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vinetae · 2 years ago

Note

idk if this will spark an idea in your bones but currently im just like thinking of mafia member jimin who finds dog hybrid oc after busting an operation and she's like not okay? and is just like soft and shit for her but like slowly falls in love with her or something idk it's just a running idea in my head and i wanted to dump it somewhere

... so if it inspires you i'd love to see this blab written down 💗

Jasmine and Vanilla - M

Pairings: Jimin x Dog Hybrid!Reader (Ft. ???!Jungkook)

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Yandere!AU

Summary: Life had been well in the labs. As swell as one could get when you're the main subject for a breeding facility. One storm night, your whole routine world is shaken upside down. Left is right, and right is left. When you're finally faced with freedom, you don't know what to do. luckily, you've got the best alpha- ahem. I mean person to help you along in the new world. However, what will happen when your biology is pinned against you?

Warnings: Force-feed, suggestive smut, 18+, mentions of guns, blood, gore, murder, death, and more death, yandere themes, clingy!Reader, HEATS (I know I love those types of tags ;) ), Dog hybrid anatomy, mentions of pills and heat suppressants, Cursing, foul language, and Jungkook's kind of annoyed with reader lol.

The metal doors slide open. Vapors or white and reds smoke the room like a disease. Blurring every sight you could see. Men of all shapes and sizes dressed in white lab coats. A harsh force shoves your arm.

“Get a move on, Seven.”

There’d been plenty of others before you. Each of the girls had different numbers assigned when admitted to the facility. Each color represented every room. Yellow for yard time. That’s when you’d usually be allowed a few minutes outside of the doors, to read a book or something. They had said fresh air had been good for the specimens.

Whatever that meant.

“Ah, good morning my dear.” His face crinkles with age. The lab coat washes out his tones, making it seem as if he’d been a paranormality floating around these halls. The droop in his eyes sign years onto his body. Gravity taking a toll like nothing else.

“We’ve got a special one for you, Juje.” He motions towards the tall figure standing large in the corner of the room. His upper half had already been exposed. Sweat beads drip down his reddened skin, as his chest heaves with anger. Your nose twitches at the putride stretch.

He wasn’t your kind, that’s for sure.

The old man smiled, switching his eyes from yours, back to the feral man’s. A bright and promising grin curls the corner of his lips.

“Well? Go on.” You’d been too caught up in the brooding male’s aura. His body’s light burned with a deep, crimson red. Almost as dark and menacing as the hues of blood. His eyes narrowed, chest rising and puffed from exhaustion. A metal strap coiled around the base of his neck. His pure white ears perked in alert. Body coercing a fighting stance, looking like he’d been ready to pounce at any slimmer of threats that could present.

The professor’s white tinted and unkempt eyebrows raised, motioning you closer to the stranger.

A few seconds drip by, as if the world had taken a pause. Just looking at this person made your head feel like a brick had swung at you. Breath, caught by something dark and coiled. Your legs trembled with slight fear arising. He took quick notice of your prey-like stance, softening his features. A grumbled and raspy voice can barely be audible in your mind. As if someone had paused on a staticky radio station.

“H-Here.” Is all you could make out. Your eyebrow quirks in confusion. What did he mean by this? Obviously he doesn’t want to be here, but that was a weird word to say. Nobody even knew where ‘here’ was anyways..

A clap of the professor’s hands pulls the both of you from your little ‘guess the word’ game. He snaps, pointing at the two of you.

“Let’s get them in the glass.”

–

By ‘glass’ he’d meant the transparent arena. You see, there’d been four quadrants of this place. Sector One held all of the ‘potentials’ as they liked to call it. Sector Two had all of the rainbow rooms. Playgrounds, some toys they think we’d enjoy, reading corners, and the yards. Sector Three had the labs and incubator rooms. Your friend Yuna went missing a couple weeks ago. She’d always been a bit on the timid side. Ever since being brought into this place, she’d become your best friend. You two read together, watched movies when allowed, and slept in the same quadrants. She’d disappeared three weeks ago.

After asking around, some rumor had made its way through the sectors. Saying that she’s been taken to Four. Nobody knew what Four had been. Knew what it held.

You hadn’t seen her since.

The bright fluorescent lights switch on, as a generator grows loud in the back. The whole room lights up with blinding rays of prosthetic glints. Your body flings forward, dropping to your knees instantly.

You knew this routine.

Ever since your first heat had started, you’d been taken to what the other numbers had called ‘the white room’. This was your least favorite of all.

The metal syringe digs deep past the outer layer of your skin. Piercing the nearly-healed scab in the middle of your forearm. Your eyes wince in pain, biting into your tongue muscle as a sort of relief from the pain. Soon, the effects kick in. You could feel the heat rise in the pit of your stomach, pushing your heart rate to a maximum. Every breath felt vile and disturbed. Your vision begins to blur, as you see the previous male’s form curled up on the floor. They’d injected him with the same shit. With each movement of your feet it felt like ten-thousand knives stabbing at your body. Your hands reach out, desperate to try and hold onto something to combat the excruciating pain. Mumbled and rung-drawn voices echo in your ears. This felt like hell. No, scratch that.

This was Hell.

Past the ringing and screams in your head, a few voices drew back into mind. One, being the professor’s shouts to the henchmen. Before they reached the wheezing hybrid, his body went still. Limbs, no longer grasping at the flooring for help. Chest, rid of its dry heaves.

The man dressed in black bent down, and checked his wrist. He sighs, standing up. Taking a glance at the professor.

“Dead.”

–

The grandfather clock stood against the wall. Tall and demanding was its stand. The little point of the hand ticks away, rounding until its final destination. Just to start over once more. Jimin takes in a deep breath while cracking out the pent of air bubbles between the joints in his knuckles. He’d been staring at the paperwork for the last four hours. Back curved into a position unnatural and unhealthy for creatures of any kind. He’s quick to rise, scooting the roll of his chair out from up under him. Back stretched out as much as he could muster, shaking off the aches between his shoulder blades. Reaching to pack up his things to close out the office for the night, until a quick-eyed man bursts through the gold-emblemed doors.

“Boss!”

Jimin lets out a groan, eyeing the out-of-breath male. His staggered beats of his chest, out of sync to his lips. His hair had looke dragged and rough, with the ends all frizzed up from his previous workout routines he loved to do.

“This better be good, Jungkook. Do you know how many papers I just had to sign?”

Jungkooks nods, huffing in a deep breath to calm himself. Once he’s settled down, he continues. “Taehyung’s got something on your emmadyne thingy.” Jimin’s eyebrows quirk up, quickly forgetting all of the grievances of his work he just had to suffer through.

“And?” He ticks, moving closer to Jungkook, crossing the gold-decorated tiles of the floors.

The younger’s face drops to a serious look. Brown eyes flicking with gold specs the way they do when he’s excited about something.

“They’ve got it.”

The two rush past the elongated halls. Meeting in the corridor which held the rest of his group. Yoongi’s head cranes towards the side, spoofing at the dramatic entrance.

“Slow down, you two. Jesus, where’s the fire?” He chuckles, snapping on the belts of his bulletproof vest. Tightening the straps in one go, as he shifts his working hands to the firearm holsters coiled around his thigh.

“In his eyes,” Namjoon quirks back, breaking his usual straight and unbothered demeanor, chuckling at their little joke. He too had been working on the bindings of their protective gear, making sure they'd be no way in penetration from any shot-gunning source.

“Ah, the most beautiful shade of boring brown I’d ever seen.” Hoseok flushes up behind Jimin’s tight figure, slinging around the leader of this operation.

“Shut up, all of you.” Jimin gripes, snatching up the extra vest for himself. They’d all sported some expensive looking attire. Namjoon’s figure had been wrapped in a nice, satin purple suit. The white button up collared shirt paired underneath his broad and built exterior. Jimin had always been secretly jealous of his hyung’s physique. Especially when he heard all of the screams and moans at two in the morning. He could swing anybody, and that pissed Jimin off the most.

“Ah, all’s in a good day’s fun, isn’t that right Jiminie?” Hoseok pokes, flashing a wide smile as he snaps the magazine of his pistol into place, cocking the small firearm before aiming it towards one of the members. Taehyung rolls his eyes at his meaningless threat.

“You do this every time, hyung.” He groans, belting up his jeans to fit around his circumfrenced hips.

Hoseok lowers the tip, before letting one shot echo through the room. He smirks at the shattered window’s glass, now scattered into pieces. They all whip around in shock.

“Huh, looks like someone’s getting more confident in his little toy guys, huh?” Yoongi jokes, letting out a deep breath before plopping into the comforting couch’s hold.

Jimin’s voice yells out, scolding the elder for shattering his windows. “Yah! Take your hoplophile ass out of my house before I bury you where that bullet landed!” The group all lets out a fit of chuckles, teasing at the younger male’s threat.

“Yeah yeah. Sure you would, Jimin-ah.” Namjoon breaks the semi-circle, making a bee-line towards the kitchen.

“Jimin, you rescued a baby bird from your backyard.” Jin comments, throwing the weight of his light bag across his shoulder in preparation. He walks past the younger, patting his shoulder gently.

“Yeah dude. We all know you’re just a big softie.” Taehyung quips, flashing a smile towards his best friend as he laces up his combat boots.

“Fuck you guys. I don’t even know why I let you in on this mission anyways.” Jimin gripes, angrily shuttling his feet into the comfort of his matte black combat boots. The set matches the rest of the member’s attires.

“Because you need us!” Namjoon teases, walking out the door with a little granola bar gripped in hand.

“Like hell I do! I could do this all by myself.” He yells out, sticking out his middle finger to the way that Namjoon had exited.

“No, no you couldn’t Jimin.” Jungkook finally chimes in before walking past his leader, saluting a pat on his back before following Namjoon out the door.

Today had gone by pretty quickly. More than the usual days. Today had just been filled with a white silence. With finishing the rest of your little series you’d started a few days ago. It had been about this cool place that had these things that could tell you all about the world in just a matter of seconds. With so many games that you usually play with the other numbers, but this had been on a little computer. It’s so tiny, you could hold it in your hands. It had shown pictures and drawings of how it worked. Actually, a few weeks ago, you’d try creating a little replica of the ‘device’ (that’s what they called it in your books anyways.)

You went to go show one of the other numbers, but they had just scoffed and walked away. You asked around the cares, who’d been taking care of you all. They had said it wasn’t real though. Saying that nothing that smart could fit into your pocket. She called it ‘fiction’.

You’d be a little sad after those few days. Finally accepting that they’re right. There was no way that something like that could ever exist. You let out a sigh, falling into the comfort of your little white bed. The book held close to your chest, smiling at the dreams you had of all the things you’d read about.

“It’s not real.” A frown peaks your features, fading your smile. You lean over, turning out the little press light that had been screwed to your side bed. You pull the comfort of your thick blanket over your shivering body, sighing as you begin to fall into a deep sleep, enjoying the peace and quiet.

A loud boom shakes you awake. Weird, high-pitched sounds echo the halls, your hands covering your sensitive ears. You whine out, pain feeling as if it was about to burst inside your head. You try to use the thick of your blanket to block out the loud noise, but it has been no use. The rest of the numbers had woken up, sharing the same reactions you’d experienced. A few muffled howls ran down the halls, as the male species had been crying out from the sounds. Your hands press against the shell of your ears, protecting the sensitive things from damage. A bright red light illuminates from the door’s lower crack, as the bolted and pad-locked door pops open. A woman’s monetized voice calls out repeatedly.

“All systems down. All systems down. Sector One, Two, Three and Four. Alert. Alert. All systems down.”

Your feet plop to the white floors, peaking out of the little doorway that had been swung open from the mechanics. Bodies rush past the halls, big and black heavy looking items cross their chests as they march in sync quickly through the corridors. Stomps and footsteps barely even touch the volume of the unfamiliar voice, and sirens blaring out. Your body slips past the groups of guards, head flicking back and forth as a puddle of red liquid pools at the soles of your feet. You gasp, seeing the gasping man’s hand outreach towards your paralyzed body. You quickly kneel down, barely able to keep your food down at his side’s seeping hole. The blood had been soaking through his black padded vest. His head flops to the side. Eyes running cold and lifeless. His body goes still, much like how the other male’s had done in the glass room. An icy shiver runs up your whole body, gagging at the stench of his drying blood puddle.

A door swings open, as more men rush through, not even taking notice of your knelt figure over this man’s dead body. A figure walks into the far away door entrance, coming back out with a large item in grip. A loud boom echoes once more, as the click of the large item pops back into place. He continues those motions, aiming the tip of the unusual object past your kneeled frame. An idea pops into your head.

Sneaking past the groups of people rushing by, you make it to the object room. The light above had been flickering, making your eyes strain from the unpatterned flashes. A man’s deep voice could be heard from the outside.

“She’s not in her board. Find her!”

You flinch, quick to grab anything and everything that you could easily hold onto. Running past those groups, a few yell out, as footsteps follow behind you. You wrap the thin cloth quick around your face, wiping the blood that had stained your hands onto the white of your knee-length dress. Your feet drag along the blood stained and dirty floors, ducking down, hiding from the swarms of officers.

Your stomach felt tight. The knot in your throat was about to burst. Heart pounding in your chest, as you clutch the skinny object to your chest, trying to calm your heavy breathing to keep quiet. The pain from the sirens had died down. Or maybe you’d just gotten used to it. Like everything in this place.

You take in a deep breath, ready for anything that comes your way.

“Damn it, Taehyung! I told you not to push that button!” The three run down the halls.

“Fuck! I knew we should’ve gone with sector B, fucking idiots!” Yoongi curses, as the three teammates rush through the elongated halls. Red lights spin with alarm, making all hairs on their bodies stand up.

“Yeah well if Taehyung hadn’t tried pressing all those damn buttons then we wouldn’t be in this hot shit!”

“Yah! How was I supposed to know that ‘red’ meant that the fucking alarms would turn on!?!”

“Don’t you know anything about the color red? Or buttons for that matter?? NEVER push the button! Especially if it’s red!”

“You two cut it out. We don’t have much time for your stupid lover’s quarrel.”

“We’re not fucking dating-”

“Yeah yeah. The whole ‘I hate Taehyung with everything in my guts and I want him to burn’ really isn’t all that threatening now. Especially from what I heard last night-”

“Shut up! All of you! God, it’s like I’m a fucking babysitter! Joon, you take Exit C. Taehyung, tag along. I don’t need you and Yoongi to kill each other. Just wait ‘til after the mission before you rip each other’s throats out.”

“Whatever.”

“Yoongi, You go check their command center. See if you can disable the alarm. See someone? Shoot them.”

“Damn,” Yoongi lets out a chuckle, popping one of his bullets into the guard's chest cavity with ease as he continues the conversation with his groupmates.

“Our Jimin-ah is growing up now?” He teases as the four of them run down through the halls.

“Hyung, shut the fuck up before-”

“Yeah yeah, you’ll bury me next to Hoseok. You gotta come up with better threats, Jiminie. They’re really lacking in-” He cocks the pistol, capping one of the men in a millisecond without breaking eye contact with his younger friend.

“I’ll take Two.” Taehyung joins in, feet trudging behind as his chest heaves with exhaustion. For a bunch of fit looking men, they hadn’t been the best in shape. Well, maybe that had just been Taehyung. \

“Great,” Jimin comments, cocking the grip of his gun back, aiming it towards the floor before following a police officer's stance in firearms. “I’ll take One. Joon, you rush Three. Yoongi-”

“Yeah yeah I’ll take Four.”

The alarms had died down, but what little strength you held onto with that small object never faltered. You knew there had to be a way out of this place, you just didn’t know where. Eyes screwed shut, you try and think back to the very first time you’d been brought to this place.

___

A blinding light beams above, while the sound of clicking shoes echoes the barren halls. The white walls had been stained with an eerie and death-march like tone. Your stomach churned at the feeling.

A small framed woman stands sturdily at the little front desk, as your mother walks up to the counter, leaving you all alone. A few words were exchanged, and soon she’d been bending down to kiss your cheek.

The woman standing behind the desk had made her way to your side, and reached down to grab your arm. You immediately twist your body around, trying to free yourself of her grip. You watched as the flowing red skirt of your mother’s body had swayed with a final goodbye. Black tall heels clicked against the tiled floors, as the metal doors slam shut. You cry out, biting down onto the woman’s arm to race towards the door. Your young legs are still getting used to the motions of walking, much less running. Soon, they’d given out. Your body fell at the feet of the closed doors, as a set of two heavily armed men grip at your arms, binding your tiny hands with a device-like cuff. Your whole body screams out in pain. Feeling as if your soul was being ripped from your body.

______

That’s all you remembered. The woman you called home. Who fed you. Bathed you. Called you hers, had abandoned you. Throwing you into the closet with all the monsters, instead of telling you there are none. No kisses on your forehead, no being tucked in at night after a nice warm glass of milk.

Just complete darkness.

A deep voice echoes through the halls, as you’re pulled from the horrors of your childhood. Hand firmly gripping onto the little sharp object you’d possessed from one of the countertops in this crumbling place. The blood on your dress, a reminder to keep your mouth shut. No matter who had been in here, you knew it was to bring trouble.

______

Jimin’s hands trail along the counter’s messed up, once neatly filed paperworks, shoving the useless pieces off in search for his prized possession. He sighs, bending at the knees in hopes that there’s a safe somewhere in this dumpster fire of a shit-hole. Feeling all around for some sign of a capsule or armory to keep his family’s heirloom in.

“I swear to God if these mother fuckers- Ah!” A figure lunges from up under the desk as he falls backwards, back hitting the floor with a hard thud. Their hand reaches down, pressing the sharp point of a scalpel to the bottom of his throat. He’s quick to disarm the attacker, flipping the two over until he’s the one on top with the scalpel’s point to their throat. Their hands scratch and grip at his wrists, but it had been no use. His body towered there any day. Whether it be rain or shine, hail or thunder. Their voice whines out, high-pitched and scarred with fear. His thumb presses the tiny, makeshift knife deeper into their throat, watching as a trickle of blood drips down their skin. The figure’s arm's reach out. The loudest and most terrified scream echoed through the halls. Jimin’s quick to cup his hand over their mouth, silencing their cries.

His opposite hand grips onto their wrists, pinning them above to keep them still. His eyebrow quirks in question, feeling how thin and frail their wrists had been. As if they had been starved for days. His eyes flicker back down, a wet substance trickles down onto his cupped hand. The rounding lights had shone on the figure just enough to see that it had been-

Tears..?

His grip loosens, eyes squinting to adjust to the dimmed lights, trying to make out the person’s face. Maybe it had been a worker? His hand that cupped over their mouth had trailed down, feeling how thin their skin was. Half-healed scars stitch their exposed shoulder. His thigh shifts against the figure’s lower body, hand quickly dragging down to feel the hem of a paper-thin like dress.

A dress..

He quickly pulls the figure up from the ground, bounding their wrists to the front just for safe measure. His freed hand fumbled to the pockets inside his jeans, pulling a little flashlight from its confinement.

The small girl flinches, shielding her eyes from the blinding sudden light. She tries to pull away, but he keeps her in place. The blood decorated her neck like a disgusting accessory he’d caused. Though, she didn’t look like she’d been that well looking before this meeting. The bags under her doe-like, glassy eyes droop with malnourishment and exhaustion. His eyes glance down, widening at her gault and thinned proportions. Skin as if it hadn’t seen the sunlight in decades. Her hair was thinned and drab looking. However, the most heart-wrenching thing he’d seen of hers,

The fear, crystal clear in her eyes.

Her mouth fell open as if to say something, but nothing came out. She kept struggling against his grip, kicking and flailing around like a toddler pitching a tantrum. More with fear than anger.

“Hey, hey- easy!” Her whole body pulls back, trying to escape his tight grip bounding her wrists. She hadn’t given up this fight, that’s for sure. Her head was shaking left and right as she was being exercised. However, he could feel her body weakening with each tug and pull to fight what little effort he’d been using in holding her.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, sweetie..” Her efforts weren’t letting up. Extending his freed hand outwards, his palm presses lightly against her burning cheek. He rises to prop up on his knees, lowering his voice in trying to signal peace.

“Easy, girl.. You’re okay.” Her chest heaves with might, but the strength within her body finally gives in. Her lips roll heavy breaths, as the struggles against his hold finally let up. His eyebrows knit together at the sight of her small gash against the base of her neck. He reaches down, using the scalpel to rip a small opening in a blood dripped white button up, tearing a piece of material from the suit’s fabric, folding the little cloth to fit over the open wound. She flinches, leaning back, as far away as possible.

“Look, it’s for your neck.” He holds the little piece of material up to his own neck, giving a demonstration of what he’ll be doing. “It’s to help..” She hesitates a second, before snatching the material from his grip, placing it herself. Her eyes take a glance over, watching as he reaches up above the desk, pulling a roll of tape down with him. His quick and genuine smile flashes, like a peaceful white flag during a war.

“Keep it in place. It’s tape.” He coos, snapping a piece off with the plastic sharps at the end, holding the roll in place. The little flimsy, clear strip sticks to the tip of his middle finger, stilling until she gives consent. Taking the strip for herself, she places it against the cloth, wincing from the minor sting.

“See? Not so bad, huh? Now,” He rises from the floor, taking a look around the room while commenting. “Stay here while I look for something.” His head tilts down, eyes locking onto hers. The wisp of her baby hairs stick to her forehead from a great amount of sweat. A smile curves his lips.

He bends down to prop himself up on one knee, patting the crown of her hair. “Think you can do that for me?” A low growl rumbles deep from her chest, but her head nods nonetheless. “Good girl.” He stands once more taking in a deep breath while stifling through the piles of paperwork scattered throughout the lab. His fingers brush past a few strange dips in the flooring, as a smirk curves his lips.

“Ah, there you are.” He proudly smiles, tucking the small jewel into his zipper pocket. As he turns to round the medical table, her small woman’s body stands tall and straight as the scalpel’s tip threatens to slit his throat. Her eyes burn with passion, greater than he’s ever seen. Voice raspy, but clear enough to make out what she’s trying to get across.

“O-Outside.”

His eyebrow quirks in confusion, tilting his head to the side. “You want me outside?” Her head shakes, taking in a deep breath to build up her confidence once more.

“Outside.” Her voice is clearer than ever. Her tone had touches of confidence, but fear had drenched whatever fire had ignited for even just a few seconds. His hands lower to his side, pressing his bulletproof vest deeper against the tip of the scalpel.

“Are you really trying to threaten me, sweetheart?” He watches the lump in her throat being swallowed agonizingly slow. She shakes her head, throwing the scalpel to the side to grip the collar of his white collar button up. His eyes widen, watching the once neutral colored irises melt into a dark, crimson.

“Take. Out. Side.”

___

The sirens blare loudly into your sensitive ears. The closer he led you to what you could only hope was the end, your body felt weaker. His hand is tight on yours, as you both are running through the halls. Avoiding dips, craters and fallen objects that had ridden more than half the staff.

“Come on, we’re almost there.” He reaches behind, pressing his palm into your back for more support. He could tell you’d become weak, given how much adrenaline you’d been taking on, the loud noises, and the energy you’d used up trying to fight him off. Taken, that it’s 1am as well. He’s surprised you haven’t passed out from exhaustion yet.

His hand extends outwards, pushing on the heavy metal door. Reaching back to pull you with his body. Suddenly, a scream echoes through the halls, louder than any of the blaring sirens that had been going off for the past thirty minutes. Your body collapses to the floor, a high-pitched screech rips from your chest, falling back into the painless comfort of the building.

“What are you doing!? We’ve gotta go-” He bends down, pulling you further into the building until your back hits the front desk. His eyes scan all over your body, seeing that there had been no harm done. Until, his fingers ran over a little lump just above the nape of your neck.

“Fuck..” He curses under breath, reaching into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out his cellphone quickly. “Of course they’d fucking chip you.”

Your eyes burn with tears, hands flying to grip at anything you could get comfort from. That, just so happened to be his barely visible white button up sneaking underneath his padded black vest. Much like the guards had worn. Voice brittle and frail as you repeat the unfamiliar sound.

“Ch-chip?”

His glares soften when met with your terrified stature. “It’s okay.. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

After a dial tone later, he starts talking to someone other than you.

“Damn it!” His voice is uncontrolled with anger, as he slides his phone back into its confinement. Eyes searching yours for some sort of answer, yet he can only think of one solution.

“Do you trust me?”

…

“Hurry up, Kook!” Namjoon calls out, standing outside of the laboratory’s control center.

“It’s not easy re-coding a whole program, Hyung!” Jungkook gripes back, rolling his eyes at his older’s high expectations of their mission.

“Well hurry up. You said that the device would only give us a couple of minutes!” Namjoon groans, trying to calm the erratic beats in his chest, as he reaches into the strap coiled around his thigh, pulling out his phone.

“Hello?” Jimin's voice sounded furious on the other line. “Yeah Kook’s working on it right- wait- slow down. We- lemme ask him.” Namjoon lowers the phone, yelling out. “Kook, can you disable the chips?”

Jungkook’s head peaks out in utter confusion. “Yeah sure hyung. Which ones, Doritos or Lays?” Namjoon’s eyes roll at his sarcasm.

“Not funny, Jimin’s found a hybrid. They’re near Sector B’s exit, but she’d chipped.”

“Why can’t she just, ya know? Leave.” Jungkook's voice is flat and sprinkled with a hint of annoyance. Namjoon groans, holding the phone out for him to have a little chat with the mission leader.

“Hello? Oh, Jimin. Uh- oh shit.. Uhm yeah I’ll see if I can shut it down.” Jungkook’s fingers make quick work on the computer’s keys, tying in every code his older brother had ever mentioned. An error message pops up, making Jungkook groan. He holds the phone to his ear once more, explaining the situation.

“It’s inviolable..”

“English for God’s sake, Jungkook.” Jimin gripes, waiting for the translation.

“It means I can’t break it. The chip’s coding isn’t even here.”

“Then where the hell is it?”

Jungkook squints, trying to decode the coordinates to an exact place. “Somewhere in California..?”

“We’re in SOUTH KOREA.” Jimin yells, making even Namjoon’s slouched posture straighten.

“You’ll have to remove it physically, hyung.”

___

“T-trust..?” You haven’t heard that word since you’d been brought to this place. The nurse who worked the front desk had promised your safety here, asking the same thing he is.

Jimin takes your hand in his, trying to get all of your focus to set on him instead of what’s going down around the two of you. “Trust. It means that you put your faith in me to help you out of here.”

“Why.. trust?” He could tell by the way you’re pulling further away, that you’d been teetering on the edge of just getting up and running away. He knew that’d do you or him no good, so he settled for explaining some more. Not that he had the time for this, anyways.

“Your neck,” He points to the back of your head, finger brushing along the little bump of your spine along your nape. “It has a chip in it that they put, so that they know where you are. You can’t leave without getting rid of it.” Your eyes flick back and forth, trying to process it all.

“How.. get.. rid?” Somehow, you already knew the answer.

