#they were affordable as fuck too (the craft store)

[cerealmonster15]

ive been watching sooo many vids of people doing doll restorations and doll customizations... making me both fight off the desperate urge to attempt New Hobby just because it Looks Fun and also resisting the urge to repurchase the fave barbie i had as a kid on ebay,,,,

[bunnyb34r]

Man I really fucking miss the local craft store chain that was near us

:( I think id love working there honestly like it was always so chill there

I used to get sticker books there for $1 and that's where we got Bean and all of The Bbs from

They had the best clearance sales it was wild

[hidden-poet]

To have and to hold.

1/1 Disclaimer: I have not watched Billy the kid. This story is based on an internet search, and a can do mentality. No cannon events or characters.

Warnings: Dark!billy-the-kid, non-con, light stalking, technical kidnapping, spit, mature, 18+ only, porn-with-little-plot, non-fandom based writing, Reader POV, reader not described but can be picked up, definitely not historically actuate but you are reading about getting railed by billy-the-kid so you can fuck off if you have a problem with it. Dead dove, do not eat.

A/N: I am so sorry that this was late, and also rushed. The tent scene felt like I was pulling teeth out. I had no idea where I was going with it.

unedited.

You always knew Billy had a crush on you.

You would catch him staring at you from across the market. He would try to talk to you every chance he got. Always trying to find out more about you. He was awkward mostly, unfitting to his position of power. Despite his eager attempts to gain an audience with you, his eyes often floated around the room, and the conversation topics only always grazed the surface. 

Nevertheless when you excused yourself from him, he always seemed disappointed but never stopped you. 

You never minded the attention. You were flattered by it. Before him, none of the town's men paid you too much mind. Your family wasn’t rich, and your face was too plain to gain attention away from the wealthy girls.

It helped too that it was handsome. Dangerous. Big broad shoulders and striking eyes. He was good at his craft. Some say the best.

He was good enough to keep the vultures away from town. For a price. Him and his gang kept the town safe for a portion of everyone’s profits. It was a small profit compared to what he could have asked but added up quickly amongst the business that bloomed with his protection.

The regulators became the law after running out the corrupt and keeping out wild gangs that would come and pillage.

There were worse men to be left in charge. Overall his reputation was good but money was to be paid, or houses were to be burned down.

He had men to look after. They had to be fed and housed with a few extra dollars in their pockets to halt their boisterous nature.

From the few times he did use a heavy hand, it left a strong reminder to the community that Billy’s word was law.

Even with his sheriff- like position, he was still considered an outlaw. Wanted in multiple counties. Wanted in yours not too long ago. Before he and his crew became the new law. So you had to keep your distance as much as you could, and avoid situations where you could be seen alone with him. The town mostly thought of you as a poor target for Billy but a few whispers about you were already causing damage to your reputation.

 Anyone connected to the regulators was treated differently. People wanted to distance themselves from the group that controlled the area. Anyone found being too friendly with the Regulators were ostracized. Your family couldn't afford to be outcast. The family business relied on steady connections and loyal customers. 

So you don’t mind the flirtatious talk in private or burning stares so long as it never proceeds from that.

To help this, you avoided him where you could but some days it felt as if he knew your schedule better than you did. 

You tried to switch it up by going to town a day earlier than you usually would, but fate had it that it was the same day as Billy’s collection. 

People hush as Billy and two of his men come into the convenience store. Some leave while others push themselves to the back of the store. You try and hide your face behind a series of hanging baskets as you watch the group walk confidently in. 

Billy greets the shopkeeper respectfully but the men he is with are arrogant and begin playing with the objects on display. You knew them as Jim Greathouse, and Tom O’Folliard. Both long-standing members of the Regulators. 

“Good evening, Mr O’Conoly. How are you today?”

“Good, Billy. Thank you”. The shopkeeper places a pouch of money on top of the counter for the men to take. 

Billy takes it first and places the small pouch in his pocket, thanking the man, and asking about his family. 

You try to make your escape moving from behind the baskets towards the door. Your face heated with just the thought of talking to Billy in a room full of people. In passing or at a public event was unavoidable, your townspeople knew that, but talking so friendly in a shop. It would bring your family shame if it came across too familiar.

But you were too hasty in your exit, your feet too hard against the floor. The shuffling caught his attention. Worried that he might be offended with your behavior, you pretend to look at the pears on display as if contemplating. 

The sound of his feet against the floorboards matched the beating of your heart. 

You pretend to look busy as you inspect the pears but could feel his searing stare as he approached you.

“Miss y/n”’ he took off his hat as he spoke as a sign of respect.

You nodded your head towards him as a sign of respect back, “Mr Bonney”.

“Billy. You can call me Billy”.

You nod back with a tight smile, keeping your eyes focused on the produce in front of you. To encourage Billy by calling him by familiar terms may give him the wrong impression.

"You look awful pretty today"

"You say that every day, Mr Bonney".

“I mean it every day”. He stands close to you, leaning his frame over yours. With his height it could have been intimidating but you knew he meant no harm.

“Did you need help shopping today? I could carry your basket for you” His fingers reach out to your basket but you tug it back against you. 

“Thank you, Mr Bonney, but I will not be buying anything today. I must get home. I suddenly don’t feel well”. 

“Wait” He reaches out and gently captures your arm to stop you from turning. It was the first time he had ever touched you. It felt like you had been zapped with electricity. 

You pull quickly out of his grasp and look around the shop. People were staring at the scene. One wrong step and it could be the end of your family's good name. You step further back from him, solidifying that he was the same person to them as he was to you. 

Billy holds his hands flat out in surrender, telling you he had no further plans of touching you. 

“I was just wondering if you planned to be at Maria's wedding?”. 

Maria was a friend of yours, of course you would be at her wedding. You wondered why he was asking, he knew this too. 

She was often with you when he approached. More than that her soon-to-be husband was friendly with Billy, and borrowed from the Regulators to finance a farm. 

Because of that, would he now be invited to the wedding? Would you be stuck avoiding him the whole night?

“I do,” you respond. If you lied and he was invited it would be an uncomfortable evening, but has telling the truth now placed you in a difficult spot?

“I was wondering if you might fancy a dance or two with me?”

A sudden loud clanking noise stole the spotlight from you. Jim had knocked a table of grain and spilled it over the floor along with the serving cup. Tom bellowed at his friend's mistake, kneeling over from laughter. 

“I am sorry, sir” Billy said to the shopkeeper, “He will pay for that”. 

Tom laughs louder, earning a shove from Jim. 

“Clean it up” Billy demands with a click of his fingers. Jim snatched a nearby rag and kneeled upon the floor under Billy’s stare. You make a quick exist while he is distracted but he follows you across the floor. 

The shopkeepers goes to help clean up the mess by bringing a broom but he is insulated by Jim as he nears. He throws the dirty rag at the man and questions why he didn’t bring a broom sooner. 

Billy’s attention is once again caught. He looks at you as you pass through the door but Jim continues to hurl insults at the undeserving shopkeep. Billy turns direction away from you to deal with the situation. 

“Hey. He’s paid his dues. Leave him alone” was the last thing you heard as you raced down the steps and to the path back home. 

You bash your hand against your forehead as you take the dirt path back to your home. It felt good to release some of the tension you felt. You had kept your composure through your walk through the back of town but could feel it bubbling under the surface. 

You should have left as soon as he entered the store. Now you were left in difficult position and only the feeling of dread around your friends wedding. 

How would you be able to avoid him for the entire time? Your only hope is that he will avoid you while you are with your family. 

You swing your empty basket. The trip to town and back was a 40 minute walk across a hard pebble road. You’d have to make it again tomorrow. 

You wondered if you would see him again. Billy normally placed himself in town to correspond with your schedule. 

Would he ask for a dance again or had you wounded his pride? What is the right answer? 

Yes would leave the town talking for weeks. Might even affect your fathers business.

 No might make you an enemy of the Regulators.  Which is the last thing you wanted to be. 

Perhaps if you took more chores, your sister would take your trip to town. 

She was stubborn though. Would want more than her fair share to swap tasks. You begin your negotiations in your head. 

Preparing for when you get home, when the sound of galloping horse upon the gravel approaches you. You move from the path to let the horseman pass, but it slows next to you. 

You look up at the rider, just making out his face under the sun. 

“Mr Bonney. What are you doing?”. 

You eye the area to see no one else. A blessing and a curse. 

He swings off his horse next to you.  

“You said you felt ill. I thought it was best to see you home alright”.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr Bonney”.

“Please, I insist. Riding would be faster than walking”.

“How would that look, sir? Sharing a horse?”.

“You could sit, and I’ll walk him along,” he suggests. His hat covers his face in shadows. It made it hard to see how he was processing your words.

“No, thank you, sir. The walk would be good for me. You go on now”. 

“I’ll walk alongside you”. He readies the reins of his horse between his hand for a walking pace.

“There’s really no need” you try. 

“There’s also nothing stopping me” he returns. 

It puts you back on one foot. He had never spoken to you like that before. Conversations about the weather, and upcoming community events were the only things really talked about. Sometimes he would ask after your family, and your health. But he found that broader, more unfamiliar topics worked best to elicit a conversation. 

You once helped him pick out a ripe watermelon when he asked you but he had never refused to stop bothering you. 

He walked beside you with his shoulder almost touching yours. You try to create distance by walking on the edge of the road. The rocks slip off the edge of the road under your feet. It makes for an uncomfortable walk, in which your ankle twists from the uneven ground. 

“It looks like rain” he looks up to the sky and its dark forming clouds, “I sure hope it clears before the wedding”. 

You tense as he brings up the wedding. It was surely a ploy to reintroduce his offer. In an attempt to discourage him, you only offer him a nod. 

One wrong step and you tumble of balance towards the surrounding dirt. 

“Careful” he hand latches on to your arm, pulling you back on the path. He moves himself and his horse over to the center of the road, pulling you along with his hold, “Don’t want you breaking an ankle before our dance”. 

You paused to consider a broken ankle as your way of escaping the dance, but it would immobilise you and Billy was sure to sit by your side the entire night. 

“I don’t dance, Mr Bonney. Two left feet I am afraid”. 

“We’ll get along fine”

“I might not be well enough to attend anyway”. 

“Oh” he looks ahead at the road, “That would be a shame”.

The horse kicks, impatient with her pace. 

“Settle” he commanded with a pat to its nose. 

“She’s used to going fast,” he tells you. 

“Please, Mr Bonney. I would hate to upset your horse”. You gesture for him to go forward and leave you.

He laughs at you. A sweet, airy laugh. 

“She'll be fine”.

You knew he meant you no harm. Even as you walk with him miles from anyone you felt no fear. So you walk in a comfortable silence next to him, your feet falling into step with his own. 

“If you need a break, let me know,” he spoke. 

You wondered why he said such a thing, forgetting your own lie. Quick in your recoup you bring your hand to your forehead 

“I will be fine. Home is not too far off”. 

He offers you a drink from his water flask which you decline. He had reached for it although from his saddle and you still him with a hand on his shoulder. It freezes him.

In return his eyes freeze you as he peers back over his shoulder.

You’re not sure why but an apology falls from your lips. 

“No” he assures, “No-I”. 

Neither of you were sure where to go.

He puts the flask back, turning to you with empty hands. 

You didn't notice that you had stopped walking until his horse kicked impatiently.

“I have to get home” you state. 

You pick up speed and return to the silence as you walk alongside him. 

Out of nowhere and somewhat timidly he reaches a hand out and places it on your shoulder. 

You jump back at the unexpected contact. Half expecting the hand to claw and punch you down to the ground. But it releases. 

He squints his eyes at you, surprised at your reaction. 

“You don’t think I would hurt you. Do you?”

You weren’t sure. He’s never been aggressive towards you. But stories of him being a dangerous man made their way around the community. 

“No, Mr Bonney”. 

With home so close it urges you to pick up the pace. He keeps it easily. 

“Is that why you didn’t want me to walk you home? Because you thought I would hurt you? Y/N, I would never”.

His hand once again goes up to touch you but you knock it away. 

“Mr Bonney, may I remind you that you are a stranger to me. That I am an unmarried woman, and you are an unmarried man. If some one were to mistake this situation, it could cause great damage to my reputation. My family's reputation, and livelihood".

He looked hurt that you had spoken to him like that. He stopped his fast pace beside you, and you took the opportunity to continue on without him. 

“Well we ain't strangers” he says as he nestles up beside you again. 

The walk turned silent again and it remained that way as you passed through the wide field to your home. 

Your small family home comes into view, and thought perhaps you could shake him. But he doesn’t leave you as you open your gate. 

“Thank you for seeing me home, Mr Bonney”, You try.

“Anytime Miss Y/N. Maybe one day you could invite me around, and we could have tea”.

You slam the gate shut between you. By allowing him to walk you home, does he think that you were opening up to him? 

“I am not sure my father would approve”. 

Billy’s eyes fall to the ground. He doesn’t look up as he speaks. 

“I see”, he states, “Well, rest up and I’ll see you at the wedding”.

You hear the talking of your mother and sister as they bring the washing back up to the house. If they came too close, he would try to start a friendly conversation with them. The risk of your father seeing, and shooting is already high. You needn’t add to it. 

“Goodbye, Mr Bonney”, you bid. 

You leave him at the gate, scoping your mother and sister into your arms and back into the house. 

—

The day of the wedding came. The whole house woke up in excitement but you felt more heavy than you should have. 

You tried to strike a balance between dressing nice and dressing too nice that Billy would think you dressed up for him.

Luckily, Miara relied on you the whole day to complete last minute things. While the others were gathered in front of the church, you were in the field gathering flowers for her bouquet. After that you helped her dress and do her hair. It all kept you away from the guests right up to the wedding. 

You dash inside the small church to find your seat before the bride was ready to come in. 

You saw not only him but the entire group of the Regulators sitting at that back corner out of the way. They were all clean and dressed nicely to Billy’s request. Their hats were taken off their heads in respect, and not one of them spoke. 

Billy’s body shifted as he saw you. It straightened, slightly turning towards you as you walked up the aisle to your family. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked. You couldn’t help looking back at him. 

You took your seat next to your sister in time for the band to start the wedding march. Maria slowly walks down the aisle, you try to keep you focused on her during all of the service but his stare burns a hole in the back of your head. 

All too soon the ceremony was over. Maria and her new husband stop to greet Billy as they pass. Maria’s husband gets a firm handshake as Billy says something to him and Maria is brought in for a kiss on the cheek. 

They acted like old friends despite their true relationship as debtor and debtee. 

Once the newlyweds make it to the door signaling for the rest to follow, you form a barrier of your family to keep you away from Billy as you pass him. The Regulators go to move out before the rest of the guests but Billy blocks the path by putting his hand on the front pew. Manners were important to Billy but less so to his group.

Billy and the Regulators walked behind the guests to the reception held in the field of the newlyweds' new farmstead. The couple had hired a live band, and borrowed tables and chairs.  Candles and a large fire was lit as it darkened. People danced and laughed amongst the Regulators, but you found yourself trying to keep busy to avoid any conversation. 

If you remained for too long in one spot, you could feel Billy closing in. Only the request from your friend on her big day made you pause. She needed help dishing up the punch as the speeches would begin soon. 

All your efforts of the night were wasted as you distributed the drink into the many cups. You were a sitting duck, and you could see Billy closing in. You rush, half spilling the punch on the table. People distracted him as he made his way over. It gave you hope you could finish before he reached you. 

“Whoa, slow down” Maria jeered. 

“Sorry. Can you find someone else to do this? Mr Bonney is coming over and if I get trapped talking to him it will ruin my night”. 

Maria slaps your arm hard causing you to spill a whole cup of punch. 

“I won’t hear that talk about Billy. Not after what he did”. 

Your friend goes back to pouring but she has now peaked your interest. 

“What did he do?” you ask. 

Maria places her cup down and leans closer to you as if it was a secret. 

“Our wedding present was the farm. We own it. Debt free. He let us off”.

An expensive wedding present from a man who barely knows the couple. It was also a dangerous thing to do. How many people will now be expecting debt to be wiped free after every major life event. 

Billy made his way over. You don’t turn from Maria but she ecstatically greets him. 

“Can I lend a hand, Maria?”. He stands too close, your shoulder almost touching him. 

Maria declined his offer of help but he picks up the empty cups and holds them out for you to fill. 

You don’t speak to him as you work but he continues to swap the cups under you. 

“Let's start passing these out” Maria spoke to you, picking up a tray and disappearing into the party. You follow suit, picking up your tray without a word, but Billy takes it from you, placing it back on the table. 

“I was wondering if you were ready for the dance you promised me?”.

“There are many girls here, Mr Bonney, who are dying for a dance”. You hint at him. You look to your father who is watching you from his group of friends. 

“That may be so”. He is resolved to his position. Although you knew it was unintentional his hand went to his gun holster light resting on the leather belt. 

 It was best not to make a scene so you give him a curt nod and head towards the crowd of people dancing. A dance at a wedding is hardly anything scandalous. He follows close and when he feels like you are far enough into the dance floor he takes your wrist into his hand and spins you towards him. 

“Are you having a good time?’’ he asks as you move together to the festive music.

“Yes”. You wish you could have said more but your brain felt muddled with him so close. You could feel his strong shoulders as you rest your arm around his neck, and his strong fingers squeezed around yours.

“It didn’t rain” he comments. 

“No” you agree. 

“You look beautiful in that dress”

“Thank you. I borrowed it from my sister”.

A man calls out to Billy, taking the attention off you for the second that it took Billy to give an acknowledging nod. 

You spin out from his arms in sync with the other girls. It reached the part of the song where partners were swapped but Billy held tight to your hand and spun you back into him, leaving the next man looking for his new dance partner. 

Billy jerks his head in the direction of the girl who was supposed to take your place.

“Over there” he suggests. 

The dance continues and you resume your position as Billy’s dance partner. 

“That’s not how that dance goes” you scold. 

“Not going to let you go that easy”.

He spins you out and back in again, “You told me you were two left feet. You seem to be doing alright to me”, he says as he holds you close. 

You push yourself out of his hold and back  into dancing formation. Cozy in the arms of the judge, jury and executor is not a good look. 

“That may be because you are two right feet”.  

He laughs causing you to giggle with him but you were acutely aware of your fathers protective stare. 

“See we make the perfect pair” he boasts. 

His remark silences you. Too many flirtatious exchanges could leave the wrong impression. 

“How are you feeling?” Billy asks softly, “I ain’t spinning you too much, am I? Did you want to sit with me for a bit?” 

“No” better to get the dancing out of the way for the night, “no, I feel fine”. 

He doesn’t spin you again. Instead keeping you close in a gently swaying motion. You follow his lead around the floor. A few stared but most were too consumed with themselves to notice. Only your father paid true attention. 

“Maria told me that you forgave the debt on the land” you said after a moment of nothing but dancing. 

He nods back, a small smile on his lips as he looks out to the other dancers. He was pleased that you knew.

“I did. We want to see prosperity in this land. Farmers are important in that”.

Suddenly his jaw became hard, and his hold loosened. 

“Wouldn’t that be right, Harold?”. 

His change confused you. Instead of dancing with you, he had pushed your body behind his, gripping the fabric of your dress around your waist to keep you still, and had his gun pointed straight. 

You move as much as you could to see Harold Fern, the baker in your community. He looked disheveled as he held out a shotgun.  His hair was a mess, his clothes half done up and wrinkled His cheeks and nose burned red with intoxication. 

“You son of a bitch” slurred Harold, “You took everything from me”. 

“I don’t know what you mean, but you better get that gun out of my face before I put you down”.

You shrink yourself as small as you could against Billy back. His hold tightens as he feels you move. 

Harold scoffs, “You ain’t that quick”. 

“Yes, I am” he threatens. 

Harold sways as he thinks about Billy’s statement giving Billy the time to try and talk so sense into the man. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Harold. Don’t make me. Whatever you think I have done, I am sure we can fix it”. 

“Your taxes put me out of business. My fathers business, my fathers’ fathers business. You and your gang come in demanding a share from the work you don’t do”. 

 ‘I am sorry, Harold, Truely. But your business would have been gone long ago if it weren’t for us. You think the Casa gang would have left anything if they were successful in their attack? We stopped them. What do you think would have been left of this town if we didn’t?”. 

With the man subdued, you move from where you pressed up against Billy’s back to move from the line of fire. But Billy’s hold on your dress would not loosen. You resumed your spot against his back, hoping that the bullet would not go straight through. 

“If it’s a loan you need I can give it to you, but I can also send you to the grave after your father if your finger itches towards that trigger anymore”.

“Billy!” you hear a voice of one of the regulators. The surrounding people gasp as another gun is brought out. 

“It’s alright. Harolds here just had too much to drink. Why don’t you take him back to his house and i’ll be by tomorrow to see if we can figure out a solution to his problem”. 

Harold must have chosen to drop the gun because you heard the shoving and shouting from Billy’s man and not the ricochet of a gun. 

The grip on your dress is released and Billy turns towards you placing his hands on your shoulders. 

“Are you okay?”. 

You shake him off, aware of the audience still staring at you. Billy follows your gaze around the crowd. 

“It’s alright everyone. Let’s get the music going again’’ 

Billy raises his hand to your arm once more but you are pushed away before it lands. Your father had come to your rescue quickly pushing you through the crowd. You look back at Billy. He doesn’t move. Just stares until you are out of sight. 

You don’t see Billy for the next week. His men did his collections. You only saw them around town, never him. You figure he was laying low after the wedding incident. 

Your days became dull again without the excitement of Billy. Your chores became chores again without the added threat of Billy laying in wait. 

Miss may be a strong word, but something felt off when he wasn’t around. You figure you had gotten so used to a state of anxiety that normalcy felt strange. 

He would return, you ensured yourself, just enjoy it while it lasts.  

On the tenth night of his absence from your life you think that maybe he had skipped town, and you would never see him again. The Regulators would need a new leader and you shudder thinking who it could be. 

You sleep with the thought of him on your mind. Who would protect the town if not him? Who would fill your days with excitement and wonder? You scold yourself for the latter thought. He was an outlaw. A villain. Blood soaked his hands.  He was a bad man. The leader of bad men. You sleep with hateful thoughts of the Regulators and their leader. 

