen up too, just enough. Eventually, he’d forgotten about that little rule, all because of you, with no shortage of teasing from Yuuji and Nobara.

He drinks from the same glass as you when you’re over at his house, and when you find yourself parched at school, he’s the first to offer to run to the convenience store and back in time for your first period class, Chemistry, which you share with him. The two of you often pass the drink back and forth in class and he tosses it out afterwards when you walk out together, complaining about the homework or the in-class lesson.

Although, he wonders absentmindedly, if you’re eating from the same spoon as him or sipping from the same can from him, can that be counted as… an indirect kiss?

His eyes are inexplicably drawn to your glossy lips as you beam at him and put together a string of words that flies right over his head. What if he leaned forward, just a little? The sparkles on your lips are illuminated by the warm lighting of the restaurant and he finds himself musing about the flavour of your gloss.

Cherry, perhaps? He’d like cherry. Or even strawberry might be nice, sweet and sugary, he thinks. Anything would do, if it was you.

You call his name again, snapping him out of his daze, and he stammers, “W-what?”

You giggle, tucking his snapback onto his head and covering his face. Why doesn’t he have a voice recording of that precious laugh of yours? “Idiot. I was asking if it was good!”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, it’s great,” he mumbles dazedly with no idea of what you’re talking about as he adjusts his hat.

He blinks, trying to clear the fog in his head as you wait expectantly, ignoring Yuuji and Nobara’s snickers in the background.

“I-it was really good. The corn dog, I mean,” he clarifies, gaze dipping to your lips again. “I liked it. But… Lunch is on me next time.”

You snort, looking satisfied with his answer. “Lunch is always on you. Pigs won’t start flying if you let me pay for your meal once.”

Megumi has what you call textbook manners when it comes to things like this; he’s overly stiff, overly formal. He can’t remember the last time he’d let any of you pay for him without returning the favour. It’s more than just a matter of his pride and ego (though that certainly plays a hand.) It’s the fact that he can’t fathom depending on any of you like that. He can’t accept this level of warmth or care without his mind whispering that it’s only a matter of time before you’ll all leave, just like his father, just like his mother.

He exhales deeply and pops open the can of Coca-Cola that you bought him. The bubbles hiss and fizzle before settling down. As soon as they do, he slides the can towards you with a jerk of his head: an order to take the first sip.

You give him an indulgent smile and follow his instructions, leaving behind a mauve stain on the can. Then, you push the can towards him with the same head jerk motion that he gave you. He resists the temptation of giving in to your antics and smiling as a result.

You’re messing with his head, he groans silently. He’s never going to be the same after this. More than that, he thinks, glancing towards Nobara and Yuuji who observe him with matching knowing looks, the two of them are never going to let him live this down.

Maybe you don't know it yet, but Megumi is yours.

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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thriftedtchotchkes · 10 months ago

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here in the garden [prologue]

pairing: peeta mellark x f!reader

summary: nearly a week into your unique alliance, you and peeta take a quiet bath after a colorful training session. 8 days remain until the games.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, catching fire era, older victor!reader (4 years), aged-up peeta, secret relationship, platonic!katniss/peeta, sneaking around, fluff, smut, grinding, brief accidental piv, mentions of virginity

word count: 2.5k

series masterlist | a/n: a little taste before we rewind to day 1

Today, it’s shades of green.

Some deep and dark like shadowed leaves in a forest, and others bright and mixed with yellow to mimic sun-spotted blades of grass. It takes a decent amount of scrubbing to remove, and by the time you're finished, Peeta's arms are rosy red to match the flush spreading across his chest.

Paint swirls on the water's surface like an abstract portrait. It's as beautiful staining the walls of the porcelain tub you're bathing in as it was on his skin and just as fleeting.

If it weren't for the sweet boy beneath you, you'd allow that thought to linger. You'd dwell on the shortness of life and lament the brief time you have together before your short lives end. But for so many reasons you never expected to find in this hopeless place, you don't.

Instead, you pretend what you’ve found with Peeta is real and hold it close. You sneak around and find quiet moments away from prying Capitol eyes, seeking solace in private suites and fancy bathrooms just like this.

Here, you're not tributes in the 75th Hunger Games. He's not a star-crossed lover from District 12, and you're not breaking up a relationship that was never real to begin with. There's no one else here to convince. It's just you and Peeta.

For over a week, it's been just you and Peeta, falling asleep in each other's arms and stealing slow kisses in the dark. And though your time is dwindling, he still moves cautiously and with intention. Even now, settled between your legs in this bathtub, he's waiting for permission he was already granted.

He looks up at you, heavy-lidded and content, and you know what he's about to ask. It's been a while since he felt the need to, but today is different.

"Can I touch you?" he asks softly, his hands frozen in place on either side of your waist. He's nervous.

This is the first time he's seeing you naked. Bare skin on bare skin where there's only ever been layers of fabric between you. His cheeks are dusted pink, and you know it's not just the heat and steam in the air.

"Of course. Always," you reply, smiling as you lean in to kiss him. But you hesitate, too. "Can I?"

"Always," he breathes out.

Peeta's the one to close the gap, and his kiss is soft but firm. His lips move deliberately against yours with a hint of that tempered hunger you see in his eyes whenever he looks at you. He coaxes your mouth open eagerly, and when his tongue meets yours, he lets out a sigh of relief and finally allows himself to explore your body.

It's so much more intense than you expected. His hands begin to roam your exposed skin, newfound territory for him to map and memorize, and leave a trail of blazing fire in their wake. Settling under your breasts, he teases the undersides until you're whining into his mouth and swallows the sound proudly.

Because he earned it. He spent the last week acquainting himself with your pleasure, guiding you across his lap or thigh until you came apart in his arms. Discovering where to suck and stroke to make you so wet, you soaked right through your underwear and into his.

Your clothes always stayed on as an extra precaution to avoid getting caught, but you have a sneaking suspicion that wasn't the only reason. Something in his eyes and the careful way he handled you seemed too cautious, maybe even a little shy. But it's obvious now that something's shifted. He needs more. You both do.

He smiles against your lips, cataloging your reaction as he shifts higher and above the water's surface to swipe over your nipples. They're already pebbling from the cooling air temperature, so he tweaks one and swallows that moan, too.

But this time, it's not enough to muffle the sound, and it echoes a little too loudly for the precarious situation you're in. Still toying with a sensitive bud, he pulls away and fixes you with a stern, yet tender look. His lips are distractingly kiss-swollen as he speaks, and you're torn between feeling thoroughly chastised and unbearably turned on.

"Hey, we have to be quiet, okay?" he gently hushes you, kissing your cheek, then the shell of your ear apologetically. "You sound so pretty and I don't want you to stop, but it's too risky."

"But you feel so good," you murmur, cupping his cheeks to bring his lips back to yours. He gives in briefly before parting to rest his forehead on yours.

"I know," he mumbles, nosing into your cheek. "But we can't draw attention to ourselves right now. It's just until we get back to my floor. Be patient."

You pout without meaning to and it makes you feel like a petulant child. "I suck at that and you know it. Let's just go now," you sulk. It's an unfortunate new habit you picked up from one of your stylists, and Peeta entertains it. Usually.

He raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the dirt and ash still sprinkled across your forearms and caked under your fingernails. Earlier at the training center, you chose to practice fire starting while he picked camouflage, and now it's coming back to bite you in the ass.

"I don't know whose bed you think you're getting into like that, but it sure isn't mine," he jokes, but you can tell he's dead serious. Eyeing him mischievously, you run your fingers along the bath water and swipe a green line across his cheek.

"Mm, then maybe I should see what Johanna's up to tonight. I bet she likes it a little dirty," you tease him, and he rolls his eyes.

"Hilarious," he deadpans, but the subtle quirk of his lips betrays him. He knows as well as you do that she'd probably take you up on the offer, but tonight, like all the others, you're his. If only you could come to an agreement.

"Okay well, we're clearly at an impasse, so unless you can think of a really great plan to soundproof this bathroom—," you inch forward to tease his cock between your folds, and he sucks in a harsh breath. "—we'll have to sit through an entire bath like this."

"Kiss me," he blurts out, tightening his grasp on your waist to hold you in place. "Whenever it—," you cut him off with a tempting swivel of your hips, and he clenches his jaw, unable to stop himself from bucking into you. "—whenever it feels like that, just kiss me. I'll keep you quiet."

You eye him dubiously. If that didn't work before, what makes him think it'll be any more effective now? Before you can question him, he leans forward and kisses you so deeply, it makes you dizzy.

"Do you trust me?" he asks softly as he cups your cheek, and you nod. Of course, you do. What you don't trust are the paper-thin walls of this bathroom and the Capitolites walking the halls, just waiting to rip all of this away. But him? With your life.

He gives you another lingering kiss in gratitude before replacing his mouth with his thumb, gently swiping across your bottom lip. "It doesn't have to be here," he tells you.

His thumb unexpectedly slips into your mouth and gently presses down on your tongue, encouraging you to suck. You both bite back a moan when you comply without hesitation, and his cock jerks violently against your thigh, but you force yourself to ignore it—for now.

"You can kiss me here," he continues breathily, ducking down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the underside of your jaw, then moves lower to dip his tongue into the hollow of your throat. "And here."

He pulls his thumb free and returns to teasing your nipple, circling the bud tenderly as he continues his path downward. The longer he persists, the more it becomes clear how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you. And he's so convincing, you're starting to believe his solution might actually work.

"I've been waiting to get you alone all day," he mumbles into your skin, and the longing in his voice makes your heart ache. "Please don't make me wait anymore."

Your breath hitches as he nips at your collarbone, leaving a faint mark he knows will fade by morning. But the thought of being marked as Peeta's, even for a short while, solidifies your decision.

"You'll keep me quiet?"

"Yeah, I'll keep you quiet," he agrees breathlessly, meeting your gaze.

"And I can be as loud as I want later?"

His hazel eyes darken enough to make you shiver in his warm embrace. He nods slowly, and there's a glimmer of promise in the darkness.

"You're going to be the death of me, Peeta Mellark," you whisper.

His expression falters. The statement is more dire than either of you are ready to accept. Or maybe you, at least, already have.

"God, I hope not," he replies too honestly.

God, you hope so.

Before that thought can fester, you lurch forward and crush his body into yours, choosing to savor this moment instead. Soon enough, you're lost in how incredible he feels against your lips and chest, heavy and searing hot against your core.

The frantic, needy way his body responds to yours is intoxicating. He kisses you with renewed fervor, gasping softly into your mouth every time you rock into him, caressing and squeezing all of the places he knows you like.

You're already starting to quake in his arms, and it only worsens when he shifts your hips higher to reach where you want him most. Without breaking your increasingly heated kiss, he slides his hands under your ass and positions you so every slide between your folds allows the head of his cock to nudge your clit.

The first thrust sends a jolt straight up your spine. Something loud and desperate threatens to escape you, so you quickly bury your face in the crook of his neck to kiss him like he told you to. But in your panic, you bite him.

It sends Peeta reeling. To his credit, he manages to grit his teeth through the shock, turning his head to groan as quietly as he can into your hair, but the rest of his body isn't as easy to control. His heart rate kicks up, strong enough to feel it pulsing in his cock, and the careful self-restraint he tried so hard to maintain begins to crumble. And that sends you reeling.

No one's ever made you feel like this before. Wet and needy, ravenous with a hunger only he can sate. It's hard to believe he's even real, that you didn't dream him up to cope with your terrible fate.

How is he so perfect? Every part of him, from the thick fingers tensed to their limits at your sides to the flushed-pink apples of his cheeks—he's the most beautiful person you've ever seen.

If you had more time to overthink, you'd probably feel insecure being touched so intimately by a boy like Peeta. But you don't. You just feel lucky.

He's been rock hard from the moment your training gear hit the floor, and now he's grinding into your heat like it's all he's thought about for days. He makes you feel wanted. That's a new feeling, too.

Soft whimpers pass his lips, displacing the steam in the air, and you lean in to capture them in a kiss. Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug him closer, hoping to convey everything you're too afraid to say out loud.

Your tongue tangles with his, and it means you're grateful. Your blunt nails scratch lightly against his scalp, and it means you don't want to let him go. You grind onto him harder, willing him to understand.

His hips stutter in response, but as he whines into your mouth, you realize his movements are getting less and less coordinated. Colorful water torrents over the lip of the tub and crashes onto the floor, giving your mosaic an entirely new canvas.

Matching his erratic pace, you inch up his thighs for more friction, but the new angle throws him off. On his next thrust, he accidentally snags on your entrance, and the head of his cock slips inside you.

Stars burst behind your eyelids. With your last remaining shred of lucidity, you hope his lips are enough to muffle your startled moan because you couldn't have stopped it even if you'd tried.

He jerks back, letting out something guttural before he frantically readjusts, almost like he's trying to avoid letting it happen again. Except, now you know what it feels like to be stretched around him and you want more.

"Peeta," you murmur to get his attention. His eyes meet yours, glassy and unfocused. "I want you to fuck me."

It takes a second to sink in, but when it does, his back goes ramrod straight, and not for the reasons you'd hoped for. He doesn't bury himself inside you like you so desperately wanted. Instead, a barrier is raised, and he looks more conflicted than you think you've ever seen him. You wait for him to explain, fighting not to feel hurt and utterly rejected.

"I haven't—," he starts, then stops, thinking better of it. He shakes his head, still panting as he struggles to collect his thoughts, but curiosity is already beginning to eat away at you. You can't help but wonder what he was about to say and why he chose to keep it from you. When he tries again, his voice is softer, imploring.

"I don't want us to have sex for the first time in a bathroom. You deserve a bed," he says gently, brushing his knuckles across your cheek. "To not be covered in dirt and paint."

The sentiment is sweet and earnest enough to relieve some of your apprehension, but something still feels off. He's not being completely honest with you, and you both know it. But you also know he'll tell you when he's ready, so you don't push him.

After a long moment, he continues, but his words are tinged with sadness and something else you can't quite define.

"We don't...," he hesitates again, and you lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his fingers soothe you. It seems to relax him, too. "We don't have a lot of time left. If this is one of the last good things I'll ever get to experience, I want it to be meaningful. No sneaking around, no worrying about getting caught. Just you and me, making the most of the rest of our lives."

Just you and Peeta.

You feel incredibly lucky again. You don't deserve a boy like Peeta Mellark, but you kiss him anyway, deeply and unhurriedly just like he asked. Because he's right.

Because he's been nothing but kind and generous in the six short days you've known him, and you only have eight short days left. Despite the ticking clock, you haven't felt peace like this since your childhood in 11 before it was stolen away from you.

Peeta gives you that. So, you'll give him this.

He deserves it.

thanks for reading! chapter one coming soon <3 divider by @saradika-graphics

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson

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lalathemediterraneanmermaid · 4 months ago

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What do ikevill suitors smell like? PT.1

Hi little robins, I'm back with the "What do ___ suitors smell like?" series, Ikemen Villains edition. A promise is a promise so, here we have our favourite villanous boys. Let's discover the perfumes that our silly little cursed ones are most likely to wear. This is not entirely accurate - it's only based on their routes information and the vibe each boy gives me. Btw, this time I tried to put the same amount of perfumes on each boy.

William Rex

Our King of Hearts, The Self-Righteous Monarch, The King of Villains. As charming as he is ruthless. He wants people to express themselves. Eyes as red as his flags that will have you doing exactly what he wants. You can't fix him... But if you let him, he can absolutely make you worse. “Strip it all off… and fall into the darkness with me." He definitely smells intoxicating, almost like tempting you to fall into a dark world of sweet, poisonous sin.

Notes: Rose, strawberry, absinthe, incense, leather, patchouli, oud, amber and violet.

Perfumes he might like:

La Fille de Berlin - Serge Lutens - His favourite

Fate Man - Amouage

Back to Black - By Killian

Parfum Sacré - Caron

Noir Aphrodisiaque - By Killian - He layers this one with "La Fille de Berlin" when he goes out with you.

Portrait of a Lady - Frederic Malle

Harrison Gray

The Easygoing & Popular Lying Fox. The sweet-addicted book-lover. “I have the curse of the Lying Fox. You shouldn’t trust me so easily.” Shhh, you have a heart of gold. "With you, I can walk through the darkness forever... Because you are my sun.” Told you. He is just a silly playful fox who loves to tease you as much as he loves sweets and books. In his route he is always throwing minty caramels at us and eating sugar. So it feels safe to say that he smells like mint and sweets on top of a soft and woody base.

Notes: Heavy mint, bergamote, green apple, Tea leaves, lily of the valley, cardamom, light vanilla, cedarwood and white musk.

Perfumes he might like:

Eau de Minthé - Diptyque

Moscow mule - Juliette Has A Gun

Under the Lemon Trees - Maison Margiela

Herba Fresca - Guerlain

Wild Mint & Lavandin - Molton Brown - His favourite

White Jasmine & Mint - Jo Malone

Liam Evans

"Curiosity killed the cat. I wonder what'll end up killing me..." Our catboy depressed kitty. My precious boy. The Stage-Star. Someone who'll shower you in roses one moment and stab someone for you the next. That's love. He shines as bright as a star, charming those who see him without effort, he will do anything to win your praise, only yours. This sweet pookie smells like a field of flowers under the rain with a base of soft, sweet and warm vanilla.