“I.. take it out.” His voice is stern and controlled, unlike it had seemed earlier. He’s trying anything he can to make sure you don’t freak out right now. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. He watches the way your eyes guide themselves towards his concealed pocket knife, the lump in your throat thickening.

“No..” Your head shakes. “N-No.. other way.” Looking around, you search for anything else to not have to do this. His hands reach out to steady your shoulders, forcing your eyes to lock with his.

“We don’t have a lot of time here.” Your eyes stung with tears. His heart breaks at the sight, only furthering his determination of getting you both out of here. “It’ll be quick, okay?” Your head shakes sporadically, hairs flying left and right by the motions.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His voice softens, lightly keeping your head still by taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. “What’s your name?” His simple question only makes the tears stream faster. The pain in your heart hurt more than anything physical you’d felt.

“I-I don’t know..” Even with everything going on, the sirens, alarms, howls and goans, gunshots and screams, he still had kept his composure. Acting as if this had just been a daily thing to do. Rip out a ‘chip’ from someone’s neck with a knife.

“Okay, okay. What’s something you love?”

Love?

Your memories flush through, skimming over anything that had caused you pain, whether mentally or physically. Then, it stops.

Nothing comes to mind.

You shake your head, silently crying as you realize that you have no good memories. All of your permanent ones are in this monster house.

His brows knit in concern, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing?”

“Okay, then. Your name is..” He looks around the destroyed entrance, watching as a few wires hang low, sparking ever so often. “Uh… Shit. Lilac, okay?” Your head leans to the side in confusion. He stumbles over his words, questioning how he’s gonna explain this one. “It’s a flower. Got it?”

“My.. name?”

“Yes, it’s Lilac. Just until we find out what your real name is, okay?” You hesitantly nod, settling your hands clasp into your lap. He takes a deep breath, trying to keep composed for both of your sakes. His hand brushes over the handle of his concealed pocket knife, mapping out his strategy in his head before putting it to action. “You ready?”

Your head nods, twisting around to allow him access to your nape. Your hair flipped over so nothing would be obstructing his view. Before he presses the tip of his knife to your neck, your hand reaches down to clasp over his free hand, muttering three little words that make his heart sink.

“I trust you.”

“Alright, got it!” Jungkook exclaims in victory, grabbing the little flashdrive he’d bought a few months back specifically for this mission. He quickly paces out of the control center’s door frame, being met with Namjoon’s back against the wall while a little white stick had been caught between his two lips.

“Really? Smoking on the job, dude?” Jungkook scoffs at his hyung’s behavior, stuffing the little flash drive down into his jean pocket. Namjoon’s posture straightens, releasing the little white bud of tightly wrapped nicotine to the floor, his shoe stomping out what little embers burned.

“Don’t dude your owner, dude.” He retorts, as Jungkook’s eyes roll at the rebuttal.

“Legally, you’re only my owner.” Namjoon’s lips tug into a smirk, throwing an arm around Jungkook’s tightened shoulders.

“Such a cute little puppy, isn’t that right~” He teases, ruffling Jungkook’s box-dyed locks that had concealed his ears better.

“Call me a puppy again and I’ll rip your balls from your dick.” Jungkook’s empty threat leaves a chuckle to roll from Namjoon’s lips, leading the two out towards the exit. Just before they were out, Jungkook’s ears perked up to the sound of a familiar screech. They both exchange a quick, worried look before making their way towards the noise.

___

“F-F-MA!” You couldn’t even find the words. Hands digging into the fabrics of your soaked dress, trying to stay still as much as possible as Jimin’s knife cuts deeper past the tissue. One hand stays flat against the freshly opened wound, while the other makes quick work of unbuckling his belt and holding it to your mouth.

“Bite.” He commands.

You’re quick to obey, trying to reach backwards for any support you could get. Your hands land into his lap, your knuckles tinting white from the pressure. His lips fall apart when one of your hands squeezes his cock on accident, making him bite back a moan. He’s quick to remove your hands, and instead place them on his bulletproof vest.

Your whines and moans didn’t help after that, that’s for sure.

“Almost got it,” He adds, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Whatever you do, don’t move.” His free hand reaches into the medical pouch of his mission bag, pulling out two alcohol wipes. Sterilizing his index and thumb, they’re inserted into the medium sized incision he’d made. The high-pitched scream you let out leaves his ears feeling like they’re on the verge of bleeding.

A few footsteps are introduced, as Namjoon’s gruff voice echoed through the corridor. “What the fuck was that!?”

“What does it fucking look like I’m doing!?” Jimin snaps back, trying to focus on detaching the chip. Jungkook’s body comes to sit in front of yours, criss-crossing the same way you’d sat. His hand takes yours, rubbing soothing circles around to ease the pain.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.. Just breathe.” His heart fucking shatters when you look up through glassy and red eyes. The pain he felt just by looking at this disaster had his stomach on the verge of letting go of today’s lunch. Your eyelids flutter to stay awake, as the black leather belt that had been stuffed into your mouth is practically bitten through all the way. Incisor teeth marks press into the lux item. He could feel the way your body was on the edge of just giving up.

“Hyung- Hyung hurry up!” Jungkook’s voice is riddled with panic now, watching as the blood soaked tears stain your cheek like a nasty case of rosacea.

Jimin’s fingertips latch onto the little device, slowly pulling out so as to not cause any permanent damage. “I’ve got it - Namjoon, grab the alcohol” He’s quick to hand the leader the requested item, watching wearily.

Jungkook’s hand reaches up to scratch your dirtied, once cream white fluffy ears, making a high-pitched whine roll through your chest. He smiles, continuing to praise you highly. “Good job, uhh.. Girl?”

Once Jimin’s got the gauze pad secured to the wound, he quickly helps you stand, putting all of your weight against his body, as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You did it,” He whispers, as the other two males hold the door open to let you through.

___

“Should we wake her?” One of the voices is tuned with a filter sounding as if they’d been talking under the water.

“No, guys. She needs rest. I’m literally in shock at how she wasn’t dead yet.” You could move a bit. Wiggling your big toe first, up your leg, until finally you could peel back your eyelids. The room had blurred out, taking a few seconds to clear. Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a whole group of men. Some, you’d recognized already. A man with purple hair comes to stand by your side, reaching down shine a bright light into your eyes.

“Y/n?” His voice calls out, holding up a set of fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”

“She’s illiterate, hyung.” One of the voices retorted, folding his arms across his chest. The man had electric blue hair that looked as if he’d been a rockstar himself.

“No, she just can’t speak English well, idiot.” Another responds. This one looked familiar. Jet-black curly hair, and a bunch of weird drawings on his right arm. He flashes a quick smile your way, passing through all of the other men to stand by your bed. “How are you feeling, Y/n?”

Who’s Y/n?

Your eyebrow raises in confusion, stopping your searches when your eyes land upon his figure. Much more cleaned up and presentable, the man adorned a pair of simple dark-washed jeans, along with a black T-shirt that hugged his prominent muscles. His brown, puppy-like hair lays damp against his forehead, brushing it out of his face. You quickly sat up, making the rest of the bunch yell in protest for your sudden action.

“Woah woah woah! Girly you were just at Death’s Doorstep, I don’t want you making another move!” The man wearing a corded heartbeat thing around his neck commands, but you didn’t care. You’re quick to fumble over the white comforter’s crumbled up fabric, falling towards the blonde hair man. His arms reach out to catch you, as he lets a chuckle roll from his lips.

“Easy, girl.” Your arms snake around his neck, pressing your whole body flushed against his. Tears rolling down your cheeks, as you finally have what you’d been wanting all your life.

Freedom.

“Yeah- we’ll just.. Give you two a minute.” The weird heartbeat tube guy guides the rest of the group out of the room, as he tries to peel you away. Your grip stays anaconda-tight, not letting up.

“Okay- Y/n you can let go now.” Your nose buried deep into the side of his neck, inhaling his vanilla and jasmine scent that you’d somehow missed, even though you didn’t even know this man’s name.

“Y/n, it’s okay, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His palm rubs soothing circles into the plains of your back, earning a low mewl from your lips.

You both stayed there for around five minutes. After time passed, your grip started to lighten up, until you’d finally released. His plump lips roll off a cute chuckle, the pad of his thumb stroking a line across your cheek.

“You good now?” He coos, taking one of your fluffy ears in hand to scratch gently. The gentle touch of his warm fingers made your stomach do summersaults. Your head nods, making a smile tug to the corner of his lips.

“Alright, teddy bear. Jin said that you can go ahead and take a bath.” Your head tilts, raising an eyebrow.

“B..Bath?” Now it’s his turn to be the confused one.

“You’ve never had a bath before? How’d they wash you guys in that place?” Your lips fall flat, not know how to answer that question. They did like everyone else, sprayed them down for a few seconds with some water, gave them a soap bar, and just sprayed them again.

His head shakes, pulling you off the bed to help you go ahead and get your land legs back. Your right arm catches onto his forearm, gripping tightly for support. His opposite hand comes down to ground your lower back, making sure that you can’t fall forwards or back.

“Easy, one foot at a time.” You follow his steps, as the two of you count together. Soon, you’re met with a different atmosphere. One much nicer than the bathroom you had back at your home. Or.. ‘center’ as the man liked to call it.

“My.. name.” Your head cranes to the side, as he lowers your body for you to sit on the toilet’s lid. He reaches down to plugging the tub’s drain, turning on the water.

“Your name?” He questions, pacing around the bathroom quickly to grab shampoo, towels, and some plastic wrap Jin had left for the two. He lowers down to the tub’s edge, propping up against the side while waiting for the bath to fill.

You nod. “No.. No. Your name.” Your voice was small and hoarse, hand trailing along the nearly healed scar across the bottom of your throat. Jimin’s eyes soften at the sight, remembering the past few days.

“I’m sorry for that.. and- my name's Jimin.” His hands extend outwards to offer help in standing. Your body resists movement. His lips roll out a deep sigh, tearing off a piece of the clear, thin plastic to keep the water from seeping to the stitches.

“You can’t take a bath with your dress, silly.” His voice raises an octave to try and push away the somber memories from a few days ago. Your head starts pounding, as the sounds, images and smells start to all come crawling back.

“Fuck..” You mumble, making the man let out a deep chuckle.

“That’s a new word, huh?” You nod, moving the lengths of your locks out of his way for him to dress the wounds once more. He backs away, standing tall next to the cracked door. “I’ll be out here if you-”

“No!” You cry out, body immediately trembling at the thought of him leaving you. Not again, not ever.

“But- don’t you want privacy to undress?”

“What.. privashe?”

He bends at the knees, laying down a towel to catch the water when you’re finished. His eyes glance up, catching your own through thick eyelashes. “Privacy is.. Nobody’s with you when you’re.. You know.” Your head shakes to the side, denying the word.

“We.. blue all.” His eyebrows knit together, trying to turn the gears to translate your broken english.

“Blue..?”

You point up to the ceiling, adding “Room.”

“Ah, so you showered in a blue room? All together?” You nod, smiling in victory. His smile however, showed no sign of genuinity.

___

His chin rests atop the tub’s edge, padding the hard surface with a rolled up washcloth. He admires the way your child-like innocence shines through when the bubble of the water starts to form. Hand guiding your hair back to not ruin your fun, a smile pressing his lips/

“So you’re telling me that they didn’t even let you play with cards?” You nod, slipping your under body underneath the bubbly waters so as to not reveal too much.

“We.. like.. Word.” His head tilts to the side, watching as your hands cup into a little bowl, blowing the pop-able bubbles into his face. He flinches away, laughing alongside you.

“You mean read?” His questions make your head do its little ‘definition, please’ tilt. It’s what he liked to call it, anyways.

“Read..Uhm- Yes. I we read.” Your lips crease to a smile, leaning forwards to wipe some of the bubbles onto the tip of his nose.

“No, it’s ‘I like to read.’ Try it.”

“Try it.” You repeat.

“No-” He facepalms, making your breath buble out in a cute giggle. “You say, ‘I like to read.’.”

“I.. like to read?” The sentence felt foreigner on your tongue. Usually you wouldn’t have to know these many words in the center. You’d be able to just communicate through thoughts and howls, but he hadn’t understood any of those. Yet.

“Mhm, good job.” He lifts the cup to scoop up some clean water from the running pipes, dumping it onto your head, as you let out a slight yelp.

“Fuck!” He bends over laughing at your shriek. Lips parted in humor, watching as your face falls confused.

“What?”

“You- that’s not a good word, Y/n.” He comments, laughter beginning to die down for a few moments.

“Why?”

He sighs, resuming to wash your hair. Leaning over, his face is met with yours from the side. “It’s a bad word. We don’t say it all the time, okay?” Your lips curve into a smirk.

“Fuck.” You test.

“Y/n, What’d I just say?”

Your shoulders shrug, silently patting yourself on the back for creating this little game. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

His lips tighten, expression falling flat as the tone in his voice begins to shift. “Stop saying that, Y/n. I mean it.”

With one breath, you lean forwards, lips barely brushing against his as you let the sound flow one last time.

“Fuck.”

…

The living room had grown quiet. Everyone sat sprawled all across the central area, waiting for any sign that it had been okay to rejoin with the newest addition to their bunch.

"I say we order twice the dosage of heat-supressants from Jungkook’s guy.” Jin comments, lips wrapping around the ring of his second soju bottle of the night.

“Well what if she wants to have heats? That’s like forcing a girl to go on birth-control. It should be her choice.” Namjoon adds, turning to the next page in his anthology novel. A warm mug of tea sat perfectly next to him on the side table. Jungkook’s head hangs off the couch, as his body is twisted upside down. His eyes trained on the Television that’d been playing for the past hour.

“Yeah, but we don’t need any hybrid babies around here. Especially since Jungkook’s breed is close to her’s.” Jin’s addition makes a few heads turn, especially that of the maknae himself.

“We’re all at the same risk as I am hyung. She’s half human, too.” Jungkook bites back, a bitter taste in his mouth resides at Jin’s comment towards you.

“I think the little tyke’s onto something,” Out of the small gathered bunch, Yoongi’s voice is next to follow in pursuit of this conversation. His own poison of choice being a chilled glass of whiskey on the rocks. Courtesy of Jimin’s little addiction, he must admit. “We all have the same urge to fuck her.”

Their heads all turn towards the elder, as he raises an eyebrow at the sudden attention.

“Way to be subtle with it, Yoongs.” Hoseok interrupts, sliding the edge of his pocket knife into the safety of its latch. “But he’s right. The maknae only got a little leverage because he’s more similar to her than we are. Biology wins in this case.” Hoseok reaches back behind himself to snatch the little glass from Yooongi’s grip, taking a swig in one go.

“don't high-jack my shit, you damn thief." Yoongi gripes, snatching back his rightfully made liquor from the younger male.

"Don't shit on my high-jack, you fucking sloth." Hoseok bites back, sticking his tongue out at the man he's called 'friend' for the past four years.

"Stick that tongue back at me and I'll rip it out so fast you won't even have time to cry out for your dead mommy." Hoseok's glare hardens back at his hyung's comment, making the whole atmosphere shift.

"Too far, asshole."

"ALRIGHT, you two. Knock it off. We've got bigger fish to fry here." Namjoon cuts in the middle before someone loses a dick. "Tae, what do you think we should do?" The man's head cranes to the side, forcing himself to pull away from the game he's almost won.

"Uhh. What was the question again?" They all groan in unison, watching as Hoseok throws a pillow towards the second to youngest. Taehyung's quick to dodge it, letting out a soft chuckle. "Your aim really bites, hyung. Surprised you've off-ed so many people with that kinda coordination.

"Yeah fuck you too, Tae." Hoseok groans. Taehyung sends a wink towards the elder.

"When and where, baby boy?~"

"Jesus I can't handle all this gay shit." Yoongi stands up, going to himself another drink. Taehyung chuckles, sending yoongi off with a few more words.

"Hyung, you're like the definition of gay. Don't even try it." Hoseok nods, agreeing with the younger male.

"Yea?" Yoongi settles back down, this time plopping next to Namjoon for some familiarity. "Bisexual, people. Ain't limited to one or the other, so taehyung, fuck off."

The commotion paused with a loud bang from upstairs. The group takes a look up, discussing who'll they'll be sending to go check it out.

"One two three NOT IT-"

They look around, laughing at the slowest member. "Damn it! I was waiting for Deadpool to show up guys!" Jungkook groans, pausing his movie to stand and make his way up the stairs.

••

"You are just a little daredevil, aren't you?" Jimin chuckles, watching you struggle trying to blow the tape off from your lips.

"N-uh uh. You keep that mouth of yours shut until you can learn to talk properly, understand?"

Even though you hadn't really, your eyes lulled back in annoyance. Hands reaching up to rip off the tape, but his quick reflexes prove to be faster. "Now that's not how you learn, is it?" A dark aura melts away his once soft and glowy exterior, trailing along something much more intense. His palm wraps around your wrist, a smirk presses his lips. "Don't make me have to tie up these hands too." Something burning inside made you quickly kneel down to submit, not even having time to make a peep. He takes it as a sign of your health depleting.

"Y/n? Get up off the floor, sweetie." His arms come to lift your from the floor, straightening the oversized T-shirts he'd let you borrow, promising to take you shopping in the morning for some of your own things.

Your ears perk up to height, craning your neck to the side quickly. Jungkook's movements hault, noticing what little you'd been dressed in. "Uh- we heard a loud sound and wanted to make sure that you were okay." His eyes trail along your figure, dipping from every hidden curve and wave he could somehow see. The shirt hadn't been translucent at all, in fact.

"Yeah we're fine. Someone taught her a not so nice word so I'm teaching her." Jimin comments, using a black, square shaped brush to comb through your hair, careful to avoid your protruding ears that had been on high alert towards the maknae. Jungkook's eyes narrow with a 'don't look at me like that' kind of expression, making you hesitantly back off after a few seconds.

"Anyways, namjoon hyung wanted to speak with you downstairs in a few minutes." He adds, before making his way back down the steps. Jimin lets out a sigh, taking a few strands of hair, running his fingers along the lengths. "There. Does that feel better?" You nod, turning back around to flash a smile. He mirrors yours, tilting his head down in question. "Are you going to behave now?" Your eyes trail off, pretending to think for a second.

"Y/n.." he threatens, as you giggle through the tape, nodding.

"I don't want you saying that word again, do you understand?" He peels back the tape for an answer.

"Yes."

"What'd you need to speak with me for, hyung?" Jimin questions, as you curl up next to his side, nuzzling into the comfort of a hoodie he'd thrown on before you two made your way down the stairs.

Namjoon's eyes take your strange behavior, lifting an eyebrow. "We need to discuss, well- that." He points towards you, making your face scrunch with annoyance. Jimin glances down, scratching behind your ears to calm you down.

"You mean 'her'. She has a name, hyung."

"Yes yes I know, jimin. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about her behavior."

"Her.. behavior?"

Namjoon let's out a sigh, motioning for jungkook to come over and sit in the floor next to namjoon. "From one hybrid owner to another, you need to start thinking about if you're going to get her on suppressants or not. The sooner, the better." You watch as jungkook's eyes roll at Namjoon's comment, sticking his tongue out at the older man.

"Only legally, dumbass." Jungkook bites back, sticking his tongue out at his owner. Namjoon stares down the younger man, immediately shutting him up.

"Su..press..ants?" You take the words, trying to combine the together. However, they felt weird on your tongue, especially coming from your lips.

"Yes, suppressants, Y/n. When was your first heat?" His question leaves you stumped. What's a heat?

"Today. Bath." You smile, looking to your man to see if you got the answer right. He smiles, thumbing your cheek gently. Namjoon let's out a breath.

"No, Y/n. A heat is where-"

"I think that's enough for tonight."

"Jimin, you know how important this is to discuss-"

"Yeah, I do. Jungkook," his head turns in response, perking up. "Go play with Y/n for a few minutes." Your face scrunched in dislike at the idea. Hands reaching over to lock into place with Jimin’s to keep from leaving with Jungkook.

"No," you protest the thought. "Stay. Jimin." Your lips quiver, begging both of the men for you to stay.

"Jungkook, explain what a heat is for Y/n." Namjoon commands, as the maknae's throat tightens.

"Uh- I don't uhm- I… No." Jungkook stands walking away from this conversation quickly to avoid that conversation.

Namjoon sighs, lowering his head in annoyance. "Jimin, either get her on suppressants or find another place for her."

The night creeper in quicker than day had gone. Bright suns tied into invisible knots in the dark sky, as you sat on the bay window's cushion, admiring the glow of night. A creaking door perks your ears. You turn around, flashing a bright smile when you notice who it is.

"Whatchya doing?" He questions, settling down next to you on the cushions. Your hands drag along the cold winter's window pane, a slight chill running up your spine from the temperature drop. Head tilting to the side, your eyes trail over the moonlights bright illuminates shining upon his features. The chocolate brown irises glow with amusement to match your own.

"You know, they say if you wish upon a shooting star, then your wish will come true." Your head peaks at the idea. Immediately knowing what you'd wish for.

"Shoot..ting star?" He nods, pointing out towards the night's chilly blanket of curiosity.

"It flies across the sky like a really fast rocket.and when you see it, you make a quiet wish and poof! Your dream comes true." A 1,000-watt smile brightens up your face, as you deeply squint towards the sky, trying to look for anything that moves. Jimin lets out a chuckle, reaching up to drag his palm along the curve of your head. Fingers combing through your halfway dried strands, a smile similiar to yours peaks up. Only this one hadn't been towards the flying stars.

"I SEE!" You exclaim, pressing the tip of your finger against the glass. He's quick to sit up, nodding and points as well.

"Quick, make a wish!~" your hands clasp together in a prayer-like form, eyes closing as your lips mumble a few simple words.

"I wish to stay."

Morning peaks through like a little kid waking up bright and early on Christmas morning. Your eyes peel open, watching as the little dust particles float for a bit in the sun's bright rays. Everything had felt perfect.

You quickly rush down the stairs, eager to greet everyone a warm hello, only to find an empty house. Feeling as if some hadn't woken up yet, your feet trail along the halls like Anna from Frozen, just to be met with silence.

Knocking upon each door with no answer. The final door you knock upon is the one who you'd been wanting to see the most. Twisting the knob, you decided to take a peak in.

"Jimin?" You call out, watching as the sun's similar rays shine into his room as well. The gray comforter laid neatly on top of the bedsheets gave a sense of emptiness. His room hadn't been that outdone. With a large king bed placed on the side, and a huge desk sat in the middle facing from the window, it looked almost as if he was the most well-off man alive. The chrome outlines of his bed frame screamed 'look at me, I have money', which made your heart sink.

Had he been out with someone else?

The thought made your stomach churn with angst. Closing the door back, you decide to go make something for the boys to enjoy when they return. Switching on the old gramophone Jimin kept in his living room, you dance around the kitchen while whipping up a good stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

After about an hour's worth of cooking and baking, you'd felt worn out. Clearing the kitchen of any mess you'd disrupted Jin's wonderful organization with, you take a stroll through the rest of the place.

"Get her to take one dose every morning and every night. Keep track of when her heat will be too. On those days, you double the dosage, because her body will be fighting extra hard against them." The doctor extends out a white paper bag with further instructions and your prescription embedded inside. Namjoon pats Jimin on the back, as they make their way out of the hospital. When they're in the comfort of their vehicle, namjoon continues.

"It's for everybody's good, Jimin. Plus, the doctor said it will regulate her emotions better." Jimin's eyes drain off into the distance, blocking out the drowning sounds of Namjoon's Pros list for getting to take the supplements.

It was for your own good, he reminded himself.

Your feet dangle off the side of the bed, while one of his books held tightly in your grip. Your voice sounding out the words for better comprehension. Suddenly, your ears perk to the sound of a car pulling into the drive. You twist off the bed, rushing down the stairs as quickly as possible, falling into the first person's body you see.

"Uhm- I'm not Jimin, Y/n." Jungkook whines, feeling the grasp of your hug squeeze him like a boa constricter's lunch. You release, head peaking behind his body in search for the man you'd been desperately needing to see.

Jungkook sets the groceries onto the counter, letting out a sigh as he watches you pace back and forth between the two front door windows. "How long has he been gone?" He questions, popping the tab on a Coke to take a sip.

Your feet rush back and forth, head and eyes swiveling every which way on hopes that he'd be here faster. "Too long." You're quick to reply, not really caring in the conversation with the other hybrid.

"Y/n, I think you should back off a bit." His comment makes your body twist with anger. Turning on a heel, your face immediately falls straight.

"You, back off." Biting back, you're head turns to face the two large front doors, pacing once more. Jungkook let's out a sigh, shaking his head, making his way up the stairs.

After a few seconds drip by, there'd still been no sight of your man. Well, not your man- fuck that yes he is your man and if any other bitch tries to come at him you'll rip their-

"Y/n?" Jungkook's voice makes your thoughts hide for a second. You groan, already pissed off enough from the stupid wolf-hybrid.

"What?" Turning around, you're immidiently caught with the sight of Jimin's shirt in his hand. Jungkook holds out the peice of cloth, making your nose twitch in excitement.

"How does this make you feel?" He questions, shoving the shirt closer to your nose. Fuck, is he trying to kill you? Are you going to kill him? Probably.

"F-fine." You hesitantly answer, knowing damn well that ain't just making you feel 'fine'. Jungkook's eyebrow raises in suspicion, swaying Jimin's shirt in front of you like a little fucking serpent.

"Mhm, yeah sure." His nose scrunches in disgust, tossing the shirt into your lap. "God, Y/n. You don't think I can't smell how wet you are right now?" Your throat clumps, desperately trying to swallow the dry spell caught. Jungkook scoffs, plopping down onto the couch adjacent to you. "Jimin went with Namjoon to get your supplements. I'd suggest you go take a shower before he gets back."

You'd been too busy smelling the whole damn shirt to notice Jungkook's last few comments. The scent of Jimin's masculine bur delicate vanilla jasmine had your stomach aching for more. Body no longer in control, as you begin to succumb to this unknown power that had overcome you.

Just as you were about to finally go take Jungkook's advice and leave the shirt, a small slam of a door perks your ears. This time, you're more desperate than ever for Jimin to finally come home.

"Yeah man, that whole show was crazy. Did you see how Lee suk-yun made that field pass?" Hoseok's voice made the fire in your stomach recoil with disgust. He and Jin both make their way through the door, as you stand in the corner, waiting patiently by the window. Hoseok's eyebrow quirks in confusion at your strange behavior, glancing over to the maknae who'd been trying to avoid the pup all along.

"She's in heat."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP I NOT" you scream out, slamming your hand against the window pane. Watching as the whole frame shatters into a thousand pieces. They all turn in shock. Watching as your body heaves with anger.

"What the hell, Y/n??" Hoseok gripes, echoing a low growl from your chest. Jungkook quickly rises, interfering between the space of you and the rest.