You wake with the sound of your dog scratching at your door. Begging to be let out. The night was cold. Even with a large blanket and the windows shut, you shivered. 

You sigh as you get up, quickly looking for your robe. It would do little to keep the cold away but something was better than nothing. 

It was odd for your dog to wake to pee. It only happened when he was a pup and that was long ago. 

You follow him as he races down the steps, trying your best to be quiet so as not to wake your family. The dog is energetic, scratching at the main door. 

You ‘sh’ him as you open it. You’re greeted by a wave of freezing air.  

The dog ruined your plans of staying on the porch as he disappeared into the darkness forcing you to follow down. 

The cold grass sinks into your feet, the moisture soaking your soles. You could barely see your dog in the dark with his black fur. Only the sound of him peeing told you he was still there. 

You stretch as you wait, looking up at the night sky. Slowly rolling your head in a circle. In doing so, you could see a small flame in the distance. A candle still going just outside of your father's shed.

You go to blow it out before it catches anything on fire. Another odd occurrence. Your father rarely lit candles due to their cost. He was sure to blow it out before he finished. Still he is old like your dog. They are both slipping from their good habits and you would need to learn to be more gracious. 

You bend down and with one quick blow, the flame is gone. Rising once more, you decide it is time to return to bed and go to call your dog over. 

His name never gets off your lips. It’s sealed shut by a strong gloved hand pressed over your mouth, and the feeling of a cool barrel of a gun pressed into the side of your head. 

“Sh, sh, sh, be quiet”. 

Your gut dropped, you knew the smooth voice of Billy. With faith he wouldn’t hurt you, you try screaming into his hand. He shook you a bit but no harsh hand was used to silence you. 

“I said quiet”. 

You do. You once heard that he shot a man off his horse a mile away. Now with a gun pressed into your head you didn’t need too much persuading to do as he said. 

“We’re going on a little trip, you and I” he whispers in your ear. 

Where was your dog? You wondered. Why couldn’t he sense you were in danger and come save you. You were no match for Billy. 

“Okay?” he asks.  You nod in response. 

“Okay, move”. He keeps his hand across your mouth, and his gun buried in your back, using it to move you forward. 

It’s not too far before the sight of his horse is seen only thirty feet from your house. He releases you and halters his gun so he could cup his hands to help you onto the saddle. 

You look back at your house, not too far in the distance. If you ran could you make it? If you screamed could your family hear it?

“Come on, now. Don’t keep me waiting”. 

Deciding you couldn’t make it, you slot your foot into his hands, and he hoists you up to the saddle. He got up more easily, and with a swing of his leg he saddles up behind you, bringing the reins and his hands down upon your lap. 

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“It’s not far. Just some place I go to think”. 

The horse is ridden at a leisurely pace. The cold air attacks you, and you find yourself curling into Billy’s warmth. 

He doesn’t speak to you again but you could feel him trying his best to protect you from the cold wind. His body barricaded around you, trying to keep you warm. At one point when the wind blew especially hard, he planted his large warm hand over the side of your face and pressed the other side of your face into his chest.

With the amount of shock running through your body, you weren't sure if the ride was short like he promised. It felt like an entirety by his side. 

When you arrived at the camp, the fire was already going, and a tent was set up. 

He dismounts first and then reaches back up to help you down. 

“Why have you brought me here?”. You accept his help down, his horse wouldn’t go without him. 

“To talk. Some place where you can’t run away”.

His words should have carried more weight, but you knew they were said in a non-threatening manner. 

There was a log near the fire that you used as a seat while Billy remained across from you. 

“I’ve missed you these past few days. Been real lonely without you”. He kicks the dirt under his shoe and watches as it jumps from his force. 

“We were never friends, Billy”. 

Billy. The name seemed to have just fallen off your lips. 

The sound of his name gave him courage to look up at you.

“You’re right. You’re right. We skipped that stage”. 

His eyes go back down and he is silent once more. 

“Y/N, your daddy’s never going to approve of me”.

“No” you agree, “No, he’s not”. 

His eyes flick up back to yours, his stance hardens, his shoulders square and his eyes peer down at you.

“So. Where does that leave us?” he asks. 

A large gust of wind blows through the camp, straight through you. Your body hunches from the cold

“Are you cold?” he asks in a state of shock that he could ignore the obvious. He doesn’t wait for your response, gone into his tent before the question fully parted from his lips. 

He brings out a thick wool blanket, and wraps it around your shoulders before going back to his side of the fire.

He rubs his hand across the bottom of his face, his other hand positions on his hip. You wondered what he was thinking. Why he looked so worried when he was the one in the position of power? 

“Billy?” you asked softly. His eyes flicked from the ground up to you. “Billy, take me home”. 

“You know God told me that you were the woman for me’’.

“Did he?” you ask cautiously. 

“Years ago. I saw you in town, I said ‘God, if she’s the one make her drop her bracelet’. And you did”. 

He reaches into his vest pocket pulling out his pocket watch to show you the chain. He brought it over to you. In the light you could see that he had melted the gold of your bracelet to his small gold watch and fashioned it into his pocket watch that he carried daily. The ends of the bracelet were melded but the gold that was braided together looked identical to the bracelet you had lost.

 It was your bracelet. One you lost nearly three years ago. The clasp was broken, you shouldn’t have been wearing it but it was one of your favorites. 

“It’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything” you said. A broken bracelet was hardly uncommon for a woman who had little money to fix it. 

This seemed to anger him. His face scrunched up and his movement became rough and short. 

“Coincidence? Was it a coincidence tonight? I had a burning desire to see you and you just so happen to be outside waiting for me”.

“I wasn’t waiting for you”.

“Well something brought you outside to me. You don’t call that fate?”. 

“My dog”. Your eyes slowly weep as Billy the kid turns into Billy the outlaw. 

To run a group of outlaws. To kill men, and control a town, you knew he had to have a dark streak. No matter how well he hid it, there must be something lurking underneath to be able to exert the violence needed.

His hand flys to his forehead, rubbing it as if you were causing him a headache. 

“You ain't listening. Me and you. We’re connected. Meant to be”. 

“Okay” you agree. Unsure on what else to do. “Billy, I am really cold and would like to go home now”.

“Here” he comes closer to you, bending down and helping you to your feet. 

He picks up a lit lamp by the fire, and tries to lead you forward. 

“It’s warmer in the tent”.

Your heart jumps. Alone in a tent is the last place you want to be. 

Your arm jerks from his touch as you speak, “Take me home now”. 

His hands grip your arms too tight.

“Home? What if I gave you a new home? One where we could be together”.

The cold air no longer bothered you. Billy was the law. Whatever he did would be met with no consequences. 

“I’ve been thinking, if your daddy won’t approve no matter what. Maybe we shouldn’t ask him” he continued. 

You struggle against Billy. How quickly after all this time that his touch became hurtful.

“I need my father's blessing,” you state. 

“I was worried you would say that” he remarks. 

The force on your arms changed from holding you still to pushing you forward. 

“Billy get off” you shout. 

“You won’t listen to reason” he retaliates. 

The door of the tent wasn’t tied so you were easily pushed through the fabric. You fall onto the laid mattress with no strength to raise yourself while Billy does ties up the door to keep the cold air out.

“Billy” you cry. 

He lays down next to you, wrapping his arm around your back and up your neck. 

“Everything is fine. I’ll take care of you”.

“Billy, don’t do this,” you pleaded. 

“If I can’t make you see my love, I can make you feel it”. 

He rises to rid himself of his suspenders. You sit up on your legs in front of you, with no harsh hand pushing you back down.

You capture his head between your hands, only talking when there was no attempt to shake you off. 

“Billy, think about what this will mean for me”. 

His eyes feel cold as they graze upon you, “I am thinking about you. About us. He can’t deny the marriage if what is done is done”. 

Feeling his head push forward under your hold, you go to make one last plea before his lips meet yours. 

“Bil-”. His kiss is hard and possessive. 

His body soon follows, and the weight of him presses you to the floor. 

Shoving at his shoulders doesn’t do much to deter him. After a handful of hard kisses, he changes positions, straddling your waist so he could sit up and unbutton his shirt. 

His movements are quick and rugged like having to get rid of the clothes was an annoying chore. 

Despite his dangerous line of work, and the odds, his body is free from scars and bullet holes. His tone chest and strong shoulders flex as he moves to throw the shirt to the corner of the tent. 

You’re memorized by his beauty until his hands reach for his belt. Your hands spring up to stop him, only this does he resist. 

“It’s alright. It ain’t going to hurt” he places a hand on your chest to keep you down while he undid his holster’s belt buckle, “I told you I would never hurt you”.

With the leather belt free, he slides the gun in the holster up along the ground. 

The button of his pants only takes a twist of his wrist and he is left in his underwear on top of you. 

“Get off” you yell at him but he continues by dragging you up to where the pillows are laid. 

He positions one of the pillows directly under your head for your comfort as you kick, your head rises and falls into it. 

His hand loosening the front tie of your nightgown stills the fight you had. 

“Billy, wait” you request. 

“I have waited. Nearly three years”. The nightgown is pushed off from your shoulders, and pulled down the rest of your body. 

The shake of your body is attributed to many things, the cold air that swarmed you, the shame and fear of it all, the fact that it was your first time being bare to a man. Billy took it to mean the cold and adjusted the blankets so they were pressed up against the sides of your body. 

The hand on your chest left as you stopped moving and both hands were moved to unbutton your underpants. 

“I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry’’. 

He leans down to kiss you again as a distraction to get between your legs. He is there before you know it.

He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them. You wondered what he was doing before he brought them down to your sex. 

You try to tell him to stop but your brain couldn’t muster it. Only a gasp escapes your lips as you feel him enter you. 

Its uncomfortable at first and you squirm away from him

“Stay still. It’ll get better” he promises. 

In an attempt to aid the friction, he leans his head down, spitting into cunt.

The extra moisture does help your arousal. Soon you are wet enough for his fingers to sink into you. 

He takes them out, not wanting you to finish too early, and brings his fingers to his lips to suck off the moisture. 

His hand comes down next to your head as lifts himself up to take off his underwear. 

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask. There was no point in begging. You had reached the point of no return. 

“Maybe. For a little bit, but it will feel good too. I promise”. 

He lines himself up with you, and with a final kiss he plunges himself into you. 

It feels as if he hits a wall inside of you. You were certain it was as far as he could go but his hips hammered into you determined to break through. 

You were about to tell him that you had taken as much of him as you could take when he does break the wall. It was a searing pain as if he had cut you. You let out a tisk of pain, reaching up and clawing at the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with Billys’. 

‘Sorry. Sorry. I know” he says, but the rhythm of his hips remains the same. 

The pain subsided after a couple of thrusts that felt terribly uncomfortable and sore. It was replaced with the pleasure he promised you that built in your stomach, and tingles between your legs. 

Still, this was not how it was supposed to go. Not in a tent in the middle of the night. Not outside of marriage and not without your father permission.

You throw your head up from a particularly hard thrust, and notice his gun still in the holster just beyond your fingertips. Your head was too scattered to form any thoughts. Otherwise, you never would have reached for it. Even if Billy had been a stranger from the saloon, you could never kill a man. 

You had no intention of killing him. You had just wanted to touch it. The gun of Billy-the-kid. 

“What? What do you want my gun for?” As he leans up to reach for it and you feel his cock push up into your stomach. 

He brings it out of his holster with the barrel pointed at your head, but his finger is far from the trigger. 

“Don’t you know a man’s gun is part of him? You should ask a man before you touch it”.

The gun pushes further and down to your lips. Billy’s eyes were dark. The awkward boy that used to court you was buried in the furthest part of him.

“Open your mouth” he commands. 

With the taste of metal at your teeth, you do part your lips enough for the tip of the gun. A struggle could lead to an accidental misfire. 

His thrusts in time with the movement of the gun. His eyes focus on your lips, the way they curl around his barrel. 

The metallic taste overwhelmed your tongue and your nose. It felt as if you could still taste the smoke on it. You are slow in your movements so not to startle him as you pull your head back.  

His stomach flutters and he loses his composure as you do.  

“Fuck” he sputters, his eyes close and he picks up pace, “That was hot”. 

You shake your head, pushing the hand that held the gun away from you. 

He drops his wrist down from your face, and slides the gun back over to his holster in the corner. 

“It’s gone. It’s alright, it’s gone”. 

The hand is repurposed against the side of your face, and his rhythmic pace is returned. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you” he tells you once more. 

“You’re hurting me now” you groan. 

His face scrunches up, and his thrusts come to rest.

“No,” he says, offended. 

“No. That aint what I am doing”. 

His hands on the back of your shoulders lift you up against his chest, as he hoists your bodies together into an upright position. 

Your hands grip on top of his shoulders, and you rest your forehead against his collarbone from the pressure of him inside of you as you sit on his lap. 

“Look at me” he orders, but your position suited you just fine. 

You rock your head against his shoulder blade in response, which satisfied him. 

“The only way I would hurt you now is by leaving you. No man but those desperate or widowed would have you after I am done. Your family would never recover their name. Now I’ve made it clear that we are to get married, so no hurting is being done”. 

His fingers dig into your hips so hard that there was sure to be bruises littering the skin tomorrow. 

“Ain’t no sin for a husband and wife to become one”.

“We are not married,” you remind him. 

“What’s marriage but a commitment to God to have and to hold the other? I’ve made that commitment. You have too. I know you have. If it wasn’t for your daddy we’d be married a long time ago”.

“Billy” you groan. The lack of movement frustrated you. He had started an itch that now needed to be scratched. 

To ease your discomfort, he brought his hand down between your bodies and began to gently swirl his finger around your pearl. 

“I built you a house, you know. Told myself I couldn’t touch you until I drove the final nail in, and the day I do, you appear at the market a day earlier than you usually would. We’re connected. Every bad thing has led me here to you”.

Your nails dig into his flesh as the pressure builds in knots within your stomach. 

A frustrated sound makes its way from your throat when he suddenly stops, moving his hands around the back of your neck and around your waist so he could lay you down and finish. 

His pace is faster and harder. It cuts off his ability to talk any longer. Only groan and grunt. 

As you tighten around him and pulse as you come, it invites him to join you.

As soon as he is off you, you turn to your side away from him. What would happen now? Would Billy leave you here? Would he kick you out into the forest? You worried that he spoke of marriage out of lust that had now been fulfilled. 

He seemed content with your presence, as he reached out to gently scratch the back of your neck. 

You can hear animals outside the tent as they scurry around.  Billy regains his stamina beside you and the silence between you both stretches into the night. 

You focus on the sounds of the frogs and crickets as they perform in perfect harmony. The sounds and sex lull you to a tired state, but Billy wasn’t through with the night. 

With a small kiss to the back of your neck, he was pushing back on your shoulder to lay you flat again. 

“No” you protest, too tired for much more than a simple plea, “Not again”. 

It was late. Possibility early morning. Your body wanted nothing more than to shut down, now that the adrenaline has faded. 

“Yes. again. We gotta make sure we put a baby in you”, he states, positioning his body once again over yours. 

—--

You woke up alone in the tent. Two blankets were laid on top of you keeping off the cold, but the dull ache between your legs told you to get up and go back home. You found your clothes on the floor, noticing that Billy had taken all his.

The sight of Billy eating on a log relieves you as you exit the tent. You had no way of getting home without him. 

He gets up from his seat as he sees you push back the fabric of the tent. 

“Good morning” he greets, “How are you feeling?”

“I want to go home. Now”, you demand. 

He looked like a spoiled child getting told off by a parent. His head lowers, and he clasps his hands together in front of himself. 

“Yeah. We should be getting back” he agrees. 

His head rises again and he beckons your forward with his hand.

“You need to eat something before we do. I made porridge”. 

You take his place on the log in front of the fire and his jacket. Without a word, he takes his warm jacket off himself and helps you put it on. 

A bowl of warm porridge is placed in your hands, and then he leaves you be. Giving you space to process your emotions. 

He packs up the tent and gear while you sit, unable to eat what was given to you.

Even in all the time it took him to pack away the tent and all the camping equipment, you had yet to take a single bite.

You watch as Billy kicks dirt into the fire, smothering your warmth.  

The bowl is gently taken from your hands where Billy flicks the food away, and rinses it with his water bottle before packing it away.

You follow him to the horse and he helps you up on the saddle the same way as the night before. 

The swing of your leg as you try to hook it over the saddle is executing. 

You shout from the pain, feeling the mussels as they pull to extend your leg.

“Easy” he soothes, helping you back steady on your feet. 

You shove him off. It was his fault. Your body was in pain and your life was over because of him.

He stubbles back from the sudden shove but he comes back without reproach. 

“Here” he says. 

He swings up to the saddle, leaning his body down to pull you up. You sit across the horse’s saddle, legs together to ease the pain.

Billy rides slowly for you. The day was sunny but a chill still hung in the air. You wondered how Billy went on without his jacket. 

The ride took you through trees and along a stream of water. It was not far from your home but you had never been there.

With a twenty minute ride your home came into view. While distant you could see your family as they gathered on the porch. 

The galloping of the hoofs stopped their discussion with a loud relief. 

“She’s here!” your sister yelled back into the house, “She’s back”.

Your father runs outside to the porch watching with hard eyes as you and Billy ride. 

Billy halts his horse a meter away and slides you down the saddle onto the ground. He is quick to get off behind you, holding your reluctant hand in his. 

You saw your father disappear into the house as you crossed the distance. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what Billy had done. The shame must have been too overbearing for him. 

The rest of your family were all still in their robes as they stood on the path waiting for you to come near. Your mother held out her arms but Billy stopped ten feet away under the shade of the large oak tree. 

“Ma’am” he greets your mother, “I am sorry for the distress I have caused your family, but as you can see she was safe with me”. 

The stickiness between your thighs became apparent as he spoke the words. 

You tug your hand back but he keeps it in his tight hold. 

The front door is kicked open and your father appears holding out his shotgun. 

Billy is quick to act, pulling you back behind him but he doesn’t draw his gun. 

“You get off my land” your father demands. 

Billy nods, “I will. We just came to collect a couple of things”. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your father was not a very good shot. He was old and aim was crooked. Billy was a far better shot. He wouldn’t miss. 

“Ain’t no we, boy. You get your filthy hands off my daughter, and you get out of town, or I'll kill you”.

Your mother growls her husband's name as she moves the rest of her children to the side. Only your father was under the illusion that he could take Billy on and live. 

“Now I plan to do right by her” Billy states with authority, “I’ll marry her”.

“The hell you will” your father roared. 

“It doesn’t have to end like this. You could live. See your daughters married with children. Die of old age like God intended”. 

“Draw” your father commands. To kill an unarmed man was murder, but your father was worried about the courts and not the Regulators who were sure to come seeking vengeance. 

You latch onto Billy's arm to stop him drawing his gun, or at least delay his aim so your father could have a chance. 

“You won’t mind if I get your daughter out from under me, now?” Billy asks, “Your aim has been off since you first pointed the gun at me. You could hit her instead”. 

With the agreeance of your father, Billy brings you back from behind him with a tight hold on your arm. 

“Go to the tree” Billy nods in its direction but you could hear your father calling for you to come to him. 

As soon as he releases you, the direction you go is not to the tree but to your family. 

You arm is caught and shoved to the right,

 ‘I said the tree” Billy reiterates. 

You follow his command this time, hugging yourself to the large oak tree. 

Billy takes his gun but holds his hands outwards in a surrendered position. 

“Just let me show you something” The crowd follows Billy’s eyes over to the work yard,  “You see that paint tin over there?”

A small paint tin rested on the lank of wood that was going to become the new fence. If you weren’t looking for it you would hardly see it from the distance. 

“What about it?” your father asks. The gun is unstable in his hands. It slightly bopped as he pointed it.  He was scared, and you wished you could do something that would deescalate the situation. 

“Just watch”. Billy turns to the tins direction and aims his gun with a steady hold. 

The first bullet sprayed the white paint as it went flying in the air. The second bullet hit it before it landed, flinging it further away and higher from the force. The third bullet shot it down with a hole in the center.

“Now we can continue if you want, and I can take her away without a father, or we can be joined together by marriage. That means no taxes”. 

Your father contemplates his options. He wanted to kill Billy, you could see that plain on his face, but could he?. 

The answer was no. The gun was lowered and your mother let out a sigh of relief. 

Billy beckons you back over, taking your arm back in his grip once you get close enough. 

“Pack your things, and get changed” he commands, “If you think about holding up in there, I’ll bring Jesse back and we’ll burn the house down”. 

You nod spitefully. His eyes looked over you once before turning back to the house. 

“Go” he orders, letting you go. 

Your family is quick to squabble around you as you trek into the house. There were too many words flown at you.Too many hands touching you as you moved. 

Only your father stayed away, Slumping into a foyer chair with his gun still in his hand. 

You were determined to do your tasks quickly and lead Billy away. The ache between your legs was ignored as you fling open your wardrobe and shove what you can into your travel case. It filled quickly, you only had two more dresses in your wardrobe but you left them favoring to take your make-up and hair accessories. 

It hardly zips, and lands on the ground with a heavy thud. 

You weren’t sure how long it had taken you, but the less time keeping Billy waiting the better. You grab one of the last dresses you owed out of your wardrobe, side stepping people as they went to hold you. 

“Help me with my dress” you call on your sister. 

“You aren’t honestly leaving with him?” your mother took a seat on your bed as if you had punched her. 

Stepping into the green dress and waiting to be laced up, gave them the answer that they ignored. 

“Billy is the law,” you remind them. 

Your sister silently agreed by stepping forwarding and lacing you into your dress. You put Billy’s coat back on to show him you still had it, and take the time to hug and kiss them all. Billy was not the kind to keep you from your family but it would be the last time you would see them as their daughter and sister. 

Your father was still sitting in the chair as you came down. He doesn't move as you bend down and kiss his forehead. 

Billy was waiting outside, his gun resting on his thigh was holsted once more in his belt so he had hands to take your bag. 

He straps it to his horse in no time, turning to wait for you. 

You took one more look back at your family on the porch before you were ready. 