Notes: Vanilla, pink pepper, violet leaves, cedarwood, jasmine, sandalwood, grey amber, musk and modern roses.

Perfumes he might like:

Daim Blond - Sarge Lutens

Grand Soir - Maison Francis Kurkdjian

Rose 31 - Le Labo

Spiritueuse Double Vanille - Guerlain - His favourite

Vanilla Cake - Montale

Velvet Vanilla - Mancera - He layers this one with "Spiritueuse Double Vanille" whenever he is going to see you.

Victor

The Man shrouded in mystery. The eccentric Crown's mom leader. Oh Rapunzel, let down your hair. I definitely need his hair routine, and probably you too. I don't know what else to say about him, I love this man more than I love myself. "Now, give into the darkness of your wicked heart" Whatever you want my dear. I feel like he is the "touch her and you die" type of boyfriend. A real provider. He even BAKES. And likes MAGIC TRICKS. AND HE DANCES!!!! Tell me something he can't do, I'll wait, and if you find something, I'll fight you. Anyways, back to the perfumes. He gives me the vibe of a gentleman with a luxurious and complex scent. I can feel warm, woody and sweet with some spice on top of a soft base.

Notes: Bergamot, black pepper, cinnamon, sandalwood, rose, oud, vanilla and amber.

Perfumes he might like:

Bois d'Armenie - Guerlain

Royal Oud - Creed

Interlude Man - Amouage - His favourite

Gentleman - Givenchy

Herod - Parfums de Marly

Orphéon - Diptyque

Roger Barel

He is called "The Egotistical Former Doctor" but it seems like those arms are in the middle, because I can't see the "egoistical" part. "He is selfish and has no regard for his own interests", okay, maybe he is a bit egoistical but... "The Queen's Cursed Forces, huh? No better research subjects than that.” We get it boy, you really want to study them so bad, and I volunteer as a tribute. As said, he is a doctor, so he is surrounded by chemicals, medicines and medicinal herbs, so he definitely like that, something aromatic and some spices. Since one of his hobbies is sampling imported beer, I thin we can all agree that he may smell also like alcohol and liqueur. He is manly, and so, he smells manly.

Notes: Black pepper, eucalyptus, thyme, liqueur, cedarwood, lavender, incense, leather and sandalwood.

Perfumes he might like:

Tam Dao - Diptyque

Terre d'Hermès - Hermès

Habit Rouge - Guerlain

The Cobra and The Canary - Imaginary Authors

Green Irish Tweed - Creed

Epic Man - Amouage - His favourite

Forest Lungs - The Nue Co.

Alfons Sylvatica

Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? The Hedonistic Thrill Seeker. Don't let all his eloquent smooth-talking fool you, he has an skilled and scheming tongue. "Greetings, Miss Robin. Would you care to indulge in a dream with me today?" As elusive as a phantom, he prioritises ephemeral pleasures above everything else. Perpetually dishonest, he'll play you for a fool… and with you like a toy… Although he has already seduced me, and probably all the robins reading this, I still feel like there's something wrong with this man. We really know nothing about him, he is presented as seductive and mysterious, but I can feel that's just the surface of the lake, in the depths there seems to be a profound loneliness and sadness. What makes me feel like this is his last name. "Sylvatica" comes from the cientific name for the "forget-me-not" flowers (Myosotis sylvatica). This blue little flowers represents true love. A symbol of fidelity and being truthful to someone you love. So yes, he might be a player, but with lots of issues in his soul, and, beacuse of that, I think he may smell seductive but drained down, with lots of sadness. Like a field of forget-me-not flowera drenched in rain water.

Notes: Forget-me-not, violets, herbs, aquatic and ozonic notes, vetiver, incense, leather, amber, vanilla and cedarwood.

Perfumes he might like:

Un Jardin Sur Le Nil - Hermès

Gypsy Water - Byredo

Lys 41 - Le Labo

Avignon - Comme des Garçons

Aoud Leather - Montale

The Language Of Glaciers - Imaginary Authors - His favourite

And here it ends pt.1!!! Stay tuned for pt.2 my loves. See you all little robins.

#cybird ikemen #ikemen series #cybird #ikemen villains #villains #ikevil #william rex #harrison gray #liam evans #victor #roger barel #alfons sylvatica #little robin

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jackhues · 1 year ago

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our house - arber xhekaj

notes: i hope you guys like this, third fic for 'it's the most wonderful time of the year', a bit of domesticy fluff for this one :))

likes are good, reblogs are better <3

part of naqia's end of the year celly!

gif not mine

"we got the gingerbread houses!" arber announced, ushering your daughter inside before closing the door.

hana, your daughter, came stumbling in the kitchen, holding a gingerbread box that was much too big for her. your husband followed close behind, just in case she dropped it.

"is the icing ready already?" she asked, putting the gingerbread house box on the edge of the counter. arber laughed, picking her up a bit to help her place it more securely.

"it's ready!" arian, your son, said proudly to his little sister. "mommy and i made so many colours, look daddy!"

"oh wow," arber grinned at the different colours you and arian had been mixing up while he went shopping with hana. he ruffled arian's hair, "good job. this is gonna be the best gingerbread house ever!"

"i wanna see too!" hana raised her hands for arber to lift her. "show me, please."

arber lifted her up, showing her the reds, and blues, and pinks, and yellows you and arian had mixed up.

"woww," she muttered. "can i eat it?"

"no, hana," arian shook his head, sounding like a tired old man. "we need to decorate the house first."

"i can eat it after?"

"you can eat it after," he agreed.

you and arber shared a grin at their interaction. you had two kids and they were basically polar opposites. arian was the calmest child you'd ever met, absolutely content with whatever you gave him. meanwhile hana needed to cause chaos wherever she stepped.

"okay, okay, now that we have everything, we can start building," you decided.

you all grabbed the icing, candies, and gingerbread house, making your way to the living room. you'd set up an old tarp on the carpet just in case anything spilled (which was basically a certain with hana involved).

"for you, my love," arber held out the gingerbread box. "you may do the honours."

you laughed, ripping open the box as arber and your kids cheered. you broke apart the pieces, handing everyone a piece of the wall. putting the roof on the side, you turned to your piece of the gingerbread house.

hana immediately grabbed the yellow frosting and began spreading it all over the wall she had gotten.

"hana, it's going to make it heavy. the wall won't -- never mind," arian decided. "do whatever you want."

"okay," hana shrugged, continuing to spread the icing all over her gingerbread piece.

across from her, arian pipes a small amount of blue around the edges, drawing designs on it. across from you, arber drew a heart on his wall, with both of your initials inside, and hana and arian's right outside.

"you're such a dweeb," you rolled your eyes, laughing at his grin.

the four of you watched the home alone movies as you decorated your gingerbread pieces, laughing at each other's pieces and trying to hide your pieces from the others.

"i'm done," arian smiled, holding out his piece.

the rest of you brought your own pieces out, getting ready to build the actual house.

"oh no, it's falling!" hana cried, pointing at her piece.

she's smothered so much icing on it that it wouldn't stay up, no matter how much arber tried to get it stay.

"hold up, let me do it," you said, playing around with the icing. you allowed her piece to lean on the other walls. after a few minutes, you stepped back, grinning. "ta-da!"

"yay!" hana clapped.

arian laughed at her reaction, happy to see the gingerbread house standing.

"i don't know how you do it," arber muttered to himself, staring at you in awe.

"do what?" you asked.

"make me fall in love with you a little more," he answered simply.

you blushed, shoving him away as he laughed and pulled you close. you gave in, leaning against his chest as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"okay, stop being mushy guys," hana turned back to the gingerbread house. "it's time to make the roof."

you and arber exchanged a look, bursting into laughter.

"of course, princess," arber grinned at her. "let's make the roof of our house together."

#naqia's end of the year celly!#naqia writes!#arber xhekaj #arber xhekaj imagine #arber xhekaj x reader #arber xhekaj blurb #arber xhekaj imagines #arber xhekaj blurbs #arber xhekaj fluff #arber xhekaj one shot #montreal canadiens #montral canadiens x reader #nhl one shot #nhl fic #hockey one shot #hockey fic #hockey

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justagamerandaweeb · 7 months ago

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Curiosity - Modern AU! Aizetsu x Male! Reader

Starting off my LGBT journey, we're gonna start with my favorite clone out of the four. I don't know why, but I feel like Aizetsu would be bi-curious, especially if it's a male friend he likes.

But, that's just me.

Art by Arkdraws13 (Twitter and Insta), Blue divider by @peachesboard, and blue MDNI banner by @roseschoices.

The following smut includes: anal fingering, anal penetration, fellatio, Aizetsu receiving (but also giving), just same-sex things. Doggystyle and Cowboy position. (And nipple pinching, but only on one paragraph.)

The sound of music playing in Aizetsu's ears as his eyes were closed, sitting on a bench, next to a lake. Him wearing headphones while feeling the cool breeze hit him made him feel in a state of serenity. It was rare for him to have this sort of quiet, considering he lived with his brothers.

He leaned his head back and let out a brief exhale through his mouth and opened his eyes to look at the beautiful red, orange, and pink sky. "It looks beautiful, doesn't it?" He heard the sound of another man talking. He turns his head to the left to see (Y/N), sitting with his leg crossed, and his arm perched to keep his head up.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?"

"I was just taking a stroll, trying to get some air after being in my apartment for so long, and then I see you sitting here. So, how you doing?" (Y/N) asked him. Aizetsu took his headphones off as he straightened his neck, and sat up properly as he responded, "Just... Dawdling."

(Y/N) hums as he lets out a heavy sigh and looks at the lake. "Anything in particular you want to talk about?" His legs started to bounce as he asked that question to him, and he responded, "No, not really. I mean, other than getting some space from my brothers, of course."

(Y/N) hums in a way of acknowledgment as he stops bouncing his leg and says, "Do you want to do anything in the meantime?" Aizetsu looked at him, as he asked him, "What do you mean?" "I mean, you want to go out and eat? Have a drink? Anything."

Aizetsu lets out a small hum as if he were thinking about what he should do. "I mean, I can leave you alone, if you want. I would do anything you aren't comfortable with." (Y/N) commented, assuring Aizetsu that he still has a choice to come with him or not.

"No, I do. But, where would we go out? Are there any spots you might recommend?" Aizetsu questioned him as he responded, "Well, I know this place where we can play video games, and eat and drink. I went there for one of my friend's birthday, and honestly, it was fun. You wanna go there? See if you enjoy it too?"

"Hm... I guess." He said as he stood up and stretched. He made a sharp exhale out through his nose as he said, "Where is this place?" "Follow me, and I'll show you." (Y/N) said as he walked up the mini hill. Aizetsu followed him as they both started to along the trail that led them out of the park. They both were walking on the sidewalk, cars passing by them and the displays of merchandise on the electronic walls.

Few minutes go by, and (Y/N) makes a sudden stop at a specific building, that has graphics of video games and anime characters on its vertical windows. "Here we are, this is the place." They both walked up to the door that had the name of the building, "Battle & Brew?"

"Yeah, cool name for an arcade restaurant, in my opinion. C'mon let's have some fun." (Y/N) said as he opened the door, and walked in. Aizetsu was met with the overwhelming amount of tech that was packed into this building. Multiple PCs, multiple monitors, TVs, consoles, controllers propped for display, and people.

"Hi, can we get 3 hours to the VIP section? We're just gonna play a few games, eat and drink." (Y/N) asked the server as they responded, "Absolutely. Follow me." They started to walk to the area that had a curtain covering up the room, and they slid it away to reveal a room that had two big screen TVs, two rectangular small tables, a small TV that had a VR headset propped on the stool, and three consoles on each set of the two TV tables.

"This is where you two will be playing. And this," they grab some sort of circular device, "is what you use to call us if you need anything. Maybe a new game, a refill, anything. Got that?" And they both nodded. "Good. And speaking of food, should I give you two your menus?"

"Uh, sure. We can wait." (Y/N) said as he sat down on the right couch. "Okay, be right back." The server said as they walked out of the room. Aizetsu sits next to (Y/N), as Aizetsu looks down under the table to see three consoles set up. "This place looks really expensive in terms of tech."

"I said the same thing when I got here for the first time with my friend. But, as we wait for our menus, what do you want to play first? You see the games they have on the walls, so we have a lot of options." (Y/N) said as he looked at the display of multiple game cases on the wall.

Aizetsu hums as he looks at the rows of games on the wall, trying to see what game he would have fun with the most. Moments later, the server came back with two menus in one of their hands. They gave it to the two and they looked at it. It shows different foods and drinks with some clear comic, video game, and anime references.

"So, do any of you have any choices?"

(Y/N) looks at Aizetsu as he says, do you want to go first, or..." he points the menu at (Y/N), indicating that he should go first. "Okay, I'll go first. For a drink, can I get the Princess Peach? And for my appetizer, I'll take..." (Y/N)'s eyes scrolled down to the appetizers section when one of the descriptions caught his eye.

Stuffed Boule with garlic herb cheese and garlic butter topping. Served with marinara. "...Garlic Bread DA-BOMB." The server wrote the drink and the appetizer of choice as they said, "Okay, and for your entree?"

"Hm..." (Y/N)'s eyes pan down to the entrees section, and another description caught his eye. Mac and cheese, fried chicken tossed in hot/BBQ sauce topped with ranch dressing. Just from the description alone was enough to make (Y/N)'s stomach growl. "I'll take The Dark Phoenix Mac with hot sauce, please." He said, as he put the menu down on the rectangular table.

"Okay, thank you. And what will you have, sir?" The server asked Aizetsu, pointing their pen at him. "I'll take a Rainbow Road for my drink. For my appetizer, I'll just take Peter Parker's Pickles. And my entree is Dragon's Nest." And he puts down the menu.

"Okay, thank you. As you guys wait for your drinks and meals to be done, what do you guys wanna play? I'll get someone else to pick up the controllers for you." (Y/N) and Aizetsu look at each other as (Y/N) asked him, "Do you have a poison of choice?" Aizetsu looked down under the TV table, and locked his eyes with Switch that was connected to the TV. "Can we play Nintendo?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'll ask someone to bring the controllers, and I'll tell them to cook your food. I'll be back with your drinks, so enjoy yourselves for the time being." And they left again. Aizetsu huffs as he slouches on the leather black couch, and taps his foot on the slightly sticky floor. "So, how is this experience treating you so far?" (Y/N) questioned Aizetsu, with a smirk on his face.

"It's... An interesting place, so to speak. Never seen menus where they would have media culture references. But, it's fun to see, to say the least." Aizetsu answered, sounding like a restaurant nerd. (Y/N) chuckled a little as he mouthed out, "As much as it is nice of you to say that, that isn't what I asked. Are you having fun, or not?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"Good." They both sat there for a few seconds before Aizetsu spoke up and uttered, "So, how have you been doing for this past month?"

"In what regard?" (Y/N) retorted. "I mean... in general. Wanna see how you're doing since you're always so busy. Is there anything you want to talk about in particular?" Aizetsu whispered out that last part, almost as if he wanted to talk about that thing.

"Are you trying to make me open up about myself? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you already know." (Y/N) speculated at Aizetsu. Because it wasn't a secret to him. Well, at least the people he knew and trusted around him.

"I know, but... what's it like?" He said, sounding like a curious child who knows something that they aren't supposed to. (Y/N)'s eyebrow raised in concern as he turned his head to him and made eye contact with him as he said, "What do you mean?"

A blush started to form on his face as he put his hand on the back of his head and avoided eye contact with him as he pleaded, "I-I mean... how does it work? Does it feel the same, or..." Aizetsu's leg started to bounce as he was trying to think of something to say.

"Or?"

"...is there something else to it...?" He mutters out as his eyes traces back to (Y/N)'s. A smirk crept up to (Y/N)'s lips as he lets out a nose laugh and says, "There's nothing to it, really. It feels how it feels, I'm pretty sure you can't go more deeper than that. I just like men mainly because they look more attractive than women, simple as that." He confided that last part, as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Huh." Aizetsu crooned, taking into consideration from (Y/N)'s answer. "But, to answer your question about how I've been doing for this past month, I'm doing good."

Moments later, a server that had two Nintendo Pro controllers, one was blue and black, and the other was (P/C) and (S/C). "Here you two go. Lemme turn on the TV." The server grabbed the remote that was propped on the wall as they turned on the TV, and turned on the Switch. "Do you guys need anything else, or have I done my part?"

"We don't need anything else, thank you." (Y/N) commented as the server responded, "Well alright then. You two have a fun time now!" And walks out the room. Aizetsu grabbed the blue and black controller, while (Y/N) grabbed the (P/C) and (S/C) one. "So, what game do you want to play first?" (Y/N) said scrolling through the catalog of games the Switch had to offer.

"Um... Mario Kart?"

"I was just about to suggest that." He said as he booted up the game. He lifted his arm up a bit, and slightly extended his fist towards him as he said, "Let's have some fun, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Minutes go by as they played track after track on Mario Kart, they chose to do 16 races, and they were on their 11th. Their drinks and appetizers were already on the table, both of their plates empty, and their cups half-drunk as they were having a fun time together playing and eating.

