#the only things that have stayed is his half and half hair and his piercings

[leth-writes]

Crest (yandere batfam)

SUMMARY: Elaboration on one of my previous posts. 

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. Heavy discussion of drugging.

MASTERLIST 

Requests are open!

Waking up is a difficult battle. You feel as though you’re swimming through syrup, fighting to stay conscious even as you slowly peel your eyes open. You groan and roll over as the sun pierces your exhausted eyes, floating swirls of dust passing through the beam.

The pillow is soft, the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You bury your face deeper into the soft fabric, inhaling gently; the smell of the fabric softener, sweet and fresh, is still present. You feel comfy, almost like you’re melting into the bed, and the idea of getting up into the fresh, cool air is saddening.

Your thoughts pass slowly and unhurriedly, sticky sweet. It’s hard to concentrate when you’re so relaxed.

Finally, through the ringing in your ears, you hear Tim’s voice gently calling out your name. He reaches a thin, pale hand out to shake your shoulder, and you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. You aren’t ready to get up yet, to push aside the cobwebs and try to go about your day.

“It’s time to wake up,” he croons, pulling your arm from your face. Your arm is limp, and the effort to keep it in the air exhausts you. 

You huff. “Please, 5 more minutes?” You plead, trying to look up at him through the haze. Your eyes won’t focus, and his face is blurry. Only his complexion, pale as a ghost, is identifiable to you. Otherwise, you’d surely confuse him with any of his family.

You think you can see a smile, though it’s difficult to tell. He leans down and kisses your forehead. He chuckles softly, like you’re an adorable child he’s babysitting and not older than him.

“Do you think you’ll be able to get up, this morning?” He asks, voice soft and low. He’s trying not to give you a headache. You appreciate the sentiment.

You sigh and shift slowly, trying to sit up. Your sore muscles, weak from disuse, protest at the movement. When did you become so weak? Sure, you were never super physically active, preferring more sedimentary hobbies and work, but you were always able to move by yourself. Thinking back, it’s hard to remember a time before you resided in the manor. You couldn’t remember where you lived, where you worked… Maybe you’d always been like this, half a person, all your thoughts and feelings scooped out until only the shallowest remained.

Tim catches you right as you slip, almost hitting your head against the bed. He curses lowly, propping you up with a pillow.

“I guess not, huh?” You can hear him chuckle again, though you don’t think you know why he’s laughing.

He pulls away, leaving you sitting at the head of your bed, blankets pooled around you and slung over your bare legs.

You think he leaves, though it’s hard to tell as he blends in with the blurry shadows of the room. You can hear the door swing open.

You stare forlornly down at your legs, barely able to make them out among the giant pile of blankets they’re buried in. You try to wiggle your foot; you think you can barely make out the movement among the pile.

Your arms are too weak to hold you up and your abs protest their current position. It’s humiliating, not being able to function, having your friend and his family take care of you. You miss your old life, you think, or at least what hazy memories you still have.

Time passes, both slow and quick, and Tim re-enters the room. You look up, only to see another blurry figure moving toward you. The figure is massive, hulking, clad in what looks like a dark crew neck tee and low slung sweatpants. His hair is shorn short, and as he moves closer, you can make out a blur of white from among the messy strands.

“Hey, baby bird,” he says, voice low and rough. He must’ve just woken up. He moves to stand beside you, and you can just make out the thick, corded muscle on display. You think you catch a patch of darkened skin along the side of his face, maybe a scar, but the longer you try to focus, the more your eyes protest. It stings, not being able to even see someone standing right next to you, to not be able to focus in any way.

It’s Jason. It’s Jason! You feel momentarily proud of yourself for being able to recognize him, before the humiliation bleeds through. It took you until he was right next to you to be able to identify him. God, you wish you were normal.

You mumble out a greeting, looking away. It’s still hard to speak, your brain moving too slow and your mouth working even slower, unable to speak clearly or remember what you were saying. You usually forgot the start of the sentence by the end, so you were forced to keep them short. 

“Alright, up we go.” He says, then lifts you up, carrying you princess-style. You can feel his muscles underneath your legs. You lean into his chest, seeking that sense of warmth; Jason always runs hot. You catch a flash of green in your peripheral, but by the time you’ve managed to turn your head, it’s gone. 

You can see Tim walking next to Jason, and you think he’s smiling. You can definitely hear him humming, happy to see you up for the day. 

Finally, Jason sets you down gently in your wheelchair, and Tim drops a blanket on your lap, tucking it in around you. 

“All ready for the day?” He asks, though he doesn’t wait for an answer before he starts pushing you through the opened door. 

He moves you slowly, ever so slowly, through the hallway, chatting quietly with Jason. They’re speaking too quickly for you to follow, though you hear your name a couple of times. The hallway, like everything else, is incredibly blurry, preventing you from being able to see where exactly you are, though you can see the beams of light streaming in from the periodically placed windows. You know, deep in your bones, that these windows don’t open. You don’t know how you know that.

Finally, you reach the stairs, your little entourage coming to a stop.

“Would you like to take the lift, or would you like Jason to carry you?” Tim asks, crouching in front of you. You try to look him in the eye, though you just can’t bring yourself to focus.

The lift is tedious, and sometimes makes you nauseous, but it allows you a sense of autonomy and independence you don’t usually get. It also makes you nervous; what if you fall? You know they’d never let that happen, the machine is constantly tended to and is top of the line. Still, it makes you anxious, visions of you injured and maimed flashing through your mind. The thick cotton lining your brain means the thoughts stick, tormenting you.

However, being carried means the embarrassment of admitting you can’t make it down the stairs yourself. You know you used to prefer crawling, back when your vision wasn’t so bad and you could actually lift yourself off the ground, but that hasn’t been an option for months, if not years. You don’t actually know how long it’s been, each day melting into the last.

Sighing, you gesture to Jason. They get the point, and you are once again lifted up, this time swaddled in the blanket to keep away the chill. You stare down at the fluffy blue blanket, patterned with a symbol you know you used to be able to identify, though now you can’t name.

Finally, you make it to the bottom of the stairs, Tim stepping down seconds later, your chair in hand. He sets it down and you are gently placed back in it and re-swaddled. The blanket is wrapped tight enough that you have a hard time moving your legs; it doesn’t matter, because you can’t move them very well. You wiggle your toes, just to feel something.

Tim pushes you through the manor, passing blurry painting after blurry painting, before finally moving you into what you think is the living room.

The living room is bright and ornate, from what you remember, though now most of the details are lost to your foggy memory and wandering eyes. Still, you can spot the dull green couches and the low, gold-accented coffee table.

“Baby bird!” A tall shape cries, moving closer. Just by voice, and by the irritating enthusiasm, you know it’s Dick.

You mumble a greeting as he kisses your forehead and grips your hands.

“How did you sleep?”

“Well,” you answer, voice thick with sleep. It’s the truth, you always sleep like the dead. Or at least you think you do, you can’t really remember the days before too well. Still, your bed is warm and welcoming, and that must count for something.

Dick hums happily and bounces away to sit on the couch, next to who can only be Damian, the smallest of the family members.

Damian is petting a black and white blurry shape, who lays sprawled across his lap. Alfred the cat. You think you spot Titus and Ace curled around the base of the couch.

Another shape, who you know is Bruce, moves closer to pull you into a hug, though your back screams at the motion. You wince and he lets go. It seems everyone, even Cass, is present for your feeding today.

“Well, now that everyone’s here, I think someone is ready for their breakfast!” Tim calls, moving to pick up a tray that balances on the coffee table.

He moves to sit down on the loveseat, a battered old blue chair you used to love lounging in, back when you could move easily and stretch any way you wanted.

You already know what’s coming. Tim slowly raises the warm pouch to your mouth, and you begin gulping it down eagerly. The liquid is warm and spiced, heady on your tongue. Before, you’d found it disgusting. Before, you’d refused to eat it. However, after two months on a liquid IV, bound to the bed and completely out of it, you took what you could get. You lean out of your seat, practically sprawled on Tim’s lap. You can hear the soft murmur of conversation, though it moves through you like water.

Tim runs a hand down your back, soothing you as you gulp down the liquid happily.

 Today, you finish quickly, though you protest when it is finished. You miss real food, though you can’t remember eating any.

Chuckles reverberate around the room at your eagerness. 

The conversation lulls, and Tim pulls you to lounge fully in his lap. Your legs sling across the arm of the chair, your head safely cushioned on his shoulder, and Jason throws him the blanket, which is quickly placed around your shoulders. Tim shushes you as you groan, irritated at not being able to sit by yourself.

The family picks their conversation back up, and you catch your name being thrown around, though you aren’t truly paying attention. You drift in place, content with just existing.

You feel fuzzy, warm, content in your place in the world. Normally at this time of day, you’d be fighting, at least you have vague memories of doing so, but the meal has made you tired, belly full and lulling you to sleep. So, you doze.

You are startled awake by Dick gently shaking your shoulders, and you rouse slowly, moving through the fog of your after-breakfast nap.

“Baby bird, it’s time for your stretches!” He practically sings, picking you up and then laying you down on the soft, plush blanket placed on the floor of the living room just for this purpose.

The conversation, once again, goes quiet, as everyone watches. It’s humiliating, having everyone watch you as you struggle to lift your legs for your daily stretches, though Dick’s soft cooing is perhaps even more embarrassing. 

You stare blankly at the ceiling, waiting for the torture to end.

“They’re doing well today,” Jason mumbles to Dick, who hums in agreement.

Oh, they’re talking about you. Like you aren’t there.

You sigh.

“Hmm, it’s because we upped the dose. I think we should keep it at this level, they’re so pliant and cute like this!” Dick replies back, turning to look at Tim. Out of your peripheral, you see Tim nod.

Dose? The word floats through your foggy mind, though it eventually sinks to the bottom before you can try to focus on it. No matter. It’s not like you could do anything about it.

Finally, Dick stops with the stretches, cooing and kissing your now sweaty forehead. 

“It’s time for their bath,” you hear Jason say.

Suddenly, the room is in an uproar. It seems they’re fighting over who gets the honors. You curl up, embarrassed and humiliated, agony ripping through your chest. Tears break through, and suddenly they’re pouring down your face, drenching you in salt and sticky tracks.

“Awe,” Dick sighs, leaning over to pick you up. He walks over to the couch where Damian is currently sitting, plopping you down and bringing you in for a hug. He rocks you back and forth, soothing you as you sob. For some reason, it just pours out of you.

“P-please,” you beg, hands coming up to clutch at Dick’s shirt. Your hands can’t fully grasp the material, refusing to close, and you sob harder.

Dick coos, then gently repositions you. Suddenly, your head is pressed to his stomach, your legs stretched over Damian’s lap. You don’t know where the cat went.

The room is oddly quiet, amplifying your sobs and pleads.

You can feel Dick running his hand down your back. Oddly, it helps.

Your sobs peter off as you’re hit with another wave of exhaustion. You fall asleep, face buried in his stomach, as the conversation around you picks up.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

My Yakuza Man (Ieyasu)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.

(I ended up staying late again. I need to get home quickly. Huh?)

(Is that? No way, that can't be.)

On my way home from work, I glanced into an alleyway and saw a face I'd only seen once.

His milk tea-colored hair and refined features, paired with a somewhat curt demeanor, had left an oddly strong impression on me.

I couldn't help but stop in my tracks.

Ieyasu: "You're…"

(........)

Noticing my stare, Ieyasu turned to look at me.

His piercing gaze made me flinch slightly, but for a moment, his face, illuminated by a passing car's headlights, seemed worn out. Without thinking, I spoke up.

Mai: "Um, are you okay? Are you feeling sick? Wait, is that blood!?"

Ieyasu: "You're too loud."

Mai: "S-Sorry."

Looking closer, I noticed his left upper arm, where he was pressing down, was soaked with blood.

Ieyasu: "........"

Mai: "Ah!"

Noticing his body sway slightly, I instinctively ran over to support him.

He frowned slightly, looking down at me with a mix of discomfort and annoyance.

Ieyasu: "What are the chances of someone like you being here in this situation? You're incredibly unlucky and overly kind, too."

Ieyasu: "Why would you approach someone who's clearly dangerous?"

Mai: "Um, my body just moved on its own when I saw you were hurt."

Ieyasu: "Are you stupid? I'm fine, so leave me alone."

Mai: "T-Then at least let me call an ambulance!"

Ieyasu: "Absolutely not."

Ieyasu: "It's just a minor injury. I'm just tired, that's all."

(Is that really true? But maybe he doesn't want to draw attention. The first time we met, he had a weapon, after all.)

Seeing my hesitation, he sighed and began to walk away, his unsteady steps betraying his condition.

Ieyasu: "Stop being so nosy. Just so you know, reporting me would be pointless."

(What?)

His words hit a nerve.

His full rejection of my concern for him somehow made me stubborn.

Mai: "Fine. Then come to my place."

Ieyasu: "What!?"

And so, I half-forcefully brought Ieyasu to my home.

Ieyasu: "Hand over the first aid kit."

Mai: "Here."

Ieyasu: "........."

(Wow. He's cleaning the wound so efficiently. Is he used to this kind of thing?)

Ieyasu: "You don't have to stare so much. I told you, it's not a serious wound."

Mai: "Got it. Let me help wrap the bandage! It's hard to do that with just one hand, right?"

Ieyasu: "Hmm. Thanks."

Though his expression still showed reluctance, he nodded in agreement.

(He says it's not a big deal, but from my perspective, it's not the kind of injury you see every day.)

Even though I tried to stay composed, my hands almost trembled as I wrapped the bandage.

Unable to handle the silence, I spoke again.

Mai: "How did you get hurt like this?"

Ieyasu: "You're better off not asking. Unless you want to get involved."

Mai: "You're right."

Ieyasu: "........."

(Another silence.)

(For someone to end up with an injury like this, he really must live in a dangerous world so different from mine.)

Mai: "It's done. Um, I'll prepare something to drink!"

Without waiting for a reply, I quickly went to the kitchen to brew some tea.

When I returned, I found him staring at the plushie I'd displayed on a shelf.

Mai: "I made that myself."

Ieyasu: "Really? I thought it was something you bought."

(He looks a little surprised.)

Mai: "I'm a designer. That one's just a personal project, though. When I have free time, I love making things like that."

Catching a glimpse of his unguarded expression, I couldn't help but explain cheerfully. But what came next was an exasperated look.

Ieyasu: "Hmm. So you're into this kind of stuff. Got it."

Ieyasu: "But are you aware you're casually spilling your personal information to me right now?"

Mai: "Um, that's..."

(He's right. This guy is supposed to be dangerous.)

Ieyasu: "Well, whatever."

Mai: "Huh?"

Ieyasu: "If you want to talk, go ahead. I won't use it for anything bad."

Ieyasu: "Besides, do you really think you're worth using for anything?"

Mai: "No, I'm not!"

I immediately answered without thinking, and I noticed his eyes softened just a little.

Ieyasu: "See? I'll humor you for a bit, at least until I finish this drink."

Ieyasu: "You did help me, after all."

(Wait, did he just get embarrassed?)

The words he said so casually caught me off guard and made my heart flutter.

Ieyasu: "What are you smiling about?"

Mai: "Haha, sorry. I just thought maybe you're actually a kind person deep down."

Ieyasu: "Are you seriously saying that right now?"

(Huh?)

The atmosphere suddenly turned tense.

His piercing gaze felt like it went straight through me, making me freeze.

Ieyasu: "You're way too careless. You're letting a guy you've only met once into your home, even though you know what kind of world he lives in."

Mai: "But—"

Ieyasu: "There’s no buts. Maybe you dropped your guard because I looked weak, but…"

(----!)

Ieyasu suddenly leaned in close, placing his hand softly against the wall behind me.

Ieyasu: "If you leave yourself open like that, someone could easily devour you."

Mai: "........"

The proximity was so close that I could almost feel his breath, and my heart pounded like it might burst.

(His face is so close! What do I do? My heart's racing like crazy.)

I couldn't tell if this was fear or a dangerous thrill caused by the situation.

Ieyasu: "Why are you making that face?"

Mai: "Huh?"

Mai: "What kind of face am I making?"

Ieyasu: "Not telling."

He averted his gaze and stepped back.

(Ah...)

I caught a glimpse of his red ears, and my heartbeat skipped again.

He took a firm gulp of the tea, finishing it in one go.

Ieyasu: "Thanks for the tea. I'm already okay, so I'm leaving."

Mai: "O-Okay."

I hurried to see him off as he headed toward the door. He stepped outside and was about to close the door when his eyes met mine one last time.

Ieyasu: "Next time we meet, I'll repay you for today."

(----!)

With a faint smile and those parting words, he shut the door. I stood there, staring at it, feeling the heat on my cheeks rising as I became fully aware of my blushing face.

[scoliosisgoblin]

doodles, idk

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter one ♡

Summary: Joel Miller has been your best friend for four years, and your trust in him is as solid as ever. However, things go awry one night after a heated argument, and you find yourself in a position you never thought you'd be in: naked, underneath him, with his eyes devouring you like there's no tomorrow. And when you wake up the next morning, you know it right away, reality piercing your chest; things will never be the same again.

Word count: 9.4K

A/N: Okay, I was planning for the first chapter to be 4K words MAX, but my imagination went crazy with this lol I really hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this <3 warning: ANGST! don't forget to leave feedback, tell me what you think!

If you want to be on the tag list, let me know too.

You met him on the night of your twenty-second birthday, at the small party Cassie had put together for you in her dimly lit apartment. You hadn’t wanted much of a celebration, nothing bigger than a few close friends, and certainly not a group of strangers. But when Brianna swept in, holding hands with a man you didn’t know, and introduced him as her boyfriend, you felt a vague flicker of annoyance, the kind that accompanies unmet expectations.

"I thought it was just going to be us," you mumbled to Cassie, catching her in the kitchen as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She looked at you, her cheeks already flushed, eyes bright. "They're a few of my friends, too; they’re nice—you’ll like them if you give it a chance." She smiled, urging you to relax, as though she could tease you out of your mood. "It’s your birthday; don’t be so sullen."

"I didn’t know Brianna was bringing her boyfriend," you said quietly, as Cassie started back to the living room.

She paused, giving you a half-smile over her shoulder. "Neither did I, actually," she admitted, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they've been together for about a month. She’s really into him."

And she was. Brianna clung to him all night, her laughter spilling out freely, unrestrained and buoyant from the wine. It wasn’t long before someone suggested karaoke, and as voices rang out in the next room, you slipped quietly back into the kitchen, craving a moment of solitude. You were surprised to find Brianna’s boyfriend there, leaning against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone with a glass of water in hand.

He looked up, straightened, and offered you a tentative smile. “Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice warm but reserved. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier…”

“No worries,” you replied, your tone reassuring. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, as though weighing what to say next. “Are you having a good time?”

You gave a slight shrug. “It’s…” but before you could finish, he cut in with a knowing smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t love my birthday either.” His eyes glinted in the soft kitchen light, and you felt a small smile tugging at your own lips.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, allowing yourself the indulgence. “I didn’t want to admit it,” you said, feeling the faintest hint of heat rising to your cheeks. “What was your name again?”

“Joel,” he answered, his gaze drifting briefly back to his phone. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge tonight. Left my daughter with a new babysitter. I think she’s having a rough time.”

Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; you hadn’t pegged him as a dad. You moved closer, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and asked, “How old is she?”

“Four. Her name’s Sarah.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you could tell he was tense. “It’s only the second time she’s been with this sitter, and apparently, she’s been crying all evening.”

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically. “She’s little. Changes like that must be hard on her.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the side as he typed something quickly on his phone. “I should probably get going. Brianna won’t love that idea; we’d planned to stay out…” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, worry etched across his face. “You think she’ll be too mad?”

“No,” you assured him, though you knew Brianna wouldn’t be pleased. “Go be with your daughter. She’s little; she needs you. Brianna will understand.”

A grateful smile spread across Joel’s face, and for the first time, you noticed the faint dimple on his cheek. For a fleeting second, you wanted to reach out, trace it with your thumb.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt unintentional, yet steady. “I hope your night gets better once karaoke is over,” he added with a quiet laugh. "Wish me luck."

You chuckled, meeting his gaze. “Good luck, Joel.”

He left with that same soft smile, and you watched him go, his warm brown eyes leaving an odd impression, like an unclaimed memory. And, as expected, Brianna didn’t understand. She spent the rest of the night sulking, casting sharp words at Joel through her bitterness.

“You knew he had a daughter when you got with him, this was bound to happen at some point,” Cassie told her, fed up with the other's complaints.

You didn't hear the answer, as you were distracted by watching the colorful pictures someone had put on the television.

You heard nothing more from Joel for a couple of weeks, until Cassie blurted out the gossip one morning while you were having lunch at her house.

“He broke up with her,” she began to tell you. “He told her she wasn't being empathetic and that he couldn't drop everything to party with her as if they had no responsibilities.”

It was no surprise. Brianna was a woman who lived at night; she was twenty-three years old and enjoyed it with the freedom that was rightfully hers. You couldn't blame her for wanting to have fun with her boyfriend. But Joel lived a very different reality than she did; at twenty-eight, he had a daughter to take care of, routines to follow, and a lot of work to do.

Although you thought it would take her longer to get over him, it wasn't long before she met a guy at her gym and got into it with him, outgrowing Joel in a matter of days. But for some reason, Joel’s warm, steady gaze stayed with you, like a whisper that hadn’t fully faded.

Years passed quietly, slipping through your fingers like sand until, suddenly, it was your twenty-sixth birthday. This time, the scene was different: you’d moved into your own place just two days earlier, and there was little thought of celebrating. Instead, the weekend found you alone, arranging your things and attempting to bring order to the chaos of a new home.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, and you stood in your front yard with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in hand, humming along to some eighties tune drifting in from the living room. The song—one of those upbeat ones that made even housework feel light—had lifted your spirits, and you moved rhythmically as you pushed plastic flowers into the dirt along the front path, sending little puffs of air to make the petals flutter.

You were lost in your task when you heard soft footsteps behind you, instinctively making you turn.

“Oh, hello,” you said, quickly masking the slight surprise the girl’s sudden appearance had given you.

She looked at you with wide, curious eyes, seemingly unfazed by her solo adventure.

“Hi. What’s your name? Do you live here?” she asked, her gaze shifting from your face to the flowers in your hands.

Glancing around for any sign of her parents, you noted her relaxed stance, like she’d been coming here all her life. Smiling, you nodded and gave her your name. “Yep, I just moved in.”

She looked unimpressed. “This house was empty for a while. I didn’t like the kid who lived here before. He was a pain in the ass—”

“Sarah!” came a sharp voice from behind, making you jump slightly. Heavy footsteps approached, and you squinted against the sun to see a figure striding toward you, his features obscured by the bright morning light.

When he stepped closer, his face came into focus, and your breath caught. You knew him.

“Sarah, you can’t just leave the house like that,” he said sternly, a furrow in his brow, his tone more parental than reproachful.

He turned to you, and the scowl softened as recognition dawned.

“Joel,” you murmured, the name slipping out before you even meant to say it aloud.

His expression shifted into a surprised smile, and that was all it took to break the ice between you. You explained that you’d just moved in and were still settling. Joel offered to help with anything you needed, including taking a look around the house to ensure everything was in order. He formally introduced you to Sarah, now eight years old, who had nearly scared him to death by sneaking out. She had his same lively spark in her eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar.

That evening, Sarah invited you to dinner with them, leaving Joel with little choice but to agree. And one dinner became many, as evenings blurred into weekends, and you found Joel’s presence in your life weaving into something inseparable from your routine. He started popping by to help with small projects, fixing kitchen cabinets or adjusting the wobbly front steps, visits stretching into movie marathons or lazy conversations with cold beer in hand. Days flowed into evenings of chatting over the meals you cooked to share with Sarah, and sometimes her uncle Tommy. Though Joel claimed he was no cook, his barbecues were legendary, and you couldn’t deny you looked forward to them most of all. And soon enough, he was there for everything, from driving you to doctor’s appointments to accompanying you on those grocery runs he pretended to hate. He even started showing up early on days he knew you’d need a ride. Over time, he became the best friend you’d ever had, a safe place, someone who felt like family. With everyone else scattered—Cassie overseas, old friends moved away—Joel became your rock.

It wasn’t something you dared to admit to yourself often, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And maybe that’s why you never allowed yourself to voice those little fleeting thoughts, the ones that flitted through your mind every now and then: how safe you felt whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders, or how good he looked reclining on his couch after a long day. Or how perfect it felt when the three of you—Sarah dozing on his lap, you leaning into his shoulder—sat together in the warm silence of a Sunday afternoon. There was an ache, too, a quiet pang whenever he mentioned another woman. Thankfully, that was rare; Joel once told you, with a shrug, that he “wasn’t really looking for that sort of thing.”

Sometimes, you watched him carefully as you talked about your own dates, hoping to catch a glimmer of jealousy in his gaze, some subtle cue that maybe he felt the same way. But there was never anything you wanted to see, and you always felt silly for looking. So, you buried it all. The risk of ruining things with Joel wasn’t worth the confession.

One afternoon, however, your emotions almost escaped your eyes when, while preparing Joel's birthday cake, Sarah dropped a piece of news that caught you off guard. She told you, with her usual nonchalance, that Joel had gone out the night before with someone new.

“Yeah, it’s like… the third time they’ve gone out,” Sarah mentioned while spreading cream on the sponge cake. “I don’t know her name or anything, just that he met her in line at the bank,” a laugh choked in her throat, amused at imagining her father flirting with some woman in a public space.

You forced a smile, laughing along like it was funny.

"And who stayed with you last night?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Not that Sarah was necessarily a baby; she was already twelve and extremely independent. But Joel never left her alone if he went out for the night, he knew how much she loved spending time with you watching movies and eating junk food. Then, when he arrived, you would pester him with gossipy questions and he would pretend to get angry and then answer every one of them.

“Uncle Tommy," she said, eyeing her work with satisfaction. “We had fun, but I kinda wished you’d come too. Hey, what do you think?” she fingered the cream neatly arranged with the angled knife.

“It's perfect,” you smiled at her, not waiting too long to ask the question you wanted so badly. “Why didn't you call me then?”

Sarah started sprinkling colorful sprinkles on top of the cream and looked at you for a second when she noticed the tone in your voice at the last word. She didn't seem to think much of it.

“You were busy, weren't you? Dad said you had something to do.”

Her answer hit you like a small weight to the chest. Joel had purposefully left you out. He’d even made an excuse for Sarah’s benefit. So, there had been three dates—three times he’d kept this woman a secret. A small knot formed in your stomach as you forced yourself to smile, still watching Sarah as she concentrated on the last of the sprinkles.

In the kitchen, you were running your hand through the steam from the beef stew on the stove—Joel’s favorite—when the door opened. His footsteps grew louder, approaching, and you nervously adjusted the dress you’d chosen, one you knew he liked, though he’d never said it. It was your favorite too, a cream-colored sundress with delicate shoulder ties.

Sarah sprang forward, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, the table’s not ready.”

You hurried to set the glasses in their places, your hands a little shaky as you moved, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“I don’t need to see it—I can smell it, and it smells incredible,” Joel grinned beneath Sarah’s tiny hands, which she’d plastered over his eyes, half to keep him from sneaking a glance, half just because she could.

“Too bad you don’t smell incredible,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, wrinkling her nose. "Go take a shower!"

You laughed, catching Joel’s raised brow at her.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you said, placing the lid on the simmering pot.

Joel snorted, brushing Sarah’s hands away from his face.

“That’s the smell of a hardworking man,” he replied, feigning offense as he turned for the stairs. “Y’all oughtta know.”

*

Later, the three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

The clarification was like a line drawn in the sand, a boundary etched by his voice alone.

You smiled weakly and inwardly thankful when Sarah spoke, telling you about something that had happened at her school that week and distracting you from the question that was spellbinding your tongue. You were dying to ask it, to look him in the eye and ask: who did you go out with last night? Why didn't you tell me? Is it someone I know? Is that it?... But you didn't, you stayed quiet and participated in the pleasant conversation, celebrating his birthday as he deserved. After all, no matter how much it angered you that he kept things from you, it was still his special day.

After dinner, Sarah forced Joel to sit in front of his cake, two lit number candles glowing in front of him. You turned out the lights, watching as the light from the flames reflected beautifully in your best friend's dark pupils.

Joel was wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his hair was still barely damp from the shower he'd taken before, and his sun-kissed tan face looked smooth, decorated by the beard and mustache you loved so much. Behind him, his shadow vibrated and spread across the wall with grandeur.

“Make a wish!” Sarah cheered, bouncing with excitement as she placed her small hands on his shoulders.

Joel smiled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. In the dimness, you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you whispered, your hand resting gently on his neck.

He reached for your hand, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into your palm. “I’m not that old,” he muttered with a mock frown.

Sarah giggled, holding a knife to cut the cake and licking a dab of frosting from her thumb. “You’ll be forty in four years,” she teased, catching your amused expression.

Joel scoffed, scratching his stomach as he stood back up, turning to you with a smile that made you forget, just for a moment, all the questions you were holding back. There was only Joel, his rumbling laugh, Sarah’s delighted giggles. It felt like home.

Sarah gave him his gift first: a copy of Curtis and Viper 2 with the deleted scenes and a mystery box. When he opened it, a smile formed on his lips.

He pulled out a weathered wristwatch, broken for months, now polished and repaired.

“I took it in to be fixed. Do you like it?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Joel nodded, eyes softening as he extended his wrist for her to put it on. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Let's watch the movie later,” Sarah said. “You can't fall asleep.”

“Let's see which one of us falls asleep first,” you joked, and you were right. Joel had been working all afternoon and Sarah had been yawning for hours.

You turned and picked up the box resting beside your feet, handing it to him. When he opened it, Joel pulled out a black cloth garment and a paper envelope. He tugged at the cloth, revealing a thick, soft jacket. He read the label and a smile appeared on his lips.

“I saw it and thought of you,” you said, mimicking his gesture.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don't worry about it, it had to be yours,” you noted as you stood up and took it from his hand. “Here, stand up. Let's see how it fits you.”

“And what if it doesn't fit? Do we have to travel to Rome to exchange it?”

You laughed, then helped him slide it over his shoulders, a comfortable, familiar movement.

“I know you by heart, I couldn't be wrong.”

“So?” he asked, smiling coquettishly. Your stomach tingled and you decided to ignore it.

“Lookin’ good, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her innocent smile lighting up the moment. “Bet someone special will love it, too.”

Joel smiled weakly, as if he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and for a second you hated the thought of your gift being enjoyed by someone else. You imagined him getting ready to go out with her -whoever she was-, running his hand through his hair and perfuming his neck as he did from time to time whenever he went out with someone. You knew that perfume perfectly, you'd recognize it anywhere, though you were sure it wouldn't smell the same on anyone else. Joel added his own scent to it, and you loved it.

“Okay, now, open the envelope,” you urged, your voice unintentionally sharper than you meant.

Joel sat back down and opened the blue paper envelope. He read the note carefully and when he looked up, you and Sarah were looking at him excitedly.

“Sunshine, did you pay for this?” he asked you, a soft disbelief in his tone.

Inside were three plane tickets. Sarah had helped you pick the destination—somewhere none of you had been but would love.

When you nodded, he let out a soft sigh. “Let me cover part of it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “It’s my birthday gift to you, Joel. It’s all settled. You need a vacation, and we certainly do too, don't we?”

“That's right,” Sarah confirmed, smiling complicitly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too good to me.”

But he smiled, tucking the tickets back into the envelope.

Time with Joel and Sarah was easy. When you were with them, hours slipped away, and the heaviness of everything else seemed to dissolve. You felt at home, and sometimes it left you wondering about Sarah’s mother, about how anyone could have left them. Didn’t she see how extraordinary they were? Didn’t she realize what she’d lost?

You thought about this as you relaxed on the couch beside Joel, Sarah curled up with her head on your shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, and you smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Three glasses sat on the coffee table: the wine Joel had opened just before dinner—a bottle you’d brought back from your last trip to Italy—and Sarah’s lemon soda. Joel snorted softly, glancing at his daughter with a smirk, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Fallen soldier,” he whispered, smiling.

You laughed, brushing a hand over Sarah’s hair. “She’s tired. She was up all afternoon making your cake, you know? Tried the cream three times before she got it right.”

Joel sighed, an apologetic note in his voice. “I know, sorry I was late. I know she wanted me here sooner.”

Curtis and Viper 2 was halfway through on the TV, forgotten in the background. Joel straightened, signaling he’d take Sarah to bed, and you shifted to make room as he lifted her, carrying her toward the stairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the house fell into a quiet lull, that familiar disappointment stirred in your chest. Now, without Sarah’s chatter, you’d have to keep pretending that nothing was wrong.

You took a long sip of your wine, finishing off the glass just as Joel returned. He sat down heavily beside you, causing the cushions to sink as he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes before giving you a grateful look.

“Thanks for today, I had a great time. Sarah was very happy,” he said quietly, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“I'm glad, hun. Although the credit goes to her, I just made dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. You helped her, and I’m grateful. I mean that. For today, and for… all these years.” His voice softened, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, feeling your pulse pick up as he leaned closer, his brown eyes unreadable but soft. “You’re my family, both of you. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

He shook his head and leaned back, taking another sip of his wine.

“Not at all,” he replied, leaning back again.

You watched him for a moment, turning the weight of your question over in your mind. If you said something, he’d make an excuse. If you kept silent, the doubt would eat at you. You tried to fix your gaze on the TV, on anything other than his profile in the dim room. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, what did you do last night?”

He tensed beside you, so subtly that only you could’ve noticed. “What?”

You tried to keep your tone even, hoping you didn’t sound like you’d spent all day thinking about it. “I just… didn’t see your truck out there, thought maybe you were gone or something.” It was a lie; you had fallen asleep on your couch last night, you hadn't even noticed Joel was gone.

Joel seemed to measure his words carefully. “Oh. Yeah… I just went out for a beer with Tommy,” he answered, his tone a little too casual.

Heat crept up your face, disbelief taking root. He really was holding out on you for some reason, wasn't he? The man was lying to you, and not very cleverly. Tommy had been with Sarah, what if you had seen him, hadn't he thought of that? Apparently not. 

It took a moment before you could bring yourself to say anything, watching as he glanced at you with an uneasy smile, waiting for you to believe him.

“Joel,” you murmured, not quite able to keep the accusation out of your voice. “You’re lying to me.”

He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but you didn’t let him off so easily. Before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Tommy was with Sarah last night, here,” you pointed out, your voice firmer this time. His silence told you everything, his face drawn and uncertain as he realized you’d caught him.

After a long pause, he looked down, his voice unusually flat. “Alright, yeah. I know.”

The admission was so casual it took you by surprise, but you shook your head, feeling the ache of frustration and betrayal creep in.

“Why would you lie to me?” you pressed. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”

Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze, his eyes instead locked somewhere in the distance. “It’s… it’s nothing serious,” he mumbled. “Just getting to know her. Don't make such a fuss out of it.”

“What? what you're saying doesn't make sense. You’ve kept it hidden, avoided every chance to be honest about it. Why?” you asked, trying not to let the hurt seep into your voice.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but his voice sounded unsure.

“So if I call Tommy right now, he’ll tell me the truth? Or did you ask him to keep this from me too?”

Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes scanning your face, reading the frustration and hurt you’d tried to keep buried. You could see it in his eyes, that familiar tug of defiance, a flash of something deeper than guilt or secrecy.

“What if I did?” His voice was almost philosophical, his gaze intense and challenging. “This is my private life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, not even you. Do I?”

You drew in a sharp breath. His words struck like a slap, but you steadied yourself. “You’re right, Joel. You don’t owe me explanations. But you don’t have to lie to me, either.” You looked down, feeling your voice start to waver. “You’ve never hidden your relationships from me before.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and slumping back against the couch.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at you, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

“Because of this.” He gestured between you, his tone gentle but firm. “This reaction, right here, is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

What Joel was saying didn’t make sense. Your frustration wasn’t over him seeing someone else; it was something else entirely, something more fundamental.

“Oh, just stop,” you snapped, voice sharp. “I’m not mad because you’re dating someone, Joel. I’m mad that you lied to me. They’re two completely different things.”

He took a breath, settling back on the couch, and turned to face you, a guarded expression crossing his face. “No, it’s always the same thing. Remember the last time I was seeing someone?”

And you did, briefly. A year ago, one of his friends had introduced him to his cousin—a woman who had just moved to town. She was polite enough, but her smiles had a brittle quality to them, and when she met Sarah, her warmth never extended beyond a single, dismissive greeting. The indifference was obvious, at least to you, and maybe you’d let that show a little too openly. Joel had caught on quickly, and after that, things with her fizzled out.

“That was different,” you argued, exasperated. “She wasn’t nice, Joel. She had zero interest in Sarah.”

He gave a bitter, half-smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your job to manage that. I can handle my own relationships. But you always—” he paused, thumping his chest with a finger, “you always step in. Always get defensive.”

“That’s not true!” Your voice rose as anger crept in, heating your face. “You’re just making excuses. Date whoever you want, Joel, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, don’t insult me with these flimsy excuses. Or if you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening, something fierce sparking in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and measured, the words hanging between you like a dare.

“Sure about what?” Your brow creased in confusion, the pulse in your chest picking up, a flurry of anger and… something else you couldn’t place, mingling with the haze of the wine.

His eyes narrowed, holding yours, unflinching. “That you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Because I know you, i know you to well to know you’re just jealous.”

Jealous. He thought you were jealous.

He had missed the point completely. Your feelings for him were complex, that much was true. But you had learned, or thought you had learned, to carry them quietly. Your friendship with him had come to feel like a sturdy house you could live inside without having to ask too much of it. Having him in your life was enough.

But now, you felt that house shift, cracks spreading through the walls. His inability to trust you hurt more deeply than you’d expected. The openness you’d once trusted was fracturing. You felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes, the words he’d thrown out so casually cutting to the quick.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, standing abruptly, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind you. You barely heard him call your name as you left, fury driving you down the front steps, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

Honestly, he could go fuck himself.

Just as your hand reached your front door, his footsteps closed in behind you, his strides fast enough to catch up. You tried to close the door before he could reach you, but his hand caught it just in time, his voice heavy with irritation.

“Just go away, Joel,” you said, barely glancing at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice was calm, almost pleading.

You stepped back, reluctantly letting him into the foyer. He’d have come in anyway.

“I mean it, God. Go home,” you insisted, your voice wavering, betraying the anger mixed with something else.

He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his jaw tight. “Can we just talk?”

“Talk?” you repeated incredulously. “Talk about what? About how wrong you are?”

He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like what I said was crazy,” he said, voice steady but a little sharper now.

You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Oh, so now I’m jealous, is that it? Then, by your logic, you must’ve been jealous too, right? Like last month, when Travis asked me out. Because if that’s the case, then we’re having the same conversation, aren’t we?”

Joel clicked his tongue, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No, Travis is just a jerk. And I don’t like him, plain and simple.”

Travis Dunn, your neighbor, had moved in a few months after you did. Handsome, tall, and friendly, everyone on the street adored him—everyone except Joel. He couldn’t seem to stand him, though Travis was always polite to him.

Last month, when Travis had asked you out, Joel had practically laughed in your face when you told him about it, muttering something dismissive as if the very idea was absurd. You’d told Travis you were busy, though deep down you knew the real reason you hadn’t accepted was because of Joel’s disapproval.

You shook your head, exasperated. “Travis isn’t a jerk, Joel, you just don’t like him. He’s nice, honestly, much nicer than some people, if we’re being honest here. Everyone loves him; you’re the only one who has a problem with him.”

“Then everyone’s as much of an idiot as he is, sunshine.”

“Oh, really? Or maybe… you’re jealous of him?” Your tone was teasing, but you felt the shift as soon as you said it.

Joel’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, shaking his head slowly, twice.

“Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “This isn’t about Travis or me.”

“No?” you shot back, voice edged with challenge. “So if I go tomorrow and say yes to him, that wouldn’t bother you at all, right?”

He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with something you’d never seen in him before. The air seemed to thicken, his presence so intense it felt as though it wrapped around you. He leaned in, his face close enough that his words brushed your skin.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. It’s your fucking life.”

“And you can do whatever you want too, Joel. That’s the fucking point!” you nearly shouted, hands pushing against his shoulders, shoving him away. “I don’t care what you do! It’s already clear you don’t get it, you don’t get anything, ANYTHING!”

Joel staggered back for a split second, but it wasn’t long before he closed the distance again, though he didn’t get as close this time.

His voice was lower, a thread of something hard in his tone. “If you’re so insulted by the idea of being jealous, maybe that’s something for you to think about. Ever thought of doing a little introspection?”