"Easy, Y/n. Jimin will be home in just a few minutes." Jungkook's voice is calming, yet all you had felt was rage. Then, a wave of emptiness washes over you. Your body fall to the floor, glass cutting deep wounds on your shins, but you didn't care. It didn't feel nearly as bad as the pain you felt from Jimin absen-

"Woah, who did this?" His voice makes your spring up, running to the side of the door, jumping into his arms. He's quick to catch your weight, arms holding you up by just your thighs. The prescription bag dropped to the floor, as they all watched in curiosity at your nose nuzzling into his neck, scenting the fuck out of him.

"Nice to see you too, Y/n." He chuckles, leaning over to set you down. You don't budge an inch. His eyebrow quirks, taking a glance over to jungkook who'd been standing right infront of Hoseok and Jin. "What's going on with her?"

"She in heat, Jimin." His eyes blow wide at the realization.

"N-Now?" Jungkook nods.

"She punched the stain glass window because you were taking too long." Jimin cranes his head to the side, trying to get a word from you about all of this.

"Y/n, is that true?" You nod, moaning against his neck, trailing bites and suckles along his skin. This side of his neck practically turning purple in just a matter of seconds.

His throat clears, trying to pry himself from your grip. Jungkook lets out a chuckle.

"Good fucking luck trying to get her off, Jimin. Took me 6 hours to finally get Yenji off my back." He comments, walking away from the whole situation. In all honesty, the stench of your love for Jimin made his nose burn.

Namjoon picks up the bag from the floor, popping open the pill cup, handing Jimin a tiny capsule. His hand reaches to the side to try and coerce you to take the pill, but your hand is quick to swat it away, watching in victory as if flies across the room to land somewhere far away hopefully.

"Y/n, that wasn't very nice." Jimin scolds, making a smirk press your lips even more. Heavy breaths roll from your mouth onto his collarbone, licking a path from end to end.

"Mmm, more" He swallowed thickly, silently giving the guys a look saying 'help me'. They're hesitant to assist. Coming up with lame excuses instead.

"Uh yeah man I gotta go wash my goldfish." Hoseok walks away, trailing upstairs.

"I have to start on dinner. Anybody want pork belly?" Jin adds, quickly making his way towards the kitchen.

"Fuck no." Yoongi comments before making his way back upstairs. None of them even know when he'd come down in the first place.

Jimin's eyes meet Namjoon's, who'd been watching the whole scene unfold with hesitancy. "Yeah, uhm- I'm rather fond of my head jimin, so have fun with that." Namjoon trails behind Jin into the kitchen, assisting in the first load of dishes.

Jimin makes his way up the stairs with you latched on like a little turtle hanging onto it's parents' shell. Once you're both in his room, he shuts the door. You're quick to hop down from hold, pushing his body up against the door, reaching over to turn the lock. His hands come up to press against your shoulders, pushing you back to give him some breathing room.

"Woah woah- Y/n you've gotta chill out." Your head tilts to the side, lifting on your toes to whimper out the most desperate of things you could possibly get out. However they only exit your lips with your mother language, one in which he knows nothing of. From the other side of the house, you could hear Jungkook's voice speak back, telling you to shut the fuck up with that.

Eyes rolling, your hands find their way down to his belt, making quick work to rid him of the damn thing. "Y/n, wait-" he lips part open, moaning out from the way your fingertips trail over the clad of his boxer briefs. Mouth pressing open kisses to the side of his neck, tongue flushed flat onto the heated skin as your swirl the tip around.

"Je- Fuck.. Y/n.." His head falls back, before you're lifted from the ground, cornered against the bed's end. His body forces yours down, happily to oblige. Hands coming to pin your wrist to the side of your head, his breath falling down in gentle brushes, as if he'd been Bob Ross himself.

"My rules." He growls, making your whole stomach flip a million times. The heat between your legs, burning with need. His body leaves yours for a second, as you let out a whine.

"Just grabbing something." He makes clear before coming back into sight with a few ties of rope.

Holy fuck.

A smirk presses his lips, as his body stalks over yours, falling flat to tower.

"Are you going to be good for me?" He questions, securing the knots around each of your limbs to the bedpost. Your head fervently nods, mind too clouded with nothing else but the neediness you felt for him.

"Good girls follow daddy's instructions." Holy shit.

"Are you a good girl?" His tone leaves every inch of your skin on fire, as if you'd been thrown into a burning building.

"Yes! Yes!" Is all you could cry out. The anticipation is too much for your aching self to handle.

His lips lower to meet your ear, hot breath rolls down the lobe as he whispers.

"Good."

In just a split second, his lips crash to meet yours. Tongue was already fighting for dominance, but he'd won that battle so easily, it hadn't even been a fight at all. Your every desire was filled by him. Every thought, touch, smell, sight, was to belong to him-

You felt the push of his tongue forcing you to swallow a small gulp of whatever he'd hidden between his lips. Once the foreign object was pulled down your throat, all of the pleasure ceases. His touch burning against your skin retracts, the knee he'd been rubbing against your aching core had been no more. Your head whipped left and right to find an answer to why he stopped all of this. Was your tail in the way? Did you bite his lip too hard? Are you not fuckable??

Then, it sets in. Your eyes trail to the opened pill bottle that had been popped open, propped on his side table. Suddenly, you felt the passion, the fire, dwindle down. Your vision became clearer, as his irresistible body and scent became just..

Average.

His hand came up to thumb your cheek, hadn't even noticed that you'd been crying. Your hair messed and knotted with all the movements. Cheeks flushed, and lips swollen from your kiss. His eyes softly gaze into yours, a solemn smile pressing his lips.

"I'm sorry.." He coos, stroking your hairline lovingly.

"This was the only way."

___________________________________________________________

I don't know if this will continue or not, depends on how popular it gets. Hope you enjoyed it! Took me all day to write this. My cat made my laptop fall off my dresser when I went to go and get something, it cracked and ruined the touch screen option. My touchpad doesn't work too well either, so that's just greaaaat.

___________________________________________________________

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ursulaismymiddlename · 2 years ago

Text

When You Move, I'm Moved | Dream of the Endless x Reader

A warm night, watched over by starlight.

Inspired by the song Movement by Hozier

Thanks as always to @captainpoopweinersoldier my wonderful cheerleader and partner in crime.

****

It’s warm and sultry where you slip through the trees, the cool glow of moonlight illuminating the wooded hills. The world is alive with music, something you know and feel in your bones, but that your mouth can’t quite name. Yet nothing so frivolous as words matter now. All that matters is the rhythm in your veins, the wild beat of your heart as you spin and twist and twirl your way up the dirt path.

Someone dances with you at the start. She’s young and her energy seems boundless. A mess of red curls struck through with every color of the rainbow. She’s in rags, she’s in a ballgown, a nightgown with fishnets, and her eyes don’t match. She takes you by the hands with a manic giggle and spins with you beneath the watching stars. Spins and spins until you’re both delirious.

The wind picks up around you both, kicking up dirt, flower petals, and sand. Sand swirls and sways like another partner. The girl gasps in absolute delight and for a moment she’s golden curls, then a school of brightly colored fish, whirlpooling their way into the woods beside the road you dance upon. Her laughter seems to echo through the valleys.

But the sand stays with you. Swirls and flutters around you, in time with you. An invisible hand leading you in a wild waltz, further and further up the moonlit hill. Closer and closer to the precipice that awaits you.

You can feel it coming. Or rather, you can feel yourself nearing it. As sure as you can feel the crescendo of the night’s music gathering in your chest. Thrumming with more anticipation than any sort of fear. The hand guides you still. And you trust it, even more than the dirt beneath your bare feet. Spins and spins and spins, wild, wreckless, free. Nothing but the warm air and the sweat on your heated skin.

The ground leaves your feet with one sharp turn. You barely notice at first as you dance right into the very air itself. The sand has you. Nothing has ever felt so safe as the golden grains whipping around you, carrying you ever upward into the starry night. The tension of the music coils tighter and tighter, higher and higher, until its sudden and inevitable snap.

Gravity has no meaning here. Instead of falling, you glide. Stardust cocooning you, glittering in the moonlight as you wheel around ever faster. The wind cooling your skin. A slow descent into the darkness below, face turning up to the twin pin pricks of light watching over you. You touchdown in a cloud of dust, melting into the ground as the sand engulfs you. And still you know no fear. Only a kind of peace you can hardly comprehend…

—

When your eyes flutter open, you’re buried under a mound of blankets on your couch. The last strings of some Hozier song play from your laptop as you fight your way out from under the weight of fabric. The clamminess of your skin has dissipated, your fever broken. Certainly the bottle of Nyquil haphazardly left open on your coffee table is to thank.

You can hardly chide yourself for leaving the bottle uncapped, though. The memory of the world spinning after the beep of the thermometer lingers in your mind. 102.3F.�� You barely got the dosage poured without making a mess in your state of delirium.

But, by the clock, it’s time for another dose. Thankfully, this one won’t be quite the challenge to pour with the world finally standing still for you. More medicine, more water, more rest. Your nap had been fitful, but hopefully with the fever gone and your body slowly on the mend, you’ll be back to sweet dreams by bedtime.

#kati writes #the sandman netflix #netflix the sandman #dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #morpheus fic #Dream of the Endless fic #The Sandman fic #Delirium #Delight

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kiridarling · 4 years ago

Text

𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎.

thank you so much to @daisy-bakugo for letting me participate in her vice city collab! i had a blast writing this piece, and i’m terribly sorry this is so long that was a mistake (and congrats on 2k!!) also, the phattest of thank you’s to @eijishimas for brainstorming/beta-ing :) you saved me ☺🤲🏼

katsuki bakugou and eijirou kirishima | f!reader, time travel sex, guns, prostitute/stripper idrk!reader, tw!blood (non-descriptive), dacryphilia, squirting, spit roasting, d-penn, shower sex, multiple rounds. minors dni!

— 5k words (yikes)

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

Las Vegas, Nevada. April 15th, Year 3036.

"You ready?"

Mina shoots you a look through the golden-lit mirror, wiggling her eyebrows. You roll your eyes and finish dusting the powder off your cheeks before rising to your feet and tugging at the belt of your silk robe. "My answer's the same every night."

Vice City. A strip club and casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, where opposites collide—the poor and the rich, the beautiful and the ugly, the smart and the stupid. There's no judgment because here, they're all degenerates looking for a good time, and you're just a pretty face with a good body.

As your silk robe hits the floor, it's kicked to the side with a heel, and you saunter through the beaded entrance to your private room and into the vibrating club. Giving your bodyguard a solid pat on the shoulder as you watch the sea of bodies shake, you complete the ritual.

"No creeps?" You demand more than request. He nods curtly.

"No creeps."

You give him a cute little smile and let your hand linger for a little longer than necessary before stepping into the neon red chaos of the strip club. Because what do the rich and the poor have in common?

They're all addicts.

Surprisingly, humanity doesn’t kill the planet.

Mother Nature's still standing strong—though the sun is a bit swollen—and space exploration solved that overpopulation issue. Bill Gates taught us all how to avoid a climate disaster and Tesla put Ford out of business. Humanity is much bigger than earth now; we're no longer people of the planet, but an intergalactic species that still eat Costco pizza rolls for dinner but killed Cable along with cars with wheels. Costco still exists—Starbucks doesn't.

Still no aliens, though.

"See something you like, Cutie?"

In your defense, he's been standing over here with his friends for ages—almost like they're casing the damn place—but those ruby red eyes kept floating your way regardless, and you'd rather bag it with someone your age before you're requested by another seventy-year-old. The redhead blinks like he's shocked you came over here in the first place—like he didn't watch you sashay yourself to the other side of the club just for him. You suppose the name fits. Cutie.

He looks at you with a strangely giddy look on his face before he's licking his lips and swallowing, eyes flickering to the blondie to his right.

"I'll be back in like, twenty minutes, man."

The blond gives him an exasperated look and groans—his other two friends don't notice. "Eiji—"

"Twenty minutes!" The redhead yells over the music as you not-so-subtly pull him away. Your regular GILF looks your way, and you suppress the queasy feeling in knowing that at least you'll be able to fuck someone from your decade.

"You got a wallet, Cutie?" You purr as you two approach the back room. The redhead winks, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the fattest black leather wallet you've seen in a long time.

"Don't go anywhere without it," he says, but falters when your bodyguard holds his hand out with a request for fifty bucks. "I—whoa dude, why am I paying you?"

"Because that's how it goes. The young lady gets her share," your bodyguard clarifies. The redhead looks at you for what seems to be for confirmation. You nod.

"Alright," he resigns with a shrug, stuffing a fifty into your bodyguard's sweaty hand. The man grunts but clears some of the beads guarding the entrance to your private room anyways, giving you two enough space to go inside.

"No door? That seems a little...exposing," the redhead snorts to himself before he's holding his hand out, despite the fact that you’re already nestling comfortably in his lap. "Eijirou, by the way."

You take his hand apprehensively, and he snorts at your confused frown. Eijirou's big—painfully so, and you feel small sat upon his thick thighs because you are in comparison—and he has to curve his back a bit so you're at eye-level. "What? No one's introduced themselves to you before?"

You shake your head, "Usually they just throw me onto the bed and get right to it."

Eijirou rolls his eyes at that, and you don't realize he's guiding your hips into a smooth roll until the harsh fabric of his jeans brushes against you in the best way. He moves you in time with the music vibrating the walls, "I guess that makes me more of a gentleman, then."

His lips hover over yours and yet he never advances, doesn't move to kiss you on the lips, nothing—it nearly has you buzzing. So does the hand he pins you to his lap with. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

"What's your name, Sweetheart," he asks lowly. You give it to him, and he grins.

"Y/N,” Eijirou tries on his lips before he confirms it with a nod. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Aren't you the flatterer," you purr, coiling your arms around your neck. His hand finds your ass and you're almost positive he's going to close the gap between you two until he says:

"Who were you runnin' from, Y/N?”

Years in the business help build a mask and you wear yours well, with that cute little smile as you cock your head to the side and ask, "I'm afraid I'm not following."

"Oh, I think you are," he says, looking you dead in the eyes. The gravity in his face doesn't falter. "Who was it."

As he stares into your soul, your own eyes avert to the sheets. "What's it to you?"

"It's nothing to me, really," he shrugs off his jacket and places it on the bed next to him before returning to his initial position—or perhaps, closer. "But I happen to find you real cute, and cute things deserve to feel safe, no?"

"In case you haven't checked, this isn't a very safe place," you scoff, removing your arms from his neck to cross them over your chest. "And I don't appreciate idiots like you trying to save someone like me just 'cause you wanna get your dick wet more than once."

Eijirou raises an eyebrow but he never stalls, "Oh? This happens often then?"

"I—" you falter, "...No."

"C'mon, Sweetheart," Eijirou tugs you by the waist and you have to press your hands to his chest to keep him from falling forwards. "You don't wanna stay in this place, do you?"

"It's my job," you defend with a huff. The redhead shrugs.

"Sure, but don't you want a little adventure? A little excitement in your life?"

"Like there isn't enough excitement right here?" You snort. Eijirou teeters his head back and forth, though the daring look never fades.

"But something tells me you're bored," he says with a near sarcastic face, clicking his tongue. "Something tells me you find the idea of something new exciting."

You open your mouth to respond but he keeps you from doing so, finally pressing his lips to yours. You nearly squeal in surprise but somehow, you find yourself kissing back with a passion you've never kissed another client with before—and maybe, just maybe, the idea of something new doesn't sound too bad.

Eijirou pulls away with a cocky grin like he knew you'd like it. Like he knew that'd be the catalyst for your response to what he says next, and maybe, he's not as much of an idiot as you thought.

And maybe you’re more of an idiot than you thought.

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

"Yes," you breathe, like an idiot, because you were wholly and utterly unprepared for what happens next.

Eijirou gives you the cutest smile, before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun.

He sees your expression change and lifts both hands, pointing the black pistol towards the ceiling, "I—hey wait, you're gonna be fine, okay? I won't shoot you."

You cower and he pouts. Apparently, this wasn't the reaction he was expecting at all.

"I swear! I'm mentally stable, see?" He flips it sideways with a grin, "the safety's on."

You hate it that his comment makes you trust him. Slightly.

"C'mon," Eijirou smiles, reaching his gunless hand out for you to take. You do, albeit reluctantly. "I won't do anything too stupid. Just...shake things up a bit."

Shake things up a bit, Eijirou says, and yet the first thing he does is when you two exit the room is press the pistol to your bodyguard’s head.

"Eijirou," you hiss. Luckily no one in the club has noticed, yet, but you doubt their ignorance will last for long.

"I'm gonna need my fifty back, buddy," Eijirou pats the man on the back, and it's strange—you've always thought your bodyguard to be a big guy, but he looks rather petite next to the redhead. Your bodyguard reaches for his walkie-talkie, but Eijirou tuts, tapping his hand away with the tip of his gun.

"Hey dude, I'm not gonna shoot you. See? The safety's on," He repeats, flashing the barrel. Your bodyguard's eyes widen, and so do yours.

The safety isn't on.

"So, that fifty," Eijirou purrs, and your bodyguard stuffs the bill into his chest with a grumble. Eijirou hums, satisfied, and gives the crumpled bill to you without a second glance, too busy nodding to his friend on the other side of the strip club. A noirette from across the way nods back.

Pop-pop!

It's fucking chaos, as anyone would expect when blindly firing into a crowded club. Eijirou keeps a tight hold on your hand as he and his other three boys storm towards the pit bosses working the casinos with guns a-blazing, demanding they fill their pillowcases like a bunch of C-class thugs.

What the fuck did you get yourself into.

"This is not what I meant by excitement," you hiss through grit teeth as a terrified pit boss fills Eijirou's bag like he's a greedy kid with an attitude on Halloween, while your co-workers cower under the bar and pool tables. Eijirou sticks his tongue your way.

"This isn't the exciting part, Little Miss Excitement."

It's the steady sound of sirens that has your eyes widening, and the fact that you're positive they're getting louder. You catch sight of your bodyguard on his walkie-talkie, big body cowering behind the smallest trashcan, and turn back just in time to see Eijirou squint as he aims and shoots bullseye.

"That is."

The police have lost sight of two vehicles carrying the four armed men who robbed Vice City Casino and Club tonight at roughly 2:53 am. Witnesses say they came in a group of four but left with an exotic dancer named—

The moment the blondie from the club sees you walk through the door, he’s tossing the stack of bills in his hand with a sigh.

"Katsuki, Y/N. Y/N, Katsuki."

Katsuki looks nothing but happy, and refuses to acknowledge your presence as he crosses his arms.

"Ei. What the hell did we say about witnesses."

"Um," the redhead rubs his lips together before wearily looking at you, and you hike his jacket further up your shoulder. At least he was decent enough to give you that. She's an exception?"

"Not a fuckin' thing," the blond grunts, turning to you to flash a tight smile. "Goodbye."

"I—wait," Eijirou skates until he's stood over the ash-blond, with a hand on his shoulder and the other braced against the table. Speaking in a quieter voice, he says, "C'mon man. The poor thing was practically begging to get outta there."

The ash-blond does nothing but sigh before shoving a palm into a pile of money to push himself into the kitchen—and subsequently further away from you.

"She's gonna call the cops," Katsuki grunts wearily from the island, eyes narrowed. Eijirou follows.

"She's not gonna call the cops, dude," the redhead scoffs at the outlandish idea. "You heard the radio! At this point, she's as deep in it as we are."

As they continue to go back and forth over the island, you let your eyes wander. It’s a penthouse, and rather homely, with near egg yolk lighting, high walls, and big windows. You can't help but think about how you're in a strangely expensive part of the city before remembering this evening's events. No wonder they can afford such a nice place.

You find yourself smiling at a particular corner with a frustrating amount of photos stuffed on a little glass table, one that contains a selfie of the two housemates in high school uniforms. There's a ring sat in front of it, one that glints gold when you hold it up to your face, and if you squint you can see little flecks of green in the red of the ruby. It looks scarily close to an engagement ring.

"Hey, what's this?"

Both of their eyes rocket from the conversation to see you slip the delicate thing onto your ring finger.

"Don't touch it!" Eijirou tenses before realizing it's much too late for that. "Er—at least don't twist the top."

"The...top?" You ask, lifting your hand until it's at eye level.

"Yeah like, the jewel thingy," the redhead gestures to the ruby—and you can't stop thinking about how it's almost the same color as his hair. Waddling into the kitchen with your eye still trained on the thing, you ask:

"What is it?"

"A time-travel device," the ash-blond grunts. Eyes still full of suspicion, he watches you and the redhead interact over the island with arms crossed over his chest and reclining against the sink. You frown.

"Aren't those usually...bigger?" Because even though it's 3036, time-travel is still fairly new (space exploration took a long time, okay) and all the machines you've seen are at least the size of a shower. And yet, this one can sit on your pinky.

"Kats has been working on some stuff," Eijirou beams and it edges on proud; you notice the ash-blond near blushes with a huff as you hop to sit on the marble counter.

"'S nothin'."

You stare at the thing in faint amazement, and Katsuki kicks off the sink to near the island. Lifting an eyebrow, you say, "You know you could get rich off something like this? Instead of robbing strip clubs for a living.”

The ash-blond scoffs, and you wonder if someone else has told him that before. "If I gave that to the public, I have no fuckin' clue what they'd do with that shit."

And you shrug, supposing he's right—time-travel devices are hard to get your hands on, and that's for a reason. If everyone starts jumping around in the time-space continuum, fucking with shit, the world will promptly and utterly collapse. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

"It doesn't work with a big time range," Katsuki defends with a shrug, sliding his forearms on the counter. "The most it can do is a few hours"

"Not that it makes this any less cool," Eijirou says with a slight bounce. "I personally think it's really fun to play with."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "That's 'cause you use it to fuck."

You nearly choke.

"I—what?"

"W-Well, okay," Eijirou chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "But also other stuff! Like when I'm really hungry, I might go to the future and take some of my fries. Future me's fries, that is."

"Or you'll try to take future-me’s goddamn burger," Katsuki growls. You flip the ring over like there's anything left to see.

"How often do you use it?"

"Nightly," Katsuki answers for him. Your eyebrows lift. Oh wow.

"It—it's not nightly," Eijirou defends weakly, huffing and puffing. "Weekly maybe, but—"

"Almost every night," Katsuki sums for him, giving you a little grin. You snort back before your eyes drop to the ring again.

"Uh oh," the redhead almost gasps, fingers thrumming on the island on either side of your being, "She's thinkin' about it."

"I'm not thinking about it," you huff, though your eyes never leave the ring. It's an...interesting prospect.

"Oh, you're totally thinking about it," Katsuki grunts, and you struggle to find where his enthusiasm came from. What happened to goodbye?

"C'mon," Eijirou tempts with a casual toss of the head. He touches your shoulder—Katsuki touches the other. "See what happens."

"What if—" you stare at the ring with pursed lips, fingers grabbing the ruby. "What if it's random? Or if we're not where we expect to be in a few hours or something."

Eijirou shrugs. "It's always a gamble, but that's where the fun is, no?"

You look down at the thing with a sigh. You suppose.

In one quick move, you twist the gem and screw your eyes shut. At first, you feel nothing, but then there's a sudden head rush, and you can easily see how someone can get addicted to this.

You hear a faint sound, one that could be excused as a rush of wind past your ears, before you feel your knees against a hard surface and your body in a different position.

"Oh, I like this much better."

You open to your eyes to a much different sight than you closed them to.

Katsuki and Eijirou look gargantuan when you’re on your knees, your back flush against the refrigerator and eyes watering due to the cock nestled halfway down your throat. You choke in surprise from the sensation, hands rushing to keep Katsuki from cutting your oxygen supply off for good as Eijirou stands impatient, cock hard in his hand and drooling for attention.

"F-Fuck," the ash-blond wheezes, seemingly just as taken aback from the position as you are. "Your mouth is fuckin' heaven."

"C'mon Sweetheart, don't ignore me now," EIjirou purrs, chuckling as the head of his cock hits your cheek with a wet slap. "At least give me a little something."

You grab his cock harder than you would've out of slight indignance, grinning around the other when it makes him hiss; Eijirou joins Katsuki in resting a hand on the fridge door for purchase.

You weren't the best at Vice City for nothing, after all.

"Shit, loosen that grip a little, will ya?" Eijirou wheezes—you don't listen, and his chest shudders when you seem to only move faster.

"'M too fuckin' close, where's that ring," Katsuki blabbers more than he grunts, and you lift your hand just in time for him to twist the jewel again, sending you three rocketing into the past.

You cough and splutter atop the kitchen island, chest heaving as you finally get the air Katsuki's cock allows. The head rush definitely doesn't help, and you find yourself getting dizzy enough to grab for someone's hand.

"Breathe, Princess," Katsuki says, and Eijirou lifts your hand to his chest so yours can rise and fall with his.

"So that's," you wheeze once you're able to get some semblance of a breath back. "That's time travel sex, huh?"

"Yeah," Eijirou says, a little breathless himself. "Addictive, right?"

"A little," you giggle, and find yourself looking for the ring again. Katsuki snorts.

"What, you wanna go back or somethin'?"

You flush red, eyes darting to the walls guilty, "A little bi—wah!"

There's a rush and the room morphs again. You would’ve fallen headfirst into a set of white sheets if it weren’t for the fact that you’re sat on Eijirou’s face.

"Hello beautiful~" the redhead singsongs from below, and you can't help but notice your bra is MIA as Katsuki takes a seat behind

you to run his hands up your sides to put the underside of your breasts.

"Pervert," you snort, though you figure you’re just as bad as he is with two of Eijirou's fingers deep in your pussy and Katsuki's hand on your clit. The redhead's leaving hickey after hickey on your inner thighs and you just try your damnest to not fall.

"Only for you," Eijirou winks cheekily, scissoring his fingers, and your hips stutter against his face when he slides his tongue in between.

"Fuckin' love the sounds you make," Katsuki grunts, before his other hand finds your neck and tightens. "And fuck you're so goddamn wet—you love this, don't you?"

You keen with a nod (and suppress the urge to say no shit, Sherlock), and Katsuki's pinching your clit between his two fingers, licking a fat stripe up your neck and chuckling when you shiver.

"What, your clients don't make you feel this good, Sweetheart?" Eijirou practically moans into your cunt, eyebrows folding when you thread your fingers through his hair and yank. "Bet that fifty was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Y-Yeah I—" you whimper, unable to get a sentence past your shuddering chest. "Guys, I'm gonna—"

The bedroom melts back into the kitchen, you're back in Eijirou’s jacket and not sat on his face. Your thighs and neck are hickey-less and yet, you're still so fucking horny.

"I hate you," you seethe, almost immediately, and Eijirou's grin is so wide it bends his eyes.

"Awe, you love me," he giggles and your frown only deepens as you reach for the ring—Katsuki snatches it out of arms way with a tut.

"Ah ah Princess, don't be greedy now," he purrs, but you couldn't give a shit about being greedy, and it shows in the way you quickly grab for it again. Katsuki passes the ring to Eijirou and it easily becomes a game of monkey in the middle.