You raise your arms up to Billy on the horse and he pulls you up to the saddle once more. 

The ride to the Regulators camp was silent and quite a distance. Billy had taken his hat off as the sun went higher in the sky, and placed it upon your head. 

It felt strange to wear Billy’s coat and hat. Less than 24 hours ago he was little more than a stranger. Now he was your self-proclaimed fiance. You could very well be carrying his child. It all happened so fast. Your head spun trying to piece together the facts.

The noise of the Regulators as Billy’s horse approached did not help your scrambled mind. They whooped and hollered. 

You could hear Billy’s smile as he greeted them but his horse never slowed. Moving past the building where the men sat drinking, to the furthest field where a wooden house stood tall. 

Across from the house was a horse corral where they trained the horses. In between your house and the first house of one of the Regulators was the stable where the horses were housed. 

In addition to the tax, you assumed the men also traded horses to earn a wage. 

It was a decent size of land and well kept. The house in front of you looked strong. It was two stories of wooden panels, and a large porch was wrapped around the entire estate. If you were to take Billy at his word, it must have taken him a long time to complete such a house.

He stops the horse in front of the house, swinging off first to tie the reins to the railings of the porch. 

He assures you that he will take your things inside when he comes back out to tend to his horse, but he was eager for you to see your new home. 

With help down, Billy leads you into the house. It was furnished. Nothing decorative but tables and chairs. The entertaining lounge had a large fireplace, and the kitchen had a large stove and a large window above the sink that pointed out to a field of flowers. 

It grew a distaste in your mouth. He had designed this home with you in mind. He always knew this day was coming and expected you to swallow the news joyfully and quickly. 

‘And this” he opens a door just beside the living room to show a smaller version. A dark red armchair and matching leg rest faced a small fireplace. An arched window that Billy had built in a reading nook and decorated with mismatched pillows, provided light into the room. 

“This is your room for when you need your space. I won’t step foot into it”. He looks at you expecting you to be overjoyed but finds you glaring back at him. 

“Do you like it?” he asks. 

‘I have your cum dried between my legs, and you are asking me if I care about a room?” you bit. 

He closes the door quickly and takes you by the arm to lead you up stairs, 

“I’ll get you hot water for your bath”. 

Billy boils the water over the stove as you sit in the chair and wait. A hip bath was placed against the wall in the kitchen. You go and expect it. Your family was too poor for one. A basin did the job fine. But you always wanted one. 

He doesn’t let the water get too hot, only luke warm before joining you. 

“Do you mind if I stay?” he questions as he gently places the water and rag cloths on the floor by your foot.

You don’t look at him as you talk. Your fingers reach for the laces of your dress but they touch his as he unlaces the dress for you. 

“What does it matter? The sin has already been committed”.

Your dress falls to the floor around you. You’re quick to leave your undergarments alongside it so you could climb into the tub. 

“You need to know I won’t ever do that again”. He squats next to you in the tub, bringing the warm rags up to your skin. You take one and focus on scrubbing the seaman off your thighs while he focuses on your shoulders and neck. 

“I’ll take care of you. Respect you like a good husband should. I won-”. 

“Your words mean nothing to me” you cut him off. 

He shifts as you lean back into the tub.

‘I’ll prove it to you”, he resolves. 

—-

The wedding was small with only your family and the Regulators in attendance. The priest married you quickly and you were placed on Billy’s saddle once more. No big party predeceased it. Your family went home, and the Regulators went back to their camp where bottles were opened. 

You could hear the Regulators as they used your marriage as an excuse to play from the comfort of the house Billy built you. 

He remained with you despite the protests from his gang. 

He remained quiet as you figured out the swell of emotions inside you. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. A quiet relief lingered in the back only causing more distress.  

When he bought you the dinner he had made for you an emotion finally stuck. 

Acceptance. 

William. H Bonney was your husband now. 

He kept true to his words. Patiently waiting for your permission. You slept next to him every night, but besides a gentle kiss goodnight, he never touched you. His patience granted him two willfully-born sons. 

He was a good husband and father. 

You and your children were never left without. 

You watch him from the window as he shows the boys how to ride. They were too small for the lesson to be anything more than a pony ride but it gave you time to put dinner on the table without them under your feet. 

He winks at you when he catches you staring. Unconsciously your hand goes to your belly. 

‘A little girl would be nice’, you think.

[sleepyjuice]

If you like crafting and making jewelry, you best bet JJ is wearing every single thing you make him even if it looks tacky or childish. He will wear that colorful beaded bracelet with pride and tell everyone that his talented girlfriend made it for him.

You had started making jewelry half as a joke and half out of boredom. You figured you’d make some silly little bracelets and give them to your friends as a gag gift.

You were just working with beads for now, so you weren’t being fancy by any means.

Of course you had made one for jj. It was full of different shades of blue beads, some white, with some little ocean themed charms. Plus, a few hearts, of course.

When you gave it to him, you would have thought you gave him a fucking Cartier bracelet or something.

“Holy shit, you made this?” He was dumbfounded, his mouth agape as he studied the little bracelet, immediately sliding it onto his wrist.

You laughed quietly, unsure if he was being overly dramatic as a joke.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s nothing crazy, jay. I was bored yesterday and found a case of old beads I had from when I was a kid.” You explained, genuinely not expecting him to be so excited.

“You kidding me? This is sick. You make any more?” He asked, nodding his head in the direction of you cluttered desk, where you did indeed have several more that you made.

“Yeah, but these ones are silly. Seriously, I was just messing around.” You told him, watching as he walked over to your desk, studying all of your other creations in awe.

He was immediately drawn to one you had made for yourself. Pink beads, hearts, butterfly charms, and your name was spelled out.

He grabbed that one, holding it out to you.

“Can I have this one, too?” He asked, dead serious.

Your heart raced at his words, damn near wanting to cry at how sweet he was being. He was being so genuine and supportive and you had never felt someone show you so much love and pride for something quite literally so small.

“You want that one?” You giggled, and he nodded in response, already sliding it onto the same wrist as his other one.

“Baby, you got some real talent here. You gotta start one of them Etsy shops or somethin’.” He pulled you into him by your waist, kissing your lips a few times before pulling back and holding out his wrist to you.

“You gotta make me some more, babe, seriously. Next paycheck imma take you to the craft store so you can get some more stuff.”

He wore his two bracelets proudly, going about his day as usual, not taking them off, even for work.

That was when someone made a comment.

“Shit, maybank, I like the new ice. Didn’t know you had a baby sister.” Someone snickered at him as he bussed tables, causing him to set the buss tub down harshly, turning to face the guy that was talking shit.

“Shut the fuck up, man. My girl made these. Do we have a fuckin’ problem?” jj challenged, ready to fight for your honor.

Say what you want about jj, but don’t say shit about his loved ones.

Fortunately for the other guy, he wasn’t in the mood to fight over a bracelet, even though jj was. So he just held his hands up in surrender and backed away.

“Whatever, dude. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He concluded, making jj clench his fists as he inhaled sharply, his heart racing in anger.

He didn’t want to let some random asshole get the last word, but he could see his boss from the corner of his eye, so he forced himself to take a deep breath and continue working. He couldn’t afford to get fired, he had to take you out to get more craft supplies.

[bug-bites]

west side apartment, paper plane

tw: brief non-graphic mentions of ghost going thru war stuff and ghost's backstory in the comics (changed a few details because this is fanfic. duh), slight angst (bc yk,, yearning) but sort of fluff if ghost had a dollar for every moment he spent yearning he would have enough money to retire and live a happy life away from the military, also we're pretending british chinese takeout is good, not proofread :P

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader (like always can be read as platonic or romantic)

characters: simon "ghost" riley

a/n: i hate how fucking massive the song link is but yk what its fine. but i am back and in a laufey moment!

simon has lived an interesting life, maybe he wouldn’t use interesting. if he could describe it he would probably use words like terrifying, cruel, or for a lack of better terms, shitty. from the moment he was born it seemed like misery and tragedy followed him around like a stray dog, finding its way into every aspect of his existence. his childhood home was always something he wanted to escape, or rather his father was what he wanted to run away from. there were good moments after he kicked the old bastard out, but the ever present threat of tragedy proved that it wouldn’t last. life had been cruel, dealing him possibly the worst hand possible, the only constant being misfortune, that is until you came along.

a temporary living arrangement. thats all it was. rent was a little too much for one person to afford, so you both signed the lease on a crummy, small, mixed-use apartment right in the middle of manchester. it wasn’t much, takeout dinners from the restaurant below and late rent payments were the norm but even with the busted heating, life in that apartment had never felt so warm.

after long shifts at your respective jobs he would come home, plastic bags of takeout in his hands, a sign for you to set a few blankets on the ground before both of you eat ungodly amounts of shrimp fried rice and orange sesame chicken. he could spend hours listening to you speak, nothing made him feel so at home. maybe it was the fact that the food was good and also inexpensive, or maybe it was because he was too exhausted to do anything else, but he loved those long sleepless nights spent sitting on the floor, talking about everything and nothing. simon cant imagine another time in his life when he was genuinely so happy or another time he laughed so hard water came out his nose.

he especially loved opening fortune cookies with you at the end of every meal. sure, he never believed in those fortunes but the idea was always fun to entertain. the sound of the cookie cracking open to expose the slip of paper, revealing what the future had in store for him usually filled him with a childlike curiosity. or at least got a laugh out of him.

“hah, mine says ‘there will be a happy romance for you shortly’. these things really could not be farther from the truth. bet yours is more accurate” you say, popping half of the broken cookie into your mouth “your father loves you and is always with you. remember that.” he reads out loud with a chuckle “oh. that- hm. yeah i take that back”

but the one thing he loved more than opening those silly fortunes with you or the late night dinners was after you both cleaned up the empty takeout boxes, taking the menus and folding them into paper planes. it became a sort of tradition after you got bored and began to mess around with the glossy paper that listed mouthwatering dishes and house specials. he could never get it right, one wing was always too big or his folds were clumsily made and uneven, making them practically incapable of flight but yours were the complete opposite. each crease made was perfect, every intricate pleat skillfully crafted to allow the small paper aircraft to glide through the air with ease. as you tossed your planes off the balcony of your shared flat, the sight of the plane sailing through the air as the sun set always filled the both of you with a sense of nostalgia. and of course you both picked them up and tossed them out because we dont mess w/ littering over here

simon cant help but look back at those simpler times and miss them. he knows from the start it was intended to be temporary, but he’s been through so much chaos and trauma all he just wants a quiet life where he doesnt have to be ghost. he just wants a nice warm home to come back to. it doesnt have to be big, it doesnt have to be expensive, it just has to feel like home. it just has to feel like you. its been so long since the two of you parted ways but as he stares at the last paper airplane that he kept, he cant help but wonder if you feel that way too. as he lies awake in his bed at the military base he’s stationed in, he spends those nights craving that domesticity he had with you. he recalls every memory, every minute detail that made him love that cramped apartment and maybe how he loved you even more.

[crybaby-bkg]

sᴄᴏʀɴᴇᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ

Bakugou x f!reader Warnings/Tags: OC named Vanity, a lot of man hating, feelings of self doubt, arguing Word Count: 3.4k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI!

Main Masterlist AO3

You fall into your hideaway, even though you were sure you weren’t being chased in the first place. You think, though, that if Shouto had decided to run after you—you wouldn’t have made it here in one piece. But you catch your breath finally, leaning against the cold metal door of the warehouse, hands clutched to your burning chest. You stand there for a minute or so, just to make sure there wouldn’t be any delayed sounds of ice breaking and crackling in the air. 

Once you believe there really isn’t anybody following you, do you relax, just a little. You breathe out a heavy sigh, uncurling yourself from where you stand, joints popping from the stiffness of holding yourself in place for so long. 

You make your way to the room you occupy in the warehouse, passing by another self-made hero, Vanity, as she likes to call herself. She waves a hand to you when she hears you passing by her door, hunched over her craft table as she presumably sews up another hole in her suit. You only knock against the door in response as you continue your journey, body suddenly feeling heavy as your feet start to drag. 

The anxiety of everything finally settles deep into your bones, and you collapse on the cot you sometimes crash on when you don’t feel like going home. Your face is smushed against a too flat pillow to be comfortable, and you groan a loudly as you release the tension your body has been holding in. 

As you lay there, your mind starts to drift off, thinking back on your exchange with Dynamight. Lifting up, you see only a few small specks of blood dotting the pillow, and it makes a shaky exhale sputter from your lips. 

What had happened back there? How could you hesitate like that? Was it because you had never actually killed someone before, much less a pro hero? 

Or…was it the honesty plaguing his face, the confusion of your statements, the truthfulness bleeding into his tone? But he was a Pro Hero, a sexist pig piece of shit one at that. He was probably a trained fucking liar—they all were. So why the fuck would you hesitate?

You wipe away the blood still dotting your skin roughly, wipe another hand over your cheeks against the tears that escape you. You sniffle once, twice, sitting up in the cot as you look around the space you have made yours. Its hard to tell its yours though, with how barren it all is. A cot low to the ground, a thin and ratty blanket, an even thinner pillow, your bags filled with clothes, guns, and ammo, a statue of medusa bathed in bronzed gold sitting on the floor beside you. 

She was your protector, and you had to make sure that you would always be the protector of other women. You couldn’t afford it to hesitate again. So the next time you see Dynamight—he won’t be granted anymore grace from you. 

… 

You change into the extra pair clothes you keep in your book bag, stuffing the red suit you always wear under all the other contents you keep in there. After being stopped by police once with your suit right on top, you vowed to never make the same mistake again. You say your goodbyes to Vanity, and check your surroundings before leaving out of the warehouse. 

As you walk home, you think about how you have to ask your suit guy to make you a new mask since shitty Dynamight ruined it with his stupid fucking explosions. He shouldn’t be too upset with you though, since you don’t typically fuck up your suit and gear, and if anything, the fucker should be happy to see you again. It’s been a while, and you’re nothing like Vanity who had to start fixing her own shit after tearing it up so often. 

You stop at the convenience store by your house to pick up some water bottles and ramen noodles, sneering at the creep who keeps staring at you. His eyes glance down to your chest, brows furrowing when he gets a peek of the tattoo sitting on your sternum. You pull your sweater up quickly, bumping his shoulder when you walk past him, one hand holding your bags and the other under your top holding onto your gun. But the man doesn’t chase after you, only calls out a “bitch” but leaves you alone for the most part. 

The rest of the trip home is uneventful, but you still look over your shoulder the entire way there. You take the stairs two at a time, and juggle with your keys until you shoulder the door open. Its cold in here, you think before remembering that the heat was caught off since you were late on the bill. 

“Stupid fuckers,” you whisper to yourself as you place your food and water on the counter. You shrug off your clothes and make your way to the shower, feeling as if you were on autopilot the entire time. You don’t look at yourself in the mirror when you get out, too afraid to see the mess that has become of your jaw and chin, even if it was slight. You clean it with the reflection in your microwave as you heat up a bowl of noodles, stomach twisting at the little specks of blood that still stain the white tissue. 

Finally, you settle onto your couch, dressed cozily in an even bigger sweater and a pair of sweatpants you had stolen from Vanity. You click on the TV, instantly turning on the news to see if you’ve made headlines again. But, to your surprise, there isn’t a single mention of your name. 

They show Dynamight though, frowning as he hobbles into the ambulance, snapping at Deku when he tries to help him. He looks pale, but still the same old asshole that he is, scrunching his nose up at an EMT that tries to get him to lay down on the gurney in front of him. 

But…there’s no mention of you. The only headline about Dynamight being shot twice by an unnamed villain—unnamed? You were a fuckin’ household name, a name whispered amongst many, a name cried out when women were in times of need, spat out when men were confronted with their doomed reality. How many fuckin’ villains out there used guns as their primary weapon in a society that hangs off the clits of those with quirks for you to just slide by—unnamed? 

You weren’t a fuckin’ villain, either. You were for the people, a savior to those who needed rescuing, the one so many helpless people relied on for aid, help, and saving. How could they just brush you off, like you were nothing but a fucking nobody? As if you hadn’t become somebody from your selfless acts of bravery and saving? 

How could they forget the Red Medusa? 

The rest of the afternoon goes by fuzzily, your noodles have gone cold. You sit there, feelings displaced and numbed, hand still cradling the bowl to your chest, legs still folded, eyes blurry with unshed tears. 

Still—still, are you not good enough? Not good enough to be recognized, to be seen? To be heard, to be listened to, to be respected? Were you still nothing but a worthless bitch, condemned to die alone, to rot away? 

Is it still nothing that you’re good for?

…

Days have gone past since your run in with Dynamight, and he still has yet to let everyone know that it was you who added two extra holes in his body. He’s been put on leave for an undisclosed amount of time now, and when he was hounded by the paparazzi after leaving the hospital, he didn’t give up any information. Just a gruff reply to leave him the fuck alone, that he’ll find the perpetrator that did this to him, for villains to not pull any fuck shit because his patrol area will be covered until he’s back. 

When did he start speaking like that? Any other time he spoke on the people he fought, he made sure to name drop, get all up in the closet cameras lens, tell them to watch their fucking backs cause he was coming for them. But with you—he’s silent. Doesn’t mention your name, refers to the person that did this in neutral terms, doesn’t even look up at the camera when someone asks if the Red Medusa was responsible for this. 

He seems…unbothered, even though, knowing and seeing his attitude from a multitude of TV interviews, the last thing he would want is to be put on a leave of absence. It almost worries you, feels as if he’s plotting something bigger, since he’s seen your face. 

You were sure that by now, you would’ve been found. That you door would have been kicked in, that you’d find yourself kneeling with your hands behind your back, or worse if you didn’t immediately comply. 

But its been over two weeks now and—nothing. That almost makes it all worse. 

You were sure to get a heavier mask from your suit guy, really double down on covering your face. He even made it flame proof, but it provides you little comfort to know that such a big hero has already seen you and spoken to you. He could be plotting to take you down any day now. 

You load up on weapons—in your apartment, in your bag, on your person. You don’t go anywhere without it but it still doesn’t make you feel safe enough. 

You make another trip to the store, this time for a bit more food and necessities. You know you can’t keep living off of ramen and damn near expired milk, but you don’t really have it in your budget right now to do more than that. Picking up a small basket, you hold it in the crook of your arm, making your way around the store. 

You never really have to have your guard up in here—the shop is run by an old friend that you helped a few months ago, and she always tells you that this can be a safe haven for you if you ever need it. But, you know better than to feel safe if you’re not fully suited. 

“Why are you in this part of town, Dynamight?” You ask aloud, don’t even have to look up to know the man is peeking at you from around the corner like a fucking creep. You can see the shock in his face from your peripheral, but he only clears his throat as he stands across from you. He picks up a tomato, fat and rounded and red, before putting it back in its place. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, examining the produce and fruit with a faux sense of curiosity. 

“What’s your name so I can send you my hospital bill?” Dynamight speaks up, chin jutting in your direction as he finally looks at you since he’s come out of his hiding spot. His proximity makes you anxious, how his scarlet eyes trace your features, before they dip down to your chest. You instinctively cover yourself more with the hem of your jacket, even though you already know the tattoo isn’t visible right now. 

“Pro’s don’t have insurance?” You ask him, head tilting to the side. He chuckles at that, airily, though it holds no humor in it. Dynamight stares at you for a long time, mirrors your body when you start making your way down to gather more fruits and vegetables, even though you know you can’t afford all of them right now. 

“You know, I searched for you in the database the moment I got my hands on a computer.” He tells you, whispers your full name over the cucumbers you stand over now. You freeze, heart thumping wildly in your chest, lungs suddenly squeezing tight. You wonder how fast his reflexes are since he’s still healing, wonder if he would be able to blast you before you cock the gun resting on your hip. 

“’S that why you think I’m a sexist? Because—”

“You are a fuckin’ sexist.” You snap back, defensive, all bite in your words, even though Dynamight only fixes you with an unimpressed look. 

“‘M not.” He replies simply, sighing heavily through his nose as he takes you in. He stares for so long that it unnerves you, makes you spin on your heel, heading for the sanitary napkins section. You hope he’s too much of a prideful, egotistical, stupidly shitty man to not follow you there. He’s not. 

“I read about you, you know. It’s all in our database.” Dynamight tells you, long legs having little issues to your quick scurrying. He looks so out of place here, all big and wide and tall, resting his shoulder blades against the adult diapers as he frowns at you. 

“That’s fuckin’ violating, you shit head.” You snap at him, pretending to search for tampons even though you can’t remember the last time you’ve worn one. You huff, placing a hand on your hip as you try not to get overwhelmed by his words. 

How could he have read about you? What fucking database? The hero database? Oh fuck, is it because Miruko saved you? Now you’re forever documented to be a victim in the eyes of those who hold so much power in society? That’s just public fucking knowledge? 

“It’s public knowledge.” Dynamight says, his grating voice low as he takes you in. You’re hunched in on yourself, eyes jittery and wild, and you find your hand getting closer and closer to the piece on your hip. 

“I think its best you keep your hands either on your basket, or your tampons.” Dynamight huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he sets his basket down on the ground beside his feet. Your eyes jump over to him, wild and unsure, anxious and terrified. Did he come with the police? Are they waiting outside to make their move? Now that you think about it, you haven’t seen a customer shopping for a few aisles now…

You rest your hand on the gun. You stare at him, breathing shallow, telling yourself to not hesitate again this time. Dynamight only stares at you unimpressed, eyes narrowing, frown deepening. 

“We’re not doing this again.” He shoots you down, plain and simple, infuriates you even more. You open your mouth to snap at him, but he cuts you off. 

“I only came here to talk to you about being the Red Medusa, and how we could change that.” Dynamight states, chin held high as he looks down the bridge of his nose at you. Hearing your name out in the open like that only makes your anxiety worsen, hands shaking now as you curl your fingers around the warm metal. 

“Are you alone, or is this a set up?” You whisper, voice strained. You know you shouldn’t trust him, know that he could dupe you any given second, report you to the police, to his higher officials. Know that he could expose you to Miruko, let her know that the weak victim she saved has now made so many men her own victims. Know that you can’t disappoint her like that. 