“Are you drunk, Joel?” you asked, eyes narrowed, softening your voice a fraction. The argument was exhausting you, and the anger left you feeling hollow.

He laughed, an odd, choked sound. “Oh, c'mon, you know one bottle of wine ain't enough to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re tired, and you’re not exactly young, Joel,” you said, brushing past him, his gaze glued to you the entire time. “Alcohol hits you differently now. Just go home, leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

You watched as his gaze flickered between your eyes, uncertainty warring with something darker. Suddenly, with an unexpected strength, Joel tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed you back hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your back hit the unforgiving surface.

His expression had transformed, those deep, dark eyes piercing you like arrows. His breath quickened, crashing against your face, and you could feel your lower lip tremble as he pressed even closer, pinning you against the wall.

“You don’t know how to lie,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your cheek.

The sensation was unbearable; his body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him and melting you inside. You could feel the edge of something primal, something that could tip either way. But suddenly, clarity surged through you. With a burst of strength, you pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp, forcing him to pull back just enough for you to gasp for air.

But the distance felt worse. In his eyes, you recognized something you’d never seen before—desire, raw and unfiltered. It clawed at you, igniting an inexplicable need. A sigh escaped your lips, and like a match struck in a dark room, it was enough to set off an explosion. In an instant, Joel lunged at you, and you found yourself wrapped around him, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss filled with moans and the urgency of your racing hearts.

With a loud thud, Joel kicked the front door shut, his hands moving feverishly down your body, fingers skimming your thighs, slipping beneath your dress. He caressed your skin before squeezing your ass hard, drawing a moan from your lips that echoed in the small space between you. You clung to him tighter, his hands fitting around you as if they were made for this very moment.

He pulled back for a breath, the sound wet and chaotic against the walls of your home, and then his lips descended down your neck, unraveling what little sanity you had left. A moan rumbled in his throat as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, giving him better access to the tender spot just below your ear, your blood pulsing beneath his hungry mouth.

Joel seemed to want to devour you whole; his hands roamed erratically, trembling as his mouth kissed and bit your jaw, pressing your bodies together in a way that felt impossibly intimate. When you lifted your right leg and wrapped it around his side, he was quick to respond, hands securing your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto his hips, burying his face against your chest.

Another moan escaped you, and he pulled you down just enough to find your lips again. “Joel,” you whispered, breathless as you parted from him, pressing your forehead against his, eyes searching his.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, his voice low, almost broken, each word laced with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you replied in a small, desperate cry, feeling the heat radiating from him, the thin fabric of your underwear igniting a fire deep within you.

You were dying of thirst, and he had just asked you if you would refuse a sip of water. Was he mad? You wanted to drink it all. 

No sooner had you answered than Joel pulled you off the wall, striding toward the stairs with a confident grace. You lowered your legs cautiously, meeting his lips again in a frantic, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency.

You walked to your room with the agility of one who knows where to step, and once inside, you grabbed the shirt you had angrily grabbed earlier and lifted it up his body in a desperate attempt to rip it off. Joel raised his arms, letting the fabric pass over both of you and then fall to the floor, and as quickly as your hands returned to his chest, he kissed your neck again, desperate, pressing his fingers into the tender flesh of your waist, seeking a physically impossible closeness. 

His hands found your thighs once more, fingers gripping and kneading with a measured intensity that sent electric shivers through you. As he moved lower, his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your underwear, inching closer to where you ached for him, squeezing you tighter as if to draw you in.

In a single, decisive motion, he grasped the hem of your dress and pulled it upward, the fabric sliding along your skin as he lifted it away, tossing it aside with a casual disregard that only heightened the tension in the air. He took a step back, his gaze roaming over you, from the soft curve of your face down to the tips of your toes, a look of hunger that felt almost consuming.

You weren't wearing a bra (your dress didn't require it) and your breasts fell beautifully in front of him, hard nipples and soft skin. Your chest flushed with warmth, a rosy hue creeping into your cheeks as you swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated when he stepped closer.

“I’ve always loved that dress,” he said, his voice trembling with an emotion that was both reverent and raw.

“I know,” you replied, a smile curling at the corners of your lips, the moment igniting an intimacy that made your heart race.

His eyes swept down your body again, glittering with an unmistakable lust, and when he closed the distance, standing right before you, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands slid around your waist, firm yet tender, pulling you into him with a deftness that sent a thrill coursing through you. In one seamless motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet barely grazing the floor as you instinctively stood on your tiptoes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Joel’s eyes darkened with a hunger that left you breathless, and he leaned in, his lips finding one of your breasts with a soft kiss that felt both electrifying and reverent. The warmth of his mouth sent a rush of heat through your body, and before you could gather your thoughts, he nipped your nipple gently, a teasing bite that sent chills racing across your skin.

His teeth grazed you just enough to elicit a gasp, a shuddering reaction that echoed in the space between you. But he didn’t linger on the sharpness of that moment; he quickly replaced the sensation with the soothing warmth of his lips, enveloping you entirely.

He sank to one knee, lowering himself until his lips brushed your stomach, the warm sensation sending ripples of desire coursing through you. His face lingered dangerously close to where you needed him most.

Joel placed his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the elastic of your underwear, his gaze locking onto yours for a moment that stretched into eternity before he slowly began to lower it, the fabric sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You felt his breath hitch at the sight of your now bare center, the anticipation thickening the air between you as he inched closer, finally brushing his lips against your mons pubis.

“Precious,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath washed over you like a caress, drawing a small, needy moan from your lips. His hands parted your legs slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

You cupped his face gently, as if afraid you might break him, and then, without warning, Joel licked his lips and plunged forward, his mouth connecting with you in a surprise that made your eyes flutter shut. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer as he devoured you, his tongue working its magic as he sucked and kissed you whole, with an urgency that left you breathless.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating through your body, and you felt weakness seep into your legs, trembling under the weight of his relentless attention. Joel was eating you like a hungry man, tasting you and soaking in your juices with a fervor that felt primal, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling every muscle in your body tighten as a building pressure coiled inside you.

He pulled away for just a moment, his eyes darkened with lust, a playful smile creeping onto his lips before he returned to you, closing his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking with a skill that made your head spin.

“Ah—Joel, I’m going to—I’m going to—” You struggled to articulate the intensity of what was building within you, your words stumbling over the tide of pleasure washing over you.

His voice vibrated through you, trailing off into a soft, “Mhm.”

You pulled at his hair, tugging harder as a wrenching moan escaped your throat. The world around you faded as his movements grew more frantic, his tongue flicking at you with a desperate fervor. One of his hands released your thigh, and a low groan escaped his lips as his finger found your entrance, sliding inside with an ease that made you gasp.

“Fuck me, you’re so wet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of you—your cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with lust. A satisfied smile broke across his face, and you thought he had never looked so gorgeous.

From your point of view, he looked beautiful. His bright eyes worshipped you intently, his mouth and mustache glistened bathed in you, his hair tossed by your hands mingled in all directions. Joel Miller had never looked so good.

Another finger joined the first, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp for air. You gripped his hair again, pulling him closer, and he let out a throaty laugh, clearly reveling in the sight of you completely undone.

You felt his mouth on you again, the warmth of his lips kissing and sucking with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless. The sound of it was utterly obscene, echoing around the room like a carnal symphony, and it drove you to the brink of madness, your mind spinning in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

His movements grew more intense, a rhythm building that sent waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your hips moving in desperate undulations, surrendering to the climax that Joel savored with unrelenting focus. Your fingers clenched around him, digging in perhaps a bit too hard, but he welcomed it, desperate to drink in every last drop of what you were offering, to savor you whole.

With a low grunt, he squeezed your hips before pulling away, the wet sound of his departure from you hanging heavy in the air. You barely registered his rise from the floor, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, your eyes still closed as the vibrations coursed through you. It wasn’t until his hands gripped your waist that you finally blinked awake, lifting your eyelids to find him gazing down at you, his face mere inches from yours.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, igniting a fire deep within you. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. As the intensity built, you let your fingers drift down his chest, trailing lightly until they found the leather of his belt, the sensation sending shivers through you as you tugged him closer.

Joel vibrated against you, a low growl escaping as he nipped at your lower lip while you fumbled with his steel buckle, the sound of it being released becoming your new favorite melody. You unzipped his pants, your heart racing as you slipped your hand inside, finally touching him for the first time.

Your pulse quickened as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat radiating from his velvet soft skin; big, hot and throbbing in your palm. A rush of desire flooded you, and you pulled away from his lips, dropping to your knees before him, your eyes wide as you took in his form. 

There he stood, beautiful and swollen with need, and your mouth watered at the sight. You cupped him gently, drawing him closer to your lips, placing a soft kiss on the tip. Joel closed his eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the moment completely, and you traced your tongue over him, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre cum that made your insides tighten with longing.

With a hint of effort, you attempted to take him fully into your mouth, but he was too large, stretching you in ways you hadn’t expected. Joel lowered his gaze to you, his fingers caressing your jaw as you struggled to adjust.

“Slow, baby,” he urged, his voice silky yet strained, and it sent another rush of need through you. "I know you can do it."

You matched your hand to your mouth, stroking him where you couldn’t quite reach, while your other hand gently caressed his balls, moving in a synchronized rhythm. Joel tensed beneath your touch, his fingers shifting from your face to tangle in your hair, guiding you as he reveled in the pleasure you were giving him.

The sounds in the room became a symphony of pleasure, every moan and gasp echoing off the walls, and you watched as Joel's pleasure climbed. The image was enough to drive him over the edge; your pink, swollen lips covered him and his cock glistened with your saliva, dripping from your chin with every move you made. Your teary eyes looked up at him desirously, and he could take no more; his gaze was filled with a primal hunger that threatened to unravel him. He finally withdrew from your mouth with great reluctance when he felt his stomach tighten, a low complaint escaping your throat in protest.

His breathing was heavy, and a flush colored his cheeks as he lifted you effortlessly, holding you at the waist, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one swift motion, he laid you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved closer; Joel kneeling and settling between your legs which you instinctively opened for him. 

You needed him, you needed him to fill you whole. You had never needed anything as much as you needed him at that moment. And as if he was reading your thoughts - or maybe he needed you as much as you needed him - he leaned in, taking your mouth with his once more, his moans blending with yours as he lost himself in you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, the taste of him igniting a fire in your veins. You felt him positioning himself at your entrance, his heat pulsing against you, and an intense sigh shot through your chest as Joel entered you in one thrust, burning and stretching you around him. 

“Oh God,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His right hand traveled to your left leg, lifting it and resting it high on his shoulder, while without hesitation, his other hand mirrored the movement with your right leg, bringing you into a position that felt both intimate and vulnerable. You were completely folded under him.

A cry escaped your lips as Joel began to move on top of you, his face hovering just inches above yours, the heat between you palpable. No one had ever penetrated you so deeply; it felt as though he was everywhere, filling you completely, every inch of you alive with sensation.

Joel's right hand gently squeezed your neck, seeking your mouth for a kiss as his movements took on a more urgent pace. The rhythmic collision of his hips against your buttocks created a beautiful sound that echoed off the walls, each thrust punctuated by the soft, desperate gasps that slipped from his mouth. Your own cries mingled with his as your body tightened again, your hands moving frantically up and down his back, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving little marks that he would surely wear like badges of pleasure. 

A broken sound escaped from Joel, raw and primal, as he sank his face into the crook of your neck once more, increasing his thrusts with a fervor that felt animalistic, as if the world outside had fallen away and this moment was all that mattered. He fucked you into the mattress with an intensity that left you breathless, as though he were trying to ground you both in this fleeting reality, where nothing else existed except for the two of you entwined together.

You melted around him, your juices mixing with his as you enveloped him completely, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he lifted his head, your forehead resting against yours, his wide eyes locking into yours. You had never seen them so dark, so filled with intensity and strength.

And then it hit you: It was Joel, your Joel, the one who had been your best friend for four years, and here he was, fucking the life out of you like no one ever had before. What could possibly come after an experience like this?

“I thought you didn't like me,” he said, his voice choppy, strained with effort. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips. “Such a bad liar, baby, look at you.”

You growled in response, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him towards you with a mix of force and anger. Your lips found his in a kiss that was anything but patient, igniting a spark between you. You felt him tense above you, one of his hands quickly moving to your center, exerting immense pressure as he leaned his weight on his other arm, holding you captive beneath him.

His fingers found your clit, tracing gentle circles that made your back arch involuntarily, another wave of pleasure building inside you. Your mouth was still on his, consuming him completely, when your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt your insides tighten around him, squeezing him with a ferocity that pulled him closer to his own climax.

Joel gasped into your mouth, and the intensity of it sent your vision spiraling into darkness for a brief moment, the sensation so strong it felt as if the world had collapsed around you. When your breathing finally steadied, you found his hot body pressed against yours, moving in tiny tremors, quickened breaths brushing against your jaw.

He stayed inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the closeness, your hands continuing to caress his back, each touch a silent promise. Then, slowly, he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty, his cum trickling from your entrance.

He fell limply beside you, his body slick with sweat, and pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His breaths, still heaving, crashed against your damp skin, wrapping you in warmth. Unable to muster the energy to move, you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to a deep, exhausted sleep that you would not remember when you woke up...

No, you didn't remember any dream, Because when you opened your eyes the next morning, you stirred in place and your muscles ached pleasantly, reminding you of the night before. And as you stretched your arms across the bed, your fingers grazed the sheets, feeling an emptiness beside you.

When you looked to your sides, the realization hit you hard.

Joel was gone.

taglist: @orcasoul

[nicksolemnlyswears]

STAY WITH US

this oneshot can be read as a standalone.

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME (PT. 2 HELAENA'S TURN)

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader x helaena targaryen

word count: ~2.7k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of death of a child, mentions of blood, light cursing

a/n: so i lied, so sorry, my apologies, remember how i said i wanted this part to be smut? well it didn't happen. in the end it didn't seem right because these oneshots originated form a place of care and comfort [not horniness like usual]

that being said i am open to doing a series of small oneshots based on their relationship that are more spicy because regardless it lives rent free on my brain and i'd love to share the pervertedness they'd get up to. also i've never written a threesome and that seems like a good writing exercise.

hope you like this oneshot. it's really sweet and when i was thinking of what else to do with them it simply clicked. my only wish is for it to have the same comfort provoking feeling as the other two. while this little series was written as a way for me to feel better about these characters it makes me happy to know it served the same purpose for a lot of you guys. also this was my first time writing for HoTD and you're all so nice ;) THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE.

enjoy!

Without Jaehaerys by her side, his twin sister Jaehaera must adjust to being alone. Her lifelong playmate is gone, and now she ought to find her place as an only child.

The silver-haired girl restlessly jumps through different activities, searching for the one that will entertain her long enough without company. It is difficult because each time she successfully gets distracted, she turns to catch her brother's attention, only to find he's no longer there.

Queen Helaena watches her as she stitches together a new embroidery piece for a dress. The Queen spent her days with both her children, but now that one of them is gone, she spends nearly every waking moment with her daughter. Observing. Protecting. Alert.

"The three-headed dragon shall rise once more," Helaena mumbles under her breath. The maids ignore her mumblings. The Queen's words don't make sense half the time.

A squeal of delight from her daughter prompts the needle to pierce Helaena's finger and a bead of blood forms at the pad of it. Looking up, she finds you picking up Jaehaera and kissing her chubby cheeks. The girl is enamored by her cousin and the attention you provide.

"Good morrow, 'Laena," you brightly greet her, setting down Jaehaera and sitting by her on the floor. "Have you broken fast yet?"

Helaena places a hand in yours as a greeting and nods kindly, assuring you she's been eating all her meals. At times, her appetite turns into nausea as glimpses of her dead son invade her senses, but she tries fighting through it.

She closes her eyes and thinks of anything else—primarily you. You who distract her and treat her with such care without judgment of her eccentricities. It's odd how she's caught herself multiple times seeking your approval.

As Helaena returns to her stitching, Jaehaera bounces over and falls into your arms. "I wish for my hair to be like yours."

"Allow me, Princess," Jaehaera's nursemaid intervenes. She does not wish to be seen as lazy and incapable of her job to care for the children.

The small Princess holds tightly onto you, hiding her face on your chest as she settles on your lap. "No, I want my cousin to do it. She's a Princess, and I want Princess's hair."

You giggle at her words and gesture to the nursemaid that it's alright. "Come on, sweet girl, sit," you coo, positioning her in front of you.

One of the maids hands you a hairbrush, and you begin your work. As a Princess, your hair is mostly styled by your maids, but every lady should know how to style it appropriately.

"You're such a pretty girl, Jaehaera. Did you know that?" You talk to distract her from squirming too much. She's an impatient little thing, like her father.

Jaehaera giggles sound throughout the room. She hasn't laughed like that since her brother died. It brings a sad smile to Helaena's lips.

"You're prettier," Jaehaera whispers bashfully, her cheeks a healthy hue of pink.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You're much more beautiful. Do you know why?"

Jaehaera shakes her head, causing you to hold tightly onto the intricate plaits you're weaving in her hair. You inadvertently smile at her benightedness.

"Because you look just like your mummy, and she's very beautiful, and she's a Queen," you gasp lightly, creating a tone of excitement in your voice.

Although she's kept her nose down while stitching, Helaena's cheeks burn just as brightly as her daughters. Your words continue to flatter her. You have a way with words that can make even the most ordinary of townsfolk feel special.

With a small, excited gasp, Jaehaera asks, "Will I be Queen one day?"

"There's always a possibility," you hum, pining the remaining plait into her hair. It is hard to explain the complexities of succession and legacy to a child when there is a current war debating that same subject. "All done, go over to the mirror."

"She adores you," Helaena sighs as she watches her daughter fawn over her new hairstyle.

"And I, her. She's the sweetest girl ever."

Helaena turns to look at you and sees the soft smile gracing your lips. Your eyes then catch hers, and your smile broadens. It makes her wonder what her life would be like if you were not around. How would she have dealt with her emotions?

"I must go, but can you come to my bedchambers tonight? There is a matter I must discuss with you," Helaena says timidly, casting aside her embroidery.

"As you wish, my Queen." You can't fault her for preferring to speak in the depth of the night when the castle sleeps, and there are no wandering eyes to pass judgment.

It gives Helaena whiplash when you effortlessly switch from calling her name to calling her 'my Queen.' She rather enjoys both terms, especially when you call her yours.

Helaena bids you farewell with a kiss on the cheek, blissfully unaware of its effect on you. Such displays of affection are not rare in court, but lately, their significance has changed for you, as Helaena has never been one to indulge in court etiquette when it involves physical touch.

When the sun has disappeared over the horizon, and the castle has quieted down, you make your way to the Queen's bed chambers.

You have always been inclined to stay in the shadows, where it's safe. You are a sheep amongst a den of wolves, and if you draw too much attention to yourself, danger will follow.

You have failed so far, considering you enjoy the company of the King and Queen. Grief unexpectedly brought you together and made your bond steadfast, but wherever Aegon and Helaena go, watchful gazes follow, thus making you part of the spectacle as well.

Otto and Alicent Hightower are taking the reins of this unnecessary war, but you feel safe under Aegon's and Helaena's careful watch. You believe they will protect you from any danger coming from within the castle walls, at the very least.

You're doing your mother a great disservice as you strengthen the bond of the King and Queen. The ache of losing a child will forever remain in their hearts, and waves of pain continue to crash, but that thick fog of grief that was cast upon them has slowly started to lift, thanks to you.

Pushing open the door to Helaena's bedchambers, you step into the room. It's well into the night, and the candlelight illuminates the room. You stumble over your steps when you notice Aegon and Helaena standing close together as if they were about to kiss.

"My apologies, your graces. I believed the Queen to be alone," you bow your head, red painting your cheeks. It's a gesture that originates from embarrassment rather than submissiveness.

"Do not apologize. We wished to speak to you," Aegon speaks, beckoning you deeper into the room.

He offers you a goblet of wine, which you accept gracefully to alleviate the dizzying wave of nerves you're feeling. You've never been alone with Aegon and Helaena. People have always been around, and up to a fortnight ago, they barely spoke to one another.

The ruling couple sought your counsel regarding their marriage, recognizing you as an intermediary. You offered your advice to the best of your abilities, considering you have yet to marry.

With time and encouragement, they reached out to each other for comfort. Piece by piece, they were able to speak and share the emotions that troubled them. Nonetheless, they kept you closer than ever.

You're the calm amidst the storm.

You take a drink of the sweet wine to busy yourself. Helaena and Aegon stand side by side, his hand on the small of her back as Helaena plays with her fingers. They're backlit by the fire burning by the fireplace. It casts a warm glow over their figures, making the situation seem much more intimate. You're certainly intruding.

"We wish to thank you for everything you've done for us recently," Helaena breaks the creeping silence. She's just as nervous as you are, if not more.

"Helaena and I have been thinking about how to repay you for your generosity," Aegon continues, staring intently back at you to gauge your reaction to his words. He's afraid of reading you wrong and fucking things up—like he usually does.

You instantly shake your head, "As I said before, there is no need-"

Helaena's following words cause silence to befall as you stare back at them in surprise. A sort of surprise they cannot read. "We wish to wed you," Helaena blurts nervously, her fingers twisting together.

This is not a moment to speak in riddles. Helaena is fully aware of the situation before her and wishes nothing more than for you to stay by their side, no matter the cost.

For once in her life, she hasn't felt lonely in the castle. She has an ally she can trust and confide in.

You've been the subject of Aegon and Helaena's conversations for numerous nights. At first, it was difficult to understand that they both held deep affection towards you while caring for each other. They debated for a long time about what to do about it and they agreed on one thing wholeheartedly—you only deserved the best.

Then, it came to Aegon.

He's named after Aegon' The Conqueror' Targaryen. The King took over the seven kingdoms with his sister wives by his side.

A simple Valyrian tradition would solve their dilemma while strengthening his claim to the throne. It's poetic, a part of history being re-enacted.

"Pardon?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. You stare back at them with wide eyes as they jump from Aegon to Helaena and back to Aegon.

The goblet in your hand lightly shakes along with your hand. You place it on a nearby table, afraid of spilling it. Surely, you misheard.

"Our affection grows greater day by day. More than we ever thought possible," Helaena confesses, desperately reaching for your hand.

Your gaze falls on Aegon to seek his opinion, and he nods in agreement. There is not much to say. You have proved yourself valuable to them in a way that is much too important. You serve to keep them sane and emotionally stable. A feat no one has cared to accomplish before.

You do not use Aegon as a puppet or manipulate him to achieve sinister goals on behalf of his name, much like the rest of the court does. Those people only care for power, even if they break Aegon piece by piece. They destroy him while you take the time to pick up the pieces and put him back together.

"Such drastic actions must not be taken. I merely offered you comfort when you needed it because I care for you both," you stutter, pressing a hand to your forehead. All of a sudden, the room is warm, and a layer of perspiration forms on the back of your neck.

Aegon grunts and approaches you, cupping your face in his palms, "That is precisely why we wish to do this. You have cared for us like no one has before, including ourselves. You planted yourself in our souls, and now we cannot let you go lest we go insane. If you do not feel the same, say it, but do not lie to us."

His tone is firm, yet he cannot disguise the pleading behind it. He's never wanted something as much as he wants you.

"I-" Your palms ghost over the top of his.

It is all too much. The prospect of being wed looms over your head like a threat. Otto Hightower will have no qualms about using your lack of a husband as a war strategy. It should not be his decision in the first place, but it is out of your hands as you're considered a prisoner to him.

You would be a liar if you said you did not reciprocate their feelings. They've been present for a while now, it is why comforting them comes so easily to you. Seeing them hurt only pains you.

With this new opportunity, you will no longer be used. You will not be sold to some old lord in the countryside for the gain of a few hundred men. You would be protected.

Most importantly, you will marry a man and a woman who love you. Yes, they are broken, but with you by their side, they will thrive and rise to the occasion.

Aegon's lilac eyes beg you to accept their proposal. "I feel emotions I thought impossible. They are confusing and overwhelming, but they are real," you admit.

Relief floods over Aegon, and he can't help but release a sigh of relief. He presses his forehead against yours, whispering a silent thank you to the old gods and the new.

"Will you become our wife? Our lifelong companion?" Helaena asks, coming up behind you. You feel her breath on your neck as she leans her head on your shoulder.

One word is enough to respond. One simple word will change your life. For good or bad is to be determined.

"Yes," you breathe, reaching for her hand. The smile on Aegon's lips and Helaena's giggles in your ear make it all worth it.

Aegon needed to do things right so no one could argue against your union. He contacted the Septon himself, and only a day later, after his proposal, the Valyrian ceremony took place.

He clearly instructed his guard and the Septon that they must not tell anyone, or there would be consequences.

The ceremony is quick and private amongst the gardens of the Red Keep. You wear the traditional red and gold robes and headpieces that match Aegon's.

A red dragon decorates the front of your garb, matching Helaena's golden one on her dress. She stands to the side with a faint smile, Jaehaera clinging to her dress.

Aegon carefully cuts your lip with the dragon glass. As blood surges to the surface, he presses his thumb to the cut and later spreads it across your skin. You repeat the same on his lips, staring apologetically back at him, yet the burning pain does not compare to the pain he's felt before. It's almost pleasurable as he takes in the symbolism of the gesture.

Cutting your palms, you let the blood that will bind you together for eternity fall onto the goblet. You lock eyes with Aegon as you take a drink from it, passing it to him a moment later.

He was not raised surrounded by Targaryen customs, but he has a new deep appreciation for them. The ceremony is deeply intimate as they share the blood that will mark them as one.

With a couple of final words, the Septon concludes the ceremony and with the knowledge that you are entirely theirs, Aegon crashes his lips against yours.

Aegon stayed firm in his words. He did not wish to sully your name, so he waited until the moment was right. The reward is much too sweet.

It is the first time you've shared a kiss with Aegon, and it is unlike anything you've felt before. In the past, you've snuck kisses in dark corners of the Red Keep, but none have ever kissed you with the intensity Aegon has to offer.

Helaena approaches your tangled embrace, and as you resurface for a breath, she presses her much more delicate lips on yours. The kiss is so different yet the same simultaneously. The intent behind it is identical while the pace is slower and sultrier.

Yours and Aegon’s blood coats her lips and it’s as if she also partook on the ceremony. Your heart beats intensely inside your chest but you’re happy.

Finally, you three are bonded, destined to stay together for eternity.

Jaehaerys will forever be missed. His life has become a mystery; Aegon and Helaena will never see it fulfilled. But in this tragedy, the gods were kind to Aegon and Helaena and provided a new person to love, cherish, and join their family.

were you expecting a good old throuple situation? eh, eh (pretend i'm wiggling my eyebrows and nudging your side with my elbow). im just saying she's perfect for their little dysfunctional family and the drama it will create with the Hightowers and Targaryens? immaculate.

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and gushing about hel and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

[affableramen]

when they try to woo you

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

tags: early stage of relationship ; suggestive ; minors dni

Wriothesley

Lots of, I’m telling you, lots of cuddling and hugging. Wrio is very touchy

He tries very hard to be a real gentleman with you however it results in funny, awkward situations (which is so endearing of him)

Will talk a lot about his piercing telling you a story of each

Lets you touch his hair because you want to touch it

Can’t choose the proper colour pallette for his formal suit and ends up wearing the most laughable socks ever

Wants to show off with his bike and will certainly give you a night ride

Will come to your date half-sleeping after late night shift but still see you

Neuvillette

Would pull the chair for you at the restaurant 100%

Chooses the suit for your first date for a whole week in advance

Wants everyone to know that you’re his so will hold your hand at every possibility

He puts a lot of effort to be a perfect boyfriend so he’ll even offer to pick you up from work

Neuvi has a closed personality so he generally won’t be the first to kiss but if you do, he will certainly be the one to deepen it

Chooses the date place really attentively, remembering all your needs, food choices, allergies and the general vibe you give off

Is the person to spend the night with you completely without doing anything naughty besides sleeping

Pantalone

Would certainly wear a cologne with pheromones on your first date in order to woo you. Not that he’s insecure but he’d definitely like to add up to his charm

Very nice hair styling in gel and possibly perfumed shampoo with a sweet-spicy scent like amber

Neatly manicured nails (lol always in gloves)

Expensive gifts are must-have for him but sometimes he’s afraid he will scare you off with that so does that in moderation

Helps you do shopping, choosing the highest quality goods and balance your spending

Is actually a horny catastrophe but will never push you past kissing and cuddling if you are not ready. When you ask if he is ok with being patient, he nonchalantly responds that he is a grown man and can control his needs

Dottore

Different mask on every date

Gifts you his vial earring as a token of his affection

He’s not very touchy and it is exactly the problem! He doesn’t want you to slip off his fingers because of his personality, that’s why he offers you lots of phone calls in order to compensate some other aspects…

Will help you make choices in absolutely different aspects of life because he’s older and also has a unique perspective on things

Can definitely answer your message in the late night if you feel upset

Buys you concert tickets before you do it

Capitano

FLOWERS is a must have on every date with you. The bouquets he gives you are rich and radiant

He’s like a rose with sharp thorns and can demand lots of privacy in the early stages. If he doesn’t feel like it, he won’t go past hand holding and kissing

Asks you a lot about your previous relationships (if you have ones) because he genuinely want to learn more about you. Capi desperately needs to gather every single detail abt you in order to make his company as comfortable as possible for you

Will let you examine his helmet and will certainly let you braid his hair

Tells you epic stories about each one of his scars

Even exhausted from work and with tight schedule will agree to see you at least 3 times a week because he wants to stay close to you so much

Alhaitham

Hardly talks, prefers listening to you

Lets you wear his headphones, but worried you might not like his choice in music (mostly lo fi)

Loves hand holding with you. Does that on every date

Will make sure to finish your dates with kisses even if brief, he just needs your lips on his

Provides you with fast access to Akademiya library if you ever need that

Sits never in front of you, but next to you

Will take you for a late night date only to gaze at the stars afterwards. He finds it romantic and dreamy

Chews mint gum and wears fresh-smelling cologne in order to attract you

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

title: broken (pt. 1) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell. note: this is only one half of what was supposed to be a whole chapter! broken, pt. 2 will come out after i've had time to make it something i'm proud of. trying to rush everything out didn't do any favors, so hilariously and ironically, broken is broken up into two hahaha. warnings: language, angst, tension, yoongi’s pov is longgg, alcohol consumption, tobacco mentions, bro🥲, yoongi in the studio😩, the studio boys make another appearance👀, …someone else makes their first appearance👀👀, scuffles, tense situations, did i say angst?, water bottles get their own warning, long hair yoongi, basketball yoongi🫠, crying, bro a ha ha, jimin has tats and he’s not afraid to show them, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, honestly he is on another level of warning here don’t perceive me💀, the fluff is fluffing here like what, backstory we’ve been waiting for😗, yoongi on the phone, hand holding :’)), kissing :’)), oh god the kissing❤️‍🩹, there’s just a lot in both parts i'm sorry y'all playlist: broken (lp) drop date: dec 3rd, 2023, 4:00pm est word count: ...19.1k 🚶‍♀️

-

-

Words abandon you.

They stand far from your form, pitying observers of your decaying state in front of the man you’ve been lying to. At once, you feel completely alone, not even Yoongi’s lingering presence helping when those eyes are piercing through time and space. Everything you’ve experienced over the past two years slings across your vision, from the first time you left your house in the pouring rain to get to Yoongi’s, to the car ride back you just took with his kiss still on your lips. 

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels. 

Your feet make lines in them when you move to close the front door, something leaving your mouth before you can judge if it makes sense, “About what?” 

Zero sense. Absolute zero sense. Which your brother has absolute zero patience for. The drone in his question hits you like a punch to the gut, “Really.” 

“Just out late, is all,” you grumble, trying your best to not acknowledge an atmosphere so tense it’s almost crowded. “Jimin had another party, remember?” 

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

Dread launches up your veins, rocketing right to your heart in the middle of a pulse. He was there? You saw his car when Yoongi pulled up close to the house. He was there? When the fuck did he arrive? Oh, fuck, if he got there early enough… did he see you… and Yoongi…

No. There’s no way. Because one, Yoongi parked far down and around the corner. He made sure not to be close just in case you two could be spotted. 

With a thought you really cannot afford right now, you also assume he stayed that distance just so that he could pin you against his car. Fucking hell, focus! Upping the strength of your resolve to match cardboard, you lamely stall in your hunt for clarification, “You were?” 

“I was.” 

The watch on his wrist glints in its twist. When aggravated veins stare back at you, it’s obvious your brother is on the edge. Because he is deathly calm. “So where’d you go?” 

You blink, not having expelled a single breath since you stepped foot inside. 

Does he not know? Or does he know and he’s just waiting for you to finally spill? With all the hope in the universe, you yearn for it to be the first one. Because you cannot deal with a fallout right now. Not right after what happened with Yoongi. 

It’s just not the right time. 

“Yuri’s,” you blurt, finally kicking into gear and strategizing how you’re gonna finesse this. “She came and got me.” 

Your sibling just stands there, eyes a solid beam before he sighs at clasped wrists. 

Here it comes. He’s gonna ask why you didn’t say anything. Like he always does because for some reason you’re still not a true adult to him and he has to keep tabs on you at all times and you can’t just sneak around with his best friend in peace—

“K.” Your eyes shake once. “Just tell me next time.” 

And just like that, your brother vacates the foyer, dark dress shoes clacking as he retreats back into his room. Leaving you standing in silence. 

All the words around you just as speechless. 

Just like that, you’re gone again.

After watching you leave and wishing you didn’t have to, Yoongi shuts his door to rest ponderous thoughts on worn wood. Eyes closed and a storm on his mind’s horizon.

Just a little longer. He hopes you’ll understand. This is just something he needs. More than anything else. 

Exhausted, he peels himself from the door, meandering through the bog of his living room. Trudge, trudge, trudge to the dining table, skirting fingers along the edge and noting that it feels different than before. 

At least something in his apartment has changed for the better. 

Who would’ve thought that table would witness both an end and a beginning. That it would see the worst and best of him. If it was ever called to stand, there’s no doubt that it could recite all his failures and shortcomings. But he hopes that it would also attest to how much he’s fucking tried. 

As much as Yoongi wants to throw it out, he hasn’t. Because despite being withered to hell, all it needed to recover was the new company of a familiar face. 

And a little bit of summer rain. 

It watches as his thoughts move on, and soaks in the blues and pinks of sunrise as he crosses into the bedroom. At the feel of your lingering presence, Yoongi gnaws on his lip. 

What the fuck does he do now? The moment you leave, he wants nothing more than to have you back in his bed. It’s the one fact that he has come to fully acknowledge. Because there are many times you’ve caught him slipping. But when you’re lost to your dreams? Visibly at peace and safe under his sheets? That’s when he can’t even think straight. 

How your serenity throws him into disarray, Yoongi has no fucking clue.

But he can’t afford these feelings right now. Because how can he want you close while being the reason for this distance? Make it make sense. Don’t be a fucking hypocrite. Tsking, Yoongi once again accepts the consequences, heading to his bathroom before going back the fuck to sleep. 

Lies. Who is he kidding? There’s no way his rest will be the same without you. Especially since he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you next. 

There is a way to remedy that. To put an end to your time apart. But Yoongi’s been so in his fucking head that it’s chaining him down and pulling taut. No matter how much he struggles, he can’t break free, and it’s driving him to the brink.

But last night? With you? Half moons mar his palms as he stands. Staring. Branding that whole memory into his heart.

After three months of questioning his existence. 

All it took was your soft hums to give him a reason. 

And you won’t ever know how much that meant to him. Not until Yoongi finally decides to tell you. Which will most likely be never. Maybe that’s why this time tears at his chest more than all the others. Maybe that’s why he stood in his doorway longer than usual. Maybe that’s why he can’t quite carry the weight in his chest.

Dumping himself on dark mountains—creations of his and your design—Yoongi buries his face in those valleys. Inhales those aromas like some hit he can live off of for however many days left he needs. 

Desperately grasping for a fading world where only you two exist. Drifting. Dreaming. Disarmed by a vibration on his nightstand.

The fuck.

Who is texting him this early. There are only a few people he has notifications on for wait it’s probably you saying you’re home.

Peeling himself off the sheets with a groan, Yoongi simply shifts his upper body to reach for his phone, squinty-eyed as he checks his screen.

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

Dumbass [07:30]: We need to talk.

…Shit.

Yoongi grips his phone in panic, ice water streaming through his veins and mind set ablaze with potential scenarios.

He’s awake. You went home. And he’s awake. Fuck, did anything happen? Did you say anything? What are the chances this text means he found everything out? 

Shit. 

Does Yoongi answer now? Or does he sleep and pretend that this is just a text and isn’t a problem at all? Think. Your brother may not even be referencing you, or him. Right? It could be something completely different. 

Why can’t he fucking move? 

Every regret Yoongi’s kept at bay floods his brain, crashing into assumptions of your mental state and creating a massive whirlpool of dread. Just answer. Don’t answer. Just answer. Don’t fucking answer. Suddenly, another alert lights his home screen and it’s a call oh fuck—wait… It’s Jungkook? 

Why not. Sure. What’s one more issue. 

Picking up, Yoongi runs hard fingers through his hair as he answers.

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

The what. The session? Oh, fuck. The session. Yoongi completely forgot they had a recording booked today because they were so hyped last night to get a date for the release party shit. Vacating his bed, Yoongi answers with a low, “Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

“Yeah, don’t be late. It’s those guys from before.” 

Fuck, it’s that one. The dudes that stopped by the studio just as things were wrapping up, shocking everyone when they scheduled some time. Highly successful musicians and performers booking something with a no name studio? Things are rolling in the right direction and coming along fast. 

But as things go. If they don’t take this shit seriously, everything can crash just as quickly.

“Heading out,” Yoongi finally says as he yanks a hoodie from his closet, and a loud vibration against his ear makes him flinch. 

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?” 

“Shit, yeah.” Yoongi grips soft material before his phone hits his desk with a thump. Hastily dressing, he grunts, “Maybe. Might be like two minutes late.” 

“Nah, come now.” 

He’s heading over? Your brother? If that’s the case, there’s no way he doesn’t know. 

Fuck, relax. Don’t overthink. If anything, there wouldn’t have even been a heads-up. Yoongi figures he’d just find out as soon as he’s thrown against a wall. Or the ground. Or right onto his coffee table that this very guy helped pick out. Shit, he needs to know but he doesn’t wanna find out. 

But nevermind him. Are you okay? Swiping his device, Yoongi quickly types a text before fast-walking out of his room, going on autopilot when he assures into his receiver, “I’ll get there.” 

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now. 

As Yoongi breaks into the dining room, he hears a rustling on the line before other voices jut through the speaker. Sounds like Hobi and Joon are already there, and the next thing said further spikes his stress level another peak, 

“We’re already cutting it close with the prep.” 

Fucking hell, the prep. The mics, the tracks, the setup. They forgot to do all of it. Something inside of him starts snarling and almost pounces through the phone, “Fuck, we should’ve been ready already.” 

“Shit, I know.” 

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

“Dude, relax, I get it.” 

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get it done but it’s gonna be tight. Hey, where’s the… Damn it, what’s it called?”

Frustrated and rummaging through his pantry, Yoongi knows he sure as hell didn’t think about anything else as soon as he heard you crying on the line. If he had remembered while leaving the studio, he could’ve spared a brain cell to rush everyone back in. “The what.” 

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.” 

Of course, he’d repeat every decision he made last night. Over, and over, and over again. But any of them should’ve remembered this step before leaving, which pisses him off. The studio’s lack of experience is showing and it’s making him nervous. 

And Yoongi still doesn’t know what’s going on with his best friend. 

“We need two overheads for drums,” he corrects while swiping a water bottle from the counter. And he’s about to rattle off where they are when he feels another long buzz. 

Dumbass: Incoming Call 

Of fucking course. 

Mind whirring so hard he can feel steam, Yoongi quickly recalls where the mics are, “They’re somewhere in the back by the amps, but I gotta take this so I’ll see y’all there.” 

“Wait, where are the—”

Nope. Kook’s just gonna have to figure out whatever he’s asking on his own. Switching calls, Yoongi answers while opening his door, hastily putting out the food and water he grabbed from the kitchen. 

“Hey.” Fuck, is his voice shaking? What the hell is he gonna be faced with in the next few seconds? Can he freeze time and rewind and keep last night on repeat? “I’m about to head out.” 

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.” 

“No, just”—Yoongi dashes back inside before grabbing his wallet and keys from the bar—“You good? I can’t be late.” 

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?” 

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling. 

“We got another project,” he huffs as he meets sunrise again, blazing a trail through his corridor and rounding the corner to his car. “A band’s coming in for a session.”