"Give it—"

"I don't think so, Sweetheart," Eijirou says, pressing a big hand to your face to keep you from going any further. With a smirk, the redhead twists the ring, and suddenly you're full of him on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck baby, you're so tight," he curses behind grit teeth, sweat practically dripping off his shoulders in rivulets as he pushes your face into the kitchen island so hard it's numb. So are your knees. "You're so pretty like this—shit—"

You barely have the room to whimper, let alone answer, and you find Katsuki perched on the opposite counter, weeping cock in hand. The redhead chuckles as you struggle to take all of him, hips squirming as he aims for places you've never been able to hit on your own. "I'd stick your tongue back in your mouth if I were you, Sweetheart. The money’s a little dirty, don't you think?"

And that's when you realize your knees are elevated upon two stacks of green, possibly some of what Katsuki had been counting earlier, and a twenty swims in a pool of drool under your cheek.

"Oh, but I don't think you care," Eijirou grunts, shoving your face deeper into the marble countertop as his hips speed up. "Dirty fuckin' girl. Bet you'd do anything for a fifty."

"I wanna fuck her," Katsuki rushes as if his mouth moves before he can speak. Eijirou wheezes a laugh.

"What, I can't enjoy this?"

"No,” the ash-blond grunts.

"Hmm..." Eijirou debates, though his hips never stop as he gives Katsuki a look and goes, "How about no?"

Katsuki growls at that, and you find your fingers clumsily twisting the ruby on the ring that sits on Eijirou's finger, sending the three of you flinging further into the future.

"Fuck!"

"This isn't the future I was referring to, but I'm not complainin'," Katsuki grunts with a feral grin. You nearly slip due to all the water in the shower and you're positive that you see the sunrise through the window paint Eijirou's skin gold.

"I gotcha, Sweetheart," Eijirou soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your arms while your nails dig into his shoulders, the red lines jagged from how roughly Katsuki fucks you from behind. "Fuck—you're doing so good for us, taking him so well."

You whimper and Katsuki lands a heavy slap on your ass—heavy to the point where you nearly knocks both you and the redhead into the tile behind him. Eijirou's calloused hands find your clit fairly easily, and that's enough to almost send you over the edge, pussy fluttering around Katsuki's cock.

"She's gonna cum," Katsuki grunts. "Can fuckin' feel it."

"Uh oh," the redhead singsongs, turning to you with a grin. "Were you trying to be slick, Sweetheart?”

Though it's difficult, you lift your head, eyes swimming in unshed tears as you choke, "I—n-no, it's jus—"

You're in the bedroom again—this time your back comes in contact with a dresser, metal rattling from the weight Eijirou slams you into it with. The redhead supports you both with two feet planted into the floor and a hand around your waist, grunting into your ear with an exhaustion that implies you've got to be at this for hours.

"Ei-Eiji—"

"I know, Sweetheart," the redhead coos breathlessly, licking up the sweat that runs down your neck. "Just a few more times, okay? Hold on for just a little longer."

You sob, head thunking against the wall as you realize you have no idea where Katsuki is. Though it's only a fleeting thought because before you know it, Eijirou's dropping you to your feet, bending you in half, and railing you into the wall.

"Goddamn," he grunts, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip, "this is—this is the best lay I've had in a fat second."

You pant a laugh, hands pressing into the wall to steady yourself, "Good—good to know the fifty bucks was worth it."

"Oh baby, it was more than worth it," Eijirou hikes your leg up as high as it'll go for a deeper angle and he gets it, his growl melting into a semi-chuckle as you squeal, thighs jumping.

"Fuck Ei!" You scream, and he's tugging your hair to straighten your back out.

"You like it rough, Sweetheart?" He pants into your ear, grabbing your neck for a better grip. You nod as much as you can.

"Y-Yeah—I—" Eijirou drops you until you're stood at a perfect 90-degree angle, "I need—need'ta cum, p-please—"

"Twist the ring, Sweetheart," He pants, resting his hand on the wall next to yours. It still glints gold on his fourth finger in the moonlight, "Get us there together, yeah?"

You don't have to be told twice.

"Mph!"

"Fuck!”

Your knees dig into a mattress again as Katsuki fills your mouth. With his cock down your throat and Eijirou's buried deep in your cunt, there isn't much you can do but take both of them at the same time—though you're positive that's what they intended.

"Shit, me too." Eijirou wheezes a chuckle as his hips piston into you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back while he reaches between your thighs to rub your clit. That’s enough to send you flailing over the edge, moan muffled by Katsuki’s slowly softening cock. Then, with a devilish grin (and before the redhead can cum) Katsuki reaches for the ring on Eijirou’s finger and twists it.

“You asshole,” Eijirou groans, and suddenly you three are back in the shower, with Katsuki’s hips battering into yours as the redhead supports your weight from below. Katsuki chuckles before his grip tightens and he’s filling you with another load.

“C’mon Princess,” Katsuki grunts, reaching for your clit. “Come for us again.”

You choke again before you’re digging your head into Eijirou’s muscled chest with a moan, shaking from the aftershocks Katsuki continues to fuck you through them.

Until the room morphs, and you’re face down on the kitchen counter.

“Fucking finally,” Eijirou wheezes with a bitter chuckle, casually flipping Katsuki the middle finger as he's sat on the opposing counter. “Fuck, you're shaking baby, you gonna cum with me? Yeah?“

Eijirou batters into your cervix and that's the catalyst for your third orgasm. You squeeze so tight you think you may have knocked the wind out of the redhead when his chest crashes into your back, and you open your eyes just in time to see the kitchen melt into the bedroom again—in a time you all have yet to visit.

Your legs are thrown over Katsuki’s shoulders as he pushes your back deeper into Eijirou’s chest, both of their cocks filling you so much and so well it brings tears to your eyes. As your thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, Katsuki’s the first to fall off the edge, eyebrows furrowing as his nails dig into the meat of your thighs.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, voice fucked hoarse and lips bit pink. Eijirou nibbles into your shoulder with a gasp as his sweaty hand finds your clit again, neither of their hips ever stopping.

“Cum for us one more time, Sweetheart,” he pants into your neck before adding another hickey to the collection. Your chest shudders.

“I—I can’t—“

“Oh yes you fuckin’ can,” Katsuki growls, and you squeal as he tweaks a nipple. “I know you got one more in there. Give it.”

Your legs kick against his chest with a curse as you orgasm for the final time—this one much wetter than the last.

“Holy shit,” Eijirou nearly laughs, looking at where the three of you are connected. “Did you just squirt?”

“I—“ your face blends red when you see the absolute and utter mess that sits in Katsuki’s lap, before looking away with a determination to never see it again. “...Maybe.”

“Clean up?” Eijirou asks, eyes flickering to the ash-blond. Katsuki shrugs.

“Nah.”

A rush of wind and you’re sat on the kitchen counter. Eijirou’s jacket protects you from getting goosebumps due to a drop in temperature and though you do shiver, you find your body much more unscathed than it was.

“Hi,” Eijirou chuckles a little breathlessly.

“Hi,” you giggle back, a little nervous but in the best way. “So um...we do all of that tonight?”

“I guess so,” the redhead says a bit cheekily, raising an eyebrow. And then, with a wink, “Probably more.”

You stare at the ring on his hand in awe. Whoa.

"I fuck—fine, we can keep her, Shitty Hair," Katsuki grumbles from his spot near the kitchen sink, and despite the sour look on his face, you can't find a hint of it in his voice. Figures.

"Told you he'd say yes," Eijirou beams with a thumbs up.

"Can we...go do that stuff now?" You ask, albeit a bit hesitantly because...well, usually people are asking to have sex with you. Is this how they feel?

"Of course we can, Sweetheart," the redhead beams, before taking the ring off to place it onto the counter. "It was all a part of the future, after all."

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou smut #kirishima smut #tw.blood #tw.guns

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mcyt-imagines-library · 3 years ago

Note

Okay, but have you considered: Reader who's part of the Syndicate and has a huge crush on Techno decides to try to break him out the same exact time as Michael McChill, the canon Dream sympathizer/simp tries to break out Dream, and they two of them get put in a cell together and bond over their crushes

✋💀 i was working on a Sapnap NSFW Hcs request, but i believe this needed my attention the most, thank you for it btw

Meeting c!Michael McChill During A Prison Break

After many hours, using a netherite pickaxe and several buckets of milk, you had nearly breached the prison to the right of where Technoblade was being held.

By no means, were you breaking him out solely due to your romantic interest in him, but it certainly did help fuel your motive. No, it was because he was the driving force of the Syndicate. The amazing organization that you wholly believed was protecting people. That's why you were doing it.

Breaking the last two blocks, you slipped into the room, gracefully landing on the, somehow, cold obsidian floor.

From across the small room, Dream and Technoblade up looked at you. For the most part, the pink haired man looked content, Dream however, looked far more frazzled than you had ever seen him before.

Techno greeted you by saying your name, following it with a small nod, staying at his place on the ground, leaning and resting his head against the wall.

You always thought that your name from his mouth sounded very lovely, but now was not the time to mull over your crush.

“Thank the gods,” Dream yelled, bolting up onto his feet. "Finally I can leave this damn place!"

You stood in front of the whole you made, holding your dagger in front of you defensively.

"No, not you. I'm here for Technoblade."

Dream scoffed at you turning back to gesture at the aforementioned man.

"What, why?" His words were sharp and covered in venom. "Techno doesn't need saving. They don't torture him, they torture me. In fact, I'm willing to bet that's why he's here, to make my life inside of this stupid box hell."

Technoblade chuckled from his place on the floor. "I would argue you were already in hell, with the lava and whatnot." He gestured to the thick curtain of boiling lava in front of the cell.

The dark blond haired man made a frustrated noise and paced in the center of the room. He ran his hands through his messy, overgrown hair before stopping in front of you once more.

"Look, just- you get me out of here and I'll get you whatever you need. Just say the word and I'll-"

He was cut off by a loud yell and the flash of a figure falling from the ceiling, letting more sunlight into the cell. The sudden noise and light made you and Dream jump, Technoblade staying relatively the same.

On the ground, you noticed a man covered in dark clothing, with black hair that was pulled back in a tiny, messy ponytail, he had a mask on that was concealing the bottom half of his face.

The three of you watched as he was laying on the floor, hands tightly pressed to the back of his head. He rolled onto his side while groaning in pain.

Dream walked a few steps closer to him and stopped, leaning over his form. “Micheal?”

The man, Micheal, presumably, stopped and rolled onto his back again. He looked up at Dream and gave him a bright smile.

“Dream! Dude, I’m here to rescue you.”

He sighed in relief and slumped against a wall and looked back and fourth from Michael to you. “Was this planned?”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t actually know what’s going on anymore.” Michael responded, standing up. He looked like he was about to say something again before Dream cut him off.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, I’m about to be free.”

“Is that so?”

You and Dream jumped again, this time Michael was here to join you. The three of you and Technoblade turned your attention to the curtain of lava that was only about halfway lowered. Sam was standing on the platform opposite to you, trident in hand.

Dream laughed at him, his tone condescending “Yeah, because you’re all the way over there. You can’t even touch me.”

“I can’t?” Sam threw his trident, it stabbing into the thick obsidian wall next to Dream’s head. With some initial resistance, he was able recall it, it leaving three small, shallow holes in the wall.

“Okay, and?” He sped across the room, stopping at the hole you created.

“If you step out, things will get a whole lot worse for you, Dream.”

He laughed at him. “Yeah, okay.”

With a sigh of relief, Dream stepped his foot on the entrance, pulling himself up. He sheltered his eyes from the sun with his arm as he took a step outside. And then you heard him curse, quite loudly, in fact.

Almost immediately he was backed back into the cell, four guards filtered into the cell. “No. No, no, no, no, I was so close! What the hell, Sam?” He turned, looking back at him, who was on the moving platform, about half way through the lava cavern.

That had to be a form of psychological of torture, right?

"Do something, Michael, you want to be my hero, right?"

"Of course." He replied, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Before he could do much more, Sam made it to the room. He shook his head as he pinned Micheal against a wall, slamming his hand against it the hardest. A loud crack sounded and his hand went limp, the blade falling onto the ground. Before anyone could grab it, another guard picked it up. Michael struggled as Sam turned him around pushing his chest to the wall and forcing his hands behind his back.

Dreamed looked at you, his hands ringing his hair, “Why aren’t you doing something?”

You shuffled your weight onto your other foot. “Uh-”

“Yeah, I’ll be honest, Asclepius here is mainly the healer, strategist, apposed to a fighter, executor, if you know what I mean.” Technoblade stated, using your Syndicate cover name. He patted your shoulder before settling his hand on you.

“It’s funny you say executor, actually.” One of the guards chimed in, rolling the handle of his own sword in his hands.

Technoblade sounded as clam as ever, “Well I think we’re going a bit overboard now, aren’t we?”

“No.” Sam started, now standing in the cell. “Michael and your teammate tried to break you and Dream out of prison. A crime with what is punishable by execution.”

You put your hands up slightly. “Well I was only here for Techno, who, technically, shouldn’t be in here in the first place.”

He nodded beside you, “That is a good defense, actually. I’m inclined to agree with them."

Sam ignore the two of you. “Michael, I need to talk to you privately. I’m really not sure that you understand the gravity of this situation or the why Dream was locked in prison in the first place.”

“No, Sam, he knows exactly what he’s doing, you should just kill him already!” Dream yelled, through clenched teeth. He looked absolutely pissed, like he wanted to throttle his would be savior.

You and Technoblade glanced at each other, sharing a raised eyebrow look. At least the dude you had a crush on didn’t want you to crash and burn with him.

"Not right now, we need to question him first."

In response, Dream made another frustrated noise and threw his back to the wall, slumping to the floor.

Sam gestured for another guard to grab you and they did, positioning your arms in the same way.

You were both carried out and placed on the moving platform. When you looked back, you noticed that Dream looked utterly defeated and Technoblade was biting at his bottom lip, something he'd do in very rare situations where he was stressed.

...

You and Michael were put in a small jail cell before being stripped of all of your equipment, the room being tense between the two of you.

"I would've gotten Dream out if you didn't scramble in first and ruin things."

You laughed at his words as you crossed your arms. "Yeah, okay, and that's why you fell on your ass, right."

“My landing was a bit rocky, so what?”

You groaned in frustration. "Why do you even want to get Dream out?"

"I just think he's great."

"He literally told Sam to kill you."

"Yeah, it's how he shows he cares-"

You cut him off, “Oh, yeah, how he cares? He must have really cared about Tommy then, and about the citizens of L'Manburg. He really must be all for that 'tough love' sentiment, right?"

The room was quiet again.

“Well why’d you want to save the other guy?”

“Technoblade?”

He nodded.

You shrugged, “He’s a friend and... coworker, I guess.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at you. “That’s it? Are you serious?”

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. You might be killed in the next few hours, so you might as well tell someone, right?

"Yeah, uh, about that. I like him, I guess."

Michael laughed. "Seriously? You tried to help a convict escape because you have a crush on him?"

"Oh my gods, that's literally the reason you're trying to break out Dream, shut up."

"Yeah, that's why I'm laughing."

You accidentally cracked a small smile at him.

Calling it a friendship would definitely be a stretch, but you were both on calm water with one another now.

Hopefully now you two could pull what little resources you both had together, rescue your respective love interests, and figure a way out.

#dream smp #dream smp imagines #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #c!technoblade x reader #c!michael mcchill #c!michael is a simp for dream and that's actually canon

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ppersonna · 4 years ago

Text

make me - myg | m

strawberries on a summer evenin'. baby, you're the end of June. i want your belly and that summer feelin', getting washed away in you - watermelon sugar, harry styles

↳ summary- an ordinary sleepover with your best friend turns into anything but ordinary, thanks to your ridiculously loud neighbors above you.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+ / nc17

↳ word count- 4.4k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- pwp lol, smut, fluff, somehow the dirtiest fluff i have ever written bc there’s some depraved shit in here

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected sex (dont...pls), dirty talk, rough sex, degrading talk, dom/sub undertones, bratty backtalk

↳ a/n- yooooo dawg this... was fun. i hope you enjoy!! ive been in my yoongi feels lately uwu. feel free to comment, message, dm, whatever u want babes. i love you!

Yoongi thinks if he has to hear your upstairs neighbors fuck for another minute longer he might actually go crazy.

It’s been hours now. The girl is screaming like a feral cat and the man is doing a terrible impression of a porn star, trying his best to talk dirty but really just calling the howling banshee awful names.

If only his dick would be as annoyed as his brain.

He knows you’re awake next to him too. The steady rise and fall of your breathing changed when the bad porn above you began—now it’s faint and too quick to indicate anything but your wakefulness.

“Ohhhhh oppa!” The girl above you screams.

It’s finally what breaks down the silence in your bedroom. At her wanton sound, you and Yoongi are unable to stop yourselves from bursting into laughter.

Yoongi’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard. Tears form at the corners of his eyes as you make the bed rumble from the force of your combined laughter.

“God, do they think that sounds hot?” You finally ask after settling down to mere giggles.

Yoongi shrugs and wipes away his tears. “Apparently. He must like the way she sounds like a dying cat.”

His comment sends you into a spiral of laughter again, and you’re clinging to your chest as it heaves with exertion.

Yoongi is your best friend for a reason. No one makes you laugh as hard as he does. No one understands you the way he seems to be able to—it’s almost intuitive the way he can understand your feelings.

You live for your weekly sleepovers. You drink wine, watch terrible horror films, gossip about your other friend’s love lives, and fall asleep in your bed together. It’s never been anything but blissful.

Until recently…

When your heart decided it would beat too fast around him. When your brain decided to spin and weave stories of romance with your best friend.

Now, you can’t hardly think about anything else around the dirty blonde haired boy. It’s overwhelming to all of your senses when you see him, feel him near you. You want to kiss him, to love him, to tear his clothing off.

Which makes lying in your full size bed while the neighbors above you fuck and attempt to act out their wildest fantasies—badly—so much harder than usual.

“God,” Yoongi sighs and tugs the blanket up to his chin. “Does she even like it or do you think she’s faking it?”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “Ugh, I know I wouldn’t be into it.”

“You don’t like dirty talk?” He teases with a poke to your stomach. It makes an eruption of nerves go off in your chest.

“Oh, no I do. But that’s not dirty talk,” you shrug. “He’s just being mean. There’s no sensuality underneath it.”

He hums and lays back down to stare at the ceiling.

“Give me an example,” he asks of you. It makes your cheeks flush red and you’re thankful for the darkness in your room to provide you cover.

“Um, well,” you cough awkwardly. “He’s saying shit like ‘you fuck anything don’t you?’ which, maybe she’s into degradation, but I’m not. Not that extreme.” Your explanation sounds lame, but you continue anyway. “I prefer to hear things like ‘this slutty little pussy belongs to me’. Possessive and hot at the same time without being too...uhh...hurtful.”

Yoongi feels his cock rise with piquing interest. There’s a nagging guilt about thinking of his best friend this way, and a tinge of jealousy thinking someone who isn’t him has said that to you.

He feels his throat dry up, and you wring your hands nervously on the blanket. The moaning above you doesn’t stop, and you can hear the telltale sound of flesh slapping on flesh, indicating they’ve commenced into penetration and it makes your body throb with annoyance, and with want.

There’s moments when a louder slap echoes through the room—it’s clear the man is slapping her somewhere—and she whines desperately. Your core starts building that familiar heat, a slickness gathering you can’t stop. You press your thighs together tight and squirm as subtly as you can. You pray Yoongi doesn’t notice.

Yoongi, however, does notice. He breathes a sigh of relief internally knowing he’s not the only being affected by the commotion above. But he doesn’t understand the meaning behind it. For all he knows, you’re just turned on because—well, because it’s sex and it’s loud and who wouldn’t be a little turned on? You’re likely not at all aroused by him, or the thought of him. Right?

Another slap echoes through the room and you can tell by the way the girl gasps that her partner slapped her in the face.

“Damn,” you shiver. Yoongi turns to peek at you through the darkness.

“You into that?” He asks curiously. “Face slapping?”

It’s hard to swallow for a moment—it feels like you’re trying to down a boulder.

“Uh, yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I like pain.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply and it makes you fear you’ve overstepped the line. You’ve gone too far off the ‘best friend’ track and the whole train is about to de-rail.

You’re opening your mouth to apologize for taking it too far when Yoongi finally speaks.

“Fuck it,” he sighs. “You want to fuck louder and establish dominance?”

The world stops turning. You’re sure that gravity doesn’t exist anymore and the theory of relativity has been proven wrong.

Did Min mother fucking Yoongi, your best friend of over twenty years, just offer to have sex with you to...establish dominance over the neighbors above you attempting to make a cheap porn?

He’s looking at you normally, but there’s a glimmer in his eye that says more. It says he wants you. Your stomach twists in on itself. There’s no way, there is no actual plausible way that the man beside you feels the same way about you as you do.

“You want to have sex with me?”

Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink and he looks away for a minute.

“I also want to date you,” he murmurs.

If you thought the world ended before, you’re sure this is the fiery explosion that brings a new earth into life with a bang.

The noises from upstairs interrupt the romantic moment with a scream, a guttural howl from the man, and then muffled whispers and sighs.

“What do you say we keep them up all night too?” His mouth turns to a smirk as he awaits your reply.

“Yeah,” you nod as you throw the blankets off you. “Fuck those guys, lets show them what real kinky sex looks like.”

Yoongi’s eyes turn feral as he works his eyesight down your body. Your normal sleepwear outfit of a tank top and shorts looks like lingerie to him now and he’s salivating at the way he can see the curve of your breasts, and the press of your hard nipples against the fabric.

You’re throwing yourself onto Yoongi’s body in an instant, pinning him down to the bed and pressing your lips to his. You waste no time in waiting for him now that you know—now that you’ve heard with your two ears that Min Yoongi not only wants to fuck you, but date you as well. No use wasting any more time—the time for action is now.

The kiss is hot and Yoongi’s hands falter for a moment in surprise before he’s coming to his senses and tugging at your tank top quickly to pull it off your body. His hands feel hot on the bare skin of your back, rubbing at your spine and up to your shoulders. It makes you shiver, and you slide your tongue into his mouth to explore the heat inside.

His hands navigate forward to cup your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples—pinching and pulling and rolling between the pads of his fingers. It has you keening into his touch and grinding down on his basketball-shorts-covered cock.

Yoongi pulls away from you and pulls at a nipple harshly, which makes you gasp out loud.

“It’s real cute how you think you’re in charge right now,” he points out. “Real fucking cute. It’s gonna make me almost feel bad for punishing you.”

You’re sure your soul is going to leave your body at hearing your best friend’s sexy baritone voice verbalize your dirtiest fantasies. If this is how you react now…, may God have mercy on your poor little pussy.

Yoongi thinks he’s possibly never been harder than he is right now. His best friend, best girl, is sitting atop his boner and he’s twisting your pretty nipples so hard they’ll surely turn purple soon. You sound so sweet when you whine, and you’re starting to whine louder as he continues the pressure on your tits.

“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” He asks, slipping further and further into the dominant act. He loves this, thrives off it. He didn’t think you’d ever be into it—none of the girls he’s dated before have—and he’s thrilled he doesn’t have to hide this depraved part of himself.

You nod and bite your lip, wincing as he tugs once more on a nipple before letting go.

“Cute,” he sighs. “But wrong.”

In an instant, he flips you two over and he feels his heart and cock swell at the sight of your sweet eyes widening at the quick change.

“This feels better, don’t you think?” He asks. You nod and he shakes his head. “Answer me, baby doll. You’re already about to get punished. You wouldn’t want to make me not let you cum, would you?”

The fear in your eyes increases and you clear your throat to talk.

“No sir, I don’t want that.”

Yoongi nearly moans. Hearing you call him sir, being underneath him—it’s his wet dreams come to life.

“Then tell me,” he instructs. “Tell me you need me in charge.”

You’re dying to be a brat, really wanting to pull Yoongi completely out of his shell, show him the full extent of what he can do to you. Plus, you really wanna give your neighbors a show—a taste of their own medicine, don’t you?

“What if I don’t want to?” You tease.

Yoongi’s grin turns wider and his eyes sparkle with knowing. He’s a through and through brat-tamer, and by the end of the night you’ll be crying for forgiveness.

“Little tease,” he growls as he leans down to latch his mouth on your abused nipple.

You gasp out loud, and it turns into desperate mewling as his teeth nibble and pull. You’ll be bruised up for days, surely. He sucks hard, pulls on it roughly and bites with meaning. You just know your panties are completely soaked.

“Talking back to me, huh? You think that’s going to get you where you want to go tonight, little girl?”

He turns his attention to your other nipple, eyes peering into yours as you struggle to answer with the sizzle of pain in your breast.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You send back with a shake of your hips under him.

The growl he delivers around your nipple and the quick bite makes you yelp.

“I think I should shut that loud mouth of yours up.”

You smile in response and his fingers tug down your shorts. You lift your hips and allow him to pull the clothing off and you’re left in your slicked up panties.

“Oh yeah?” You retort. “You gonna shut me up with that fat cock?”

Yoongi visibly shivers. His spine tingles deliciously for minutes after the hair on his neck settles. He’s dreamed of you like this, under him and begging to be put in your place. And now, here you are. And he can’t wait to make it a reality. He’s even forgotten about the loud neighbors. It’s now just all about you.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dirty little slut so horny to get her mouth on my cock.”

Yoongi allows a finger to trail down your clothed slit, and he outwardly groans at how wet you are. You’re unable to hold back your whimpers of need—he’s so close to where you need him most and where you’ve dreamed of having him.

“You talk a big game for someone who’s drenched before I’ve even done anything,” Yoongi says with a smirk.

Your legs tremble as he pulls your panties to the side to expose your drenched folds. He dips a finger in and touches your clit. You moan in unison—he’s captivated by the heat and slick, you’re feeling air escape your lungs with every swirl of his finger.

“Y-Yoongi,” you whine. He tsks and pulls his finger out.

“That’s not my name right now.” His hands start to slide your panties down and your stomach leaps with excitement.

“Sir, please.”

“Now you want to be my good girl?” He asks with a chuckle. “Where’s my mouthy little brat who wants my cock to shut her up?”

He leans back on his heels and watches you eye him. You’re nearly bursting at the seams. You’re naked while he remains completely clothed and while you’d normally feel exposed and vulnerable, all you feel is white hot heat. You’re burning for Yoongi, for him to do what you’ve dreamt he could do.

“Why don’t you show me what that sweet mouth can do?”

He maneuvers to stand at the side of the bed, dick straining against the mesh of his shorts. He waits for you to sit up, which you wordlessly obey. His cock is now eye level with you, and your mouth feels dry. You’ve dreamt about this dick, about what it looks like and how it would feel in your hand, inside you. The fact that you’re here now, about to find out all your secret fantasies is heady.

Your hand rubs at the straining material, over the thickness of his cock. He feels big, and you give it a squeeze which makes him hiss.

“Still being a tease,” he sighs with faux disappointment. “You’re in a precarious position to be such a little cocktease. Might need to fuck that right out of you.”