“Alone.” Dynamight answers. “The nerd keeps hounding me to know who you are, why I told ‘em not to capture you, but I wanted to handle this myself.” He shrugs nonchalantly, hands thrown in the air as if to prove his innocence. You only narrow your eyes at him, tracking his body language, how relaxed he seems, despite his gaze flickering to your hand still resting under your clothes on the gun. 

“I don’t believe you.” You growl at him, chin jutting in defiance. Dynamight only rolls his eyes at you, lifting his black cotton shirt to his collarbones and—whoa, what the fuck. You shield your eyes as if he’s blinded at you, trying to erase the quick flash of his toned stomach and chest. 

“Look, I ain’t wearing a wire or nothin’.” He frowns at you, and you only faux gag, both hands now covering your entire face as you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Put that away.” You groan, hearing a quiet snicker. You wait a couple of seconds just to be sure he’s gathered himself to be decent in public again, before uncovering your face. You frown at him, mimicking his position as you lean against the tampons behind you, arms folded over your chest. 

“Fuckin’ pig.” You mutter under your breath, but he doesn’t address it more than a roll of his eyes. Dynamight stares at you for a long while again, and you don’t understand why he keeps doing that. Is it because he’s not used to seeing a vigilante’s face? Does it make him feel special to catch you off guard like this, with your literal and metaphorical mask uncovered and exposing? You feel naked in front of him, and it makes stones drop into the pit of your stomach. 

“Well, get the fuck on with it then.” You snap at him, looking down the aisle to avoid his gaze. Dynamight inhales, goes quiet for a few seconds before he speaks. 

“I want to help you get out of this.” His words make your head snap to him, lip snarled back in confusion, but he holds a hand up to let him finish. “I read your file—I have a pretty good idea of what happened to you, and I see why you’re pulling this whole vigilante act.”

“Its not a fuckin’ act.” You snap at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “You think that just because you read a brief piece about my life, that you fucking know me enough to—what? Save me? From myself?” You snarl, pointing a finger to your own chest, taking a step up to the hero as he does the same to you. 

“Save you from getting your ass thrown in jail for causing mayhem and civil unrest.” He snaps at you, nostrils flared like a bull as he sneers down at you. 

“Have you not seen the people protesting in your name? The movements you started?” He throws his arms out beside him dramatically, scares off a passerby that quickly scurries to the next aisle. “Well the higher ups are seeing you as a fuckin’ riot, in and of itself. Your entire presence is an incitement.” He points at you, and you know its a shit idea, but you smack his hand away from you with a quickness neither of you had expected. 

Bakugou growls at you, red eyes aflame, but it doesn’t scare you. You’ve stared into the face of evil itself, and he is only pure irritated rage. 

“Then let them fucking riot.” You snap, voice dropped down to a whisper at his proximity. “It’s better than sitting on my fucking hands and being praised for the absolute bare minimum.” You hiss through your teeth, watch Dynamight’s thick eyebrows damn near touch in agitation. 

“Is that what you think all heroes do? Sit on their fuckin’ hands, even though we bust our asses to save you?” He doesn’t even try to meet you at your volume, voice raising more and more, and—and you think the store is getting smaller and smaller on you. You think its swallowing you whole, and that you won’t be able to save yourself again. You suck in a shaky breath, teeth bared as you whisper to him, 

“Who saved me while I was going through it? While I was being tortured like a fucking diseased animal? Who saved me before it was too late and I had to save myself?” You ask him, eyebrows screwing up as you watch his face loosen, fall, as your words ring in his head. You don’t know how much is in your file, just how detailed and graphic they go into what happened to you, but you hope it haunts him. 

He realizes his proximity, his clenched fists, his domineering stance over your and—he takes a step back. His fists uncurl and his eyebrows straighten, but its too late. He’s pumped you full of venom, and you have no choice but to let it all bleed out. 

“Fuck you, and fuck your bullshit reformation plan. I’ll stick to doing my own thing.” You bark at him, dropping your basket to the ground as you hurry out of the aisle, hope he doesn’t chase you, hope he doesn’t see your tears, your vulnerability, your weakness. 

You guess you’ll just have to get your groceries another day, then.

Chapter three

please do not repost anywhere or rec on tik tok!

tag list: @endlessfreaky

[jacklynchh]

Wildflowers & Honey • Self-Para

Spring, 2018.

"What's that?"

"It's a beehive!"

There was a moment of silence in which Jack set down his coffee, trying to decide whether or not to question it. Grace offered no further explanation and just continued hauling boxes of unfamiliar equipment through the door, humming happily to herself.

"When you said you were going to pick up a few things, I thought you meant groceries," he said finally, deciding to get ahead of… whatever this was.

She grinned at him.

"I got groceries too."

It was a thing she did. He should be used to it by now, really. Grace would hear about some new hobby or craft and for the next few months it became Her Thing. Sometimes they stuck, knitting and pottery were particular favourites, but most of the time after a while she'd get bored and move on to the next. It was the reason they had a closet full of basket weaving materials that hadn't been touched in two years.

"Okay," Jack said, and then, "Should I ask?"

"Well, Heather from pilates was telling me about this amazing local group that runs all these courses on self-sufficience. You know like growing your own produce, animal care, foraging, and-"

"Beekeeping," he finished with a sigh.

"Exactly! And I figured we already grow our own stuff, and since we don't have enough space for a chicken coop, then this is the next best thing." She straightened up and dusted her hands off. "I thought it could be a cool thing to do together, you know? And think how great it would be to be able to make our own honey. You could sell it at the market with everything else."

She joined him by the kitchen island, swiping his unguarded mug to take a sip. There was a twinkle of joy in her eyes and she looked so pleased with herself that any half formed protests he had died on Jack's lips.

"Do we have to get a license or something?"

"There's a register and a small fee, but it's only like ten dollars."

"And the course?"

"We can afford it."

Another heavy sigh and he gave in. "Fine, but if I get stung you're never gonna hear the end of it."

"I think I can live with that," she said, smiling as she leaned into his side.

Present day.

There was a swarm hanging from his mailbox. Not the most helpful thing in the world, considering Jack had come out to see if anything had been delivered yet. A gentle buzzing noise filled the air and a few lone rangers were flying haphazardly above the main cluster, looking for places to land. The bees seemed relatively calm, so he just stood there for a moment debating what to do.

The sight of them had sparked a memory he hadn't thought about in years; Grace coming home and declaring them soon-to-be beekeepers. She'd been so excited about it at the time. He remembered wondering whether it was something they'd end up sticking to or give up on two classes in—they'd never had a chance to find out. Her diagnosis had come in only a couple of weeks after she'd signed them up.

He still had the hive though. It was sitting in the potting shed, hidden behind a pile of old tools and a wheelbarrow, alongside a whole collection of other seemingly vital beekeeper's equipment that he didn't know all that much about using.

It would be stupid to dig it out now, wouldn't it? Pointless. He should just call someone to come and get them, be done with it. That would be the sensible thing to do.

But they'd chosen to stop here. And his garden was full of pollinator plants. And he could see Grace's fucking smile-

Fifteen minutes later, he had his phone lodged between his shoulder and his ear as he tugged the hive out from its hiding box. It was still in relatively good condition, all things considered.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got frames too. Everything, I think. How soon can you be here?"

Only in Blue Harbor could he have found a qualified beekeeper not fifteen minutes away totally willing to help a complete stranger catch an absconded swarm. He hung up, proceeding to pull out one of the old suits stored away with everything else, feeling ridiculous as he climbed into it. It was insane, wasn't it? To see your dead wife in a swarm of fucking bees and, what, decide to keep them because of that?

And yet here he was. Oh well. He'd done it now. Might as well just accept his fate.

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

you've talked about a lot of people your age are risk-averse homebodies; do you put that down to just helicopter parenting, or is everyone being broke also a factor?

Oh jeez is that post going around again.

Listen. Helicopter parenting is one of many factors. And I think that Helicopter parenting is only as common as it is because of Reagan era moral panics still having hold on society because of complex factors that have a lot to do with American exceptionalism and the cold war and American hyper individualism.

I don't think that being broke has much to do with it actually, I'm not saying it isn't part of it but it's kind of negligible in the specific problem of people refusing to touch grass. Like people are much poorer than their parents generally and it's a huge problem but it is possible and even easy to go out and hang out with people when you have no money. Literally go out and fuck around in the woods with your friends. Do it. It is easy and free and people have been doing it since the beginning of time.

No the issue is that the third space is being completely removed and part of that is manufacturing consent for it. For example community centers, if they haven't closed down altogether, have a lot fewer things for adults. You used to be able to go take a pottery class or some shit like that at a community center and it might cost you some money but those sorts of things were always intentionally affordable. Now everything is ages 5-12 if it exists at all. And as for spaces that aren't meant to be third spaces but which people use that way, loitering is being prosecuted way more now, especially in racially marginalized communities, but not just in marginalized communities. Like think about shopping malls for instance. In the 90s and 00s there used to be roving gangs of teenagers in those things now they're ghost towns. A lot of those stores will ask you to leave if you're not there to buy something. Those two things are directly connected. Bathrooms in coffee shops didn't used to be for customers only. When I was a kid I could walk into a coffee shop and sit down with a book and no one would tell me to buy something or leave as long as I was unobstructive, it's not like that anymore. Obviously COVID is a factor but that was happening before COVID.

Also people are wayyyy less religious than they used to be, which I think is good, but one side effect of it is that another third space disappeared. You used to go to church or temple or whatever once a week and Idk what non church places are like but usually you would sit for an hour and listen to some guy talk about God and you'd sing some songs and then you would go into the church basement and have coffee and food and talk to the other people who were there getting coffee and food. And the churches would have food drives and things of that nature on days other than Sunday. That stuff still happens if course but young people aren't there because we don't believe in that shit. Which yeah the church is a pretty bigoted institution and I think organized religion gives too much power to the leadership. If you connect god with some human guy that human guy can take advantage of your faith it happens all the time. But we have to replace that ritual of gathering somewhere and getting coffee and food with people once a week or we're gonna have a poorly socialized populace. And you can't really replace it with coffee shop because you have to buy your food there and you're not really encouraged to talk to other people you don't know that well the way you are at a church.

And yeah there's the financial aspect of it but it used to be easier to jump the fence and get into a concert, the bar didn't always have that cover charge, there used to be a public bathroom there, there used to be a public water fountain, there used to be a 30$ craft class, that used to be a public park and they'd do block parties and Shakespeare in the park there and now it's a parking lot, and so on and so forth.

Frankly one thing I find shocking is that even places that are expensive are getting less friendly to adults seeking activities. My town has 4 dance studios and not a single one of them offers beginner level dance classes for adults. And I'm not just talking about ballet either, they don't teach any classes to adults. I'm a drag queen that's a thing id be interested in paying for with my tip money so I can get more tips in the future. They don't have it.

Idk it just feels like "I'm broke :/" ok well being broke didn't used to mean that you had to stay in your apartment all day.

[apoptoses]

♜ Interior decorating aesthetic (for Daniel)

☹ Response to a leaky faucet or other household problem (for Armand)

♜ Interior decorating aesthetic (for Daniel)

God this one is hard because it raises so many questions for me like- did Daniel live alone at the time he met Louis? Did he have roommates? He spent years in hotels, and then lived with Armand, and did he have any input on the decor when they were living together? Did he even care that much?

We know that he loved Night Island, that the mix of old and new there was gorgeous, that his room had renaissance paintings alongside modern decor. That he loved luxury. And to an extent I think that's still true, that he likes having nice, interesting things around and isn't like and HGTV trends guy lol

But part of me also thinks about Armand's collecting stuff phase and how he literally filled some apartments to the brim with his computers. How Daniel was probably too exhausted to clean up after their messes most of the time. And like how people who have lived in hoarding situations (or just messy spaces in general) come out preferring minimalism, as little clutter as possible on surfaces and few knick knacks.

And I think Daniel would be somewhere in the middle. All vampires have an attachment to the time they were turned, so he's got a retro-eclectic vibe going in his spaces with some 80s inspired pieces. He probably still leaves his shit laying around like his clothes and half-read books but Trinity Gate and Auvergne have cleaning staff to take care of that. For better or worse he grew up in the era of wall to wall carpet and still prefers that over a hardwood floor. And I see him as a physical media kind of guy- he's got a sick vinyl collection, he still gets VHS tapes and DVDs of movies he liked, his media is pretty organized and nicely displayed. Get a nice comfy chair in there and he's set.

His craft space is a fucking wreck though lol But that's okay because he can close that door and pretend that mess doesn't exist when he's not in there.

☹ Response to a leaky faucet or other household problem (for Armand)

Oh lord in DM era it's one of three options:

Demand Daniel go to the hardware store with him so they can experiment with fixing it themselves (Daniel's least favorite option, there's bound to be cussing and at least three trips back to the store even though Armand can afford to buy literally every fucking possible thing needed in one trip)

Call a repair service and pay double for the middle of the night handyman work, while he sits and stares and creeps the guy out with his observation (Daniel's preferred option, he tips the workers extra for dealing with Armand's questions)

Say fuck it and rent a new place to live (inevitable, sometimes, when the DIY option goes very very wrong and they wind up with severe water damage that threatens the safety of the residents below them, oops)

Now at Trinity Gate? Unfortunately I think Benji's the mature adult in that household, he's got task rabbit loaded and ready to hire someone before the problem can get out of control. Because god knows Louis can't maintain a home, and frankly someone's gotta protect the peace and keep Daniel and Armand from bickering all night again about whose fault it is that the dish washer broke ("We don't even use fucking dishes, Armand, what did you put in there??" is NOT when he needs in the background he's trying to record a podcast tyvm)

[here2bbtstrash]

two in one (explicit)

genre: 100% smut

pairing: hoseok x reader x jimin

summary: you finally have a much-needed smoke session with your best friends, just like old times. you’re also pretty sure they’re gay… right?

word count: just under 12k, help

contains: explicit sexual content!!! M/M/F threesome, double vaginal penetration, come eating, mutual masturbation, recreational drug use (just weed tho), friends to lovers, multiple orgasms, a lot of cunnilingus, a smidge of dirty talk, crying after sex (in a good way), and some incredibly stupid/v mildly problematic discussions of sexuality

A/N: i am literally so embarrassed that this is my first crosspost to tumblr but hi, i made you this p0rn, i hope you like it. this is also on AO3 if that's how you prefer to get down

~*~

The three of you have the perfect smoke session down to a science. Your roles are considered sacred at this point, unchanged since you were fifteen years old and smoking mids out of horribly constructed apple pipes in Hoseok’s parents’ basement.

Hoseok provides the pot.

It’s easy for him, social butterfly that he is, to make the connections and bring up the question just delicately enough to get what he wants without seeming like a narc. He’s always been able to thread the needle of finding a reliable plug with good quality stuff who doesn’t awkwardly overstay their welcome by asking to smoke it with you (or worse, try to push pills or other shit on you).

And now that he’s rich, he gets the best stuff there is, probably flown out from California with stupid names like Maui Wowie and Super Lemon Haze. He has to pack the bowl, too– you’re lazy so you prefer pre-rolls, but Hobi refuses to do anything rolled if Jimin is smoking it. (“Have you seen his lips? He’d soak right through the thing.”)

Jimin brings the snacks.

These have not changed from when you were teenagers, but you can actually afford them now, instead of forcing Hobi to distract a store clerk while you and Jimin shoved as much as you could into his backpack.

Honey butter chips, shrimp crackers, pepero, the little chocolate puffs that he can toss in the air and catch in his mouth every time– Jimin’s snack game is elite, and he’ll always lovingly set out a full glass of water for each of you before the session starts. He’s even been known to disappear into the kitchen, only to return with three bowls of fire noodles that he managed to whip up while blazed as fuck.

And you are in charge of the music.

You’ve had other friends argue that this isn’t enough to be considered a real session contribution, but you know Hobi and Jimin understand the importance of ambiance. You’ve learned the hard way how awful it is to be high as shit in absolute silence– or worse, high as shit with Adult Swim on in the background. Your best friends, thankfully, have taste.

Over the years you’ve built up a collection of playlists perfectly crafted to follow the arc of a session: Fun pop to ease you into the giggly stages, then slowly moving on to stuff with more psychedelic layers as the body high sets in, and of course a nice dose of chillwave to round things out. (Is there anything better than falling asleep stoned to Tycho? The answer is no.)

“Hoseok, I can’t figure out your fancy Bluetooth shit,” you whine as your phone once again refuses to connect to his built-in home stereo.

You’re in the living room of their bougie apartment, sinking into the pillows of a couch that feels more like a cloud. Quite a change from the basement years, when you’d all try to squeeze on an eyesore of a loveseat, the upholstery torn away on the arms to reveal the foam stuffing underneath. It was really only built to fit two people, so inevitably, someone would end up on the floor. Usually Jimin.

Hoseok is kneeling on the carpet, working diligently atop the glass coffee table. You glance over at him for help, but he’s in full Hobi-focus mode, tongue between his teeth as he gingerly removes the lid from the grinder, bringing it close to his face to check the consistency. Giving an approving nod, he pinches the grind between his delicate fingers and begins packing it into the bowl of his rainbow glass pipe. His favorite, naturally.

Jimin flops down on the couch next to you, taking your phone out of your hands without asking. He repeats the exact same steps you’ve done three times, but for some reason when he does it, the device connects without issue.

You roll your eyes and snatch your phone back, scrolling until you find your latest session playlist. You tap play and the opening guitar notes of Lil Nas X’s MONTERO surround you from all sides.

The reaction is immediate from both of them. Hoseok throws one hand in the air, doing the best body rolls he can manage on his knees while still packing a bowl with the other hand. His tongue lolls out of his mouth as the beat kicks in, and he throws in his own ad-libs (“yeah”, “uh-huh”) between the lines of the first verse.

Jimin, being Jimin, reaches his hand between his shoulder blades and pulls his shirt off over his head.

It’s been a fact for as long as you’ve known him– Jimin is terrible at keeping his clothes on. You’ve seen him shirtless, even down to his boxers, easily hundreds of times. There is no human more immune to the charms of a six-pack than you are, you’d wager.

The defined indentations just below his hips, though… His sweatpants ride low enough as he wiggles to the music that you can see them now, and your gaze lingers for a moment. Those are pretty good. It’s a shame, really.

You grab his shirt off the floor and toss it back at him. “Keep your clothes on, Jimin!” He sticks his tongue out at you and you poke a finger into his side until he squirms away and does as he’s told.

Hoseok grabs the seat next to you on the couch. “Alright Jimin, you do the honors,” he announces, passing the bowl across you and retrieving a lighter from the coffee table.

As Jimin gets the bowl started, you feel Hoseok’s hand gently creep up your back. He’s always so touchy. It’s funny how all their mannerisms come back to you in pieces, like you’d forgotten your best friends. It’s been too long, you guess, nearly a year since the last time you’ve been able to be together like this.

Hoseok’s fingers absentmindedly start to massage a knot in your shoulders and you shiver at the sensation, letting your eyes flutter closed for a second. God, that feels good. You have so few friends who are comfortable being physical the way he is, and you haven’t had a proper fuck in way too long.

Not that that’s Hobi’s problem to solve, of course. But at this point, you’ll take what you can get, even if it’s just a one-handed shoulder massage.

Jimin exhales the first hit in an impressively large cloud of smoke. His hand still working your shoulders, Hoseok leans over you with his lips pursed, inhaling at the air as if to pull the smoke in.

You laugh as you take the bowl and lighter from Jimin, because Hoseok looks ridiculous. You let the flame lick at the bud and when you inhale, you hear Jimin’s voice.

“Please, Hobi. If you want to shotgun, you have to do it right.” He places his fingers under your chin to tilt your head up, his mouth hovering close to yours, and parts his lips.

You roll your eyes because Jimin is such a fucking flirt. He always has been. Feeling put upon, you exhale a stream of smoke and he sucks it in. It’s not particularly sexy, but having someone’s face so close to yours, with Hoseok’s fingers still pressing into your skin, is enough to make your pulse quicken.

Good god girl, get a grip, you think to yourself. These men are not interested.

You hand the bowl off to Hoseok and he removes his hand from your shoulders to take a hit. Apparently not satisfied with only one shotgun, Jimin leans across you to encourage Hoseok to do the same. He’s always been the king of playing chicken.

Hobi’s eyes crinkle as he fights to keep the smile off his face. Jimin’s hand lands on your thigh for balance as he moves over you.

You’re not sure if it just takes you by surprise or if you’re really that touch-starved, but you flinch at the contact, which is enough to make Hoseok laugh and choke on the hit, coughing smoke out at the both of you.

“Sorry,” you laugh, “I’m jumpy today.” You sink back into the cushions.

The rush of the first hit after far too long is enough that your head is buzzing a little and you have no filter, instead there’s simply a direct line from your brain to your mouth. “I need to get laid. I’ve been in a dry spell for like…” You pause to count. “Jesus, almost six months. It’s starting to fuck with me.”

You look up and Jimin and Hoseok are having some silent conversation between the two of them in facial expressions you can’t make sense of. Jimin has paused with the bowl halfway to his lips and is failing to suppress a laugh, creases appearing under his eyes.

Jimin has forever been able to make Hoseok cackle without saying anything. “It’s all in the eyes!” Hobi would always say after doubling over for a solid minute. “Just his eyes make me laugh!” Now is no exception, and Hobi does his classic move where he laughs so hard he stands up, which never fails to make you laugh.

You clap a hand to your mouth and that makes both of them laugh more, until Hoseok is sprawled on the floor and you’re slumped sideways on the cushion where he was sitting.

“Shut the fuck up!” You finally manage to gasp, launching a couch pillow at Hoseok. He effortlessly catches it between his feet. “I know you guys never have this problem, alright? Must be nice.”

Jimin, about to finally take his hit, pauses again. You sit up and smack him on the arm, and he flicks the lighter and runs it around the edge of the bowl, inhaling deeply. Trying his best to hold it in, he manages to choke out, “What does that mean?” before coughing up the lungfuls of smoke. When he finally recovers, he hands you the bowl. “We don’t fuck fans.”

You give him a look. “Well yeah, obviously.” You take a hit, the bud sizzling in the flame of the lighter.