“Shit.”

There’s a pause on the line. And it’s the first bit of silence Yoongi’s had since he got the first bone-chilling text. Is his secret safe? Are you okay? Should he work extra late and run from a problem yet again? He’s very good at that. Running. If there was a medal for distance ran from issues, he’d be on the podium for both gold and silver.

“Okay, fine.” 

Relief is temporary. This could just be him biding his time in order to figure out what to do. Or maybe he truly doesn’t know what’s going on and Yoongi has a bit more uninterrupted time with you. 

Delusion is a great place to stay.

In any case, his friend’s behavior is alarming. What’s he doing up this early? And why is he wanting to swing by so bad if not to slice him into tiny pieces? Nerves slow on the downslope, Yoongi shuts his car door and lends his ear, “But serious, are you okay?”

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

He lets his friend go through a series of small sounds on the line, pulling out of the lot and hitting the road with tire squeaks. “What’s up,” he finally pushes, looking sideways and remembering the car ride home. 

There was no way Yoongi was gonna say no to you. He didn’t in this universe, and he’d bet his whole life he doesn’t in any other one, either. Not when your wings looked like you hadn’t used them in months.    

Pained, Yoongi hopes you’re completely fine and sleeping. Tucked away in a bed that captured part of his heart, visiting him in your dreams so that some version of him can be at your side. 

“Everything, Yoong.” 

But, as it so starkly turns out, he has to deal with reality. And with the fact that you’re just as far away as you were before last night. Maybe even further out of reach. 

So, so far away. 

“There’s a ton of shit, but. Fuck. Guess we’ll have to wait.”

Right now, deal with the studio prep and get through the session that will probably take awhile. After that, meet up with your brother and hope to god he doesn’t know. “K.”

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

Then, when all of that is done, Yoongi will be alone. Staring into the night and trying his hardest not to give up on himself again. “Yeah, I will.” 

“No running.”

“K.”

When the call ends, Yoongi lets out the harshest breath he’s ever let out in his life. Hoping you went right to sleep without dealing with any of that. 

“How did that sound?” 

Looking into the recording room, Yoongi raises a thumbs up as Hoseok clicks back to the beginning of the track. At their side, Namjoon hits a button on the console before speaking into a microphone, “Y’all wanna come hear it?” 

“We can move on. Wanna get the doubling done.” 

Huh? They’re gonna move onto vocal doubling already? With a few blinks, Yoongi think it’d be better if they—

“Okay!” Jungkook agrees from the couch, cutting out any other thoughts. “If any of you need adjustments, let us know.” 

“Yeah, actually, can one of you come switch this out?” 

Joon throws a suggestion over his shoulder, but Yoongi is already heading for the booth before his name is even mentioned. 

Get everything done smooth. Stay disciplined. Be professional, goddamn it.

Entering the soundproofed room will always make him want to occupy the mic instead. That feeling hasn’t gone away, and there have been countless nights where he’s spent time just sitting in this very space, visualizing what it would be like to work on this side of the glass someday. Deep down, Yoongi knows he could be somebody. But imposter syndrome runs deep. 

Avoiding cables strewn about the room, he offers his hands without a word, taking a guitar from the lead singer and making his leave—

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.” 

What? Where the hell did that come from? Did he even hear this guy right or was he just daydreaming again? Yoongi’s so thrown he can only stare with question marks for eyes. 

Amused, the singer simply points to the side of his beaming countenance. “You have an ear.” 

Huh. How the hell can this dude tell? All Yoongi’s done is indicate if a recording take was good or not, and given a few minuscule suggestions to the keyboardist and guitarist—instruments he’s well-versed in. 

Yet again, he’s so in his head that the man outright laughs, “Relax! You can talk to us like normal, you know. None of us care about etiquette shit.” 

“Shit, my bad,” Yoongi finally responds, instrument in his hands proving a little lighter. “Thanks.” 

“Of course.” Swishing long bangs to the side, the performer rests a hand on his hip. “We’re open to anything. We’d just tell you if your opinion sucks.” 

Eyes creasing with his lips, Yoongi puffs out a laugh. 

“Kidding. Only a little.”

Even though these people are world-renowned, they’re the first humble group to run through the studio. Everyone else has been either cocky, standoffish, or super opinionated, which made for unproductive hours.

Yoongi likes this change of pace. His shoulders start to feel composed, less scrunched than they had been since you left his place this morning. Comforted, he looks down at the guitar in his fingers.

Choosing not to say what he wants to. 

Should he? Nah. These guys know what they’re doing. Despite the nice offer to speak up, it’s not his place. Far from it. 

…But what would you tell him to do? What would you be proud of?

Committed to his answer, Yoongi grips the neck and decides without another thought, 

“Do the chorus again.” 

The whole studio stills. But all he’s looking at is the man in front of him, shaking his head when they ask, “Same way?” 

“Uhm. No.” As he hands the guitar back, Yoongi wordlessly checks if he can see the sheet music. When given the go-ahead, he scans the lines before pointing out a passage to note, 

“Mm. Here. Vocals are fine as is, but. Ride the build-up quicker and hit the next chord after a bit longer.” When he stops, he has to fight to ignore the eyes on him. There’s no doubt that his extended time in the recording room is being questioned, and his hand movements probably make him look stupid. “It’ll keep in time but hit harder.” 

Done. He said it. 

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame. 

Instantly self-conscious, Yoongi swears he can hear Hobi’s pants shift in the control room through two closed doors shit he took it too far. Fuck, if these guys walk out now the studio is done for and he’ll be the only reason why—

“Well, goddamn. Let’s try that then.” 

Huh. They’re gonna take that? 

As he steps away, Yoongi feels slightly awkward doused in attention. Yeah, expressions seem like looks of approval, but they could just be polite. 

The man hums the chorus with Yoongi’s notes in mind, and his eyebrows tick a bit before he addresses the others in the room, “You heard him?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

“Why didn’t you think of that, Woosung?”

Yoongi can’t keep his amusement under wraps as the singer laughs, addressing his keyboardist with a grin, “Damn, not even Sammy? Straight to Woosung, huh.”

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

Another bout of mirth spreads joy around the recording booth, and Yoongi shares a look with the singer before they both nod. 

“Let’s see how it sounds.” 

“K.”

Proud and adrenaline-filled, he turns to walk back to the door, head so buzzed he doesn’t know what to do. But when Yoongi can’t see into the control room anymore, he misses a stare through the glass.

A stare that lingers on him just a little too long. 

The rest of the session goes smooth, and Yoongi’s relieved that they haven’t asked him for anything else. 

After all. He doesn’t wanna push it, or step on Jungkook’s toes. What happened in the recording room only went down because you would have scolded him for not seizing that moment. And the suggestion he gave was lauded after the next take.

It was the first time since you kissed him goodbye that he felt a healthy pulse in his chest. Despite the chaos of the morning, amid the thoughts and worries penetrating his brain, you reached out and kept him steady in just the right moment. 

Fuck being his good luck charm. You give guardian angels shame and you don’t even know it. 

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

Jungkook holds up an arm while agreeing, “Okay! We’ll save what we got!” 

Yoongi’s scanning the tracks when he feels hovering over his shoulder, and he already knows it’s the kid without looking. “Sup.”

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

At this, Jungkook pauses before he sighs. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he clearly lies. 

But Yoongi will let him figure out whether to run with that or not. He seems a little bothered about something, and it very well could be what happened in the booth. This is work, and they’re both adults. If he wants to talk about something, Yoongi will gladly have that conversation. 

Suddenly, a vibration erupts in his hoodie pocket, and his phone is fished out without him even thinking. 

Hustler: Incoming C—

Shit. You wouldn’t call him at work unless it’s urgent. Which is quickly throwing any possible theories about your brother not knowing out the window. 

But fuck, he can’t answer yet. There’s no way. Not only is he in very close range to someone you don’t wanna speak to right now, but he’d get blasted for being on his phone during a session. Hoping you can wait just two more minutes, Yoongi turns the buzzing off within his hoodie pocket, anxiously waiting for the take to start. 

Hoping to everything that Jungkook didn’t happen to see what was on his screen. 

As soon as everyone looks pleased—three takes and thirty minutes later—Yoongi quickly excuses himself from the control room. His head practically overheats on the way out back, but the gust of morning breeze serves to soothe it some. 

It’s been chilly lately. A bit grey. But whatever the weather has been outside, it’s no match for the atmosphere of his brain. 

Pulling his hood over hair he hasn’t cut in months, Yoongi looks around before ringing you up. Hoping that you’re good and didn’t have to go through a version of his panic earlier. 

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Fuck, still voicemail. Are you okay? On the phone with someone else? Did your brother actually end up finding out and things are worse than he thought? Clutching his phone, Yoongi glances up while giving it slight shakes, body on alert while deciding what the hell to do now. 

Maybe he can at least text you to ask what the hell happened this morning? Typing. Erasing. Retyping. Retrying. 

Yoongi [9:02]: Got a session today, doll. 

That’s what he had to say? That won’t do you any good, the fuck? Berating himself with a sigh, he takes a few steps while texting a follow-up. 

Yoongi [9:03]: Still going, but are you good?

Staring, it takes him a few seconds to decide if this is enough. If these two messages are gonna suffice to help him figure out what the hell he’s getting into later. 

It’s not. There’s too much he needs to know. 

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

When it doesn’t ring a third time, Yoongi gives up, cursing before turning and raking his hood off in distress.

Only to see Woosung materializing out of nowhere—relaxed, silent, and taking a drag. 

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

“Been there,” the man empathizes, blowing out smoke into crisp morning. After a swell of early traffic fills the alleyway, he continues, “In trouble?”

Great. With a sound of dejection, Yoongi answers to a stack of random boxes, “Might be.” 

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?” 

“I do,” Yoongi blurts without hesitation, looking right into eyes that have seen plenty more than he has. 

And it’s the first time he’s admitted anything out loud. To a stranger miles above him in status, no less. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he clarifies, “It’s just… There’s something I need to do first.” 

Wait a sec. Why the fuck is he talking about this so freely? This isn’t something he does. Privacy is practically his brand. So why is it easy to talk to this guy? It’s him, for fuck’s sake. But what’s done is done. Woosung probably won’t even remember this conversation even happened, or is already annoyed as hell he didn’t get a good read on him. 

To Yoongi’s surprise, his alley companion speaks again after another white wisp. “Mmm… Something you need to do?”

Well. Yoongi walked right into this one. Swallowing and knowing he can’t dip out, he sighs, “Some shit I wanna finish.” The smell of tobacco wafts around him when he looks at dulled skies. “Shit I need to get through.” 

An amused hum floats through empty space. “Been there, too.” 

Yoongi slowly turns to regard his client, watching as Woosung becomes very interested in wet concrete.

What kind of shit has this guy seen? Surely, he could have had some of the same experiences. The slight droop in his confident shoulders tells enough. But would he understand the exact same situation? 

No. At least, Yoongi hopes not. Quite fucking frankly, he hopes no one has had to go through the same shit that he has. 

“Let me know if you ever need help,” Woosung offers, shocking Yoongi to the point of speechlessness. As he drops his cigarette to squash it out, he runs a hand through wild dark locks. “We’ll be around again.” 

Wait. What? Yoongi can only blink. “Serious?”

“Yeah.” The man looks down the outside corridor, watching as people start heading to their jobs through a central courtyard. “Got a good feeling about this place.”

What does he mean by that. What can Woosung possibly mean by that what does he mean they’ll be back? To the studio? To the city? What’s happening. Yoongi simply lets a pause prevail before offering the only response he’s capable of,

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

That laugh has got to be top five in the world. Not as great as yours, but definitely up there in terms of what makes Yoongi feel like things are alright. Not that he’d ever admit that shit to anyone. Ever.

Mercifully, the conversation moves away from risky topics. Instead, there are talks about a tour one is planning for his band’s album, mixed in with mentions of equipment the other is saving up for. Then the rest isn’t about music at all.

Finally, it’s time for them to continue recording, so they know to head back inside. “Don’t wait,” Woosung advises as he turns on his heel. 

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else. 

“If there’s something you need to get through...” 

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

As Woosung shuts the back door, Yoongi’s gaze finds the crushed cigarette at his side. Another reminder of how things were.

And a reminder that he’s still a fucking coward.

Hours later, Yoongi’s car awaits him in the lot. 

And when he realizes that you still haven’t responded, he shuts his door just a little too hard. 

Whenever his friend comes over for drinks, it’s always the same routine. 

Both of them don’t talk much, instead opting for a quiet greeting before someone dumps themselves on the couch while the other grabs a bottle and cups in the kitchen. As soon as glasses are filled, conversation sparks as a game plays out on tv—or a sportscasting show if nothing interesting is airing. 

But this time? None of it happens that way. Because when Yoongi opens his door, he’s pinned with a shadowed visage he's only seen piercing through others. 

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

Raising a brow and giving space is his chosen course of action. Best to not disturb a beast if they’re already ready to lunge.

And his friend eyes him as he stalks into the house, scanning around in search of something—living room, dining table, even looking into the open doorway of the bedroom. 

Fuck. Relax. Don’t assume anything until things are on the table. Yoongi has got to pretend like tonight is normal and fine and that he’s obviously and positively not seeing and sleeping with his friend’s little sister. 

And that he most definitely didn’t eat you out where your brother is sitting now motherfucker he needs a drink. Or a smoke. Or both with a plane ticket out of the whole country. 

At least the television is already on. If it wasn’t for that ambiance, Yoongi’s head would be jam packed with every goddamn sound known to man. Including the adorable way you talk in your sleep, and how you strain so beautifully when you come fuck, fuck, fuck! Focus. 

What’s happened has happened. And what’s going to happen will happen. Whether it’s a consequence of his actions, or nothing to do with any of this at all. 

But when faced with everything smushing together at once? Yoongi will probably need to be revived no matter what the outcome. This is the most stressed out he’s been in years. 

Not only that, but his stress is more than obvious. Even now in the kitchen, he’s scanning through his bottles with a finger—an action he’s never done while sober since the choices are always predictable. Holy shit, he needs to pull it together. 

Has he ever been this panicked? Does he appear just as chaotic and disjointed as he feels? This is too new. This is very new and if he doesn’t regain control there’s no telling where this foreign road leads.

But the silence still remains as he turns. And apparently the road hits a dead end at his dining table. Since it’s occupied rather than the living room sofa. 

Sighing, Yoongi ambles to his friend, placing everything down with clinks and ignoring the way his furniture is getting burned through. Both whisky’s are ready. Yoongi’s already holding his. And your brother still hasn’t moved a muscle. Honestly, what the fuck is going on with—

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What. 

Don’t react. He’s staring. Don’t fucking react. Take a drink. A sip. Pick up the goddamn glass. Doing so, Yoongi slowly brings the liquid to his lips, not quite following his own instructions as he asks behind a barrier, “How was it.”

His question is met with a laugh that isn’t funny at all. The kind that drags a finger along the chalkboard of your soul. And the next question directed his way pulverizes Yoongi’s denial,

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

He’s sick. Beyond sick. The room is closing in and closing in too fucking fast. Shit shit shit. There’s no way he saw. No fucking way. He parked down the street he deliberately stopped as far away as possible and you saw your brother’s car in your driveway. Did he get there after you left? And didn’t see you while also not hearing from hi—

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck! 

Yoongi can’t feel the air in his lungs. Because there isn’t any. Just a barren wasteland of shriveled futures and cracks in the foundation of every relationship he’s had in his whole life. The millisecond before a crash and only his wheels spinning and spinning and spinning—

Your brother shoots out of the chair, making the glass in Yoongi’s palm feel infinitely more solid.

“I mean, fuck! After all the shit we’ve been through? You’re gonna go back to her?”

All the—shit, he can’t even—back to? Back to you? What does he mean by back to you? Does he know about the first ti—

Volcanic, the man interrogating paces beside the dining table. Back and forth, back and forth. A pause. Back and forth.

And Yoongi still feels frozen in time. Is this it? Is this when things come crashing down? Glass suspends in midair all around him; an orchestra trembles beneath his feet, waiting for the moment to rip into his rib cage with swift strokes and a flourish as he’s taken down. 

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

When Yoongi finally chooses to speak, what comes out only feels like a horrible attempt more than anything else, “Listen, it’s my fau—”

“What, you just decided to fuck that bitch again? Couldn’t stay away?”

Oh, fuck that. 

Wood scrapes into flooring as Yoongi vacates his chair, hard feet planted as he gets into the face of his best friend, his confidant, his day one. Only to speak so low only them two can hear, “How bout you use your fucking words already and I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” They are only a breath apart. But no one’s going anywhere now. “Need me to spell it out for that fuckass brain of yours—”

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

Yoongi’s back connects with the chair behind him, palms flinging back to brace himself through a jolt of pain. And his eyes go so wide they stretch at the edges.

…Motherfucker, what?

Your brother is not done in the slightest, but Yoongi can only stare as he’s being berated for something that is one-hundred percent news to him, too. 

“Everyone was happy when you finally left. All of us. Only for you to go and, what, get back with her?”

Nothing makes sense. This isn’t about you? Yoongi’s heart can’t even reset to start beating again. Everything is coming as shock after shock and there’s no way he can keep up at this pace.

His ex? Her? Where the fuck did that come from and why the hell does he of all people think that’s actually true?

“If you’re gonna be with her, you can count me out.” 

No. Never again. That would never, ever happen again. “The fuck are you even saying—”

“I’m not fucking joking, Yoong. If you’re seriously back with her then—”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you heard, but I’m not.”

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

He—who? Who the fuck would say that? And when how what the fuck and why? Yoongi stares, chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Because he has a choice to make. Either he trudges into this lie and rubs sludge all over his bones, or he denies it like he wants because it’s not fucking true.

What the actual fuck. It’s already bad enough that someone sent this along the rumor mill. And it’s making him sick thinking about all the implications surrounding it. But it’s even worse that his best friend believes it so easily. He’s coming at him so quick without even asking if it’s true. 

The only silver lining—the singular bright spot in this hellhole—is that he can use it as an out. An out to protect you from wrath and further fury from your older sibling because if you were the rumor? He’d be laid flat on his floor next to a broken dining set.

“You gonna say anything or what?” 

Truthfully, Yoongi feels queasy knowing what he’s gonna do. But it’s for you. You, you, you. And for that, Yoongi will do anything. 

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…” 

“No?” 

Just hurry up and fucking do it. 

Resigned, Yoongi lets the memories flood through. Every moment that’s haunted him from a distance charges forward as he surrenders to the pain of his past. “It’s—” Fuck, he can’t even begin to lie, head thundering, thundering, striking his heart in the rain. “I...” 

His friend halts. Tense before his shoulders fall back to normal. “You what.”

What the fuck does Yoongi do? What can he say when his brain is only firing up to beg him to run? Technically, he doesn’t have to say anything. He really doesn’t. But he can deflect. It’s what he’s best at, after all. He’s been doing it to you and he will do it again.

In the most defeated voice he can muster, Yoongi comes up with something that will placate his friend while still prolonging this horrid fib, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” 

“You sure?”

It’s true. More true than anything. “It’s over now.” 

A century passes. Then another. Then another. Every piece of furniture waits in silence as the television seeps back into his ears. 

Then his friend sighs, not looking back as he slumps into the same chair that you always occupy. And Yoongi hopes his sigh of conflicted relief isn’t witnessed. 

Following suit, he rubs his lower back before taking his regular seat again, not giving any shits about waiting to drink. 

His ex? 

As his throat warms, Yoongi starts to harden the more memories keep crashing into each other like jagged waves fuck he really hates how she was brought into this he swears as soon as he figures out who said this he is going to—

“Sorry.” Haze shattered, he lifts his gaze. “I’m so fucking stressed and hearing that last night just…”

“It’s done.” Yoongi reaches for the thick bottle, pouring more into his glencairn. Wanting to talk about literally anything else, he diverts the conversation, “But something else is up with you so say it.”

It works. The man inhales deep, rubbing his face with weary hands. When he rests elbows on wood, he finally talks about other things clouding his mind,

“Work is shit,” he groans downward. “They’re having me travel again.” 

“Domestic?”

“Yeah. But for longer. And I don’t…” Tapering off, he sits back, slowly playing with his glass. As if he doesn’t want to mention the next problem. 

When he finally does, Yoongi wholeheartedly understands the hesitation, “I dunno know what’s going on with my sister.”

Oh. Fuck, how the hell does he respond? Keeping his cool, Yoongi just repeats the question, taking out his phone and pretending to check his screen. “Your sister?”

“Yeah.” A sigh is sandwiched between explanations. “The past few months, I feel like.. They haven’t really been themselves.” 

A sudden crack splits him through.

“Not laughing. Not eating as much. Like even when they sound happy, I can tell it’s a front.. I don’t know.” 

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard. 

No. No, no, no. Your texts have been so positive. So encouraging. Other than a few sad calls, you’ve been happy to hear from him just as he had been relieved to hear from you. Even in the car, you must’ve put your feelings lightly. 

Your wings. You’ve been enduring all that? For him? Yoongi’s heart rears its head, snagging one of his breaths and slamming both lungs into the floor.

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

“They finally went out last night, but. Didn’t come back until this morning.” Running rigid hands through his head, the man looks so pained. So helpless. “Same clothes, dude.” 

And Yoongi can only stare, feigning nonchalance but raging and tearing himself apart inside. “Mm.”

“I just… I know I suck at this, but. I don’t know what the hell to do. Or if I even do anything.” Your brother finally takes a swig, wincing at how much ethanol coats his tongue. 

Relax, relax, relax. As much as he wants to erupt on himself right now, Yoongi has to stay calm.

Not like he doesn’t know how. That’s usually how he operates, anyway. It’s hard to tell he’s struggling unless you look deep enough. And almost no one thinks to do so because his surface is all they want. 

But right now? He doesn’t think he can sequester this anger any longer. At him, his past, and his stupid present decisions. 

“Like I tried to say something but I just.. I felt like if I push too hard, they’re gonna shut down even more. Ever since that fight with Kook, it’s like..” 

Seeing an opening and keeping a neutral stance, Yoongi asks the most ironic question to date, “Are they seeing someone?”

At this, his friend shakes his head, eyes glued to dark amber liquid. When he answers, all the breaths in the world cut at once, 

“I think she feels all alone.” 

This hit is the strongest. Straight to the gut, breath stuttering and muscles clenching so hard they lock. It’s almost severe enough to affect how Yoongi feels around his eyes. 

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

Yoongi’s heart lurches, deflating and slipping out of the crack in his chest. Piercing on the jagged edges before slumping down onto a table that continues to judge him.  

You’re hurting. Your brother’s hurting. And it’s all his goddamn fault. Why can’t he just break free and admit shit? Why is he still haunted by the phantoms of his past? Why is he still so fucking weak? It’s clear that he hurt you. For months. You’ve been cheering for him that whole time while you’ve been visibly broken and it’s all because of his dumbass decision to—

“I’m heading out again.”

Yoongi raises his eyes. Because he can’t seem to move anything else. “When.”

Your older sibling takes a slower, more measured sip. Looking towards the channel playing in the living room, he answers, “After our game. Dinner Friday, game on Saturday, fly out Sunday.” 

“Mm. We’ll still be here,” Yoongi assures, keeping things as normal and neutral as he can. “Just like last time.”

How ironic. How hypocritical. He hasn’t been there for you in the slightest so how the fuck can he say that with a straight face. 

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot for y’all but..”

Not at all. Yoongi is more determined than ever to make everything up to you. It’s the least he can do after putting you through something he decided on the fly. 

On the run.

“Don’t worry about that,” he vows into his drink. Honestly, if you’ve been having second thoughts about this whole thing, he doesn’t blame you. Absolutely doesn’t blame you if you realize you’re better than this. But Yoongi’s at least gonna apologize in every single way he can. As soon as he possibly can. “We got it.” 

“K.” The man finishes his glass and goes to pour more. “Did I ever mention that she liked you?”

Now what— Coughing on whisky is a bitch and a half. Hitting his chest while both eyes squint from burn, Yoongi croaks out his exact thoughts, “What.”

At this, his friend finally breaks into his regular smile. Setting the bottle down with a hollow clunk, he points, “Don’t you fucking get any ideas. Jimin’s already on my shit list.” He scoffs out a laugh. “But it was obvious when we were younger.”

And Yoongi can only cough some more. He shakes his head through the sting, swallowing and trying to compose himself. He doesn’t know where the hell that came from, but he hopes your brother will understand when all is said and done. Even though he’s been the reason you’ve been so…

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

“You’re a good person,” he blurts instead. Whether the guilt or last cough pushed it out, that’s still on the table. “You don’t suck at what you think you do.”

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

The hell? Does this dude really not see how successful he is? How much he’s overcome and conquered and sacrificed? Truthfully, Yoongi wouldn’t be where he is today if not for your brother. Him. Jimin. You. Anybody. Which is what makes this ongoing betrayal… 

Unprecedented.  

“You’re the best out of all of us.” 

Your brother finally looks at him, though Yoongi isn’t doing the same. But he can still tell when a fist is held out for him to bump, so he does.

And they both share a drink in respectful silence. 

After a moment of them watching the tv, the man finally sighs. “Guess we did shape up pretty nice.” When he’s agreed with, he keeps going with a grin. “We were so fucking bad.”

Yoongi can only chuckle, much better memories fighting off the terrors. “Old me was a little shit.”

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

Laughs precede big swigs of whisky and comfortable quiet. Bit by bit, shoulders start to relax with the surrounding air, and Yoongi lazily releases tension in his neck. 

After a few more pours, your brother decides to call it, using the bathroom before announcing that he’s gonna head out. Yoongi gets up from his chair to clasp hands goodbye, not expecting to hear one more plea,

“Break up with her, Yoong.” 

Shit. He sighs, and their conversation continues from the dining table to the front door. “It’s not like that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s over now.” 

“For good?” As they stop beside the coat closet, your brother pins him with a look. “I was about to drive over and break down the door.”

Even though Yoongi shares a tsk with him, he can’t help but imagine what could’ve happened if that was the case. And it sends an unwanted jolt of chills. 

“Serious. I’m gonna keep saying this, but. she was just making you miserable, dude.” He slips on his shoes, smacking his foot on the ground to push one in place. “I’m sure it was good at first, but I mean… You gotta move on. You deserve better than that.” 

Anything would be better than that. Yoongi just disagrees with the whole deserving part. “I guess.” 

“You sure it’s over?”

“Yeah,” he assures, because that is something he intends to keep true forever. “It is.” 

“Good.” Keys jingling, your sibling then points into the open area with his whole arm, seven words leaving his mouth like ice, 

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.” 

Ah. Among all the things. Of course he would bring that up, too. Jaw working, Yoongi looks away, now assaulted by all the torturous thoughts surrounding that painful reminder and fighting them off with no success. 

Get rid of it? He’s been trying. 

For three. Fucking. Months. 

“I might.” 

“…K.” 

And his best friend departs, leaving Yoongi inside and staring at the same black spot he’s kept in the corner for years. It has mocked him as he struggles. Laughed at him whenever he’s tried to throw it out. And aside from the times he’s made you feel better stinging himself on those strings, he has accomplished nothing except letting it win.

Pissed off and doused in guilt, Yoongi yanks himself away from the door, the instrument, and everything else except for his bed.

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands. 

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

But his phone exists somewhere on the other side of his bedroom door.

And he doesn’t have the strength to go get it. 

What time is it? 

All that greets him is darkness. 

Nothing new, but darkness all the same. 

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean? 

He needs to call you. He’s lying to his best friend. 

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you. 

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale. 

He needs to call you. But he’s so, so tired. 

And the darkness pulls him back under. 

Without even telling him the time. 

Buzzing. 

Faint, gentle buzzing softly lifts Yoongi’s eyelids before a loud series of smacks causes him to rush out of bed what the fuck? 

Oh. His phone fell outside. Fucking hell, his heart’s beating way too quick for that to be the only thing that happened. 

Head in his hands, Yoongi sighs deep before making his way to the dining table. And it takes all of his strength to bend down to reach for his phone. 

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages 

Chim: 7 Messages   

Chim: Missed Calls (3) 

Holy fuck. 

With only the light of his phone illuminating the dark, Yoongi rings Jimin up. His heart’s a little disappointed it wasn’t you calling just now, but it’s probably best to stay away while his brain is so scattered and torn. 

“Oh, fuck. There you are.” 

“Mm.” 

“Don’t scare me like that, bro. I was starting to get ready to drive over—” 

“It’s fine,” he juts in. “What’s up.” 

Alright, maybe he shouldn’t be an asshole. There’s no reason to let his lingering shadow from earlier control his temper now. Jimin’s just being himself, for fuck’s sake. 

“I, umm. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” 

Now that’s not what Yoongi expected at all. “For what?” 

There’s another pause on the line, and his reaction is immediate when he knows for a fact Jimin is fighting back tears. 

“I… I got so drunk last night, I—And I—”

Shit. A sinking feeling starts to weigh Yoongi down, his center pulling the rest of him in like a black hole. And he doesn’t need to hear the rest of this to know what this call is about. 

“He was looking for her, Yoong, and you weren’t there, either. He had this look, I—I couldn’t think of anything else to say in the moment and I told him—”

Jimin can’t even finish his confession. And it hits right in the gut. 

Despite his perceived persona, Yoongi doesn’t like hearing people cry. At least, if they don’t deserve to or don’t deserve to be sad—or if they’re you. He could care less about the rest.

But Jimin is one of the only people that can get him like this: eyes stinging at their edges and his chest concave. In the dark, though, no one can tell. No one can see him.

So he can openly swipe at his eyes before dumping tired limbs into a chair, catching his forehead in a damp palm. 

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

Exhaling through his nose, Yoongi tries his best to calm his emotions. Because they are still raging and it’s going to take all of him to quell this tempest. 

Jimin knows more than anyone what this means to him. To you. The time you spent apart? If it wasn’t for his friend, Yoongi may have been in a much different position. If this was the only thing Park could do, then his effort has to be acknowledged. It worked like a fucking charm.

But goddamn, Yoongi wishes Jimin thought of literally anything else. He could’ve made up some random, some fling from another city, the damn studio itself. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally rasps out. “It’s just been a fuckin’ day.” 

Jimin sniffles before cursing at himself and, judging by the sounds on the line, Yoongi figures he’s opening his fridge. If he reaches for soju, that would not be surprising in the least, and now that sounds like a good idea.

“Same. Gah, I just… I should’ve warned you. I didn’t know he went over there.” 

“He told you?” 

“I called him after you didn’t answer earlier.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I passed out after he left.” 

“Ah.” 

Something shuts before there’s a crisp clink on the line, validating exactly what Yoongi was thinking. 

“I really am sorry. What did you end up saying?” 

“That it’s done.” 

A hum. 

“That’s very true.” 

There’s a question that Yoongi thinks to ask. Context that he needs. But as important as this information is, Yoongi doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. Or ever. But now still counts. So he switches the conversation over to something less daunting, “Practice still on tomorrow?” 

When Jimin laughs out of surprise, it gives Yoongi the smallest kick of energy.

“Ah, someone actually ready to go for once?” 

“Yeah. The plan is to make this game quick.” 

A hearty swallow spills out of the speaker before a hum follows, 

“Mm, that reminds me. Got something that might help with that.” 

What the hell does that even mean? “Huh?” 

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow. You might find some good uses for it.”

Yoongi rubs the grogginess still clinging to his face. “All these years and you’ve never given me a straight answer.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Knowing the answer.” 

At least Jimin’s back in a good mood. Or a better state than puffy-eyed and regretful. He doesn’t have to share the pain in this, too. It was an honest mistake. 

“You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!” 

Yoongi’s huff billows through his nose, and Jimin’s energy almost brings enough strength for him to clear the table. 

Ehh. He’ll leave it alone. He’s been pretty good at that lately, too, no matter how early or late it is in the night. What time even is it? Checking his phone, Yoongi’s brows crease when he figures that out. Why the hell are they even on a call right now? “Wait, is it really three?” 

“Huh? Yeah. I’m telling you, dude, I was getting worried.” 

He was really about to drive over? “Sorry. I really did just pass out.” 

“Mm. Well, I’m gonna go do that now.” 

“K. Same time tomorrow?” 

“Ah, a little earlier. Just so I can give this to you before everyone else shows.” 

That just makes Yoongi infinitely more curious. “Seriously, what did you get?” 

“Relax! You will like it.” 

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

As soon as Jimin disappears from the line, Yoongi is left alone again.

Exactly where he always ends up. 

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be. 

But now that he’s done dealing with those notifications, Yoongi roams lidded eyes over his screen again. 

Wait. You called him six times? Fuck. What did you text? Were you wondering where he was, too? 

Hustler [20:01]: HOLY FUCK!! my phone died after i tried calling you this morning and i just fully woke up to charge it😭 he’s not home so call whenever  

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter. 

He very much would’ve rather been in your bed with you all day. 

That sounds like fucking bliss. 

Hustler [23:37]: tried calling but he’s home now. are you ok?? idk what’s going on with him but i think we need to be careful

Shit, Yoongi didn’t get to tell you. You’ve probably been worried about that every second you’ve been awake today. 

And he couldn’t even make it out of his goddamn room to help. 

All he comes with is worries for you. What kind of shit is this? What is he even doing? He even outright told you that you were dating only for that to be ripped from your hands for months. Why are you still giving someone like him a chance? 

Hustler [23:40]: but all i wanna do is see you

Fucking hell.

Nothing in the world can stop his heartbeat quite like you can. With that smile, or those eyes, or the simple shit like this. Not even lightning can strike him the same way. 

Despite the consistency Yoongi has with admitting his own shortcomings, and despite the way he keeps reminding himself he doesn’t deserve you…

All he wants to do is see you, too. 

You’ve been more than he ever would’ve imagined—your consideration, your intellect, your mind. And there have been times when you’d look at him as if he was the center of your galaxy. 

After all this time. All these days and nights. 

You still don’t realize that he was destined to orbit you.  

It’s been decided long before his mind was made up—at least, the part of him that doesn’t traverse the dark side. His heart had been tugging him to you ever since that rainy day, no matter where he’s drifted or which direction he’s gone in. All of them lead back into your arms. 

But just like the feeling he gets walking into the recording booth, imposter syndrome eats him alive and doubt scavenges on what’s left. 

He will never be good enough for you. One of these days, you will realize that you don’t have to settle for him. It’s good now, but you’ll only give him so many chances, which he is swiftly running through at breakneck speeds. 

How fucking stupid. Having these thoughts while wanting nothing more than to hear your voice. 

Just like everyone else, you’ll eventually be done passing through. His winter will return after your inevitable departure, all the warmth you give focused on something else that deserves it more. 

Something that isn’t broken. 

Yoongi whips his head up at the sound of buzzing, noticing thin lines of light beneath his phone on the table. 

What. No way. 

From the rapid beats inside his chest, he shoots his hopes right into the dark. 

And they burst into beautiful sparks when he reads his screen. 

Hustler: Incoming Call 

But just like the streaks of color he witnessed with you on that balcony, his brightness is short lived. Because as soon as Yoongi answers, the way your throat constricts scorches his windpipe through.

And the first thing you attempt to get through makes his eyes shut tight. 

“Are we… is this over?” 

Fuck.

“I get it, if we are. If you—if you don’t wanna do this with me anymore.” 

Fuck. Fuck everything this is not happening right now. “Hold up,” Yoongi breathes, body on full alert. “What’s going on?” 

“I thought… When you weren’t picking up, I—”

“Breathe, babe,” Yoongi softens, hating, hating, hating himself all over again. “I passed out before you called. That’s it.” 

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

“You would know,” he whooshes, syllables squeezed out by the mountain of regret on his back. After hearing what he put you through? Hearing how you sound now? There’s no way he can do that shit again. No more disappearing from the grid because he can’t fight himself. “You would know if I was done.” 

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside. 

“Are you? With me?” 

Yoongi folds, fingers digging through his hair and blocking it in hard chunks. The amount of things he wants to say to you could wrap the whole world before repeating. But he settles with a truth he can say out loud, 

“No way in hell, doll.” 

Please. Don’t cry. Because he can only handle feeling his eyes sting so much in one night. There’s only so much he can take before he’s grabbing his keys and speeding over—friends and brothers be damned. 

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.” 

That’s okay. 

Because he’s had a day, too. 

“I don’t wanna bother you with it, though, it’s so late.” 

Please keep going. 

Please don’t leave him alone. 

“Talk to me.” 

Like a gentle stream, your recap—though not ideal—washes away the weariness from Yoongi’s eyes. Lifts the weight he bears on his shoulders, even if just a little bit. 

You’re so good at that. 

“Well. Umm. He saw me coming home this morning. And, umm. It was weird. I don’t know why but I think we have to be really careful. And ugh, it—. It sucks because he’s going on a trip soon and I don’t wanna stress him out even more but I—” 

Shit, you’ve probably been holding all of this in ever since you got up. You don’t know that your brother believes something entirely different. But of course you’d be considerate, even now. That’s just who you are.

“I, umm. I feel so fucking bad about it but I don’t wanna mess him up right now. Or maybe he knows but just won’t say it? Fuck, sorry, I’m trying not—to—”  

The phone goes mute, and Yoongi’s head suddenly weighs ten times heavier. 

“He doesn’t know, babe,” he soothes, hating how he can’t be there to comfort you with more than his word and waves in the sky. 

If he was stronger, things could be different by now. Vastly different. Vastly better. You would cry less, he knows that for damn sure. Weak, weak, weak. That’s all he fucking is. 

The only one he seems to be strong for is you. “He came over earlier.” 

“Fuck, really?” 

“Yeah.” 

You pause, seemingly to roll this information around that beautiful mouth of yours, and Yoongi has the strongest yearning to kiss all your worries right out of it. 

“What did he say?” 

Shit. You’ll just have to forgive him later. Because Yoongi chooses not to tell the whole truth. You don’t need to bear the same worries as him, anyway. They aren’t yours. He will shoulder all of those on his own. Because he’s the reason for them in the first place. “Nothing about us.” 

“Oh, thank fuck.” 

Good. Your relief is all that matters. But Yoongi still feels bad for not being able to pick himself up. You could’ve known that a lot sooner if he was stronger. If he was better. “So don’t worry, doll.” 

“Okay. What about you? Are you okay?” 

Huh? Your questions catch him completely off-guard. It’s almost comical how his first reaction goes straight to a No. But sticking to his earlier stances, he won’t bother you with any of that. There is a truth that he can admit. One that’s always true and will continue to be so. “Just wanna see you.” 

And this is when his eyes slowly shut. Don’t. Don’t cry.

“Me, too, baby.” 

Hearing that? Chipped and broken from your lips? That is another thing Yoongi can’t handle. His heart beats once before it free falls, and he clutches his phone just a little tighter. 

Fuck everything. He’s gonna find a way to do this. All of it.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

He’ll figure out how to move mountains to make it up to both you and your brother. 

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

Neither of you deserve this. And he doesn’t deserve either of you. Truly, the only thing he deserves is to be alone. And judging by the way things are going, it’s only a matter of time before you start resenting this behavior and leave, too. 

“Thank you.”

What? Something in Yoongi flickers, and he lifts his whole head to eye his screen. 

“For putting up with me.”

Oh. Of course you’d assume you’re the issue. Seems like you need the same type of assurance that he does. Both of you the same? Who would’ve thought his bruised soul would sync up with a perfect one like yours. 

At this, he holds his breath before chuckling soft. “This has been the highlight of my day, doll,” he admits, finally breaking into a tiny smile and sitting back.

“Really?”

Wait. There was another good part of his day. But he wants to save that for when he can tell you in person. “One of them. But you’ll hear about the other one later.”

“Boo.”

Cute. Wait, isn’t it absurdly late? You have to be up for work in mere hours. It’s a miracle you reached out when you did. “Don’t you have to be up soon?”

“A ha… Yeah.” 

“What are you still talking to me for?” 

“I miss you.” 

Well. That’s not something that he expected. And your admittance being so immediate actually sends shivers down his arms. 

Yoongi can only laugh to himself. He knew he had it bad, but this feeling is something else. “Don’t do that.” 

“Don’t do what? Miss you? Yeah, right.”  

God. You’re getting too fucking good at this. He’s gotta fight back or else his throne will be taken before he even sees you again. “Just a bad night to say it, doll.” 

“Why?” 

Perfect. “Cus I’m willing to get in the car.” 

“Fuck.” 

Yoongi happily lets his mouth slant when you groan, chuckling into the receiver and getting up to clear the table. When he flicks on the kitchen light, he doubles down, “Wanna try again?” 