"Hello, Dark Pheniox Mac and Dragons Nest?" The server announced with a big black platter in their hands that had one plate of chicken and waffles, and a big bowl of chicken with macaroni and cheese.

The server puts both of the dishes down and says, "Enjoy your meals." (Y/N) and Aizetsu nods as (Y/N) says, "We will, thank you!" And paused the game. "Man, I'm starving. As good as that appetizer was, I don't think it was enough to fill my stomach..." he grabbed the fork and continued, "But this? Oh, I already know I'm gonna be full throughout the day." He said as he licked his lips.

He picked up the bowl and was about to chow down, until he looked at the right of his peripherals to see Aizetsu's hands together and his eyes closed. Oh right. I almost forgot. He puts the bowl and the fork down as he closes his eyes and puts his hands together.

They both stay like that together for a couple of seconds, giving out mental prayers to their gods, thanking them for letting them have these delicacies that were placed right in front of them. "Thank you for the meal," Aizetsu utters out as he grabs the chicken, dipping it into the chili maple syrup, and takes a bite.

"Thank you for the meal." (Y/N) repeated as he grabbed the fork and the bowl, stabbed bits of the chicken and the macaroni, and shoved it into his mouth. Both of them chewed the food, and had different results. Aizetsu's eyes widened from the whiplash of how good the chicken mixed with the syrup was. While (Y/N) elicits a groan of satisfaction when he tastes the food. He's had it before when he was here during his friend's birthday, but the taste of it still felt fresh and new. Damn, I love this.

They both continued to eat their food of choice, and they even shared a bite with each other's food, both of them having positive reactions to eating the other's food. They both finish their dishes, feeling completely full and satisfied as they slouch on the couch. "That hit the spot. Phew..." (Y/N) said before unleashing a huge belch from his mouth. "Damn, 'cuse me."

Shortly after (Y/N) excused himself, Aizetsu put his fist in front of his mouth, and softly burped, telling his critique about how good the food was. "Excuse me." (Y/N) chuckles as he grabs a napkin, and wipes his mouth and hands. Aizetsu followed suit as he did the same, and when he finished, picked up the controller. "You ready?" He asks as (Y/N) cracks his knuckles, fingers, and neck as he picks up the controller and says, "Let's go."

Four races later, they were on their last race. The track they were on was ExciteBike Arena. This was gonna be the definitive answer of who is the better racer. Both of them were leaning forward, locked in as they were drifting and using their items through every turn of the big oval. Aizetsu was in 2nd, (Y/N) was in 3rd on the second lap.

Both of them had shells behind their karts for protection, both of them neck and neck against each other on the track. Both of their eyes were glued onto the screen as they made it to the final lap. Other than the TV, no sound has ever come out of their mouths, as if they weren't even breathing.

Then, all of a sudden, lightning struck and shrunk both of them, making them both lose their items and leaving them vulnerable. They both turned back into their normal state as it was now the final lap. They both broke their item boxes as (Y/N) got a green shell, amd Aizetsu received the shorter end of the straw and got coins.

(Y/N) thought it would be a great idea to throw it so he could hit Aizetsu, but he weaved at the last second and so it ricocheted around the track and somehow, by the laws of physics, it hit him. (Y/N) leaned more forward, looking like he was folding like a lawn chair, potentially ruining his spine.

(Y/N) was now stuck in 5th, and it would only take a miracle for him to get back to where he was. Fortunately, the Mario Kart gods must've heard his pleas as he was given three red shells, and a mushroom. He used two of the shells, hitting Yoshi, and Donkey Kong, leaving the last shell for Aizetsu.

Aizetsu had a shell behind his kart, so (Y/N) threw the shell, and wasted no time using the mushroom to get a boost. Aizetsu tried to throw the boomerang, but since those things can be sometimes unreliable, it was to no avail. (Y/N) mimicked the sound to where you finish the race as he leaned back on the couch and pumped his hand. "Yes... YES!" He then laughs as he covers his face and lets out a big sigh of satisfaction.

He looks to his right to see Aizetsu slouching on the couch in defeat. Sure, he got second place, but if only he had a better item then a boomerang. (Y/N) softly backhanded his arm as he says, "Hey, good game man." He said as he puts down the controller and checks his phone to see the time. "We got about an hour and 30 minutes. You wanna switch consoles, or do you want a rematch?"

Aizetsu grabbed the other controller, went to the home page, and booted up Smash Bros. "Oh, so that's what were doin'? Alright," he cracked his fingers and neck again as he grabbed his controller and stood up properly. "Let's play."

The last match was between Donkey Kong, and Ganondorf. The map they were on was Nintendogs as Both of them had one stock left. Aizetsu was at 25% as Donkey Kong while (Y/N) was at 50% as Ganondorf. The sounds of the controller sticks being pushed around as well as the loud clicking of the buttons and triggers filled the sound of the room.

Both of them started to do the same they did when they played Mario Kart, and didn't make a single sound. They would both get their few licks, but all there was was backing up and blocking. Both of them were at 75% now. Any one of them would lose off of one combo. (Y/N) could hear the sound of his heartbeat in his ears while Aizetsu's body started to feel like it had a mind of its own. His fingers would move on instinct and without a second thought as well.

Aizetsu started to charge his neutral b attack as he then started to pressure (Y/N) as he was blocking. As he finished pressuring him, he thought it would be a good idea to do a side tilt a on him, but then Aizetsu moved back and hit him with a side b. (Y/N) was spamming the buttons to escape being stuck to the ground, but it was to no avail as Aizetsu hits him with his neutral b, resulting him getting flown across the map, and him losing a stock.

"Aw, fuck!" (Y/N) exclaimed out, as if he was angry, but the smile on his face would rather say otherwise. He heard the sound of Aizetsu softly chuckling, and he turns his head as he says, "Oh, you think that's funny? You baiting me and getting a stock off me is funny to you?"

Aizetsu softly nods and (Y/N)'s smile started to get bigger as he says, "Oh yeah? Well, let's see who's laughing now when I do this!" He then pounced on him as he then wraps his arm around his neck, balled his left hand up, and started to give him a noogie. Aizetsu started to laugh louder as (Y/N) commented, "Yeah, it's funny now, huh? You still think it's funny?" Aizetsu bends his head down, and slipped out of (Y/N)'s grasp, he couldn't get enough breathing room as (Y/N) mounted on top of him.

Their laughing slowly fade away, and their smiles started to softly drop as their faces started to become red. Their hearts began to sound more audible in their ears, and it felt like their blood was coursing through their veins at a rapid rate, making their body feel warmer as this interaction unfolds.

"W-What— What are you doing?" Aizetsu stuttered out as (Y/N)'s arms were pinned next to both sides of his head. "I-I... Don't know." (Y/N) softly responded, feeling completely frozen as it felt like he couldn't move. (Y/N) shook his head as he says, "I-I'm sorry... I'll get of you now."(Y/N) was about to sit up and sit back down on the couch, when suddenly, as if Aizetsu's body had a mind of its own, he wrapped his arms around (Y/N)'s neck, pulled him down, and locked lips with him.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in shock, genuinely surprised that Aizetsu would kiss him after this stunt he pulled. His eyes slowly began to close, as he felt his muscles relax as Aizetsu was kissing him. He cupped Aizetsu's cheek, as they stayed there, locking each others lips for a couple of seconds.

After a moment, (Y/N) pulled back to breathe, and glanced at Aizetsu. His entire face was red, as steam was puffing out of his mouth, looking slightly embarrassed, but proud of what he did. "Holy shit..." (Y/N) softly spoke out as he leaned back up and scooted away from him. "Yeah..." Aizetsu agreed, sitting up. They both stayed silent for a few seconds as (Y/N) cleared his throat and stated, "I... Think our time is up."

Aizetsu takes his phone out and sees that it was 9 PM. He softly nods as he replies, "Y-Yeah... I think it is." (Y/N) stood up off the couch and extended his hand towards him so he could get picked up. Aizetsu politely declines his help, and he puts his hands in his pockets. The both walk out of the VIP room and met with the server in the front.

"I take it you two had a fun time?" The server asks them, not having a clue about what really went down in there. "Mhm." (Y/N) hummed in agreement as he took out his wallet and payed the amount that was required. The server takes the yen and says, "Thank you, have a nice night you two!" They both looked back and waved goodbye before leaving and walking down the sidewalk.

Both of them walking next to each other, not saying a word to each other, but their constant glancing at each other was enough for them to speak. Why did I/he do that?

I know he didn't mean to pin me down, but my body wanted him. Wait, no! That isn't what I thought! I just wanted to know how it felt to kiss a man! Agh, That sounds even worse!

Just when I was about to get off of him, he pulled me... like it was on impulse. Was it in the moment, or did he mean to do that? They glanced at each other and quickly avoided eye contact again as they thought, The strangest part about what happened in there, is that... I liked it. His lips... felt soft.

And... I want more.

"(Y/N)/Aizetsu, can—" they both stopped walking and looked at each other, surpised at the fact that they almost spoke in unison. "You go ahead." (Y/N) proposed him. Aizetsu mumbles out something indistinct, which (Y/N) did not hear clearly. "What?" Aizetsu clears his throat as he repeats what he said, "Can we... go to your place...?" He said, holding his right arm, showing off signs of slight embarrassment and shyness.

(Y/N) makes a few steps towards him, getting into his personal space, and kisses him on the cheek as he puts his arm around his shoulder. With no other words to exchange, they continued to walk on the sidewalk, now with faint blushes on their faces.

(Y/N) opens the door to the main entrance of the apartment complex. They both walked in, and walking around the main hall of the complex. (Y/N) pressed the button to call the elevator, and waited. (Y/N) softly whispers in Aizetsu's ear, giving him chills as he felt his warm breath as he says, "We don't have to do this, you know that right? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable and make you hate me."

Aizetsu softly shook his head as he retorted, "No. I want this. Just so I know what it's like." side-eyeing him. (Y/N) did nothing but him at that response as the sound of the elevator dinging made them slightly flinch. The elevator opens and they both went inside as (Y/N) pressed the number 4 and the elevator closes.

They both stood there, occasionally clearing their throats as they watch the floor number go up. They looked at each other as (Y/N) softly smirked at him, and Aizetsu groans as he looks down at the floor. (Y/N) kisses his cheek again, which made him more flustered than he already was.

The elevator stops, and the door opens, and so they walked out of the elevator and started to walk the hall. The sound of their shoes softly echoing in the hall as they got closer and closer and closer to (Y/N)'s room. (Y/N) makes a sudden stop as he he grabbed his keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the door.

He grabs the doorknob, twists it, and pushes it open. He walks in and began to untie his shoes. Aizetsu follows suit as shortly after he did it, he puts his shoes next to the door. (Y/N) does the same as he then threw his jacket on the couch and started to walk to the room of his door. Aizetsu folded his jacket as he softly placed it on the arm rest of the couch and walked behind (Y/N).

(Y/N) looks back at Aizetsu, and back in front of the white wood of the door as he inhaled, and exhaled out of his nose before opening the door. There wasn't much to be seen, all there was was a TV, a console, wallpapers of different cultural media, and a king-sized bed to top it all off.

(Y/N) wasted no time whatsoever as he took his shirt off and then pulled his pants down. Aizetsu immediately blushed at this as he couldn't believe he could do something so casual from something like this. (Y/N) sat down on the corner of the bed as he looked at Aizetsu and said, "Come on."

Aizetsu slightly puckered his lips, before letting out a brief exhale and started to undress himself. He slowly took off his shirt, which revealed his slightly visible abs, and pecs. His arms also had definition, but not a lot to the point where his muscles would be bulging out of his skin. He then started to pull his pants down, revealing his surprisingly well-defined legs, and thighs, and now he was in nothing but his boxers.

He slowly started to walk to the bed, holding his arm and avoiding eye contact with him as he turned his body to the side, and sat down on the bed next to him. Aizetsu continued to avoid eye contact with him, looking at his feet as his leg began to bounce. (Y/N) notices and announces, "Hey." making Aizetsu flinch.

"We can stop here, you know that, right? I'm not gonna make you feel uncomfortable if you—" Aizetsu shuts him up by putting his lips on his. Aizetsu wrapped his arms around (Y/N) as they both collapsed on the bed, continuously kissing.

Their chapped lips moisturizing each other as their teeth were scraping against each other, their bodies inches away from connecting, their body on fire, their hearts beating at a rapid pace. (Y/N) tilts his head to the side to get a better position for them to kiss to lessen their chances of their teeth rubbing against each other, involving the case of their tongues going inside their mouths.

Aizetsu initially flinched at the feeling of (Y/N)'s tongue touching his, but his nerves were calmed as he felt (Y/N)'s hand touch his cheek. His face became less scrunched up, and it felt like his body was melting. This level of intimacy, is something he has never felt before in his life. Maybe because he was an outcast and never talked to people. Maybe it's because he never knew what love felt like. Maybe it was because he was too scared to talk to girls.

Or maybe, he wanted to see if there was more than a brotherly bond between him and (Y/N).

They both stopped kissing, breathing to regain oxygen after their long kissing session. Their eyes were half-lidded, their lips moist, their face red. Aizetsu glanced at (Y/N) for a second before he lowered his face down and laid his head on his chest. The first thing he sees is (Y/N)'s bulge that is coming out of his boxers, which makes his eyes slightly widen and elicit, "W-Whoa..."

He was erect as well, but he looked a little bigger. "Whoa what?" He heard (Y/N) say. He then sat back up and opened his mouth, but struggled to find the words. He then looked down at his boxers, which made (Y/N) look down as well. His cloth-covered shaft was twitching from the inside, making the pair of boxers stretch with every pulse that it did. His eyes panned over to Aizetsu's pair to see the same result, pointing it out. "Looks like you're not the only one."

Aizetsu groans as he feels his hands grab the rim of his boxers, making his breath hitch. "Relax, I won't do it unless you tell me to. Do you want me to make you feel good as we do this?" (Y/N) asks him with a sense of concern in his voice that sounded genuine. Aizetsu's expression of fear turned into an expression of shyness as he softly whispered, "...Go ahead."

(Y/N) smirks as he pulls them down, and watches his shaft slowly rise up off of his abdomen. (Y/N)'s rod began to twitch even harder, seeing Aizetsu's in full display. While he wasn't that thick, he made up for it in terms of length. He fully took off the boxers and threw them on the floor as he quickly took his pair off and revealed his thick pipe.

Fuck he's big... Aizetsu thought before a blush formed on his face as he thought, Did I really just say that? He was quickly brought back as he felt his hand wrap around him and started to slowly stroke him, making him elicit a hitch. A groan then escapes his lips as he lays his head down on the bed and lets (Y/N) touch him down there.

His entire body felt sensitive, specifically his shaft. It felt so tingly that it was enough to make his body have chills just from him moving his hand. He let out a shaky exhale as he felt his precum leaking out of his urethra, soaking his tip, and (Y/N)'s palm. Rather than his hand moving hand up and down sounding dry, it was replaced with this sticky, wet sensation, like the sound of pasta was being mixed with cheese of some sort.

"You're leaking a lot... when was the last time you... y'know...?" (Y/N) questions him, surprised that he had this much stored in him. "T-Two times..." he responded, trying to concentrate to not finish so fast. "Two times? A week?"

"A month..."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened at his answer as he reiterated to him, "You only touch yourself two times a month?" And he nods. "I don't do it u-unless I need to." He said, moaning out that last part. (Y/N) looks down at his shaft, and lets go of it as he watches it twitch, begging for it to be touched more. He had a better idea than touching it. He got down on his knees on the floor, and pulled Aizetsu to the edge of the bed as he put his hands on his thighs, opened his mouth, and wrapped his lips around him.

Aizetsu's body jolted so aggressively, that it caused him to sit up, and put his hands on (Y/N)'s head. "W-What are you—" he whimpers as he feels him slowly moving his head back and forth. The muscles on his arms tensed up, as he did not know what to do to properly respond to this new sensation. He didn't want to hurt his throat, but he didn't want to tease him any longer, so he decided to take deep breaths.

"O-Oh... F-Fu..." His toes softly curled and his back arched as he felt him slurping his spit, and to extension, his skin as he continued to bob his head. (Y/N) moaned as he was sucking him, sending vibrations around him, which made his hips coil. (Y/N) breathed through his nose as he closed his eyes, and took Aizetsu's rod deeper into his mouth. He slightly gagged, but took a breath before starting to move his head again.

Aizetsu was struggling to keep his body up, so he had no choice but to lay down on his back, and moan as he felt (Y/N)'s warm, wet mouth. More pre was leaking out of his tip, which made (Y/N) groan out of slight satisfaction. He softly slurped him again, and started to move his head at a more moderate pace. It was enough to make Aizetsu produce louder whimpers, and for him to tightly grip the cover of the bed.

This feels... so good... Aizetsu thought as he felt occasional twitches. His breathing started to become heavy, and he would struggle to conceal a few moans as he stated, "(Y/N)... I-I'm gonna..." he couldn't finish as he heard the sound of a pop coming out of (Y/N)'s lips as he takes Aizetsu's shaft out of his mouth. (Y/N) looks at it to see that it was uncontrollably twitching, coming to terms with how close he actually was to cumming. But (Y/N) had a better idea, one that was more...