Hoseok sits up. “I’m confused.”

You pass the bowl and lighter to him with one hand, using the other to gesture back and forth between them, like it’s obvious, then finally exhale smoke through your nose. “You’re– you know! You two!”

Hoseok grins ear-to-ear, like he’s finally understanding. “Me and Jimin-ah?! We are not together.”

You sigh, frustrated. “Okay, fine, whatever label you want to put on it. Roommates, fucking, whatever.”

Jimin squints hard, leaning his whole body away from you so he can survey you like you’ve gone insane. “What?!”

Your mouth goes dry (well, even dryer than the cotton mouth that was already starting to happen). You reach for your glass of water on the coffee table, the physical need completely overtaking your desire to continue the conversation, and chug in silence for a few seconds.

Hoseok exhales a pretty stream of smoke, then frowns in confusion. “Who told you we were fucking?”

You shrug, glass still to your lips, then finally swallow and return it to the coaster. “Nobody.” Your cheeks flush with heat as the delayed embarrassment finally starts to kick in. “Forget I said anything.”

Jimin takes the bowl and lighter from Hobi but is clearly not satisfied with your answers, because he sets both down on the coffee table and fully turns to face you, crossing his legs under him on the couch cushion. “What made you think we were?”

You make a face, wondering how that’s even a question. “I don’t know, have you seen the two of you interact?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Jimin flirts with anything that moves.” Jimin shrugs and nods as if to co-sign this assessment.

“You’ve been roommates for like a decade! You always talk about living together forever!”

They blink at you, apparently waiting for you to produce better evidence for your claims.

You close your eyes and let out a deep exhale. “Whatever, look, I made an assumption and I shouldn’t have. And I was wrong. My bad. Let’s move on.”

You crack one eye open to see them both shrug it off.

Jimin reaches for the lighter and bowl once more as a weird feeling bubbles up in your chest. You grab your phone to find a song to reset the energy of the space. You didn’t mean to kill the vibe, you think to yourself, and then Kendrick Lamar seems like the obvious choice.

They both nod in approval, Jimin’s full lips wrapped around the end of the bowl, and Hobi immediately starts to sing along. The chorus is perfect for his deep vocal register, and he effortlessly slips into the fast-paced verse as Jimin inhales.

You should leave it alone. You know you should. But something you assumed to be objective truth has just been disproven, and now you have to question everything. Is the sky even still blue?

“You guys are gay though, right?”

The laughter starts up again, and you sink so low on the couch you almost slide off. “What the fuck?!”

“Oh my god, look at her,” Hoseok cackles, crawling over to slide onto the cushion next to you. You scoot back up and roll towards him, burying your face in his shoulder and tucking your knees alongside him. “Did your entire world just turn upside down?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You’re terrified to say anything else, so you can only nod your head against his shoulder.

Taking pity on you, Hoseok wraps his arms around you, his fingers running gently through your hair. His nails barely graze your scalp and you shiver in pleasure, melting that much further into him. “I love you, but you’re an idiot.” He scoffs. “No, we’re not gay.”

While you were having an existential crisis, Jimin must have snuck in a second hit, and he chokes on it now, coughing out a few puffs of smoke. He gives a little shrug. “I mean, I’m not not gay.”

“But you, Hoseok?!” You pull away slightly to look at him and he gives you a look right back.

“What’s that supposed to mean, bitch?”

You scramble to find some evidence for this belief you’ve held for a decade and are unable to come up with much. “Y-you’re such a good dancer, and you love fashion… You saw Lady Gaga in Vegas!”

He rolls his eyes and shoves you. “Alright, get off me.”

“Wait, no!” You slump backwards, bumping against Jimin’s leg, and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m sorry, Hobi, I didn’t mean it like that.” He pouts at you, apparently still a little hurt.

You continue, trying to dig yourself out. “I seriously don’t care, and you know I love you guys no matter what. But you have to understand that I’ve held these… clearly delusional beliefs for a long time.” You pause and a smile cracks over your face. “And I’m also high as shit, so like. Just give me a second to process this.”

“Jimin-ah!” Hoseok’s concentration has suddenly shifted away from you, and you turn to see Jimin taking his third hit in a row. He looks sheepish as he blows out the smoke, then flashes a small smile.

“What? You guys seemed busy.” He finally hands you the bowl and the lighter; you’re grateful for the distraction.

You’re about to touch the flame to the green when he adds, “I think Hobi’s just mad because he always wanted to fuck you, and now it turns out you thought he was gay the whole time.”

You nearly drop the bowl. “What?!” You scream, but you’re drowned out by the half-yell, half-laugh Hoseok makes as he leaps over you and tackles Jimin.

They roll onto the floor, leaving you sitting stupidly on the couch alone, way too fucking high for this.

Hobi wraps himself around Jimin, pinning his arms and legs in place in what almost looks like a full-body hug. He’s cackling like a madman, his nose pressed into the crook of Jimin’s neck. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you smug son of a bitch.” He whispers, and Jimin giggles and squirms, trying to free himself.

You look down at the bowl in your hand, beyond confused, then shrug and take your hit anyway.

Jimin manages to wrench one arm free, tickling Hobi until he finally relents and they break apart from each other, both breathing heavy. Jimin lays flat on his back, laughing contentedly to himself as he stares up at the ceiling. Hoseok is on his hands and knees, and he leans forward to press his forehead into the carpet, gasping for air.

Nobody says anything for a moment, and you set the bowl and lighter on the table. “Can we just start over? Forget everything that everyone has said tonight?”

Hoseok lifts his head to make eye contact with you, still panting. “I don’t know why Jimin said it like that. Like he didn’t wanna fuck you too.”

You grab a pillow off the couch and shove it over your face. “Someone please tell me what the fuck is going on,” you wail, slightly muffled by the fabric.

A pair of hands close around yours, and the pillow shifts out of your vision, replaced by Jimin’s face. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, leaning in. His eyes linger on your mouth.

“Hoseok’s not wrong.” Jimin licks his lips.

“Oh my god Park Jimin, do not fucking flirt with me right now!” You yank the pillow back from him and move to smack him with it, but your reflexes are slowed enough that he’s able to shield his face with his arms in time, dissolving into a fresh round of giggles. You continue to beat him senseless with your fluffy weapon.

“Okay, okay, ow! I’ll tell you the truth if you stop hurting me!”

You’re slightly more intrigued than you are pissed off, so you relent, hugging your arms around the pillow in your lap. “Go ahead.”

Jimin seems unprepared to say more, and his eyes dart to Hoseok, looking for an out.

Hoseok groans and pulls himself back onto the couch, and Jimin mirrors him on the other side of you. “The truth is…” Hobi starts, clearly unsure of how to phrase it. “We were fifteen. And you were a cool girl who smoked weed with us. So obviously, we wanted to fuck you.”

Your head spins and you cling to your pillow for dear life. “B-but… Neither of you ever… We never…”

“Never what? Tried anything? Come on. We didn’t have any game, we were total losers back then. And you didn’t seem like you were interested, so we didn’t want to ruin things.”

“I don’t know why you weren’t.” Jimin leans one elbow on the back of the couch, resting his head in his hand and purposefully flexing his bicep.

Hoseok rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning, amused by Jimin’s antics as always. “It’s also kind of awkward when you’re both into the same girl.” Hobi shoots a very specific look at Jimin, and your eyes dart between them, trying to decode the hidden message.

Jimin bites down on his bottom lip, cheeks puffing out in laughter, understanding something that is lost on you.

“Tell me!” You smack a hand on each of their thighs. “No more secrets!”

“Ohhh, Jimin-ah, do you want to tell her?” Hoseok tilts his head, his face flushing. “It’s embarrassing!”

“Well, now you have to tell me!” You persist.

Jimin’s cheeks are red now too, and he shifts uncomfortably, playing with the hem of his shirt. It must be bad if the guy who is literally known for being shameless can’t even say it. A thousand possibilities race through your mind.

“Sometimes after you left, I’d, uh, go to the bathroom while Hoseok stayed in the basement and we’d… You know. Take care of things. Separately.”

Surely the drugs were laced and this entire conversation is some wild hallucination, you think to yourself. This cannot be real life.

“And sometimes,” Hoseok says, his voice breaking as a nervous laugh rips through him. Jimin turns away and buries his face in the arm of the couch, already full-body cringing in preparation for whatever Hobi is about to say. “We’d take care of things… not separately.”

At this, you’re on your feet, your security pillow falling to the floor. “So you are gay!”

“No!” Hobi stands up beside you, hands reaching to grip your shoulders as he convulses with laughter.

“I thought I made my status clear earlier,” Jimin mumbles, face pressed into the couch.

“The dicks never touched,” Hoseok clarifies with a shake of your shoulders, still laughing.

“Like that makes any difference,” you counter.

“We never touched each other’s dicks. It was a… mutual masturbation of sorts.”

You pause to consider this. “I– Wow. I think I need a minute.” You allow Hoseok to gently push you back down to the couch. He sits next to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders again, guiding you to lay on your side with your head resting in his lap. You don’t resist.

“I really thought we’d take that one to the grave,” Jimin says with a laugh, reaching for his glass of water.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” you mumble. Your mind drifts back to high school. It feels like another lifetime. How did nothing ever happen? Why weren’t you interested in them?

You think back on fifteen-year-old you and give her a pity laugh. For starters, she was a fucking trainwreck. You were so self-conscious and anxious back then, it probably never even occurred to you that anyone was capable of having any desire towards you.

And then at some point, as you got older, you’d convinced yourself they were boyfriends, or at the very least fucking. Once it seemed like the option was off the table, you’d never considered it again.

But now… Your head spins.

Your best friends are obviously extremely attractive; you have eyes. And they apparently want to fuck you– or at least, they did. But what about now? The unspoken question lingers in your mind.

You’re desperately touch-starved and in need of a good fuck, this much you know. But these are your best friends. Could you do it? Should you? Would they even want to? Would it mess everything up? And how would it work, logistically? Would you have to pick one? Would they take turns? Or would they… share?

Your body shudders with a mixture of arousal and confusion, and you feel Hoseok rub his hand along your upper arm, then your back.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come back to earth. Don’t let it ruin your high.”

You’re not sure you even feel high anymore, just overwhelmed and on edge. You sit up slowly, still shivering.

Something bumps against your arm and you realize it’s Jimin’s hand. He laces his fingers through yours and gives your hand a squeeze. You glance at him.

“Are you okay?”

You swallow hard and let your eyes flutter closed for a moment. These little touches alone, Jimin’s hand in yours, Hoseok rubbing small circles into your back, feel incredible. You’re overcome with the realization of how much you love them both, how grateful you are that this bond you share has stayed the same for more than a decade despite so much else changing.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m good.” You open your eyes.

The fingers of his right hand still working along the column of your spine, Hoseok leans forward to grab the discarded bowl off the table. Communicating in their own silent language, Jimin grabs the lighter with the hand that isn’t holding yours and circles the flame around the bowl when Hobi puts it to his lips.

He takes a long, steady pull, then sets the bowl down again and turns to you. His left hand ghosts over your thigh, just above your knee, while his right slowly moves up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You instinctively turn to face him and realize your pulse is racing. “Can I?” Hoseok asks, his voice stilted as he holds the smoke in, and your heart skips a beat.

You nod, and his right hand cups your jaw, pulling you in. You open your mouth slightly and he does the same, fully closing the distance to press his lips to yours.

He exhales and you inhale, and it’s definitely a very different sensation compared to the chaste inches-apart shotguns you’ve done with them before. You feel him smile against your mouth and you break away to exhale the smoke with a laugh.

“Is this okay?” Hoseok asks again, his eyes searching yours.

You shift, then realize that your hand is still intertwined with Jimin’s, and you look back over at him. He appears to be enjoying the show, which makes your face heat up. No one’s ever watched you like this before; being something worth watching feels good.

You unlace your fingers from Jimin’s and pat his leg. “Be right back, okay?”

You answer Hobi’s question by taking his face in your hands and pulling him in, this time for a kiss that’s just a kiss. Hoseok presses his hands into the small of your back as you move your lips slowly against his, your mind spinning.

You’re kissing your best friend, you can’t help but think to yourself. Your best friend who is not gay. The whole thing is truly unbelievable.

As if sensing how in your head you are, Hoseok takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, and your breath hitches as you’re suddenly unable to focus on anything else.

He brings his lips to your jaw, then below your ear, then down along the slope of your neck. You tremble at the heat of his mouth on a particularly sensitive spot and he stays there, lightly worrying the skin with his teeth until you whine, then running his tongue across the mark.

“Fuck, Hobi,” you gasp into his ear as he blows a cool stream of air over the same spot. You lean in for more of him, and then you hear the telltale click of the lighter and an inhale from behind you.

God, there’s two of them. You don’t think you’re going to survive this.

You look up at Hoseok as if to ask permission without saying anything. You bite back a smile as you try to think of how on earth you’d phrase it as an actual question: Hey, I know we were just making out, but is it cool if I turn around and make out with your best friend now, who also happens to be my best friend?

You briefly wonder if Hobi can read minds when he grins and says, “Go ahead.”

You shift to face the other way with a nervous giggle and Jimin is there, smiling with his eyes as he holds the hit in his mouth. He repeats the same motion from minutes earlier– you can’t believe it was only minutes earlier– of grazing his fingertips along your jaw, but this time when he tilts your head up, he brings his mouth all the way to yours. 

Jimin’s lips are so soft and warm that it takes you a few seconds to remember what you’re supposed to be doing, and then you inhale the smoke that he breathes into your mouth. You wind your fingers in his hair and he moans against you.

The way he kisses is so different from Hoseok, but so equally perfect. Your pulse quickens as you wonder what else they might do differently.

Jimin sucks gently on your bottom lip for a moment, then pulls away. “Do you want to keep going?” He asks, and you can’t imagine how anyone would ever say no. You nod.

A smile lights up his face, and his gaze moves from you to over your shoulder at Hoseok, then back.

“Well, somebody’s gotta go first.” Jimin says, and he proceeds to do what Jimin does best– strip immediately down to his boxers. The speed at which he goes from fully-clothed to nearly naked makes all three of you laugh, and that’s enough to break some of the tension that’s been building in the room.

Jimin pulls you back in for another kiss and you feel hands snake around your hips, just barely pushing up the fabric of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” Hoseok murmurs in your ear, his breath on your neck.

“Yes,” you say between kisses, and the attention from both of them at once makes it come out more like a moan. Your face flushes at how needy you sound. You break away from Jimin as Hoseok strips your shirt off, and then his fingers press against the band of your bra.

“This too?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to vocalize your answer. Hoseok undoes it easily and you slide it off, shivering a little as the air hits your bare skin.

Jimin’s mouth drops down to your collarbones, then trails lower, and you lean back on your hands to allow him better access.

The couch shifts slightly as Hoseok stands. You hear the sound of his belt hitting the floor at the same time Jimin closes his full lips around your nipple, and the mix of anticipation and sensation is enough to make you moan again.

Jimin sucks the bud into his mouth and teases his tongue over it, earning another whine of pleasure from you. “Yes, Jimin,” you gasp.

Part of you wants to take things slow and enjoy the moment, but another part of you can’t stand being the only person with your pants still on, can’t stand the fact that these two don’t have access to every single inch of you to do whatever they please with.

You don’t wait for either of them to ask, your hands moving beneath Jimin to wriggle your leggings down your thighs.

Jimin takes his mouth off you and giggles, helping to pull your pants the rest of the way off.

You figure it’s your turn to raise the stakes, so you hook your thumbs under your panties and push those down too. Jimin raises his eyebrows as if to ask if you’re sure, and you nod, so he pulls them off. You never would’ve imagined at the start of the evening that you’d end it naked in front of your best friends, or that you would enjoy it so much. It already seems impossible that there was ever a time you didn’t feel this way.

Hobi returns to sit next to you, stripped to his boxers. You only have a moment to wonder what the etiquette is here before he wraps his arms around your waist and scoots you towards him until your back is flush with his chest.

Hoseok’s mouth finds your neck again, clearly enjoying how sensitive you are there. “Hi,” he murmurs against your skin, and then he trails gentle bites from your collarbone to your ear. You can feel the vibrations in his chest as he chuckles when you gasp each time.

He brings a hand up to cup your breast, then rolls your nipple between his fingers and your hips jerk in response. You glance at Jimin who is watching the two of you intently, hand just barely grazing over his boxers.

Jimin brings his other hand to your thigh, and you spread your legs for him. You’re on the verge of desperation, you want it so bad.

“Please,” you whine.

Jimin trails a finger through your folds right as Hoseok gives your nipple a hard tug, and you can’t hold back the cry that rips through you.

“Shit,” Jimin breathes, looking up at you and Hoseok. “She’s already so wet for us.” He slides his finger down to tease circles at your entrance, and you’re so slick that you can hear it. Hoseok groans at the sound.

When Jimin moves up to lightly tap at your clit, you whimper and shudder violently, your head dropping back onto Hobi’s shoulder.

“Yeah, does that feel good?” Hoseok asks, pressing his lips just behind your ear.

Jimin taps again, eliciting the same response from you, even louder this time.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hoseok says with a soft laugh, and you nod. “Jimin, can you keep making her feel good?”

You see Jimin blush a little at the direction. “Yeah, I can do that.”

There’s a moment where Jimin pauses, looking at how much real estate he has left on the couch and clearly trying to do some quick threesome mental math.

“Hang on a second,” he mutters, and then he stands up and begins to drag the coffee table away from the couch. Watching him do it all with his dick straining against his boxers is enough to make you giggle.

Hobi guides you to turn and scoot forward until your hips are at the edge of the couch, his legs resting on either side of yours. He nudges your thigh with his hand and you gently spread your legs again.

He nuzzles into your neck. “This still okay?”

You’re so wet you think you might literally be dripping onto the couch. “It’s better than okay,” you say. He smiles as he presses a kiss to your jaw.

Having sufficiently cleared enough space, Jimin returns to kneel between your spread legs. He’s so fucking pretty, you think to yourself as you watch his eyelashes flutter. His full lips trail teasing kisses along the inside of your thigh, and you smile, reaching down to brush his hair off his forehead.

Without warning, Jimin licks a stripe up the center of your cunt. Hoseok must be watching him because he rolls your nipple between his fingers at the same moment. It feels so good that you almost can’t take it.

“Jimin,” you gasp, aching for more. “Please, I need you.”

Understanding what you mean, Jimin settles in between your legs and brings his mouth to you. You moan as he works your clit, alternating between circling it with his tongue and firm suction from his lips. Everything is so slick, his mouth so soft, that it feels amazing.

When Hoseok’s lips and teeth find your neck again, a wave of pleasure rolls through you. Hoseok’s hands close around yours, and he guides you to wind your fingers in Jimin’s hair. 

“Ride his face,” Hoseok groans.

Tentatively, you circle your hips, and Jimin whines encouragingly. “Oh fuck,” you hiss as your cunt slides over his tongue.

You’re already close to coming undone and desperate for it now. You grip Jimin's hair, reveling in the pleasure and the filthy wet sounds as you grind your clit against his tongue. Hoseok nips and licks at your neck, and then you feel his breath in your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Come on his tongue.”

All you can do is whine and nod, and your orgasm crests as they take you apart together.

You keep Jimin’s mouth held firmly to you as you pulse and shudder, until finally it’s too much. You drop your hands and collapse back against Hoseok, who presses a kiss to your temple. You take a moment to lay there, blissed out, letting the post-orgasm high wash over you.

“Wow,” you breathe. “That was fun.”

Jimin wipes his mouth with his hand, then leans forward to rest his head on your stomach. “Very fun.”

“Now what?” You ask, sitting up a little, and the eagerness in your voice makes them both laugh.

“Well, that’s up to you.” Jimin moves to sit on the couch next to you. “We can stop, if you want to stop.”

You can see they’re both still hard, and you feel a little guilty that you got off without so much as touching either of them. “That’s not fair, you two didn’t even…” you trail off, embarrassed.

Hobi shrugs. “Don’t feel like you have to be responsible for it. This was just about making you feel good.”

You smile. “Well, don’t get me wrong, that was amazing.” Your voice shakes a little with nerves. “But I do specifically need to get fucked.”

They look at each other and exchange knowing smiles, clearly pleased with your response.

“But first,” you continue. “Would you show me, uh… what you used to do? After I left?” Their faces both flush and you wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly very aware of your nakedness after stating your desire so plainly. “I mean, only if you want to! Don’t do it if it’s weird. I don’t know what the rules are here.”

Jimin looks at Hoseok with a shrug. “It’s your call, babe,” he purrs in an apparent test of Hoseok’s boundaries.

Hobi snorts. “Don’t call me babe. But yeah, we can show her.” He pauses for a second, making a face like he’s deciding whether or not to say something. “But Jimin, do you want me to…?” He trails off and raises his eyebrows, leaving some question unasked.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you exclaim, your eyes darting between the two of them as you try to understand. “Back up. Is there more?” You’re not sure you could handle much more. “What didn’t you tell me?”

Hoseok keeps staring at Jimin with that same look on his face, then he clears his throat. “Would you like to tell her or should I?”

Jimin giggles, obviously embarrassed. “Hoseok would…” He smiles. “Mmm, how do I put this. He likes to talk. When we did… that together, he would talk to me. I didn’t mind. It was kind of nice, actually.” He shivers a little.

You blink, astounded by the confession. You’ve picked up on their natural leanings towards dominant and submissive, but you never would’ve expected this.

“I… I want to hear it, if that’s okay.”

Silently agreeing that it is, they move to fully strip, Hoseok untangling himself from around you. You can’t watch both of them at the same time and your eyes jump back and forth between them, unable to make a decision.

Never one to turn down the opportunity for a show, Jimin swings a leg over you so that he’s straddling your thigh, thumbs teasing at the waistband of his underwear as he rolls his hips. He’s done this to you before, because he’s Jimin, but never this seriously, and never with his dick straining against his boxers the way it is now.

Your face flushes as you watch him move. You long to reach out and take him in your hand, but you try to behave and not touch the performer. He licks his lips and then gives his waistband a proper tug down, and his dick springs free, thick and perfectly straight. You swallow hard.