He knows you’re gonna say no. Even though your brother doesn’t know, it’s definitely not a proper time to sneak you out—as much as he fucking wants to. Fuck, to be the one sneaking you out of your house… Maybe there’s another version of you both out there that’s done it. A version of him watching a version of you creeping out to his car, face shining in nightfall and etching a permanent smile into his heart.

“I hate you.” 

Yoongi should’ve expected that. The sudden laugh that flings out into his liquor cabinet ricochets off multiple bottles, and he shuts it while sporting a wide grin. “That’s better.” 

“Ha ha.” 

You’re smiling, too. Cute ass. Just the fact that he knows makes him excited for the future, and he’s determined to make it count. Make it worth it. You deserve every goddamn apology he can give. “I miss you, too, babe,” he whispers, grabbing the glasses from the table to wash in his sink. 

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.” 

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout? 

Hell no, that’s outright cheating. That’s when Yoongi will never be able to win. Putting the phone down, he promptly states his new plan into a basin, “Nah, I’m going to sleep.” 

“Wait, huh? Why!” 

“Nothing.” 

“I swear to god—” 

“Nothing at all,” Yoongi lies, voice straight as he can muster while hot water runs over his hands. It’s a good kind of sting as his chilled skin adjusts, and he cleans one glass before he hears you ask in his ear, 

“Getting ready for bed? Or are you in the kitchen?” 

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.” 

“Kitchen.” 

The hell? “How’d you know?” 

“You’re always in there.” 

Can’t deny that. The glasses are both set to dry in the dishwasher as Yoongi’s amusement dies down, and his next comment flows out before he can think much of it, “You like to keep me in here.” 

“It does seem to be where we end up, huh?” 

“It does.” Which is fine by him. He’ll never forget all the times you’ve been in here. Your laughter and your storms, he will remember them all. 

“The world said let them cook.” 

Your giggles will be the fucking end of him one day. Fuck, he can’t wait to see you. He may even find a way to see you before the game. 

But for now, Yoongi will figure out how to talk to you, every day, no matter what. Texts, calls, whatever the fuck. The effort has got to show from now on. No more of this dark headspace shit. He needs to try harder and figure it out faster. For you. 

“Go to sleep, doll,” he huffs with full cheeks. 

After another adorable batch of sounds, you rustle on the line before sighing, 

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.” 

With a blink, Yoongi notices two things. One, he just cleared his table and cleaned up without even thinking. And two, despite feeling like absolute shit the entire day and dreading the coming of night, falling asleep won’t be an issue. 

Because of you. It’s always you. 

Maybe there’s a way out. Maybe he can finally face it all and come out on the other side. “Talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

“I’d like that. And you’re sure he doesn’t know?”

Just like that, the demons are knocking again. Closing his eyes, Yoongi murmurs into the receiver, “I’m sure.” 

There will come a time when he will tell you. But that will be way in the future, when he is ready. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he’s telling the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough for it to calm your nerves. 

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night. 

“Night, doll.”

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. 

Right towards the corner that stares back. 

It’s been five days.

But it feels like you’ve aged twenty-eight years.

Ever since your brother confronted you—after your much needed reunion with his best friend—you’ve been floating through time. Lost. Confused. Wondering why that conversation went the way it did and gnawing at your sanity bit by bit. 

And even though Yoongi explicitly told you he didn’t say anything concerning your relationship, you still haven’t shaken that feeling. No matter where you are, who you’re with, or on a pretty Friday like this one, you feel… Strange. 

When you saw your brother waiting, you for sure thought you were gonna get grilled. It was a given you were gonna break as soon as he started asking deeper and more specific questions. The fallout was gonna happen in your own house right at your door. 

…So what in the fuck was that?

You shift your legs, the chill of the office failing to comfort you in your manufactured, building distress. 

Somehow, that version of the conversation proved much, much worse. Because now you’re spiraling trying to figure out why he just took your lie as the truth. Truthfully, you feel nauseous. And as much as you need to get some semblance of closure, you still feel hesitant. Because if he’s just biding time? He’s not just thinking about what to do with you. 

He’s thinking about what to do with Yoongi, too. 

This is so hard. 

The only thing—the only thing—keeping you grounded. Is Yoongi himself. 

Ever since the call you never thought he’d answer, you’ve been contacted every night. What was once days of radio silence quickly shifted to him reaching out however he could, hours of the day be damned. Just last night, in fact, Yoongi sent you texts at four in the morning, and you beam just thinking about what he said so casually.  

Yoongi [3:57am]: That keyboard I told you about is fucking dope. Just got it today and it won’t let me sleep lmaooo

Yoongi [3:58am]: I was gonna say sorry for texting but fuck it you’re getting all the updates :) 

No matter what it is, be it a text, call, or video chat, Yoongi seems fully committed and in the moment. Present. And it’s been… Really nice. If you didn’t have your brother’s shadow hovering over your brain, life would be practically perfect. 

Forcing yourself to actually work, you manage to get some small things done. Even the meeting you attend goes smoothly and you leave any outside worries on the other side of those glass walls.

So when you get back to your desk, an awaiting paper bag makes you pause. And your whole body prepares to weep.

Only one person has ever sent you food while you’re at work. And staring inside the parcel, you would’ve been able to tell who it was from even if said person had never sent any before.

There’s a small note on top of a to-go container—one that you immediately recognize as that super good restaurant next to Jungkook’s studio. 

What the hell? How did Yoongi know you wanted some this whole week but didn’t wanna risk being so close? With careful fingers, you pluck the tiny paper from the bag, opening it with care before your eyes get so teary eyed you can’t even read.

Tonight.  

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man. 

But you’re getting what I need so here’s the list:

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. 

Seeing an actual list of food squeezes a laugh through your throat in a squeak, tears rushing out of your ducts before they’re hastily swiped. 

After five days. Yoongi really just sent you on a grocery run to surprise you with another meetup.

The gesture is so him that you cannot help but shake your head, ruefully huffing to no one and pocketing the note in your bag. And all your worries scatter even further. 

A dinner before the big game is risky, for sure, but at this point you couldn’t care less. Your brother has his own work outing tonight, anyway, and you are dead set on breaking all of this to him soon.

Even though you are very much unprepared. And he is going to lose his fucking mind if he doesn’t know already. Fuck.

You’ve had all five days to think it over. All the possible combinations and possibilities and outcomes. Some of them are extreme, some of them are hopeful. But for a majority of these projections, you have a feeling that none of you are gonna leave it without wounds. 

And you don’t know how you’re gonna save both of them if theirs are cut too deep. 

Regardless, that’s in the future. Not now. Right now, you are staying in the present and working like molasses until you can jet out the door, nary a care nor concern weighing on your heels.

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

You’ll have the first substantial meal you’ve had in months.

Even though you want nothing more than to see Yoongi, your nerves are still buzzing and bumping into each other nonstop. There’s a lot you still need to know. Like why he was radio silent for months, and why your brother has been a little weird this whole week. 

Save it for later. Hopefully Yoongi will tell you why eventually. Or that gap will stay elusive to your brain forever.

Sliding into your car, you dump your bag in the passenger seat before pulling out the list, clutching it close and taking a leap that could either calm your nerves or spike them. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call 

When he picks up, you legitimately don’t answer. Because even after all this time, you still can’t quite function when you hear that deep voice addressing you directly. 

“Hey.” 

All you have to do is say something. Anything. You could rattle off the damn list, stumbling over all the syllables just like they’re currently smushed together in your fingers. 

But you don’t snap out of this trance until he speaks again. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi,” you squeak out, clearing your throat while watching other people walk to their cars. “Hi, sorry. I just umm.” 

You just what? Somehow lost all sense of language just from him saying hi? Get it together. Stop that racket in your stomach and say what you were gonna say. “Thank you for the food. I’m off work now so I’m heading to the store.” 

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

“Get whatever you want, too. Just let me know how much it is.” 

Huh. Did Yoongi just say all those words in that order? If you heard him right, forget the damn food. You’re close to speeding directly to his place and breaking down the motherfucking door. “Oh, I definitely will,” you respond with instead of hauling ass, the words pushing through your lingering smile. “And don’t worry about that, I got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.” 

Yoongi laughs again on the line, fuller and closer this time. Are you on speaker? 

“It’s like that? Maybe I should work there, too.” 

“Oh, you’d hate it,” you giggle, scheming hard in your head for tonight already. Pretty bubbles in your ribs lift all your spirits. “I’m actually pretty bossy here.”

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal. 

“That is literally what I’ve been wanting to see.” 

It’s your turn to chuckle as you finally make your way out of the parking lot, heading right to the market that you know for a fact has all of what he’s asking for. “I’m only that way at work, though.” 

“Do better.” 

Your immediate response makes his laugh crunchy in the speakers, and you go along with him because life is good. Life is fucking great right now. “Never mind, you’re paying. And I’m getting stuff for dessert now, too.” 

“What? Who said anything about dessert?” 

“Me,” you huff out in pride. Since he wants to see that demanding side come out so bad. With a fleeting thought, you think about what it could be like if you end up confident enough to— 

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

Liar! Your cheeks hurt as you look both ways before making a turn. “Can’t fool me. You’re excited.”

“I am.”

The way there was no hesitation sends shivers up your spine. But it’s partly because you thought you’d be faced with another joke or dig. Not a sudden one-eighty. Stopping at a light, you clear your throat before shyness puffs right out of it. “Well, good,” you state while checking your mirrors. “Cus I am, too.” 

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

Yoongi laughs before you hear the sound of cabinets, and you wonder which ones he could be touching. 

“Mm, babe. One more thing.” 

Can he stop making your heart beat two times at once? “Hmm?”

There’s a little bit of pause, followed by the clank of a pan on metal. When you hear another hum, you wonder what he could possibly—

“I think we’re out of condoms.” 

Who is out of what. If you weren’t still at a red, your foot would’ve slammed on the gas because what the fuck! All you can manage out are sounds without substance, random syllables, gibberish. Nothing is computing in your head. 

“Wait. Or are we?”

Okay, Yoongi needs to stop with that two-letter word before your behavior turns downright criminal. With as much seriousness as you can manage, you accuse, “Are you just fucking with me?”

And his response launches you forward just as the light turns green, 

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

“Alright!” you cut in, stopping stopping stopping him because for whatever reason, this conversation is too much. Despite seeing this very man naked in many, many ways, just having this talk with him is making you shier than ever before. “Guess I’ll, umm. Get those, too.”

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

Wait. If he didn’t find some why is he telling you that you don’t have to— “Oh,” you peep in realization. A very sudden, jaw dropping realization. “Goddamn it, you’re too distracting now, bye.”

And he finally breaks with laughter that’s contagious as hell. Which isn’t fair when you’re pretending to be upset with him. Even when you can’t see Yoongi, you can imagine the way his cheeks rise and his eyes crease. The way the whole room illuminates when he’s packed with happiness. 

And you want that to be the case forever. 

“You’re just lucky I’m not there with you.” 

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.” 

“Damn!” 

As the market comes into view, your teeth shine as you grin, roasting this man quickly becoming one of your favorite pastimes. 

“To be fair,” you start to amend, fingers drumming on the wheel as you decide whether or not to say what you want. After deciding that there’s no wrong answer here, you softly admit, “I really do wanna get groceries with you.” 

There’s no words that come out in response. Only the slight movements of shuffling and water running and what could be more cabinets closing. But you don’t really know for sure—

“It’s gonna happen, doll.” 

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

One of these days you’re gonna see this damn cat again. 

Foot connecting with Yoongi’s door, you grunt as multiple bags burden your limbs, pride digging divots along your arms—second trips be damned. 

It doesn’t take long for him to let you in anyway, and you swoon at the way he doesn’t even ask while taking some of your baggage. But the kiss on your cheek makes your heart bang into everything between the front door and the kitchen. It’s so distracting that you barely smell the spices greeting you, too. 

“Thanks for getting all this,” Yoongi says as you both cross onto tile.  

“Of course.” Lifting the much lighter load that you have, you revel in the small thumps and thuds on his counter. Not really knowing why. “Let’s put this up before I yell at you.”

His laugh comes out in hisses while you both start reaching into bags. “For what!” 

“Sent me everywhere to find some of this shit.” 

“You could’ve asked somebody.” 

Feeling a bit silly and high off his presence already, you repeat his words in a goofy mocking tone, and the way he blows out air sends your belly fluttering. 

And just like that, things are back to normal again. No worries about your sibling, or work, or anything else looming by the door. Inside is what matters, and the whole apartment fills with jabs and jokes as groceries find their homes.

But Yoongi finds a bag you had separated from the rest, and you snap your mouth shut when he looks inside, something rising in your core when he turns to you with an eyebrow raised. And a smirk so salacious it makes you quiver. 

“What about it,” you squeak out, crumbling when he simply takes the bag and flings it through his bedroom door. “You said you—we were out, so…” 

“That’s a big box, doll,” he points out on his way to your tightly bitten lip. Mouth slicing through your sanity, he approaches you with a glint in his eyes. “Got something you wanna say?” 

“Nope,” you whoosh out oh god he looks way too hot in those sweats wait is that a growing bulge? “Although I will say it took me forever to pick out what—”

Sparks ignite your hands when your lips are claimed, launching them into his shirt and tugging him backward because you’ve been waiting way too long to kiss the shit out of him. 

And Yoongi responds in kind, pinning you to his fridge and so, very obvious that he’s been waiting for this, too. 

Heaven probably wonders how to replicate this feeling. How to imitate this treasured yearning that only he can pull from the depths of your ocean. Deep, deeper, deepest. All these kisses. Your ascending affection. 

“As much as I wanna throw you on my bed,” Yoongi jokes, pulling away and giving your cheek a light tap. “I’m taking you somewhere.” 

And you’re so thrown from the impact that your brain mini-resets. “Huh? We’re leaving?”

“Uh huh.”

Hold on. Wait. Is this what he meant when he said he’s getting the next one? You’re going out to eat? Together? No. No, there’s no way. Yoongi knows that’s the worst possible thing to do right now, as much as the idea is sending your belly in a frenzy. “Are you sure? What about dinner? Won’t people… You know.”

“It’s ready already,” he reveals. “By the door.” 

Your head snaps to where he points out, even though you can’t see through the bar. “Really?” No wonder it smells like a cooking aftermath. All those smells twirling around your head. How did you not even catch the dishes in the sink? 

But hold up, you just bought a shit ton of food! “Then what the hell was the run for?”

Yoongi blinks. Then he does it again. Expression stone still, he responds as if you were privy to his plans this entire time, “I told you to get what I needed.” 

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

This man is going to be the death of you. Affronted, your jaw hangs before you grit through a smile that betrays you, “Oh, you—” 

“So thanks,” he quips through another tilt of his lips. “Let’s go, doll.” 

The begrudged sound that leaves you makes him kick his head back on the way out the kitchen. 

“Eat.”

The container on your thighs warms you through. “Now?”

“Mm.”

“I can wait,” you assure, watching as night paints the surrounding scenery in navy and black. “We can eat together.” 

“Just a bite then.” 

Turning to Yoongi, you don’t see a change in his face as he eyes the road. The veins in his arm catch all the streetlight, and you gulp before your gaze falls to what he made. Music fills the car, and you decide that maybe you do feel a little hungry. So you listen to instruction, popping it open and being careful as you pluck a piece to try. 

There’s no denying it. This motherfucker is a chef. “Fuck, this is good.” 

Your borderline moan sends Yoongi’s shoulders bobbing, and you will never get over those low, gravelly laughs. “Sorry.” Your hand hovers over your mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t react like that unless I’m alone.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well,” you swallow. “Course you don’t.”

A tiny peek of teeth show as Yoongi smiles, and you don’t expect what he offers next, “Just be you, doll. It’s just me.”

The next bite of food pauses on the way to your mouth. “Oh,” you murmur. “Same for you then.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Cus we wouldn’t make it to where we’re going.”

That was legitimately the worst time to put food in your mouth. Sputtering, your words come out low and chortled, “You fucker.”

His hisses are brief before he dips into silence again. As he slowly turns the wheel, you can see a glimpse of something deep in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologizes, swallowing as you keep your gaze. 

What is that look? Weren’t you both just having a good time? “For what, baby?” 

“Everything.” 

Your lungs flinch. This is definitely not what you expected to hear on the way to wherever the hell you’re going. “Oh.” 

Yoongi still doesn’t look your way, and with each pass of a light over his face, you catch quick snapshots of those eyes you’re still so shy of. “I, umm. I didn’t expect shit to pan out this way.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. 

After a slow motion of disagreement, his head falls forward just a bit. And your eyes find his hand clutching the gear shift in what you sadly think is frustration. “I’ve just thought about some things,” he starts, another song playing. “How worried you must’ve been.” 

You look forward. Because this is the part where you can’t face him. “I was. But not for the same reason as last time.” Without a hesitation of your own, your palm reaches between your seats. And you can tell Yoongi watches as you take his hand to hold. 

“I was worried about you,” you correct with softness. “It was hard because I didn’t know what to do.” Don’t fucking cry. You filled quite a few buckets already. “When you started not really saying much, I just… Hoped it was for a good reason, so. Yeah.” 

You feel your hand gently pulled, which is already enough to make you melt. But when it’s kissed, you don’t know what the hell to fucking do. 

“I’m sorry, doll,” Yoongi whispers into your skin, lips brushing with every syllable and painting a canvas of his reconcile. “I won’t leave you hanging like that again.” 

There’s a tiny fire in the back of your throat, the embers reaching your eyes just a little too aggressively. You attempt to squash the growing flames before they flare. “Oh. Umm. Thank you.” What else do you say? Yoongi’s being wonderful, but why do you feel… sad? Why is there lingering snow on your windowsill? “Were you worried?” 

“Me? Umm.” He stops at a light that he clearly didn’t want to stop at. Resting your conjoined hands on his pliant thigh, his jaw works as he observes them.

And you wonder if he thinks they slot together perfectly, too. 

“…Yeah.” 

Fuck. “About what?” 

“That you’d hate me.” 

Your heart meshes his fingers with yours. “Yoongi.” 

“Or that you shouldn’t be with someone that’s gone this much.” 

Fuck, he’s doing it again. Regressing. You’ve seen it happen in his kitchen and you’ll be damned if all that work, all that peeling, all that resolution amounted to nothing wait, wait, stop. This isn’t gonna be an overnight fix. And you have no clue what’s been happening, so just keep trying, trying, trying. 

“I’m used to people leaving,” you joke, but not really. “Like seasons.” 

He whips his head to you, and you backpedal because that probably sounded so random. You’ve got to think about filtering your thoughts a little more now that you’re getting comfortable. Yoongi says you can be yourself, sure, but you have to admit your quirks are a little out there. “I know it’s weird, but..” 

He’s quiet as the light turns green. And when you don’t finish, he admits, “I think the same.” 

“You do?” 

Your hand is brushed as a hum peppers it from above. “Mmhmm.” 

“Well.” That’s interesting. You didn’t know anyone thought about that stuff like you did. Now you wonder if there’s anywhere else your wavelengths sync, and if they’ve been syncing up all this time. “At least you come back.” 

Yoongi squeezes your hand tight before he holds it against his lips. Again. Fuck, this is a lot. You’re so wrapped up in his gesture that you don’t catch what he whispers. 

“Hmm?” 

He glances at the center console before putting your hand back on his thigh. 

“Always, doll.” 

And the fire you stepped on rages back with a vengeance. Heat and sting surrounds your eyes, and you don’t hide how you press your feelings into his skin. “Me, too.” 

If you weren’t lost in the surrounding scenery outside, you would have caught Yoongi’s look. But all you feel is his hand clutching you tight, and it breaks you down all the same. 

The rest of the drive is spent with him telling you to eat more, and a bunch of your sing-alongs to almost every song that comes on. It seems like the tiny bit of closure opened you both up, and you don’t even realize that you’ve been on the road for a really long time. 

But finally, Yoongi pulls up to a building, and you’re haphazardly rapping along to a song before you notice. Wait. What? He drove you to a rec center? 

Your fingers curl around his forearm before you even notice. “What’s this?” 

“Where we’re going.”

Hold on, you’re going inside? “Are we even allowed to be here?”

When Yoongi responds, his teeth make you shiver as he smirks. “Can’t say for sure, no.”

“Then why—”

He unlocks before you can finish, and you’re left in an empty car until he rounds the hood, coming over to your side and opening the door. You almost don’t hear what he says next, too focused on the jewelry swinging from his neck as he bends forward. 

But you catch it, and glance once more at the sight in front of you before biting your lip—in nervousness or excitement, you can’t decide.

“You comin’?”

Damn. Obviously, you want nothing more than to see him here. And it’s much too late for anyone to be around. But if something happens… Whatever. 

Your mouth finally unsticks. “If we get caught, you’re gonna pay for this.”

And you can’t resist his stupid grin. “Now get your pretty ass out before I put you in the back.” 

“Yoongi!”

Grinning, he leads you out, and you follow him to the trunk. After bouncing his stowed ball a couple times, he decides to lean in and reach for something else. 

Wait. Is that what you think it is? “Did you always have that in there?” you ask, pointing to the contraption that Yoongi’s using to air up his basketball.

And he does a horrible job at suppressing a smile. Which makes you burst into flutters and beats beats beats. “You liar!” Oh, you are gonna wipe those laughs from his throat. “I had to change up my plans because of you!”

Palming the ball, Yoongi tilts his head dangerously to one side. “And I got to see you,” he proudly claims. “So I’ll take it.”

You hate how the memories come packaged with what’s haunted you. What else happened during that time, and what happened after you left. But there’s no way you’re gonna bring that up. Not when the night has transformed into something so magical. 

So you just clutch your food and lean on his car, opting to compliment him to wipe the murk away. “Got to see you, too,” you puff into the brisk night. Because you harbor a bit of nostalgia in your bones. And because he still makes you shy. “You and your stupid hair.”

Another bout of hisses wisp into your side. As you turn to regard Yoongi again, he slips his chains into his hoodie before continuing, and you swoon at the veins popping out of his skin with each pump. 

How can he look so perfect doing the simplest things? So unfair. 

After seconds that feel like an hour, Yoongi’s done. And he scans the parking lot before telling you to follow him. 

What you expect is some outdoor courts. Maybe getting past a gate or two. So when you approach a back door lit by the shine of a single light, you freeze. “Are we really going in?”

Fishing something out of his pocket, Yoongi simply turns over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Oh.” You didn’t think you’d actually get inside the building. If there was an outside court just as accessible it would’ve made sense. Can you even bring food in here? Is that question even relevant? “No reason.”

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

“I’ve already done it a few times, so.”

“Wait!” Nerves throw your hand on his bicep before you can stop. “What if someone sees us?”

He’s so warm. And so toned. And if he plans on taking his hoodie off? You’re not prepared for whatever the hell he has underneath. 

Voice softened, Yoongi tries to placate your paranoia, “They won’t, doll.”

“Are you sure? If we get caught here they’re gonna call the police and I am definitely not… Gonna…”

The object in his hand jangles, and you clearly see he was just joking the whole time because keys—keys—stare you in the face. 

What is it with him and keys? 

When Yoongi speaks, you feel like you’ve never done anything bad in your life, and suddenly the thought of trespassing with an official way in is so scandalous, 

“You picked the wrong night to be a good girl.”

You have to admit. Seeing him so mischievous and dashing makes you wanna follow him wherever the hell he goes. Even if it gets you in trouble. Even if you were breaking in tonight, you would be all in. And that thought should frighten you, but it only does because of the wings tickling your rib cage. 

How can he make you feel rebellious and yet still so shy? The power of Min Yoongi. He’s way too good at destroying you.

When you glare, the man only grins, hisses of laughter leaving him way too happily before he unlocks the door to no alarms or sirens. He doesn’t need to throw a wink your way, too, but of course he does as he lets you in. Which causes you to float through the dark entryway instead of walk oh he did not just slap your ass!

A jolt in your cunt causes you to regard him in shock. To which he hums in a feigned question. “Hmm?”

With nothing but darkness and his cologne surrounding you, it’s only natural that giddiness takes hold. Truthfully, you’re packed with so much adrenaline that you feel a little wild yourself. “You’ve been waiting to do that, huh.” 

“So fucking long.”

You are not surviving the night. And you don’t give a single shit.

But as shy and out of control as you feel around this man, you also feel safe—even in a faraway, dark building that you’ve never been in before. That’s gotta say something about him, right? 

Yoongi feels along the wall beside you for lights, purposefully bumping your chest with his front even though he’s securing a ball with an arm. When you question his joking decision with noises, a chaste kiss on your lips shuts you right up.

“You’re in the way,” he jokes through what you think is a smile, and you’re about to move when he flicks on a switch very far away from your shoulder.

Liar! Your jaw drop must be comical because Yoongi’s grin stretches astronomically wide. But you cannot find a retort because seeing him so chill while you’re stiff from paranoia has you at a loss.

Is this how he used to be all the time? This carefree, all caution to the wind? He’s so fucking handsome like this. No wonder he’s pulled so many hearts just like yours. 

When you still don’t find any words to say, Yoongi makes it harder, stepping so close that you have to swing the plastic container away. Taking one of your hands in his free one, he gives it a warm squeeze while murmuring,

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

And Yoongi responds with lights in his eyes. “Just are.”

Your lips mesh with his as he keeps your fingers secured, and suddenly every cautious thing in your body gets launched into the skies, too.

But it ends as soon as it begins. And Yoongi backs away from you with a smile, 

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

“Eat, doll,” he orders before turning and dribbling onto the court.

When you call out that he hasn’t eaten yet, Yoongi tells you that he already did. When you look around to figure out where to even sit, you decide on the closest set of bleachers and make yourself as comfortable as you can.

Which is impossible. Because they’re bleachers. Which is now triple impossible. Because Yoongi just shucked off his hoodie and the only thing he had under it was his chains goddamn it.

If you weren’t already sitting down you would’ve fallen right into the next dimension. How the fuck are you supposed to eat in these conditions shit he’s walking over! 

Your throat seizes as Yoongi approaches, face trained as if he isn’t aware of his overwhelming presence. All he does is bend to place his sweater next to your legs. But the quick smooch on your lips makes you swoon harder than you ever have.

And the way his silver taps your chest makes you mentally hold on for dear life. Wait. What the fuck, Yoongi’s taking them off right now? Right in front of you? Just as you're supposed to eat oh okay he’s handing them to you great wonderful fantastic.

The metal links feel so warm yet slightly cold to the touch. Weighty, yet light. But you clutch them in your hand as you connect a gaze to his.

“Relax,” he orders, lightly slapping the side of your thigh. “No need to worry.” 

And with bangs swishing, he goes right back to the ball waiting for him. Leaving you starry-eyed to hell with silver in your palm.

…Did all of that just happen? Is any of this even real? Quite frankly, you fucking forgot what you were even worried about. 

No matter what he does—simple lay-ups standing in place, dribbling to different spots to shoot, or even lazily jogging after the ball—you’re so enthralled with his actions that you forget that you’re not supposed to be here. 

And it takes your last bite of food for something to finally hit you. How does Yoongi have keys to this place? Where the hell did he score those because you don’t think he ever mentioned anything about working here. Or anywhere else other than the studio. 

Yet another mystery to add to this walking, bare-chested enigma. 

But there’s another question forming behind your eyes the longer you watch him practice, the more you notice how he’s actually going hard. Yoongi’s really good right now. A lot better than what you’ve seen of him before. 

Has he been coming here more often than he’s let on? And why does he look so… serious? You’d be surprised if he even remembered you’re here. 

Setting your empty container down, you gather the chains in your hands again, deciding to slip them over your head for safer keeping. After, you grab a water before stepping down the bleachers, hanging a little ways away until Yoongi notices you’re courtside.

And when he sees you, he stops practicing immediately, jogging to you so sweaty and shining and gross and handsome and— “Wait, you’re all swea—”

You’re pulled into a kiss the same time you hear a basketball drop, salt on your tongue and damp palms on your cheeks. And you melt right into the shiny wood floor, drifting, drifting, sailing into dreamland even though you’re technically already there. 

“Sweaty,” you whisper into his hot breaths of exertion, a twinge between your legs when he kisses you even deeper—breathing, inhaling, taking you in. “Gross.”

“Thanks.” 

You flash a smile against Yoongi’s lips, giggling because this is all better than anything your brain could’ve conjured on its own. When you ask why he’s going so hard, all you get is a question in return,

“You’re perfect, you know that?” 

Huh? Blinking, you suddenly don’t remember your own train of thought. “What did I do?” 

“Nothing.” He presses a wet mouth to your nose. “Did you eat?”

Laughing, you reassure him, “I did, I did.” 

“Good. You bored?”  

“Huh?”

Yoongi leans to softly take your lips this time, and you want to say he’s approaching the legal limit for kisses tonight. “Thought you came over cus you wanna leave.”

“And stop seeing you play? I could watch this forever.” You squeeze the water bottle a little tighter. “Just checking on you.” Another strike hits between your legs when Yoongi takes another, lazier glide over your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you forward by your bottoms, fingers slick from use. 

You could do this for eternity, too.

“Well I got about five more minutes in me, so..”

This man. 

“Forever might be a stretch.” 

“Ah, shut up. Here,” you offer through a giggle, holding the water out for him to take. 

“Thanks.” When he does, he tilts his head at just the right angle to cut you through, gulping down liquid and making you do the same to your nothingness. 

So unfair. “You looked like you were going pretty hard.” 

Lowering the bottle, Yoongi shifts his jaw before taunting something a ways off. “I kinda was.” 

“It was kinda hot.” 

His laugh makes you smile, and his next swig makes you weep. “Nah, but. This is our practice gym. I can just zone out here, so. It’s been one of those things.” 

Ah. Was this one of the places Yoongi ended up during those months apart? You wish he could’ve brought you along sometimes. Or at least thought about asking. It’s nice just to be around him while he does something he likes. Gaining courage, you say exactly what’s on your mind, “You can always bring me, too. If you want.” 

And it’s true. You don’t really have to do much when you’re with him, because just being around him is what brightens your day. Lifts your mood. 

But you have to admit that watching him play basketball while shirtless is the biggest fucking win in history. 

When did Yoongi get so close? When did his eyes retreat so far away? “I didn’t wanna bother you with this,” he admits, a drop of sweat clinging onto his chin. “I don’t even put music on.” 

“You never bother me,” you whisper back. Hoping that he believes you and that he will start to accept that as fact. Because it is. “Even if you’re being annoying.” 

The bottle crinkles as he smiles, and there’s a soft kiss to your lips that has no real desire behind it. Just a nice peck that sends you careening down a hill of flowers. “You won’t be feeling that way tomorrow, babe.” 

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.” 

And he says that while half-naked? Like any look on him could get any worse. “Oh,” you scoff out, fully calling his bluff. “As if.”

Well, fuck. You don’t enjoy the smirk plastered on his face. It has you both dreading and excited for whatever demon you’re gonna run into tomorrow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shrugs as he starts to hand the water back. “We can go soon, by the way.”

“Okay.”

But before you can grab it, Yoongi pulls the bottle from reach. “Unless,” he teases. “You wanna play me.”

“What.”

His grin shines, face glistening and turning your insides to jelly. “You told me you’d win, so. Let’s see it.”

You said that? While sober? How does he remember something like that when you can’t even recall a time or place you’d tell him something so bold. “When!”

“Right after you woke up once. Said you’re a master?”

Oh. That was ages ago. Fuck, you already forgot how did Yoongi remember? 

“Oh. Well.” Your nose turns up in feigned haughtiness. “Wouldn’t wanna throw you off your game before a championship.” 

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!” 

Water spills down your head in rivulets as you freeze, stunned and watching Yoongi jogging his laughs back to the bleachers like a punk. “Think you got something on your face, doll.”

“Yoongi!” What the hell possessed him to do that to you here? Racing after him with purpose, you slam into him just as he reaches for another bottle, shoving a laugh out of his throat and making him catch himself on hardwood. “Nu uh, gimme that!”

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

“Bitch!” You lunge for another bottle lying further away, distancing yourself to quickly rip the cap off and to avoid feeling his slick back on your hands. 

And it’s a lawless gym as both of you start spraying water, arcs and splashes of bottled liquid spewing over the court and soaking into your clothes and his bare skin. Which proves to get worse and worse for your wellbeing the more he gets soaked in your attacks. 

Running ends up being the only option to avoid getting completely drenched, and you hightail it behind bleachers before your waist is grabbed. “Fuck!” 

“Uh huh.” 

You try to wrestle out of his hold, his wet forearm digging lovely into your stomach, and you’re temporarily let go just so Yoongi can spin you around. 

Your back connects with solid wall, the impact shooting a grunt out of your throat before you laugh out of pure disbelief. “I can’t believe, you got me to do that,” you rush out, sentence punctuated by your breaths more than anything else. 

Here you are. Under bleachers. With Yoongi’s skin caging you with radiating heat.  

You can only stare as he drinks you in, no doubt looking at his silver around your neck and your chest heaving from exertion. Butterflies float across your stomach when his smile drips, and you fold as soon as he swoops in. 

Everything in your being pulses hard. It’s so visceral that you teeter on the edge of sanity and logic, and the thoughts slipping through your mind are just as wild as you feel. Before you’re even aware of it, a mischievous finger slides along the hem of his shorts, and you jump at the downright boulders rolling down your front, 

“Careful, doll.”

“Hmm?” You feel bad. And it feels fantastic. “What was that?” 

More gravel slides down his tongue, and you shake at his attractive as fuck threat, “Fuck around and find out then.” 

Your giggles add feather lightness into his murky laughs, but you’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice his hand between your legs until he slaps the inside of your thigh. “Yoo—!”

“Unless.” He leans forward. “My baby’s too scared.” 

Holy fuck, you might be. Is he really willing to do something with you? In a public place very similar to where you’re gonna watch him play tomorrow? You don’t know why the fuck that’s attractive as hell, but it is. 

Yoongi grips your chin, eyes falling to your lips and brows knitted before claiming your lips even harder. And despite your bones vibrating to hell, you put your all into the kiss, relishing in the growing hardness you feel against your front. An animal starts to wake inside your core, and you almost feel like stroking it. Feeding it. Raising it only for it to consume you in return. 

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.” 

“Huh?” Dazed, you let your vision refocus as Yoongi chuckles at your hazy state. 

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.” 

For some reason, the game makes you nervous today. Even while Taehyung strides into the gymnasium with you, there’s a lingering feeling swelling in your stomach, and you don’t have any reason for it yet. 

At least this is another rec center entirely. Because there’s no way you would’ve sat still knowing you had a clandestine meeting in the same place not even twenty-four hours before. 

But the activity already bustling around hardwood catches your attention. Not on both sides, since only one team is here, but they are active on the other end doing drills. 

Wow. They look really intimidating, matching jerseys that were clearly done professionally and warm-ups having a set routine. You wonder if this is gonna be a tough game for… Wait. That’s your brother under the basket. That’s them? 

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

Because you’ll already never get over how attractive he looks in athletic clothes.

But team jerseys? 

Seeing this man rock a basketball uniform with his toned arms and legs so visible makes you want to claw your way out of your invisible cage. 

When the hell did they even get those? And why is he already slightly drenched during the warm-up alone? 

As soon as you see him make a lay-up, you know for a fact that you shouldn’t be here. 

Yes, you’re gonna stay and yes, you’re gonna cheer for them all game. But you are absolutely gonna feel like jumping him, which will in turn make you wanna bolt and run all the way out of town every agonizing second. 

Shit, shit, shit. You’re gonna have to try your damned hardest to unstick your eyes from that man the whole time. Already, you can hear Taehyung’s teasing, and your groan is to lament your future state.

Your name suddenly rings across the gym, and four feet pause in your ascent up the bleachers. When you catch both him and Jimin waving you down from their courtside chairs, you tilt your head in intrigue. 

They want you to come over there? What the hell is this about? 

Sighing, you turn. “Guess I’ll go see what they want.” 

“Here,” Tae offers his hand. “I’ll save you a seat.” 

Your bag is transferred to his grip while you nod, and you step down onto the court, wondering if you’re even allowed to walk onto it to see them. And Jimin’s grin can be seen from miles away. “Come here!” 

You gingerly step onto shiny wooden floors, making your way over and becoming hyper aware that someone else notices your presence. But you’re so puzzled as to why there’s no one on the other side of the court yet because isn’t the game about to start? 

Where’s the other team? As you approach their row of chairs, your hands immediately find your hips. “What’s up?” 

Jimin’s eyes stay creased as your brother explains the reason he waved you down. A very stupid, very innocuous reason. “Can you keep score?” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why me?” 

Your brother uses his jersey to wipe sweat from his brow, and you wince at the brand new material getting gross already. “The girl that usually does it for us is sick.” 

“And you know the game,” Jimin quickly tacks on, rubbing at some tattoos on full display. Wait, are there more than you remember? When did he get more ink?

Your sibling asks another question you had in mind, “You aren’t gonna cover those?”

“Nah. Not today,” the man elongates in a stretch. “Just got another one. This one!” 

Ah, you were right. “I like it.” 

Jimin couldn’t look more proud. But enough of that because you really just wanna go back and observe the game from another place entirely. “Can’t y’all find someone else to keep score?” 

“We don’t think anyone else can,” your brother explains, looking over your shoulder. “At least, not the people coming to watch us.” 

Cool. You get to be met with heat and sweat from all these guys without compensation. How is this something you would say yes to? “Well. I don’t really feel like being a scorekeeper for free.” 

When your sibling laughs with Jimin, they share a look before he says so matter-of-factly, “Told you.” 

You’re sticking with that. If you’re gonna sit next to a bunch of smelly people, they’re gonna pay… you… somehow.

A ways down the row, you catch Yoongi dumping himself onto a random chair, head tilted back before he hangs it forward to wipe sweat from his forehead. 

And suddenly this temporary gig doesn’t seem terrible in the slightest. 

Because one, you can sit on a team bench that will have his fine ass right there. And two, this will give you a way to objectively focus on the game. You won’t have time to be distracted by a demon and his hair that’s gotten criminally long. 

“I’ll get us all dinner,” your sibling slices through your thoughts. “After we win.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the end seat and shooting one more glance to the other side of the court. “Then I get to p—”

The air around you squeezes inward. And all sounds plunge underwater. 

Because you recognize someone you knew from a dark club walking onto the court, his team looking just as sharp and cocky as his eyes. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

You don’t notice the way Jimin’s hands flex, nor the way a familiar presence walks up to join your brother. 

All you can do is stare back. 

And without even realizing. 

You’re already rubbing your arm.

-

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tbc. :((

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a ha ha... so how do we feel? | taglist | discord!

a/n: okay, hello, loves. apologies this part took so damn long to post! can you imagine if i tried to post everything at once LMAOO yikes talk about too much at once. but i hope this part was enough to still be good on its own, and broken, pt. 2 will be... well. you can probably guess that's where a majority of my brainpower is going to go. a/n 2: thank you all for being here! it's been an amazing two years working on this series and i cannot tell you how grateful and appreciative i am to have such wonderful people alongside me. i hope this series continues to be there for you when you need it, bc it has become that for me, too. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[jjongswannabebae]

Marriage of convenience (18+) < rich!jay x rich!fem!reader, hurt/comfort fic, lots of making out, kissing, arguments, angst, smut 18+, a lot of tears. note: first time writing smut- not proofread!! MDNI, please reblog >

Not that you minded, being set up with on a date on a mundane Wednesday wasn't on your checklist. Considering skipping it, you drawled the process of making small talk with some random geek who had cash.

Ugh. Being the only daughter of a rich man had its own plight.

"Jude, Can't I skip today's appointment with Mr. P?" You complain to your manager, Jude shirt for Judith. She keeps her eyes in the road, save for a glance, only opening her mouth,

"Do you even know who you're meeting?"

You nod profusely, "another rich kid with attitude," you finish, staring bored out the car window, watching the way birds fly, free of restraint. How you wished to live to like that.

Money can go far but you couldn't get freedom with said money.

"Well, hate to break it to you, this guy, "Mr. Park" is different,"

"You always say that," you drawl a whine puffing up your cheeks with air. "I'll stake some money if makes you happy"

Money? You had plenty but jude wasn't someone who'd set losing bets. Curious, you beam to accept her bet, having a spike in your mood.

Jude dropped you off at the posh cafe your date had scheduled to meet. Wondering who exactly this man was, convincing enough to get the stingy jude to bet bills.

Surely, he would be anything but disappointing.

Oh and how right you were.

He stood leaning back on the counter, decked in a neatly ironed silk shirt stretched across his defined shoulders, shirt buttoned down with his chest slightly exposed, sleek formal pants running down his legs loosely hung off his waist.

Okay, you admit he had great fashion sense but what about his face?

Sunglasses decked his perfect slicked jet hair, gaunt face with a killer jawline, brown eyes sharp and lips small yet kissable, ears pierced, vieny arms folded to his chest.