Intimate.

He wiped the spit off of his lips and chin and stood up as he asked Aizetsu, "How was that?" Aizetsu was struggling to sit up, his body shaking as he mustered up all that he could as he sat up high enough to make eye-to-eye contact with him as he said, "It felt... really good. I never thought it would..." he sighs as he couldn't think of another way of saying that it felt good. (Y/N) does a nose laugh as he opens the cabinet from his TV table, and takes out some sort of bottle.

"What is that?" Aizetsu questions, curious about why would he have a bottle for something like...

The realization hit him like a shotgun with Dragon's Breath shells. He was gonna use that to... Aizetsu gulped in a sense of skepticism as he saw what (Y/N) was down there. He was thick, thicker than he was. He wasn't sure if he would fit inside him. "Something that might make you feel more... comfortable, to say the least."

He pops the cap open and says to him, "Turn around." Aizetsu swallows his spit as he turns around to show his behind to him. Due to him having well-defined thighs, he had a really nice pair of glutes with that too. (Y/N)'s pipe twitched as he got on the bed and poured an acceptable amount of lube on his index and middle fingers.

He then takes his other hand, and spreads his cheeks open, revealing his pink rosy hole. (Y/N) then licked his lips as he could imagine how overstimulated he would be if he were to tease and lick his hole, and listen to him struggle to keep his composure. But the lube was already on his fingers, so it was a missed opportunity. He softly shook his head as he warned Aizetsu, "Get ready." And slowly inserted his fingers inside him.

Aizetsu made a huge gasp as he faceplanted and tightly balled his fists. He makes an audible shudder as he feels (Y/N)'s cold, wet, lubricated fingers go inside him. His hole immediately tightened, and (Y/N) quickly tried to reassure him by kissing his shoulder and saying, "Breathe. Trust me, it was weird for me the first time too. So, relax."

He turned his head to the side as he was frantically breathing from his fingers inside him, but he closed his eyes and started to concentrate on steadying his breath. His breath was shaky, but was going at a slower rate as (Y/N) felt him become loose. Aizetsu looks up at him as he says "K-Keep going, please." (Y/N) smirks as he nuzzles and kisses his cheek and resumes moving his fingers.

Aizetsu's back would occasionally arch as he felt him spinning his fingers, and hit his prostate. If he was this sensitive from his fingers alone, he could only imagine what it would feel like when he went inside him. His cock would occasionally twitch as well, seeing his prostate would receive stimulation from his fingers, it would only make it even harder to keep it together.

(Y/N) takes his fingers out of him, and starts to move his fingers in a circle around his entrance, making sure that wouldn't hurt as much. (Y/N) wraps his arms around Aizetsu's waist as he lifts him up and puts him on his knees. He then put his shaft in between his cheeks as he said, "You ready?" Aizetsu looks back at him, and nods as he says, "T-Try to be gentle..."

(Y/N) smirks as he says, "I will." He then grabs his shaft, lines up to his hole, and slowly pushes himself in. Aizetsu makes a faint whimper, making (Y/N) stop. But he persisted as he said, "N-No, no, no, keep going." (Y/N) took it as a sign as he then did what he asked. Slowly filling him inch by inch as his ass started to feel more full. "N-Ngh..."

"Don't worry... I-I'm almost..." he then felt his hips come into contact with Aizetsu's, he softly moaned as he realized that he was all the way in. "...there. You okay?" (Y/N) pondered at him, making sure that he wasn't uncomfortable. Aizetsu softly nods as he responds, "I'm okay... I'm okay. Y-You're really big... but what you put in me is making me feel loose." He softly laughed, but quickly moaned as he felt his rod throb inside him.

"Do you... wanna kiss? So it could distract you from the pain?" He asked him as Aizetsu looked back at him, and wrapped his arm around his neck as he pulled him towards him and they locked lips. They both moaned, as Aizetsu felt his shaft throb again, and (Y/N) felt his ass squeeze him. The kiss was short, but passionate, a line of saliva stretching between his tongue as they both got a chance to breathe. "Should I go now?"

Aizetsu's breathing started to get quieter as he then shook his head and said, "Yes. Please do it." And got on his hands and knees. Fuck, that's hot. (Y/N) thought as he put his hands on his hips, and started to thrust. Aizetsu gritted his eyes and teeth as he was now met with the feeling of another man having sexual intercourse with him.

And it felt good.

"O-Oh, fuck!" He shouted out as his thrusting was at a moderate pace by default. The way he goes in and out so smoothly made his toes curl, and his fists ball. "T-Tell me about it." (Y/N) responds at his sudden outburst. His hips were on autopilot as the sound of his skin coming into contact with Aizetsu's made it feel so good when he re-inserts his entire shaft inside him.

Aizetsu couldn't stop making noises, as his prostate was constantly getting pressed with every thrust he made. And the way (Y/N)'s thigh muscles would tense up every few thrusts, made him shudder in bliss as he wrapped his arms around his abdomen. "F-Fuck, this feels good... your ass feels so warm and tight... it's like you want me to cum." (Y/N) grunted as he finishes his sentence and continued to thrust his hips.

Aizetsu was struggling to maintain his composure, feeling his hole getting stretched as he felt (Y/N)'s shaft going in and out. His breath frantically trembling, his body feeling incredibly loose, as his leg muscles would randomly flex whenever his prostate was pressed. His mind slowly started to become static as his shaft was twitching in the process.

My head feels numb... and my body feels like it's shutting down because of his fat cock inside me... I don't think I'll last long if he keeps this up... He whimpered again as he felt twitching again, and not only that, but his stomach started to become tighter. Oh no... please don't tell me... I'm about to cum from this... I'll cum all over his sheets and it'll get sticky. But... the more sensitive I feel... the more relieving the release will be... Oh, I want to feel it now. How much I can let out until he does the same? F-Fuck, this feels like heaven...

His face relaxes into an expression of ecstasy. One eye was closed while the other was half-lidded and was rolling back into his head as he was sticking his tongue out, frantically moaning and whimpering as his body fell limp. He then felt (Y/N) pump himself faster inside him, but felt him slip out, making him yelp and groan as he now felt empty inside. He turns his head to the side, and looks back at (Y/N), his face covered in sweat, and his eyes screaming for more, as he asks, "W-Why did you stop? I was so close, that I was willing to finish on your sheets."

"As hot as that is..." he lowered his head down, and and pecked his cheeks as he continued, "I want some stimulation as well." "H-Huh?" (Y/N) puts his hand on Aizetsu's shoulder, and turns him on his back to reveal his tone, tan body, and his erratically twitching shaft. His breath was still shaking, but not by a huge amount as he said, "Wh- What are you doing?"

(Y/N) didn't respond to him as he grabbed the bottle of lube that he used to prepare Aizetsu, poured a small amount on his palm, grabbed Aizetsu's shaft, and moved his hands up and down on it. Aizetsu gasped as he softly gritted his teeth and eyes as he felt the smooth, watery, oily texture covering his shaft. (Y/N) stopped when his shaft was glistening and then climbed on top of him, his shaft in between both of his cheeks.

Aizetsu opens his eyes when he felt the bed shift a bit, and sees (Y/N) mounted on top of him. His face turned crimson as he then felt (Y/N) grab both of his hands, and place them on his waist. "Will you let me take your long cock in my ass? I wanna feel your cock fill me with your hot sticky cum until I can't even make words and become a babbling idiot. I want us both to be a shaking mess when we both finish, can you say the same?"

It felt like all the blood of his body went straight to his shaft as his hands that were on (Y/N)'s waist, transitioned down to (Y/N)'s ass as he spreads them and (Y/N) saw this as an opportunity as he bounces up, and when felt like little effort, his entire shaft quickly slid inside him, resulting both of them releasing a scream of euphoria.

(Y/N) collapses on top of Aizetsu, laying his head on his shoulder as they both wrap their arms around each other. "I-Its... s-so warm..." Aizetsu trembled out as his body, specifically his hips, felt so hot. His legs felt so tingly as they were spread out wide open, and his hips were coiled, maintaining enough willpower for him not to move his hips until he gets the word to do so. "Y-You okay?"

"Y-You're so long... I can feel you in my stomach..." he then started to grind his hips, which made Aizetsu grunt, and hitch his breath. "O-Ooh..." Aizetsu's hands went up to (Y/N)'s back and softly caressed it. Making (Y/N)'s body, minus his hole, become loose from the soft affection. "D-Don't do that..." he said, making a groan after he said that.

"I'm moving my hips because I want you to move. My body just wants you to fuck me until I tremble, so go ahead..." he turned his head and softly whispered in his ear in a husk, sensual tone, "...and ruin me."

It sounded like a clock was ticking in his head as it took him a moment for him to process what he said to him until something in his head snapped. Without a second thought, he slides his hands back to his waist, and started to move his hips, making (Y/N) elicit an excited whimper from his lips. "T-Thank you..."

The sound of the bed softly creaking as Aizetsu was moving his hips up and down as he was going in and out of (Y/N)'s tight, warm hole. Both of them releasing sounds of pleasure from their mouths as (Y/N) held onto Aizetsu tighter as his legs began to shake from each time he felt his prostate get hit by his long shaft. He felt light-headed as his face and ears were burning up.

It got to the point where (Y/N) started to move his hips as well, both of them moving in unison as it felt like Aizetsu's shaft was going deeper inside him. "F-Fuck... M-My body, it..." "It what?" Aizetsu grunted out as his moans reverberated from every slam that he felt from (Y/N). "...it feels like it's melting... n-not that I'm complaining..." (Y/N) softly laughed out as he then felt his prostate get pressed again and he folded.

Both of their drenched in sweat, as the sounds of wet skin colliding with each other filled the room as well as their moans of pleasure. (Y/N) began to whimper as he felt his shaft twitching and his stomach becoming tighter. "Aizetsu... L-Let me go..." Aizetsu's hips stop moving as he whispers in his ear, "Wha... What for?" He asks, tirelessly panting out in brief, shaky exhales. "I-I'm close... and I want to take control now."

"Okay..." He said as he lets him go, "But, what are you gonna—" he choked on his own words as the moment (Y/N) sat up, he immediately started to bounce and slam on his cock, making his mind turn into static as from the first few slams. "I-It's too much! My head f-feels like it's gonna explode!"

"W-Well, at least save it when you're about to cum..." (Y/N) moaned out as he placed his hands onto Aizetsu's chest to balance himself, and then started to pinch his nipples, making his back arch elicit a loud exclaim from him. "D-Don't... P-Pinch my... ugh..." his head fell back as he began to drool, and his moans sounded like he was being electrocuted. "I-I'm close..." (Y/N) announced as he wrapped his hand around his twitching rod, and stroked it as he was bouncing on Aizetsu's shaft.

His breath started to become heavier and his voice started to whimper. He kept pumping himself until he clenched his teeth and eyes closed as he felt himself ejaculating his spunk all over Aizetsu's abdomen. Despite finishing on Aizetsu, he continued to ride his shaft, not giving him any time to breathe and overloading his brain in the process. (Y/N) wasn't the only one with an overstimulated brain however, as Aizetsu was feening to finish. His body ached to feel the sweet relief of ejaculation as his muscles would relax from the aftermath of it.

Eventually, he would get what he prayed for the tight feeling in his stomach would come back. "G-Gonna... c-cum..." (Y/N) heard that from him, and spared him no mercy as he was moving his hips at a breakneck rate, leaving no breathing room for Aizetsu. Aizetsu's toes began to curl as he felt his shaft twitching inside (Y/N) and he announced for the second time, "G-Gonna cum!" He yelped out as (Y/N) leaned down and kissed his lips, as he bounced on him a few more times before Aizetsu gasped in his mouth as he felt his shaft spurting his emission inside him.

Both of them were frantically shaking as Aizetsu would convulse at random and felt (Y/N) squeezing him for more. A line of saliva stretched between their tongues as they disconnected the kiss and looked into each other's sex-drunken eyes. "I love you..." (Y/N) blurted out so suddenly, giving Aizetsu whiplash despite everything that just unfolded. Aizetsu softly laughs as he pats (Y/N)'s back and responds, "I... love you... t-too..."

(Y/N) tirelessly chuckles as he then yawns and says, "I'm tired." He then lays his head on Aizetsu's pec as he says, "We'll clean up when we wake up. Don't be afraid to wake me if you do first." Aizetsu hums as he touches (Y/N)'s hair and kisses it. "Okay..." He lays his head down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling before closing his eyes and saying, "Good night."

"Night..."

Although, it might take them some time for them to both get up after waking up, seeing that both of their legs felt incredibly numb after the intercourse, but, they'll figure it out.

05-23-24 -

Who would've thought? Anyway, although I still feel mentally exhausted, I have to do this out of the representation of the LGBT community. If you don't like the future I stuff I write in June, whether it goes by your religion (which is understandable) or you just don't like it, then please don't get upset. Cool? Cool.

Once I'm done with this at the end of June, then I'll take a break for myself.

Well, until next time,

✌️👋❤️.

44 notes · View notes

theharrowing · 2 years ago

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 17 - Making someone cry is a side-effect of being in love, I'm afraid

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader 🗡️ word count: 15.6k 🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️ chapter warnings: excessive drinking to numb/forget; so much fucking tension lolol; Hwasa (yes, that is the warning); new nickname for the bingo card (doll/dollface); Jeongguk is a flirty little shit & he got his eyebrow and lip pierced; mc learns to dance; use of "whore" (not derogatory but also kind of derogatory); smoking weed; mc confessing to "going all ways" (sorry straight readers, but i don't know how to not write a queer mc); mc has some complicated feelings and is doing her best; Jeongguk sometimes says the wrong thing but he is also doing his best; a healthy amount of crying; mention of dead moms; discussion of drug use & addiction; inexplicit discussion of sex (sorry lads, the smut is in the second half. it's worth the wait!!!)

🗡️ note: this chapter spans about three weeks, and there is no clear definition of time in between some scenes because mc is just kind of...dealing with the passage of time in her own way. so if it seems kind of disjointed, that is because it is meant to. also, as you may have seen, this chapter wound up being 30k words, so i have broken it in two parts and beefed up some of the scenes. i intend to post chapter 18 very, very soon. ok i love you, enjoy!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on june 2023 | read on ao3

You love Yoongi; there is no question about it.

Despite the hurt and confusion and pain, one thing that you are certain about, above all else, is that you love him.

And that is why you drink.

You drink to numb the myriad feelings. You drink to pass the time. You drink to forget. With a twinkling haze of intoxication, loud club beats, and bright lights, you drink, and drink, and drink.

Jimin caves instantly on his insistence to not teach you how to dance, and you realize that he is not only a brilliant dancer, but that he seems to really enjoy having someone around to join him. Behind Paradise is a ballet studio that he owns and rents out to instructors. When he has free time, he goes there to practice in front of the wall of mirrors while some sultry melody plays on an old-fashioned boombox in the corner.

Sometimes he throws on a hip-hop beat and does experimental moves with his body, contorting his limbs in square, jarring movements. Other times he drifts gracefully through the space to ballet pieces, muttering about Tchaikovski, Prokofiev, and other names of long-dead men that you struggle to pronounce. He is always magnificent—a true artist of his craft.

It takes no time at all to become a friendly face at Paradise. Within just a few nights, the cocktail waitresses, dancers, bartenders, and regulars all seem happy to greet you. Jimin has introduced you to everyone as dove, a nickname you quickly warm up to, which is what everyone there calls you.

Everyone, that is, except the new bar manager, Jeon Jeongguk.

At Paradise, under the flashy red, purple, and fuchsia lights, he calls you dollface, or doll for short. And at first, you fucking hate it; the words stick like bile to your tongue, heavy and tacky.

But the more he struts over with his black satin shirt unbuttoned just a little too low, hair slicked back, standing too close with his sticky-sweet whiskey breath and muttering shit like, "Looking gorgeous tonight, doll," you begin to warm up to it a little.

"What happened to buttercup?" you teased the first time he tried the new nickname, and he rolled his eyes, chewing on a piece of pink bubblegum wide-mouthed like an adorable a fucking cow as he said, "That was the old me, dollface; I'm not the same person I was yesterday."

It should come as no surprise that Jeongguk is really beginning to grow on you. Now that he works the bar and you see him a lot more often, his attitude is much softer. He still teases you, and at times, it makes your fucking blood boil, but there is a softness to his gaze, especially when his smile stretches wide, that makes your tummy do a backflip whenever his presence lingers.

All of this is extra dangerous in your current situation because the last thing you need while on sabbatical from both of the men who you continue to be in some unnamed but deeply romantic relationship with, is Jeon Jeongguk making you feel giddy. Try as you might to convince yourself that your feelings are purely a product of your loneliness, you know that is untrue; your feelings for Jeongguk had already begun to sprout, and, as time goes on, they continue to grow.