Satisfied that you’re appropriately teased, Jimin shifts back to stand up, turning around to peel his boxers all the way off. Even his ass looks good, you think to yourself as you watch him.

You hear a laugh and realize Hoseok has been enjoying the show too, and he steps forward to occupy the space in front of you, gently nudging your legs apart so he can stand between them. 

“Would you like to help?” He asks softly, and you nod.

You run your hands along his stomach, scratching your nails against his skin in retribution for his earlier teasing bites. He hisses a little at the feeling, and then you move one hand to palm him over his boxers and he groans.

“Take it out, baby,” he encourages, and you do, slipping the waistband down to pull his cock out. He’s not as thick as Jimin, but the length and slight curve of him make your core throb. He’s rock hard when you wrap your hand around him.

Hoseok bites his lip in an apparent attempt to maintain his composure as you give him a few slow strokes. His fingers brush under your chin and he tilts your head up to look at him. “Do you want to watch us?”

You really do, it’s almost embarrassing how much you want to. You nod and push his boxers down his thighs, and Hoseok smiles, stepping away to finish the job. 

They stand in front of the couch, far enough apart to ensure no chance of touching, but still close enough that you can keep your eyes on both of them at the same time. You grab a couch pillow off the floor and hug it to your chest.

The absurdity of the situation clearly sets in, and there’s a pause as no one is quite sure how to begin.

Then Hoseok says in a booming voice, “okay, Jimin-ah!”, and it’s enough to make Jimin double over in laughter, his dick slapping against his stomach.

You wrap your arms around the pillow in your lap as you laugh, too, and it’s with a strange sense of relief. A reminder that these two idiots are the same idiots you know and love, even with their dicks out.

“Stop, stop,” Jimin gasps, trying to breathe. “We have to be serious.”

He manages to compose himself enough to survey Hobi again, a smile still playing at his lips. The look on his face is his classic flirtatious expression, like he’s daring Hoseok to look away first. “Go ahead,” he challenges. “Like old times.”

In unison, they each bring a hand up and spit into it, and you have to keep yourself from giggling. You hide your face behind the pillow, but peek over it, not wanting to miss a thing.

“Touch yourself, Jimin,” Hoseok commands as he begins to stroke himself, and Jimin obeys, starting off at a slightly slower pace.

You bite your lip at the way Hoseok watches him. “How does it feel?”

“Good. Really good.” Jimin grunts, his eyelashes fluttering as he closes his eyes. His hips roll, matching the rhythm of the way he works his cock. You just know his stroke game must be deadly and your cunt clenches, ready for more.

They can’t be the only ones allowed to enjoy this, you reason, and you slip your hand between your legs under the pillow.

“Are you having fun tonight, Jimin?”

Jimin just barely moans as he lets out a sigh, face flushing. “Yes, fuck. It’s so hot.” You bite your lip and nod in agreement as your fingers push into your cunt, still soaked from Jimin’s earlier attention.

“Did you like kissing her?” He smiles, and you can’t help but do the same. “Yeah, I did.”

Hoseok’s voice is a little more breathless now. “Did you like playing with her tits?”

“Uh-huh,” he whines. You slide your other hand up to pinch your nipple, your back arching at the feeling.

“How about making her come on your tongue?”

“Fuck yes,” Jimin groans, pausing to squeeze his hand at the base of his cock. You can see fresh precum leak from him and you lick your lips. You speed up the pace of your fingers. “It was so fucking sexy.”

“Was it as good as you always imagined?” Hoseok says with a dry chuckle.

Jimin rolls his hips into his hand again. “It was better.”

“What else do you want to do tonight, Jimin?”

At this, Jimin’s eyes flutter open, and he stares intently back at Hoseok. “Anything,” he says, and then he fucking winks.

To his credit, Hoseok manages to keep his composure, though he can’t quite hide the smile on his face as he continues to stroke himself. “Is that right?”

Jimin only nods.

Hoseok turns to you, as if he might pose the question to you next, but then he sees the state you’re in. He takes his hand off himself to reach for the pillow, and you don’t fight him as he moves it away, leaving you with nothing to hide behind.

“Holy shit, look at you,” Hoseok breathes.

You let your eyes fall closed as you continue to touch yourself. You’ve never felt more exposed or more turned on.

You sense something move above you, and when you open your eyes again, Hoseok is kneeling in front of you. His hands trace up your thighs, thumbs massaging expertly at the muscles there, and your legs reflexively spread wider to allow him more access.

“Shit, Hobi,” you whine.

“Do you want us to fuck you now?” His low voice is almost a whisper, and all you can do is nod. You slide your fingers out from your cunt. He catches your wrist in his hand and pulls it to him, closing his lips around your slick fingers to taste you with a glint in his eyes.

You whimper at the sight, and your gaze flickers up to Jimin. He’s standing and watching the two of you, pillowy lower lip between his teeth, his hand squeezing the base of his cock.

Hoseok pulls off your fingers and smiles. “Who do you want to fuck you first?”

Your eyes linger on Jimin, and your core throbs at the thought of the way he was rolling his hips. 

You look back at Hoseok and a strange wave of anxiety washes over you. Jimin went down on you– if Hobi hasn’t actually done anything yet, shouldn’t he be the one who gets to fuck you first? You’d never considered the mental calculus involved in a threesome before. You don’t want to make anyone feel left out or less desired. You really do want both of them.

He must be able to see the wheels turning in your head, because Hoseok takes your face in his hands, his expression serious. “Hey,” he says, gently shaking your head side to side. You smile a little and he smiles back. “Hi,” he tries again.

“Hi.”

“It’s not a trick question, okay? There’s no wrong answer. I literally just want you to tell me what you want. And if the honest answer is that you want to stop, then that’s also a right answer. You hear me?” You nod your head in his hands, and you think your heart might burst as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Now,” Hoseok tries again. “Would you like to suck my dick while Jimin fucks you?”

You swallow hard. “Yes, please.”

“Do we need condoms?” Jimin asks, and you look up at him, then back down at Hoseok.

“I–I’m okay. I mean, I’m clean, and on the pill. Unless you guys want them.”

“We’re both clean,” Jimin nods, his face flushing a little. “Honestly, not a lot of time for sex in our schedules.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Maybe you should just fuck each other.”

Hoseok barks a laugh. “It would certainly be easier.”

As he’s clearly the person in the room most comfortable giving orders, Hoseok has you switch places with him so that he’s sitting on the couch and you’re kneeling in front of him. You run your hands along his thighs, enjoying the opportunity to return the massage, kneading at the firm muscles in his legs. He groans and lets his head drop back on the cushion as your fingers tease higher and higher.

His dick is hard and leaking, flush against the flat plane of his stomach, and it twitches when you take it in your hand. You work up some saliva in your mouth and let it drop onto him. Hoseok hisses as you spread the wetness over his shaft.

You lean down to put your mouth on him, and that’s when Jimin chooses to slide into you from behind. The way his thick head stretches you open feels so good that you moan around Hoseok’s dick, and his hips snap up in response.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses at the same time Hoseok groans “fuck”. You could get used to making two men fall apart at once, you think.

Jimin fucks you slowly from behind, hips rolling fluidly, and the fullness of him feels incredible after so long. He’s just as good as you thought he would be, and his pace is gentle enough that you can still take Hoseok’s dick in your mouth without feeling like you’re choking on it. You revel in the sensation as Jimin’s rhythm naturally pushes you up and down along Hoseok’s length.

“God, your fucking mouth,” Hoseok groans as you swirl your tongue around him. His hips shudder up towards you, desperate for more, and you can tell that Jimin’s relaxed pace is driving him crazy.

Jimin must notice this because you can hear him giggle softly behind you. “Sorry–” his voice breaks as he grinds into you. “This is about as fast as I can go,” he rolls his hips again with another whine. “If you want me to last.”

You slide your mouth off Hoseok with a wet pop, continuing to stroke him with your hand. “I don’t mind either way, Jimin.” You do your best to look back at him. “It feels fucking amazing.”

You return your attention to Hoseok, and his eyes are dark with lust.

“Can he come in you?” Hoseok asks, his voice hoarse. You lick a stripe up his cock and he groans, laughing a little at how much of a tease you are.

“Yes,” you say with a shy smile.

“Do it, Jimin,” Hoseok commands. “Come in her.”

As if he’s been waiting his whole life to receive the order, Jimin pushes into you with a newfound ferocity. He keeps the same fluid movement but his hips roll faster and faster, and the feeling of his cock pounding into you is so overwhelming that you can’t stop yourself.

“Oh my god, Jimin, fuck, yes, fuck–” You gasp and rock your hips back, matching his rhythm.

You hear Hoseok grunt and for a moment you lose concentration, your thrusts faltering and your head swimming as the worry creeps back in that you’re not giving him enough attention. You look up, still breathless from the way Jimin is fucking you, to see Hoseok jerking his cock at the same tempo, gaze fixed on you. His tongue toys sloppily at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you like watching Jimin fuck me?” You manage to ask, attempting to try out your own dirty talk and simultaneously check in on Hobi. A smile breaks across his face.

“I fucking love it,” he groans, giving himself one long, slow pump before he resumes his steady pace. His other hand reaches up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Keep fucking yourself on his cock like that. You’re perfect.”

You follow Hoseok’s instructions, rutting back onto Jimin, and it’s enough to finally send him over the edge.

With one final body roll, Jimin pushes all the way into you with a high-pitched whine, his cock pulsing inside of you as he comes. He gives a few shallow thrusts, milking all of his release out, and then he slumps forward, thoroughly spent.

“Holy shit,” he giggles, arms wrapping around your waist. You can feel him trembling, and you turn over in his arms, leaning back against the foot of the couch. Jimin drops his head onto your shoulder and you press your nose into the crook of his neck, trailing a few gentle kisses across his collarbones.

As you shift you feel his cum slowly start to leak out of you, and you look down in mild embarrassment, pressing your knees together. Having someone come inside you is the kind of thing that always sounds sexy until it actually happens, and then it’s just a mess.

Hoseok gives Jimin a few moments to recover, hand still teasing over his own cock, then finally gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Hey, Jimin-ah. Switch with me.”

Too spent to say anything, Jimin grunts and crawls off you, waiting for Hoseok to free up the couch before he collapses face-first onto it.

You expect Hoseok to pull your mouth back onto him, or turn you around so he can slide into you, but instead he kneels in front of you. “Can you sit up for me?” He asks softly, and you lift yourself onto the couch cushion behind you, Jimin shifting to make enough space for your ass.

Hoseok places his hands on your knees, which are still clenched together to hide everything leaking out of you, and he raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

Your pulse quickens at the look in his eyes, and you slowly let your legs drop open.

You can feel his breath over your center, and then he swipes a finger up your thigh to push a trail of arousal back inside you.

“Can I taste you?” Hoseok asks, and you squirm a little in response. “You can say no,” he reminds you.

“I-I mean,” you falter. “I would like that, but– you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Since it’s… messy. We can just fuck.”

Hoseok laughs. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. And frankly, there isn’t much I don’t want to do to you.” He leans in to lick up another drip running down your thigh and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue against your skin.

He looks at you again, waiting patiently for your final answer, and your face grows hot as you nod your consent. Needing no further encouragement, he spreads your legs even wider and brings his mouth to you.

Hoseok’s tongue is long and precise, and he laps up and swallows every bit of Jimin’s cum from inside you like it’s his last meal. The little gulps and groans he makes as he licks into you again and again are unreal. Your pussy is so sensitive from just being fucked that each stroke of his tongue makes you whimper.

This takes his affinity for cleaning to a whole new level, your last brain cell thinks, and then he drags his tongue up your folds and you can no longer form coherent thoughts. You can only moan while still softly laughing at your own joke as he licks figure eights over your clit.

When he slips two fingers into your cunt, your back arches.

“Fucking shit, Hobi, oh my god–” you moan. You collapse back, lost in the feeling, and knock against Jimin, stretched out on the couch behind you.

You reach towards him, and his hand finds yours, your fingers interlacing. You turn your head to look at him and he’s watching you intently, lips parted slightly and pupils blown with lust.

You’ve gotten the idea a few times tonight that Jimin is a bit of a voyeur, and you’re starting to learn that you quite enjoy being an exhibitionist for him.

Hoseok quickens the pace of his fingers, pressing deliberately on your front wall, and you cry out from the pleasure, your gaze locked on Jimin. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine, and Jimin nods along with you.

You notice that his other hand is reaching to gently palm at his dick, already getting hard again. “God, you are so fucking sexy,” Jimin murmurs.

Hoseok hums around your clit as if in agreement, and your hips jolt up at the feeling. Aware he’s onto something, he keeps going, humming low in his throat while his tongue works your clit, the vibrations rolling through you. His fingers rub circles inside of you, and you writhe, unable to get enough, your peak rapidly approaching.

Jimin shifts on the couch next to you, your fingers still intertwined, letting go of himself to bring his other hand to your neck. He presses his full lips to yours and sweeps his tongue into your mouth with a groan.

The attention from both of them at once is enough to make you come all the way undone.

You break away from Jimin, bearing down hard on his hand in yours, and cry Hoseok’s name as your second orgasm hits you full-force.

Hoseok’s tongue and fingers slow as your walls flutter around him, but he doesn’t completely let up until your final aftershocks subside.

You squirm away from his touch as you become oversensitive, and he laughs and relents, wiping the back of his hand across his face. His nose, lips, and chin are all shining with your slickness, the results of his efforts. It might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re not sure you remember how to string words together to form sentences, so you’re unable to protest when Hoseok hooks his arm under your knees and pulls your legs up across the couch so that you’re laying down. You roll over in submission and Jimin’s there pressed against you.

Jimin pulls you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours. You lean your cheek into his chest and shut your eyes as your breathing slows. Then he shifts, and you feel something nudge your thigh.

Eyes fluttering open, you glance down and laugh. “I can’t believe you’re already hard again.”

Jimin blushes, kicking his feet a little as if in frustration. “It’s your fault!”

A pair of hands come to your shoulders that could only be Hoseok. Those perfect fingers trail down your back, massaging along your hips. You whine a little at the feeling.

“Well, did you have fun?” He asks, and you turn to see him properly. When he gently rubs his hands across your thighs, you shiver; you’re still overstimulated, but it’s not unpleasant.

“Is it over?”

“If you want it to be,” Hoseok shrugs.

A desire that’s been building up inside of you all night blurts out before you can think to stop it. “I did have one more idea,” you start, then bury your face in Jimin’s shoulder. “I can’t say it, though. I have no idea if it’s even really possible.”

“If it is, we’ll make it happen. We want you to feel good,” Jimin says, wiggling his erection against your hip for added emphasis.

“Okay, but if you don’t actually want to do this, please tell me, and we can all pretend I never said it and that the threesome ended here and everyone was happy.”

“Tell us what you want,” Hoseok commands.

Your voice is nearly a whisper. “I think I want to try double penetration.”

Jimin hums in surprise. “Are you prepped for that?”

You lift your head up as you realize the misunderstanding. “Oh, I– no, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to do anal. I was talking about, um, both of you.” You squeeze your eyes shut, face hot as you’re forced to say it out loud. “In my pussy. Together?”

“Wow,” you hear Hoseok groan at the same time Jimin lets out a shaky exhale.

You open your eyes to look at both of them. Hoseok is grinning, and Jimin’s hands roam over your body, gently running along the curve of your waist and then cupping your ass.

“Are you sure?” Jimin asks softly. “That’s probably going to be pretty intense for you.”

You nod, still flushed with embarrassment. Your core is already starting to throb again at the thought. “I learned from a well-endowed hookup that I really like, uh… girth.” You cringe at the unsexy word. “Is that okay? Can we try it? You can say no.”

Jimin grinds his hips against your thigh with a smirk. “I wasn’t joking when I said I was up for anything.”

Hoseok stands up decisively, doing a terrible job at hiding how excited he is about this. “We’re gonna need some lube. Be right back.” He disappears, heading for the bedroom.

The arousal is already pooling in your belly at the promise of what’s to come, and you press your nose into Jimin’s neck, trying to remember how to breathe. “Hi.”

Jimin dips his head to kiss you. His lips are so soft. He pulls away with a small laugh. “Hi yourself.”

“So, this has been a pretty crazy night.”

He’s still smiling, looking as dazed as you feel. “Tell me about it. This is payoff, like, a decade in the making. I don’t think I’ve ever waited so long for anything.”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’m having a really good time.”

Jimin presses another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Me too,” he says, and then Hoseok returns, holding the bottle of lube triumphantly, like it’s a prestigious award or a designer bag.

You sit up and offer your palms to him, and he squeezes a decent amount into each one. The movement is just clinical enough that it has you all giggling, tense with anticipation.

Hoseok and Jimin kneel on either side of you, and you work your hands over them until they’re nice and slick and groaning under your touch. You’re still soaked from Hoseok’s tongue, but you rub what’s leftover on your palm across your entrance, if only for good luck.

Hoseok leans back against the arm of the couch, his dick fully erect and leaking. His eyes are already heavy-lidded with lust, but he’s smiling so big, you don’t even have to ask if he’s enjoying himself.

You crawl over him and he kisses you hungrily as you sink down onto him. He’s longer, and you have to take a second to get used to the new feeling, circling your hips a little.

“God, you take my cock so well,” Hoseok groans, giving your ass a playful smack. You wiggle until you’re sure you’ve sunk as low as you can go on him. “That was the hard part. Now it’s just Jimin,” he teases with a laugh, and Jimin sends a pillow sailing in his direction, missing by several inches.

You lean forward, bracing yourself over Hoseok who takes the opportunity to graze his lips and teeth along the slope of your neck. You feel Jimin’s head press at your entrance.

“Ready?” Jimin breathes, and you look back to nod at him. He starts to push into you, devastatingly slow.

It doesn’t really work like porn or romance novels would have you expect, where everything slides in easily and feels great right away. There’s a stretch and a fullness that’s intensely uncomfortable at first. You have to ask Jimin to stop and wait a couple of times while you adjust and wince at the sensation.

He and Hoseok are impressively patient with you, teasing their hands and mouths over your body in an effort to get your cunt to relax, until you’re nearly shaking from the pressure in your core. Little by little, Jimin manages to slide himself into you alongside Hoseok.

After minutes that seem more like hours, Jimin grunts, his head dropping onto your shoulder as his hips give a final push. “Fuck. That’s it. That’s all of me.”

The pain is still there, but you can tell it’s starting to morph into something else, something good. You’ve never felt anything like it before.

You all take a second to breathe and let it sink in that this is really happening. No one is quite sure what to do next. Hoseok experiments first, rolling his hips in a lazy circle that makes all three of you react with a noise.

“Fuck, Jimin,” he groans. “I can feel you.”

Jimin bites his lip, his cheeks flushing, and nods in agreement.

Hoseok sets the rhythm, thrusting into you with long, slow strokes, and then Jimin’s fingers grip at your hips and he gently starts to move, too.

You can’t help but whimper at the way it feels– you are overwhelmingly, perfectly full.

The sensation is incredible now, the way they slip and grind against each other inside of you. You can only sit there and take it as they alternate fucking into you. You swear and groan their names interchangeably, over and over.

“Tell us how it feels,” Hoseok grunts. “Taking two dicks in your tight little cunt.”

“Fuck, it’s so fucking good,” you moan.

“Shit,” Jimin groans, “all this friction…” He lets out a shaky laugh. “God, I think I’m gonna come again.”

Your breath hitches and Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. “You like that, baby? You want Jimin to fill you up again?”

You nod with a whimper. “And you. Both of you.”

Hoseok laughs and groans at the same time. “Oh my god, you are so fucking hot.” He punctuates the final words with three thrusts into you, picking up his pace. Each thrust means he slides against Jimin, and on the third one, you hear a moan behind you.

“Shit, Hoseok, agh! I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jimin ruts into you in fast, short strokes as his climax hits, and his cock twitches and shudders inside you again.

As Hoseok groans beneath you, you realize that he can feel it all too.

“Fuck yes, Jimin,” Hoseok hisses. The extra slickness of Jimin’s fresh arousal just makes everything that much easier, that much messier, and that much hotter. You know Hoseok is fast approaching his end as he fucks you, his strokes deep and hard.

The way his length bottoms out inside you when you’re already so tender is too much, and you lean back into Jimin.

“Yes, fuck, yes, I’m–” you gasp with each thrust, and then your third orgasm takes you by surprise and you can’t do anything but cry out.

Jimin wraps an arm over your shoulders to steady you. You can feel him trembling beneath you as your walls pulse around both of them again and again and again. You’ve never come this hard in your life, and the endless waves of your orgasm are enough to finally bring Hoseok to his peak with a hoarse groan of your name.

Your hips grind down on him and work him through his release and the aftershocks of yours, riding out every last bit until your cunt is quivering from overstimulation. With all three of you entirely spent, you let yourself crash from the high and slump forward against Hoseok’s chest.

There are a few moments of bliss before you feel everything start to drip down your thighs. It probably should be gross to be so full of lube and two loads of cum. Maybe it will be in a few minutes, you think to yourself.

But right now, it’s fucking hot.

“Holy shit,” you whisper as the room slowly returns around you. You can feel both of them starting to soften inside you, and you glance down, mostly because you can’t believe that really just happened.

When you do, you realize that at some point, Hoseok must have also gripped onto your hips, probably when he was fucking up into you. You were too busy taking two dicks at once to keep track of exactly who was doing what when. But now, you see that Hoseok and Jimin have interlaced their fingers together over the curve of your hips.

It’s one of the tamest things that’s happened tonight, but something about it makes your heart crack open.

Your breathing uneven, you run a finger along their still-joined hands. It’s only when the first drop of moisture hits your cheek that you realize you’re crying.

You’re turned enough towards him that Jimin is able to see your expression, and then he’s the first one to break the scene, shifting to slowly withdraw from inside you. He scoots back on the couch, and you feel his hands come to cup your shoulders.

Hoseok keeps his hands on your hips, his touch featherlight as he lifts you up so he can slide out as well. The look on his face is concern mixed with pure love, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation for all that he is, all that they both are, your two best friends. That hasn’t changed.