Jude won the bet the moment you locked eyes with him.

He was absolutely beautiful and you'd experienced what you thought was love at first sight.

He drew a smile and walked closer animatedly. Shit. Your feet were frozen to the ground as your lips parted with surprise. He stuck his hand out, "nice to meet you, I'm park jay" he offered, politely. Yet your mind and actions faltered and were a heartbeat late on grabbing onto his hand.

The rest was history. Married a year and a half later, nobody could predict the marriage would be this loveless and stagnant. Not that the public knew.

Jay Park. Hier to the one and only park estate, leading hotel series bringing wads of cash. Along with your own established wealth from your dad's company, which you assumed you'd be taking over soon.

But those dreams were crushed when jay came home with the news that a merger would take place, a year after your marriage.

Now all that you had to do was stay at home and look after him and the kids. But wait.

What kids? A loveless marriage was one thing but a sexless one was unheard of.

Yet intercourse was the only intimacy you shared with him. Hes perfect in every aspect yet incapable of affection, you'd deemed a year into the relationship.

Any show of affection like cuddling or spending time you'd initiate would fall flat or would be denied, or worst yet he'd never be there for you to initiate it. Work, home, sleep, eat. That's all he did and that's why it was all the worse.

He acted like you were invisible except the days he came home drunk and fucked you senseless. You'd consent to that but it felt meaningless, like a repeated one night stand yet you lived with the guy and were married to him.

So when your parents haunted you with the pressure of having children, you'd burst into tears upon your arrival home. You hated the fact you were so shallow and unlovable to the one man you swore to.

You ignored the pressure from your parents to have a child yet the tension mounted.

You and jay were to eat lunch with his parents and then came the infamous line, "I would love to see my grandchildren anytime soon," said Mrs. Park nonchalantly and you swear you saw jays left brow twitch. It hurt.

There was nothing wrong with you, or him for any matter. Just that your marriage never even felt like one to begin with.

"So soon?" Jay questioned, setting down his fork to the plate. You could his temple crease ever so slightly. You'd observed the man sitting next to you for a long time when he'd be with you was when he would sleep. You'd spend countless hours staring at his beautiful face, yearning for his attention, and even more far fetched, his love.

"it'll be two years soon, son" replied Mr. Park giving a stern glare towards his son, eyes flickering over you momentarily before they returned to his plate yet again.

Worthless. That was the look in mr parks eyes. He'd probably thought how hard it'd be to seduce his son, or rather get him into bed.

You sat wordless in the car, watching out the window as you did the time Jude dropped you off him to meet him for the first time. Jay sat beside you, facing the window as well. Rain poured heavy, matching your gloomy vibe from the happenings at lunch with the parks. Right, you were a Park.

Love at first sight was real when you met jay for the first time. Yet he never reciprocated anything you felt.

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill yet you held them back with all your might. Not here, not infront of jay. Never had you cried when he was present. It was unnerving to see his expressionless face watch you cry.

Yet your thoughts only grew worse and before you knew it, a tear fled from your eye and a sob broke from your mouth. It was hard, feeling unwanted and isolated all the time. Those emotions flew out like a river, gaining the attention of your husband.

"you okay?" He spoke softly, like you'd shatter if he spoke any louder, and at that you sobbed harder till you broke down weeping in the car as the driver flicked his eyes to the back seat repeatedly, wondering what commotion was taking place.

Jay asked the driver to drop you two off at their hotel, and the tyres swerved to the right, soon infront the entrance. Jay urged you to calm down and get down the vehicle. You complied and wiped your tears away, standing there as the cold wind hit your face. Yet again you felt like crying.

Jay grabbed you by the hand and tried to haul you inside as fast as possible, but you slapped his hand away, "I'll take myself there," His eyebrow twitched and raised, leaning closer to your ear to whisper, "there're eyes on us, the paparazzi is right here so just get inside," he seethed through his teeth.

At his words you panned your head around, merely for jay to put his arms to your knees and neck and pick you up and head for the roundabout back entrance. Absolutely stunned that he lifted you up with no struggle, you watched him maneuver with your mouth slightly parted.

On the elevator to the largest suite, accessible by family, you asked to let down. "No," he replied, keeping his eyes on the doors of the elevator. You didn't protest further and cozied up to his chest. He took three strides to the door and whipped it open and peered inside.

He let you down and trapped you to the door, his forehead pressing against yours. His breathing was erratic, his eyes showed emotion. *What's wrong," he let out in between exasperated breaths.

And the tears came again.

"Everything," you quip and wiping away you erratic tears with the back of your hand, leveraging your weight in the door to stand up straighter and look him dead set in his eyes.

"Do you even know anything about me? What I like to do, what I like to eat, what's my favourite color... Do you even love the person you're married too?"

He opens his mouth devoid of swords, eyes guilty shoulders heavy of burden. "You like to dance, you like spicy food, and your favourite color is," he starts small, working his mind through all the things he knew about you, "purple?"

"blue,"

"oh."

"what was the name of the dog I had when I was younger?"

Silence.

"Bruno," you answer, disappointment filling your being as you stare the guilt stricken man facing you. "At this rate you probably never felt anything for me, let alone love." He leaned his head to the door behind you, keeping his hand to your shoulder and whispering to your ear, "do you know why I've been distant with you?"

"if what you mean by distant is ignoring my every attempt and instant of me trying to express my emotions to you in the past two years, then, no. Probably except the fact you don't like me but needed someone to fill in the position of your wife." You huff, letting your true feelings show, the pack of interaction between you two hurt you a lot more than you thought.

"Perhaps your criteria was to find someone smart but quiet, pretty but not attention seeking and lastly a nice body would be a plus point, I suppose," you finish, one hand settling on his nape and the other his back. You keep your eyes trained on his, batting them ever so often so you wouldn't cry with word you uttered.

At first, jay showed no signs of response except guilt, then his face contorted to confusion and lastly to anger. The crease on his forehead from burying his eyebrows downward as he almost glared at you with a fire lit in his eyes.

"So you think I'm using you," he says, and you nod, solely for him to sneer and pull back from your hold, stepping closer and claiming you up the door as he swung his arm round your waist and one hand to your face, tilting it upto him, and dipping his head down to your eye level. Your lips were mere centimetres apart from collision. Eyeing your lips he grazed his thumb past your lips.

"You talk like you know the whole story, darling. It's not a good habit to make assumptions," he said drawing a line down your lips, his finger slipping past making a small smacking sound

"well then what's your reasoning to leaving me devoid of affection? Before you say you sent gifts, I know your assistant picked them, the clothes he sent were chosen with little to no fashion sense, whereas you have an exceptional dressing style so don't say you bought me those items, darling." You muse replicate his fiery response with sass.

He watches you with contemplating whether to tell or not. "We were only supposed to be married for a year." He starts slow, taking in your facials, watching as your eyes widened and practically urged him to continue. "The merger wasn't going to happen, you were supposed to take over," he said calmly, knowing how much of a touchy subject this was to you, having prepared your whole life to head the company and ultimately not being able too.

"But the results shown over the one year we were meant tobe together showed immensely worthy and the merger took place, therefore nullifying our one year marriage,"

Like rains drops now fell from the sky, the sunny days his behind the clouds like your tears behind your eyelids. Jay couldn't bare to see you look so vulnerable. He felt as though he was the cause for these misunderstandings, which he was not completely but partly.

"I, I never signed any contract,"

"It wasn't meant to be signed by us, it was unanimous decision,"

"So now they want us to act like a couple? Do they even know how hurt I felt to be ignored for a year, how it felt to feel unwanted and unlovable?" A stray tear strolled down your cheeks as anger creeped up your voice. It was unfathomable to you, to be lied to by your own parents, and possibly jay too.

"Had you known we'd last for only a year?"

"...yes" he paused, waiting for the information to sink into you, hoping it wouldn't shatter you more. Your head spun in circles as you struggled to get away from him, pushing as his chest as tears streamed down your face, brushing past him to sit on the couch to relieve your dizziness.

You sat there and cried while jay watched you unwind into a tears, unsure of what to do. 'I didn't want to fall for you, because I'd have to leave eventually but I couldn't stop myself from catching feelings when I was around you. I decided it would be best for me not to be there for you and I'm aware of my mistake here... But apologizing won't make the hurt and damage you faced go away. You're free to take your call, whether it may be divorce or not, and don't worry about our parents, I'll handle them."

You panned your head up at the word divorce, shifting to your feet and striding over to jay, where he stood previously, stuck in place. You faced and a loud smacked echoed across the room, his head turned 180 degrees, his cheek red with the strike of your palm.

"Atleast tell me you'll love me now, asshole,"

He put a palm to his cheek, running the area you struck him, watching your tear dried somber face, more threatening to brim out the ledge. "I'm sorry." He apologized, hanging his head low with shame and guilt.

"One thing you've never done to me," eyes conveying different sorts of emotions, "is kiss me."

He looked rather surprised at the observation, "I knew if I kissed you, there'd be no going back, both mentally and physically."

"Jay weve fucked before for hours yet you never kissed me once, didn't you think I'd find it strange? And when were you going to tell me about this whole one year marriage clause being nullified, meaning we'd spend the rest of our lives together part? Not that I didn't think we'd spend our whole lives together but I guess we thought different."

"I was planning to, but the time was never right, so..."

You turned your back to him and walked to the suites bedroom and to the bathroom, jay following behind slowly. Splashing water to your face and drying it off, seeing an awkward jay hanging around in the tension of the air. "Sit," you ordered, pointing to the ledge of the bed. Confused, he still complied, comfying himself on the edge of the bed.

"Good,"you commented, hiking up on the bed and onto jays lap to his surprise, situating yourself atop of him, staring back down to his glasses over pupils, red and swollen from the lack of sleep and fatigue. "Are you tired, darling" this time saying the nickname endearingly. "Not really,"

"then kiss me,"

Flustered by your demand, he began stuttering, "Are you sure? Like really?" You nodded along, "yes,"

"then I guess I could," he became nervous, but built up the the courage to put his hand to the back of head and slowly press down in it till your lips met his. The motion started out awkward, then jay relaxed after a few seconds or so and found a rhythm you could match.

The dynamic of the intensified as jay began settling into reality that he was kissing his wife. Swiveling his tongue around yours he began tasting every corner of your mouth, exploring every inch. You attempted to pull away due to lack of air but he held you back your hair aggressively tugging to his lapping tongue.

You moaned his mouth, hand squeezing his shoulder for stability, swiping over your bottom lip, and softly biting your lip, he let go of the insane grip he had on you. You heaved your chest up and down, messing your hair. You pushed down to the bed, sitting on top of him.

He tugged your arm towards him and you were face to face with jay. He brushed past hair intruding your picturesque visual. He lifted up your shirt enough to expose your stomach and rubbed past the expanse soothingly. He picked you and flipped you over and onto your back and made you scoot to the headrest.

The two of your made out for another few minutes or so only pulling back when in dire need of oxygen. Your lips were swollen but you were addicted. Even though the two if you had got intimate before, it was nothing compared to the emotions you felt through this. You sat up on the bed to catch your breath and ruffled through his hair endearingly.

With your approval he yanked your shirt off, then he stripped off his shirt, trapping you in between his legs. "You kiss me," he breathed out and situated his hands behind back to suport both his and your weight. You lunged at him and connected your lips to his, grinding down where your body met as he let out the soft noises from his mouth as he moved to kiss at his jaw, your hands running the expanse of his well built chest and back.

You obsessed over marking his jaw and neck for a good few minutes before travelling down to his nape, marking and sucked the area. You peppered kisses back up to his lips, taking his bottom lip between your teeth,feeling the vibrations of his groans down to your wet spot and grinded harder but free tired and settled on top of his clothes hardness.

He returned the favour by making you mean with every touch, electrifying you body. You but as his ear when his began to touch you through your remaining clothes, still keeping his lips fixated on yours. Approaching closer to your high you became hypersensitive of his every action he performed on you.

He set you on him and forced you down onto his hard-on till you cried of pleasure, riding off the whiteness by laying you down on the bed and dropping up on his elbows to kiss you. You felt immense pleasure and relief, showing your gratitude by jerking him off.

Tired, you laid on the bed in his arms, still thinking about the events that took place. "At this rate, we could just expect a kid," you say, laughing it off as a joke, "then we'll have to get to work.* He replied with a giggle and you buried yourself in his chest with a smile.

[gggukniverse]

self fulfillment needs | myg

title: self fulfillment needs

pairing: yoongi x reader (+ implied jungkook x reader)

series: basic needs !!!

genre: m, smut, roommates au

summary: two weeks after the kitchen incident where you had sex with your roommate while your other roommate watched you, things seem the same as always but also not the same at all. you try to approach the subject to only cause a fight and another sexual encounter.

warnings: dom!yoongi, sub!reader, yoongi is bi, jungkook is confused my baby :(, sexual tension, dirty talk, she actually tries to dom yoongi at first but... haha, fingering, unprotected sex (pls be safe), a lil edging, hair pulling, teasing, yoongi himself is a warning, choking, face slapping, praising, degradation, he calls reader a slut, begging, spanking, p*ssy slapping, yoongi has a... piercing 🥴, they talk abt jk during sex, mentions of yoongi x jungkook, yoongi is so sweet after sex i'm sad :(

wordcount: 8.8k

note: hi !!! i'm back !! first of all, this is the second part to basic needs so please read that first because you're probably not gonna understand half of this chapter. omg guys this chapter is insane i cant even look at myself in the mirror after writing all of that. i'm still not convinced if it turned out okay, it could've been a lot better, but i hope you enjoy it !!!

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it’s been two weeks since the kitchen incident. and things have been weird.

it’s kind of a tricky situation because yoongi and jungkook act just the same as always towards you, like that night never happened in the first place. you find it troubling at first but you soon realize you wouldn’t even know how to approach them about what you did in that kitchen so you just let things flow. the problem is how they act around each other.

you wouldn’t consider yourself being extremely close to them, but with over two years of living together you’ve obviously come to know their dynamic. and you know they’re friends, you’re pretty sure they have different friend groups but you know they are friends and they get along way better than you do with any of them. that’s why you quickly catch on the weird vibe there seems to be between them now.

you’re used to waking up in the morning and finding them having breakfast in the kitchen together while talking about things you don’t really understand, but these days you walk into the kitchen first thing in the morning and don’t find any of them there. and it’s not just about breakfast, it’s about the weird tension between them when you see them bumping in the corridor, the excuses they make up not to be in the living room with you at the same time and the moments you see yoongi trying to make up conversation and jungkook just hums or gives a cold answer before leaving the room.

the worst thing is that your brain tells you it must be your fault. because it must be, right? before the kitchen incident everything was just fine but now that can barely stay in the same room for more than 2 minutes together.

and you don’t mean to snap at them but you can’t stop yourself from doing it one specific morning.

“what the hell is wrong with you two?”

the initial response you get is jungkook choking on his cereal and yoongi turning away from the coffee machine to look at you with such a surprised expression you guess he didn’t expect you to say that.

“what?” jungkook is the first one to talk as he wipes at his chin with a napkin.

“no, don’t try to act dumb now,” you tell him and hear yoongi snort. “you’ve been acting weird as fuck for the past two weeks and i’m so tired of it.”

“i’m not acting weird.” yoongi mumbles as he goes back to the coffee machine.

“i’m not acting weird either-”

“yes you are.” yoongi cuts jungkook off right away.

“hyung, c’mon...”

“you can’t even look at me since that night.” yoongi says but doesn’t raise his voice, he’s not trying to fight.

“i can look at you just fine.” jungkook replies and yoongi just scoffs.

“okay, jungkook.” yoongi hums completely unbothered.

“you’re communicating like 12 year olds,” you say when you’ve had enough and they both look at you again. “if something happened that night to cause all of this you should at least talk about it instead of avoiding each other.”

“nothing happened that night.” jungkook mutters as he finishes his breakfast.

“it sure looks like something happened.” you cross your arms and lean against the door frame.

“jungkookie is too ashamed of what he did that night.” yoongi says and pours the finished coffee in his mug.

you feel a pang in your chest so you look at jungkook with a cocked eyebrow for an explanation.

he is ashamed of that night?

“no!” jungkook looks panicked. “i don’t- i... it’s not like that.” he keeps stuttering and you don’t know what to say. maybe you should’ve considered the chance of them regretting it.

“she doesn’t need any type of reassurance, jungkook,” yoongi speaks again. “we both know she’s not the one you’re having trouble with.”

“hyung.” jungkook says like he’s warning him about something you don’t really understand.

“jungkook.” yoongi replies with the same tone but he currently looks much more calm than jungkook.

“can any of you explain what is happening?” you say in confusion and jungkook just looks down at his almost empty bowl while yoongi turns around to face you with a hand gripping the counter behind him and grabbing his coffee mug with the other.

“jungkook’s never messed around with another boy and now he’s acting like he’s committed a crime.” yoongi explains and you turn to jungkook when you hear him sigh.

“i’m not gay.” he mutters, still not looking up from his cereal.

“i’m not gay either,” yoongi replies like jungkook has said the most stupid thing he’s ever heard. “do you know what being bi means?”

“i’m not bi either.” jungkook replies.

yoongi snorts. “okay.”

“hyung.”

“i just swallowed your cum, you’re acting like i fucked you in the ass.” yoongi snaps and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to hide the gasp that threatens to slip out.

“you touched me too.” jungkook mumbles.

“and now you’re gonna say that you hated it, right?” yoongi scoffs and jungkook gets quiet. “jungkook, you almost came in my hand.”

“shut the fuck up!” jungkook snaps, finally looking up at yoongi with what you think is supposed to be an angry expression but in your opinion he just looks cute. and you guess yoongi might think the same.

“or what?” yoongi replies with a cocked eyebrow. jungkook doesn’t respond, just grabs his now empty bowl and walks to the sink, leaving it there before walking out of the kitchen.

and thank god because you were gonna drown in the fucking sexual tension if they stayed together in the same room for 5 more seconds.

“sheesh...” you whisper and walk to the counter to grab an apple.

“i don’t even know why you tried to do anything.” yoongi mumbles against his coffee mug before giving it a sip.

“you know it’s not his fault to be a little confused, right?” you tell him and sit on the chair jungkook was just sitting at. “you were kind of an asshole right now.” you admit and he sighs, putting his blue mug down on the counter.

“i’m not mad because he’s confused, he has all of the right to go through that, all of us do.” yoongi clarifies and you hum before giving your apple a bite. “what bothers me is that he can’t even look at me since that night.” he says, his voice quieter this time.

“yeah... i know.” you nod because you’ve obviously noticed.

yoongi sighs. “did i ruin everything with him?” you hate how worried he looks. of course yoongi cares about him. after all, jungkook is his friend and you can’t imagine how tough it must be for him to feel like he’s losing his friend.

“you didn’t, yoongi.” you answer his question because you really mean it. “i just think he needs some time to think.”

“thinking is what made him start acting like this, he looked perfectly fine that night.” yoongi tells you. “what he has to do is talk about it, but he won’t because he’s stubborn as shit.”

“yoongi.”

“he’s my friend, i can insult him.” he says and you can’t help but chuckle. “but seriously, he should talk about all of what he’s been bottling up. he’s probably been thinking about that night for all of these past days.”

“he’s not the only one,” you blurt out without even thinking and you can feel your cheeks heat up as soon as you look at yoongi and see a smirk growing on his face. “leave me alone.” you tell him before he can tease you about it.

“i didn’t say anything,” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “but i’ve been thinking about it too so don’t look so embarrassed.” he mumbles like it’s nothing as he puts his mug in the sink.

“you have?” you ask quietly. you don’t really know why but you thought he would’ve already moved on from it, that’s why this is surprising.

“y/n, c’mon.” he chuckles like your question is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, like the answer is obvious.

you’re about to reply, not really know what exactly, but jungkook is on the door again. he’s changed from his pajamas into some black sweatpants and a big hoodie, the hood over his head to probably cover his messy hair.

“where are you going?” you ask him. a stupid question really. at this point of quarantine people can only really leave for specific jobs or to do the groceries, and since the three of you work from home you can only suppose he’s going to do the groceries.

you turn out to be right when he walks into the kitchen and picks the little piece of paper with the list of groceries before putting it in the pocket of his hoodie. “the groceries,” he replies either way and looks at you. “do you need anything else?” he asks and you notice the way he completely ignores if yoongi wants anything too but decide not to say anything.

“not really,” you shake your had and he hums. “thanks, kook.”

jungkook nods in response and leaves the kitchen without saying another word, not even sparing yoongi a glance. just a couple of seconds later you can hear the front door opening and closing.

“he’s so...” yoongi sighs as you give your apple the last bite.

“so what?” you stand up to walk to the trash can and throw the apple. he doesn’t answer. “you wanna fuck him so bad.” you tease him.

“maybe.” he hums and you look at him, he’s just mindlessly scrolling down his phone.

you sigh and hop on the counter, swinging your legs as you think of ways to comfront him about that night. but your mouth ends up being faster than your brain.

“what did you mean?” you ask and see him putting his phone down to pay attention to you.

“what?” it just hits you now how intimidating his gaze is so you look down at your lap before speaking again.

“have you really been thinking about that night?” your voice is a little more quiet now.

“of course.” he replies like it’s the easiest question he’s ever gotten.

“okay, but like... in a good or bad way?”

when you don’t get an answer you look up at yoongi and find him pursing his lips in deep thought, like he’s calculating the words to say.

“so we’re finally talking about this.” he says.

“you don’t want to?”

“i thought you didn’t,” yoongi replies. “you didn’t address it the next morning and both you and jungkook kind of looked mortified so i didn’t pressure you into talking, i thought you wanted to forget about it.”

“i mean,” you start, trying to find the words to explain. “i kinda wanted to forget,” yoongi hums for you to keep talking. “because i felt so... weird? no, not weird. i felt-”

“uncomfortable?”

“no.”

“regretful?”

“no,” you shake your head again. “ugh, i don’t know how to explain it. i just couldn’t believe i did that, i felt a little... dirty.” you admit and god, it is so embarrassing.

“you are,” yoongi replies with a little smirk that makes you want to jump on him. jesus christ, you’re so fucked. “no, but seriously- i understand,” he says, smirk completely gone. “you could’ve talked to me though.”

“i didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it,” you explain with the annoying feeling that your cheeks are heating up again. “and since you didn’t talk about it either i thought you regretted it or something...” you mumble and yoongi’s jaw almost drops to the floor.

“what are you talking about?” he frowns, seemingly offended by what you said.

“you don’t regret it?” you ask shyly.

“the only thing i regret is not fucking you too.”

holy shit.

you could have a gun pressed to the back of your head right now and still wouldn’t admit the way your whole body feels like it’s been set on fire just from one stupid sentence.

“you- you can’t say stuff like that.” you mutter and have the decency to look at him even if you’re red as a tomato because you know he’s gonna know either way. because yoongi is a menace.

“why not?” he cocks an eyebrow. and fuck, he’s so hot you don’t understand how the hell you didn’t realize until now.

“because.” you reply because you don’t know what to say.

“no way you’re getting shy now...” yoongi chuckles as he walks to you.

“leave me alone.” you whine in protest and reach to him with your hand to softly slap his face. you do it in a playful way, your hand barely brushing against his cheek, but yoongi’s smirk completely disappears and something in your stomach twists in fear.

“do that again.” his voice is so fucking low all of the sudden, like he’s challenging you, and you don’t know if you’re scared or turned on.

“i- i’m sorry, did i hurt you?” of course the most stupid question you could’ve asked in a moment like this is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

yoongi only shakes his head. “i said do that again,” he repeats and takes the final step towards you to stand right in front of you. “harder.”

you gulp. your whole body feels too hot, your clothes are starting to feel uncomfortable. yoongi is too close and you’re sure he’s devouring you with his eyes.

“yoongi.” you try to say something but you don’t know what you can really say.

you’ve never hit anyone. well, maybe one time a couple of years ago when a guy didn’t stop bothering you at a club when you just wanted to dance with your friends. you’ve never hit anyone this way.

does yoongi like this? is he really one of those people?

“i don’t wanna hurt you.” you mumble and feel stupid right after.

“i like it when it hurts,” yoongi replies and you have to bite your lip not to moan. “i’m asking you to do it, so just-”

the sound of the slap echoes in the quiet kitchen and you stare at yoongi with panic growing in your chest and a weird itch on the palm of your hand, the one you haven’t even put down yet from how shocked you are that you just slapped yoongi. his head is turned to the side from the slap and you can see the little reddened skin on his cheek before he turns back to you.

“i’m so sorr-”

you never get to properly apologize because the words die down your throat the second yoongi’s lips collide against yours. you immediately kiss him back and hum against his mouth when he wraps his arms around your body, moving closer to stand between your legs and pulling you as close as he can to his body. your arms are soon wrapping around his neck too and you completely lose yourself in the kiss.

he kisses you like he’s missed you. like he’s been wanting, needing to kiss you again for these past two weeks. and you’re no better, you kiss him back with the same hunger and desperation because you now realize just how bad you needed him.

“fuck,” he mumbles between kisses and you hum in response, not daring to pull away when it feels so good. “can’t stop thinking about you.”

“yoongi...” you whine while one of yoongi’s hands goes up and down your thigh softly, too softly compared to the way he’s kissing you.

“wanted you so fucking bad.” yoongi sighs and starts kissing down your jaw towards your neck.

“fuck,” a little breathy chuckle slips out of your mouth when you realize something. “this fucking counter again.”

yoongi chuckles against your neck and brings his other hand to your other thigh, making you wrap your legs around you before picking you up from the counter.

“what-” you mumble but yoongi gives you just a short kiss to shut you up for a moment as he starts walking out of the kitchen.

“do you wanna get caught again?” he teases and your cheeks burn. you hide your face on the crook of his neck in embarrassment. “i want you to myself today, if that’s okay.” yoongi says and fuck, why does everything he say makes you feel like you’re melting? you’re sure he wasn’t like this before the kitchen incident.

“yeah, that’s okay.” you leave a kiss on his neck that has him letting out a shaky breath as he keeps walking down the corridor.

“good.” he hums and you keep kissing his neck, sucking a little mark on a spot that’s clearly sensitive because as soon as you start sucking on it yoongi’s grip on your thighs tightens significantly.

you’re brought back to reality and forced to stop kissing on his neck when yoongi is suddenly placing you down on a bed, his bed. the covers are extremely soft, that’s the first thing you notice, and the mattress seems super comfortable. in that moment you can understand why yoongi stays in bed until late somedays, his bed is so fucking nice.

“there you go,” yoongi says as he hovers over you and positions himself on his knees between your legs, one of his elbows on the mattress right next to your head to support his body. “pretty.” he smiles before kissing you again.

“you should’ve...” you start between kisses, your hands going up to his long hair while his free hand goes down to your waist. “should’ve talked to me before.”

“could tell you the same.” he replies and stops kissing your lips to go a little lower, kissing your neck again.

“wait.” you squirm under him and try to push him away.

yoongi quickly pulls away, looking down at you with worried eyes. “everything okay?” he asks.

“yeah,” you nod. “just wanna be on top.” you try to push him again and he chuckles.

“okay,” yoongi hums and he suddenly grabs you by your thighs and turns the both of you around so that you’re on top. “good?” he asks, staying sat up with you on his lap.

“yeah.” you smile as you place your hands on his shoulders.

“are you trying to get all dominant on me now?” he teases while his hands find their way under your shirt.

you don’t know what gives you the courage for it but you smirk back. “and what if i was?”

yoongi snorts.

“what?” you frown, clearly offended by his response.

“nothing...” he says but you can see how he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“just so you know, i’m a good dom.”

and it’s not a lie. you’ve been dominant in bed quite many times before, it’s not like it’s your preference but you definitely have. you’re confident even if something inside of you tells you there’s no way you’re gonna be able to dom him, your pride is bigger than that right now because his stupid smirk is making you want to shut him up.

“mh... i’m sure you are.” yoongi speaks with that stupid smirk.

“yoongi.” you whine in protest and feel stupid right after because his smirk only grows bigger.

“you’re such a cute little dom.” he brings his hand to your face and drags his thumb across your lower lip, making you realize you’re pouting.

“you’re pissing me off,” you shake him up a little with your hands on his shoulders. “i can dom you.”

“i had you blabbering like a little bitch the other day and i hadn’t even touched you yet.” yoongi says and gives your waist a light squeeze that makes you flinch.

“it was jungkook,” you say, just because he’s actually getting to you and you need a distraction. “he was the one fucking me.” you clarify and he cocks an eyebrow.

“you think jungkook was the dominant one that night?” he asks. “he completely shut down when i got there.”

you gulp when you remember how jungkook’s dominant demeanor completely disappeared as soon as yoongi walked in the kitchen that night, how he clearly obeyed to everything yoongi told him. and it is so fucking hot. by this point your panties must be ruined, you can’t help but squirm uncomfortably on top of him.

yoongi seems to notice your problem because he looks down at where your bodies are together and moves his hands down to your hips, pulling you closer to him so that you’re sat exactly on top of his crotch. a sigh escapes your mouth before you can stop it when you feel how hard he is under you.

“i bet i can make you cry before you can even begin to try dominating me.” he hums and nuzzles into your neck, making you squirm just with the feeling of his nose on your skin.

“you just caught me in a bad time that night,” you mumble. and you’re kinda right, you were so desperate that night, you’re sure you could’ve done a lot better if your desperation hadn’t been clouding your mind. “don’t be so confident.”

“i went so fucking easy on you both that night,” yoongi says against your skin like it’s a warning. “actually, i didn’t do anything and you two were doing everything i said like you were under a spell.”

“i...” your mind goes blank when he runs his tongue down your neck.

“you should’ve seen your face,” yoongi continues, leaving little kisses down the wet stripe on your neck. “you were fucked out, you looked dumb.” he chuckles a little and you should feel offended but you only moan in response when he bites on your neck, not enough to hurt but enough to get a reaction from you.

“yoongi-”

“it’s okay baby,” he hums, his breath hitting the sensitive skin of your neck and making goosebumps erupt all over your body. “i would love nothing more than to fuck you dumb.”

“that’s-” you surpress the moan that’s threatening to come out of your mouth when yoongi places his hands on your hips and pulls you closer to him just to grind against his clothed crotch. “that’s not the way you talk about a lady.” you manage to say even though your voice breaks halfway through. yoongi has obviously noticed because a dark chuckle hits your neck again.

“oh, i know,” he says. you can definitely feel how your panties are sticking to your pussy now. “but you’re not a lady, you’re just a slut.”

a loud moan slips out of your mouth when he makes you grind your hips again and the friction between you feels just right. “yoongi...” you hold on tight to his shoulders as his lips make their way up to whisper in your ear.

“right?”

“yoongi, i-” by this time your hips are moving on their own, chasing that delicious friction agaist his crotch.

“aren’t you my pretty slut?” the gentle bite to your earlobe does it for you.

you don’t remember the last time you needed someone this bad. well, maybe jungkook a couple of weeks ago, but somehow this feels different. your body is screaming for him, something inside you has been begging you to let go of that pride and just give into him since you kissed.

“please.” you say and feel stupid right after because you’ve already given up and because you don’t know what you’re asking for.

“oh, how i love to hear you say that word.” yoongi smiles wide at you and you can’t help but continue grinding your hips against him.

“fuck, yoongi i-”

“mh, i know.” he gives you a sympathetic nod and looks down at how you’re working your hips. “look at you,” he says and gently slaps your hip. “already begging for it like the slut you are.”

you try to speak but the only sound coming out of your mouth is another pathetic whimper as you keep chasing that friction.

“should i just let you do this until you cum?” yoongi asks, you instantly shake your head.

“no,” you slide your hands down his arms until you’re wrapping them around his wrists. “touch me.”

“i’m touching you.” he fakes a confused expression as he squeezes your hips just a little. you just know he’s having so much fun with this.

“yoongi, you know what i mean,” you grind against him one last time before he lets out a chuckle. “what?” and you almost can’t even recognize your voice anymore from how desperate and whiny you sound, but you know he likes it.

“i find it funny how you were trying to go all dominant and shit just a minute ago and now you’re begging like a slut.”

you don’t say anything in response, you only bite your lip to hold back a sound because you’ve never really enjoyed being talked to like this in bed but now you might be discovering something new about yourself because yoongi makes it so hot.

he smirks at your lack of response and turns the both of you again, making you lay down on your back with him between your legs. and you enjoyed being on top of him for a moment but you can’t lie and say you don’t like this position as well.

“i would love to take my time with you, but i wanna see that pretty pussy again,” yoongi says, completely unaware of how you blush at his words because he’s focused on pulling your sweatpants down your thighs. “maybe i’ll make it longer next time, but i’ve been waiting for two weeks.”

next time. the knowledge that he’s already thinking about a next time makes you a little giddy but you don’t make a comment about it.

you kick your sweatpants off when yoongi pulls them past your ankles and let then fall on the floor.

yoongi makes a disapproving soud when you bend your legs and close them, hiding from him. “c’mon, be good and open those pretty legs for me.” he puts a hand on one of your ankles, trying to make you stretch your legs.

you give in so easily, spreading your legs enough for him to get between them again. his hands go to your thighs, rubbing up and down slowly and leaving goosebumps behind.

but he’s not looking at you yet. well, he is looking at you, he’s looking at you with a pretty smirk but he’s not looking where you want him to look. that alone makes you buck your hips up in an attempt to make him look down. the gesture makes yoongi break in a chuckle but he still doesn’t give you what you want, leaning down and supporting his weight on his elbow next to your head. then he gives you a kiss that leaves you speechless instead.

“what?” you mumble in confusion.

“you’re so cute when you’re horny.” yoongi gives you a smile that successfully distracts you from his hand going up your thigh.

you open your mouth to reply but the only thing that comes out is a loud moan when you suddenly feel yoongi’s hand cupping your pussy over your panties.

“have you been this wet all this time?” yoongi says and your brain can’t even come up with an answer because his fingers start running up and down your clothed folds.

you’re so wet that the feeling of the soaked fabric of your panties against your pussy makes you blush in embarrassment, but it feels so good to finally be touched that you can’t help the sounds coming out of your mouth.

“what a dirty girl,” yoongi hums as your hips buck a little to meet the movements of his hand. “so wet just because of some kissing and some grinding?” he teases you with a chuckle.

“please, take my panties off.” you beg. you need his fingers on you.

“only because you said please.”

he partially listens to you because he doesn’t really take them off but instead pushes them to the side, which you find ten times hotter.

a loud moan slips out of your mouth when his fingers finally touch you with nothing in between. your hand twitches with the urge to cover your mouth but you know yoongi won’t like that so you settle with gripping at the sheets of his bed instead.

“haven’t stopped thinking about this pussy,” yoongi mumbles and gives it a little slap that makes you squeak in surprise. “cute.” he grins and kisses you once again.

you kiss him back, wrapping your arms around him to make sure he doesn’t pull away. he swallows all of your moans when he easily slips one of his fingers inside you and starts fucking you with it before quickly adding another one, you’re so wet that his fingers slide in so well.

“mhh… that’s a good pussy.” yoongi hums between kisses and you clench around his fingers.

his fingers feel so good, you can’t wait for his cock.

you moan his name, making him smile against your mouth. “does that feel good?”

“yeah.” you whine and he curls his fingers inside you, easily finding that spot. “fuck, right there…”

it feels so good that you almost forgot you don’t live alone. almost. you remember because you’re suddenly being surprised by the sound of the apartment door opening and closing.

jungkook is back home.

“yoongi,” you mumble against his lips like a warning but he only hums and starts fingering you faster. “fuck... yoon- yoongi, stop.”

“do you really want me to stop?” yoongi breaks away from the kiss with the hottest smirk on his face.

you don’t know what to answer. well, you know you don’t want him to stop, but jungkook is home now and you are loud enough for him to hear.

“yoon...” you try but nothing else comes out when he slips a third finger.

“that’s right,” he smiles and leaves a sweet kiss on your jaw as he keeps finger fucking you at a pace that’s driving you crazy. “say my name.”

you do. you say his name and he slips his fingers out just to give your pussy another spank that makes your whole body twitch under him.

“louder.” yoongi says as he rubs his fingers over your folds to ease the pain from the spank.

you say his name louder, but just a little because you know jungkook must be placing the groceries in the kitchen right now, he could hear you if you said it louder.

but jungkook hearing you must be exactly what yoongi wants because he gives you another spank that has you moaning his name way too loud. yoongi smiles at the sound.

“that’s a good slut.” he praises, his breath hitting your ear, and starts rubbing your pussy with his fingers from side to side so fast that you don’t know what to do with your body, your hips twitching and your cheeks reddening at the wet sound of his hand against your pussy.

god, you’re so wet.

“please…” you beg through a sound that’s close to a sob and it makes yoongi stop the movements of his hand and straighten up a little to look down at you, sitting back on his feet under him.

 “please what?” he finally gives your pussy a break but you miss his hand, the one he’s bringing to his mouth right now. “messy fucking girl, i always have to clean you up, right?”

you hold your breath and your pussy throbs when he slips two of his wet fingers in his mouth and hums like it is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

“yoongi please.” you repeat even if you don’t know what you’re asking.

“is that the only word you know how to say now?” yoongi asks, not really paying attention to you but rather to cleaning your juices off his fingers. “i won’t know what you want if you don’t tell me.”

your desperation gives you the courage to sit up, your legs a little bent up on each side of yoongi, and grab at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up until it’s coming off. you throw it on the floor and take the chance to run your hands down his chest, feeling the hot skin under your fingers and getting so lost in it that the words come out of your mouth easily.

“i want your cock.” you blurt out, looking up at him with your best puppy eyes.

“you want it?” yoongi says with that condescending tone again, like he’s talking to a dumb person.

fuck, you want him so bad.

you just nod in reply. he hums and then gets up on his knees, getting so close to you with how you’re sitting. “then pull it out.”

you hold your breath for a second. “can i?”

“of course you can.”

you don’t think about it twice. you hook your fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants again and tug them down, biting your lip at the sight of the outline of his hard cock under the fabric of his boxers.

he’s so big. and you want him so bad.

“c’mon,” yoongi urges you to do something and you finally tug down at his boxers. “there you go.”

you notice two things when you’ve pulled his boxers down to his thighs.

first one, he’s definitely big.

second one, yoongi has a piercing on his dick. right on the underside, under his tip, a barbell on his frenulum.

you have to bite back a moan at how hot you find it and yoongi seems to notice your reaction because he chuckles. “you’ve never seen one?” he says with a teasing tone and you look up at his face.

“can i…” you shift uncomfortably under him because you need your panties off.

“can you what?” you hold your breath when he brings a hand down to his cock, stroking it slowly. he is so close to you in the position you are right now.

“can i suck you off?” you blurt out before you can even worry about looking desperate.

you don’t miss the way he squeezes on the base of his cock as soon as you let the words out, but he shakes his head.

you’re about to complain when yoongi speaks up again. “i would love to fuck that pretty mouth, but i need to fuck that pussy first.” he nods down at your body.

you lean back, supporting yourself against your elbows, and look at him with puppy eyes now that you know they seem to work on him. “then come fuck it.” you know you’re pouting but you couldn’t care less right now. you need him so bad.

“it will be my pleasure,” he grins but then looks down at your chest. “but take that shirt of first.”

you obey instantly and take it off in a second, throwing it somewhere on the bedroom floor and finally laying down on your back. you don’t miss yoongi’s gaze on your bare chest.

“stop doing that.” you throw one arm over your eyes not to see the way he’s devouring you with his eyes.

“i’m not doing anything.”

“you’re looking.”

“am i supposed to look somewhere else?” he responds and you chuckle a little.

“no, but- ah!” a moan escapes your mouth when you feel yoongi’s mouth on one of your nipples. you unconsciously slap your hand over your mouth to muffle any other noise slipping out of it, but yoongi is quickly grabbing your wrist and pushing your arm away.

“none of that shit,” he says before starting to litter kisses all over your chest. your back arches a little when he flicks his tongue on your other nipple and he chuckles in response. “so cute.”

“just fuck me already.” you beg, feeling yourself getting even more wet each second.

“someone’s eager to get fucked, huh?” yoongi straightens up again and wraps his hand around his cock again, stroking it lazily like before. you can’t look away.

then all of the brattiness you have in you slips out your mouth. “no, i just think you’re making me wait longer because you don’t know what to do with that.” you nod towards his cock.

yoongi’s smile is gone when you look back at his face and you know you’re in trouble.

“i wanted to look at your face while i fucked you,” he starts and you can already sense a but coming. “but i want you on all fours now.” you open your mouth to say something but he shakes his head and speaks again. “turn around before you piss me off again.” he talks with such a low voice that you can’t deny him anything.

you turn around and get up on your hands and knees, though your breath hitches when he places a hand on your back and pushes down for you to get down on your elbows, you squish your cheek on his pillow.

yoongi curses behind you and you can sense he’s looking down at your exposed pussy. the reaction gives you the courage to arch your back, pressing your chest to the mattress and spreading your legs a little, just enough for him to see you better.