It makes you whimper—his direct threats sounding like smooth promises going straight to your core.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Yoongi growls and grabs a bit of your hair, tugging your head back to look at him in the eyes.

“I think you should shut this fucking mouth up.” His voice is dark, and his eyes glow with lust.

A grin pulls over your face as you gaze sweetly up at him—his hand still gripped tight in your hair.

“Make me.”

Yoongi is silent for a moment as he stares at you in wonder—his beautiful girl, so rebellious and yet so willing to comply.

“I fucking love you, you little fucking slut.”

Yoongi forces his shorts down and grips your chin, holding it hard in his hand.

“Now choke on my fucking cock.”

You open your mouth complacently and he wastes no time in shoving his entire length down your throat mercilessly.

It’s hot. It feels like fucking heaven. Your lips wrap around him and suction and he can feel your gag reflex straining against his tip at the back of your throat. Yoongi thinks his entire spine is tingling with desire for you and the way you take his cock so well has his toes curling.

You didn’t even get to have a good look at Yoongi’s cock before it was shoved into your throat, but now that it’s there you don’t even need to see it to knows he is fucking thick and long. It stretches your mouth and you know your pussy will be taken to its limit when he finally buries himself inside you where he rightfully belongs.

“Can’t talk back now, can you?” He teases as he begins to fuck your throat. “Mmmm shit—, you suck my cock so fucking good.”

His words are nothing but encouragement for you and you fight back the growing discomfort in your throat and allow him to use it as he pleases. Tears form in your eyes and slip down your face at the exertion and you soon feel his balls slap at your chin. You’ve only fantasized of being used like this by Yoongi, and now it’s actually fucking happening. You’ll be damned if you don’t give him the suck of a lifetime.

Yoongi thinks he’s staring into heaven as he fucks your tight mouth and watches as your eyes fill with tears. They leak out and he knows you’re loving this just as much as he is by the palpable enthusiasm you accept his cock with.

“Look at my little brat,” he coos mockingly. “Not so big and brave now, are you? Not with daddy’s cock wrecking your hot mouth.”

He picks up the pace and the sounds turn disgustingly lewd. It’s a wet, slurping sound as Yoongi forces his cock in and out of your drooling mouth. Saliva drips onto the bed below you as you take him all, never given a chance to breathe or swallow. Yoongi takes and you selflessly give. You’d allow the man to split you in half—and you’re actively hoping he does just that tonight.

Suddenly, Yoongi is pulling out of your mouth and leaving you panting and keening for more. He grips his cock with a fist. He strokes himself roughly and looks down at you.

“Gonna cum, baby girl. Fucking beg for it.”

Your hands grip at his thighs and you’re breathing hard to catch up on the oxygen you were denied. But it doesn’t stop you from doing exactly as he orders.

“Please, daddy. Please cum on my face. Let me taste your cum, I want to know what you taste like. Cum on me. Mark me, daddy.”

Yoongi whines and increases the speed of his pumps. His mouth falls open as he watches you pout so sweetly and wait so eagerly for his seed on your face. He wants to see your entire body covered in his cum and he plans on ensuring that happens sooner rather than later.

“My eager little bitch. Wants her daddy to mark his territory.”

You nod, tongue sticking out and wagging like a dog for his cum.

“Please, daddy. Make me messy.”

It seems to be the secret password to Yoongi’s climax. Your desperation, your eager position, the way you beg so sweetly. It sends him right over the edge and he cries out as his cock pulses white stripes over your pretty face.

He wishes he could take a picture of the way his cum covers your face. He’d make it his background photo so he could see it every day, show everyone around him the gorgeous little whore he gets to cum on every night.

“Shit, babygirl,” he groans as he attempts to catch his breath. “Look at you.”

You smile as your tongue retreats into your mouth and you savor the drops that landed on your tongue. Your eyes close in bliss as you enjoy the flavor, noting it tastes salty and sweet and you can’t wait to reacquaint yourself with the taste over and over again.

“Lay back,” he orders as he pushes his shorts all the way off.

In his haste to fuck your throat, he only pushed them halfway. He slips out of them and pulls his shirt off before he joins you on the bed.

“Let me drink this cunt.”

You whimper in agreement as you press your back in to the pillows and spread open your legs.

“Please, daddy.”

He grins as he lowers himself to lie between your legs. He blows on it, cool air pushing over your folds chilling you.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Greedy little cunt wants it all, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“So compliant for me now,” he whispers as he kisses your thighs. “I like it when you behave.”

He kisses in further, and soon he’s using his fingers to spread apart the folds and pressing the flat of his tongue to your clit and laving it over the aching nub.

“Holy shit,” he groans as he comes up and sucks his tongue back into his mouth. “Sweetest little pussy.”

You can’t reply, the capability to speak has left you now. He buries his face back into your cunt and gets to work. His tongue starts flicking against the bundle of nerves and then dips down to fuck into your channel. He works his tongue around you and your back arches off the bed and your heels dig into the mattress. You seek purchase in his hair with your hands, digits gripping at the blonde locks between your thighs.

Yoongi groans and moans into your cunt, and soon he slips two fingers in to fuck you roughly.

He pulls his lips away and licks his tongue over them to collect the slick that lingers. His fingers maintain a quick pace and he drinks in the sight of you gasping at the stretch.

“Yeah, look at you take my fucking fingers. Such a wanton little whore for me.”

He slides another finger in to join, then another, and it makes your cries echo loudly around the room. He suddenly remembers the neighbors above you and smirks. He pulls his hands from you, making you keen with desire and desperately beg for more.

“Daddy! Please, I need..” you gasp. “Need you!”

He pulls himself up to join your hips together and rolls his them against each other. His cock rubs against your soaked pussy and he bites his lip at the feel of it getting slicked up.

“I want you to be nice and loud for me, baby girl,” he demands sweetly in your ear as he licks the shell. He notes your shiver and smirks, before kissing your ear lightly. “Tell those mother fuckers upstairs who’s going to take you to Hong Kong.”

“Yes, daddy,” you agree.

It only takes the consent to leave your lips for Yoongi to spear his cock into you. He’s not slow or gentle, he pushes it into the hilt immediately.

Yoongi meant to start a pace, to begin fucking into you mercilessly, but he’s frozen inside your tight heat. You feel so good, so fucking tight and warm and wet for him. It’s better than heaven, and surely better than any pussy he’s been inside before. Maybe it’s because it’s you, and no one else.

“Fuck!” He gasps. “Holy shit I could cum right now.”

You whine and move your hips desperately.

“Fuck me daddy! Fuck me hard, please! Use me like your little cock sleeve.”

Yoongi bites his lip and feels his cock pulse.

“Shit, you’ve got a dirty fucking mouth,” he grits. “Let’s see if you’ve got a dirty little pussy too.”

He sets a pace, desperately wills his cock not to cum yet. He wants to fuck you senseless, until your eyes roll back in your head. He’s gonna make sure you get off on his cock before he comes close to his end.

Yoongi grips your chin again, like he did at the beginning as he fucks into you roughly.

“Look at you take my fucking cock so deep,” he bites out. “Your cunt is so fucking desperate for my fat cock, isn’t it? You need me to fuck some discipline into you.”

You’re nearly screaming now at the force of his thrusts. He’s pushing all the way into you with each push and his balls smack against your ass deliciously. You’re babbling, words unable to make sense as he fucks all the brain cells out of you.

“Dumb little cock slut,” he whispers as he leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth and bite at it before releasing it “Little brat turns into a perfect little fuck hole for me, so fucking good for me.”

“Yes, y-y-yes baby! S-so close!”

Yoongi’s had you near the verge since his oral, and now with his punishing pace and power in his driving hips, you’re hovering over the edge.

His hand drops down to rub at your clit, a circular motion that has you gasping and screaming his name.

“That’s fucking right,” he breathes. “Tell them, baby. Tell them who’s got the best fucking cock. Tell them who fills this pussy up so well.”

You’re eager to comply.

“You, daddy! Fuck! You feel so fucking thick in me. I need your cum, please, please. Cum on me.”

Yoongi feels his balls tighten impossibly--he knows he’s seconds away from an explosive orgasm.

“Cum on my cock, baby girl. Let me feel you cream my fucking cock. Wanna see you all over this fat dick.”

His free hand tugs at a nipple and pulls it punishingly, tugging it so far it pulls the skin around it. Your screams light up the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls and surely traveling up to your neighbors bedroom.

“Yoongi! Fuck! I’m cumming!” You warn, a millisecond before your world crashes around you.

Your cunt squeezes his cock so tightly that it causes his hips to stutter in their pace. It grips him tight, angry like a squeezed fist and Yoongi feels the air get sucked out of his lungs as his climax follows directly after yours. He didn’t even have a chance to pull out--he’s emptying his load into your womb and whining at the feeling of your pulsating walls milking every single drop greedily.

It’s several minutes later that you’re both caught up to normal breathing and resting beside each other on the bed. The room is silent, save for little pants and breaths, and Yoongi reaches over to lace his fingers into yours and hold your hand tightly.

“You wanna date me?” He asks sweetly, as if his cum isn’t dripping out of your cunt as he speaks.

It makes you laugh. It’s so classically Yoongi that you can’t help but to laugh.

“Yes, daddy, I want to date you. I want to date you every single day.”

He pulls you into his embrace and kisses at your forehead.

“Maybe we should send your neighbors some flowers for getting us together,” he teases.

As if on cue, the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and screeching moans comes from upstairs and plays through your apartment like an unwanted jukebox.

“God damn it, our plan backfired.” he grumbles. “I think we turned them on.”

You press your sticky, sweaty body against him and kiss at his lips. Your hand sneaks down to his cock and grips it again, begging it to come back to life.

“Shall we try again, then?”

#bts smut #bts fic #bts yoongi #bts suga #yoongi #yoongi smut #bangtanarmynet #heartsforbts #minthlynet #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #bangtan smut

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we-are-so-close · 3 years ago

Text

Promised Life

Yandere!Illumi x female reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+; Minors do not interact, Angst, smut, yandere behavior, noncon, dubcon, implied death, kidnapping, forced marriage, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, breeding (please let me know if I forgot something)

Author's Note: This is pretty dark. And very smut heavy. And the longest fic I've written so far. Very nervous about it.

======================================

The sound of cries from the baby monitor woke you and your husband.

“Aw, he’s been doing a lot better about sleeping through the night,” your husband’s groggy voice whispered in your ear.

“I know. I’ll go check on him,” you said as you tried to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Love you, babe,” your husband kissed you on the back of your head.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you, too...Butt,” you teased as you threw on your nightgown.

You slowly crept into the baby’s room to see him standing up in his crib.

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed as you turned on one of the lights next to the rocking chair. As soon as he saw you, he started jumping up and down, hanging on to the side of the crib.

“What are you doing, silly boy? It’s time for bed,” you picked him up and kissed his sweet little head. You cradled him; his head in the crook of one of your elbows with your other arm supporting his back side. You rocked him back and forth, his eyes getting heavier and heavier as the time passed. Eventually, he was asleep in your arms. You placed a soft kiss on his head before carefully laying him back into his crib.

“Good night, my precious boy,” you whispered.

As soon as you turned the light off, a cold chill shot down your spine. It caused you to freeze right in place. You hadn’t felt this aura in years. You haven’t felt this since…

“No!” You gasped. You felt as though you were in a clouded haze. You couldn’t think clearly, your breathing started to quicken. As much as you tried to move, you couldn’t. The aura you felt before is getting stronger, thicker. It’s too hard for you to breathe. Dizziness takes over and you collapse to the ground. The last thing you saw before you faded out of consciousness was your child’s sweet sleeping face.

Your eyes slowly opened. Darkness. Darkness was all you could see. And pain was all you could feel. Your head felt as if it was being split open. You tried to move your arms to lift yourself up, but you weren’t able to move. You opened your mouth to scream, but nothing more than a murmur came out. Your chest began to rise and fall rapidly. A wave of nausea washed over you.

“No,” was all you could muster as the tears started to fall and the sobs began to choke you.

A shadow moved closer to you.

“Awake already?” a familiar yet cold voice asked. “I shouldn’t be surprised though, you are just as strong now as you were when you left me five years ago. Although, I was sure that you would have realized the poison that was slipped into your evening tea .”

“We...I-I didn’t…,” you struggled to get the words out. Your brain couldn’t begin to process where to start.

He took a seat next you on the bed where you laid. He began to rub your head.

“Shh, it’s okay. I forgive you for lying. And for running away. Now that you’ve come back to me, we can be a family...” He leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “...like you promised.”

Five years ago, you and Illumi had been engaged. You were in love with him and you were excited to start a family. However, there had been some complications. Before marrying into the Zoldyck family, tests had to be run. You passed all of them with ease. All of them except one. The doctors told you that all of their tests had come to the same conclusion: infertile. Your heart shattered. You fled the manor before you could even face Illumi with this information, the shame you felt was too overwhelming.

You moved as far away as you could and tried to make yourself disappear. You had wanted to live the rest of your life wallowing in your own self-pity. The previous life you had dreamed of was not going to happen. You had accepted that. And you thought Illumi accepted it, too. He didn’t come for you like you thought he might. In your mind, he had given up on you and you had put that part of your life behind you.

You weren’t expecting to fall in love with another man so quickly, get married so quickly, own a house together so quickly, and you most certainly were not expecting to get pregnant and have a beautiful baby boy so quickly. Everything you had ever wanted happened so quickly, and you had forgotten about the life you had once promised to someone else.

“Illu-Illumi. I-Where…” you breathed in hard. His face hovered just over yours.

“You’re home, ______,” he stated with a smile. “And here in a few hours, we will finally become man and wife.”

“But..but,” you squeaked out.

“I know how happy this must make you. But you can tell me when we exchange our vows. For now, I will leave you to gather your strength and get ready. Until then, my love.” He kissed your temple and walked away.

The head pain mixed with your attempts to speak and the gravity of this situation was too much for you. Exhaustion overtook you. The next time you opened your eyes, the room was bustling with servants. You could hear the quiet whispers from them upon seeing you wake up. A butler appeared in front of you. A familiar face. She was one of the butler’s that was originally assigned to you when you first planned on staying in the manor.

“______, it’s so nice to finally have you back. Now, sit up.”

“What?” you asked, still slightly confused.

“Oh, for goodness sake, let me help you.” She grabbed your arm and yanked you up. Upon standing, you could see that they had already changed you into a wedding dress. It was lace. Long-sleeved and backless. The dress of your dreams. You had once discussed with Illumi what your dress might look like.

“Master Illumi had this made just for you. The least you could do is stand upright.”

The poison you consumed was still taking its course through your body. Your head hurt slightly less and you were able to move, but you still needed support to stand.

The wedding itself was quite short. Illumi stood next to you for support, arm wrapped around your waist. The vows you spoke were ones that Illumi had written for you. And you knew better than to refuse to speak. Having your own free will was more important than words that meant nothing to you. You were well acquainted with his nen abilities. You saw how it affected the unfortunate souls that were on the other end of his attacks.

After you both took your turns saying the vows, you were pronounced husband and wife. He gave you a peck on the lips and then turned you to face everyone. Everyone clapped and you felt immense sadness. The tears in your eyes threatened to break the surface. Illumi enveloped you in his embrace. Your face was resting against his chest as the two of you danced slowly. You now had enough strength to speak in short sentences, so you tried to reason with this man.

“Illumi, this marriage isn’t binding. I’m already married. I-I have a family now,” you muttered in hopes that it would somehow change his mind.

“It’s already been taken care of, ______. There’s no need to bring it up again.”

A whimper escaped your lips. He pulled you away from his chest to look you in the eyes.

“Hm, I think it’s time we wrap this up. What do you say?” He wasn’t really looking for an answer from you. His mind was made up. After the song had ended, he announced to everyone that you were not feeling well and that both of you were turning in for the night. He carried you bridal style to his chambers.

He laid you on the bed and began undressing himself.

“When I found out why you left, I was more hurt than anything else. We could have figured something out, ______,” he stared stoically at the wall. “I was going to come find you, but I had some important family business come up. It took a little longer than expected, but I never forgot about you. And you did a decent job of hiding yourself. I only found you last year. And by then, you were married and with child. I wanted to take you back, right then and there. But I weighed my options and decided I would watch.”

A terrifying thought to realize that he’s been watching you for a year. Even more terrifying was that you hadn’t noticed.

“I grew angrier by the day just watching you live your silly little life. I wanted to just kill you all. But then I saw the bond you formed with that child. The way you cared for it was….endearing. It helped me to reaffirm why I wanted you as a partner all along.” He was completely undressed and now his focus was on you. “So, I watched you some more. I watched your interactions with the child and decided that now was the time to bring you back to where you belong.”

He ripped your dress, exposing your breasts and underwear. You moved your arms to cover yourself, but it was futile. He was much stronger than you, even if you weren’t poisoned. With one hand, he was able to wrangle your wrists together and pin them above your hand. The other hand was moving across your body, giving you goosebumps. His touch was surprisingly soft and warm for someone so cold and uncaring.

He caressed your breast and pinched your nipple, eliciting a response from you. He put the other nipple in his mouth and teased you with his tongue. He sucked on it and could feel you trying not to squirm underneath him. He released it with a loud POP! sound, echoing in the room. You tried to bury your face in your arm so you wouldn’t have to look at him. But he grabbed your face and turned your head toward him.

“If you were able to conceive a child with a non-nen user, then you can conceive a child with me. We will do this everyday until you are with child.”

A look of terror on your face was ignored by your new husband as he ripped your underwear off. He let go of your wrists so that he could better face your entrance. He spread your legs and began working quickly. He started circling your clit with his tongue. He’d use the tip of his tongue for the quick little circles, but then he’d switch it up and use the pad of his tongue to lick from your folds to your bud. He was sucking you when he inserted a finger. A gasp escaped from your lips and you could feel him smile.

He came up to face you, finger still moving in and out.

“You know, the one good thing from watching another man fuck you is that I learned what you like and what get’s you off.”

Once again, you were ashamed and tried to hide your face again.

“Remove your hands or I’ll move them for you.”

And once again, you were reminded of how you would rather do things of your own free will instead of having them done for you. You obliged and he went back down on you.

He continued to lap at your clit while inserting another finger. You were trying your best to push all of this out of your head, to not make a noise. But his fingers were moving against the spongy part of your wall. The friction from his fingers and the movement of his tongue was enough to bring you to your climax. Your walls tightened and fluttered around him while your juices flowed down his hand

“Good girl.”

He removed his fingers and brought them to your lips.

“Open.”

Again, you obliged and took his fingers in your mouth. You sucked and licked, cleaning yourself off of him. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and his lips met yours. He kissed you with such intensity. It took you by surprise. The passion he was displaying was certainly unexpected.

His cock soon began to fill the empty feeling in your cunt. When you gasped, he forced his tongue into your mouth. Back and forth, back and forth, the girth stretched your walls. It was pleasurable, though you did not want to admit it.

He bit your bottom lip before he drew away. “______, you’re so tight. But you accept me so eagerly. We were made for each other.”

He slowly pushed his way further into you. When he bottomed out, you moaned.

“Illu, too much,” you cried.

“But you’re doing so well. You will get used to it.”

Illumi stared in your eyes as he slowly pumped in and out. You wanted to look away or close your eyes, but you simply couldn’t. His fingers were intertwined in your hair, his face hovering above yours.

“Illumi…” you whispered. His lips got caught up in yours once more.

He pulled his torsos away from yours and pushed your legs to your chest. You didn’t think he could go any deeper, but this position proved you wrong. Each thrust hitting your cervix, causing more pain than pleasure. You hadn’t realized that your hands had moved to act as a buffer between his thighs and your legs. Habit, you supposed.

“______,” he spoke forcefully. You realized your mistake.

“’m...sor...ry…” your speech was broken from the continuous thrusting. Your hands moved above your head. He threw your legs over his shoulders and leaned in closer to you. His pacing was becoming faster. You could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was getting close. The thought of him cumming in you made your core burn. One of his hands began rubbing your sensitive bud. The stimulation was too much and you were creaming around his cock as you moaned out his name. Your walls fluttering around his cock was enough for him to reach his climax. Rope after rope of his seed filled your greedy hole. He was panting, something you can’t remember seeing before.

Your hand cupped his face. “I love you,” fell out of your mouth. Your eyes grew wide and a deep red crept across your cheeks. He smiled down at you.

“I know, my love.”

The two of you stayed still for a moment, except for his hips that continued to softly move against you. When he finally pulled out, a small whimper escaped your lips. He kissed your forehead.

Illumi carefully flipped you onto your side and spooned you. A strong arm caged your body against his, hand resting on your stomach. He kissed the back of your head.

“______, you fought the good fight. But you will not be able to overcome it. When you wake up tomorrow, all the pain of your previous life will be gone. Not even a distant memory. You will never have to relive those moments ever again. From now on, it will just be you, me, and the family that we create. Now it’s time to sleep, my love. You’ve had a busy day.”

Tears started trickling down your face. Your eyes grew heavy with sleep. It was indeed a busy day. Sadness overcame you, but you couldn't be sure why. You had just married the love of your life.

#illumi x reader #yandere!illumi x reader #illumi #yandere!illumi #angst #noncon tw #dubcon tw #implied death tw #kidnapping tw #forced marriage tw #so i was just minding my own business right....thinking about what my life would be like with another f/o #and then bam! this intrusive thought nearly knocked me out #anyway i hope this is okay

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chipper-smol · 4 years ago

Text

Feral Vessel Chain 2

reminder that these are being posted by when they finish and not chronologically

Prompt: Herrah has a heart to heart with Feral about looking after Hornet once she’s called to fulfill her duty as a dreamer.

( @reverieriver )

“Feral one.”

Herrah’s voice, calm as it was, immediately had their attention. Ghost wouldn’t say they were afraid of the Beast, not by any stretch of the word--but they also weren’t inclined to go against her lest they get on her bad side. They’ve seen her bad side. It wasn’t something they wished to inflict on even the Radiance.

“Come with me. I need to speak with you in private.”

Respect, that was it. Everything about her presence demanded respect. That wasn’t something they gave freely, but they respected her. They nodded in silent affirmation, and followed as she led them away.

It was only when the both of them were settled in a quiet room away from the bustle of the Palace that Ghost noticed the tiny, red-cloaked form of a familiar spiderling clinging to her mother in her sleep. Their heart did a little jump inside their chest. It was still difficult to imagine this adorable being as the cold and stern sister that tried to kill them twice.

“Ghost.” Once again, Herrah’s voice redirected their attention at once, moreso now with the sound of their name. So she did know it. Father or Mother must have mentioned it in passing. Why did she need to talk to them, though? They watched her with intent curiosity. She said nothing at first, taking the time to contemplate her words before she spoke again. “You know what is going to happen.”

They tried their hardest to tamp down the sudden surge of panic that threatened to rise up. What did she mean by that? There wasn’t any way she could know, right? There might have been suspicions, of course, but they thought they were pretty good at hiding the whole “I’m from the future and know everything that’s going to happen” deal.

“You know of the plan the Wyrm has for us.” Oh. Right. That. That was something they knew anyway. Of course they did, they were technically part of it. But why bring it up now?

They watched as Herrah gingerly plucked her daughter from her cloak to cradle in her arms instead. The hatchling fussed for only a moment, scrubbing her eyes with tiny hands before nestling against her mother and settling into sleep again. There was a look in Herrah’s eyes that Ghost wasn’t sure they’ve ever seen before as she gazed down at Hornet. A certain softness, a mother’s affection... but also, fear. Uncertainty.

“I...” She faltered, and took a deep breath before continuing. “One day, I will enter an eternal slumber. On that day, and all the days after, I will not be able to care for my child. I will not be able to raise her.” She hugged her daughter a little closer. Her voice wavered in a way that made Ghost ache to the very core of their void. “I won’t see her grow up.”

Finally she looked at Ghost again, after collecting herself. “Someone will have to look after her, in my stead. Someone I trust enough to hold my child’s life in their hands.”

She moved in close to them. Something shifted, and their arms reflexively curled around a gentle weight placed in their grasp. Herrah pulled back, and Ghost realized with a start that Hornet now rested against them. The hatchling’s eyes blearily blinked open, looking up at Ghost... and then she nuzzled into them much like she had with her mother, and went back to sleep.

They looked up at Herrah again. There was something like a sad smile in her eyes. “Out of everyone here, I trust you the most. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Their gaze dropped back to the little slumbering spiderling in their arms. She was so small. So light, she barely weighed anything. But the gravity of the situation sat heavy in their mind, as they remembered again that she was one day going to grow into the Hornet they knew. They remembered again how she looked when they returned from the dream realm after breaking Herrah’s seal. They remembered her grief, and their own guilt.

They wanted more than anything to change that; to see her grow up with her mother; to see what kind of bug she would become if she never lost her, and never closed herself off to the world, cold and bitter. If they succeeded, and the Dreamers never had to Dream.

But if they failed, if they didn’t find a way to get the Dream Nail or some other means to fight the Radiance, then what would all this be for? Hornet would still lose her mother, their sibling would still be sealed away, everything would continue to fall apart in slow motion and there wouldn’t be anything they could do about it.

Ghost wanted to protect their family, but as things stood now, they couldn’t even protect them from their fates. Couldn’t even protect the spiderling in their arms, so small and so vulnerable, from the pain they knew she would suffer in the future. Vaguely, they were aware of Herrah beginning to say something when--

“No cry!” a tiny voice squeaked.

They looked down, startled. They hadn’t even realized that Hornet had awoken at some point. Worse yet, they hadn’t realized the moment that tears began spilling down their mask. But she had. “No cry,” she pleaded once more, a tiny hand reaching in their general direction as though trying to offer comfort. They dipped their head towards her, and she pawed at their tears.

It almost made them want to laugh, that their baby sister of all bugs would try to comfort them right now. They carefully shifted her weight to one arm so they could have a hand free to wipe their eyes.

“You... don’t have to, you know,” Herrah offered. “I simply thought that, considering how I trust you and how she adores you--”

Ghost raised their hand with a quick motion to say, stop. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to, that much was certain. But their resolve was set now; they were going to do everything in their power to make sure that they wouldn’t have to. Not that they could tell her as much. So they gave her a nod in answer. If, and only if, they did fail after everything was said and done, then they would take care of Hornet in her mother’s stead.

Herrah nodded in turn, and her relief was nearly tangible. They could only imagine how she must have worried for her daughter’s future. “Thank you, Ghost. Now, if I may have my child back?” She reached for Hornet, only for the spiderling to scuttle straight up Ghost’s head to settle between their horns in an attempt to get away. “Little one...”

“Wanna stay wif Ghos’!”

Herrah laughed softly. Ghost did as well, if only silently. “Well, alright, then. I suppose I can let you watch her for a while. I trust you’ll take good care of her.”

They nodded. No matter what happened, they promised: They would take care of their sister.