Jimin speaks first. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Come here.”

You lean into his touch and allow yourself to lie down as more tears spill over. Jimin’s fingers scratch along your scalp, and you roll onto your side and curl up. “Post-orgasm chemicals can be weird, and that was–” he bites back a laugh, “–really fucking intense. Just let it out.”

You’re leaking out of both ends, you think to yourself, and you press your cheek into the couch cushion, laughing and crying at the same time. “This is so embarrassing. I swear to god I’m fine.”

You feel what must be Hoseok’s hand rubbing gently along your thigh, and his voice confirms it. “Happy tears?”

You nod. “Very happy tears. That was incredible.”

Hobi wiggles his body into the tight space between you and the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling off. “You were incredible. I’m glad you had fun.” He shudders softly against you and you look up to see Jimin running his other hand through Hoseok’s hair.

“We definitely did,” Jimin says with a small giggle as he scratches both of your heads. “I think our inner teenagers can rest happy with the knowledge that it did finally end up happening one day.”

You smile. “I’m glad it happened now, because I definitely couldn’t have done any of that when I was a teenager.”

Hobi cackles into the crook of your neck. “And Jimin would’ve came even faster than he did tonight!”

At this, Jimin fists the hand in Hoseok’s hair, leaning over him. “My dick is sensitive, and I don’t appreciate you making fun of it,” he growls.

Realizing how close their faces are, Hobi is the one to start the game of chicken this time, tilting his face up towards Jimin. “Is that right, Jimin-ah? Got a sensitive dick?”

Jimin doesn’t miss a beat and continues to lean towards Hoseok’s mouth, tugging on his hair. You really think they might actually do it this time, considering everything else that’s happened, but Hoseok finally relents in an explosion of giggles, turning to hide his face against your shoulder before Jimin can kiss him.

“I yield, I yield!”

Some things never change. ~*~

Approximately half an hour and one shower later, the three of you are again collapsed together in a heap on the couch, shifted over by one cushion to avoid the wet spot. Jimin’s arms are wrapped around your waist while Hobi plays with your hair.

They’ve lent you clothes to sleep in, and the big t-shirt (Hoseok’s) and black sweatpants (Jimin’s) are each infused with the scent of their respective owner. Smelling like both of them at the same time makes you feel loved, even claimed. Your brain is buzzing from the post-threesome and post-crying endorphin overload (not to mention the THC), and you sigh happily.

“Hey, Hobi?” You say with a restrained giggle. He turns to look at you, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “I think you might be a little gay now.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh my god. Shut up.”

“Your dick literally touched another dick. Like, a lot.”

“Yeah, inside you! Surely that negates the gay part!”

“I don’t know, Hobi,” Jimin says in agreement. “You also ate cum out of her. I don’t even swallow that stuff, man.”

“I hate you both,” Hoseok laughs, folding his arms behind his head. “Look, I don’t give a shit. If enjoying every single second of tonight makes me gay, then I’ll lead the fucking pride parade.”

You laugh, scrambling to find your phone. Now you have to play Gaga. You put on Bad Romance and Hoseok instantly sits up.

“Okay, I do also know the dance to this. Wanna see?” He untangles himself from you and Jimin to jump up and strike a pose, hands already fixed into monster claws.

Jimin giggles, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek. “I’m gonna go make some buldak, but please film this so we can blackmail him forever.”

~*~

A/N: if you actually made it all the way to the end you're a real one. i'm v lazy about crossposting/putting my masterlist together on here, but i've got more stuff on AO3 if you enjoyed!! would love to hear your thoughts, i'm honestly dying for more friends in this space lol. thanks for reading 💜

[bardicfrustration]

Screening Process

"We need shirts." The DnD club had finally come to an agreement during lunch, and as leader, Eddie had to agree. The yearbook had started taking club photos and he knew from yearbooks past that to finally be taken seriously as a club, they would need shirts. 

"We need shirts." He echoed, nodding his head. "How do we get shirts then?" 

They’d tried the copier store before, but the prices were a bit too high. Seemingly because the owner was not well inclined to printing ‘satanic propaganda.’ Eddie had tried to be nice and explain that it was basically a book club for nerds who liked math and maps, but that only hiked the price five dollars extra. 

Normally, they could’ve pooled together enough money to scrape by against the bitter bigotry, but Eddie knew the entire club was going through a monetary dry spell. Himself included. 

In a moment of revelation, his black sheep prodigy piped up from the end of the table, "The AV Club."

Eddie cocked his head in confusion, and Jeff asked, “The AV club makes shirts?”

"No," Dustin's smug grin lit up his face, "But because no one really thought it would survive, the school wouldn't hand over the money to get shirts made. So our AV teacher had someone else make them." 

"Homemade? Henderson, we want to look good, not like we’re modeling mommy's craft of the week."

"No! These are good quality!" He pointed to the infamous ‘thinking cap’ adorning his head, “Where do you think I got this?” 

“Geeks ‘R Us.” Gareth replied without a second thought. 

But Dustin continued, “Seriously  guys, they look legit. The other clubs started asking where we gottem because they looked waaaay better than the iron on crap from the copiers. It’s top secret though; nerds, rejects, and losers only.” 

Eddie squinted, “So, where do we find this elusive vendor?” 

Dustin promised to lead Eddie there, as long as he promises not to snitch. Eddie scoffs, “You think I would snitch? Really, dude, and I thought you respected me.” 

After lunch

Dustin only shared away from the cafeteria (‘away from prying ears!’) and after Eddie promised not to snitch (‘you think I, of all fucking people, would snitch?’). 

Once lunch was over, and most of the afternoon classes had settled into routine, Eddie entered the dark, empty art class gingerly, trying to be discreet. This is why he liked his picnic table, no one there but trees. 

It was quiet save for the soft hum of a radio playing somewhere nearby and the gentle scratching of pen on paper. With a second take, he looked around the dim room still to find no one. The only light he could see was streaming under a closet door. So, he knocked. 

The scratching stops and the door cracked open a sliver, just enough for a face to pop through and ask, “Waddya want Dustin-oh.” 

Your hair was pulled away from your face, but it still had managed to fall awry from the motion of art making. Eddie couldn’t see much in this surprisingly well used closet, but he could see the angled desk behind you covered in ink and paper and tape and other wayward materials. 

“Uh, Dustin sent me. Sorry.” He holds up a plastic bag of baseball tees he was able to afford. “We require your assistance.” 

Your face dropped from curious to bereaved. “I told that little snotrag I’m not making him any more personalized crap unless he pays me. I’m not gonna do it just because he sent a pretty face with them.”

Eddie looked behind him, expecting a pretty face to have appeared out of nowhere, which allowed you to slam the closet door when he turned back. 

“WAIT!” He hears you turn up the radio through the door, “It’s not just for Henderson! And I’ll pay you back in time, promise.” 

He’s hanging in anticipation for a response. The pen doesn’t start scratching, but the door doesn’t open. He could practically hear the wheels turning in your head from beyond the barrier between you. 

The door opened wide like a tiger's maw and you snatched the bag of shirts out of his hand before he could even react. 

“Promise?” You held out a hand covered in ink. Eddie shook it without a second thought.

“Promise.” 

“Fine, enter the studio.” You pushed your chair back into the corner so Eddie could have room to step in. 

It wasn’t much of a studio in terms of size, but the walls were covered in shelves of supplies; paints, glues, inks, papers, brushes, knives, anything an artist would crave while wandering the aisles of an art supply store. His own fingers itches to reach out and test things out, but he was there on a mission, for the club. 

He dug through his pockets for a carefully folded piece of notebook paper. He unfolded it and started to explain his design in mind. “We were thinking something devilish, to match with the Hellfire theme, and maybe a cool flaming sword, oh and some dice, like a d4 and a d20. Uh. I can bring those for reference if you need.” 

You waved the thought away. “I know what nerd dice look like, dude.” You took the paper from him, not unkind or rough, but to take a closer look, “Did you draw this?” 

He scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, I mean. It’s just a doodle. Ideas, brainstorming, whatever.” 

“Hm.” You looked him over, more thoughtful than before, “I can get it done by the end of the week. I take cash and cookies.” 

“Cookies?”

“An artist requires sustenance.” You pointed to the tin of sugar cookies on a short table in the corner. “And my preferred method is sugar. Are you good for that?” 

Eddie nodded, “Aye aye cap’n.” 

You smirked at him, but turned back to your work table, “I need to start now if I’m going to get this done soon. Come back with cookies.” And you shut the closet door in his face once more. 

He stood there for a moment, grinning to himself, before heading off to find someone who was willing to bake. 

[endcant]

best ever food & drink

cucumber & watermelon (same to me)

tofu (many ways)

glass of milk and 2 cookies (various)

mini sweet peppers

egyptian kahk

homemade red bean paste (u can make a lot affordably, keep it a decent amount of time, and use it for everything)

chicken mole

sashimi (various)

bisque (various)

gazpacho (various)

fruit that you picked

the first bite of a california burger (burger with lettuce, tomato, avocado, and monterey jack cheese)

lemon pound cake

dolma

oxtail stew with chayote (white people not invited)

pozole blanco

buttered pumpkin ravioli followed by the raspberry gelato served in a coconut shell at the obligatory little italian place in my obligatory little not-italian hometown

oolong tea

lamb gyro

when i worked at the college i used to rinse out my cup noodles before microwaving them bc they were too salty. that was good

phó (various)

zalabia topped with sesame seeds

scrambled egg white with spinach and mushrooms

avocado smoothie

street corner strawberries, too ripe to be sold to grocery stores

homemade lengua estofado (white people not invited)

butterfish hand roll

fiji lakdi mithai

fruit salad consisting of: apple, jicama, oranges, cucumber, and optional melon (honeydew or cantaloupe) with mandatory seasoning of citrus juice, red pepper, and salt

fried egg over easy stirred into white rice with very small amounts of sesame oil and soy sauce

my dad is the only person who can make bbq ribs worth eating bc they are tender and heavily spiced with a homemade mustard-based sauce with more spices than i’ve ever seen on any other single object

japanese curry + chicken cutlet (my preferred curry but all are valid)

melted monterey jack cheese (any context)

go to 300 Juan Medina Rd., Chimayo, NM, 87522

muesli

homemade honey kale chip (YSAC)

extremely dry breve cappuccino

cinnamon life cereal

homemade sopapilla with honey

NYC mall shrimp tempura udon (ubiquitous in NYC indoor malls in 2009)

banana with brown sugar and a little butter heated in microwave for like 3 minutes. wait til it cools

just the crust of deep dish pizza without the toppings

buttered macaronis with white onion (poisonous to me)

hot dog and vegetable stir fry

chile con carne with MY family’s green chile recipe

oyster tasting paid for by somebody else

this one stout beer that i shared with my mother in 2017 that came in an unlabeled bottle found in the back of a restaurant that has since changed ownership. no other information

dishes containing roux, custard, or caramelized onions patiently made by your own hand (taste of the fruits of your labor)

my sister’s fucked up health recipes that are actually incredibly fucking good such as a very seasoned broth with like 5 different types of mushrooms, a buffalo chicken/sweet potato/turkey bacon casserole, and all of her various spaghetti squash glops. so FUCKING good.

arugula salad with nuts and fruits

steamed pumpkin (various seasonings)

any decently improvised sweet bread, cookie, or cake flavored chiefly with butter, white sugar, and almond extract

baked potato with the red skin no seasonings eaten outside in the cold

thick, ambrosia-like homemade horchata served in a mug at the mexican place with zero english speakers on staff

11 oz can apple sidra apple soda

banana at 2 am

worst ever food & drink

banana at 6 am

waffle house “hashbrown”

backsweetened fruit beer

whole wheat pancake

whole wheat or multigrain health flour tortilla. if you’re worried about your health just eat a corn tortilla or wrap ur stuff in lettuce

guiltiest pleasures of all time

bacon pb&j burger.

expensive californian bougie health snack bars that consist of unrecognizable seeds, unrecognizable nuts, and unrecognizable dried fruits, unrecognizably sweetened and stuck together in an unrecognizable mound

spoonful of stone ground mustard

back home theres a place where u can get craft beer, a rosé slushie actually worth havinf, taste 4 nearly identical dry red wines, and then say its ur birthday and get panini bread toasted with butter and a melted hersheys bar topped with whipped cream. the birthday treat only really tastes good once youve had the aforementioned quantity of alcohol, but i think that’s by design. like listening to shpongle while profoundly high on psychedelics

2 dennys pancakes with 2 eggs over easy placed betwixt, wherein they will be smashed and mixed with maple syrup until the entire mess is soggy yellow-brown and unrecognizable

bowl of chevys fresh mex salsa con cuchara

i experience that “just one more oreo” comic but with mazapan, & when i wake up from the mazapan fugue state every dark cloth in the house is stained permanently

hot cocoa consisting of: almond milk, dark cocoa powder, and stove heat

i will never forget starbucks sage and juniper latte in the fall of 2018. nothing else at that godforsaken restaurant will ever be that good.

those cute fude nuggets they sell at target that are like $15 per box that are shaped like stars, fishies, etc.

anything with garlic or onion (poisons me)

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

erotica, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Your roommate, Min Yoongi, catches you masturbating. You catch him masturbating. Well then, dear reader... This should be interesting, shouldn’t it?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, smut (fem reader, f and m-masturbation, cum eating); non-idol!AU; switches between Yoongi’s POV and your POV

--

Being in the music industry was rough. It meant long nights struggling for inspiration, fervent mania when it did hit, and crippling anxiety when it was being evaluated. But being a music producer was all Min Yoongi ever wanted.

He had given up a lot to chase his dreams, moving to the big city alone, friendless, trying to find his way, living meal by meal. He needed a roommate, but finding a trustworthy one was difficult. Friend of a friend of a friend and he finally found someone who seemed alright. A young woman in the middle of grad school, who was looking for a place to stay. At first Yoongi thought it would be weird to room with a girl, but one conversation and he realized it would be a good match. Her first question was if he was going to have guests over often. Of course not, Yoongi had music to work on. Her second question was if he was clean, because she couldn’t stand a dirty living situation.

In short, he now had a quiet, paying roommate who kept to herself, holed up in her room all day studying or rushing to class.

Yoongi worked for a small entertainment company, but he also had a home studio because he couldn’t afford to rent a space. This was enough for now. He asked if she was fine with a little noise and she responded by holding up her over-the-ear headphones.

But Min Yoongi had a secret.

Nothing that incriminating. Nothing like drugs or a gambling problem or a recurring STD or something like that. It was in innocent secret, a very small one.

Min Yoongi liked to read erotica blogs.

Now, Yoongi could watch porn. He could go through all the hoops and find some to jack off to. That wasn’t why he preferred to read smut stories online. He just liked to use his own imagination. He liked closing his eyes and painting the scene, but he wasn’t creative enough to dream up all the freaky scenarios he could read online. Some people had some… big brain energy. Some wrinkly brains. He was pretty sure all his gray matter was used on music, so why not let someone else craft the story for him? It took the work out the equation and he could get off. Win-win.

Also, it was much easier to hide it in public. All people would see is him scrolling on his phone, the same thing everyone else did.

Yoongi had his favorites he went back to. They were updated often. Every week there was something new. He checked at least once a week, since that was his usual routine his body wanted. And it was fine. No one knew. He could do it whenever he wanted and relatively quickly. So, all in all, not that bad of a secret, really.

It was six in the morning and Yoongi was scrolling on his phone, mildly horny. Oh! One of his favorite blogs had updated late in the night. Nice. He chewed on his lower lip, reading the summary.

There was a knock on his door.

He nearly dropped his phone. The door was locked, thankfully.

“Yoongi-ssi?” He heard his roommate yawn sleepily. “Did you drink the last of the milk?”

He screwed up his face to think. “Maybe? I’ll buy some the next time I’m at the store.”

He heard the sounds of teeth being brushed and a muffled, “Nah, I’ll place a delivery order right now. I need stuff.”

And that was that. He heard her wander off.

Okay, a very, very, very small part of him did kind of want to get caught. Not embarrassingly or shamefully caught. Just… maybe if it ended in something kind of sexy. Like the stories.

That was would fun.

Yoongi went back to his phone.

-

You cracked your neck in the mirror, yawning again as you brushed your teeth. You rubbed your eyes, inspecting your dark circles. Ugh. Maybe a little concealer today couldn’t hurt.

You had stayed up late again, writing.

You hadn’t meant to. It happened every once in a while, when the scene played out in your head and you needed to write it down immediately. When inspiration struck, you couldn’t let it run away from you. Sometimes the best things come in short bursts of energy.

At least you didn’t have class today. You were caught up on your classes, so you could spend today writing for your blog. What you posted last night was written several days ago. You had a slight backlog so that you could review things multiple times before posting. Even if it was something as meaningless as smut posted on the internet, you took that shit seriously. This was your outlet and you wanted to personally like everything you posted.

If what you wrote didn’t make you horny, it wasn’t going to make anyone else horny either.

You spat and rinsed out your mouth.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your tired eyes looking back to you. Maybe you needed some socialization. Real socialization, not you eventually venturing outside because you needed to get laid for… research purposes. You chuckled. Well, you weren’t going to get that here. All your male roommate ever did was work on his music or eat. Which was alright; people were allowed to do what makes them happy. And besides, it was better that way, because you did actually need to study and eventually write your thesis. Less distraction at home was always better.

You turned off the lights in the bathroom and stepped out.

A strange noise came from Min Yoongi’s door.

You blinked, staring at the door several feet away from you. Then you shrugged. He probably just tripped. He was kind of clumsy sometimes, knocking shit over with his fat ass. Well, not really, but it was funny to think of it that way.

You went back to your room.

-

Oh fuck.

Yoongi stared at his door, clutching the toilet paper roll he hid in his nightstand. He was usually quite skilled at keeping quiet, but he accidentally moaned a little too loud. His hands were still sticky. He waited.

Her bedroom door down the hall closed and he sighed with relief.

-

When you got back to your room, you made the online grocery order. You needed pads anyway. Then you checked your blog. At this point, you had some familiar usernames you watched for. People rarely commented. Maybe their hands were busy or something. You could forgive. Besides, there were likes and that was enough. To be honest, you never expected anyone to actually do more than read. It felt kind of nice, knowing someone out there was willing to take one second to press one button to let you know.

It made you grateful, even if it was a small thing.

Your eye paused at one particular username. You only noticed it because it was gendered.

daeguboy0613.

Huh.

For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why someone would put their location and gender in their username. Maybe it was a reference to their favorite singer or something. Probably. You shrugged it off and flopped on your bed.

You fell asleep.

Big surprise since you had posted at four in the morning and only gotten up to brush your teeth because your mouth was too disgusting to exist. Ah well. Sleep was good.

-

You woke up, super groggy. You stared out the window, seeing that it was already dark. With a sigh, you looked into the tiny mirror beside your bed. Yikes. A master yikes even.  You climbed your hair with your fingers and got out of bed, your purple pajamas rumpled and crazy. Maybe a shower would do you good. Or a bath. Oh! That sounded nice.

You looked around for your slippers. You found one. Ack, so annoying. You weren’t a messy person, but when you were preoccupied with something, you forgot everything else. You straightened your room and found the other slipper. It was in your blankets, oof.

You opened your door and realized you forgot clean underwear. You stuck your head out, looking around. Faint bass was coming from Yoongi’s room. He’d be there for a while. Eh. You still had your violet pajamas, with long sleeves and long pants. Fully covered. He wasn’t going to know in the two seconds it would take you to get to your room. A good shake of the fleece fabric and the wrinkles would fall out. You’d look way less crazy after a good bath.

You hummed to yourself as you made your way to the bathroom.

-

Yoongi rubbed his neck, frowning.

It wasn’t coming out the way he wanted. The sound just wasn’t right. He leaned back in his chair, furrowing his brow. Maybe he needed to move on for now. Leave it and work on something else. He spun around in his chair, lazing about. He hadn’t heard his roommate make much noise all day. Was she dead? Yoongi heard the water running in the bathroom. Oh. She was taking a shower.

He thought about her for a moment. She was generally calm person, quiet and reserved. The only time he had ever seen her panic was when she was late to class, which wasn’t often. Other than that, she was kind of boring. It was like the only thing she thought about was school. She was pretty in a casual sort of way. Yoongi rarely saw her dressed up, but the few times she left at night, she always looked very nice in a short black dress and black heels. Probably a recurring outfit she used at every outing. He could respect that. Being strapped for cash meant a lot of repeating outfits.

Anyway, they didn’t interact much at all. They had their respective things to do, so they co-existed in a mutualistic, symbiotic relationship. It was nice not having to be distracted by a bad roommate, so for that he was grateful.

-

You pushed back the shower curtain, dripping water.

That was nice. You waited as the bathwater drained. Your hair was wet, kind of by accident, but whatever, you needed to wash your hair anyway. Your brushed water off your body absentmindedly, poking your nipples. They were hard from the cold air.

Hm.

The water gurgled as you rubbed them slowly, sighing softly. That was nice. When was the last time you masturbated? You couldn’t remember. You looked at the bathroom door. It wasn’t locked, but what was Yoongi going to do? Open the door on you? Yeah, right. You pinched and pulled your nipples, sucking in a breath. It was nice to touch yourself, to cup your breasts and press them together, grazing your nails over the hardened nubs, imagining someone else’s hands touching you, wanting you.

You slid against the wall, moaning quietly as you played with your breasts, water beading on your skin. One of your hands slid down between your legs and slid around your folds. The wetness of your pussy was different from water, thicker, more viscous. Your eyes closed as you stroked your clit, slow and gentle and pretty. Imagining a tongue there, licking you softly, giving you just the right amount of pressure to build your arousal. No rushing, letting it last.

You ended up sliding to your knees, spreading your thighs wide to give your hand space. Your other hand played with your nipples leisurely, pinching and pulling, making your heart jump. You were quiet, barely making any noise.

Drip.

Your eyes opened hazily. They shifted slowly to the faucet. It was dripping water. Slow, fat plops hitting the bathtub.

Drip.

You pressed harder on your clit, rubbing roughly.

Drip.

Your eyes shifted to the silver faucet again. It was right there, after all.