“if you tell me i can’t fuck you raw i’m gonna be mad.” he curses and you giggle.

“you can do it.”

“really?” yoongi asks. you appreciate that he’s making sure.

“yes, i let jungkook fuck me raw, you should do it too.” you respond and move your ass a little. “c’mon, i’m waiting.”

and you really thought he was gonna make you wait a little more, that’s why you gasp in surprise when yoongi rubs the tip of his cock through your folds.

“oh my god…” you mumble. “please, don’t tease.” you beg when he keeps rubbing it up and down. you can actually feel the piercing and you might go crazy.

“i don’t know, since you said i don’t know what to do with my cock maybe i shouldn’t give it to you.” yoongi says with a low chuckle as he places one of his hands on your hip.

“no, please.” you whine into the pillow, feeling like you could actually cry if he doesn’t slip it in right now.

“look at you, you haven’t stopped saying please since i first touched you.” he presses his tip to your clit and rubs it just right before pulling away and making you whine again.

“i swear to god if you don’t-” a loud moan escapes your mouth when you feel him slip in slowly. “oh fuck…” you mumble and bury your face on the pillow. but yoongi doesn’t seem to like that.

he’s suddenly threading his fingers through your hair so gently but then he tugs hard to lift your head from the pillow as he bottoms out. “wanna hear you.” he says.

“so good.” you manage to say as you support your upper body on your elbows so that the hair pulling doesn’t hurt a lot, just the necessary.

“yeah?” yoongi hums as he starts to pull out just as slowly as he slipped in.

“big…” you sigh and hear a hint of another chuckle before he slips in again.

“you’re so fucking tight, holy shit,” he groans and you can feel his hand on your hair faltering for a second so you clench around him to get a reaction. “oh fuck.” he moans and he sounds so hot that you push your ass back against him to make him bottom out again.

“you feel so good.” you whine and he finally lets go of your hair but you rest your head on your side for him to hear you.

“can i move?” yoongi asks, both hands on your hips now.

“yes please.” you beg.

and he’s not gentle, he fucks you hard right from the start. you can actually feel the cold piercing inside of you and you think you might go crazy. the sound of skin against skin the only thing echoing inside the room because it feels so good that no sound comes out of your mouth.

yoongi doesn’t like that. he gives your ass a hard spank as he bottoms out again and stays there.

“if i don’t hear you i’ll stop,” he warns you and you try to move your hips for him to start moving again, but his hard grip on them doesn’t let you. “did you understand?”

“yes.” you whine and another moan slips out of your mouth when he spanks you again.

“good slut.”

you think you’re gonna cry when he starts fucking you again. this time you allow yourself to let all the sounds out, not caring about how loud you are.

“yoongi...” your voice breaks when he starts hitting that sweet spot that makes your legs shake. your knees hurt but it feels so good you don’t want to change positions.

you’re so fucked out already, you wouldn’t be so gone at this point with anyone else, but somehow it feels different with yoongi.

“that feels good?” yoongi hums and you feel a little bit of pride at how broken his voice sounds too.

“yes!” you moan. “please, don’t stop… please.”

“fuck,” he truly seems to like to hear you beg. “it’s like this pussy was made for me.” and he won’t stop hitting that spot, you’re so fucking close.

“yours.” you mumble, completely fucked out, and clench when you hear him chuckle at the word.

“mine?” he teases, slowing down his thrusts.

you nod uncomfortably against the pillow and cry out when yoongi suddenly pulls out. “no, please…” you beg, desperately pushing your ass back for him to keep fucking you.

“no, turn around.” yoongi says and you have half a mind to obey, turning around on the bed and finally laying on your back with a relief sigh.

you’re quick to wrap your legs around him to push him closer. “please, yoongi, fuck me.” all shame is gone, you need him so bad.

“slut wants my cock?”

you nod.

“then say it.”

“i want your cock.” you bite your lip when he starts rubbing his tip through your folds again.

“who wants my cock?” yoongi asks, acting dumb. you want to cry.

“me.” you sigh, bucking your hips up to grind against his cock.

“who?” yoongi asks again and you get it now.

“your slut.” you answer. yoongi smirks proudly.

“who’s cock do you want?”

god. you will go insane at this point.

“yours.”

“mh, but that’s not enough for you, right?” he hums, looking down at where his cock is rubbing against you. your breath hitches when your dizzy mind is able to get what he means.

“i-”

“one cock is not enough for your, right?”

“yoongi…”

“you got fucked by one of your roommates two weeks ago and now you’re letting your other roommate fuck you too?” yoongi circles the tip of his cock on your clit, the piercing making it feel so good youe eyes roll back. “do you spread your legs for anyone who has a cock?”

“n- no…” you blush, the humilliating words making you feel so good somehow.

“no? just for us?” yoongi asks and leans down a little, the hand he was using to hold the base of his cock wrapping around your neck now.

“yes,” you sigh. everything feels so hot. “just for you.”

“yeah?” he hums. fuck, he’s so hot.

you try to nod but his hand around your neck squeezes a little. “fuck…” you moan, your pussy throbbing now.

“i knew you would like this, dirty girl,” yoongi chuckles and gives your neck another light squeeze as he starts slipping his cock into you again. “that’s a good slut.” he groans as you clench around him again.

yoongi keeps his hand around your neck as he starts fucking you, squeezing just lightly. and he knows what he’s doing, because the second he lets go you let out the loudest moan you’ve ever made. your hand flies to your mouth in embarrassment but yoongi grabs your wrist and pulls it over your head, pinning it right there.

“i wanna fucking hear you.” he says, hips hitting against the back of your thighs so hard as he fucks you at a brutal pace.

“jung- jungkook is home…” you mutter as a warning but he only laughs.

“is that an inconvenient now?” he gives you a deep thrust that makes your eyes roll back. “let him hear. should i ask him to come here too?”

“fuck.” you’re so close, if he keeps talking like that you’re gonna cum.

“i’m sure he’s listening from his room right now,” yoongi says, his thrusts hitting just right, you’re sure you’re creaming his cock by this point. “do you think he’s touching himself as he listens to you?”

“oh my god…” your hand twitches with the urge to cover your mouth again but he keeps it pinned to the mattress over your head, your other hand grips at the sheets tightly.

“i’m sure he wishes he was in my place right now.” he looks down at how your boobs bounce from the thrusts and you’re sure your cheeks are tomato red.

“so close...” you moan, your legs trembling around him.

“i start talking about jungkook and now you’re gonna cum?” yoongi teases, earning another whine from you. “wow, one cock is really not enough for you, isn’t it…”

“yoongi!” you squeak when you feel his free hand on your pussy, he starts rubbing circles on your clit.

“gonna cum around my cock?”

“yes! yes, please!” you’re so fucking loud now but you couldn’t care less.

“you want him to hear you, huh?” yoongi chuckles.

“i’m g- gonna cum…” you mumble, the words almost not coming out.

“say his name,” yoongi says and you open your eyes in shock, pussy clenching around him. “say his name or you’re not coming.” he warns as he slows down his thrusts.

“yoongi, no…” you cry out.

“that’s not his name.” yoongi gives your clit a little lap that makes your body twitch.

“ju… jungkook.” you try and blush right after. it feels so wrong to moan someone else’s name in bed, you know yoongi wants it but it makes you feel so dirty. he wants you to feel like that.

“louder, baby.” he says and the contrast between that petname and the names he was calling you before makes you feel like you’re gonna pass out.

“jungkook!” you finally say, making yoongi grin down at you.

“that’s it, say it again.” he says and resumes the pace he was fucking you with before.

“jungkook!” you moan louder and yoongi’s fingers on your clit is faster. “fuck! oh my- ah! gonna cum!”

“good slut,” yoongi hums. “c’mon, cum for us.”

us.

the stupid word and its implications make you clench impossibly tight around him as the craziest shock waves run through your whole body. your vision goes blurry so you close your eyes while your body goes limp, completely exhausted as you feel yoongi slipping out.

you’re about to complain when you open your eyes and see him stroking his cock and moaning as white stripes of cum land on your sweaty chest.

“oh my god…” you sigh and throw one of your arms over your eyes.

you hum when you feel yoongi’s hand on your cheek. “are you okay?” he speaks so softly you could’ve sworn he’s not the guy who just fucked you.

“yeah.” you reply and something makes you start giggling lazily.

“what are you laughing about now?” yoongi says but yo can hear a smile in his voice.

“i can’t believe that happened.” you mumble and put your arm down to look at him.

“well, it happened.” he leans down and gives your lips a sweet kiss, then he gets down from the bed.

you watch him put his sweatpants and grab a towel from one of the drawers on his closet as your chest keeps going up and down, trying to get your breathing back to normal.

“seriously, are you okay?” he asks when he comes back to bed and sits down next to you, cleaning his cum from your stomach.

“yeah, just… a little sore,” you chuckle, your cheeks burning from how gentle he’s suddenly being with you. “i don’t know if i’m gonna be able to get up.”

“you can stay here for as long as you want.” he says softly and folds the towel, throwing it on a basket where you suppose he puts his dirty clothes.

“i would stay here all day,” you admit. “but i have work and i have to eat first.”

“i can prepare a bath for you,” yoongi says and your heart does something weird in your chest. “for your sore muscles.” he rubs a hand up and down your bare thigh.

“can you do that?” you look at him with big eyes.

“of course i can.”

“how can you be so sweet after everything you just did to me?” you ask and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss you again.

“aftercare is important, i take that really seriously.”

“okay,” you smile sweetly at him. “then go prepare that bath.”

he snorts. “brat.” but he stands up again and walks out of the room, closing the door after.

you stay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling and thinking about everything you just did in this bed. and you feel kinda good and giddy about it until you remember about jungkook.

you moaned his name. you yelled his name. and he for sure heard you. you shake the thoughts away from your head and decide to get up from bed. you need that bath.

your body begs you to lay down when you manage to stand up, your legs are sore and your whole body is so weak that you almost fall down when you grab yoongi’s shirt from the floor. you hum pleasantly when you put the shirt on and notice it covers you perfectly, yoongi always wears big clothes.

your trembling legs guide you out of the room and the smell of food cooking in the kitchen hits your nose and almost makes you moan at how hungry you are, jungkook must be cooking lunch right now. since he must be in the kitchen you take the chance to run to the bathroom, where yoongi is preparing your bath. but you’re proved wrong when you collapse against a hard chest in the middle of the corridor.

jungkook is looking down at you with something you can’t really read in his eyes. he just walked out of his room, he had probably left the food cooking in the kitchen.

“hi!” you say like nothing ever happened because you’re still so embarrassed, your cheeks burning again.

“hey.” jungkook mumbles and separates from you, motioning to walk past you and back to the kitchen.

you are walking past him and to the bathroom when he says your name, making you turn to him. “yes?”

“next time just come to my room instead of thinking about me when you’re with him.”

you freeze. you literally don’t know what to say.

you open your mouth to try and say something, probably something stupid, when yoongi appears right behind you.

“i think you should just join us next time.” he says and the smug expression on jungkook’s face completely disappears. he turns around and walks inside the kitchen again.

your shoulders drop in disappointment because the reaction kind of felt like a rejection but yoongi places his hand on your shoulder.

“he will come around,” he tells you. “he’s just stubborn.”

“yeah…” you mumble and turn around to follow him into the bathroom.

“you really want him, huh?” yoongi teases you but you completely ignore him, standing in front of the mirror and cringing at how messy you look. “my shirt looks good on you.” he adds, standing behind you.

a little smirk grows on your face as you look at him in the mirror. “you fuck me once and you’re already in love with me?” you tease.

“wow, look at how bratty that mouth is,” yoongi mumbles, crossing his arms against his chest. “but then you barely speak a word when you’re getting fucked.” that shuts your mouth completely and he looks proud of it.

“shut up…” you mumble and turn around to push him out of the bathroom. “get out, i wanna enjoy my bath.”

yoongi just chuckles to himself before turning around and leaving. you only notice the dumb smile on your face when you look at yourself in the mirror again.

yoongi has you smiling like that. and you also remember jungkook, how he basically told you to have sex with him again and the invitation actually sparked something inside of you.

you were just roommates a month ago but now you’re starting a dangerous game with the both of them. the thing is that it feels good, you can only hope it turns out alright.

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A/N: askssjdnandkdjas i hope you liked this chapter, please let me know your thoughts !!! it helps a lot to have feedback <3 i'm obviously makind this a series so pls look forward for the next chapter :) 💖 thank you all for reading ! have a nice day babes

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TAGLIST: @m4gg13-g @kooksbunnnn @baechugff @danielle143 @signingsongbird @dontcallmeelle @fancy-cloud @melakrish

[velarisdusk]

Shattered

Hockey AU

Series Masterlist Part 3 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 5 - Burning Desire

word count: 8k content: [ explicit sexual content, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dirty talk, praise, degredation, dominance/submission, biting, group almost sex?, 5 guys but it isn't a gangbang sorry | infidelity, alcohol mention, strong language, emotional conflict, verbal conflict] summary: At a lavish party you're reluctantly attending on behalf of your boyfriend, who's occupied with a pressing PR matter, temptation proves too alluring to resist. A heated encounter with several teammates in a secluded room is quickly shattered, forcing you to face the consequences of your actions. author's note: :)

The invitation had arrived in a gold-embossed envelope, signaling the kind of wealth and excess only a notorious socialite like Ianthe could muster. When the team saw the invite, their collective groan was almost comical.

“Oh, come on,” Azriel had grumbled, tossing the invitation onto the table. “Does she really expect us to show up to one of these again?”

“You know how she is,” Rhysand had replied with a roll of his eyes. “She’ll throw a fit if we don’t, and then all of her fans’ll spam our comments.”

Despite their reluctance, Cassian had insisted on attending. “It’s good PR,” he had said with a smirk. “Sadly, I can’t make it. I’ve got a prior engagement.”

Eris had raised an eyebrow. “What engagement?”

“A press event,” Cassian had replied smoothly. “To address your… inappropriate use of the team’s Twitter and make clear that the rest of us had nothing to do with it.”

Eris had looked defensive. “How was I supposed to know it would blow up like that?”

Cassian had stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, how would you have known? The Vipers tweeting, ‘Calling all baddies with fat asses, slide into my DMs if you want a real man tonight,’ and then following it up by replying to half of them with ‘ayo shawtay’—with five y’s—‘hit me up.’ Not unusual at all.” He paused, letting the absurdity of the situation sink in. Laughter bubbled up around the room, the tension breaking as Cassian continued, “Some outlets reported it as ‘disturbing,’ so now I’m on damage control. Important stuff. You’ll manage without me.”

So, you found yourself amidst a sea of opulence, far removed from your usual comfort. The penthouse was alive with celebrities, influencers, and high-profile guests. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, casting reflections off designer clothes and extravagant jewelry. Conversations buzzed around you, a mix of superficial small talk and name-dropping that made you feel even more out of place.

Ianthe had greeted you with an overly enthusiastic hug, her perfume almost overwhelming. “Oh my goodness, (y/n)! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you and Cassian!” she exclaimed, her voice loud and piercing. She wore a shimmering gold gown, the fabric hugging her every curve and sparkling under the dim lights. “Where is he?”

“Babe, you should go. Someone needs to make sure they don’t embarrass themselves, and since I can’t, you’re the only one I trust to handle it,” he had said, brushing a stray bit of hair behind your ear. “Besides, Ianthe will make it a whole thing if I don’t show up or at least send someone in my place. I’ve got that press thing to handle.”

“Do I really have to go?” you had asked, frowning. “I don’t know anyone there well enough to enjoy myself.”

Cassian had sighed, wrapping his arms around you. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be over before you know it. Plus, the guys’ll be there. Just stay for a bit, make an appearance, and then you can leave. Ianthe will appreciate it, and so will the team.”

You had huffed, certain they’d appreciate your presence. “Fine, but you owe me.”

He had laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“He couldn’t make it,” you said with a forced smile, smoothing down the fabric of your elegant but understated dress. “But he insisted I come in his place.”

Ianthe’s laugh had been high and tinkling, grating on your nerves. “Of course he did! Well, you’re here now, so make yourself at home! Enjoy the party!” She flitted off to greet another guest, leaving you feeling even more adrift.

Despite her warm greeting, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. As the night wore on, you tried to mingle, but the crowd was overwhelming. You watched the guys make small talk in their circles, but the noise and the crowd became suffocating. Seeking refuge, you slipped away from the chaos, your steps quickening as you wandered through Ianthe’s penthouse.

The further you ventured from the bustling noise, the more the laughter and music faded into a distant murmur. You eventually discovered a quiet hallway upstairs, offering a welcome escape from the revelry below. Following the corridor, you stumbled upon a study, its shelves lined with immaculate rows of books, each seeming more decorative than practical. You stood in the center of the room, the serene atmosphere wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The soft glow of a nearby lamp cast gentle shadows on the walls, and the muffled sounds from the party below felt like a world away. It was a rare moment of peace, a chance to collect your thoughts and find solace in the stillness of the room.

Your gaze drifted around the dim room, but your thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in a web of regret. Cassian's face flashed in your mind, a painful reminder of the trust you had shattered. The memories of what had transpired were vivid: stolen moments in the locker room with Azriel and Rhysand, the rooftop terrace with Helion and Tarquin. It had all started with light touches and innocent flirtations, things Cassian tolerated, but you had crossed a line. The reality of your actions pressed heavily on you, each encounter a mark against your integrity. Every touch from Tarquin, every whispered promise from Helion, only served to deepen your regret. It wasn’t just the physical betrayals that stung but the realization that you had allowed things to spiral out of control. What had driven you to push the boundaries so far? Was it the thrill of the forbidden, the chase of something new, or simply a frantic attempt to fill a void you hadn’t fully acknowledged before? The ache in your chest grew with each passing moment, a constant reminder of the damage you had done.

The sudden rush of music and laughter from the party downstairs broke the silence, flooding into the study as the door creaked open. You turned, startled, and saw Rhysand and Tarquin step into the room. Rhysand’s gaze was sharp, a mixture of curiosity and something else flickering in his eyes. Tarquin’s expression was equally intrigued, his attention immediately drawn to you.

“What brings you up here, alone, with all the fun downstairs?” Rhysand’s voice was smooth, almost curious, but there was an undercurrent of something more in his gaze. 

“I needed a break from all the noise,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tarquin leaned casually against the doorframe, amusement evident in his eyes. “Ianthe does have a flair for the dramatic, doesn’t she?” His tone was light, almost playful.

Rhysand nodded, his expression almost sympathetic, but his eyes never left yours. “Must be hard without Cassian here.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension in the room. “Yeah, it’s... different.”

Rhysand chuckled softly. “Tarquin and I were just chatting, and your name came up.” He stepped closer and brushed a hand down his sleeve, as if casually dismissing any pretense. “He mentioned something interesting about you.”

He took a final step, closing the distance between you. His presence was that of danger and allure. “So, I told him something interesting in return.” His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “And, well,” he continued, his lips curling into a predatory smile, “we just had to share what we learned with Azriel and Helion.”

As if on cue, the door opened again — Tarquin’s doing, you noticed — and Azriel and Helion walked in. Helion’s grin widened as he sauntered over with an easy, confident stride. “When they came over, we were just having a little chat about you,” he remarked, his tone light and teasing. But there was something in the way his gaze lingered on you, something that hinted at a deeper, more dangerous amusement.

Azriel’s sharp gaze lingered on you. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice the way you’ve been acting?” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was a subtle edge to it as if he were piecing together a puzzle you hadn’t meant for them to solve. It wasn’t that you were intentionally hiding anything; it just seemed to happen that way. He paused just a few steps away, his presence quietly commanding.

Tarquin idly traced his fingers along the edge of a nearby bookshelf, his gaze drifting back to you with a casual curiosity. “We’ve noticed you’ve slipping away whenever one of us gets too close. Almost like you’re avoiding something... or someone.” His voice was light, but it was clear he was feigning ignorance.

Rhysand’s voice dripped with mock indignation. “You’re even avoiding eye contact with us. How do you think that makes us feel?” His gaze was intense, holding you in place. 

The room was charged with tension as they closed in on you, their questions relentless. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words amidst your rising anxiety. “Look, it’s not that simple,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’ve just been... overwhelmed.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “Overwhelmed, huh?” His voice was soft, but it carried a weight that made your heart race. He moved around you with a quiet, deliberate grace, his hand settling on your shoulder with a firm yet almost tender grip. “You know, running from one fuck to another isn’t exactly a solution.” His fingers trailed slowly up your arm, the touch deceptively gentle, but there was no mistaking the intent behind it.

Helion closed the distance with a casual, almost lazy grace, his smile never fading. “Avoiding us won’t make the mess you’ve made disappear,” he teased, his voice laced with playful mockery. His hand brushed over your shoulder lightly. “Now that you’re here, though, maybe we can have a bit of fun sorting it out.”

Rhysand’s voice softened as he leaned in, his expression mockingly sympathetic. “So, (y/n), was it worth it? Playing these games, sneaking around? Did it give you what you needed?” His hand brushed against your jaw, a gentle touch that belied the weight of his words.

“Answer him, (y/n),” Tarquin chimed in, his voice nonchalant as he flipped through a book without really looking at it. “We’re all ears.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat of their scrutiny. “I... I just didn’t know how to handle everything,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady. “It was a mess, and I didn’t think it through.”

You met each of their eyes, trying to make them understand despite the teasing edge of their demeanor. “But you know what?” you added, a spark of defiance igniting in your eyes. “It takes more than one person to fuck. If you’re going to judge me, take a look at yourselves. You’re supposed to be his friends, but you’re betraying him just as much as I am. Don’t act like I’m the only one to blame.”

Azriel’s brows rose in amusement, clearly entertained. With his lips trailing the side of your neck, he murmured, “She’s got a point, doesn’t she? We’ve all played our parts in this.” You shivered at the sensation.

Tarquin closed the book with a snap and shelved it, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, if we’re all to blame, maybe we’ve been too harsh,” he drawled, standing beside Rhysand, finally joining you all.

Helion’s fingers began a slow, deliberate trail along your waist, his touch possessive. He let his fingertips graze the fabric of your dress, eyes glinting with dark amusement. “Let us make it up to you?” When you didn’t respond, he added, “I’m surprised Cassian let you out in something that makes you look so… delicious,” he purred, his voice low and sultry.

You shot him a look. “Cass doesn’t ‘let’ me do anything. I do what I please, and he’s secure enough not to care.”

Helion’s smirk widened as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Misplaced security, then,” he murmured, his tone dripping with mockery and desire.

Azriel watched the exchange with a predatory gleam. He moved his hands to your hips, the touch light but purposeful as he pulled you back into him. “Maybe he should be more worried about how easily you slip away,” he suggested, his voice a dangerous whisper. Tarquin stepped closer, his gaze fixated on you as he reached out to run his fingers along your exposed neckline. A chill ran up your spine.

Without warning, Helion’s hands slid from your waist to your hips, resting on top of Azriel’s, pulling himself closer. He leaned down for a heated kiss, his lips insistent and demanding. As his kiss deepened, Azriel ground himself against your ass, groans of pleasure from both of you filled the relatively quiet study. 

Tarquin leaned in next, his lips finding your neck. Rhysand, standing on your other side now, placed a hand on your shoulder, letting his lips graze your ear before trailing down to your jawline. Azriel’s hands moved from under Helion’s to your ass, grabbing and squeezing and pinching and spreading. “Oh, God,” you gasped breathlessly into the kiss, your voice trembling as you pressed your chest against Helion. “I can’t… I can’t handle this.” 

But his kiss only grew more fervent, his tongue exploring yours as he murmured against your lips, “You’re doing just fine, you’ve handled much more.”

With trembling hands, you reached down, your fingers deftly finding their way to the two men at your sides. Your fingers brushed against the smooth, warm fabric, feeling the outlines of their arousal. Tarquin's pants were dark navy, contrasting sharply with the crisp white of his dress shirt, and his belt was a sleek black leather that made the bulge even more pronounced. Rhysand wore a tailored charcoal suit, the fabric fitting him perfectly, showing off his powerful frame. 

As you palmed them through their pants, you couldn’t help but marvel at how incredibly sexy they all looked. Helion’s suit was a rich, deep burgundy, the color enhancing the warmth of his skin and exuding an air of refined elegance. The fabric shimmered subtly under the soft lighting, and the tailored lines of his jacket accentuated his every movement, making him look irresistibly captivating.

Though Azriel was behind you, you knew he wore a classic charcoal-grey suit, the dark color highlighting his powerful build. The suit’s fitted cut accentuated his broad shoulders and slim waist. Calling it elegance, you thought, would not do him justice.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, your voice a ragged whisper as you felt the heat and hardness of their cocks through the fabric. “You all look so… fucking hot, it’s driving me crazy.”

Azriel groaned quietly behind you, his grip on your ass tightening as he hissed, “That’s what we wanted to hear. Keep talking, angel, tell us how much you’re enjoying it.”

Your breaths came faster, each one a ragged gasp as the intensity built. “I... I can’t,” you moaned against Helion’s lips, your voice trembling. “It feels so good, it’s too much...” You turned your head to lock your lips with Rhysand, the hand you used to please him now tangling in his hair. “You’re all so fucking perfect,” you breathed, your words spilling out in a torrent of need.

Tarquin bit down on your neck, making the skin there tingle in pleasure and pain. You gasped, your voice breathless. “I want all of you, I need every bit of this... fucking addicted.” Azriel placed kisses against the back of your neck, and your words became a fervent plea. “Please don’t stop, I need more, I need all of you.” You were overwhelmed, your mind a haze of need and desire. “Just keep going, don’t stop... I’m yours, just take me, use me,” you begged, your voice raw with need.

“Well, this is a scene,” a smug voice cut through the charged atmosphere. The room went silent as every head turned toward the door.

“Seems like you’ve all been holding out on me,” Eris drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. His eyes swept over the room with a mixture of amusement and hunger. “Didn’t realize you were all getting so… wrapped up in each other tonight.” His gaze lingered on you with a dark, knowing smile. “Seems I’ve arrived just in time.”

The tension in the room shifted, grew heavier with Eris’s presence. Your heart was racing, caught between the intense pleasure still pulsing through you and the fresh wave of anxiety his scrutiny brought. The others froze momentarily, their expressions a mix of shock and discomfort.

Helion, having maintained his composure, tilted his head with a nonchalant grin. “Eris, what a surprise. Care to join?”

Eris’s grin widened as he stepped further into the room. “I’d be delighted,” he said smoothly, his gaze never leaving you. “I’m disappointed. I’ve made it very clear how much I want you. So tell me,” he murmured, his voice gaining a roguish tone as he continued, “if Cassian wasn’t satisfying you, why didn’t you come to me first, baby? You know I would’ve fucked you so much better.”

As he closed the distance, you eyed him with apprehension. Eris’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your flushed skin and the desperate look in your eyes. “If I can’t have the privilege of being the first in this room to fuck you, I’ll just have to be the best, won’t I?” 

With that, Eris pushed his way through Rhysand and Helion, his presence commanding and overpowering. His fingers brushed against your lips as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “And trust me,” he said, his voice brimming with a fierce intensity, “I plan to make up for every second of those three years. Think you can take that?” His tone was a blend of seductive confidence and genuine desire.

Before you could respond, Eris’s lips were on yours, his kiss wild and demanding. His hands tangled in your meticulously styled hair, pulling you closer as his tongue explored your mouth with an urgency that matched his frustration. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts—how wrong this felt, knowing Cassian hated Eris with a passion. They’d seemed almost friendly at the club, though. Maybe they’d become friends after that night. Which was worse? But as Eris's lips moved against yours, you couldn't help it. You found yourself clinging to him, craving more.

Rhysand’s hands roamed with deliberate slowness, slipping beneath your dress to explore the bare skin of your thighs. Each caress sparked waves of pleasure that had you gasping. His lips found your neck, tracing heated, lingering kisses that made you moan in response.

Helion’s hands roamed over your front and sides, brushing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of your dress. His lips followed a path from your shoulder down your arm, leaving a trail of kisses that made you whimper with every touch. His touch was both teasing and possessive, a stark contrast to the yearning you felt.

Behind you, Azriel's hips pressed firmly against you, lifting your dress to reveal the lacy, barely-there underwear you wore. His breath was hot and intense against your skin, his kisses on the back of your neck growing more insistent. Tarquin, on your left, knelt down, his lips placing open-mouthed kisses up your smooth leg, his hands gripping your thigh with relentless, demanding pressure.

The room was soon filled with the symphony of your moans, the fervent kisses, and the hands exploring every inch of your body. The line between pleasure and chaos blurred as their combined touches drove you to the brink of madness.

Eris pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with an intense desire and a wicked glint. “This dress... it’s in my way,” he growled, his voice rough with urgency. “It needs to go.”

Azriel swiftly undid the zip, and without a second thought, Eris grabbed the hem of your dress and tore it up and over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air of the study hit your exposed skin, making you press closer into Eris's arms, now completely vulnerable.

“God, fucking look at you,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction as his hands roamed over your newly exposed skin. He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. His hands moved with renewed fervor over your body, exploring every contour.

Rhysand, Azriel, Helion, and Tarquin took full advantage of the moment, their hands and lips everywhere, driving you to the edge with their combined touches. Your neck, your chest, your arms and legs, your ass; you couldn’t keep track of who was where anymore.

The room was filled with the sounds of your breathless moans and their low, appreciative growls and hums. Every nerve in your body was alight with sensation, the heat and intensity of their touches washing over you completely.

Eris’s hands moved to your breasts, which had been freed from your bra at some point, kneading and teasing them while his mouth claimed yours with a wild intensity. His lips traveled down to your neck, and your face flushed with embarrassment as you realized you were left in nothing but your panties and heels. The remaining fabric clung to you, highlighting your vulnerability amid their consuming attention.

“Go ahead and say those pretty words for me again,” he growled against your lips, “like you were when I came in. Let me hear you, baby.”

“I want it so bad,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “I need it, I’m begging you, please.”

“Azriel, fucking move,” Eris commanded with a low, vicious growl that was unlike anything you’d heard from any of them. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, your back was shoved against a bookshelf behind you, Eris’s hand cradling the back of your head. The sensation of the others being ripped away left you feeling startlingly exposed, emptiness washing over you.

Eris’s eyes pierced into yours, hunger and dominance in his gaze. His hand moved from the back of your head to the front of your neck, his grip surprisingly gentle, almost like a caress. “I want to hear you say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. He placed his other hand on your bare waist, squeezing. “Tell us how much you want it. Tell us how badly you need to be fucked by all of us.”

Your breaths came out in ragged pants, your body trembling with anticipation and need. “I want it,” you repeated, your voice cracking with desperation. “I need it… Please.”

Eris’s lips curved into a dark, satisfied smile as he pressed his body against yours, the heat and hardness of him making you moan. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. 

The heat in the room surged as Eris's words hung in the air, his confidence palpable. The intensity of the situation seemed to reach new heights with his arrival. His fingers traced your lips, and you parted them slightly with a quiet exhale. The way he looked at you, with that dark, predatory glint in his eyes, made you feel like a prey caught in the snare of a hunter.

Rhysand and Helion exchanged glances, the challenge in Eris's demeanor stirring a competitive edge among them. It wasn’t until now that you realized Azriel still had a hand on your hip, his touch now more possessive, as if he were staking his claim. Tarquin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curling into a smirk as he observed the scene unfolding.

Eris, now firmly in your space, didn’t wait for a response. His hands moved with a practiced ease, his grip on your jaw guiding you to face him fully. His eyes were dark, almost hypnotic, as they bore into yours. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “what do you need right now? Let me hear it.”

His warmth was enveloping, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin. Every touch seemed to heighten your awareness of just how far you'd let things go, and yet, you found yourself unable to pull away.

“I need...” you began, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension. You tried to glance at the men in the room, at Azriel, but Eris gave your head a firm but controlled shake, forcing your attention back to him. “I need all of you… All of you, Eris.”

His smirk widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He took your hand, which lay limp at your side, guiding it to his abdomen and laying his hand over yours. You could feel every muscle under his dress shirt. “Good,” he murmured. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He then turned his gaze towards Azriel, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You heard her,” Eris said, his tone brooking no argument. “Take a break. She’s mine now.”

The room seemed to pulse with energy when Eris gently spun you around by that same hand, his presence a commanding force as he instructed you to place your hands against the large oak bookshelf. His hands slid down slowly, along your sides, caressing your hips and waist with a deliberate, almost reverent touch. You felt his lightly calloused fingers grazing your skin, igniting a fire that made you ache with need.

The rest of the group watched with fascination and anticipation, their eyes never leaving you. The room was charged with competition and desire that seemed to fuel the intensity of the moment. As Eris knelt behind you, his touch grew more demanding. His hands roamed possessively, squeezing the curve of your waist, tracing the swell of your hips, and gripping your thighs with a fierce intensity. Every touch ignited a fire within you that made you surrender completely to him. With your hips pushed out and your back arched, you let out a moan that sent a jolt of arousal through the room, leaving the others subtly adjusting themselves as their growing need strained against their clothes.

When he bit down on your ass, the sound pulled from you fell somewhere between desperate and strained. Just when you were on the verge of demanding — not begging for — more, Eris pulled the lace of your underwear aside and teased a finger through your arousal. 

“Look at how nice and ready they got you for me,” he murmured, more to himself than anything. After lining two fingers up to your entrance, he continued. “Thank them for me, baby?”

Though you stumbled over your words trying to steady your breaths, you managed a quiet “thank you” as he eased his fingers into you with an aching slowness. The groan he let out had you squeezing around them. Eris's fingers moved with a slow, tantalizing rhythm that left no room for haste. Each caress was meticulously timed, creating a sensation that felt intensely intimate yet firmly under his control. His touch was not just about pleasure but also about power, each stroke conveying his dominance. 

Eris looked around the room, fingers still pumping slowly in and out, his gaze meeting the eyes of his teammates who watched with rapt attention. He smirked, fully aware of the effect this display had on them. With a casual but commanding tone, he addressed them without breaking his rhythm. “Sit back and take it in,” he said smoothly, standing back up. “Once I’m done with her, you won’t be seeing her like this again.”

You would’ve glanced around the room to gauge their reactions, curious despite yourself, but Eris didn’t give you the chance. His free hand came up to grasp your chin firmly, turning your head to the right to face him. “Eyes forward, or on me,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, his breath ghosting across your lips as his fingers inside you curled just right, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The sharpness of the motion had you gasping, pulling your focus solely to him.

Your lips parted to respond, but instead, another moan escaped as his fingers flexed inside you, sending pleasure radiating out from your core. The slow, deliberate pace had you trembling, every nerve drawn tight as you clung to the edge he was carefully holding you on.

"I..." you started, but the words were swallowed by a sharp intake of breath. "You–" The sentence dissolved into another gasp as his thumb slid over your clit in a slow circle. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire, and you couldn't help the way your hips pushed back against him, seeking more.

Eris's smirk widened, and his grip on your chin shifted, thumb trailing down the column of your throat. "What's that?" he taunted softly. "I didn't quite catch that."

You fought to catch your breath, tried to gather your thoughts, but it was no use.

"You're... taking your time," you managed to murmur, a half-hearted attempt at regaining some ground. But the way your body betrayed you — arching toward his touch, trembling under his fingers — made it clear that he was the one in control. 

Eris hummed, clearly pleased with himself. "And you love it," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, as if it were a secret meant just for you.

Another moan escaped your lips, but you gritted your teeth, trying to stifle it. You felt the weight of the others' stares on your skin, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the feeling of Eris inside you, stretching you, teasing you. The pleasure was too much, and yet somehow not enough. It was a cruel balance that he had perfected.

Eris’ lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and velvety. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? I can feel how ready you are, how much you want it. But I’m going to take my time with you, is that okay, baby?”

You couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips, the sound more of frustration than anything else. The way he moved inside you was maddeningly slow, calculated, as if he wanted to draw out every bit of pleasure he could. Your body responded eagerly, hips instinctively pushing back against his hand, craving more, needing more.

Helion’s voice drifted in the background, but you were too lost in those smoldering amber eyes to pay it any mind. “Come on, Eris. Give her something to remember.” Chuckles and murmurs of approval echoed around the room.

Eris chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. “Patience, gentlemen. You’ve all had your turn.” His fingers slid out of you with a slow, deliberate motion, leaving you feeling unbearably empty. 

The hand cradling your face moved to trace a path down your back, over your ass, the touch firm and possessive. He didn’t rush, didn’t give in to the urgency that was building in the room. Instead, he took his time, savoring the feel of your body beneath his hands.

Rhysand’s voice cut through the tension, smooth as silk. “Don’t tease her too much. We want her desperate, but let’s not break her just yet, hm?”

Eris’s grin widened, a wicked glint in his eyes as he turned his attention back to your face. “Oh, I have no intention of breaking her. Just bending her a little.” His fingers found their way back between your legs, brushing against your swollen, sensitive flesh with just enough pressure to make you gasp. “We’ve got all night, after all.”

You were drowning in sensation, every touch, every word pulling you deeper into a state of raw, aching need. The way they watched you, the way they spoke about you as if you were theirs to play with, only made the heat pooling in you grow stronger.

“I… I need it,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, Eris… please.”

Eris’s smirk softened, just a fraction. “Look at you, begging so sweetly,” he murmured, but his eyes held that predatory glint you’d come to recognize. He brushed a thumb over your lower lip and leaned in close, his voice a low, seductive growl. “I want you to show them, baby. Move those pretty hips for me—let them see how badly you need this.”

He paused, letting his words hang in the air, the command settling in. The way he looked at you, his gaze intense and unyielding, made it clear this was no request—it was a demand. “Go on,” he urged, his fingers pressing just a bit more firmly against your aching core. “Show them how much you want it.”

A surge of anticipation coursed through you at his words, the need to satisfy that growing ache overpowering any lingering restraint. You were acutely aware of their gazes on you, the weight of their expectation filling the room. Slowly, you let your hips roll forward, the movement tentative at first, but as Eris’s fingers pressed more firmly against you, a soft moan escaped your lips, urging you to continue. You arched your back slightly, pushing your body back toward him, the desire becoming impossible to ignore.

A low murmur of approval rippled through the room, the men watching you with hunger and admiration. The sensation of Eris’s touch, combined with their heated gazes, sent a thrill through your veins.

“That’s it,” Eris whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Good girl. Keep going.”

You moved with growing confidence, your hips swaying in a slow, deliberate rhythm, designed to show them just how badly you craved them. The room seemed to grow hotter, every brush of his fingers against you intensifying the ache. You were fully aware of how exposed you were, how much you were giving them exactly what they wanted, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself.

Eris’s other hand slid down your back, his touch firm, guiding you to continue. “Do you see this, gentlemen?” he called over his shoulder, his voice thick with pride. “This is what it means to truly want. To be so consumed by need that you’d do anything to be filled.”

A fresh wave of arousal surged through you at his words. The others murmured in agreement, their voices low and appreciative as they watched you move under Eris’s command. And as you continued to grind against him, the heat between your thighs growing more intense with each passing moment, you realized there was no turning back. You were completely at their mercy, and it felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

Eris’s gaze held yours, unwavering and intense as if he could see every thought, every desire running through your mind. The others seemed to fade into the background, their presence still felt, but distant, as Eris commanded your full attention. He slowly removed his hand from between your thighs, and you bit back a whimper of frustration at the loss of contact. The smirk on his lips told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that sent a shiver down your spine. “So eager, so desperate. You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the implications of what he was asking. You could feel the weight of his dominance pressing down on you, making it hard to think clearly. Still, you found yourself nodding, unable to tear your gaze away from his.

Eris’s smirk deepened, his hand reaching for the waistband of his pants. “I knew it,” he said, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. “You want to be mine, even if it’s just for tonight. You want to feel every inch of me inside you, don’t you?”

A tremor ran through you, the anticipation nearly unbearable as he slowly undid his pants, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise silent room. “Yes,” you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

He freed his cock from the confines of his pants, stroking himself slowly as he watched your reaction. “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice a low growl, “how you want it. How you’re going to let me fuck you.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as you tried to find the words. “I want…” you began, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desire. “I want you to take me, Eris. To make me yours in every way.”

Eris’s eyes darkened with lust, his hand moving faster as he stroked himself, the sight sending another wave of heat through your body. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with approval. “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll still feel me inside you tomorrow. You’ll be so full of me, you won’t be able to think about anything else.”