You are also finding yourself charmed by Jeongguk's second-in-command, a wisp of a woman with a wide smile and even wider hips named Ahn Hyejin—stage name Hwasa. Hyejin is tiny, barely standing taller than Jeongguk's shoulder with her sharp stiletto heels on. But she commands a room, voice booming and deep when she needs it to be, making all the dancers do exactly as she says.

Although you are surrounded by beauty in a place like Paradise, nobody steals your attention like Hyejin. Her beautiful diamond-shaped face is always made up with sharp black eyeliner and bright red lipstick. With wide, dark brown eyes that pierce into your soul, all it takes is one pointed smirk, and you are practically melting to her feet. She is always dressed a little revealing, showing enough skin that your eyes continuously trail back to her, just to get another glance.

You understand why men wage wars over love and lust. Hyejin is living proof of why so many sonnets and classic literature pieces are steeped in maniacal desperation over a woman some lonely man saw at a passing glance one time.

Hyejin was once a dancer, too, but she worked her way into a management position, and all the family men who come to the bar treat her like a sister, including Jeongguk, who only reluctantly calls her Hyejin-noona because she is two years older than him and likes to insist on the nickname.

She teases Jimin at times, too, being several months older than he is, and she uses it to her advantage when she wants him to do something for her. Jimin always grumbles, rolling his eyes while fulfilling her requests to make the stages and dress rooms better for the dancers, but he does everything out of love for her, and for his dancers, and he is grateful to have her on his management team, giving him advice on how to improve.

Hyejin is, in a word, amazing.

"I see the way you look at her," Jimin teases you tonight the moment she walks in sporting a red one-piece latex bodysuit with long sleeves and a deep v-collar, putting her thighs on glorious display. She wears matching red thigh-high boots, and her long, dark brown hair falls past her shoulders in waves.

Although you turn your head in the direction of Jimin's voice, your eyes stay on Hyejin as she struts over to the bar where Jeongguk is leaning forward on his elbows, getting his attention by draping herself over him and slamming her hip against his side.

"Hmm?" you finally ask when seeing the two of them standing side-by-side has your cheeks feeling entirely too warm, though it still takes a few stray seconds to pull your gaze to Jimin.

He has one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised, and he tongues the inside of his cheek, making you feel even more embarrassed. You are only human…what does he expect from you?

Tonight, Jimin wears silver shimmer on his eyes, with his brown hair styled off his forehead. His black satin button-up is undone to the center of his chest, and it is tucked into very tight, fitted black slacks, styled with black boots.

Everyone at Paradise is honestly so breathtaking; it is no wonder the place brings in so many high-rollers willing to spend top dollar. Although you are determined to keep Jimin as a friend only—not that he has ever shown signs of wanting more from you—you still find yourself stunned by his beauty.

"Gonna start calling you fawn instead of dove," Jimin teases, and you snicker at the wordplay, unwilling or able to deny you have been fawning over Hyejin since the moment you met her.

"I need a pet name bingo card," you tease, scrunching your nose to feign annoyance, despite finding it cute.

You smell a familiar perfume—bright floral and lightly fruity—dance softly in the air before you feel an arm sling around your waist, and you take a fortifying breath before turning to find Hyejin's beaming red smile inches from your face.

"Hey, dove," she greets in a deep, sultry tone that makes every little hair on your body stand up.

"Hey, Hyejin," you respond as your cheeks become hot.

"What are you up to tonight?" she asks, giving your waist a squeeze before sliding her arm away but staying just as close. "Practicing any more of your dance moves?"

You giggle and shake your head, feeling nervous about talking to her, of all people, about dancing. Once Jimin let it slip that he was showing you floor moves, both Hyejin and Jeongguk began hounding you for a demonstration.

"Ahhhh, probably not," you respond, sounding just as awkward as you feel. "I was planning on sitting here tonight and drinking all of Jimin's expensive whiskey for free."

Hyejin pouts and it sends your heart haywire, making you nearly cave. "I want to see your moves," she says in a sweet, baby voice that has you floundering for words—deciding that you would probably do anything to satisfy her.

"Maybe once I feel more confident," you respond demurely, nibbling on your bottom lip.

This seems to satisfy her, and she winks as she says, "Looking forward to it," before walking off to the dressing rooms to check on her dancers.

"Holy shit," you mutter under your breath once she is gone, catching your breath as if you had just run a marathon.

Jimin scoffs, teasing you as he says, "You are such a whore," and you laugh with him, rubbing your palms over your face. The effect that she has on you must be as obvious to her as it is to everyone else, and the prospect of that makes you nervous.

You have begun to dress a little nicer when you visit Paradise, starting from the first night Hyejn was introduced to you—wearing the more casual designer dresses that Jimin graciously brought from your room at the mansion, and letting him do your hair and makeup. She always gets a little too close when you have your cleavage showing, so you have been displaying it more and more lately.

"She's just so pretty," you complain as if it is an inconvenience, making Jimin laugh anymore.

"Careful, doll," Jeongguk's voice speaks way too close to your right ear, causing you to gasp and flinch, turning in the direction of the sound. "Keep flirting with her and it might make me jealous."

You scoff and lean away from Jeongguk, who only crowds closer, teasing you with a grin. Recently, Jeongguk has gotten his eyebrow and lip pierced, both on the right side—your left—and he keeps his hair cut short with a sharp, dark undercut. Today, his hair is styled in a swoop over his forehead, and his delicate, floral musky scent is dizzying the closer he gets.

Since working at Paradise, Jeongguk has begun to dress a little differently, and you find yourself unable to keep from sneaking glances at the slivers of skin he kept hidden behind buttons and t-shirts before. He continues to don his standard all-black attire, but he has also switched to satin, much like Jimin. His shirts are always unbuttoned to the center of his toned chest with no undershirt, and tonight he has several silver chains of various lengths and widths cascading from his neck.

"I wouldn't dream of it," you tease as you take a step away from Jeongguk and spin on your toes, toward the bar. A sexy R&B song plays loudly, and you swish your hips to the rhythm, knowing without having to glance back that he is watching you.

And although you tell yourself that you should not enjoy his attention so much—or anyone's attention, for that matter—you revel in the thrill it gives you. Yoongi and Namjoon have both encouraged you to pursue him, anyway…surely they wouldn't mind if you have a little innocent fun. After all, you have no idea when you may see the two of them again.

Nights at Jimin's house are lonely. His mansion is huge and empty, and you prefer not to spend much time there by yourself, which means you tend to be at Paradise from late evening to mid-morning most nights. At first, you thought your sleep schedule would adjust and you would become a night owl just like Jimin and Jeongguk, but as the days wear on, you find yourself exhausted, floating through a realm of half-wakefulness. The drinking likely does not help.

But what other choice do you have? Despite the deep ache behind your ribs, it feels too soon to return to Namjoon. During a brief phone call shortly after returning from Paris, he mentioned Yoongi was in the countryside at a facility to help him get past the first three weeks of withdrawal.

From time to time, you find yourself wondering how long it has been since you returned from Paris. It could have been weeks, but it could have been days; you have been disinterested in keeping track, finding the tangible passage of time too painful to confront. You figure the time will come when they are both ready to return to you and not a moment sooner; no use dwelling on it.

On the nights when all you wish to do is let go and forget, you either sit at the center stage and watch the strip shows with a drink in hand, or you head to the upper-level VIP section of the club and dance by the railings. When you are feeling outgoing, you find a group of drunk, friendly women by the back bar to become single-use friends with for the night and dance until bar close.

Back when you first moved into the mansion, Paradise was apparently a dance club with a brothel beneath, just like Serendipity. But during the weeks leading up to your Paris trip, Jimin had been working on getting the space remodeled—hence why you had not seen him around much, for a while. There still is a dancefloor, but it is rather compact near the back bar; not too many people come to Paradise just to dance.

The main room now consists of three stages—two smaller ones on either side of the room, and one large stage in the center, all equipped with a spinning poll. Everything is made up of dark wood, black leather, and chrome.

Beneath Paradise, there are still brothel rooms, but it is a very hush-hush affair that not too many patrons seem aware of. A patron can book any of the dancers for a private strip show and lap dance in a back room, but anything explicitly sexual is kept strictly to the lower level, and unless someone knows how to ask for it, they will get removed from the premises in a heartbeat.

Jimin oversees all Paradise operations, but his main focus is on the activities that take place underground. Jeongguk and Hyejin oversee everything on the main floors, including the strip stages, the back bar and dancefloor, and the VIP bar upstairs, which is more or less just a mezzanine with a bar and booths that cost a pretty penny to use.

Paradise is your oyster, and you more or less have free reign to do anything you would like.

During the nights when you do not feel like drinking, you go to the dance studio. Sometimes, Jimin goes along to let off some steam, either before he needs to run things at Paradise, or when he has a break in his duties. Other times, you go alone.

You have been getting a hang of moving your body in ways Jimin has shown you, and in new ways that you are discovering on your own. And although you are nowhere near as flexible or fluid as he is, you are surprised by how your body can bend and move and stretch when you allow it patience and grace to learn how. You get why he, and the other dancers at Paradise, take so much pride in their craft. To the patron, it may just seem like stripping and ass-shaking for some loose notes, but to them, and to you, it truly is an art form.

On nights when you dance, the loneliness is not at all quelled, and you find yourself spacing out often and getting lost in your thoughts. But the more you move and let out all of your pent-up energy, the lighter the loneliness seems to feel. Some nights you are able to relax and feel at peace, rolling and stretching your body without a care in the world. It gives you hope that there truly may be a light at the end of this tunnel, no matter how long it takes for you to reach it.

"Hey, pretty," a familiar sultry voice purrs, giving you goosebumps.

It is some unknown night in the middle of the week, and you left a group of bachelorettes by the back bar to step outside and smoke a joint. It is rare that anyone is out here, and you are surprised to find Hyejin, of all people, leaning against the brick wall in this quiet, employees-only escape tucked away in a dark alley. This spot is nestled behind a tall fence, past which is a set of dumpsters and a narrow path out to the main roads.

Hyejin is beautiful as always, wearing a black long-sleeve crop top shirt and high-waisted short shorts, under which black garters stick out and are clipped to black thigh-high socks. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, slicked on the sides, and as she approaches, her mary jane heels clack against the pavement.

"Hyejin," you mutter, swallowing thickly and abandoning the joint you had forgotten to light, cradling it in your fist. "Didn't realize you would be out here."

Tonight, she wears a nude lipstick rather than the red you have grown accustomed to, and her smile is not quite as warm. As she approaches, you are greeted by her lightly fruity, floral perfume.

"Stepped out for a breather," she sighs, eyes falling to your hand before they meet your gaze. With a raise of her eyebrows, she adds, "Mind if I help you smoke that?"

Your brain has to reboot before you lift your hand to inspect its contents, and you remember what you came outside for, chuckling as you hold out the joint and lighter to her and say, "Of course. You can hit greens."

Every once in a while, Hyejin will smile shyly. She has a practiced shy smile that she uses on Jimin, Jeongguk, and plenty of her customers—honed to perfection to get just what she wants. But this one is soft and delicate, filling her beautifully golden-tawny-toned cheeks with a deep red blush.

As she unfurls the soft smile that opens into a toothy grin, she reaches out both slender manicured hands and takes your offering, gently scratching her long, painted-black fingernails against your palms. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and you giggle, squeezing your hands shut before opening them again.

"That tickles," you admit when she looks curiously, laughing softly at you.

"You're easily ticklish, hmm?" she mutters with the joint cradled between her lips, then flicks on the lighter, giving her face a beautiful golden glow while igniting the tip and sucking in.

Hyejin takes a slow inhale followed by a sharp one, then holds her breath and passes the joint to you. When she lets out an exhale, smoke plumes in front of her, and you take a nice, big hit and hold it in, just the same.

The smoke is warm in your lungs and licks at your senses. As you breathe it out, you feel a small sense of release, letting your shoulders drop and your body relax.

When you turn to hand the joint back to Hyejin, she is standing much closer, leaning on the sliver of brick wall between you and the closed back door. You instinctively take a step back but rotate so that you are facing her, with barely any space between you. This time, when she smiles, her eyes have the sparkle that you are used to, but there is still an unmissable hint of sadness swirling in their deep umber depths.

"You know, you can always talk to me if you need someone," she offers unprompted as she takes a hit and hands the joint back.

You nod and mull it over, unsure where you would even begin. You have no idea what Hyejin knows about your situation, and although you think you can trust her, there is a part of you that is unsure whether you really want to talk about it, especially right now.

"Thank you," you say before taking a hit and holding it in. Hyejin turns her head to blow the smoke away from your face, then she reaches out one hand and gently rubs her fingertips over your wrist, snaking them into the sleeve of your black denim jacket and sending a tingling warmth into your bloodstream.

You turn your head to exhale, then hold up the joint, asking, "More?"

"I'm good right now," she responds softly, and you move your hand away from her inviting touch to pinch the lit end off onto the ground. In your pocket is a small plastic tube into which you slide the joint, placing a little plastic cap over the end so that its smell does not stick to your clothing, and then you return your arm to its spot and allow her fingers to resume exploring your wrist and hand.

"I appreciate the offer," you try, hearing the way your voice trembles as the weed settles over you and fills you with a heavy-weightless warmth, buzzing in a deep thrum that tenses and relaxes and relaxes and relaxes. Sheepishly, with a giggle, you add, "I don't…really know where to begin."

Hyejin's hand sides into yours, palm against palm, fingers wrapping and holding on tight.

"That's okay," she responds with a disarming smile. "I just wanted to offer, just in case. I know you have Jimin and Jeongguk, too."

At this, you laugh and sink further against the brick wall, tilting your head to rest against the scratchy, unwelcoming surface. "I do have them…for better or worse."

Hyejin laughs in understanding, then she rolls her eyes and says, "Jeongguk is so possessive; I thought the two of you were dating when you first started coming around."

"Oh?" you respond, a bit surprised by this news. Admittedly, when you first began coming to Paradise, you thought there was something going on between the two of them. It took a couple nights to realize that the way Hyejin hangs off of and pouts at her manager is all an act. "We're…not…" you begin, trailing off, unsure what to say.

"He clearly has feelings for you, regardless," she adds, and you search her face and fidget in place. Hyejin seems genuine and sweet, but you are so used to women in this line of work having ulterior motives and using kindness as a tool to gain information and an upper hand. But that does not seem to be what she is doing, and you let out the breath that had gotten trapped in your lungs and nod, chuckling lightly.

"Yeah," you admit, feeling your cheeks warm. "He…certainly does."

"Oh my god," Hyejin teases, squeezing your hand until you look at her wide, beaming smile. "You like him too, don't you?"

Try as you might to shake your head and mutter, "No," she mirrors the movement, laughing and practically shouting, "Yes, you definitely do! You are a terrible liar, dove!"

"It's…complicated," you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut with embarrassment.

A sweet giggle flits through the air like a flutter of butterflies, and you open your eyes to find Hyejin regarding you with the sweetest smile.

"I won't judge you," she assures, giving your hand another squeeze. "I don't know a lot about your relationship, but Jimin has mentioned you are dating two men, which…honestly, sounds like a dream come true."

Your heart seizes a bit around the word dating, and you swallow thickly and nod, unwilling to go down that path. Nothing has ever been established, despite your confessions of love and the huge, expensive fake-engagement ring that sits in your dark, empty bedroom. Sometimes, if you allow yourself to dwell on it, both the distance and time spent away from them make you worry that things may have an end date that is sooner than you expect.

But none of this is pertinent enough information to share at a time like this, so you smile as convincingly as you can while saying, "It has its perks."

Hyejin returns your smile and closes the already meager space between the two of you to press a kiss against your cheek. Her mouth is soft and warm, and you let your eyes flutter closed, smiling from the smell of bluebells and apple that fills your senses. As she pulls her lips back, she stays close, cradling your chin with her hand while opening her mouth to continue speaking. However, the back door flies open, cutting off what she was going to say.

The sight of Jeongguk looking around the corner makes you gasp and back up, kicking up a flurry of feelings in your chest. Despite nothing happening between you and Hyejn, this feels like too precarious of a position to be caught in suddenly. Daresay, it may appear somewhat intimate.

Jeongguk's expression is wide and shocked, but it quickly melts to intrigue. He steps outside and approaches, slinging an arm over both your shoulder and Hyejin's.

"Well, what have we here?" he asks with a tone that is far too gleeful for anyone's good.

"I was just telling our dove that I am here if she needs anything, and then I gave her a kiss on the cheek," Hyejin says, turning to Jeongguk and standing on her toes to plant her lips against his jaw.

Jeongguk looks affronted and gasps as she says, "There, now nobody is left out."

"Listen, I'm not here to break up whatever is going on between my favorite girls." Jeongguk says, gaze on you as he raises an eyebrow and adds, "I just didn't know our doll swings both ways."

Feeling indignant and a little claustrophobic, you shrug away from Jeongguk's arm and give his shoulder a shove.

"For your information, I go…all ways…" you mutter with a grimace, trailing off because you do not owe him an explanation. Labels for sexual orientation may work for some, but they have never been your thing; you like people for people, and it is as simple as that. Defensive, you add, "But she was just giving me a friendly little kiss on the cheek, so it doesn't matter."

Jeongguk grunts unconvincingly, then leans in close to say, "But a kiss between friends can easily spiral into something more, can it not?"