( @philliaesaya, https://twitter.com/ArtistPhillia )

( @ofstormsandfire )

If Ghost could speak, they’d have to say they very much underestimated just how high-energy their sister would be. But then, who would they say it to? They certainly wouldn’t admit it to the Pale King, who likely isn’t even aware of their current whereabouts, never mind Hornet’s. Herrah is a possibility. Their mother is also a possibility.

But due to a particular monarch’s insistence on his perfect vessel having no voice to cry suffering, Ghost is as voiceless as the day they were hatched. Never mind that they are, by choice, nearly as far from being that perfect, impossible vessel as anyone can be without actively colluding with the Radiance.

(That wasn’t a choice Ghost had ruled out, upon waking up in their past. They haven’t entirely ruled it out even now. But to do anything concerning the Radiance, Ghost would first need the Dream Nail. To get the Dream Nail, they first need to find the Seer. And, unfortunately, their drawings of moths when shown to others are always mistaken for surprisingly non-insulting caricatures of the king.)

“Ghostie! Be tall!”

Out of nowhere, Hornet leaps all the way from the ground to cling onto Ghost’s mask. She hangs there and giggles. Her giggles only intensify as she starts to slip.

If Ghost could smile, they would. As is, they catch her with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, and deposit her once again in the space between their horns. Hornet grabs both of them with a tiny cheer, and they start walking again.

They still can’t quite decide what is stranger: Hornet being this small, or Hornet being this friendly. This is a Hornet long before her life and her family fell apart, before any of the things that make her who she becomes go horribly wrong. But they still see the Hornet they know in her own, clumsy attempts at pranking the king, attempts that are slowly but surely getting better and better.

The Pale King blames Ghost, as he does for even the smallest and fully unrelated inconvenience. Ghost strongly suspects Hornet would have turned out like this with or without their influence.

Their wandering takes them to the Resting Grounds, as it often does. Never before has it been with their sister in tow. They pass the space where Xero’s grave will rest, the not-yet-built memorial to the Dreamers. Both are reminders of time running out.

Xero did not turn against the king for no reason. He has not, yet. He will not until their sibling is sealed away, and it is becoming clearer and clearer that the desperate plan the king pinned everything on has failed.

There were Six Great Knights, once.

And the Dreamers… Ghost cannot speak for Lurien, as the Watcher is conspicuously absent from his Spire whenever Ghost comes around. Perhaps he knows, somehow, that Ghost would exact revenge for his knights in prank after prank after prank. Perhaps he doesn’t, but merely suspects what Ghost is up to and hides himself away in preparation. But even he does not deserve to sleep forever, no matter how many times they were reduced to shade and broken shell attempting to reach him.

They have met Monomon and Herrah, however. Monomon automatically earns a place on their List Of Bugs They Like, Actually by sheer virtue of unintentionally assisting them in their sacred quest of vengeance (and on one notable occasion, very intentionally assisting them.) Quirrel had already been there, and nothing short of him attempting to kill them would take him off that list. Their opinion of him had shot up with his involvement in the Unn Incident, however.

Herrah is so much like the Hornet Ghost remembers that it’s painful. They’d overheard her, once, saying that a large part of why she’d agreed to this was so Hornet wouldn’t have to go through the things she had.

There had been no crimes committed against the king that day. They had been too busy crying somewhere no one would find them.

Lost in their thoughts, they almost miss the flash of movement up ahead. Almost. They do not, however, miss the gasp, nor the… was that a purple cloak?

It might have been. It was certainly some dark color. The Seer wore a dark purple cloak, or perhaps those were the wings they never saw her use outside the realm of dreams. That might not be the Seer. That could be any other bug, or even just a figment of their imagination.

But if it is her… why would she be hiding from them?

The answer is so obvious, Ghost could kick themself for not realizing it sooner. Of course the Seer would hide from a vessel, now. For all she knows, they could be their sibling, but even if she has no knowledge of the Pale King’s plans, of course she’d hide from someone close to the king.

They have no voice to explain otherwise. Somehow, Ghost gets the feeling she won’t stick around long enough for them to sign anything, and even if she did, she wouldn’t know their signs! Only they, their sibling (who Ghost stubbornly refuses to refer to even mentally as Hollow, because they are not) and to a limited extent, their mother understand their signs.

They can’t exactly write an explanation, either.

Maybe they can steal the Dream Nail? They would feel kind of bad, but it’s for a good cause and they can always just give it back once they’ve dealt with the Radiance, however they’re dealing with the Radiance. That might be their best option at the moment, actually, but what if the Seer attacks them?

What if she attacks Hornet?

They reach up to their horns, disentangling the tiny presence there that had just begun to purr. Internally, they apologize for setting her down.

“Ghostie? Where you going?”

I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. They pat her on the head and pull out a charm: Nailmaster’s Glory, no longer in Sly’s possession and unlikely to be returned to Sly’s possession anytime soon. Ghost places it in her tiny grasp and closes her grip around it.

“Keep dis safe?”

Ghost nods.

“Like Ghost keep safe?”

Their shoulders sag, but they still nod.

“I’ll be right back,” they sign, even though it will be a very long time before she understands half of what they say around her. Somehow, somehow, Hornet seems to understand.

“Back soon,” Hornet says impatiently. That, Ghost nods to much more forcefully, and then they turn and run.

They do not find the Seer, though not for lack of searching. Unfortunately, they cannot fit into all the tiny spaces they could when smaller. After they’ve looked through what feels like the entirety of the Resting Grounds, they eventually give up and return to where they left Hornet. They can’t help but be relieved when they see her there, sitting on the lip of a tombstone, swinging her lowest set of legs back and forth without a care in the world.

“Ghost!” Hornet cheers once she sees them. “Wanna show something!”

Ghost nods wordlessly, and kneels in front of her. Hornet chrrs in concentration. She reaches back into thin air, but there’s something shiny in her grip. The charm they left with her, perhaps? No, that’s in her other hand, and honestly, Sly never kept it in as good of condition as they did.

Then pink light erupts from her back hand. Familiar pink light, in the unfamiliar form of a needle. For a few, brief moments, Ghost is the closest to truly hollow they’ve ever been from the utter confusion radiating from them.

What the fuck, they think as Hornet swings.

The Dream Nail—Dream Needle now, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, passes through them harmlessly. It tickles, actually. Apparently learn what the Dream Nail feels like on the receiving end is something they can cross off their bucket list, although there’s a distinct funny feeling after. If they didn’t know what it was and what it did, they would have assumed the Dream Needle was merely a trick of the light.

But they found the Dream Nail. Hornet has the Dream Nail. Needle. Of course it would take the form of a needle for her. Has she even seen a real needle yet?

Hornet blinks innocently up at them and says, cheerfully, “Fuck!”

Their sibling finds them on the outskirts of the City of Tears, nail strapped to their back in the same way Ghost’s stick is. Free from prying eyes, they cross their arms and tap their foot impatiently, as if expecting an explanation.

Ghost signs, Not sorry.

“Holly!” Hornet crows from her perch atop Ghost’s horns.

Holly… that’s actually a name Ghost can get behind, for their sibling. As usual, Hornet is the best at names, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“Hello, little sister,” Holly signs back, having apparently deemed Hornet safe enough. Even if she isn’t, who would look at Holly next to ghost and honestly assume that they weren’t hollow either?

The Pale King sure wouldn’t, and right now, that’s all that matters.

Hornet doesn’t understand a word they’re signing. Dream Needle tucked carefully in her dress, she proudly proclaims, “FUCK!”

Holly looks at Ghost. Ghost shrugs helplessly.

“We don’t even have a sign for that. How?”

Ghost shrugs again, because they don’t have a sign for the explanation either.

Holly sighs. They resume their typical, supposedly hollow stance. “Let’s go home.”

The White Palace is not home to Ghost. It never has been, and it never will be. But when Holly extends a hand to them, they take it.

The Pale King’s reaction, once they return, is glorious. And he can’t even really blame Ghost, because no fucking voice to cry suffering, asshole! No voice to teach their little sister to curse, either! Of course, he blames them anyway, but it’s the principle of the matter.

And no matter who he blames, it doesn’t change the fact that Hornet has a new favorite word, and it’s going to be echoing through the palace for weeks. Maybe it’ll drive him crazy. Maybe it’ll distract him from Hornet’s newest toy.

Ghost knows where the Dream Nail is now, but that’s just the beginning. They still haven’t seen anything of the Godseeker. Without the Godseeker, how the—to quote their favorite sister—fuck are they going to find the Radiance?

There’s much to think about. And they’re slowly, oh so slowly yet oh so quickly, running out of time.

At least they have Hornet scandalizing nearly every adult in the White Palace in the meantime.

( @tangelojack )

( @idiotjuicyy )

( @dovalore, https://twitter.com/dovalore )

( @lesiasmadness )

Lullaby Lament

Nothing was ever off limits to the princess of Deepnest. The fact that she hasn’t grown to be spoiled rotten was great testament to her graceful and collected nature.

“Only proves that she does take after my dear Wyrm,” thought the White Lady as she gently cradled Hornet. A little while ago the Gendered Child was carried by her collar into the garden by the Pale King, after an adventurous day in the Palace with her half brothers. The King didn’t give his wife many chances to figure out what exactly transpired that finally got all the little ones in trouble, but it definitely involved Grimm’s spawn setting something on fire and sweets. The queen allowed herself to giggle softly now that her sweetheart was out of sight, her branches shaking a bit, causing the child in her hands to move a bit in her sleep, only having drifted off recently. Silence finally filled the White Palace, a rare occurrence nowadays, as Hollow was sent to his fathers office to wait for his disciplining, Grimmchild was tossed into the troupe masters hands like a naughty kitten to his owner, and Ghost ran off somewhere, no doubt to resurface soon and unite with his new found nightmare spawn friend. But for a short while, all was quiet.

Hornet brought a new kind of chaos to the Palace. Something the White Lady should have expected, but couldn’t have predicted the feelings it would invoke. Hornet was an actual kid. Unlike the two vessels who could, as soon as they hatched, climb their way up the ledges most adults would struggle with, the Gendered Child needed to be cradled and fed, supervised at all times. In other words, she was vulnerable. Anything happening in her sight left a mark on her, and seeing those changes filled the queens heart and mind with fascination and worry at the same time.

The first time Herrah brought her little one to a meeting, the baby wouldn’t stay quiet, and despite all the disruption it caused, the White Lady wanted them to stay for as long as possible. For the first time in many years, she heard a child’s laughter. Ever since that day, any time Feral shook his shoulder indicating a mischievous chuckle, the queen's mind goes back to that moment.

Not a sprout of envy ever rooted itself in the White Lady’s heart. It didn’t even cross her mind until Dryya asked if she might be resentful of the Deepnest’s queen for getting to hear her daughter’s voice, while she didn’t even know how it felt to hear “mom” once. Her answer was that Herrah would never feel the same euphoria that came over White Lady when she finally figured out how to speak to her child with their hands,

seeing them sign, “happy! happy! happy!” over and over. The joys of motherhood came in many unpredictable ways, and the journey would never be the same for any two families. But despite the differences, and despite almost never speaking to each other aside from diplomatic affairs, the two queens understood each other in the feelings that plagued them at every waking hour. First, it was a desperate desire to have an offspring of their own. Perhaps that understanding was why, upon hearing the request to have the king’s child, the White Lady agreed even before her husband did. Then, another feeling resonated between the two. Constant, cold dread. Dread of their time with their children running out. It might take years before the time came for Hollow to step into his role of being a sacrifice to the kingdom. But even now, there wasn’t a moment when Herrah’s heart didn’t ache, not for herself being deprived of both life and death, as a Dreamer, but for her daughter being left on her own. At least White Lady will get to nurture the feral vessel even after Hollow is reduced to a living gravestone. But even then, the queen would soon lose her only link to the child. As every new sign they learned together only reminded her of how fast her vision was weakining...

“Root lady!”

The queen’s wandering thoughts scattered like a flock of startled maskflys. She hadn’t noticed Hornet opening her eyes a few moments earlier.

“Have I disturbed your slumber with my light, little princess?” “Nu! I’m not sleepy. I didn’t sleep! Imma go play with Ghost.”

Ghost tried to pull the same bluff sometimes, as if the letters on his paper didn’t trail off the borders, turning into a crooked line ending where his quill lay as he dozed off right there on the table, sometimes right in his mother’s lap.

“Oh? You’re not sleepy at all? Goodness, Ghost must have been running way more than you today” - The queen made an exaggerated confused expression.

“No! I run more! And faster! Ghost can never catch me.”

To much of Hollow’s confusion, Ghost often play-raced with his little sister, and always lost on purpose. Something he suspected was that she didn’t get much slack back home, as it wasn’t customary in Deepnest to go easy on anyone, even if it’s to humor a child. No doubt once she’s old enough to train with a nail, she’ll know just how much building character is prioritised over mercy in those lands.

“That can’t be right,” - The White Lady put a hand to her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. - “They surely are more tired. How can it be that Ghost is already asleep, but Hornet isn’t even sleepy?”

“Ghost sleeps now? Bleh, baby.”

“Maybe little Hornet should sleep a little too. Your mother is talking to the king about important things, but they are taking a longer time because, can you imagine? While they were having a meeting, some kids made a fire in the palace!”

The humm of the garden filled with Hornet’s chiming laughter, as she flailed her tiny feet a little bit in amusement.

“That’s Ghost! Me, too. We made sticky sweets!”- the little spider announced proudly, showing her hands, still covered in bits of burnt marshmallow.

“Really?” “Ye! The flying... The flying bug... Lilpet made fire with his mouth!” “Lilpet?” “Ghost’s Lilpet. They can fly and have pretty eyes.”

After a few seconds, the queen deciphered that Hornet gave Grimmchild that name hearing her mother call it “Ghost’s little pet.”

“Ah, I understand. Do you like them? “Lilpet makes soft sounds. I like them more than sounds at home.”

From Dryya’s tales, the White Lady knew that from every tunnel in Deepnest you could hear the hissing of its wilder residents. Although she’d expect living there would make one numb to such sounds. However, the only noise in the White Palace was the one kids caused. Perhaps the difference is playing with Hornet’s ears. Hornet liked it in the Palace. So many spaces for her to climb and stick her silk to, and brothers to look after her, who would always find a way to catch up, even on the ceiling, getting them to chase her was almost its own game. Besides, she’s never forbidden from doing anything, as Herrah wouldn’t let the king boss her child around, thus White Lady being the only one he cpuld turn to to tame the rambunctious child. At home, she’s probably running wild as well. Herrah had no reason nor will to restrict her child from anything that’s not dangerous. She wanted to spend what little time she had left seeing her little daughter curious, free, and happy. So causing chaos at home wasn’t nearly as fun as raising the roof of the palace, though, as she won’t get the same reaction she gets from the Pale King. And having an accomplice in Ghost makes it double the fun.

The noisy mischief those two cause amused the queen every time, but the moments of quiet the two share are much more precious. Ghost would often try to teach their sister their signs, and being young and clever, she picks them up no problem, although the learning process resembled charades. Hornet is often Ghosts voice, and she cheers as much as the vessel does once they manage to communicate something to servants in the castle or the knights. Watching her child indulge in the process of teaching others the same way she does warmed their mother’s heart.

“...When will mom co-...?” - Hornet yawned mid-word.

“They need some more time, little princess. But I heard sleeping makes time go faster.”

“You made that up!”

“My-my, you are a clever child! People can tell you a lot of lies, but you can ask your mom if what I said was true.”

“I can’t ask her now.” “We’ll just have to wait then, huh. ... Or you could try and see for yourself“ “But I can’t sleep. I’m not tired!”

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” “What is lulby?”

“A special song they sing to princesses when they can’t sleep.” “You made that up again!” “Well, I won’t sing it then.” “No, I wanna hear!”

“Lie down and close your eyes then.”

The queen wrapped her hands around Deepnest’s princess, dimming her glow, and a soft hum soon crept just at the edges of Hornet’s hearing. It grew into a melody, and somehow, a song, although the sounds weren't like words at all, they resembled ringing, resonating with the sound of the garden, and the specks of white glow seemed to dance to their tune. The pale beings song was not in any language, but the meaning of its lines Hornet would carry in her memory long after, and years later she’d put them into words she could actually sing herself.

Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three

And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

In the darkness

Far below

Wishing star

Is born to glow

Thread by thread

The star has sawn Silky web

they’ll call their own

Soon came spring To be her guest

Gave her life Then left to rest Summer came Was brief and sad left behind

A cloak of red Autumn took The lone star in Made her strong Fit to be queen Winter shook The web star made Soon two bugs Came for her aid Hide the bugs

In her cocoon Safe from winter

Pale as moon Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

To the gentle hum of the song Herrah found her daughter sleeping in White Lady’s hands. No words were exchanged between them as she gently took Hornet and held her close, the little princess will soon be home.

( @huntersapprentice )

( @astronomicartz )

( @brimal-baspid )

#hollowknight #hollow knight #telephoneknight #otherart #otherfic #shitlordau #fanart #giftcorner #this one started off angst #but then went super wholesome #which i dont mind #long post #lets see if this one breaks tumblr mobile too #noticeablepronouns

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justmaybee · 3 years ago

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A/N: I can’t get a prompt from Chili royalty and not choose Chili—that’s just bad taste 🧐 pft, my inability to write new characters aside, I do love both of them dearly and I really hope you enjoy this fic! Also, as a Kazuha non-haver, you’re free to pillage my sea ganoderma should you please 👌🏼

Summary: Chili just—give off major ‘married for years and still madly in love vibes,’ okay? So this is just soft domestic fluff w/ some tickles thrown in ✨

From this ask game!

Childe’s hair drags against the carpet below him, caught as he stretches out the stiffness in his neck. He can feel blood rushing to his face; nothing new, he’s always been easy to burn, to flush. The head rush is entertaining though, so he might keep this up a bit longer.

His legs sway over the back of the couch, tapping sporadically on the wall behind it. The soft flick of a page catches his wandering attention, head swiveling on the floor, hair getting even messier where it’s fanned out around him.

Zhongli looks like a work of art, dressed down and casual. A book in hand with a pair of reading glasses settled on the bridge of his nose. He’s naturally eye-catching, even upside down.

It’s so annoying.

Childe kicks his leg, a little too hard, against the wall. Zhongli doesn’t react.

He’s really good at that. He’s been ignoring Childe for—ugh—how many hours, Childe can’t tell at this point.

Probably...almost one, but still.

Zhongli is smart, smarter than anyone Childe’s come across, and with his Fatui connections that’s really saying something. Of course, it’s hard to compete with a person who’s lived through the stuff scholars usually read about, so a point for Xiansheng. Still, that doesn’t keep him from wanting to know more.

At the cost of his brain becoming too big for his very handsome and very human head, Zhongli has become quite a big reader as a mortal. Always with a book on hand for bouts of quiet time throughout the work week.

But it’s the weekend. Childe is here, not on any missions out and abroad, and Zhongli is usually happy to entertain him.

So...when he slipped his arms around Childe’s waist, whispered in his ear, asking for just a little time to finish a novel on loan from an acquaintance—

It was the right thing to do. Of course he’d accommodate. Not just because Zhongli’s breath sent goosebumps across his shoulders and made his brain go a little stupid. Not at all.

But, come on, one whole hour.

Childe slips down the front of the couch, head flattening out to lay on the ground and give his crown a break. His chin pushes against the base of his throat, and he can feel the vibrations of his groan ring against the top of his chest.

That gets him the most attention he’s had in this drought. The way Zhongli taps his foot against Childe’s thigh is undoubtedly intentional, a placating gesture. It’s literally the one second touch of a foot and Childe feels more fulfilled than he’s been all day, jeez.

It does give him the best idea ever though.

Because lucky for him, Zhongli is leaning against the opposite arm of the couch, totally absorbed in his reading; and his feet are definitely within grabbing distance. And after some—ahem—investigation, Childe’s learned a lot about how ticklish a certain someone’s ankles can be…

He gets his arm a few sneaky centimeters away before the wind is knocked out of him.

Well, maybe not ‘knocked’ out of him, but he does lose his breath for a second.

And when he tunes back in, he also realizes he’s lost Zhongli. The couch arm where he was reclining only a second ago now a resting spot for his propped open book.

It’s then that Childe notices a lot of pressure where there wasn’t any before. He tilts his head up to catch a better look at his lower body.

“Oh! Hi Xiansheng!”

Zhongli tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, keeping it out of his face. He smiles down at Childe, whose smile only grows wider.

“Hello, Childe.”

“Done reading?”

Zhongli hums, settling into his straddle over Childe’s hips. His fingers tap softly.

“For the moment.”

It’s music to Childe’s ears, but it doesn’t take long for his tune to change.

Kind of hard for it not to when he notices the steady crawl of fingertips up—or maybe down?—the skin that peeks out the bottom of his shirt.

The first laugh is pulled quickly out of him, a giggle that goes squeaky when he tries to curl forward, grab at Zhongli’s creeping hands.

But not only does he have a motivated Zhongli going against him—no—this time he’s also fighting gravity.

That realization strikes harder than the last one.

“W-wahait! Aha! Xianshe—ehe! Zhonglihihihihihi!”

Childe’s a pretty fit guy. You don’t get the title of Harbinger by sitting around and picking your nose anyways. But with the force of gravity weighing on him and—oh man—the way Zhongli’s hands move to pinch up and down the curve of his sides. His ability to stay curled up gives out pretty quickly.

And when he finally falls back down—in a giggly, redder-than-usual pile—he can feel his shirt slip down with him. So now he’s tired himself out and left himself in a more compromising position.

Zhongli’s not exactly one to skip out on a good opportunity. Childe can’t blame him.

He can squeal and bat at Zhongli’s hands when they skitter well-maintained nails over his exposed stomach though.

“Noho! Zhonglihihihi! That’s so—HAH—unfahahahair! NohoHOHOHO!”

There he goes again, ignoring Childe’s words. He can hear him—definitely—because he always chooses to amp things up when he whines. And with the way he’s massaging the lowest of Childe’s ribs, making him jerk side to side in vain attempts to dodge his nimble fingers…

Yeah, he can definitely hear him.

His laughter is already shrill and explosive, breaking for quick, gasping breaths. It’s not like Zhongli’s never gotten him pinned before—it’s usually a requirement if he doesn’t want Childe trying to turn the tables—but something about this position…

It’s so weird, so difficult to get out of. The way he can feel his legs swing freely and his arms beat wildly beside him. Zhongli is sitting on top of him, sure, but he’s totally unguarded. Childe can see through teary eyes how lax he is, scratching light fingers over his sensitive skin.

He’s got no leverage, and—by this point—no energy. The weight of his own weakness holds him down and makes his torso an even easier target for Zhongli’s devilish fingers. It’s all he can do to push at Zhongli’s hands when they get close enough to reach.

At least that’s what he thinks before Zhongli’s hands start drifting back down his body. Towards—Childe realizes—his now noticeably exposed hips.

Oh, no way.

Childe can’t voice the thought, but he does get one panicked squeal out before he bucks up and flips himself around in Zhongli’s loose hold.

His face is in the carpet and Zhongli can still technically reach plenty of his (many, many) ticklish spots, but…it’s all he’s got.

And it seems to be enough. Zhongli’s hands don’t continue to prod at this weak points, just pat with a kind of finality on his butt that now pokes awkwardly into the air. His deep chuckle blends with Childe’s residual laughter, warm and comforting.

“Th-that was—uncahalled for.” The lie rolls off Childe’s lips easily, catching on a stray giggle. He has no doubt that Zhongli caught onto him earlier; got the jump on him before Childe could.

Zhongli, like always, plays along seamlessly.

“Yes, of course. I apologize,” He says with that smile that got Childe here in the first place. The one he can never say no to.

Childe shimmies his legs out from under Zhongli, tumbling over to spread out on the nice, soft floor. He must look like a disaster, all wrinkled clothes and flushed cheeks that make his whole head the same tomato kind of color.

And Zhongli…

Zhongli looks like a work of art, smile soft and fond. Despite coming out of a tickle fight—no matter how one-sided it might’ve been—he still looks absolutely perfect. Eye-catching, even upside down.

Childe is so lucky.

His grin pushes to the surface, even bigger than when Zhongli’s fingers coaxed it out of him.

“It’s okay, I still love you.”

#bee stuffs #tickling #tickle fic #genshin impact #Chili #Childe #Zhongli #ticklish!Childe #I hate everything I write but I want to write you see the problem #ajsnahdjdhajj

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one-boring-person · 3 years ago

Note

Okay so request~~~~

So at the end of last blood, he never stays at his ranch. He tells the aunt “Idk. I’ll move around, like always.” And then proceeds to destroy his home and land beyond repair, you know that story i wrote about picking up first blood rambo?? Well, change that to old man rambo!

What about him having rhat random chance meeting with someone like SR(from the one i wrote) and staying with them. How they take care of him without even knowing him, and how he has a chance to try out a new life away from war and what he was with someone who’s young and starting out on their own ambitions.

I could totally see him being introduced to SR’s friends as “oh, my new roommate!” And him telling SR all about vague war stories, they teach him to cook and cook him breakfast. Honestly just rambo being taken somewhere far away and nice and staying with someone who definitely has their own problems, but takes on the therapy by helping him instead.

Basically, SR is very very damaged and rambo can tell- but they’re so sweet and responsible, mature, and loyal. They take out emotions and pain through spreading love instead of war, he can’t let that go. Not now

(Hopefully that gives you ideas!!!)

I'm sorry this took so damn long for me to write, and I'm sorry that it's so bad, too, but I hope you like it in any case!😓😅

Life Goes On.

John Rambo (Rambo: Last Blood) x Named!OC (not mine)

Warnings: injury detail, death, blood

Masterlist

John's eyes are barely open as he sluggishly guides the horse beneath him further on, their surfaces dry and sore even as he blinks them. By now it's useless, the dust in the air having gotten into his corneas within the first hour of his long ride, irritating his scleras very quickly. Exhaustion has long since numbed out any pain he still feels, his eyes becoming the least of his worries as he gradually loses the sensation in his lower abdomen, where his more serious wound is bleeding profusely onto his shirt, still oozing even after fifteen hours of being left alone. He knows the blood flow isn't too bad anymore, as his hasty attempts to patch himself up have left him with a better chance of surviving, but his other wounds are slowly driving him to a comatose state. The veteran can't move his fingers properly, the digits clunky and uncoordinated as he tries to grip onto the reins, the blisters from the tough leather split and leaking as he struggles to do so. Nausea has settled into his head, his vision blurred as his strength slowly fails him - he's too old to have survived as he used to. Without his medication, John finds himself plagued constantly by flashes of past grief and sorrow, images of his dead team back in 'Nam flooding his conscience, accompanied by the beaten and bruised face of Gabrielle.

Beneath him, the horse walks slowly, his thighs aching from the hours of riding, chafing sores lining them under the fabric of his trousers, his body slouched forwards in the saddle. Pity for the animal also gnaws at his mind, and he feels a pang of guilt as he realises that it's unlikely it will be able to carry him much further without any respite. It's head is drooped, steps slow and unsteady, panting breaths rushing from its throat in haggard bursts. If he had any energy, John would remove the tack from the horse and let it go, but he knows this isn't a plausible idea for him if he wants to survive. He owes it to Maria to survive.