The way he claimed you with his words as if you were his possession, only stoked the flames of desire within you. You knew you should be ashamed, embarrassed by how easily you were giving in, but all you could feel was the overwhelming need to be consumed by him.

“And when I’m done,” Eris continued, his voice low and dangerous, “you’re going to thank me. You’re going to tell me how much you loved every second of it, how you haven’t been able to stop thinking about my cock.”

“Go on and get dressed for me, baby. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

The words cut through the charged atmosphere like a knife, and every head in the room turned toward the doorway. Cassian stood there, hands resting in the pockets of a suit that fit him perfectly. He stood upright, his posture conveying an unsettling calm. His eyes, though steady, held an intensity that made your stomach twist.

You froze, your heart racing as you tried to pull yourself together. Eris, momentarily taken aback, pulled his hand away from you in a swift motion, his expression caught between surprise and frustration. The men around you were already moving, hastily tucking themselves away. You reached for your clothes, discarded a few feet to your side, hands trembling slightly as you dressed under Cassian’s unwavering gaze. He didn’t move, didn’t hurry you, but the weight of his presence was undeniable. Meanwhile, the others couldn’t seem to settle their eyes on one spot, their gazes flickering restlessly around the room.

As you dressed quickly, your mind spun with fear and a dizzying confusion. Cassian’s gaze was a constant weight on your shoulders, and every movement felt slow and surreal. When you finally made your way toward him, he extended his arm, guiding you toward the door with a firm, steady hand. The steady warmth of his arm beneath your hand was the only thing anchoring you against the whirlwind of your mind. 

You stepped into the hallway, the noise of the party growing louder as you and Cassian descended the stairs. The space felt cold, the walls closing in around you as you moved with a sense of dread. Cassian’s silence was a heavy shroud, his presence almost forbidding. His eyes remained fixed ahead, devoid of any warmth, though his face remained perfectly composed. He gave brief, casual waves and polite nods to those who greeted him, his demeanor impeccably maintained. His silence was almost chilling; the way he pointedly avoided looking at you only heightened your sense of unease.

As you approached the exit, Cassian was stopped by a man who must have been a colleague. They spoke in low tones, most of the words indistinguishable to you through the blood pumping in your ears, but you caught Cassian’s voice cutting through the din with cold clarity. “Seems she’s had one too many espresso martinis tonight,” he said, his tone smooth and effortlessly charming. “We’re heading out.” The words seemed to echo in your ears as you walked alongside him, your arm still looped through his. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on your chest as you tried not to stumble. 

You and Cassian made your way down the sleek marble hallway, the ambient noise of the party fading behind you. The elevator was just a few steps from the penthouse door, and you held tightly to his arm as he guided you. Every movement felt deliberate, his grip firm but impersonal. Waiting for the elevator felt like an eternity, each passing second stretching out and amplifying the anxiety in your stomach.

The elevator ride was a blur of metallic walls and muffled sounds. You stared straight ahead, unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze, each moment stretching into an unbearable silence. When you finally reached the ground floor, the lobby greeted you with its polished elegance. The sound of your footsteps and his seemed to reverberate through the space, each echo amplifying your trepidation. The building’s doorman greeted you with a nod, and Cassian responded with a brief, detached smile. 

As you neared the entrance, Cassian pulled out his phone with his free hand, making a brief call. The minutes dragged on as you stood by the sleek glass doors. Soon after, a black Audi A7 glided up to the curb, its glossy finish gleaming under the streetlights. Cassian had brought out the luxury car tonight, a stark contrast to his usual red F150. The polished finish and the soft purr of the engine seemed to mock you.

Cassian opened the car door for you, his gesture polite and deliberate. You slid into the plush interior, the cool leather seats enveloping you as you settled in. He closed the door behind you with a soft click, then slipped a tip to the valet before making his way around to the driver’s side. With an unreadable expression, he slid behind the wheel, taking his time to adjust himself before pulling away from the curb.

The drive was shrouded in an oppressive silence, the only sounds being the steady hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. Cassian’s profile was set in a rigid line, the stern set of his jaw betraying none of his inner thoughts. You fidgeted with your hands, trying to make sense of the situation, but every attempt to gauge his mood seemed to lead only to deeper confusion.

Your gaze dropped to your hands in your lap. They were trembling. betraying the turmoil churning inside you. The silence in the car felt suffocating, pressing down on you with each passing second. Your mind raced with frantic questions: Was he angry? Disappointed? Did he already know everything? The more you tried to steady yourself, the more the uncertainty gnawed at you.

You tried to focus on the rhythmic thrum of the engine, the soft vibrations through the leather seat. But even the steady hum seemed to amplify your anxiety, making the silence feel even more oppressive. Each street you passed blurred together, a series of indistinct shapes and shadows. Your thoughts spun in a relentless cycle of worry, and you couldn’t escape the growing dread that was settling heavily in your chest.

Then a new wave of mortification crashed over you. The image of Cassian opening the door, his eyes taking in the sight of you practically naked against the bookshelf, filled your mind. The sheer embarrassment of being caught in such a compromising position—the heels, the underwear pulled aside, leaving you exposed and vulnerable—was almost too much to bear. You had been so caught up in the moment, so lost in the haze of the night, that you hadn't fully processed how degrading it must have seemed. The thought of him seeing you so utterly exposed, presenting yourself like a bitch in heat, was a sharp, humiliating jolt.

You considered what you might say when the time came. Would apologies be enough? Could explanations make any difference? The questions tumbled through your thoughts, each one more unsettling than the last. Now and then, you’d steal a glance at Cassian’s profile, trying to read something—anything—into his stoic expression. But he remained a solid, unyielding presence, leaving you to confront your anxieties alone.

You glanced at the passing street signs, noticing they were not leading toward your apartment. Your brow furrowed in concern as you watched the roads change. Cassian made a sharp turn, and you could no longer ignore the growing knot of anxiety in your stomach.

“Cassian,” you ventured cautiously, your voice barely cutting through the heavy silence, “where are we going?”

He offered no response, his focus straight ahead, his expression inscrutable. The tension in the car grew almost tangible as you fidgeted in your seat, trying to make sense of the unexpected detour. 

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each intersection and street sign passing by in a blur. The initial confusion of the detour slowly gave way to a creeping sense of recognition. You noticed that while the roads were leading you further from your apartment, they were somewhat familiar. The familiar landmarks began to settle in your mind, and you felt a growing realization.

As the streetlights flickered past, you finally identified a landmark that confirmed your fears. The realization hit you with a jolt, and you swallowed hard, feeling a lump of anxiety form in your throat.

Cassian pulled the car to a smooth stop in front of the familiar house, its warm lights casting a soft glow on the front lawn. You stared at it, stunned, as he unlocked the doors. 

“Cass, please, we need to talk about this,” you said, your voice cracking as you turned to face him. “I know things look bad, but I can explain!” But why should he let you explain? What would you even say?

He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road ahead, responding with a cold calmness. “There’s nothing to discuss. You’re staying with your mom for a bit.”

The impact of his words hit you hard; this was the first time he had spoken since you left the party. “No, wait,” you pleaded, the tears that had been brimming your eyes finally falling. “Please, just let me explain. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen—”

Cassian cut you off with a firm tone. “I’m not interested in your excuses, (y/n).”

Your hands gripped the seat as you struggled to find the right words. “Cass, please, it wasn’t what it looked like. I was just—”

“Just what?” he cut in, his voice as cold as ever. “Drunk or not, and it seems like you’re not, the situation was clear. Get out.”

You stared at him in shock, your voice trembling. “Please, just listen to me! I’m sorry for everything. I never meant for any of this to happen!”

He gave you a hard look, his face set in stone. “You made your choices. Do us both a favor and fix your hair before you walk in. Wouldn’t want your mom to think her daughter’s a cheap fucking whore.”

The words hit you like a punch, leaving you in stunned silence as he waited for you to get out of the car. You stared at Cassian, your heart aching with each passing second. “Cassian, I’m so sorry. Please believe me, I…” Your voice trailed off. You weren’t getting anywhere.

With a resigned sigh, you reached for the handle and slowly opened the car door. Each movement felt heavy with your defeat. As you stepped out onto the pavement, you cast one last glance at him, the weight of the night’s events settling heavily on your shoulders. Cassian's face remained impassive, his gaze fixed ahead.

You pushed the door shut, and made your way to the front door, the cool night air biting at your exposed skin. The stillness of the quiet neighborhood seemed to press in on you, the pitiful realization of your vulnerability sinking in more with each step.

Standing on the doorstep, you hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the doorbell. The stark contrast between the warm, inviting glow of the house and the cold, dark night around you felt almost surreal. The weight of your earlier actions and Cassian’s harsh words seemed to bear down on you.

Finally, with a resigned breath, you pressed the button on the Ring camera. The chime echoed softly through the night, a jarring reminder of how far you had fallen from the comfort you once took for granted. As you waited, you could only hope that your mother’s response would offer some semblance of solace amid the wreckage of your evening.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@blessthepizzaman @celear @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @girl-math-aint-mathing @halo-hanging @julesvanslutta @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @panther-girl-124 @secretlyhers @starlightazriel @scarsandallaz @uncxmfxrtablex

[sunnymoonxx]

red eyes, fangs and talons | miguel o'hara × fem!reader

summary: After another session with Miles, you're left with Miguel filled with anger and frustration. And only you know how to ease him up.

warnings; this is just pure filth, read at your own risk, degradation, unprotected p in v, oral (m receive), vulgar language, kinda voyeurism? if you close your eyes, praise, fangs, talons, talking about being "used," mentions of blood, bondage, angry sex

author's note: I'm not a native English speaker, so I apologize for any grammar mistakes. Also, the Spanish xd. I studied Spanish for a while, but it's no better than google translate, I tried my best xd.

m.list

"No puedo más, no puedo más," you heard a voice mumbling after the room cleared out, leaving only you, Jess, and Miguel. For the past two hours, you and Miguel have been trying to explain to the new recruit, Miles Morales, how the canons work and how they can not be changed. It obviously took a number in Miguel. He covered his face in his hands, back crouched, holding himself back to not break another innocent machine. You and Jess stood silently, glaring at each other, too scared to say anything. At moments like this, even Jess questioned her choices in life.

You decided to risk it and step forward towards Miguel, who still kept whispering something to himself. You were just a few steps behind him when he turned around, his eyes glowing red, facing you.

"Jess, don't take your eyes off Morales," he demanded, not taking his eyes off you. He towered over you, his hair a mess, eyes dark red, and fangs visible over his lips. He was animalistic. And it wasn't the first time you saw him like this. "Make sure he stays here."

"Copy that," Jess responded without hesitation. The next thing you hear is her motorcycle starting, leaving you alone with Miguel. Miguel's talons grew bigger, caused by uncontrollable anger and desire to destroy things. He ripped a machine in half, not even a few minutes ago, and even tho you've known him for years, you couldn't help but be a little scared. You stood there, not daring to say anything, not even knowing what to say, as Miguel moved towards you, scanning you with his vampire-looking eyes.

"You help him one more time," he started, his voice deep and steady, his accent more visible now. "You're out." The thought of being kicked out of the Spider Society made your heart skip a beat. This was all you had. You couldn't go back home. You had nothing there. But you knew Miguel or Jess wouldn't hesitate to send you back if it meant protecting the Multiverse. So you nodded without letting out a word. You understood, even tho you couldn't help but feel pity for him. For Miles. He's still just a kid. But if it meant the multiverse stayed safe, you would do anything to protect it. Even letting Miles' dad die.

"I understand," You kept your head low, not daring to look him in the eyes. You wanted to go and disappear into your room before you felt Miguel's hands grab your face, his talons touching your cheeks, lifting your head up.

"It's the right thing to do." He whispered, his voice a tad softer, but you could still hear the anger filling him. And you've been through this many times to know how this always ends. You didn't fight it. You actually enjoyed it, although you'd never admit it to yourself.

"Yeah, I know." You smiled at him, staring into his bloody eyes. His fangs pierced his lips, causing a drop of blood to drip down his chin. Without thinking, you lifted your hand to brush it off, Miguel carefully watching you. He didn't flinch or move. He let you caress his lips to wash away the blood on his full lips. You didn't even notice you were backed up against a table, Miguel's hand on your waist while the other still held your chin. You dropped your arms, fingers sliding down his torso, not breaking eye contact.

"I made a mistake, I know." You whispered, Miguel tilting his head, his talons carefully caressing your cheek and moving down to your neck. "I've made you angry." He nodded, approving of what you were saying, his eyes following the talons outlining the lines of your collarbones. His claws were so sharp. If he wasn't careful, he could rip your skin apart. And even though he was mad at you, at Lyla, and Miles at everyone, he didn't want to hurt you. There were always other ways to show you his anger and disappointment with you.

"I'm sorry for that, Miguel." You let out, his talons stopping where your heart would be. It was beating fast, blood rushing through your veins. He could feel it all. Hear your inconsistent breath. Feel you tremble beneath him. He could smell the heat between your legs.

"Está bien," his lips formed a little smile, you were sure you were imagining it. His hand moved to your chin again, grabbing you harder, forcing you to look at him. "Just don't obey my orders ever again. Is that clear?" He said out loud, making sure you heard him.

He grabbed your cheeks so hard you couldn't even open your mouth in response. But he knew you understood. And while you were focusing on his one hand grasping your cheeks, you gasped when you felt his other hand rip your suit in half, letting it fall to the floor. The number of torn suits of yours and the number of the new ones that Lyla has made for you, because of this reason. You lost count after seven.

You didn't wear anything under your suit, as it would ruin the lines of your figure, you were fully exposed to him now, his talons moving up and down your stomach. They were cold to the touch, making you hold your breath every time they touched your skin. But they still managed to make your panties wet with arousal. You loved it when he took you like this. Like you were his. Like you belonged to him. You exist just for him. You fucking loved it. Being taken from behind while pulling your hair. His fingers fucking your cunt because you wouldn't stop annoying him. You choking on his cock after he's had enough of your teasing. Being in the Spider Society had its pros and cons. This was one of the pros.

"Eres tan hermosa, arañita". he let out a breath, his talons circling your nipples. If he was so gentle with you, it made your walls clench around nothing. His hands stopped at your ribs, his eyes again scanning your face, head tilted. Like he was thinking about what he wanted to do. What he's gonna do with you tonight. It didn't take him a long time to figure out.

You watched as he placed his strong hands on your shoulders, slightly pushing down. You understood what he wanted. You kneeled in front of him, no questions asked. You've done this so many times, you knew his thoughts by memory. For a few seconds, he just stared at you, naked kneeling in front of him, looking at the massive bulge in his suit. Fuck, he almost came just by looking at you. So desperate for his cock.

You moved your hair out of your face, right before his suit opened, right at his crotch revealing his cock, already covered in precum. He was thick and big, spreading you every time he fucked you. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, making tears fall from your eyes, and orgasm take over your body. He never failed to satisfy you. Never failed to make you beg for more.

"You know what to do," he said, looking down at you, grasping your hair, pulling it slightly. You smiled to yourself, lifting your hands still on your knees and bringing them to his cock. As you grabbed him, your whole hand couldn't fit around him. Made you wetter than before. You decided to tease him a little bit, leaving just slight strokes, not fully touching him, your lips so close to him, he could feel your breath. You regretted it a few minutes after he lost his patience, pushing your head forward, his cock deep inside your mouth.

"Take it, you whore." His hands held your head in place while his hips thrust into your mouth. His cock in your mouth, leaving bruises, your eyes filling with tears. You loved being used like this. You loved being fucked like a slut. You enjoyed it when he called you derogatory names. Sometimes, he mixed it with praise. Fucking you hard, telling you how good of a slut you are for him. He could fuck you with his words without even touching you.

His hips started to move faster, his cock throbbing inside your mouth. He was close. And he was gonna cum on your tongue. Just how you liked it.

"Fuck," he growled, his hold on your head losing strength which confirmed he would finish in your mouth. "So good around my cock," he whispered to himself, fucking your mouth harder, making sure to leave bruises. To mark you as his.

"I'm-." Before he managed to finish the sentence, his cum started to fill your mouth, warming your tongue. He stayed there for a while, recovering before pulling out, breathing heavily. He watched you as you swallowed his load, licking your fingers after cleaning your lips. Fuck, you looked so good.

"You look so good when I fuck your mouth," he smiled at you, trying to push away the sweaty hair on your forehead. You looked so beautiful, kneeling in front of him, your tits out, your cheeks and eyes red, sweat dripping down your forehead. You were a mess already, and he had just begun.

"Stand up," he commanded. You had some trouble getting up after sitting for so long, Miguel noticed and helped you by lifting you up and sitting you down on the table in front of him. He was still so huge, your eyes facing his stomach. You both loved the size difference.

"I want you to be quiet," he said, his eye redder than before. "You're not gonna make a single sound, or I'll stop. Do you understand?" You nodded your head, understanding completely. You've already been through this. Many times, he left you all spread out in his bed because you couldn't keep quiet. Forcing you to deal with it on your own, but nothing ever felt good as his tongue or his cock.

"Good girl," he said, staring into your eyes, his talons digging into your thighs as he spreads me apart. Your cunt is so wet, the smell hits him in the nose. All he's done was fuck your throat and you were already soaking wet for him. He couldn't help but laugh to himself. He didn't break eye contact as his hand traveled down between your legs, making you bring your hand to your mouth to not make any noise as he touched your bare cunt. His fingers on your wet clit, gently moving up and down.

"No así, mi dulce." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. It was too fast, you didn't have time to think as he turned you around fast, pushing you down, your tits touching the cold wood of the table. Ass up, and bend over. His favorite view. Just waiting to get fucked like a slut.

You should have known he wouldn't stop at this, as he also took your arms, forcing them apart and sticking them to the edge of the table with his web shooters. His feet kicked your legs, so they were more apart from each other.

"Joder, eres tan jodidamente hermosa." He whispered as he stepped back to take a better look at you. Bent down over the work table, legs apart, ass up, your tits pushed against the wood, and your arms tied up by his web shooters. So ready for him. Ready to get fucked in the ass by him. He loved the control he had over you. He cherished every second of it.

You felt his talons, going up and down your spine as you lay there, waiting for him to use you. He bent down to your ear, his fangs digging into your earlobe. "If you want me to stop, now is the time, sweetie," He whispered gently, awaiting your answer. You nodded your head.

"Good," he smiled, stepping back again as he took off his hologram suit, his brought shoulders and back visible to the world. You wish you could have seen him exposed, just like you, in the middle of an open office. Anyone could've walked in and seen you being fucked like a slut. But anyone with common sense knew not to bother Miguel now. So you were safe. And for Lyla? She's probably in here somewhere. But this was nothing she hadn't seen before.

Miguel's fingers brushed over your wet clit, testing you, if you make any noises. He was determined to break you tonight. When you stayed silent, he kneeled, attaching his fat tongue to you. That's when he heard a little whimper out of you. You could feel his cold fangs touching your lips, but you know he wouldn't use them like this. There were other places where he loved burying them inside of you. As your thoughts were occupied with his fangs, his tongue started to move faster, licking up and down your slit, his hands spreading your ass cheeks apart.

"Tastes so good," he growled against your cunt, sending shivers down your spine. His tongue and mouth were one of your favorite things about him. The way be devoured your cunt every single time. He could yell at you about how you're useless and only causing problems, but seconds later, he'd be on his knees, eating you out like he'd never eaten before. You could crumble on his tongue, and see stars and worlds just by the way he worked on your cunt.

You tried so hard to keep quiet as his tongue kept working on you, preparing you for his cock. His hands were still grabbing your ass you were sure he left a mark. He loved showing others you were his. That you loved being fucked and used by him.

You felt your orgasm approaching before you felt his tongue disappear and heard him get up, standing now behind you, staring at your cunt. The room was quiet, only his heavy breathing filling the silence. You weren't sure how you were gonna keep silent, and you were sure you were gonna fail.

"Tan bonito para mi," he smirked, grabbing his cock and stroking himself for a while before his tip touched your entrance. "No hagas un sonido." He said before slamming himself deep inside of you, spreading your cunt with his fat cock. You wanted to cry out, scream his name, but you didn't. Your walls surrounded him, his cock so deep inside of you, if you had free hands you could feel him by touching your lower belly.

"Mierda," you heard him whisper before he gently moved his hips back and slammed into you again. His thrusts slowly began to be harder and faster, making sure he didn't cause you any unnecessary pain. After he was sure and by your muffled moans, he started to pound into you like an animal holding your hips, his talons digging into your skin. His fat cock hitting all the spots in your cunt, your eyes rolling in the back of your head, making you see stars. You never wanted this moment to end. You kinda wished Miles Morales would stick around to piss off Miguel more often. You certainly liked the results of his anger.

"Miguel," you moaned, quickly regretting it and pressing your forehead against the table, hoping Miguel didn't hear it. You knew he did when he stopped his movements, his cock still deep inside of you. You felt him bend over, lips to your ears, fangs making an appearance again.

"¿Qué dijiste, querida?" he asked calmly, one hand on the table to stable himself and the other one caressing your back. You quickly shook your head, not daring to meet his gaze. You were so close, and he stopped. Fuck.

You wanted to apologize and beg him to continue, but he spoke first. "I'm not gonna stop." He whispered in your ear before slowly moving his lips down, his cold fangs touching your skin. "I'm gonna make it so much worse." His voice was calm, and you could hear him smirk in it. With his free hand, he ripped off the web shooters holding your arms before lifting you up and pressing you against his chest. He started to pound into you again, talons on your hips and his fangs piercing your skin. The overstimulation of it all made you cry out loud not holding your screams back anymore. You cried his name out before you knew it was gonna get even worse. His free hand moved down your belly to your clit, where he started to spread your lips with his fingers. Fuck.

You didn't know what to focus on first. His talons and fangs marking you as his, his fingers rubbing your clit, or his fat cock pounding into your cunt without mercy. You were tired, and your legs were giving up, but the pleasure taking over your body. You've never felt that ever before.

You were close, too close, and Miguel knew it. "Cum for me," he growled into your skin, taking out his fangs and sucking on the blood spilling from the wound. His fingers started to move faster in your clit, his cock not changing pace in fucking you. "Show me how much you love being my good little whore." He whispered into your ear and with the next thrust of his, you came hard on his cock, your walls almost crushing him. You wanted to fall down but Miguel's arms held you close to him, not stopping pounding into your already sensitive and overstimulated pussy. He was close himself, but you could feel another orgasm approaching as he kept fucking into you restlessly.

"Miguel, fuck." You moaned, his hand moving up to play with your bouncing tits. You could feel him coming closer, this time, same as you. With his last thrust, you came on his cock again and he followed you shortly after. His cum filling you up, marking you as his. You fell onto the table, trying to recover yourself, Miguel's cock still deep inside of you.

You felt his hands lean against your back as he himself tried to catch his breath. Both of you stayed like that for minutes before Miguel pulled out of you, turning you carefully against him and picking you up, bridal style. You didn't care where he was taking you, you were so fucked up you didn't pay attention to anything.

You realized he put you into a bath, filled with hot water that smelled like vanilla. Miguel followed you and sat behind you, pulling you on his lap.

"You did good," he whispered into your ear and started to wash your body from the mess you two made. "I'm proud of you," His lips met your cheek, and a smile spread across your face. You let him wash your sensitive body while you relaxed in his arms, slowly drifting to sleep.

[r0ttenhearts]

I saw you're taking req, hmm I wanted some angst like neglected reader & diluc or kaveh, the story or plot is up to you 🥹🥹

look at me

diluc x reader

warnings: mean diluc, one sided relationship, arguments, angst

another night you found yourself alone in bed, the book you had been reading laid open on the spot that belonged to diluc, or used to. longer nights seemed to be often now, staying up for him. not like he cared for your presence anyway. only giving you a glance when he’d get in bed, facing away from you.

the cold feeling of the sheets on your skin no longer warmed your heart, trying to grasp at the scent of him on his pillow. it was like loving a ghost. if you could even call it a relationship anymore.

dates and anniversaries had been forgotten about for months now, empty promises he’d give you before stopping completely. never giving you anything to hope for. that’s what you believed on your birthday, leaving you alone that night. a thickly frosted cake sitting in front of you, tears in your eyes with his maids somber smiles as you blew out your candles.

you still held hope in your heart, hope that things would go back to how they used to be, to a loving relationship with him. that was until that night. screams and tears being the only thing between you two.

“i’ve told you for the last time, (y/n). i’m busy. can’t you take this up with sucrose or one of your other friends? i don’t have time for this nonsense.” diluc sighed, pressing his thumbs on the bridge of his nose.

“we haven’t done anything together in months, diluc.” you looked at him with hope in your eyes, holding out a flyer for the upcoming windblume festival in mondstat. “we can go to this together! it’ll be like how we used to go to your wine festival’s back in the day, but this time you won’t have to-“

his gloved hand tearing the sheet out of your grasp and ripping it in half silenced your words. you stared at him, wide eyed as he looked to you with the meanest glare he only reserved for kaeya.

“i don’t give a shit to go to some silly festival with you. do you ever wonder why i don’t spend time with you anymore (y/n)? why i’d rather be manning the bar instead of letting my employees do it?” he seethed, getting right in your face as you stood there frozen.

his fiery red hair matched his tone as you felt your love and hope for this relationship slowly wither with every word that came out of his mouth. his piercing eyes not hiding his distaste for you,

“the reason is i simply cannot stand to be here with you. i can’t stand the way you look at me so stupidly. you still believe something is there when i haven’t even looked at you in months.

i don’t love you anymore (y/n). get that through your thick skull. or do you still think i’m kidding? that one day i’ll waltz in here and kiss you like i used to? that i won’t leave you alone here every day with the maids?

nothing will change. i don’t care if you leave me. do what you wish, just stop bothering me.”

he left your shared bedroom with a slam of the door. the glass on your bedside table shaking as silent tears slipped down your cheeks. you were tired. tired of the fighting, tired of him.

the next day you did as he asked, or screamed. with a heavy heart you left his manor, a home you had known for six years. ignoring his lingering stares in the streets of mondstat for the next few months.

every time you’d see him stop and stare at you, you’d shake your head. he didn’t miss you. you couldn’t miss him. nothing was waiting for you back at the winery.

you never knew of the way he’d uncap some of his special wine, sitting at the same table you used to have dinner alone in. gulping down the bitter liquid, he hated every second of it sliding down his throat. but he hated the way he felt without you even more.

the day he told you those words he’d felt nothing but regret. coming home to an empty house solidified that feeling of guilt and pain as he remembered the look on your face as he claimed he no longer felt anything for you. it was a lie. he lied to keep you away, away from his duties to hunt down the fatui. you didn’t know he was the infamous dark night hero, only believing his white lies of being at the bar every night.

oh how cruel could fate be as he watched you move on. you’d refuse to look his way if he stood next to you at a stall, your gaze locked on the merchant. never at him.

eventually your gaze would be locked onto his brother, kaeya. kaeya’s smirk as you held onto his arm made his blood boil. he had taken something else from him. but were you ever his to be taken from?

as he sat on the floor of his cellar, tears in his eyes as he inhaled the smell of grapes and liquids he now found comfort in, he only thought of you.

“hey (y/n).. the windblume festival is coming up soon.. do you want to go together.” he whispered to himself, more hot tears running down his face.

“i didn’t mean what i said that night.. i’ll cut off my own tongue so i never yell at you again.. so please,

promise you won’t go.”

taglist: @samarill @lelemnh

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

Hopelessly Devoted (PART TWO)

Summary: After spending the whole night finishing the documents Tommy had asked for the previous day, you woke up confronted by his cold demeanour once against. Your heart only breaking further when you had to sit through his birthday celebration at the Garrison opposite the new barmaid he was now seeing. If that wasn't enough, you watched on as the one thing you never thought would get replaced did, when Tommy was given a birthday gift in a small box.

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, mutual pining

"Wakey wakey, rise and shine" Arthur said as he stood in front of your desk with a huge grin on his face. " You're a bloody snorer" he chuckled as he dropped the accounts book that was sitting amongst the various documents on your desk right next to your head in attempts to wake you again.

" Fuck sake" you mumbled, your whole body jolting at the loud noise as you reached your hand out pushing the book away from you. " I don't snore" you said with a grunt as you slowly lifted your head from the papers beneath you, one of them awkwardly stuck to the side of your cheek which Arthur took no time in ripping from your face, leaving you with a lingering sting. With a cheeky smirk playing on the corner of his lips he looked back at you and the glare you was sending his way, knowing how much you desperately wanted to return the favor, but thankful that you hadn't enough energy to do so in your sleep deprived state.

" Late night?" he asked picking up your half empty glass of whisky, swirling it around before downing the rest. " Brrr fuck! That'll put hair on your balls" he said grimacing at the sharpness from the bitter liquor. "Not that you would know, since you know, you don't have..."

" Ok Arthur shut up, I get it " you interrupted as you rubbed the side of your neck feeling the soreness of the uncomfortable position you had slept in all night start to set in.

" You gonna tell me what you were doing here all night then?" he asked as he perched himself on the edge of your desk looking to you then back to all the workers now making their way through the betting shop.

" Tommy wanted me to finish these" you said as you collected the documents in front of you, your eyes quickly darting to his face knowing what his reaction would be. " Deadlines today Arthur..." you said as he slowly nodded his head, rubbing the side of his nose with his thumb. " He asked me because I'm the only one that will finish it on time" you added trying to convince him and yourself you hadn't become a complete push over. " Please, just don't. Don't say it" you said before he had a chance to reply, turning your head away as you tried to fight back the tears now welling in your eyes, knowing full well how pathetic you had become in your desperate attempts to please his brother.

" Come on love" Arthur said as he placed his hand firmly on your shoulder trying to comfort you in his own way. "Where's that girl I used to know ay? She would've kicked him in the balls already, or at least told him to fuck off if he asked her to stay an extra five minutes let alone a whole night" he chuckled trying to make you laugh as a small smile broke free from your lips.

" There you go" he said giving your shoulder a small squeeze as Tommy walked in, quickly turning the mood sour again. Bringing your head down in embarrassment at your show of emotions you frantically brushed away your tears, hiding yourself from his piercing glare.

" Those papers done?" Tommy said walking through the betting shop as Polly followed behind. No greeting, no smile, cold as ever. This was the Tommy you had now become accustomed to since his return from France, since your break up.

" Hello would be nice " Arthur replied for you. " You know, good morning, how are you? Oh I'm fine Tommy, bloody fantastic!" Arthur said as he stood up gesturing with his hands whilst his brother ignored his theatrics.

" Have them on my desk in ten minutes" Tommy replied slamming his office door, pulling the blind down.

" Birthday boys in a mood" Arthur said turning back to you as you sent him a small nod, the smile he had managed to coax from you having left the moment Tommy walked through the door. " Coming for a drink tonight?" Arthur asked as he walked back in front of your desk, forgetting or purposely leaving out the fact those drinks would be for Tommy's birthday. " Me and you Y/N we'll have a little dance, that'll cheer you up" he said mimicking a waltz all by himself as Polly turned around from the pot of boiling water she was pouring, her eyes widening in horror at Arthur's dangerously swaying hips.

" Jesus Christ, you're putting me of my tea" she chuckled as she walked over with a cup for you. "You'll end up in hospital dancing with him, he's all legs and arms " Polly said as Arthur stopped to look at the blank expression on your face, unresponsive to any attempts he desperately made to get you to laugh.

" Would you lot stop fucking around and get to work!" Tommy yelled from his office as he slammed his newspaper on the desk in front of him.

" Bloody party pooper, ay Y/N? " Arthur laughed trying to cheer you up once more as a smile finally reappeared on your lips lighting his eyes up in accomplishment. You could always count on Arthur to try and cheer you up. You and everyone else in the betting office were convinced he had made it his life mission to get at least one smile or laugh from you a day, even if it meant ridiculing himself at your expense. " Yes Sergeant Major" Arthur saluted as he opened Tommy's office door, the huff of a response from his brother loud enough to remind everyone just how much of a mood he was in or more specifically, the year long mood he had been in with you.

Sitting in front of your desk you collected all the papers in your hand placing them neatly together in a file, nervously biting your bottom lip as you glanced up to Tommy's door. Quickly looking around the room you turned away from everyone as you pulled out a small mirror and lipstick from within your handbag. Dabbing a small amount onto your fingers you brushed the cherry red gloss onto your lips, rubbing the rest into your cheeks to give your self a rosy glow. God you was pathetic you thought to yourself as you closed your compact mirror, the loud snap of it shutting inadvertently snapping you out of your pitiful attempts to look nice for him. But yet you continued in your endeavour to make yourself look more presentable as you pushed your fingers through your hair, taming your rebellious locks into something more orderly than the birds nest currently framing your face. Placing the folder under you arm you stood up heading for his office, head held high, summoning as much confidence as you could.

" I know you're up to something Thomas. Billy Kimber..." Polly was saying when you opened the door and she and Tommy turned to look at you.

" Sorry, I know you wanted these since the deadlines today" you said as you looked down at the documents in your hand stood between the door frame.

" Twenty minutes " Tommy replied taking out his watch as your shoulders dropped, his cold manner never ceasing to crush the small amounts of courage you could muster up nowadays. Rolling her eyes Polly walked over to you, pulling you in as she shut the door.

" Come on love, come in" she said with a smile as she took the file from you looking through it briefly when her eyes snapped up to Tommy. Clearing his throat Tommy fidgeted in his chair his eyes darting to his Aunt then back to the cigarette between his fingers.

" Pass me the diary Y/N" Tommy said shifting away from the formidable stare his Aunt was sending him. Was he seconds away from feeling the back of her hand like he did on a daily occurrence when he was a child? He thought to himself as her eyes pierced into him. Nodding you walked over to the shelves behind him as the fabric of your dress brushed against his leg, your perfume filled with notes of vanilla and jasmine quickly engulfing his senses, transporting him back to happier times. Leaning over you placed the large book in front of him as your hair slowly cascaded down to his face, swaying gently across his cheek, sending a shiver of goosebumps throughout his body. A sudden surge of emotions rushed towards him, catching him off guard as he briefly lost himself in the memories your presence conjured up.

" You can go" he said coldly, recomposing himself as he stubbed his cigarette out into the ash tray on his desk, his whole body stiffening at the intrusion of misplaced hurt now quickly filling his chest.

Turning around you walked to the door stopping momentarily as Polly curiously raised her brow, watching you as if she was anticipating a response. But no response came. Arthur was right, where was the girl you once was? That girl would have launched something at him, that or given him a kick in the balls. Instead you quietly closed the door behind you as you walked to your desk, deflated by his constant hostility towards you.

" You little shit!" Polly said throwing the documents she had been clutching tightly in her hand at Tommy the moment you shut the door. " These don't need filling out for another week. You had her stay all night!" she said placing both her hands on the table looming over her nephew" You can add scorned to your new founded personality Tommy" she hissed as she shook her head at him. "Not only do you remind her everyday of how wronged you feel, you won't let her move on. Keeping her here all hours, making her come in on the weekends, stopping all attempts of her ever being able to move on. You were so young, all you had to do was wait. But no, your stubbornness prevented that. And she waited for you Tommy oh did she wait, feeling guilty everyday for being mature on the matter, guilt forced upon her by you" she finished catching her breath, fed up with the way he had been acting. Standing up Tommy walked over to the window lighting a cigarette as he cleared his throat, the scolding he had just got from his Aunt unexpectedly unnerving him.

" You can go too" Tommy said dismissively as he looked out the window watching the busy streets below him while rubbing his brow with his thumb, feeling just as deflated as you.

" You're your own worse enemy" she said as she turned to face the door. "Oh and Tommy" she added as she looked over her shoulder at him. "That new barmaid you're seeing, I wouldn't count on her to piss on me if I was on fire" she said folding her arms as she left the office, leaving Tommy to wallow in his own self-pity.

Kicking the chair In front of him Tommy leaned back against the wall turning his head to look at you sitting at the desk just outside his office. Ten years ago today, did you think he'd forget. The promises he made the hopes and dreams you shared for the future. Polly's words had unsettled him, not because she was forcing him to remember but because it made him face the uncomfortable truth of how unfair he had been with you. You were too young, it was bad timing. That's what everyone said when Tommy asked you to marry him five days before leaving for France, a proposal you was sure he made on a complete whim. He had brought the ring, asked the priest, fuck he had even managed to scramble enough money together for a new suit. But you said no. Not because you didn't want to or because you didn't love him, but because his timing was bloody awful. He was days away from leaving to fight in a war that was claiming young men's lives every minute of every hour. Sure it was romantic, young couples were doing the very same thing up and down the country. But you wanted to wait, wanted to celebrate his return with something everyone could look forward to, something to hold onto as the lonely nights without him passed by. The last thing you wanted was to be left a newlywed and a widow, your nuptials stained by the possible outcome of him never returning. But Tommy being the stubborn man he was wouldn't accept your reasoning. He had quickly convinced himself you had been influenced by your family, by your friends, heck the whole of Small Heath for all he knew when you made him wait for your answer until the next day, popping the happy bubble you had both been living in for the past five years. Darting his eyes away from you Tommy clenched his jaw, leaning forward to grab his coat and diary on his desk as he stormed out his office. His bitterness was justified, you didn't love him the way he loved you, he was sure of it.

Five minutes until the end of the day and all you wanted to do was go home and sleep but being the good ol' sport you was you had agreed to go for drinks to celebrate Tommy's birthday.

As you all made your way to the door, Polly stood beside you casually speaking about her plans for the weekend you turned your head to the side to see Tommy stood right behind you, so close you could feel the heat of his breath on the back of your neck. Was this a new way he had chosen to make you feel uncomfortable? If it was it was certainly working you thought as you impatiently waited to leave. God what was taking John so long to open the door?

"It's bloody stuck again. It's this fucking weather it's freezing up the handle" John said as he rattled the doorknob trying to loosen it.

" Come on John give it a good push or are your hands too dainty?" Arthur shouted stood right behind Polly as she grimaced at his bellowing voice. A small traffic jam of people started to accumulate as everyone waited for John to get the door open, your bodies getting pushed closer together. With Tommy's firm statue now firmly pushed up against your back his eyes wandered down to your reddened cheeks, flushed from the contact of feeling him so close to you again. For just as much as your heart was rapidly beating so was Tommy's, the warmth of your body comforting in the only way that could.

" Bloody hell Curly" Uncle Charlie shouted as he stumbled into everyone pushing you all forward once more. Falling into you, Tommy quickly grabbed hold of your waist stopping you from stumbling over. His touch now so unfamiliar, your eyes darted down to his hand still resting on your hip as you watched his thumb instinctively brush over the curve of your body like he had done hundreds of times before. Suddenly realising, Tommy quickly moved his hand away as he cleared his throat.

" You was gonna fall" he said as you turned your head to the side in response to his sharp movements.

" Don't worry Tommy I wouldn't dare to think otherwise. We're done" you said surprised at how confidently the words had left your lips. Although not being completely honest with yourself, you had begun to realise you needed to stop, stop your constant lamenting over the past, stop your persistence in holding onto the faintest of hopes. Looking straight ahead you pushed your shoulder back, in turn pushing his body away from yours as you crossed your arms. You was getting tired of his shit. The remarks, the looks, his constant mood swings, enough was enough. Scoffing Tommy stepped back, giving you the space you clearly wanted as a small wave of self-doubt crept up on him in response. Had you moved on, met someone knew? Or had he taken things too far thinking you'd always be there waiting for him? The thought of either being true made him feel uncomfortably sick.

Now sat in the Garrison snug surrounded by Tommy's family and friends you looked up to see him sat directly in front of you, his arm draped over the back of the chair next to him, a scowl spread across his face. Trying to focus your attention elsewhere you ignored the constant glares he was sending your way, the words you had left him with clearly bothering his thoughts. He was getting impatient he wanted you to give him attention, wanted you to look his way. But every remark he made you would dismiss, unapologetically enjoying the growing confidence in you as you started playing the push and pull he had playing with you for the past year. That was until Grace walked in and sat next to him, snuggling into his side as Tommy fidgeted in his seat removing his arm from behind the chair as his whole body stiffened and he sat up straight. Feeling a sudden wave of nerves wash over you at the sight of them together your eyes quickly darted around the room when Arthur caught your line of sight sending you a wink and a smile, the self-doubt that was bubbling in your stomach quickly simmering down at the sight of his reassurance.

" Right a toast!" John said standing up as Arthur jumped up pushing him down by the shoulder.

" I'm the oldest, I do the toasting" he said lifting his glass as a sense of superiority rose within him. He may not be the boss but he was still the big brother and there were some things only big brothers did.

" Yeh whatever, just don't ramble on" John said as he rolled his eyes taking a sip of whisky.

" This time ten years ago on the eve of Tom's birthday..."