With that, Jeongguk takes a step back, leaving you standing shell-shocked and ready to smack him. Jeongguk winks and says, "Hyejin-noona, when you're ready, I have some things I wanna go over with for tonight," then he walks inside.

Hyejin holds out her elbow, asking, "Shall we?" and you lift a hand to slide against her soft skin, allowing her to lead the way.

Once you are back inside, the bachelorette group is still at the back bar, drunker and louder than when you left them, and you wave Hyejin and Jeongguk off as you walk over and allow the women to pull you into their chaotic little group for shots.

You wake up late in the evening with a hangover after hanging with the bachelorette group the night and morning before, taking shot after shot of overly sweet liquor that was far too strong for its own good. It feels like it has been ages since you have felt so awful, and the thought of having even a drop more of alcohol makes your stomach churn.

So, tonight, rather than go to Paradise, you decide to visit the dance studio to practice the floor moves Jimin has been teaching you. Although you are still certain you have no desire to dance at the club, practicing the moves has been cathartic. And it helps you slow down on drinking. Being a lush for a while has definitely been one way to handle your myriad tumultuous emotions, but the hangovers are too frequent, and after what you felt earlier today, you are eager to change your ways.

Dancing also makes you feel sexy. You enjoy watching the way your body can curve and flex, bending and swaying in ways you had never really attempted before. Tonight you alternate between taking moves slowly on the floor, facing away from the mirrors, before attempting to add speed and flow to them while watching your reflection.

With the cassette mixtape that Jimin has scribbled Whore Mix onto playing through the boombox, you stretch on a dark purple yoga mat that sits in the center of the floor while a sultry voice sings and raps over a beat that begs your hips to move, with the mirrors to your left and the studio door behind you.

The approaching click-clack of boots against the wooden floor that greets you does not strike you as odd at first; you have grown accustomed to Jimin and his affinity for boots. So you continue practicing without turning to greet him.

Anchored back on your elbows, sitting on the mat on your left hip, with both legs bent, you stretch your right leg straight and fan it out at an angle lifted in front of you. In the same fluid motion, you lift your left leg, creating a v-shape in the air. Then you curl your legs in, trying to perfect the graceful movement that Jimin is so good at, twisting until you are on your right hip.

Only when clapping echoes through the room do you realize that the boots had stopped moving and that the tell-tale frenetic energy Jimin always brings to the studio is missing. You turn with a gasp and find Jeongguk standing in the center of the room, wearing his standard all-black. His button-up is undone enough to show a dip of his chest, as always, with no shirt underneath, and it is tucked into black slacks that are so fitted, the material strains against his thighs when he shifts from one foot to the other.

"My, my," Jeongguk teases, approaching before squatting beside you. "What have I walked in on?"

Instinctively, you lean away, feeling warmth flood your cheeks. You sit wearing a tight purple sports bra and very tight, very short black athletic shorts, making you self-conscious to be met with such a hungry stare, especially knowing that he had been watching you, just now.

"Jeongguk," you mutter, having to clear your throat to get more sound out. "What are you doing here?"

"I was coming to see if Jimin was here. Wanted to run a few things by him."

You nod, feeling like a fish out of water with how your mouth hangs open. Jeongguk's cologne is stronger than usual and a little different tonight—musky and floral with hints of spice—and you find it incredibly intoxicating.

"But what I found is far more enticing," Jeongguk continues with a smirk.

Silence falls between you, and you feel your hands prickle with sweat. All you can think about is that kiss in Hong Kong and the chemistry you found in his lips—how delicately he asserted control but never pushed or pulled too much, causing you to unravel in moments. You want to feel that again—want to feel him again—so much that it seems like a bad idea for you to be left alone with him, like this. Flirting in the club, with people around, is one thing, but here, alone, seems dangerous.

Jeongguk stands, and you let out a heavy breath, then swallow a lump, feeling relief wash over you at the thought of him leaving. But then he walks over to the corner, to where some black chairs are shoved together, and he grabs one. Anxiety washes over you when he begins to bring the chair over, boot heels echoing loudly against the floor as he places it beside you and has a seat. He spreads his legs and leans forward, resting his wrists against his knees, tattooed hands so close you could reach out to him.

With his lips tugged into a sharp grin, he says, "Let me see that move again."

You must look as stunned as you feel, blinking up at him, because he chuckles and raises his pierced eyebrow, clearly amused by your lack of response.

"Come on, dollface," Jeongguk teases, leaning even closer and dropping his voice far too low for comfort. "Don't be shy."

Even as nervous as you are under his piercing stare, you like the attention he gives you. But continuing what was started between you without Yoongi or Namjoon present feels wrong, and it stirs up guilt and shame, starting in your tummy and working its way to your throat. You want to show Jeongguk your moves and crawl to him, grind your hips over his lap until he calls you noona and begs you for more. But not here. Not like this.

Luckily, the click-clack that actually belongs to Jimin's boots storms down the hallway and into the room, giving you an out.

"I told you to meet me in my office," Jimin complains, approaching with his hands on his hips, one balled into a fist that holds onto a manilla envelope. "Why did you come here? To bother her?"

"I must have misread the text," Jeongguk responds, eyes still on you while they glimmer mischievously before turning his attention to Jimin. "Office…dance studio…same thing."

Jimin lunges forward and slaps the envelope against the back of Jeongguk's head, saying, "Not the same thing, and you know it!" before shoving the document into his hands.

You watch somewhat stunned as Jeongguk's mouth falls agape, and he chuckles. Then, as he begins to open and read through the contents of the folder, you take your leave, rolling the yoga mat in your hands as you walk away. Draped over one of the black chairs in the corner is a black hoodie and sweatpants, and you pad over, set the mat onto a chair, and slink into the garments, keeping your hair tucked into the shirt and the hood pulled low over your face.

"Gonna head back to work," Jimin says in a flurry, exiting just as fast as he arrived with the folder in his hand. "Come to the club if you want. Or call me if you need anything."

With a nod, you turn on your toes and begin for the door.

"And just where are you going?" Jeongguk asks, stopping you in your tracks and pushing a sigh from your lungs.

"Home," you say before your lips flounder, and you correct yourself, heavy-blinking. "Jimin's place."

With a hum, Jeongguk stands and says, "I'll drive you," picking up his chair to bring it back to where he got it from.

Although you have made no plans for a ride, you know that Hoseok was at the club earlier, and you had planned to call and see if he was around. Jeongguk giving you a ride would definitely be convenient, but is that something you want right now?

"You have work to do," you insist, shaking your head and feeling nervous at the thought of being in a vehicle alone with him.

But Jeongguk sets the chair down, takes you by the back of the arm, and begins to usher you rather forcefully out the door. As your sneaker heels dig into the wooden floor, rubber squeaking with each step he makes you take, you feel petulant, and you are dragged to the dark hallway before you manage to yank yourself out of his grasp and take an uneasy step back.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you ask, feeling anger rise and fighting the urge to slap him.

"What?" Jeongguk says through a chuckle, looming over you while he steps forward, closing the distance with each step you take backward until you hit the wall. "You're dancing like a whore now, so I figured you wanted to be treated like one, too."

Although you feel anger buzzing through you like a livewire, sending every nerve on high alert, more than anything, you feel deflated. Despite Jimin jokingly using that word to tease you, there is something about the way Jeongguk says it—something almost sardonic and mocking in his tone, met with how forcefully he dragged you out of the room. It settles like bile in your guts and makes you feel extremely uncomfortable.

But, rather than put up a fight and challenge him, you storm away, shoving past his weak attempt to hold you back as you stomp toward the door.

"Hey," Jeongguk calls, heavy footsteps trailing behind you. "What's the matter with you?"

Unable to hold in your rage, you spin on your toes, shoving your palms against Jeongguk's chest as you say, "What's the matter with you?"

Jeongguk hardly flinches, and when you step forward to push him again, he grips onto your wrists and holds you still, tugging you close to him but not in a way that is meant to be rough or suggestive. He almost looks worried, brows knit as he studies your face.

"Hey, hey," he mutters, holding onto you just tight enough that you have no choice but to stop lashing out.

Somehow it works. Maybe because you are exhausted, or maybe it is the floral, musky scent of his cologne—or a combination of things wrecking your tiny sense of sanity—but you hold still and let Jeongguk softly shush you while rubbing his thumbs over the knobby joints in your wrists.

"I don't like it when you talk about women that way," you say, feeling a swell of sadness fill your chest. You are aware that this is likely a trauma response to the way men have treated you in the past, but you need to at least attempt to establish a boundary. "I know we joke about it at the club, but the way you said it, I—" You close your eyes and shake your head.

"When have I ever talked about women that way?" Jeongguk asks, voice sounding more defensive than apologetic. "Look, I was joking. I'm sorry."

"Just don't do it, okay?" you insist, yanking your hands away until Jeongguk relents and folding your arms over your chest. "I was a whore before, Jeongguk. Is it so terrible? Do you really need to make it sound so demeaning? Yoongi's mother was a whore, too, you know."

Jeongguk's face pales, and he appears angry for a split moment, but you do not attempt to argue. Perhaps it is out of pocket to bring up Yoongi's dead mother, but you were a part of the honey bees who came after her; you belonged to the same organization, come hell and high water.

"You're right," he says, taking a step back and sliding his hands into his pockets. "I don't look down on sex workers, and I shouldn't talk as if I do. I'm sorry I offended you. I know that we make jokes, and I guess I got carried away. I didn't consider how even playful actions might bring up bad memories for you, and I get what that's like."

Surprised and unsure what to say, you rock on your feet a little before settling on, "Okay."

"My mother was a whore too," Jeongguk adds, stepping forward slowly. "I never held it against her. Even when it got her killed, I never thought badly about her."

There it is, once more—the taste of guilt.

"Jeongguk," you say, taking a step forward, but he holds up his hand and shakes his head.

"I offended you. I'm the one apologizing. Let me make it up to you by driving you home?"

You nod, conceding. "Alright."

The walk to Jeongguk's black sports car is quiet in a way that feels charged and awkward, but as you settle in, you begin to relax. Silence continues to hang during most of the drive, and all the while, you think of Yoongi. As you stare out at the city lights that fade the further you get from the city, you wonder how he must be doing and whether he will return home soon.

"Did you supply the heroin?" you ask without thinking, staring out at the dark roads past the city line.

As silence stretches, part of you worries that Jeongguk might be offended by your question, and you keep your eyes on the shadowed hints of trees, refusing to acknowledge the expression on his face.

Finally, Jeongguk mutters a simple, "No," and you allow yourself to regard him.

Jeongguk's jaw is tense, and he stares ahead at the road, tonguing on the inside of his mouth while both hands tightly grip the steering wheel.

"I didn't think you did," you respond softly, watching as his pierced eyebrow raises. "I don't know why I felt compelled to ask."

Jeongguk's gaze flicks to you, then back on the road. "Because you overheard my conversation with Namjoon that morning outside your bedroom. And because I was the one in charge of the drug operations."

"Yeah," you respond with a shrug. "But I don't think you would be that careless."

With a hum from Jeongguk, silence settles once more. You relax back in your seat, watching the road curve and become a little hilly before evening out. By now, you are familiar with this stretch, anticipating the sight of the property to come into view very soon.

Whenever you pass the mansion these days, it is dark and quiet. If not for the outdoor security lights, it would be nothing more than a looming shadow—a silhouetted remnant of lives at a standstill. Namjoon must sleep in his own home, and from time to time, you consider walking down the dirt and gravel path to his property to see him.

But everything feels off balance in a way that you struggle to reconcile, and you feel like you need a little more time. You fish your phone from your hoodie pocket and check his Instagram feed, sad to see he has not posted anything to his story.

Namjoon likes to post his workout routines, what he is listening to, and shots from trips to museums. Lately, though, he barely shares anything, making the lack of his presence feel heavier. You nearly ask Jeongguk to drop you off at his place, but you cannot seem to open your mouth to get the words out.

Instead, you text him.

You: It's hard to keep tabs on you when you don't post story updates.

The message feels stupid, and you chew on the inside of your mouth once you hit send, staring at the screen and hoping that when he sees it, he does not find it annoying. Is there a chance of him being offended?

Three dots appear and disappear, over and over, making the anxiety in your tummy frantically build and crash like a wave pool that has just been switched on. But then he sends a simple little sentence that stirs both immense joy and deep, profound sadness—

Namjoon: I miss you too, sweetheart.

—and you stare down at it until your vision blurs with tears.

As you open your mouth to ask to be taken to Namjoon's house, the dots appear and disappear again, and rather than speak, you clear your throat and wait for him to say more.

"What is it?" Jeongguk asks, and you turn your head to him, confused at first, then realize he may have taken the sound as a feeble attempt at starting a conversation.

"Oh," you respond, "Uh, nothing."

"Alright," Jeongguk says simply as he begins to turn into Jimin's driveway, waiting as the metal gate opens and allows you entrance.

As you pull into the drive, listening to the gate close behind you, the urge to cry becomes more difficult to tamp down. You swallow thickly, blinking away tears as Jeongguk stalls in front of the door.

"You good?" Jeongguk asks, and you turn to regard him, but as soon as you open your mouth to tell him you are fine, the sounds die in your throat, and you have to swallow everything back down again.

"Th-thanks for the ride," you manage to mutter as you get out of the vehicle and run to Jimin's door, punching in an eight-digit code and holding your eyes open as wide as you can manage for the retina scan.

Once inside the dark, empty mansion, you sink against the cold, wooden door, feeling your chest heave with emotion so deep, you become nauseated. Gripped in your fist, your cell phone vibrates, and you lift the device in a shaking hand, checking the notification—

Namjoon: I miss your voice. And your smile. I hope you're taking care of yourself.

—which sends you crashing over the edge as tears pour and your voice comes out in a loud, terrible sob.

Your heart pounds as you cry, feeling the crushing weight of how deeply you miss Namjoon. Although each breath that enters and exits your lungs is a storm, rattling and shaking you to the core, you sniffle and hold your phone tightly in both hands as you place a call. It is late, but Namjoon is responding to texts, so perhaps he is free to talk.

Namjoon picks up on the first ring, and when his deep, surprised voice says, "Hey, sweetheart," you sob even harder. How is it that something so tiny could make his absence feel so much heavier?

"Hey," Namjoon says, sweet and alert, "are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm okay," you cry, punctuated by a sniffle. "I'm at Jimin's. Everything is fine."

"Everything does not sound fine," Namjoon insists, and you smile softly at his concern, taking in a deep breath. "Do you need something? Can I…can I do anything?"

Namjoon still owes you an explanation, and it is not something you will easily let slip. But you are certain that you cannot continue to keep him at a distance, even if it means putting the much-needed conversation on the back burner. Although life with Jimin has been fun and a little exciting, the loneliness you feel from being away from Namjoon and Yoongi has a tendency to become excruciating.

"Can I see you?" you ask weakly, like a child who is afraid of being scolded.

The soft chuckle that proceeds, "Of course, you can," warms your heart, and you close your eyes and smile wide, clutching your phone tightly to your ear. "Give me ten minutes? I'll be right there."

With a wet, disgusting sniffle, you say, "Okay," and rub the back of your hand against your nose.

"I'll be there soon," Namjoon says as he ends the call, and you nod to nobody as you drop your phone down and clench it to your heart.

It takes effort, but you peel yourself from the floor and kick off your shoes before heading up the stairs to your borrowed bedroom, squinting as you switch on the light. The room is similar to your room in Yoongi's mansion, but the bedding and curtains are pinks and oranges—a permanent sunrise.

As you cross the room to the walk-in closet, you pull off the joggers and athleticwear from earlier and find a cute, soft pair of pink sleep shorts and a matching, loose pink tee. Then you run into the bathroom to brush your teeth. Even though you did not drink anything tonight, you want to kiss Namjoon until your lips bruise, and you need to be minty fresh.

By the time you are rinsing your mouth and wiping your chin off, you hear a loud knocking on the front door, surprised that ten minutes could have passed so quickly. You run out of the ensuite and find your phone on the bed to shoot off a message before heading down to let Namjoon in.

You: One minute!

Although the rest of the mansion is dark, Jimin also has security lights on outside, and they shine through the windows enough to cast a silver glow over the small mezzanine and down the steps. You scurry down quickly, feet carrying you light and fast, and when you get to the front door and fling it open, you hardly have a chance to take in the sight of Namjoon before he is crossing the threshold and lifting you into his arms.

A sob quakes through you as you wrap your arms and legs around him, burying your face into his neck. He smells musky—a bit sweaty—but the bright cologne with gentle floral hints you are used to are present. Namjoon closes the front door, haphazardly steps from his shoes, and makes his way to the stairs, stepping slowly as he holds you tight. If you are not mistaken, it feels like his breathing shutters through him, and you wonder if he may also be crying.

"I'm sorry," you find yourself muttering when the silence stretches on long and oppressive.

Namjoon squeezes you harder.

"No," he says softly, voice trembling, "sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I made you cry," you sob, feeling guilt and sadness fill your lungs until it hurts to breathe.