His conscience starts to slip, just as the sun comes to its highest point in the sky, heat and dry air lulling him into a false sense of security as he feels his control leaving him. Unable to keep a grip on it, he succumbs to the darkness rising up in his vision, falling into it gratefully, needing the reprieve.

Vaguely, John seems to recall a car pulling up beside him, the door slamming closed as someone shouts to him, hands taking the reins from his. Gravity seems to take control, and John falls from the horse, landing heavily in the dirt, but he doesn't lie there long. Whoever has taken hold of the horse is swift to come to his aid, pulling him into their arms as they try to drag him back to their car. They're struggling, and he wants to fight back, to tell whoever it is to get lost, but he finds he can't, his throat too raw to even force a sound past, so he can only stay limp as they manhandle him into their vehicle, murmuring gently to him the entire time.

It's at that point that he finally loses consciousness.

Agony floods John's body as he comes to again, drawing a hoarse groan from his scratchy throat as he jerks upwards, his instincts still ready for action even after all these years. Blearily, he blinks, hands scrambling to identify his surroundings, dull surprise dripping into his conscience as he finds a soft duvet and pillows on top of a comfortable mattress, warmth encompassing him. Frowning, the veteran pushes himself upright, ignoring the pain in his body as he does so, his hand going up to cup his wound instinctively. Shocked to find a clean dressing plastered over the ragged injury, John blinks again and takes a look around.

He's in a small room, laying on a bed in the centre, the domicile unfamiliar to him. Idly he wonders if maybe he's died and found some kind of afterlife, but a sharp stab of agony from his side eliminates this idea from his head in seconds. The room is quite comfortably decorated, designed to be cosy and close, whilst remaining roomy enough to allow for decent living space. A few photographs line the wall, accompanied by posters of movies he's never bothered to go see, having never really managed to overcome the triggers they often set off when he's not expecting them.

Just as he goes to climb out of the bed, the door swings open, and an unfamiliar figure steps in, a first aid kit held in one hand as they juggle a bowl of water in the other. Instantly, John's on his feet, instincts taking over as he ignores the flare of agony that springs up in him as he swiftly moves over to the newcomer. In seconds, they find themselves pinned to the wall, a hand wrapped around their throat. Yelping in fear, they let go of the bowl and first aid kit, smaller hands coming up to grip his larger arm, eyes wide as they stare at him in shock, wincing as warm water splashes the two of them.

It takes all John has not to crush their windpipe, his rational mind taking over the militant instinct as he keeps them in a threatening hold, the youth unable to move at all. A wave of nausea washes over him, and he falters, vision spinning wildly as he drops back a step, losing his grip on the newcomer as quickly as he secured it, the sudden disorientation throwing him off as he falls to the floor again. Grunting in pain, he lands heavily, the impact jarring his bones and muscles roughly. Recovering quickly, the newcomer drops down beside him, eyes widened in concern now, rather than fear.

"Are you alright?" They ask him, voice soft with worry, searching his face for any serious problem.

It takes him a moment, but eventually, John manages a response, his usually rough voice coarse and gravelly now.

"'M fine."

They just scoff, hesitantly reaching out to help him back up again, heaving his heavy body onto the bed again.

"You are far from fine." They point out, "What happened, you fight a war or something?"

He almost laughs.

"Something like that." John murmurs bitterly, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Shooting him an odd look, the newcomer goes and fetches the spilt bowl of water, sighing at the mess before they hold it up for him to see.

"I'm just gonna get some more water, then I'll patch you up again, that alright?" They ask him, looking somewhat cautious.

Suspicious, John watches them for a sign of deception. Finding none, he simply nods, knowing he can easily take them out if he needs to. They smile, going to leave the room, only to stop in the doorway and turn around.

"My name is SR, by the way." They introduce themself.

"John." He grunts in way of reply, watching as they nod and leave the room.

Two months have passed and he's no longer bedridden, the veteran able to move freely around the house, even though there's still a little residual pain, and the mental horrors he faces every night leave him drained with no reprieve. With no medication to help him, it's no surprise that John has relapsed into a familiar state of sullen silence and brooding, finding himself reminded of the things he'd rather forget every day, in everything he does and everything he sees.

SR is no exception to this: he has warmed up to them, and he somewhat trusts them, the youth having shown him more kindness than he has experienced since Maria and Gabrielle. Their only downfall is that they remind him a lot of his murdered niece, the two having very similar traits that very quickly sussed out. Childhood trauma has led them to becoming very determinedly driven and friendly, ambitious and confident in some aspects of life, whilst also noticeably damaged in other aspects, that he realises very quickly. Somehow, however, they always keep themselves afloat, and choose not to show any of the weight bearing down on their mind, as he knows it is, though he is also very swift to realise that their way of dealing with this pain is very simple; they work to make life better for others. It's visible in everything they do: cooking for him every day, caring for him in any way they can, doing their best to let him know he can trust them.

At first, he had been somewhat cold and closed off to them, but they swiftly worked to help warm him up again, reawakening the more personable version of himself he managed to cultivate in his time on the ranch. It was nice to become a little lighter again, but his guard stayed up, and still is, though not as much as it was before. Vividly, he can remember the time he found himself trusting them further: when their friends had come over to catch up.

Naturally, they'd all been surprised to find some nearly hostile ex-soldier residing in their friend's home, living his life out with them. As soon as they'd said something, however, SR had leapt in to defend him, and had inadvertently shown their care for him on a much greater scale than before, reminding John of what his life was like with Maria and Gabrielle. When their friends had then left, an hour or so later, he had stepped up to them and told them how thankful he was, feeling more cared for than he ever thought he would.

Now, after weeks of being taught how to cook, and being cooked for, plus hours and hours of talking with each other as they helped each other to overcome past grief, he can very honestly say he is immensely grateful to be with them. They know more about him than he told himself he'd ever tell anyone, SR often listening with rapt attention to his war stories, eyes wide as they hear all of the harrowing details. He feels comfortable telling these tales, and they seem content to listen, so he appreciates them in whole new ways.

And when he finally opens himself back up to physical contact, the embrace he receives from his excitable carer is only too worth it, the first smile in months gracing his lips as he does so. Life feels like it's turning on its axis again - for the better this time.

#sylvester stallone #rambo #sly stallone #john rambo #john rambo x reader #rambo imagine #rambo x reader

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wolfstarlibrarian · 4 years ago

Note

do you know any roommate AUs'?

Friend! The Librarian was wondering when someone would send in this ask, so thank you! It’s a classic trope, and perfectly suited for Remus and Sirius who were roommates. There are a few previous lists below for those who enjoy some classic Hogwarts settings where they were roommates. Hope you enjoy this super long list (whoops), and thanks for the ask!

Long Wolfstar at Hogwarts Fics

Get to Know Wolfstar Fics

Wolfstar Roommates (omg they were roommates)

Unknown Pleasures by @kattlupin With the war intensifying around him Sirius starts to question what the point of all of this is. It just takes an Order mandated shelter-in-place with Remus and his kind words, magical plants, and good home cooked meals for Sirius to finally realize where his heart lies and that there are reasons to continue to fight.

Born Under Punches by @newsom

The truth is that he’s kept this love on the back burner of his heart for so many years that he’s grown accustomed to the smell and can sometimes almost ignore it completely. He likes to think he’s made peace with the fact that he’ll never know what it tastes like.

Gravity works slowly if you notice it at all by @maraudorable What does a wizard do when they can’t use magic to get out of a situation? They panic, make questionable decisions, and call their mum. And maybe kiss their best friend at the end.

Heat the Winter Floods by @daphnaea It was funny, Sirius thought, the things you could fail to learn about your best mate despite sharing a dormitory for seven years.

Only Around You by @catewip Remus Lupin can't stop the laughter that erupts from him when he returns home to find Sirius in the middle of absolute chaos. After Alice, as kind as ever, had sent him home from work early for his birthday, the last thing Remus had expected was to find his friend and flat in complete disarray. Aka, surprise party gone wrong and yet oh so right.

Hic sunt dracones by @aryastark-valarmorghulis Remus and Sirius try putting on makeup and end up trying a lot more: sex, kissing, and maybe even talking about feelings.

Drunk on Love by @museinabsentia Post second war AU in which Remus cheats at baking, Padfoot plays in the snow, and Christmas jumpers combined with mulled wine may lead to something old becoming something new.

Broken Windows by alittlebitAlexie Remus Lupin fancies his new neighbor Sirius Black but keeps embarrassing himself in front of him. This is what happens when Remus has to sleep on Sirius' couch for a few weeks.

The Things We'd Do For A Coffee Maker by AllThisAndLoveTooWillRuinUs In which to cover up a lie to Lily, Sirius and Remus have No Choice but to get fake married. “So what you’re saying is, you’re planning to marry Sirius for. . . fun?” “And for a coffee maker, yes.”

Impossible Things by @accioromulus Sirius’s thoughts are a slow-moving, impending disaster. How he wants to pin Remus up against the cupboards, to crowd him into a corner; how he wants to intertwine their fingers, to brush his lips against Remus’s forehead, his jaw. Instead, he settles for ducking his head and sliding a finger through the belt loop in Remus’s denim jeans—a ridiculous gesture so utterly intimate, even for the pair of them, that he only allows it because he’s just drunk enough. “Stop stealing my bloody clothes, Lupin.” He says, very quietly. Remus looks up at him, eyes dark, and murmurs pleasantly: “Better learn to do your own laundry then, Black. Consider it my fee.”

Rollerskate by @biremus 'You're a gold star fallen from its natural plane' Remus Lupin isn't ready for university at all. As if leaving his old friends behind wasn't enough, now he has to deal with lovesick teenagers, ridiculously overambitious pranks, University Challenge tryouts, and that one gorgeous boy who just won't leave him alone... Loosely based on Starter For Ten

Making It Work by darkestbliss In a last-minute arrangement, Sirius Black moves in with Remus Lupin.

Ocean of Fiction Blue -orphaned account Remus Lupin isn't sure what to make of his new flatshare situation. He's a quiet student with a past, who doesn't date and is determined to keep it that way. Then he meets his artist flatmate, Sirius Black and his entire world is turned upside down.

How Remus Got His Groove Back by @theprongsletthatlived After two years of noncommittal sex: Remus tells Sirius that he loves him. Sirius firmly rejects him. Remus tries to move on. Sirius is not happy. OR Remus Lupin becomes king of the cockroaches, Fabian Prewett writes a book, Gilderoy Lockhart is a catfish, and Sirius Black realizes he's a fucking idiot.

Elucidation Practice by @montpahrnah Christmas, 1978. Remus, wrestling with the mighty problems of gift-giving on a budget, contemplates life, love, London in winter, and falling off the edge of the world with Sirius Black.

Domestic Creatures by @veeagainsttheday Growing up is hard to do -- but the journey is better if you take someone with you.

No Mum, He Really Is My Boyfriend by showmeyourtardis If Remus has to go on one more date set up by his mother, he will maul his own face off. It was nothing against the boys, they were... Well, they were horribly dull, but it was mostly the werewolf thing. So when an escape plan, in the form of Sirius Black, presents itself, Remus is more than happy to take it.

#omg they were roommates #roommates #wolfstar #remus x sirius #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black

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achliegh · 3 years ago

Text

Golden

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 3:

Swim

What Hurts The Most

I Want Crazy

A month passed, Logan was alone. Finn hasn’t spoken to him since they left New Orleans, He texted an apology to Leo but it says it wasn’t even read, he has been avoiding certain people on the team because he knows they would interrogate him. The only thing that gave him any sort of relief from this crippling loneliness, he would watch the videos from the bonfire of Leo and Finn over and over and OVER! It had gotten to the point where that was the only way he could sleep.

He could only fall asleep to Finn’s laugh and Leo’s terrible yet sweet singing.

Adele had been paying attention to Logan, at first she would get annoyed and tell Logan to put on headphones or ask him to go to his room to watch them because he was falling asleep on the couch with his phone loudly playing the same.. Tiktok maybe? Adele didn’t know but she did get annoyed.

She stopped being annoyed when she found out what the videos actually were. One night she was downstairs watching her own show on the kids tv because her parents were catching up on the news upstairs. She didn’t want to turn the tv up too loud because the rest of the kids were asleep and she didn’t want to wake them. She could hear the music coming from Logan's room and she was not in the mood to listen to the same thing over and over again.

She walks over to his door and goes to knock but the door was open, she didn’t want to intrude but she was curious, so she poked her head in. She smiles a little, Logan is curled up on top of his covers, in sweats and a really big Saints t-shirt that she has never seen before. He was lying on his side, looking like he fell asleep while watching those videos again.

She walks over as quietly as she can to click the phone off and she sees the video. It’s one where Logan is being spun around while being held by a tall blonde guy. Logan was glowing. He was so happy. Adele continued to watch, Logan was set down by the man and he wrapped his arms around Logan's neck and bounced to the beat. It was really cute… but there was another video that she heard more often, now that she was here she might as well snoop. She swiped to the left and the familiar sound of that man's sloppy singing punctured her ears. There was someone else in this video… Finn.

Adele always noticed the tension around Logan and Finn, pretty much everyone did, but this just confirmed in her mind that they were, something together. Finn was sitting on the tailgate of a truck and the man from earlier was singing a song about loving country boys. Which made her cringe. But Finn hugged the man's face to his own and they were cheek to cheek as they looked at the camera and the man sang to it. Finn also looks happier than she has ever seen.

Adele Leaves the room with the videos playing, obviously Logan needs them. She went to bed that night putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Logan was known for pushing people away, would he do that to her if she asks about the man?

The next morning Logan came upstairs for breakfast in a different shirt but the same pants, she took mental note of that. Logan was always the last one at the kitchen table in the morning because he's a slow eater, so she waited until everyone else was gone to ask.

“What are those videos you always watch?” She starts innocent, watching all those crime shows has trained her for this. Logan froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. The milk drips back into the bowl. She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow, snapping Logan out of his mini panic.

“They are just… friends.” Logan looks like he doesn't even believe himself and Adele stays quiet as if waiting for him to continue. “Just people I miss.”

“Why don’t you talk to them?” Logan sets the spoon in the bowl and signs running his hands through his sleep hair. He looks to make sure Celeste and Dumo don’t see him resting his elbows on the table, resting his face in his hands.

“It’s not that simple Adele. I messed up.”

“Did you say sorry?”

“To one, but they didn’t even read it…”

“The other?” Silence fell between them, she sipped her fruit juice as she waited for Logan to answer.

“They are avoiding me… I see them everyday but it feels like I’m a ghost.” He looks up to an unimpressed preteen and sighs, he shouldn’t be venting to her. It does give him the motivation to want to talk to Finn though. They sit in silence for a few moments longer, a small thanks and Adele going to wash their dishes as Logan goes to shower.

Finn wasn’t expecting a knock on the door, he was just cleaning the apartment with music out of the Bluetooth speaker. Luckily, the knock came when he had paused the music to change the song. Before starting the music again he opens the door, a fluttery feeling in his stomach makes him have a sour taste in his mouth.

Logan.

Logan just being beautiful, his eyes were that sweet pea green that melts Finn's heart, his hair was damp but soft from a shower. He looks up at him and he looks scared, and small. Not something Finn is used to. Instead of letting Logan in right away like he normally would, Finn leans against the door frame, arms crossing over his bare chest. Not saying anything.

Logan about lost his nerve to be here, Finn had that stupid black headband on keeping his hair out of his face. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his creamy skin scattered in freckles at Logan itched to touch. His shorts hung low on his hips and he tried not to stare. Keeping his eyes glued to the copper ones staring him down. He swallows his nerves.

“Can we talk?” His voice was small, slightly shaky, Finn knew he couldn’t resist. Moving to gesture into the apartment. Logan walks in, taking his shoes off and leaving them by the door. He stands around awkwardly while Finn sits on the couch. “Finn, I'm sorry! I-I don’t know why I said those things to-... to him.”

“You can’t even say his name Logan.” Finn spoke calmly but it wasn’t because he felt that way, it was because he was tired of this. Tired of fighting. “I would believe you if you could say his name and not have his look of guilt in your eyes that you couldn’t give him! Leo didn’t deserve that! Even if you didn’t want to be with him, you ruined it for BOTH of us! I would have liked to stay with him, I would have liked to have a relationship with him but I’m- I’m so stuck on you! I’m stuck on you so I can’t go against you, I can’t leave you behind because it will kill me!” He lost his calm and stood up walking into the kitchen to his phone. “I don’t even want to have this conversation because I know you don’t feel how I feel… and I don't blame you for not feeling what I do but can’t you let me go.” Logan followed him into the kitchen and stands there shocked at what Finn had said.

“Stuck on me… You don’t think I'm stuck on you? Finn! I am just as stuck on you! Why do you think I always come back to YOU!” ( Swim) Finn rolls his eyes and picks a song before walking off back towards the living room. Logan grabs him and traps him against the wall, a hand on either side of his torso, his forehead to his bare chest.

Cool hair against warm skin.

“Please just listen to me!” Logan looks Finn in the eyes as the green becomes clouded with tears that he refused to let fall, angry with himself he finally lets everything out. “I feel terrible, I texted Leo and got no reply. I've been giving you space, even when I wanted you, when I wanted to touch you, when I wanted you to hold me. I wanted… Leo too. I’ve been watching the videos from the bonfire to sleep, I’ve been sleeping in the shirt from Leo that I found in my bag… it smells like him. God I fucking miss you so much. You’re right in front of me but… Something keeps stopping me. It's like a barrier that I can't break through unless I’m with you. Why do you let me come back to you…”

Finn feels himself being pulled into Logan's gravity, cupping his cheek he feels Logan’s hands move to his waist and grip like if he lets go Finn will disappear.

“I love you! That's why…” Right before their lips touch a smile forms on the other.

“I love you too.” Their lips crash together, Logan pulls Finn’s body so close to his own that there is no space for Jesus. The kisses are passionate, Finn’s hands wind into Logan’s hairs gripping tightly not letting him pull away until they can’t breath. Finn bites Logan’s bottom lip, suddenly Finn’s anger comes flooding back, everything shitty Logan had ever said to him, and what he said to Leo repeated in his mind. Grabbing Logan's wrists he flips them on the wall, pinning Logan's hands beside his head, and shoving his thigh between Logan's and pressing into him, drawing a surprised whine from the shorter man who is flexing his hands.

Aggressively kissing, nipping and sucking on Logan's lips and neck made him an absolute mess, eventually Finn pulls away and shoves Logan toward his bedroom. Logan walks backwards still facing Finn as he takes off his shirt and drops his gym shorts. His legs hit the bed and he falls backwards onto the soft duvet. Finn reaches him for him and tugs his underwear off of Logan, reaching for the lube on the bedside table. He leans down and nips at Logan’s jaw.

“Hands and knees.” Logan moves quickly after Finn moves away to take his own shorts off but forgetting about his headband, putting some lube on his fingers Finn moves behind Logan and reaches down to begin to prep him, but feels him already stretched. Finn gives Logan a confused look for a second when he catches Logan looking back. A shy smirk forms on his face.

“Shower, I was hopeful.” Finn lets out a breath and uses the lube on his hand to slick himself up and slide into Logan in one solid thrust. Pushing Logan’s back so his chest was to the bed, moving his hand to his wildly curling hair and pushing Logan’s face into the bed as he starts thrusting into Logan, hard but shallow just barely grazing Logan’s sweet spot.

Logan was always quiet loud when they fucked but he got much louder when he was being manhandled and praised. Finn was whispering sweet praises that contradicted his aggressive thrusts.

Lo felt like he was going insane, he felt his insides start to coil as he was getting pounded into the mattress. Gripping the sheets he feels Finn shift and start drilling into his sweet spot and Logan can’t help but scream in pleasure, tears pricking his eyes, the hand gripping his hair tightens and pushes his face further into the mattress. Minutes later Logan breaks harder than he has for a long time, Finn following not long after.

Finn holds Logan close as he pulls out, laying on their sides he feels Logan squirming, pushing his ass back into Finn. He smiles and kisses the top of his head, running a soothing hand up and down his side as his other hand is on Logan’s pounding heart. Logan’s hands gripping his.

“Closer.” His voice is raspy and small but Finn doesn’t hesitate to completely wrap his arms around Logan and hold him tightly, helping his brain come back online. They Lay like that for a while, Finn was busy thinking about getting them cleaned up and maybe even asking a very important question. He barely caught Logan’s soft tired voice.

“I love you” Logan wiggles in Finn’s arms to face him and kisses his nose. Logan looked sweet with the red side of his face on full display and the dried tear streaks and puffy lips just made Finn’s heart skip a beat. Logan's smile suddenly fades away and he cups Finn’s neck. “Can we… be together like a couple?”

“I was going to ask you.” The smile that grows on his face makes his cheeks hurt. He starts peppering his BOYFRIENDS face in kisses and revealing in his sleepy laugh that is rarely heard.

He was on top of the world.

Leo’s back was resting against the large Weeping Willow that provides shade over the pond behind the barn. He’s been spending a lot of time here. It is one of the only places Leo can talk to his dad, because the tree is him. He always got this feeling that on the other side of the trunk sat Wyatt, listening to Leo’s problems and giving advice. Really it was just Leo but… he can hope right. Ever since the boys left he has come to sit out here and think about everything he did wrong to cause them to leave like that.

He rested his head back on the trunk as the music from his headphones made him feel worse, What Hurts The Most by Rascal Flatts was just not the happiest. It really hit too close to home, but that's how his life seems to be going right now. Clayton and Ashley had broken up after she got him arrested when SHE threw a lamp at his head. Clay now sports a scar from the center of his forehead across his left eye to the top of his cheek.

Speaking of the idiot, Clay sits down next to him and rests his head on Leo’s shoulder.

“How's the face? Still ugly?” Leo smiles a little when Clay smacks his stomach.

“Itchy, the stitches being taken out are nice but now I look like a pirate.” He sits up. “Have you found your phone yet?” Clay knows Leo’s phone is still on the floor of his truck but Leo claims he can’t find it because he doesn’t want to be reminded of the boys. Clayton was actually stealing Finn’s number from the phone so that he can give him a call and give him a piece of his mind.

“Nope! And I refuse to look for it… Why do I miss them so much? I knew them for a week and it's been months since they left! I feel pathetic.” Leo sighs annoyed and unplugged his earphones from his iPod and shoves them in his pocket. “I feel stupid, they are in my head all the time and I don’t even know their middle names, or favorite colors, or favorite foods. I know nothing about them but I want to…” he pulls some grass out of the ground and is glaring down at his lap.

“Do you want to see them again? Like go to a game?” Clay has mentioned this a couple of times and Leo never gives a solid answer, but this time he did.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

A few weeks later they were stepping off the plane in Gryffindor, they had a couple of hours before the game and decided to take their bags to the air bnb. They only had back packs because they were staying for two days before going back home. Might as well make a whole trip out of this.

When they got there, there were a couple of boxes on the table as requested, anything can be done with money. Clayton got to opening the boxes, pulling out two jerseys, two pairs of sweatpants, two hats, two pairs of socks and two pairs of bright white new Adidas shoes. Leo’s clothes were bigger than Clays so it was easy to separate them. They brought their own plain sweatshirts, Leo’s is Black and Claytons is white.

They googled what people wear to hockey games and that's what they got.

Leo was getting nervous, he brushed his teeth twice after a shot of vodka, he started pacing until Clay made him stop and take a nap before they left. Once they were in the arena and found their spots behind the Lions goalie a couple rows up. Leo had his hat on forwards worried that someone would recognize him he had his glasses on as well. They were thin wired and square but he hoped it was enough.

He felt like superman.

The team came out for warm up and Leo couldn’t take his eyes off Logan, skating with a brutal beauty that took his breath away, practicing hitting the puck around. Leo knows no hockey terms so this will be interesting. Suddenly a blur skated next to Logan and skated around him as they talked. Finn, lean and gorgeous.

Leo was fucked.

“I need a drink.”

“Nope! No alcohol you have to process these feelings you dumbass.” Clayton was watching someone skate around with a look that Leo knows. He wanted someone.

“Who is it?” Looking down to the rink Leo tries to follow Claytons eyes and find out who he wants. “43?! You mean the jersey you got!” Leo can’t help but crack up at Clay's red cheeks, already feeling more relaxed now that he wasn’t the only one with his eyes on someone.

The game started and they were… lost. They couldn’t keep up with the puck and they didn’t understand the shift changes. The goalie was on FIRE though! He was so good, and Finn was so fucking fast. Logan scored two goals in the first half and Leo couldn’t help but stand with the crowd and cheer.

“You know, you could probably put a dildo on the ice and it would move the same as the disc, wait it's called a puck! The puck.” Leo smiles as Clay and a couple people around them laughed. A few other jokes were cracked before something stops the game.

A fight? They are allowed to fight!? Maybe Leo should watch hockey.

It was Logan in a fight, Leo watched completely entranced. Logan was pure anger and passion, he threw his gloves off and punched a man with long almost white hair. Leo took a drink of water to get the cotton out of his mouth. Logan gets punched back right in the face, but he jumps on the man and hits him again before Finn and number 12 pull him off. Logan's eyes were bright with adrenaline, but Leo only knew that… because Logan spotted him, when Logan blinked Leo sat back down hoping the crowd standing would hide him. His face was bright red and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

43 was on the ice so Clayton wasn’t paying attention to him, Leo didn’t know if he could handle getting made fun of right now. His heart was beating out of his chest.

He had to talk to them.

After the game, they won by the way, Clayton and Leo were walking out of the rink to the hall when someone grabbed their arms. Looking at the hands on their arms they looked at who they were attached to.

James Potter.

“Nope, this way.” He drags them towards the locker room doors. “Wait here.” He spoke in that way dads do that just to make you listen so Clay and Leo stayed there. The team that lost started walking by and someone grabbed Leo’s ass and spit a racist word at Clayton, confusing the hell out of both of them. Leo noticed the hair and the bandage on his nose and knew that was the guy Logan beat up. He was gone before they could retaliate.

“Okay, I get that you have a temper but if getting into a fight every game necessary! The bruise on your cheek just healed Logan!” Finn was complaining as he examined Logan's face by cupping his chin and moving his head around. The entire team felt the shift when Finn and Logan officially became an item but something was still missing. Especially when country music came on, they would pine and gush about Leo and it drove everyone crazy. Logan was just letting Finn look at him while his own face had the sappiest look on it.

James came back in the room and ushered everyone into the showers because he had a victory surprise. They hoped it wasn’t clowns this time after Kuny almost punched one. Everyone did as they were told and went to shower.

Once they got the signal, Clayton and Leo came into the locker room. Leo was forcefully sat down in a stall with the number 10 on it and Clayton was left to watch by the door. He was getting nervous.