" Jesus Christ..." Polly mumbled under her breath as Arthur started his speech.

" I had just scored the biggest loot of of my life and Tommy the biggest win of his. A night never to be forgotten. To whisky, sprouts and cramped storage rooms. Happy Birthday baby brother!" Arthur finished, downing his drink then slamming it on the table as everyone looked at eachother mumbling happy birthdays whilst they raised their glasses in complete confusion at the meaning behind Arthur's toast. Looking up through hooded eyes Tommy caught your eye as you both sent eachother smile, the memories of that night flooding back to you both. Watching the moment between you Grace gripped harder onto Tommy's arm, uncomfortable with the way he was looking at you, the way she often caught him looking at you.

" What in the bloody hell was that toast?" John said as he looked up to Arthur, his whole face scrunched up, completely bewildered by his older brothers speech.

"Those that needed to hear it, heard it" Arthur said trying to sound poetic.

" Sit down Arthur" Polly said shaking her head as she poured herself a third glass of whisky.

" Anyway..." Grace said raising her brow turning to Tommy as she pulled out a small box from her bag. " Happy Birthday" she said kissing his cheek as she handed the gift to him. Putting his drink down Tommy cleared his throat as he sent her a faint smile, opening the present she had offered him. Looking down into the box Tommy's eyes quickly darted up to your face as he pinched his bottom lip. Furrowing your brow at his sudden change in expression, you quickly understood as to why he reacted the way he did when he pulled out a brand-new gold pocket watch from within the small box.

" Tom's already got a pocket watch, he's had it for ten years" Uncle Charlie was the first to say as he leant against the wall whilst the rest of the room suddenly went quiet.

" Exactly, ten years. I got him a new one, a nicer one" Grace said as you felt your heart suddenly drop into your stomach. " You not going to put it on?" She asked turning to Tommy as he nodded reaching into his waistcoat unclasping the watch you had scrimped and saved for a decade ago. Brushing his thumb over the front of it, you and everyone else watched as Tommy placed it on the table, glancing up to you and the tears now welling in your eyes.

" Thanks love" Tommy said attaching his new watch to the chain on his waistcoat, giving her a small peck to the lips as she smiled into the kiss.

" What are you doing?" She said as she watched Tommy turn the dials on his new watch back an extra five minutes, a habit ten years in the making first started by you. " It's five minutes too late" she laughed as she took it from him turning it to the correct time as Polly rested her hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze in reassurance as everyone else's eyes looked back at you knowingly. Picking up his old pocket watch Tommy was about to put it in his suit pocket when Grace quickly took it from him.

" I'll get rid of it, it's not like it's worth anything" she said whilst Tommy brushed his hand down his mouth as a heavy expression washed over his face. For ten years he had carried that watch against his body, ten years he had carried what felt like a piece of you with him. Its sentimental value was unmatched and Tommy did not want to be parted from it.

" I'll melt it down get some money from it" Arthur said reaching over the table grabbing it from her.

" You won't get much" she laughed as she looked around the room at everyone and the unamused expressions on their face, making it clear they did not share the same opinion. " It's scrap metal" she said as she shrugged her shoulders sipping on her whisky. Turning to Polly a tear fell down your cheek as you quickly collected you coat and bag into your lap.

" I need to leave" you said quietly as she nodded her head sympathetically, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Standing up you pulled your chair back when Tommy abruptly stood up at the same time taking everyone by surprise. Your eyes now locked onto eachother you momentarily stared at one another whilst he watched the cascade of tears fall down your cheeks.

" You bastard" you mouthed as Tommy swallowed harshly watching you storm out the room.

" Y/N wait up love, I'll walk you home" Arthur said climbing over the table not bothering to walk past everyone as glasses and bottles scattered all over the room. " Oops, sorry Grace" Arthur sniggered, clumsily treading on the end of her shoe as she yelped in pain.

" Arthur..." Tommy said as he watched his brother walk out the snug putting his old pocket watch in his coat, feeling like a part of his already broken heart had left.

" Y/N!" Arthur said running up to you. " Bloody hell when did you get so fast?" he joked as he spun you around.

" I can't... I can't do this any more" you said sobbing as you fell into his chest holding on tightly to the front of his coat as he wrapped his arms around you.

" Go on love let it out, have a good cry" he said sighing as he looked back to the Garrison. "You know it's my brotherly duty to give him a good punch in the balls now and then, he's long due one" he informed you as a small laugh escaped your sobbing cries.

" When you do, make sure you don't hold back" you said pulling away as he held onto your shoulders.

" You look like a snotty kid again" be said handing you a rag from his pocket which you furrowed your brow at.

" God knows where that's been" you sniffed throwing it on the ground beside you.

" Charming " he laughed as he pulled out Tommy's pocket watch. "Ere, this belongs to you" he said as he placed it in your hand.

" Melt it down Arthur, he doesn't want it. He has something new and shiny" you said bitterly, no longer reffering to watch but rather the barmaid constantly clinging onto him.

" Nah, don't believe it. He'll want it back, all of it." he said closing your fingers around it as you looked over his shoulder to see Tommy standing outside the Garrison watching you.

" Bye Arthur" you said as he turned to see his brother looking at you both, exhaling a cloud of smoke out into the bitter January air " Go, he's your brother, it's his birthday go celebrate with him" you said as you gave him a hug before you turned and headed for home.

"My watch?" Tommy asked as Arthur approached him, stopping to face his younger brother in the door way.

" You're breaking her heart you stubborn prick" Arthur said as he pushed past him ignoring his question as Tommy squinted into the distance, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips as he watched you turn the corner.

" She broke my heart first" Tommy muttered quietly under his breath as he threw his cigarette into the dirt heading back into the warmth of the Garrison.

Turning the corner onto the back alley of your bedsit you headed for home wiping your tears with the sleeve of your coat when you looked up to see two men blocking your way.

" Alright sweetheart?" One of them said as he turned to face you opening his coat to show you the gun he had sitting in his holster.

" I don't want any trouble let me pass" you said trying to move around him when he grabbed you, slamming you up against the brick wall.

" Tommy's girl right? He said, now holding tightly onto your arm as he looked to his friend for confirmation.

" No you've got the wrong girl" you said looking between them, shuffling in place as you tried to loosen yourself out of his grip.

" No, it's you alright. Said he had a girl waiting for him back in this shit hole of a town and that the barmaids Kimber's for the taking when he asked if he could dance with her at the races. Good thing he didn't bring you, 'cause I reckon Kimber would have rather had a dance with you instead" he said as he glared down at your body, brushing his tongue across his bottom lip. " Y/N right? Tommy's childhood sweetheart. No point in denying it love, everyone as far Kings Norton to Old Oscott have told us so" he said as you furrowed your brow in confusion. You hadn't been Tommy's girl since the war.

" I'm not his girl" you said stomping on his foot as you pushed past him.

" Jesus fucking christ! She's broken my toe, she bloody broke my toe! " he said as stumbled back onto the ground.

" It's definitely you, feisty little thing aren't you?" the other man said as he approached you leaving his friend to attend to himself. " We've heard whispers your boyfriend might be up to something. Tell him we're keeping our eye on him and if he doesn't play by the rules the boss will put a bullet through his head, but not before your gypsy lover watches you do the rounds with every single one of Kimber's men" he said as he opened his pocket knife in one swift movement, pointing it inches away from your throat. "Understood?" he said as you slowly nodded your head your eyes focused down at the blade now pressing against your skin and the burn of it slowly cutting into your flesh.

"Good" he said putting his knife back into his pocket as he turned to his friend leaning against the wall opposite you.

"She broke my fucking toe I'm sure of it"

" Would you quit your whining" his friend answered as he put his arm around his shoulder and they both turned the corner back onto the main street.

Leaning up against the cold brick wall you opened your coat as your chest heaved up and down your whole body trembling in fear. Turning your head you saw Isaiah one of Tommy's men at the end of the alley way watching you, his brow scrunched up in confusion at seeing Kimber's men leaving the same area where you was currently standing. Tipping the end of his cap to you, he glanced back at you a second time as he scratched the back of his head quickly walking off in the direction of the Garrison. Pulling your coat back around your body you stumbled along the cobbled path, your hand out against the brick wall beside you, keeping you up from your legs buckling beneath you as fear and adrenaline continued to course through your body. Fumbling in your bag you pulled out your keys as you watched your desperate attempts to open your front door, your shaking hands preventing you from even holding the key straight. Giving up you slid down the door collapsing onto the floor as a stream of tears fell down your cheeks, your mind replaying what had just happened. You knew of Tommy's dealing with Kimber, dealings you oversaw when Tommy got his own betting licence. That was supposed to be the end of it, but after what just happened you quickly realised Tommy had another plan, one that was not only putting his own life in danger again but yours too. Is that why he mentioned you to Kimber's men, not wanting to get his new fling in harm's way, his bitterness and hate towards you so strong he diverted their attention to you, diverted everyone's attention to you? Y/N Y/L/N Tommy Shelby's childhood sweetheart. Apparently he had the whole of Birmingham still thinking it, now a pawn in his never ending game for more power, more success. As you battled with all the questions running through your head you ended up at the same conclusion that not only did Tommy hate you he had let harm to come to you by putting you in the firing lane. Or had he? It had been a year since the command went out on the streets of Birmingham an order intended for your own protection decided long before any dealings with Kimber, a command that clearly hadn't gone unforgotten. You was not to be bothered not to be approached. No one was to lay a hand on you by order of the Peaky Blinders by order of Thomas Shelby, because you was still his girl, always.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @cosniffee @jonsncws @powellssaturn @jessimay89 @bruher @riseandreigns4u @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @chimchimjiminie16 @gaslysainz @calicoootalks (unable to tag) @weaponizedvirtue @vlryexsworld (unable to tag) @shittyprofilebutfuckit @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @peakyswritings

[mxauthor]

Too Good for Me

Summary: Chilchuck loves his wife, but he thinks she's too good for him.

Word Count: 1,944

Warnings: a little angsty, maybe ooc Chilchuck, half-foot reader, one curse word, fluff near the end

Within the half-foot community, everyone knows that Chilchuck Tims and Y/n L/n were meant to be. Both of their parents having lived close to each other, the once small children grew up together. 

Playing tag as small children, turned into shy hand holding and blushy kisses. Chilchuck adored Y/n with all his heart, nothing could stop him from coming home to her, not even the dark dungeons he found himself in. While Y/n believed that Chilchuck was her whole world. Having loved him since they were kids, Y/n only wished for her Chil to come home safe and sound to her. 

Their love continued to bloom throughout the years, having married young and created a family, the Tims couldn’t be happier. 

Chilchuck loves his wife. He’d do anything for her, he’d do anything to keep her happy and smiling. Shining like the sun, even if it meant she’d shine with someone other than him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n could tell that something was bothering her husband. 

It didn’t take much, especially since he was so easy to read. She watched as his brows furrowed and his nose wrinkled. His lips were slightly downturned as well, completing his ‘mr grump face’. 

With careful footsteps, Y/n approached the chair her husband was currently occupying. Once behind, she slid her arms around his shoulders and kissed the side of his head, “Good evening, Mr. Grump, would you happen to know if my husband was available.” Having felt the slump of his shoulders and hearing his defeated, albeit amused, sigh Y/n knew she temporarily soothed the twister of thoughts running through his mind. 

“I’ll ring him in for you Mrs. Y/n.” the auburn haired man jokes, before turning his gaze to catch the loving eyes of his wife. “Hello sweetheart.” 

She pecked his lips lovingly, “Hi lovie. Is something the matter? It’s been a while since the ‘grumpy face’ has come out.” Y/n voiced. A wife can’t help but be concerned for her husband, especially since he works dangerous jobs just for them. 

“Everythings fine, just thinking about a request of some sort.” Chilchuck smiled tiredly. His mind has been reeling about what one of his party members asked. While departing from the dungeon, Moslie, had caught the small huff Chilchuck exclaimed about seeing his wife after so long.

It didn’t take much, to cause Chilchuck to rant and rave about his wife back home. The group laughed and poked at the pink faced half-foot. Making him swear he’ll bring her to the tavern to meet them. But after sobering up, Chilchuck didn’t want to follow through anymore. His work and his life were two separate things. 

He wanted to keep them separate for as long as he could, but knowing that the moment he mentions it to Y/n, her radiant smile will kill all the courage to tell her nevermind and not have them meet at all. 

“Anything I can shoulder with you.” Her sweet voice pierced through Chilchuck’s thoughts. Her nose nudged his cheek, her arms still loose around his neck. The phrase ‘with him’ caused his heart to stutter. Knowing that she’d carry his problems with him, knowing that she’d support him with anything. Knowing that she’d be at his side forever, made the decision harder and harder. 

Chilchuck would be with her and carry everything with her until their skeletons turned to dust, which is why he wants to keep her all to himself.

Her smile alone makes the sun burn with envy. Anyone would be lucky to have her. 

And he wanted to stay lucky. 

But knowing that the smallest meeting with his party would cause even the stars to shine brighter with jealousy with how much she’d beam. Chilchuck had no other option but to lift his half of the world into her awaiting hands. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chilchuck sat silently at the table within the tavern. He watched as Y/n floated around, speaking excitedly with all members of the party. Even chatting with the wives that they’ve brought along. Her excitement almost made everything worth it. 

Almost. 

The auburn haired half-foot watched as his Y/n blushed red at something said to her. She then became bashful and her smile turned into something heart stopping. She looked away, before catching the eye of Chilchuck, then looking back again. A mutter of a response before Y/n excused herself for the conversation to talk with another member, luckily a woman this time. 

Chilchuck watched with insecure eyes, feeling like his greatest nightmare was happening before him and all he could do was watch. He hated being a part of a scene. Having everyone stare at him, waiting for his next comeback or action. And within the full tavern, that was surely the outcome. 

So he drank instead. 

Not enough to get him hammered and stumbling but enough to where his wife would always choose him. Enough to quiet the insecurities just for a moment. Enough to trick himself into believing that he was enough for Y/n, that she would never leave. That she’d want to spend the rest of her life with him. 

And it worked, until it didn’t. They always came back and it was getting harder to fight them. 

So he let them win and kept drinking the night away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk back to their little home seemed much longer than necessary. Almost like all the paths taken have stretched themselves while two were away. Chilchuck walked the path silent. His head hung low, the alcohol continued to flow through his system. 

The half-foot refused to look towards his wife, not wanting her to see his defeated expression. Chilchuck knew since childhood that Y/n was too good for him. That his grumpy and sour nature wasn’t worth her sticking around. He knew that he dulled her and just tonight, his thoughts were confirmed. 

She practically glowed all throughout the night. Her bubbly nature was addicting enough, Chilchuck almost didn’t need a drop of alcohol for the night. But her glow, directed at all his party members, made him feel sick. Seeing her bounce and laugh joyously, seeing her blush and dance with them just told Chilchuck that she’d be happier with someone other than him. 

How could she love a grump like him? How can she stay and wait for him for days on end? How could she simply be happy? 

Chilchuck grumbled to himself, reaching the door of their home. The man made quick work with the lock and entered, leaving it open for his wife that was tailing right behind him.

Y/n walked through and saw as her husband grabbed one of the wine bottles stored in the cabinets, taking a large drink and sitting himself at the table. She watched as he grumbled with himself. As if he was in an argument of some kind. 

His body language saying to leave him alone. That he wasn’t in the mood for any human interaction. 

But she took a tentative step towards him anyway. She moved her body to lean against him anyway. She wrapped her arm around his head to keep him against her anyway. She wrapped her other arm over his shoulder anyway. 

She held him anyway. 

And she continued to hold him as he cried.

Chilchuck gripped onto Y/n’s arm, making it so she can’t let go. So she can’t leave. He wanted to push her off, tell her that he wasn’t good enough, break her heart so she could leave and be happy with someone else. Someone who’d make her shine and laugh and dance. Someone who can talk about his feelings. Someone who’d take her on dates everyday. Someone who’d give her flowers and tell her they love her everyday. 

Someone who isn’t him. 

“You deserve better than me, Y/n.” his voice came out meek. Like it was painful for him to even say the words in the first place. Y/n looked at Chilchuck with bewilderment, not believing he’d even say such a thing. All her love for him was ready to pour out, but the tightening grip on her arm silenced them. 

“I’m a grumpy old man, who’s gone all the time. An old man that’s bitter and emotionless. I don’t even tell you I love you. I don’t bring you gifts or flowers. I never talk about work or anything else and you just met my co-workers after 2 years of me working with them.” Chilchuck ranted. His tears continued to fall, voice weavering between words. His hold still tight, no matter how much he believed he wasn’t enough for her, Chilchuck wanted her to stay right there, needed her to stay with him. “I’m a lousy husband and barely a good enough father. You don’t need someone like me holding you down.” 

Y/n dipped her head down, lay her forehead against Chilchuck’s crown. She breathed deeply before speaking, “I no longer feel pretty. I’ve outgrown my gowns, and I feel fat. Our daughters prefer their father over me. I think I’m a terrible mother, and they don’t love me as much as they love you. I say home, waiting for my husband because he’s the only thing that makes me smile anymore. But even then, I don’t think I’m pretty enough for him.” She rose her head and turned his until they were meeting eye to eye. Y/n took in his slightly red nose, the tears within his eyes and the water path the previous ones made. Her gaze softened, tears of her own welling up in her eyes, her hand coming up to cup his face, wiping them away. 

“But seeing the way he looked at me tonight. Like I’ve given him life, was enough to show me that he loves me as much as I love him.” She leaned down and rested their heads together. Chilchuck closed his eyes, taking in her warmth. “And god I love him so. His beautiful eyes and sweet smile. His warm embrace and powerful kisses. His grumpiness in the mornings, that always softens when I cuddle him. His loving words and sweet gestures. It makes me swoon every time. I love him dearly and deeply. And nothing could change that, nothing could make me stop loving you Chilchuck. Not when we were kids and definitely not now.

“I don’t need gifts or flowers. I don’t need you to tell me you love me all the time. I don’t need to know about work and I could’ve gone a whole lifetime without meeting your friends because all I need is you. You in my arms, your kisses on my lips, your life entangled with mine.” 

Chilchuck slowly pulled away, looking into Y/n’s eyes. All he could see was love and adoration, like he hung the stars themselves. 

“I love you Chilchuck Tims. And I know you love me. That’s all I need.” 

Chilchuck crashed his lips to hers. Pulling her into a searing breathless kiss. Y/n kissed him back just as hard. Trying to suffocate all of his own insecurities to make them die with her love alone. Chilchuck pulled her onto his lap, holding her close as he continued to kiss her breathless. 

Within this moment, Chilchuck believed himself stupid for wanting his beautiful wife to find someone else. Stupid to think that she’d even think of going anywhere without him. 

Stupid to believe that she didn’t love him the way he loved her because at this moment he’s drowning within her love and he’d die right there. 

Because loving her was lucky. 

And he was fucking lucky.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 2

Author's Note: I initially wrote Part I and 2 as one piece but it was too long, so here's the next part :) Not sure how long this fic will be, but buckle up 'cause it'll be a good ol' enemies to lovers, political intrigue fic for however long it takes for me to figure out an ending.

Summary: Something has been hunting you for your powers and it's finally caught up with you. A Rhysand x Reader UTM What If.

Content Warnings: Suggestiveness, a little NSFW near the end, before we get to the ANGST (we're gonna suffer but we're gonna like it); that red headed bitch makes her first appearance; bit of cursing; canon typical violence. 

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All attempts at speaking fail, your mouth opening and closing without any sounds coming out. Your head spins, mind reeling. This can’t be real, can’t be happening. That tonic from the priestesses had to have something weird in it. This was a hallucination.

Yes. Hallucination, that had to be it.

“We can’t stay here,” says the male, his large hands still tight on your shoulders. There’s a coppery scent on him, something damp on the edge of his shirt sleeve, brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. Blood. He’d been the thing those other guys were screaming at.

Your stomach twists, heart slamming in yours ears, sounding like drum beats again. No. No that wasn’t your heartbeat at all, that was the drums outside. Great, while the Spring Court was having a giant orgy you were lost in some sort of cave with… what even was this male?

Was he even fae? You still can’t see a thing in the dark.

You recover yourself enough to step out of his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice trembles as you speak, hands shaking at your sides. You’re defenseless out here, even with your own magic, you've never managed to control it enough to use it. “I can’t even see you.”

A mistake. You shouldn’t have admitted to it.

A flicker of light flares, glittering and spinning like…

Stars. There are actual, tiny, glittering stars swirling around his fingertips. The glittering light illuminates the walls, much higher overhead than you’d thought initially. There is much more room to move around in general, but the darkness had been so thick you’d mistaken it for rocks. The light doesn’t pierce all the way through though, only the space between the two of you, the darkness beyond still moving and shifting like a wall. Your eyes track it back to the towering male ahead of you, the darkness drifting off him like a mist. Not the darkness of the cave at all, but one of his own making. It moves on his whim around the two of you, a bit of it still caressing your spine, your bare legs, while the rest hovers like some sort of bubble. A shield perhaps, you know the High Fae can make them, but it is just as likely to be a cage.

You try to summon claws, focusing your thoughts into getting your hands to change, shift, but nothing happens. Nothing but a slight twinge of pain in your skull.

As if he knows it, feels it, the stranger reaches a star flecked hand out to brush a tendril of hair off your forehead, his callused hands warm against your flushed skin. You shiver despite yourself.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says. That voice is rich, low, a lover’s purr.

He is fae, not the monster you had initially suspected. You aren’t sure what people usually wear on Calanmai, but the dark pants, the loose fitting shirt, half unbuttoned to reveal a swirl of dark ink across his bronze chest, and boots seems out of place. As if he’s over-dressed. Half a dozen rings glitter in the starlight spinning between his slender fingers, but you cannot ignore the blood that’s dusted over them.

“What happened to the others that came into the cave?”

A shadow passes over his face, dark brows furrowing. He’s a gorgeous male, by far the most handsome male you’d ever seen in your life, but that look, as the glow in his eyes dims, pupils expanding so there was nothing but endless darkness… it's like looking at the paintings of the Death Gods you’ve seen in your books. The shadow at your back writhes as if agitated, only settling once the look has passed and the violet returns to his eyes.

“They wanted to hurt you,” a low growl.

You shiver. “Why’d you call me out here then, if it’s unsafe?”

He tilts his head, a predator assessing prey, only cold calculations in that gaze. It’s an effort not to squirm under the scrutiny. “It’s not safe there either.”

“In my home?” You counter.

“In Spring,” he returns.

“Spring is perfectly safe, it’s practically the only place that-”

He moves faster than you can blink, clamping a hand over your mouth. “Don’t speak things like that in places like this!” He hisses. It’s not anger on his face, though, it is fear. You feel the chill of it seep through the bubble of darkness he’s created. His whole body shakes with it.

What do males with this kind of power fear?

It makes you nervous, wondering, but not as much as having a stranger put their hands on you. You sink your teeth into the flesh of his palm so hard you draw blood, and as he yanks his hand back, you move to run. Only to find the shadows blocking your path, no longer wisps, but solid, like adamant. You practically bounce off it.

“Let me out,” you order.

He stares down at his hand with a smirk, amused. “That was cheap.”

“I don’t like being touched by strangers,” you hiss. “Now let me out or I’ll really fucking bite you.”

He chuckles and the sound of it skitters over your bones, makes a whole other type of shiver run across your skin. Perhaps that’s part of the magic of Calanmai, the ability to remove the usual inhibitions and allow the souls to merge as the magic of the land demands. You quietly curse yourself for being so powerless against it. With enough training you should have been able to shield from it, but there’s no time for it now.

“What if I like being bitten, hm?” He teases.

“Then you’ll love when I rip your fucking throat out with my teeth.”

He takes a step closer and tilts his chin up, baring the full expanse of his throat to you. “I’ll let you, but then, how would your find a way out of the cave?”

“Bastard,” you snarl, but you can’t stop yourself from watching the way his throat works when he swallows, the way he grins at the roof, watching you, calculating what your next move will be. He knows he has you right where he wants you, it’s like watching a cat play with a mouse.

He slowly lowers his chin, still grinning. “It’s this way,” he gestures with a hand and the wall of shadows moves further into the cave.

You stare after it, than at him. “Isn’t the entrance the other way?”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t even know your name, why would I trust you?”

He reaches out and grabs your hand, but before you can pull away from him again, he’s pressing your knuckles to his lips. They’re surprisingly soft against your skin; electricity shooting through you, as he says in a voice made for the bedroom, “Rhys.”

Rhys, Darkness Incarnate, apparently. His name was an answer to a question you’d been asking yourself the last couple of years. Strange as the circumstance are, he fits exactly what you’d imagined the voice that had hounded you would sound like. Putting a face to the voice was strangely comforting, like there was no longer some strange threat hanging around your head every year anymore.

“I’m Y/N.”

You’re sure you’re an idiot for telling him. It’s not like he’s dropping the shield and letting your run out, it’s still there, caging you in as you move through the cave, side by side. Just because he’s leading you somewhere doesn’t mean it’s somewhere good, this very well could be a trap. Your head hurts trying to figure out what’s real, what’s likely. You’re not entirely convinced this still isn’t a hallucination.

He tries your name out on his tongue, nodding to himself, like he’d been looking for the answer to a question too.

Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight. There is something lonely about him you can’t quite place.

“Has it really been you, calling me these last couple years?” You ask softly; you’re trapped down here with him, might as well pass the time until you get to whatever bitter end awaits you.

He nods as you take a sharp left and descend down further at a slopping angle that has you holding onto the walls for support. It’s colder the deeper you go, despite the budding summer heat the rest of the court is feeling outside. You’re trembling as the path goes from soft sand to smooth, icy stone, the rock seeping all heat from your body on contact.

“Yes,” Rhys confesses. He stops for a moment, head tilted to the side like he’s listening for something, more shadows leaking from him, slipping through the shield to do Mother knows what.

When he looks back at you, his eyes are dark, sad. “It’s not safe.” He repeats. “I was trying to warn you.”

You run your hands over your arms, trying to get some heat back. Without a thought he’s unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it over your shoulders. The move if effortless, gentle, so at odds with what’s happening you can’t do anything other than slide your arms into the too big sleeves and pull it tight around you on sheer muscle memory. Its warm; the scent of jasmine and citrus and the sea all over it. You strangely want to bury yourself in it, until that scent is burned into your skin, your lungs, until it’s the only thing you breath. Calanmai at work, you can only assume.

With a hand on your back he prompts you forward again, even as he continues. “I didn’t know what else to do, it was my only chance to reach you.” His palm takes up the expanse of your lower back, you are so small next to him.

“But why me?”

The swirling tattoos cross over his chest and back, leaving a small gap between his shoulders, like there’s something supposed to be there, some small piece of him missing in those gaps between the ink. The urge to run your fingers over them is almost overwhelming, you have to pull your hands into his shirtsleeves to stop yourself.

“You’re-” he pauses and you swear you hear claws scratching somewhere above you.

Instinctively, before you can stop and think about what you’re doing, you press yourself closer to him. It’s the most natural thing in the world for him to slide an arm around your shoulders and pull you against his side. He’s all sleek muscle, a warrior’s build, though he carries no visible weapons. Perhaps, with powers like these he doesn’t need any.

The shield shudders around the two of you as he draws it in so close there is no room to move away from him.

You don’t dare speak again, the stillness he radiates tells you enough.

Several long minutes pass before the shield moves outward again and he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze signaling that the two of you should press on.

“What do you know of your parents?” He says finally, loosing a sigh of relief.

“I don’t even remember them,” you say. “What do you know of them?”

“I fought against your father in the War,” he replies .

Your father was a soldier?

“He’s a very powerful male,” he continues but all you can focus on the choice of words, the current tense, as if your father is still alive. “As was your mother.”

Your head spins; he grips you a little tighter like he knows it.

“There are a lot of powerful people who would like to get their hands on your power,” he says.

Its an effort to swallow. “I don’t even know how to use them,” you whisper.

He winces. “You have no training?” It almost sounds like horror in his voice.

You stare down at your hands, like their the source of all your problems. “My uncle said they would just… click.”

“Cauldron boil me,” he curses.

“I take it that’s not what you were hoping to hear?”

The cave split into four directions, one way covered with stalagmites dripping a strange glowing liquid, another bursting with flowers, a third full of rubble, the fourth the only clear path out. You go to that one, cautiously, Rhys keeping his head tilted, listening to what dangers might lay ahead.

“You’re vulnerable, is all,” Rhys says softly. “And there’s not enough time to change that now.”

A sense of foreboding lands in the pit of your stomach. “How much time do we have?”

“I have to be gone by sunrise,” he answers.

Gone, the foreboding turns into outright anxiety, stomach now twisting in knots. You resist the urge to reach out and take his hand. It’s nice having him here, you’re not ready to give this up just yet. “So there’s a reason you only call to me on Calanmai?”

He only nods.

“What happens if you’re still here by sunrise?”

He runs his tongue over his full lower lip, thinking.

“Are you like a vampire or something? Do you go poof?” You make an exploding gesture with your hands and he laughs, the echo bouncing off the shield. You’re not sure why it’s the laugh that makes you decide to trust him fully. Maybe some naïve part of you thinks if he meant you harm he wouldn’t be laughing at your stupid jokes.

“No,” he says, hand on his stomach as he fights to catch his breath. “Nothing like that.”

You watch the way his muscles shift as he catches his breath, the way his chest rises and falls. You’d like nothing more than to run your tongue along the sharp planes of him. You can’t stop yourself from wondering if you’d be able to taste the jasmine and citrus on his skin if you did.

“You’re sure? Let me see your teeth?”

He flashes you a grin that makes your stomach do flips. “See? No fangs.”

You turn towards him, pressing in closer, teasingly assessing, like you’re unsure. Calanmai has made you bold, you have to admit. Even with the new time limit closing down on you, you can’t help but stop for just a minute to enjoy this side of the male before you.

“So what are you then? If you have to work under the moon?”

“I’ve been many things,” he says, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

“And right now, what are you?” You press.

“Right now…” he places a hand on your hip and pulls you flush against him. “Right now I’m all yours, Darling.”

You must be somewhere close to where the party is happening above, because you can hear the drums again, as if the music is beating from within the rocks of the cave walls, the reverberations vibrating under your skin. It’s too much, too loud, pushing you closer to him, the silence that fills your head when he touches you the only way to make the noise stop.

Perhaps this was the plan the whole time: Get you away from the crowds, somewhere secluded, get you to trust him, to embrace him, but you can’t stop yourself from stretching up on your toes to kiss him. Did it matter in the end? He groans as he deepens the kiss, one star flecked hand sliding into the strands of your hair, angling your head for him to easily swipe his tongue into your mouth. The kiss is demanding, but soft somehow, like he’s desperate for it, you, but not holding so tight that you can’t pull away from him if you want.

The shadows return, dancing over your skin, skittering higher and higher up your thighs, across your waist, your chest. You let your own hands explore the broad expanse of his chest, skin silky and warm beneath your fingertips.

If this was the plan all along, you don’t care. This is good.

He tastes like starlight, like the night chilled wind across a calming sea. It conjures one in your mind, gentle waves lapping at a moonlight shore; there’s music floating across the water, the sounds faint and distant but much more soothing than the demand of the drums above you.

All too soon he’s pulling away from you, gentle kisses placed against the corners of your lips, your chin, the underside of your jaw. “Wish we had more time,” he whispers into your skin. “Want to take my time with you.”

You’re absolutely molten, very aware of how soaked your panties are, just barely covered by your thin shift. Any other night you might have had more presence of mind to be mortified that you were so wet just from kissing someone, but not tonight. Tonight it makes sense, is the only thing that makes sense.

He brushes his nose along the column of your throat, scenting you. “We really should keep moving,” but his hand trails down your front, tracing the valley between your breasts, sliding lower.

You tilt and kiss him again, hand tangling in his onyx hair. Nothing has ever felt as good as kissing him, you doubt anything else could ever compare. Unfair that you only have one night, one moment, you’re sure he’d ruin anyone else for you given the right amount of time.

He indulges you, just as hungry as before, hand still sliding lower, until he finds the hem of your panties through your shift.

You ache between your legs, have half a mind to beg and plead for him to touch you. Your feelings about Calanmai be damned, you want him to keep going, to kiss you, touch you, ruin you until the time he has left is spent.

Deft fingers find the hem of your shift, pulling it slowly upwards until he can bunch it up in his hand.

“Rhys,” you whimper into his lips.

His pupils are lust blown, lips kiss swollen and pink. “I know, I feel it too.”

You are used to the feeling of your power prowling beneath your skin, a caged animal begging to be released, this is not entirely different, but instead that power is replaced with him. You want, need, him everywhere. Need him to keep kissing, touching.

He slides his hand under your waistband, movements slow, precise, letting you indulge in the scrape of his callused hands over your soft skin. The movement alone is almost too much, your breath rasping out of you, trying not to squirm. He’s so close to where you need him…

“Rhysand!”

A female voice shakes the cave, the shield. Rhys jerks away from you like the voice hit him, eyes wide.

You grab onto the edges of his shirt and snap it closed around you like it will hide what you’ve been doing.

Footsteps echo, the cave shaking.

Rhys glances at you, eyes wide. “Stay quiet.” He says it in your mind, as easily as he has done for all these years. You don’t have time to ask how he can do it, or why, as he runs a hand through his hair, fixing it, before sliding out of the shield. It swallows you, tightening so you can’t run, can’t see what’s happening.

You barely dare to breath, as the footsteps stop not far from where you are. “Busy are we?” The shield can’t keep out the voice.

“Hunting as you asked, My Queen,” he says smoothly, casually.

Queen?

Whoever she is, she gives a mirthless laugh. “You call what you’re doing hunting now?”

“You said to use the caves-”

“I didn’t say fuck some whore in them,” she snarls. “I can smell her on you.”

You’re mortified enough to wonder if your powers could let you somehow dissolve into goo and melt into the floor.

“All part of the plan,” Rhys answers and your heart sinks as his words hit home.

“So you know where she is?”

“Of course,” Rhys says and the shield suddenly vanishes, the cold absence of it hitting you in a rush.

You give a little squeak of surprise, tightening his shirt around your exposed body as your eyes adjust to the soft gray light of the cave. You spent two much time here, the sun now rising outside.

The woman before you was tall, slender, eyes dark, mouth a cruel, pinched line. The blood red hair only serves to make her all the more pale and as she takes you in, her teeth flashing in a grin, you get the feeling that this what a wolf looks like when it sees a lamb.

“This little thing?” She stalks towards you and you take a step back, some instinctive, primal part of you recognizing that the more space between the two of you the better. You can still turn heal and run if she’s far enough away.

“Don’t worry, little one,” she coos at you, reaching out a claw tipped hand. Her blood red nails are sharpened to spikes, bit it’s the ring, with a swiveling, life like eye in the center that makes every muscle in your body tense up. “I’m here to help you.”

“Fuck off!” You hiss. There’s only one exit, the way she came, slopping upward, the floor clearly damp with morning dew. You’d need a good head start to make it up there first.

Rhys is watching you with the same intensity he’d kissed you with and you wish you had something to hurl at his head. You should have known better than to trust him.

“Quite the mouth on you,” she purrs. “I hope Rhysand put it to good use.”

Something in you chest cracks, a lump forming in your throat. You need to get out of his shirt, get the taste of him out of your mouth; he played you like a fiddle and if whoever this lady is hadn’t shown up, would have used you for his own amusement. And you would have let him.

“What do you want?” You bite out, inching closer to the exit.

“As I said,” she says slowly, like you’re too dumb to understand. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t need help,” you throw a withering glance at the male. “From either of you.”

“Oh but that’s just not true, is it, little one?” She doesn’t move, but something feels wrong. You don’t know why, but your whole body suddenly freezes, heart slamming in your chest.

No not frozen, you’d move if you could, but you can’t. It’s as if something grabbed hold of you, held you in place.

“There are a lot of people looking for your, Princess.”

Princess? This is a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

“Oh she doesn’t know, does she?” She smirks at Rhys, who shakes his head in conformation.

“Imagine that, the daughter of the King of Hybern, raised a simple little farm hand,” she grins like she knows she’s won, even as your head spins.

Hybern. You knew the name from your history books, the King a ruthless tyrant who nearly destroyed Prythian to get back his human slaves. Your mouth is dry, your hands might have shook, could you move your body.

She curls her fingers in a come here motion and as if someone has you on strings like a puppet, you take two steps towards her. You try to dig your heels in, fight it, but the hold over you won’t budge. You walk until your close enough for her to graze the tips of her claws under your chin.

“There are a lot of bad people trying to find you, little one.”

The only thing you have full control over is your mouth, so you snarl and flash your teeth, wishing you had the ability to grow fangs, “I’m pretty sure you are the bad people, bitch!”

She smirks but the grip she takes on your chin is anything but kind, your jaw groaning under the crushing weight of her grip. Her nails draw blood, crimson trickling down your jaw. “Poor, delusional little thing. Don’t you worry, we’re going to take good care of you, aren’t we, Rhysand.”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Of course!”

“Your father will be very pleased to hear you’re alive,” she says to you.

To Rhys she says, “Bind her, I don’t want her trying to run again.”

You still can’t move, can’t flee. Some small piece of you wants to beg, plead for him to let you go, to prove you wrong about him, but you’re pride won’t let you. Not as more wisps of shadow curl around his wrists and hands like snakes, no more stars to be seen.

“I should have ripped out your throat,” you snarl.

The shadows jump from him, twining around your wrists and ankles, not the gentle caresses from earlier, tightening until you can barely move your fingers and toes.

Rhys grins at you, shrugs, but it’s in your mind that you hear the same quip from earlier, “I would have let you.” It’s not teasing this time though, it’s sad, haunted.

Doesn’t matter, he’s still checking your hands, tossing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You tell yourself you won’t cry here, won’t give either of these bastards the satisfaction, there will be a time for that later.

It’s not much farther before sunlight blinds you, only a few steps of Rhys’ long legs before you’re out of the cave. You’d been so close. It had been right there this whole time! Had you not been so distracted, had those stupid drums not been so loud you might have made it. Might have gotten to go home.

[itslouisan]

More Q!Philza headcannons:

You guys seemed to like my Philza hc and well guess what? I have WAY MORE of them to share so let's go! Some of them even focus on the obscure colourzas or the deities in his hardcore world!!

• Q!Phil doesn't necessarily adopt anyone he finds, but he does show to need or like to comfort others, creating a scenario in my head where Phil most likely pays attention to eggs that were more abused such as Tilin, Juana Flippa and Pepito in the early days due to seeing just like Tallulah, Tommy and so on, they needed a better caregiver.

• I already mentioned how he doesn't necessarily see Q!Cellbit as a son, but I can view him going to Cellbit's castle to talk about occultism and sometimes lend a helping hand with Richas or any problems Cellbit might deal with

• He does take good care of his appearance for events and such, but in day to day basis he looks for more comfort than style, plus optimizing for clothing that is better for combat wise than looks

• Knows how to speak enderman and pigling language bc Ranboo and Techno taught him

• Knows flower language because of Tallulah knowledge in it

• old. Like REALLY old, around centuries or so, after all he's been into wars, empires and so much, clearly showing in canon he has a lot of experience in things that happened centuries ago

• Due to being old and into a lot of battles, his hearing is very fragile, top it with autism and you have him avoiding crowded places and anything loud.

• Blueza (blue variant of Philza) has a liking towards staying in the ocean monuments and is the cousin of Purpleza and brother of Redza

• Redza has anger issues and tends to need Blueza to calm him down so he doesn't burn everything to the ground.

• Pinkza LOOKS and MOST of the time IS sweet but piss him off and mess with Yellowza and he will get violent.

• Colourzas duos:

Blueza + Redza

Yellowza + Pinkza + Orangeza

Greenza + Purpleza

Blueza + Purpleza

• Phil definitely has a Antartic Empire flag hidden away somewhere in his house

• Every morning he would go to the memorial Chayanne and Tallulah made and throw potatoes, gold and a jar of fresh blood for Techno

• Has a couple of piercings such as in the bottom part of the lips, nose and tongue (he got them to match Techno and Tommy)

• DEFINITELY used the old slipper to teach a lesson or two to Tommy

• Not only has nightmares with DSMP and hardcore, but sometimes has Dreams where he connected directly with Mumza

• Has in the back of his hair some black hair due to Mumza possession in the past which affected his hair

• Has braids in his hair around 6 for people important in his life (not only his children but people in general):

1- the longest is for Techno

2- two of them are intertwined to symbolize beeduo

3- the 3rd shortest is for Tommy

4- the 2 shortest are Chayanne and Tallulah

• Smokes sometimes to release stress but stopped when he adopted the eggs.

Well that's it for the day, hope you liked it my crows