Namjoon chuckles and sniffles, reaching the top landing of the stairs and turning to the right, toward the only light in the home that is on. He says, "Making someone cry is a side-effect of being in love, I'm afraid," and your heart goes wild behind your ribs, bursting with affection.

"I've missed you so much," you whimper against Namjoon's skin, and when he leans forward and attempts to put you down onto the bed, you tighten your limbs, clinging to him like a koala.

"Let me set you down so we can get comfortable," Namjoon suggests, and you shake your head, groaning as you hold on tighter. He sighs, and tries, "Come on, I want to see you. I want to kiss you."

Once his attempts are futile, Namjoon gets onto his knees on the bed and bends until you are lying on your back with him towering over you. You finally move your head away from his neck and heavy-blink as you meet his eyes—which are bloodshot and blinking back tears.

"I've missed you too," Namjoon says as he kisses you, soft and sweet and warm. "I'm so sorry for everything that happened. I should have told you about everything, but I was scared to."

Namjoon's kisses are salty and wet, and he trembles above you, gripping the blanket tightly in his fists on either side of your head. Finally, you concede to his need to get comfortable, and you press against his chest, rubbing your fingers over soft black cotton.

"Hey, lay down," you say softly, pushing a little harder. "You were right, let's get comfortable."

Namjoon sighs through his tears and gets up onto his knees, then crawls over to the pillows and makes a feeble attempt at moving the bright pink and orange floral comforter away. You sit up and help him, then run to the door to close it before adjusting the dimmer switch, lowering the lights just enough so that you can still see him.

When you turn back to the bed, Namjoon has figured out the comforter, which is bunched up at the end of the against his feet, and he is sitting against the wooden headboard with his hands in his lap, watching you with a soft expression while tear tracks shimmer against his cheeks. He wears a black tee and black joggers, with his legs extended out but one leg bent slightly at the knee, and he is breathtaking—just as you remembered him. Maybe even more so.

He has gotten a haircut recently, just above his ears, making him look younger. And it is darker; a more natural color. Some time ago—maybe a few days, or maybe a week—Namjoon posted a mirror selfie of the cut, obstructed mostly by his phone, and you are happy to finally see it in person.

As you get onto the bed, on your knees, Namjoon reaches for you, pulling against the backs of your thighs until you have no choice but to straddle his lap, giggling at his insistence. You settle and drape your wrists over his shoulders to rub your fingertips over the short hairs on his nape while Namjoon's smile oscillates between joy and sadness.

"I want to tell you I'm sorry," you begin, without giving him a chance to speak. You have been thinking about this every sober waking moment of however much time has passed—and some intoxicated moments, as well—and you feel it is necessary to get it off your chest. Emotions rise as you gather your thoughts, and your next exhale comes out shaky. "I was angry in Paris, but the things I said to you and Yoongi did not come from the heart. I was hurt, and I still am, but…I don't understand addiction. I have no idea what Yoongi must be going through, and I—"

You choke on a sob suddenly as a flash of Yoongi's face comes into view. The hurt way in which he stared ahead, straight through you, while you screamed and cried and demanded to be taken home.

Gently, Namjoon rubs his hands up and down your back, covering you in comforting warmth. His smile is sad, but he does his best to show that he is listening and that he is receptive to what you need to say.

"I just feel so awful," you continue as tears fall. You are so tired of crying and hurting, but it is a necessary step in healing, and you do your best to let it quake through you and settle into your bones. "I love Yoongi. I don't want him to be in pain."

"He knows," Namjoon finally says, but you screw your eyes closed and shake your head. He may have an idea of what you are going through, but he needs to hear from you that you are sorry. You need to tell him, yourself. "Yoongi using again was a bit of a surprise to all of us. Although it is something I always fear may happen again, I really had no idea it would happen like that, especially on vacation."

"When is he coming home?" you ask, feeling hopeful.

"Less than a week," Namjoon responds, smiling sweetly as he lifts his hands to thumb away the tears on your cheeks. "I have cleaned out the mansion, and Jeongguk has made sure the team taking over his responsibilities knows that heroin and other opioids are off limits. Jeongguk was already avoiding selling either in the first place, but he has reiterated that fact, to be on the safe side."

"That day, outside my room, you said there was a package with what looked like heroin," you say, watching as Namjoon's face screws up with worry. You grimace, adding, "I'm sorry I was eavesdropping."

"That…I still don't have all the details ironed out," Namjoon responds sullenly, "but I am certain that Jeongguk had nothing to do with it. Yoongi admitted that he had sent for the package on his own, and it arrived from overseas with a bunch of tailored suits. I don't know how he got a connect in Italy, but I really shouldn't be surprised; Yoongi knows people everywhere."

You nod somewhat listlessly, waiting for the crucial detail where Namjoon tells you he threatened the Italian guy, or found some way to rough him up—whatever the case—in order to keep him from sending Yoongi junk again. But when he does not continue, worry and sadness sink into your tummy like a brick.

"So…" you begin, heavy-blinking and feeling at a loss for words before settling on, "...how do we make sure he doesn't use again?"

Although Namjoon continues to smile, his eyebrows pinch sympathetically, and he returns to rubbing your back.

"We just love and support him," he offers, which feels both gigantic and minuscule, all things considered. "We continue to be there for him and…hope that it is enough."

"That's it, huh," you sigh, defeated.

"Yeah."

Silence hangs, and you let your vision blur, attempting to sort out what you could possibly do. What if loving Yoongi is not enough? What if the pressures of his lifestyle only continue to press and press on him until he sinks another needle into his vein, desperate for relief?

"I wish he could just…not do this anymore," you mutter, blinking Namjoon back into focus. "Maybe having all this power and responsibility is too much."

With a sad chuckle, Namjoon nods. "Yeah, well…the only way out of a life like his is death."

Although that is not the response you want, it is the one you expect, and you lean heavily into Namjoon, accepting it for now. There is not much more to say until Yoongi is back.

"Can we sleep?" you ask, feeling your body become weighted down with exhaustion and warm with a comfort you have not felt in what has seemed like eons.

"I would love to sleep," Namjoon responds sweetly, releasing you from his hold as you slide down to the bed and begin to reach for the comforter.

Namjoon gets out of bed to turn off the light, and for a split moment, in the cold, crushing dark, you begin to feel anxiety rush over you. In the cold, crushing dark, you are alone, alone, alone, isolated and heavy and so terribly scared. But then the bed dips, and warmth slides into place beside you. Limbs settle with a familiar weight, and suddenly, the darkness feels and smells like home.

"I love you," you tell the darkness, gasping when lips graze your cheek, your nose, and finally, your mouth.

"I love you, too," the darkness tells you sweetly as you begin to drift to sleep.

Tonight, you did not get to kiss Namjoon until your lips bruised, but you feel satisfied with the fact that you were able to lighten the burden of heavy sadness just a little. And, in a matter of days, when you have the same conversation with Yoongi, it may not go the same way, but at least the three of you can continue to take steps in the right direction, and that allows you to sink into sleep with a smile on your face.

When you wake up alone, your first instinct is to panic. You sit up with a start and check for any sign of Namjoon, but the ensuite door is wide open, and there is no sound coming from inside. The spot where he had slept is cold, and you begin to worry that it was all a dream and that he was never here at all.

Frantically, you begin to search for your phone, which is not on your bedside table where you usually keep it, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry take over. What happened last night, and why is there no trace of him to be found?

With a deep breath, you close your eyes and run over the events of the night. You came in and changed, then you messaged Namjoon to let him know you were going down to let him in. Vaguely, you remember tossing your phone to the bed, and you begin yanking at your comforter, desperate to find it.

Your phone must have been wrapped up in the bedding, because after only a moment of tussling and searching, you hear a nice loud thunk against the floor, at the foot of the bed. You let out an exasperated sigh and crawl to the edge, draping your body over the end as you reach and search for the device that has managed to find its way just under the bed frame.

As soon as it is in your hand, you turn on the screen, eager to find evidence of Namjoon's existence, with your torso suspended in air. As soon as you see a notification from two hours ago, you smile and wiggle backward into a seated position to properly read it.

Namjoon: Hey, sweetheart, I'm so sorry I left while you were still asleep. I tried to wake you, but you were out cold. I'll be visiting Yoongi this afternoon. If you want to come along and you see this before 2 PM, let me know. Otherwise, I hope to talk to you soon. Thank you for letting me in this morning; I slept better than I have in weeks. I love you.

Although affection blooms brightly in your chest, you feel sadness squeeze you tight, like an old friend. You do want to see Yoongi. You want to see him so badly, it hurts. But you are not sure you want to see him before he comes home. Wherever he is staying, and whatever state he may be in…you are not sure that you are prepared for that.

It is only 1:45 PM, so you decide to call Namjoon. Not only are you eager to hear his voice once more, but you are not eager to voice what is in your heart over text.

He picks up on the second ring, sounding a bit winded when he says, "Hey, sweetheart."

"Namjoon," you respond brightly, smiling widely. "Hey, I just woke up and saw your message."

"Ah," he responds, breathing heavily, "what time is it?" After a pause, he shouts, "Oh, shit, Gguk, I gotta go!"

You laugh as you hear them chatter lowly, then say their goodbyes, imagining how adorable Namjoon becomes when he is frantic—eyes wide and worried while he flails his muscular limbs around somewhat aimlessly.

"Gguek and I were working out," Namjoon says as you hear the sound of a door open and shut. "Lost track of time."

You smile, nibbling your lip. "Good thing I called."

"Good thing, indeed. So, did you—"

You don't mean to cut Namjoon off, but there is enough of a break between his statements, that you say, "Listen, Namjoon, I'm—" then halt, realizing you had spoken over him.

"Go on," Namjoon urges, and you close your eyes, listening to the sounds of his breathing, of birds singing around him, and of feet walking somewhat frantically down the dirt and gravel path between mansions.

"I don't think I can go," you finally say, feeling meek and embarrassed as your voice drops and comes out with a tremble. "It's just…I don't know what to expect, and it…it scares me."

Namjoon says nothing for a few moments, and it makes you worry. But then you hear him keying in the passcode to his home and let yourself breathe. He is probably too stressed to be multitasking while in a rush.

"Can I call you back? Or maybe we can talk about this later?" Namjoon finally asks, and you let out an even deeper sigh in relief. "I don't blame you at all for not wanting to come, but it feels like there is more you need to get off your chest. I have to take the fastest shower of my life, though, so that I can leave soon."

"Yeah, no…yeah. That's…" you stammer, squeezing your eyes closed and allowing yourself to smile while hot tears run from your eyes. Namjoon is so kind and understanding—so caring and giving. Affection burns for him, and you want to hug him so tight and never let him go. "If you want to tell Yoongi that we talked, I think it might make things easier for me later, but do whatever feels right…I don't know."

"I'll tell him what we discussed," Namjoon responds breathily as feet storm up a flight of stairs. "I know it'll make him happy to hear how you are doing, and how you have been handling things. I'm bringing him home in four days, so we can all sit down whenever you feel ready."

Four days is not soon enough, yet it feels like no time at all. Looming and terrifying, yet promising.

"Okay, sounds good. Thank you, Namjoon."

When Namjoon says, "I love you so much, sweetheart. Thank you for calling," your heart squeezes, and more tears fall, cascading like tiny waterfalls.

"I love you, Namjoon. Drive safe."

"Will do. Bye."

You mutter, "Bye," but your finger is already pressing the end call button, giving Namjoon all the time and space he needs to get ready. And then you hug your phone tight to your chest and continue to cry.

Somehow, the happy tears feel thicker and hotter than sad tears—more present and urgent. If Yoongi comes back in four days, that means it has been just over two weeks in Jimin's home. You heavy-blink in an attempt to conceptualize the time, feeling ashamed by how little of it you remember. Briefly, you worry that you may have imposed, but Jimin has never so much as hinted at that fact, so you allow yourself to let the idea go.

It is difficult, at times, to accept the many ways in which you are loved. It feels strange to look back on how you ended up tangled in this web, with these men. Part of you wishes you and Yoongi could start over—meet organically and fall together not because of proximity and a need to cure a deep, aching loneliness that had built over years, but because you simply want to.

But could you simply want to fall in love with the head of a crime syndicate? No, you think. Probably not.

Still, how do you explain that to someone who asks? I was kidnapped as collateral, but we fell in love feels like a story not too many people would understand. Probably, the average person would ask if you were alright and attempt to help you find refuge. Probably, they would be in their right mind to do so.

The next three days drag. Knowing that you will see Yoongi and Namjoon again soon has you a little on edge, but not necessarily in a bad way. Your dancing suffers for it, and you find your movements too stiff, too off-beat; your head and your heart are clouded, and you cannot seem to get your body to do anything. Still, you try. Wasting away drinking at Paradise does not feel like the best way to spend your lonely nights, but you want to wait for Yoongi's return before spending too much time with Namjoon.

Although the three of you have different bonds and dynamics, you almost feel guilty at the thought of hogging Namjoon to yourself while Yoongi is out healing in the countryside. Despite knowing he would tell you not to worry—to be with Namjoon and keep him company.

And, part of you thinks of this time as getting your last moments in with Jimin before moving out of his space. You have not voiced it, but you have been going out of your way to spend just a little more time with him after work, before the two of you crash for the morning and sleep, curled up on the couch with whichever anime he feels like playing in the background—currently, Chainsaw Man.

Jimin is phenomenal company, and you have really enjoyed following him around the house while he cooks, practices impromptu dance moves around furniture, and talks about nothing and everything. Even in quiet, still moments eating ice cream in the glow of the television, you feel the bond that has formed quickly and effortlessly, thankful to have a friend and ally on your side.

Despite the budding friendship, Jimin remains a somewhat secretive person. You have learned that his upbringing was privileged and full of wealth, but his parents were not kind about his desire to chase his own dreams instead of taking over the family business, and they quickly cut him off when he went to school for contemporary dance. It took no time at all for Jimin to wind up houseless, using his beauty to sleep with wealthy men and women for a meal and a warm bed.

When Yoongi's mother found Jimin on the streets, she took him in with the promise of a better life, but how he came to replace her is unknown. How long Jimin spent on the streets, the kinds of things he saw in that time…all of those details, he hides behind a bright, practiced smile, only given away by the sadness that pours from his beautiful, round eyes.

"I see myself in you, dove," Jimin says often, usually accompanied by a side hug or a kiss on the cheek.

And at first, it made you feel strange. Jimin has come so far that maybe, you had originally thought, he sees you as a pet project; someone who needs to be fixed and turned into something beautiful. But now, you know that is not true. You know that Jimin sees persistence and survival; he sees someone imperfect but caring who just needs a little push to understand and figure things out, at times.

Everything he has, he gained with persistence and survival; nothing was handed to him. Yoongi and his men, and possibly Yoongi's mother, taught Jimin the skills he knows today, that make him who he is. None of them became this successful alone; all seven of them play a crucial role. Eight, now, with you.

You feel sentimental tonight when you lean against the bar cradling a glass of whiskey that you have been nursing for the last hour. Tomorrow, Yoongi returns home, and although it has not been voiced aloud, you can tell that the prospect has Jimin and Jeongguk in a better mood. You even spot Seokjin, Hoseok, and Taehyung coming in and out of Paradise, and they all seem chipper.

Jimin is done up with pink and silver stage makeup, with his eyes and lips bright and shining. He wears his standard black satin top tucked into tight, leather black jeans, and tonight, he has a thick black rhinestone choker around his neck.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is pattern-clashing in a way that is both alluring and confusing. As standalone items, his silk, long-sleeve, plunging neckline leopard print shirt, and tight silver and blue floral lurex pants are solid choices. The shirt's neck falls nearly to his navel, showing beautiful topography of his chest—dips and hills of muscle and golden-tanned skin, accentuated by several mismatched gold necklaces; and the pants shine brightly in every light that dares grace his figure, drawing the eye to his muscular thighs and perky, round ass. But they look so strange and mismatched together, you cannot help but question what on earth he was thinking.

"You sure have a staring problem, tonight," Jeongguk chides as he walks by, sending an inviting wink that makes you laugh far too boisterously.

"Just trying to figure out what you have going on, here," you respond with an incredulous smirk. "Did you get dressed in the dark, Gguk?"

With a roll of his eyes, Jeongguk responds, "Both items are Dolce and Gabbana, but okay."

And, without missing a beat, you say, "Pretty sure Dolce and Gabbana also produce plain clothes that would match better than this. Your black satin shirts would look really good with those pants, and…well, anything else would look good with that shirt."

"I don't expect you to understand fashion," Jeongguk teases, raking his eyes over your form as he takes a step closer.

"Black, Jeongguk," you say, chin tilted high. "You have a closet full of black that would look phenomenal with both pieces."

With Jeongguk stepping into your personal space, that damned cologne hits you, and you begin to lose your composure. He really is suitable for smelling like a bouquet of wildflowers, especially with the spicy musk underneath; it is perfectly him.

"I don't expect someone in boring Vuitton rags to appreciate the nuance," Jeongguk teases, voice dropping lower as he towers before you.

"This dress costs as much as both that shirt and those pants combined," you bicker more quietly than before. The dress you wear tonight is certainly less flattering or flashy than what he wears—a Louis Vuitton brown and black knit mini dress with glitter thread mottling throughout. It has a square, rolled neckline and thin straps, but it hugs your curves nicely, falling mid-thigh. You raise your eyebrow to add, "Boss Min happens to like the way I look in Vuitton rags."