Finn and Logan were hand in hand when they turned the corner twenty minutes later. Finn stopped in his tracks when he saw Leo, in a jersey with a black hoodie on under it, black sweats, red socks, black backwards hat, and not cowboy boots. Logan runs into his back and sighs, looking around Finn to see what stopped him. He drops Finn’s hand and starts walking towards Leo.

“Leo?!” The blonde stands and Logan launches himself into his arms and Leo catches him with no problem. He pulls away a little and cups his face. “Is this real? Are you real?” He pats Leo’s face a bunch and makes Leo laugh.

“Yes, I’m real.” He smiles and sets Logan down, turning towards Finn who still hasn’t moved. He nervously opens his arms to Finn and that gets him to move. Finn walks forward into Leo’s arms and wraps his arms around his waist tightly. Leo hugs him just as tight, pulling away a little and catching Finn’s lips with his own. It was sweet and relaxed.

Once they pull away Logan grabs his face and gives him a kiss as well that was fiery and needy, very Logan. They pull away and smile sickly sweet at each other, hearing a cheer around the locker room they notice everyone else has entered and is whooping for them.

“Nice jersey” Sirius pats Leo on the back and laughs.

That's when Finn and Logan realize Leo is wearing Sirius’ jersey.

“LEO! What the hell!”

“You expect me to choose! This one was the most popular so I got it.” He crosses his arms like a stubborn child and looks around for Clayton to see him trying to flirt with 43 but he's so oblivious that he doesn’t notice. He smiles and looks back at h-the boys. The boys, yeah. “Clay and I are going to wait outside for y’all. Okay?” He gives them each a short hot kiss and starts to walk away from Clay to the door.

Finn and Logan are still standing there in a daze after he leaves, then the fact that they can take him to Finn’s and do as they please! They share a look and then rush to get dressed as a few of the guys laugh at them.

“Huh, he doesn’t look as hick as I thought he would.” Dumo casually spoke as he pulled his sweats on.

“That was your Leo! No wonder you guys have been stuck on him! Fucking makes me question my own sexuality!” Kasey butted in.

Talker was suspiciously quiet.

They were suddenly at a bar. Clayton was chatting with a couple of girls and their boyfriends just being friendly, every once in a while he would send an annoyed glance to Logan. Who had glued himself to Leo, Finn wasn’t any better. Leo was in the middle of ordering a drink when the Bartender slipped her number under his drink and winked before tossing her hair and walking away.

“Are we not obvious enough?” Finn looks at Logan as Leo laughs while taking a drink. “Maybe we should make it reeeaaallly obvious that you’re taken. Hmm?” Finn slips his hand under Leo’s sweatshirt on his back and feels Logan’s hand there too. Glad they were on the same page.

Leo said goodbye to Clayton, promising that if anything went wrong that he would call. Clay made him promise to carry his phone around during this trip. Clayton gave one last dirty look to Logan and nodded Leo off. Leo skipped back over smiling wide. They get a taxi to Finn's. Leo is in the taxi first sitting normal, smiling at the taxi driver. Finn and Logan topple in, Finn’s head lands in Leo’s lap and Logan is on top of him and leans back to slam the door closed. Laughing a little Logan feels his stomach do a hot twist as he sees the other two making out, he bites his lip after telling the taxi driver the address.

He scoots up Finn’s body and leans to suck a bruise onto Leo’s neck, pulling a groan from the blonde, causing the other two to smirk. Leo pulls away from Finn, Logan swoops in and kisses Finn while Leo catches his breath. They pull up to the apartment and stumble into the elevator. Leo presses Logan into the wall and kisses him, shoving his tongue in his mouth. Logan grips his sweatshirt, feeling Finn press against Leo’s back sandwiching him between them. Finn starts to add a couple of love bites of his own to Leo.

The elevator opens and there is a woman in the door, Leo pulls away and laughs at the face she makes, the other two laugh as well, dragging Leo out towards the apartment door. Once inside they take a moment to arrange the furniture into how Leo wants. Aka turning the living room into a bed.

“Okay what's the plan for tonight!” Logan is sitting on the sofa, Finn and Leo are on the ground facing him. All butt-ass naked.

“I have an idea!” Leo smiles and gets on his knees between Logan's legs. “How about I suck you off and Finn fucks me?” The innocent smile that Leo flashes Logan should be illegal.

“As if I’m gonna say no to that.” Logan looks back at Finn over Leo and sees him mapping out all of Leo’s ink. Finn’s got a thing for ink. “Finn definitely won’t either.”

Finn preps Leo as he rests his head on Logan's thigh, until he's ready.

“Logan, Finn, there is kinda something I really really want you to do… Finn,” He turns around to look at him. “I want you to causally scratch me, bruise my hips with how hard you hold me… you know, be rough.” Turning back to Logan and wrapping his arms under his thighs, placing them over his shoulders, and gripping his hips. “I want you to push my head down, and don’t be afraid to pull my hair.” he winks at Lo and doesn’t even pause to take him fully down his throat.

“Fuck!” Logan grips his hair tightly and arches his back, toes curling as Leo begins to suck. Finn swallows and grips Leo’s hips as he slides in nice and easy. Logan see’s Leo’s eyebrows furrow and loosens his grip on his hair. Leo grabs his hand and puts it on the back of his head, adding pressure. Logan gets the idea and pushes him down, Leo’s moans around Logan as Finn starts to move at a steady pace. Leo keeps pleasuring Logan and moves one of his hands to grab Finn’s hip to pull him in harder.

Finn grips his hips harder and starts to go to town, pounding into Leo hard and deep, Logan was getting close to finishing and Finn could tell just by looking at him. His eyes were glassy, the grip on Leo’s hair was unforgiving, his face and chest were flushed red, every once in a while his eyes would roll back in his head and lose his voice. Moaning loud enough they will probably Finn will probably get another noise complaint from his neighbor who hates him.

Leo was feeling great, the pain was sending shocks of pleasure down his spine, the fact that Logan gets so close and then he stops sucking to bring him back from the edge. Finn has fingerprinted himself to Leo’s waist and Leo is so so close.

Suddenly Logan breaks, Leo smiles and swallows, having Logan ride out his orgasm. Leo keeps going. Finn hits Leo’s prostate dead on and both their orgasms take them by surprise. Finn pulls out and Leo pulls away wiping his mouth on his arm. After a clean up and a new blanket. They all lay together with stupid smiles on their face. Leo fell asleep being pressed between… the boys. Logan in front of him. Finn behind him. Absolutely covered in hickey's, so everyone knew Leo was taken.

The next morning was bright. Logan woke first, which was weird because Leo is almost always up before them. He’s not complaining. The sun is shining just perfectly from the large windows in the living room. The light was hitting Leo’s back making him glow. A large tattoo on his back caught Logan's attention. Logan climbed on Leo and sat on his back straddling him. He started tracing the lines. It was large, the only large one Logan could see right now. In the center of his back was a small shield with wings coming out of it, Logan had never seen that before, it was surrounded by flowers. Some he recognized, the marigolds he knew because his Maman told him they were spirit guides, he also recognized the honey suckle from when Leo took them out to the lake.

Leo was covered in tattoos like a sketchbook. Lots of weird quotes and little animals. There was a sloth in a teacup above his elbow. A couple of frogs with mushrooms around them on his biceps. The words “Cowgirls don’t cry” on his forearm. Logan climbed off Leo and glancing down at his body he noticed some interesting ones.

On his left upper booty cheek there was a micro tattoo of a croc… like the shoe, on his right upper booty cheek there was another croc… but the animal. Blinking a couple times he looks a little lower and notices a skeleton hand that looks like it five-starred Leo's ass and he can’t help but burst out laughing. Waking the other two up he was still laughing.

“What?” Leo blinks sleepily at him and drags him over by his waist to snuggle him. Finn yawns and stretches, sniffling sitting up.

“Why are we laughing? Is Leo funny or something?” Finn drapes himself over Leo’s side and smiles at Logan.

“He has the best tattoos. The skeleton hand is what got me.” Logan smiles and kisses Leo's forehead and then Finn’s. “What is the one on your back?” Leo hums in acknowledgement.

“It’s the airforce pilot wings for my dad and then a bunch of my mom's favorite flowers. Marigolds, which is the nickname she calls me, honeysuckle, bluebells, golden trumpet flowers and daffodils. It’s her favorite tattoo of mine besides my bologna one.” He smiles at them, and his stomach makes sure they know it exists by grumbling. “Alright, let's make some breakfast!” He stands up and grabs his sweatpants tugging them on and makes his way to the kitchen. “Wow, either you really like to clean or you don’t cook.”

“I don’t cook, I have no idea how too.” Finn and Logan follow him into the kitchen in their boxers.

“If you don’t cook then who buys all the ingredients?”

“My mom made me.” Leo narrows his eyes at the bag of flour before he realizes he doesn't have his glasses on. Annoyed, he goes and grabs them from the coffee table and begins making pancakes. He asks Finn to turn on some music and I Want Crazy by Hunter Hayes comes on. It’s a cringey song but fits them perfectly.

“Will you cook some bacon?” Logan is rummaging around in the fridge and just happens to find some turkey bacon, checking the date he sees it's still good.

“Nope!” Leo flips a pancake while humming and looks at the other two.

“Why not?” Finn pouts a little.

“Because I’m vegetarian and I don’t want to.”

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

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holdmyowos · 4 years ago

Text

Training (Aizawa/Shinso x Neko Female Reader Smut)

Includes: Age gap, neko, polyamory, predator-and-prey dynamics, bondage, use of word 'sensei', unprotected sex

A/N: The two of you are done with hero studies but Hitoshi still trains with Aizawa pretty frequently.

You had been with plenty of other guys, but Hitoshi was by far the best you had ever been with. He was so sweet and caring. Plus, he loved cats! Since your quirk let you transform into one, it was perfect. The only downside was that he was a virgin, and he refused to have sex with you. After a couple months into your relationship, he had decided that he was finally ready to take the next step. You had it all planned out. That special occasion would be nowhere near when you were on your period, so he could do as he pleased, and you would be totally ready for him. Often you had caught him looking at cat girls on his phone and touching himself, so you knew exactly what he liked. His favorite color was black, and his second favorite color was silvery grey, so you made sure to incorporate that into the design. Since he was a pro hero with a ton of money, he gave you all the money you wanted to make your costume. You were going for an e-girl type of vibe. You had a black choker with a small silver bell on it. You had long boots on with fishnet tights. You were wearing a short black skirt over your lacy grey panties that matched your lacy silver bra. You had your hair back in two loose buns, tied with silver ribbons. You topped it all off with a black crop top with a revealing boatneck. You put a deep red color of lipstick on. When you were done with your eyeshadow, you worked on making your eyeliner wings perfectly sharp, matching. Your tail and cat ears were out. When you looked in the mirror, even you were impressed. It was ridiculous, no doubt. If you walked into a store, everyone and their grandma would be staring. Any other day you would have laughed at how over-the-top it was, but today you looked sexy as hell. You put your hand on your butt and took a picture in the mirror. Today was going to be a day to remember for sure.

After spending half an hour getting ready, you called your boyfriend, sure he could hear the smile in your voice. "Hey baby, are you ready to come over?" You tried to put as much excitement in your voice as possible. He chuckled. "You better believe it. You want to prepare yourself before I get over there, so we can fully enjoy ourselves?" You shuddered at his implications. "I'm not so certain I catch your drift," you prompted him. You got the desired reaction. "Listen, kitty cat." You could hear the tightness in his voice, as if he wanted to fuck you then and there. "I want you to take that vibrator that I got you for you as a present, and shove it in that tight pussy of yours until it's leaking for me." He clicked the end call button, and a buzz went off in your ear as you turned the vibrator on a low setting.

Your plans were totally falling apart now. You soon became bored with playing with yourself, and angrily called your man. He would not answer. You texted, 'Where the hell are you?' Happily, almost immediately he started typing. 'I had to go train with Aizawa. Sorry. Just be patient, I'll get home around 8.'8? Freaking 8?! It was currently 5. You were not waiting that long for him. He had promised you, and you had been planning this for too long for him to just say 'later'. He had even taken the last couple days off of hero work just so that he had plenty of rest. He had recently looked really good, for once not totally sleep-deprived and running only on coffee and kisses. "Gotta make your first time special, 'toshi," you muttered to yourself as you slid in the car. If he was not coming to you, then you could come to him. He was not getting around this, even if you had to fuck him in front of his old teacher. That thought caught you off guard. In school, you had a slight crush on the young, handsome Shota Aizawa, but thinking of fucking your boyfriend in front of him was a bit strange.

When you were finally at the building, the gym that Hitoshi and Aizawa trained at, you shut the car off and turned off the lights. The gym was privately owned by just the two of them together, so they often came here to train during the day or whenever they had free time. Aizawa might seem modest, but he had a huge salary just like the rest of the pro heroes, so he could afford things like that. You walked up the stairs to the door, slowly opening it. You heard breathless sighs and grunts. It was pretty cute. They must be busy training. You slowly shut the door with nothing but a small click. A small brick wall about four feet tall separated them from your view. You glanced down to the area below the walking track that you were on, leaning over the edge to see. The two of them seemed engaged in a sparring match, both of them having discarded their shirts. You found yourself looking at Aizawa instead of your boyfriend. He just looked so sexy, his long hair rubbing against his large muscles. Reluctantly, you turned your gaze to Hitoshi, not unimpressed with what you saw there either. Hitoshi had abs? His workout sessions must have been paying off. The two stopped their match when Aizawa glanced up towards you apprehensively. You ducked under the wall before they could see you. The two talked in hushed voices. "Did you hear that sound? Is someone else here?" One of them said quietly, but your cat ears picked it up. Footsteps came up the stairs. Maybe you could have fun making them chase you.

You flicked your bell so it jingled, and ran in the opposite direction of the stairs, ducking so they could not see you over the wall. You skidded to a halt as Aizawa landed in front of you, his capture weapon having propelled him up from the ground. Sadly, his shirt was back on. You frowned. In a matter of seconds, he had you hanging from the ceiling, suspended upside-down, your head a foot away from the floor. You put your skirt up so it was covering your thighs again, and held them there with your hands. Being held upside down had made your skirt drop, and he probably saw your panties. "Hello, Aizawa-Sensei!" You said, enthusiastically. It had been awhile since you had seen him. Aizawa had gained a cute little scar on his cheekbone, right below his eye. He scoffed, loosening his white rope that he had tied around you, yet he still did not let you go. "Oh, it's just you, Y/N. What are you doing here, in my gym? I thought you were a villain, or something." He remembered your name! Yay! That must be hard, knowing the hundreds, perhaps even thousands of students he had to go through.

Your croptop flipped, revealing the underside of your breasts and your bra. You kept your hands on your skirt, however. You giggled at him. He noticed the motion of your croptop against the gravity, and eyed you up and down, as if only now realizing what you were wearing, he looked away from you. "And why the hell are you wearing something so slutty? A man with less self control could become a villain with just the lust of looking at you." He turned his back to you, running his fingers through his hair. Was he trying to hit on you? Did he think you were here for him? Your tail swayed gently at the thought, accidentally and lightly brushing against his neck. He shuddered at the touch, running your tail through his fingers. Rarely did anyone ever touch your tail, and usually it was intimately. You gripped your skirt tighter at the thought, not wanting him to see how wet your underwear was getting. Or did you want him to see?

Hitoshi came up behind you from the stairs, panting and out of breath, his shirt still off. You turned to see him, still dangling in midair. You were staring at his muscles that moved as he breathed and walked towards you. He sucked in a breath as he saw you. "Y/N, is that really you? You're stunning," he said, amazed by your looks. "Hitoshi, there was many better ways to get up here faster than running. You need to learn to use your rescources," Aizawa said, not looking you in the eyes, dropping you from his capture weapon and holding you bridal style in his arms before letting you go, waiting for your feet to gently touch the floor before he stopped supporting you. It was a really sweet gesture. You twined your tail around Aizawa's arm, then let him go.

The three of you just stood there in an awkward silence. Hitoshi came forward. "Sorry, sensei. This is my girlfriend, Y/N. I think you already know her." Aizawa simply nodded. "Well, are you sure she's your girlfriend?" He challenged. Your heart leapt at the words. "W-what do you mean? She even dressed really nicely for me. I... I was supposed to do something with her tonight, but I postponed it to train with you when you asked. That's probably why she's here." Aizawa backed you into the wall behind you. You gulped, face flushed. You loved and hated this feeling at the same time. What would Hitoshi think of you being aroused at this man's advances? He gently held your arms, pinning them above your head, and pressed his lips against your neck, trailing up to your face. His chest rubbed against your sensitive breasts. "What a pretty kitty," he said. You blushed, not smiling, at Hitoshi. "Hey, leave her alone! She doesn't want you!" All that Aizawa did was let out a low chuckle. "Of course she does. You've made her wait too long. I would never do such a thing. I'd... feed my kitty whenever she felt hungry." He growled the last part of his speech in your ear. Your heart skipped a few beats. "She likes you and doesn't want to offend you, I can tell by how she doesn't smile at me, but her blush and her cute little voice says something else all together." He took his hands and gently fondled your breasts under your shirt, and you let out a very slight whimpering sound, biting your lip to try to keep it from betraying your feelings. "Y/N, is this true?" Your boyfriend asked. You looked away from him in shame, making the mistake of meeting Aizawa's intense eyes. You did not need to say anything, since the deafening silence spoke volumes.

Surprisingly, Aizawa slowly released you from his hold. To say you were disappointed was putting it mildly. You practically whined at the loss, his warm hand's touch still lingering on your breasts. He smirked at Hitoshi. "However, since you brought her back to me, I will make you a deal. First one to find and capture her gets to control what happens next. Sound good to you, kitty cat?" You saw Aizawa slip him a pair of handcuffs. So that was how the game was going to be played. You nod. Seeing Hitoshi's uncertainty, you goaded him. "What, you're not scared of him, are you?" He fell for it, snapping at you. "I am not!" He turned to the older man, who obviously knew what he was talking about. "Fine, I'll accept your dumb terms, but with one condition. We both have to do what Y/N tells us to do." He stuck out his hand, and Aizawa immediately shook it. A thrill went up your spine, knowing that both of these men had fallen hard for you, willing to do anything just to be with you. Both of them turned to you.

Hitoshi flipped the lights off, so only you and your cat eyes could see well. "You better run, kitty. The chase is on," one of them said. You held the bell tightly in your hand, keeping it from jingling too loudly. You kicked off your boots so you could be more silent, moving around the track and down the stairs onto the training floor, making no noise other than the small muffled jingles. There was no way either of them could find you. You were in your element, the darkness was your friend. If there was one thing a cat was good at, it was quietly slinking around. You let go of your bell, and let it jingle once.

"Hey there kitty. I found you." Aizawa popped out of seemingly nowhere, forcing the handcuffs on your arms, pressing his knee gently into the small of your back, sending a small wave of pain over you. You knew he did not mean anything of it, that was simply the best way to do it. Still, you let out a tiny cry, a mewl of pain. "That was cute, kitty. Do it again." He pressed on you harder. Now he definitely meant it. "Sensei, please let go," you said desperately. He reluctantly got off of you and turned half of the lights back on, giving the place a different vibe. You looked up at his head as Hitoshi came towards you. He had on his yellow glasses, the ones that let him see in the dark. He had a giant grin on his face. "What did I say, Hitoshi? Think smarter, not harder. You need to learn to use your resources," he said, clicking your handcuffs off once Hitoshi saw that he had won. He sighed in defeat, realizing the power his teacher had over him.

"What's our safe word, kitty cat?" He all but hummed. You were turned on by how abrupt he was. "How about catnip," you suggest. "Great idea. Perfect for my little kitten," he said, piling up some of the training mats for a makeshift bed. "It was supposed to be 'toshi's first time. Please go easy on him, sensei," you admitted for your boyfriend. He only let out a sadistic chuckle, guiding the two of you to the mats. "Fine, then. Show me what you were going to do for him when he got home," he said. You were only too happy to oblige. "Well, first I was going to beat his ass for getting home so late, figuratively, of course," you said, glancing at Hitoshi. "Then I... well, I think it's best if I let the actions do the talking for me." Aizawa nodded.

You kissed Hitoshi fiercely, so happy that you would finally get to feel someone's skin on yours. You had been denied for too long. You straddled his body, and made the kisses deeper, practically eating his face, and he did it right back, desperate for you before Aizawa stole his fun. He shuddered, breathless, gasping for air from the kiss. You pulled away. Little smears of your lipstick were obvious on his face. You wiped it off of him with your thumb. Hitoshi had a face so red, you knew what had happened. You glanced down at his pants. "Hitoshi, did you already cum? I hardly even touched you!" He looked away in embarrassment. "Well, you just looked so pretty and everything happened so suddenly."

He tried covering his face, but you pulled down his pants and boxers. "You're doing this for me, aren't you? So you should have waited until I let you cum. I would have gladly let you do it inside of me," you whispered. You straightened his still hard dick, running your fingers up and down it's length, smearing his cum all over. He was average in length, but had a wide girth. You gave kitten licks to the tip and under the head, right where the bundle of nerves are. He smelled delicious. Slowly, you took him into your mouth. He held one of his hands in your hair, lightly pulling in it as you sucked him off. He used his other hand to gently pull on your collar.

Feeling a slight touch at your butt, you almost turned around, but you were too busy. You had all but forgotten about Aizawa with what you were doing to Hitoshi. He smoothly tugged your skirt off, and you crossed your legs. "Come on now, kitty. Why are you hiding from me?" Hitoshi pushed you down deeper onto him, almost having you gag. "Y/N your mouth feels so good wrapped around me," he said. Your heat warmed up with his words. You used your tongue against him, pushing it to the side of your mouth. Aizawa uncrossed your legs and tenderly pulled your leggings off, leaving you with only your panties on your lower half. He gently teased you with his fingers running along your folds. He slipped a finger under them, your juices gathering on his fingers. "Wet for me, my kitten? I could just stick myself into you without preparing you." You let out a moan in response, vibrating on Hitoshi. He gripped you harder. "Kitty..." he said, his eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure. You let out a cry as Aizawa penetrated your pussy, muffled because Hitoshi was balls deep in your mouth, but still audible. He had not even taken the time to remove your underwear, so you were unprepared. You adjusted as his length came down inside of you. After a couple months without sex, it felt so good to finally have something filling you up.

It seemed to go on forever. He was long. Once he was finally all in, or you guessed he was, he stopped moving, as if content to just be in you. You continued with Hitoshi as Aizawa's hands roamed your body, groping your ass and pulling and pinching on your curves. He pulled your bra up and fondled your breasts again, squeezing the nipples. You found yourself clenching around Aizawa and sucking in your breath for Hitoshi. "I'm close again, kitty," Hitoshi informed you, pulling out of your mouth. He backed away from you. You gasped for air, finally able to use your mouth to breathe. Behind you, Aizawa slowly thrusted up a few times, hitting the spot that made you claw the mat. "Sensei, please!" You clenched your fists around the material around you. "You like that kitten? You want me to fuck you better than Hitoshi can?" You nodded, unable to control yourself. He moved his hands away from your chest and to the floor so he had a better angle. "Hitoshi, the key to making a girl happy is giving her what she wants. If it's a little rough," he thrusted hard into you and you yelped, more in pleasure than pain, "...so be it." He started pounding you into the mat below "It's too much Aizawa!" You felt your walls squeezing around him as he continued his relenting attacks.

"You can take it, kitten, I know you can. Take it for me." He kept hitting that one spot that made your vision blur. Your boyfriend was in front of you. You wondered what Hitoshi was up to, but when he placed your hand on him you got to work, squeezing with Aizawa's thrusts. You moaned and squeezed Hitoshi, and he came into your hand. Still running your fingers against him, you felt a knot in your stomach. You had felt your own climax building up for a while now, and you saw white as you came hard onto Aizawa, and you felt yourself being filled up with his seed. When he was done, he pushed his fingers into you, pumping you a few times. Your juices leaked all over the mat, leaving a white stain. He got up to get some paper towels. You dizzily got to your feet, about to head to the bathroom to clean yourself up. He put a hand around your throat in a loose grip. A threat. "Where do you think you're going, kitty? You were supposed to be mine. I won't let you forget that when we get home," he promised. "Or maybe now. Do I need to teach you a lesson?" Your body ached at the thought of more, knowing that you would hurt for quite a long time after.

He spread your legs apart, and buried his tongue into you. You tugged on his hair as he did, lapping up the juices. "I think it was unfair that Hitoshi got to cum two times. I think you need to come back here sometime again so we can have a rematch," Aizawa said, fully clothed again as he came back and gathered in the scene. "Young people," he sighed dramatically, cleaning up the dribbles here and there. You were too busy feeling Hitoshi's tongue squeezing inside you to notice Aizawa gently brushing through your hair and tail fur with his brush. He wanted you as much as you had wanted him.

Slightly inspired by Cat Girls Are Ruining My Life by Corpse Husband

#Bnha #bnhaxreader #smut #anime #animexreader #anime x reader #bnha x reader #hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #aizawa #shota aizawa

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ppersonna · 5 years ago

Text

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float? - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic. this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot. i think it flows better that way! i hope you enjoy this. this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on. this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions. while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed. please take care of yourself and proceed with caution. 18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong. Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware. The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day? He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved. Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs. He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other. Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed. Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released? Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better? Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built. He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled.

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here. I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all. “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.” She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely. Words wouldn’t fix the wounds. She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed. The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.” Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured. Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds. And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money? He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved. He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived. It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet. Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes. It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat. “Happy for you. I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words. Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously. “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much. I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed. Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar. You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him. I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs. He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack. Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone. He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly. You stole a look back at him, at his words.

“Yoongi, you need to see someone. You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay. I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed. He was thin, so sickly thin. While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks. His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.” All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed. Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets. Yoongi’s body was trembling. He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan. He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.” There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized. The kiss was slow, gentle. You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own. Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans. This wasn’t passionate or steamy. It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could. He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.

He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him. He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging. Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent. You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely. You missed him. You loved him. You hated him. You never felt more complete. The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow. The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off. His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point. Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again. He felt alive.

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain. He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close. Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him. Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man. Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features. Fuck.

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him. He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness. Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals. There was crying. There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning. He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time. Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie. He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend. He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him. Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T. He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction. He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in. He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother. He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers. She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy. You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension. He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones. Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud. “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped. “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him. You were proud. Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay. It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation. He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had. He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his. He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances. This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative. Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself. Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you. Yoongi loved himself, as he was. Broken and healing. Addicted and sober. Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety. Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you. He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain. Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried. Jesus, he cried so much. He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks. The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy. He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts. You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it. Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had.

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no? He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees. Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good. You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering. You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face. No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago. No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.

“Oh fuck, baby,�� he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most. The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display. He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most. Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body. His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have. I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess. So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue. He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly. Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over. It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself. You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.

You were his, again. He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love. All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby. You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself. Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.” He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love. Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together. Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun. Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed. You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed. You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly. Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7. He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything. Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes. Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation. Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful. Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself. Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief. Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside. Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

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