At the mention of Yoongi, Jeongguk softens, and you know you have won this round. Jeongguk scoffs, then slams back the rest of his drink, spinning on his shiny black leather boots before stomping off to where Hyejin and the dancers are congregated behind the main stage, going over something pertaining to the newly installed dance cages on either side of the bar, judging by how she points to them.

You watch as Jeongguk walks away, allowing your gaze to linger on how those gaudy, silver-blue pants shimmer when they hug his ass, thanking your lucky stars that his silly fashion sense has, at the very least, provided you with a good show.

When you turn back to the bar, you drink the rest of your whiskey and ask for another. The night is still young; the club has barely just opened and only a few patrons linger during the hours before the dancers take to the stages, but you have a feeling you are going to need to at least have a steady buzz to handle whatever bullshit Jeongguk is on.

Two hours into your night, you are proven correct during a very flirty conversation with Hyejin about the dance cages—about how she thinks you should make your Paradise debut in one, asking if you would ever let her handcuff you to the bars—when the bartender informs you that the boss would like to see you in his office.

Jimin seldom calls you to his office, but he is the only one who properly has one, so you head toward the back of the main room, past a security guard, and into a hallway that leads to Jimin's office, the dressing rooms for the dancers, and a meeting room that Hyejin and Jeongguk use when they need to.

As you make your way to the door, you can hear the sounds of dancers chattering and laughing coming down the hall, and you assume that Jeongguk must be giving them their nightly pep talk in one of the dressing rooms. You knock twice on the office door, then try the handle. To your surprise, when you enter, the room is empty.

Jimin has allowed you in his space alone plenty of times, so you make your way to have a seat in the leather armchair just in front of his desk. You decide to check your notifications while you wait and pull your phone from a small black purse that is slung over your shoulder.

The door opens and closes behind you, so you put the phone away before you have a chance to turn the screen on. And, instinctively, you stand to greet Jimin, surprised when you turn to find Jeongguk closing in, fast.

Before you have a chance to speak, Jeongguk has the armchair shoved away, caging you against Jimin's desk, leaning close and low with both of his hands gripping the wooden surface. You practically sit against the edge, doing your best to lean back and away from Jeongguk, but he is a persistent, towering presence, and he wastes no time dragging his lips over your neck, just below your ear, sending a rush of arousal tingling through you at the touch. The scent of his cologne has your senses simultaneously dulled and on high alert.

"Jeongguk," you gasp, attempting to twist away but finding you do not want him to stop. "We can't—"

"I know," Jeongguk responds, voice deep and silky, lips dipping lower, dragging across your throat and leaving only the faintest hint of a spit trail. "Just want to tease you a little; make you squirm."

"Why?" you breathe, leaning back to create more space.

When Jeongguk does not move, you lift your hands and press against his chest, attempting to push him back, but your palms slide on the silk shirt, and you wind up rubbing over his nipples, feeling metal under the drag of skin, causing Jeongguk to hiss as you gasp. Arousal builds and builds, and you squeeze your tights together, desperate to stave off the effect he has on you; you are, admittedly, touch-starved and somewhat feral.

"I know you feel it, too," Jeongguk practically groans, still leaning way too close, voice spoken beside your ear. "We have undeniable chemistry."

"Of course I feel it," you respond, closing your eyes in an attempt to get your bearings while your heart pounds dizzyingly fast.

Jeongguk asks, "Do you know how fucking hard it is to keep my hands off you?" in a tone that almost seems steeped in pain.

"Yes," you mutter softly, nodding shallowly. "I think I do."

With a sigh, Jeongguk finally takes a step back, but he stays close enough that you have to crane your neck; there is no room for you to stand away from the desk. The two of you stare at one another, and then Jeongguk scoffs and shakes his head.

"Seeing you around so much has been…god, you drive me insane."

You chuckle, though you feel somewhat awkward being faced with his admission. Although, truth be told, being in Jeongguk's proximity so much during the last few weeks has also made you want to see him more and more; you know that, once you return to your normal life, you will come to miss him a lot. Or, perhaps, you can continue spending time at Paradise; there is nothing saying you cannot.

"Last night, when I dropped you off," Jeongguk says, reaching up to gently cradle your chin in his hand, surprising you with his shift in demeanor, "were you crying?"

Although you glance away to respond, shyness rises, you nod slightly and say, "Yeah."

"Was it something I said?"

Quickly, you nod and return your gaze to Jeongguk, who looks genuinely concerned. "No. I was crying because I was missing Yoongi and Namjoon."

Jeongguk hums, drops his hand away, and takes a step back.

Suddenly, the silence feels heavy, and you struggle to identify his reaction. He very clearly knows your involvement with both men, so why tense up at the mention of them?

"What's the matter?" you ask, unwilling to let anything weird hang between you.

Jeongguk shrugs, but his eyes are on the floor, and it is clear that something is bothering him.

"Jeongguk," you insist.

He sighs, and, without looking at you, says, "It just sucks that when things become normal again with you guys…I just…it's been nice to see you here."

"Ah," you respond. And you get it; it has been great to be around here and see him, Jimin, and Hyejin regularly.

"But Yoongi will return and demand all your attention—" Jeongguk practically snarls, and you tut your tongue at him, staring incredulously as he balks at the interruption.

"Yoongi does not demand anything from me," you say, standing up straight now that there is some space between the two of you. You feel defensive, but you can understand where Jeongguk is coming from; you really have not had any independence since moving into the mansion, but part of that is not having any direction or much desire to venture out, finding comfort and safety behind the familiarity of those walls. "Honestly, I have been loving it here. It's nice to leave the house for no occasion and see other people. I consider Hyejin and Jimin friends, and it has been so great having friends again. I don't want to suddenly stop seeing them. Or you."

"Won't you have your hands full with both of your boyfriends?" Jeongguk teases, and you are glad to see his mood has at least somewhat lightened; his smile has returned, even if his gaze remains sad.

"Oh they definitely know how to keep my hands full," you respond with a wink, watching as Jeongguk's eyes and mouth widen comically. "But it is also nice having some space. Although I hate how all of this came about, I think taking a step back and allowing myself to really miss them and think about the many facets of our relationship has been important. I needed it."

"So I might actually see you from time to time?" Jeongguk asks, stepping close once more, seeming hopeful. It still amuses you when Jeongguk is all soft edges after so much time spent bickering with one another.

This time, you step in close and rub your palms over his chest, making sure to drag your hands over his pierced nipples, smiling when he shivers beneath your touch.

"We still have to finish what we started in Hong Kong," you say, voice dropped low and intentionally sultry. "I just haven't wanted to do anything without the others present…we haven't really discussed that, and I would feel too guilty leaving them out."

"I understand," Jeongguk responds, leaning into your touch and surprising you with a very soft, very chaste kiss on the lips before he mutters, "Taehyung will fucking kill me if we do anything without him."

Warmth floods your cheeks, and you drop your hands while taking a step back. Even after such a tiny taste, the urge to kiss Jeongguk is too great to stay in such close proximity.

"We're going to have an entire audience, huh?" you ask, feeling more turned on by the prospect than shy.

Jeongguk chuckles and says, "Sounds like we will."

It almost feels surreal to discuss the topic of you and Jeongguk having sex so openly. Although you have had enough whiskey to give you a steady buzz, you are still clear-headed enough to spiral just a little over the thought of his body, and having it all to yourself. That is, unless the others want to play, as well; you really have no idea what to expect, and you are not certain you would deny them if they wanted to.

As you search for a way to end this conversation and return to the main bar before someone begins to notice the two of you are missing, Jimin comes barging in with his brows knit. Although you have done nothing wrong, there is a split moment of panic over how this may look, with the two of you in Jimin's office alone.

But he simply glances between you and Jeongguk, huffs out a sigh, and says, "Oh, thank god. I was hoping to find you two in here."

"What's up?" Jeongguk asks, and you straighten out, worried that something may be wrong.

"One of the regulars came in piss drunk and started harassing Hyejin. He groped her ass and when she slapped him, he got in her face. Security was able to intervene, but I need you to take him out back and fuck him up. Let him know shit like that doesn't fly at Boss Min's lovely establishment."

Anger spikes heavily in your chest, and when Jimin turns to you and adds, "Dove, if you don't mind, I think she could use a friend," you nod, determined to do whatever it takes to make Hyejin feel safe.

"On it," you say, walking past the men, down the short hallway, and out into the bar.

Loud R&B music with a quick, enticing trap beat plays, and you stomp in your overpriced patent leather chelsea boots to the beat, storming into the main bar room like you own the joint and scanning the room for your girl.

Standing at the main bar with her arms pulled tightly over her chest, is Hyejin surrounded by dancers. As soon as you approach, a girl who goes by Lily backs up and opens her arm wide to welcome you into the space. Hyejin is shaking when you drape your arm around her, hugging it loosely across her chest.

"Hey, beautiful," you say, and she turns and melts into you, throwing her arms over your shoulders and letting out a deep sigh. "Want to go out back and have a smoke?"

Hyejin hugs you tight and shakes her head, and you rub your hands over her back, waiting for her response. The dancers begin trickling out, having to get ready to perform, leaving pats on your and Hyejin's backs and soft words of support and encouragement. Once there is more space for her to breathe, Hyejin stands up straight and lets out another deep breath.

She is not crying, though her eyes are red, and when she looks at you with a frown, you gently place your hands at her temples and thumb at the smudged mascara under her eyes before muttering, "Perfect," with a grin.

"I hate men," Hyejin says with a fake snarl, and you roll your eyes and nod dramatically, making her giggle.

"Wanna talk about it?" you ask, and Hyejin shakes her head and says, "No. I want to dance."

Sitting on the bar is a half-empty pint of something bright blue, and Hyejin chugs it back, then leaves the empty glass behind and takes your hand, dragging you to one of the dance cages. The floor of the cage is raised about three feet from the ground and is a glowing octagon of rainbow color. Hyejin, wearing only a black satin bodysuit with lace trim and black stiletto heels, walks around to the back of the cage, closest to the nearby wall, and opens a door that blends in with the bars, then she takes a step up and hoists herself onto the platform.

You follow behind and step up and into the cage, moving to the other side of the space to allow Hyejin to close the door. Although you are no stranger to dancing in sight of others, being in an elevated cage has your nerves spiked, and you wish you had taken a shot or three at the bar before agreeing to follow her.

Hyejin wastes no time closing in on you with her fists around bars on either side of your head, and she holds on as she drops her hips low and swishes back up, all the while keeping her eyes on you. You sway to the beat with slower movements than the ones you watch Hyejin make, feeling entranced by her beauty and struggling to actually move the way she does.

"Are you shy?" she asks with a raise of her eyebrow, and you chuckle, letting go of some of your anxiety while you nod and mutter, "A little."

Hyejin spins with her arms still lifted, and wraps them over your shoulders, then dips down again, rubbing her ass against your thighs before standing up straight. You realize too late that you are frozen in place with your arms somewhat bent, like a Barbie doll, and Hyejin turns and immediately starts to laugh, bending and flinging her hair in front of her face.

"I'm not apologizing for who I am," you whine as you join her in laughing, feeling embarrassed by your inability to act like a normal person around her.

"I would never dream of asking you to," Hyejin says as she leans back against the bars across from you, swaying her hips with an amused grin. "But it is very cute how flustered you get."

You roll your eyes and smile, glad to at least be considered cute. Flirting and being flirted with is hardly an issue, and you would probably relax more around her if things were not so uncertain at the moment, in your love life. You are sure Yoongi and Namjoon would not mind, but it is a conversation you would like to have before you allow yourself to get carried away.

Or, perhaps, there is nothing to allow. Probably, there is no way in which things could get carried away, but you are once again spiraling because Jeongguk has gotten under your skin. With a deep inhale, you remind yourself that Hyejin is likely just being friendly and that you are allowed to relax and have fun with her.

So have fun, you do. The song changes to something with more of a club beat, and Hyejin begins to pump her hands in front of her chest while shaking her ass in overexaggerated movements, gyrating in a chaotic circle. With your hands pulled over your head, you begin doing some wiggle-shake move creating waves all the way down to your legs, laughing as Hyejin throws her hands over her head in an attempt to do the same.

"What do you call this one?" She shouts over the music, and you shake your head and say, "I don't know! The overcooked noodle?"

Hyejin practically throws her body against yours with laughter, and you trip backward, catching yourself with a hand on one of the bars to lessen your collision. There are definitely patrons behind you who have a view of whatever it is the two of you are doing, and you try not to feel too embarrassed.

"Yah," Jeongguk calls, making you attempt to turn around, trapped in place by a hysterical Hyejin. He rounds the platform enough to come into view and grabs onto two of the bars as he teasingly says, "You girls are gonna scare away the customers."

You raise one hand toward him as if threatening to strike him, shouting, "Oh, shut u—" but the word dies as soon as your eyes fall to Jeongguk's knuckles, which are scraped and bloodied.

"Jeongguk, what the fuck?" you ask, reaching for the nearest hand, which he slides away.

Hyejin stands alert, then squats to be at eye-level with Jeongguk, and you fully turn, checking to make sure he has no other cuts or bruises, glad that he seems otherwise perfectly fine.

"Relax," Jeongguk grumbles, tonguing the inside of his mouth while he cracks the knuckles of one fist against his palm, then switches to the other side. "This is nothing; scuff marks. That guy didn't land a single punch before he was lights out."

You sigh but accept that there is nothing you would be able to do to convince Jeongguk not to fuck someone up. It is, after all, something he has likely been trained to do and is celebrated for within the ranks of the family. Still, you hate to see his pretty hands bloodied.

"Well, you know I don't condone violence," Hyejin says, reaching her hands between two bars, smiling when Jeongguk steps closer and allows her to grab onto his wrists. "But I really appreciate you sticking up for me."

"Of course," Jeongguk grumbles, smiling the soft smile that he does when he is attempting to hide the sweetness that festers inside him, threatening to burst. Cute.

With a sigh, Hyejin lifts the wrist that Jeongguk wears his watch on, yanking it close while tilting her head to get a look. "I should go tend to the girls," she grumbles, releasing Jeongguk and standing to give you a kiss on the cheek.

You follow Hyejin's movements, watching which bars are part of the door, nervous that they blend in well enough and that you could be trapped in this cage for the rest of eternity, then you turn back to Jeongguk, who has two hands on two bars, and is staring up at you.

"So," he says, stretching himself tall to speak to you, arching his back and tipping his chin upward. "I was wondering…"

Since you are already in the cage, and Jeongguk had already been a menace to your health and well-being earlier, you decide to take a page out of Hyejin's book and swish your body in an inviting wave as you squat, dragging your hands down the bars but keeping them lifted above your head.

Jeongguk visibly swallows, losing what he was just in the process of saying, and you watch as his eyes trail to where your short skirt hugs your thighs, undoubtedly giving him a view of the black panties you wear underneath. And although you do not mind letting Jeongguk sneak a peek, you are glad that the lights are fairly dim in the club.

"What was that?" you ask, tilting your head to the side and giving a look that feigns innocence.

The expression on Jeongguk's face flashes comically from needy to pained to frustrated, and he huffs out a sigh, shaking his head as if trying to rattle his thoughts free.

"What I was going to say before you so rudely interrupted me, is that we should have dinner soon."

Jeongguk's offer takes a moment to compute, and you stare at him, heavy-blinking, trying to determine whether he is asking you on a date, or if we means more than just the two of you.

"We, as in…"

"You, me, and our men."

"Ah," you respond; that makes sense. "Yeah, we should. That would be fun."

Jeongguk nods, letting his gaze fall once more to your legs before drifting slowly back to your face. "I'll talk to Taehyungah. Perhaps he can host, and I'll cook."

With an incredulous raise of your brow you ask, "Oh, you cook?" in a mocking tone of sheer disbelief.

Jeongguk reaches up and holds his hands over yours, gripping firmly while he leans in, head between the bars and close. From here, you smell his cologne; from here you resist the urge to lean in close and kiss him.

"I happen to be an excellent cook, dollface."

"Is that so?" you ask, voice much less confident than a moment ago.

"That is so," Jeongguk says, then he leans in somehow even closer, making your head spin. "So, it's a date?"

"Yeah," you respond, feeling your heart go wild behind your ribs. "It's a date."

What you did to me made me see the world differently Mis lágrimas se secan solos, solos Pues mírame a los ojos Dime si ves el vacío que deja amor perdido Yo no duermo hasta que mis sueño' están cumplidos Sé que estoy perdiendo, pero el juеgo no ha concluido

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ahhhh!!! how are we feeling??? i presonally really love this chapter. the next one containing the promised smut™ is coming very, very soon!!!! i promise. i was sad to leave Yoongi out of this chapter, and it was not my intention to have a full chapter without him, but it made sense to split the mega chapter this way, and it felt wrong to rush him back without mc taking time to sort her thoughts out and attempt to gain some independence.

thank you for reading!!! 💜💜💜 reblogs and comments make the world go 'round, and likes are nice too!!!

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