Fuck it.

You turned the water on again, setting it to a nice temperature. You waited impatiently, touching the water. It heated up quickly. You bit your lower lip, and then raised the temperature a tad. It torrented down and, for a split second, you thought you weren’t going to do it.

Then you adjusted your hips and planted your ass on bottom of the bathtub and slid down to the water.

Instant, unyielding. You shivered, the blasting water jet-streaming right into your pussy. Holy fuck. You slid down a little more and moaned, hoping the water masked your sound as the high-pressure water smacked your clit, lowering to your elbows to get a better angle. Heart beating fast, legs folded flat against the edge of the tub, leaning your head back, tits straight up. It was a difficult position to keep, but a rewarding one, because the water was getting you off fast, gentle enough that you weren’t in pain but hard enough that you could really feel it radiate all over you, the heat adding to the pleasure.

So close, so close…

You closed your eyes, thighs burning, core tightening as your entire body began to throb. A slow hiss escaped your lips as you felt your orgasm unfurl and hit you, wave after wave of delicious pleasure swimming through you, spreading to every point of your body.

“Are you drowning or wasting water, the fuck is–”

Min Yoongi’s voice was trying to cut through your reverie but it was impossible because you were too far gone now, legs collapsing inward, body falling flat against the tub. The door was open and he was staring at you, eyes so wide they looked like dinner plates. Water flowed over your hot body, blanketing you. Slowly, slowly, you came down, like an addict losing their high. His mouth was slightly open, kitten-like. His white t-shirt stuck to his chest and black track pants far too oversized for his slim legs.

You might have been ashamed if you were younger, but you were older now. If he couldn’t handle you getting off every once in a while, then he was the one who needed help.

You reached up and turned the water off, panting. You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“If you’re so worried about it, I’ll pay the whole water bill this month,” you gasped, chest heaving as you glared back at him.

Yoongi sputtered back to life.

“N-no, that’s fine.”

And then he slammed the door.

You sighed, frowning. Now things were going to get weird.

-

Holy shit.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

He just witnessed his roommate masturbating with the goddamn water faucet.

Yoongi scrambled into his room and onto his bed, red in the face. He hadn’t meant to. He thought something weird was going on when he heard all the water. And, oh fuck, something was, but not the something he thought. His mind replayed the image for him, her legs spread, her breasts glistening with water, nipples hard and out, head tipped back and mouth open, tongue peeking out.

He was still hard.

His heart was thumping in his ribcage. Yoongi grabbed his phone and flipped through his liked posts. He had to get off. Now. Anything else could wait.

He slid in, hard, rough, gasping at her pretty lips opened and her eyes closed in bliss, enjoying his cock, just his, enjoying the way he felt, enjoying his hips slapping into hers and his cock twitching inside her.

Impatiently, he reached down and fished his dick out of his pants, sliding to his back and pushing his track pants down. Oh fuck, sweet relief. Yoongi stroked himself, reading, imagining her wet body, her slick hair, those fucking delicious breasts right in front of his face. Had Yoongi ever fantasized about his roommate before? Hell no, he wasn’t a damn pervert. But he was doing it now, because, fuck, how could he not? How could he not want to fuck her, press himself against her, hearing that soft moan against his ear, her wet body and smooth skin on his?

Yoongi dropped his phone, pushing his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes. Yes, he’d jacked off in the morning, but it was already late and he was so fucking horny it didn’t take very long for him to bite the inside of his cheek, trying to muffle his noise, trying to silence himself as the familiar wind-up came. He cracked his eyes open. His door was slightly ajar. Had he left it like that? Whatever, she was probably too embarrassed to come over here anyway.

Yoongi shut his eyes again, a soft cry leaving his lips as he chased his orgasm.

Then he felt it. A presence to his left. But he was so close, so close, so close, he couldn’t stop. His hand moved at a feverish pace, spreading the pre-cum over his length, adding to the pleasure. He felt lips on his cheek, her soft breathy moans against his skin. Was he imagining it? Then her lips on his, softly licking his tongue, so sensual and sexy that he was losing it, moaning into her mouth. He felt her hot breath glide into his and he groaned, too loud this time, feeling his cock twitch and spurt his cum everywhere, sliding down his hand, his wrist, onto his pants and shirt.

Yoongi panted, opening his eyes.

His roommate moved away from his face. Eyes dark in the low light of his room, pupils blown wide with lust. Her hair was still damp, slicked against her purple pajama shirt. He didn’t know what to do. Hos hand was a mess, covered in his cum. She leaned forward, tongue sliding out.

“Um…”

His thought was cut off as her warm tongue ran over his knuckles, scooping up his cum and eating it off his hand. His eyes went wide as she licked all around his hand, his fingers, dipping her tongue into the crevices. Yoongi could barely process what was happening right now. Was his nerdy, school-obsessed roommate licking his cum off his hand after he just masturbated? After he just witnessed her masturbating? Her mouth enveloped the head and part of his hand and Yoongi moaned, feeling her tongue press against the tip and tease the sensitive opening, licking it all clean.

After a sufficient amount, she removed her mouth and backed off. Yoongi blinked blearily, slowly detaching his hand from his limp cock. He didn’t know what to say. Or do, really. Her eyes were on his phone, screen still lit up. Then she shifted her eyes to his raised hand. Gently, she took him by the wrist and brought his hand to her face, placing his fingers in her mouth, sucking on them.

Yoongi was speechless.

Her tongue slipped between each finger, prodding around his joints, slurping slightly. She was still looking at his phone, eyes pensive. Yoongi wished his cock would wake up, but it wasn’t meant to be.

“I…”

Her eyes went to his, his fingers still in her mouth. Shit. His brain tried to process the thought, trying not to fixate on her pink tongue moving amongst his fingers.

“I can’t fuck you…” he mumbled, swallowing. “I already came twice today.”

She nodded. Slowly, she pulled his fingers out of her mouth, joint by joint. His body jerked at the movement, aroused but unable to get hard. Strings of saliva snapped as she removed her mouth from his hand. She turned it around and licked his palm lightly, making him shiver.

“You like my blog?” she finally said.

He blinked.

“What?”

She pointed to his phone. “That’s my blog.”

Yoongi’s eyes went wide. He stared at his phone and then at her. Then back at the phone. Then back at her. What? She cocked an eyebrow, smiling at him.

“So, you’re daeguboy0613, huh?”

He blinked rapidly. “I… what… ah…?”

“Guess that makes sense when you like my posts at two in the morning and such.”

She climbed on the bed – where were her pajama pants? Her panties? – and laid down next to him.

“You don’t seem like the type to read erotica,” she said absentmindedly. “I thought only girls read erotica.”

Yoongi stared at the ceiling. “Obviously not, since I’m a guy.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t stereotype like that.”

Silence.

“We can always do more in the morning, Yoongi-ssi.”

Two things happened that day. One, Yoongi’s secret was exposed. And two, the source of Yoongi’s secret passed out in bed next to him, head on his shoulder.

-

34+35

--

masterpost

[shurisneakers]

shut in [9]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: ok ok ok ok sam deserves the world and im mad that he’s not getting it

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

He was gone.

10:00am

Time had begun to slip past you. Days where you were forced to wake up at 4am were just a dreary memory you didn’t want to revisit. The rough shoves in the morning to have you awake enough to be in training by 4:30am only fell into the category of things you had forgotten over the time you had stayed here.

Maybe sleep wasn’t a luxury you weren’t allowed to afford.

10:30am

By the time you step into the kitchen, the loose structure of the day you had ahead of you was forming. Maybe if you revisited the small makeshift shooting range you had set up for Sam and you to practice. A couple of old soup cans, a flat boulder for them to sit on and you were good to go. He had allowed you to use his giant board for knife throwing too, laughed when you asked for permission before saying it was for the both of you. 

You made a sandwich for yourself, forcing it down your throat with water. Bread was starting to feel like cardboard and the jam just tasted like nothing. Peanut butter was even worse.

Losing appetite wasn’t an option, even though it had eroded a while ago. The best option was to just scarf it down with water. 

11:00am

Sam isn’t in the house, you had deduced. A morning run or maybe just some fresh air.

You checked for the notes he sometimes left for you when he went out. Something along the lines of when he’d be back, or why he’d left, or where you could find him. 

You looked on top of the fridge where he generally left them; someplace he knew you’d see. You didn’t find one.

You shrugged it off. 

Something felt wrong about the arrangement of the kitchen but you couldn’t place a finger on what it was. All the chairs were in its place, trash appropriately in the bin, no bowls were left from soup day in the sink to wash. 

The origami swan you had made still rested next to his paper airplane. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place. 

You pushed yourself to shake off the nerves, to get dressed instead. The shooting range was waiting for you.

12:45pm

When you shoot for thirty and get all thirty, it tends to get a little boring. Not that you were complaining; if even one was off you’d spend the whole day trying to make up for it.

Violent hobbies weren’t ideal. They weren’t even hobbies per se. Just skills you needed to keep sharp if you wanted to survive.

You even shot at the targets that you had hung up on the trees. Dangerous and completely Sam’s idea. Said the wind made them act like moving targets. Nevermind the possibility of a ricochet.

The target board was empty too. Admittedly, knife throwing was a little harder  to get used than shooting to but it still only took a few tries before you were hitting bullseye over and over again.

There just wasn’t anything to do. And you realised it had been this way for a while but you never noticed due to his lively chatter or how competitive it got with stupid games you were making up as you went. 

1:00pm

You learned against the counter as you ate, eyeing the room, trying to figure out what you had misplaced. The air was cold, even more so after the shower, so you threw on an extra t-shirt to aid you.

You made a noise of disapproval when you couldn’t find what was wrong. A quick wash of your hands before you made your way to the TV, fully intending to doze off while watching Megamind for the fourth time. 

You passed by the mini fridge on the way, noting how you needed to restock the ice cubes when you suddenly stopped in your path.

Your eyes peeled back to the small paper bowl Sam had crafted expertly that was still somehow managing to stick together. But that was what was wrong.

The keys were missing.

The fucking car keys and the pocket change you had taken from Pierce’s house were no longer there. 

Your body moved on autopilot, dragging you towards the front door. You yanked it open, door creaking under the pressure you applied on it.

Your heart sank. 

The car was gone.

1:20pm

You had all the possibilities listed out in front of you with the rest scratched out after you had rationalised it.

Someone had come in and taken the car, which wasn’t likely. 

Sam had stepped out but hadn’t mentioned it to you. If he did, why would he need the car?

Someone had abducted Sam, which was absurd on paper but still left a twinge of uncertainty because you couldn’t definitively rule it out. 

He had just left. Decided he was done and left. 

You stared at the last option. 

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

You wondered if it was that conversation. 

He wouldn’t leave after you told him, would he?

You hesitated before shaking your head.

He’d come back. He would.

1:45pm 

You had added a few more possibilities to the list but discarded it almost immediately.

You now found a place in front of the TV, watching but not registering what was said. Your fingers kept itself busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. You had thrown another one on since his jacket was missing with the rest of him. It had gotten colder.

The woman droned on about how much her husband loved the recipe she was making. It was Sam’s favourite segment, not because it was particularly fantastic or anything, but because it gave him forty five minutes of free content to trash talk.

Your eyes kept glancing up at the clock. Was it broken or was time much slower than you initially thought?

You almost felt like you were in a cognitive dysfunction; you couldn’t do anything other than while away time till you figured out what had gone wrong. 

2:00pm

If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have heard the soft crunch of twigs. The whirring of the wheels as it turned gently only made you sit up straight, hands on the gun that rested on the couch beside you.

It came to a stop. The gun was fully in your grip now, TV turned off to determine what the noises were.

It was the most agonisingly slow minute you spent listening as the car opened and shut, muffled by the distance. You were near the door, using the adjoining wall as a hideaway. 

The doorknob shook as someone tried to push their way in. 

“Sam?” you called out cautiously against your better judgement, mentally cringing. 

It took a second for his reply to return. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Let me in, will you? Stupid door’s not opening.”

Of course it wouldn’t. It was fingerprint activated.

Relief flooded your system, letting yourself hold the gun with only one hand as you hastily made your way to open the door.

However, you paused. As much as you wanted to fling the door open blindly, you waited, hand on the knob.

“Is someone out there with you?”

“What?” he sounded confused. “No, it’s just me.”

You opened the door slightly, peeking out through the sliver of open space. 

Sure enough, it was only him. The car was returned to the same spot that it was.

“Where were you?” You yanked the door open. You sounded way more aggressive than you planned to, you were sure. It didn’t matter though.

“Went to the store,” he said nonchalantly, stepping inside, and dropping the keys back where they were.

“What?” 

He was so relaxed about it, like it was nothing. It only irked you further than you already were.

“Drove the car till the highway, walked into town and went to the store.” He set the bag down. “What’d you do all day?”

“You went to the town,” you emphasised. “To the fucking store.”

“Yeah, I figured you would be up by the time I came back.”

“You were gone for hours.” You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to yell. You could talk it out calmly. You didn’t have to snap

You hoped he had a good reason. You sincerely hoped, for his well being and security, that he risked his life to go to public space.

“We’re way further out than you think. Nearest dollar store’s almost the next fuckin’ state if you’re walking. Had to ditch the car because it’s a little too flashy, even for me.” He lifted up the bag next to him. “Got us some ramen. And juice. That’s all we had cash for anyway.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly agape. 

“You could have been seen, Sam,” your tone was corrosive, the next best you could do instead of yelling. “For all we know, you could have been followed.”

“No one followed me. I made sure.”

That did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that was crawling into your head. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Where are you going?” You ignored him, turning on your heel and walking to the bedroom. You didn’t care if it was his day that day. He could rot in the kitchen with his stupid ramen for all you cared.

You cursed as you slammed the door behind you, launching yourself onto the bed. 

There was no denying you were relieved that he was still alive and here. But fuck him. Fucking dickhead. 

Fucking juice.

You spent the next couple of hours feeling absolutely embarrassed for yourself. Why did you spend hours worrying if he was safe when he was out there, gallivanting in public for some stupid noodles?

Both of you could have been absolutely fucked if he wasn’t careful. He may have just jeopardised your entire set up.

But deep down, no matter how much it was annoying to acknowledge, you knew he wouldn’t have. He was smart, strategic. 

Why would he do something like this?

How much you were worried scared you. There was no time where it had occurred that maybe you were in danger too. Every possibility you came up with only pushed the thought of him possibly in trouble further into your head. 

But the more you spend time overthinking, the more you realised that him being in danger wasn’t the entire cause of your worry. 

What if he didn’t come back? Why’d he come back? 

He had the means to leave, the will to and clearly was able to go undetected for a while. He didn’t need to return, but he did. 

And for what; to give you some food he bought from the dollar store. 

He seemed excited about it too, before you had closed the door on his face and decided to spend the next few hours self-destructing.

Fucking ramen.

Maybe if you could just lie there until you decomposed, then you wouldn’t have to have a conversation with him about this. That’s what you would have done a couple of months ago. 

But now the idea of communicating had been implanted and implemented several times before. It didn’t feel right to push it away, not when you’d come so far. A chance to heal.

You groaned, shoving a pillow onto your face before getting up grumpily. 

Fuck this man and his stupid, healthy methods of coping. 

___

You opened the door slowly, creeping into the hallway to assess what he was doing. It had been a few hours of silence in the house. He had given you space, not come knocking on the door to explain himself. 

You took note of the kitchen. The table had been laid with two bowls of noodles covered with a plate along with a glass each of juice. It was domestic. Cute.

He was watching Die Hard but the volume was turned down low. If he was anything like you, he wouldn’t have been paying too much attention.

You cleared your throat awkwardly to grab his attention.

His neck craned to look at you, surprise flashing across his face for a second before he leapt up, turning off the TV in an instant.

“Y/N,” he stated as normally as he could.

“Samuel,” your tone was steady. 

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up.” 

“Neither was I.” You looked at the table, gesturing towards it with your shoulder. “Watchu got there, Gordon Ramsey?”

Because screw him, but the longer you stood there staring at the bowl, you were starting to understand the lengths he went to to get something other than bread, peanut butter and soup. As much as the prospect of being petty thrilled you, you had survived on nothing but them for the past few weeks.

“Got a few packs of ramen and a gallon of juice from the store. Thought you- we deserve somethin’ nice.” You noticed his quick coverup but didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s not Michelin star worthy, but it’ll do.”

You nodded, avoiding looking at him.

“I-”

“Hey-”

Both of you started at the same time, only to be cut off by the other. You mentioned for him to continue.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you before I left,” You didn’t expect the sincerity that exuded from every word he let out and you found yourself unable to look away. “I’m not used to people worrying about where I go... but things are different now. I won’t do it again.”

You weren’t used to the feeling of lightness that accompanied an apology. Relief. 

“Thank you,” you said breathily. His face noticeably brightened. “But why’d you come back?”

His small smile left as soon as it came, as his face fell into a frown. “What?”

“You could have just left. You had the car, the-” you stopped yourself from listing out reasons why he should have. “Why’d you come back?”

He looked completely confused. 

“Because I wanted to,” he voiced. “Leaving you behind was never an option. I wouldn’t-”

He trailed off, eyes never leaving yours. 

“You’re stuck with me,” he urged softly. “We’re a team.”

You lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t lying, you had realised. 

“Care to join me for dinner?” he asked, extending a hand to you.

You rolled your eyes but took it, feeling the heat creep up your neck. He smirked at you and fuck, he was frustratingly cute. 

You understood. You totally understood when you nearly died at the first bite you took, vowing to never take food like this for granted again. It may have been the absolute bare minimum; just the seasoning and noodles he had cooked in the microwave, but it was the best goddamn meal you ever had.

“Good, right?” He looked about as content as he could be. 

“Best fuckin’ day of my life.”

He kidded around some more. You choked out a laugh at some, wholly ignored the others to which he took complete offence. You saw it as a way to humble him.

This was the normalcy you had crushed your craving for so long ago, accepting that it wouldn’t ever happen. A normal dinner with someone who made you smile, no impending doom lurking around the corner and maybe a shot at a glimmer of something happy. 

It was strange that you found it with another hitman in a safe house, hiding from authorities and who knows what else, with food worth a couple of cents. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Yet there were things that had to be discussed. Conversations that needed to happen.

“Sam, we need to talk about it.” You didn’t have to explain, he knew what you were talking about.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you. 

“I’m listening.”

“We do,” he agreed, and you could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift. “But we don’t have to do it now.”

He reached across from where he was sitting, hesitantly interlacing your fingers. The sense of fluster you experienced wasn’t healthy, you decided.

You just ducked your head, fighting against the damn smile that was trying to make its way onto your face. You didn’t pull away.

“Okay.”

Next part

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: i

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

chapter 2   ||   chapter 3 ||  chapter 4

ao3

word count: ~3k

You serve Hawks a lavender, oat milk latte. Not only is he hooked on your drinks, but he's also hooked on you as well.

a fluffy multi-chaptered piece i’ll release when i’m feeling it :’^) enjoy y’all. coffee shop au hell

||||||||||||||||||

You and Keigo met each other on the coldest, snowiest day of the year.

The temperature was near glacial. The air stung and bit like hell, wind kicking and spitting powdery snow as it fell in sheets from the grey sky.

The weather, horribly, prevented two of your coworkers from working the morning shift at the tea shop. Half of the trains were shut down across the city in addition to power outages. But, your cheap ass owner forced you to open. Alone. In a blizzard.

You were fairly certain that you wouldn’t be getting many customers.

Opening at the tea shop on a normal day was a hellish amount of work. As you unlocked the door and walked into your humble establishment of employment, you grimaced at the thought of all of the work you were to do.

After disrobing from your thick winter jacket, scarf, and mittens and throwing on your apron, it was time to begin. You made yourself a simple, oat milk latte and then started to get to work setting up for the day. 

It was hardly dawn. 

  Keigo was on early morning patrol. It wasn’t his favorite shift, oh, hardly, but he did enjoy watching the sunrise. And, while his wings were powerful, the snowstorm did force him to fly much lower in the grey haze of the day than he normally would. Stepping out of his apartment around just before 5:30 AM, Keigo almost moaned in anguish at the cold. He was infinitely glad he had worn a thermal bodysuit under his uniform.

His quirk afforded him much in terms of battle prowess, in addition to a few avian mutations. Most notably at that moment was his difficulty conserving heat. As Keigo stood on his balcony, frowning at the can of coffee in his hand, he made the prompt decision to fly to his area of patrol and grab a hot drink. The thought of downing something cold made his stomach turn.

Gracefully, Keigo turned and flew, letting himself be carried across town. The area he was patrolling was relatively quiet, mostly small businesses and lower-middle-class apartments. As he touched down, shivering and sleepy, he padded through the empty streets with his wings folded to his back.

  The wind was wild, wiping between buildings, making snowdrifts that blocked some of the doors of shops nearby. Part of you cursed, shaking your head. You desperately wanted to be warm, curled in bed with your cats, and watching cartoons.

You set up the shop, moving chairs and turning on machines. Though you were a tea shop, you sold more coffee than any sort. On a normal, fully-staffed day, you’d be in the back, crafting tea blends. But, that day was, in fact, a very abnormal day and it was about to get weirder.

  Keigo meandered around the streets, strangely at genuine ease. There were no civilians and very few stores open allowing him to walk freely, albeit coldly. Part of him wondered if he would even find a coffee shop.

But lo and behold, he did. 

Keigo opened the door, a cute bell ringing. The shop was themed warmly with yellow-toned wood counters and furnishings. There was a smattering of local art on the walls and jewel-toned accents. All in all, it was a cozy reprieve from the icy nature of outside. Keigo relished the heat.

It seemed only one person was working, you. 

  When you heard the bell sounding at the entrance of a customer, you piped up from behind the counter, “Just one sec!”

A kind laugh, “Take your time.”

You were struggling to reach a tea blend. It was high on the many shelves behind the counter. You clamored on top of the counter, rising on your knees to try and reach it. Your hands stretched to grip it with an arch of your back. You grinned in victory as you managed to grab it. You pulled back, miscalculating in your pride—

And then you were losing balance.

And then you were falling.

(How fucking cliche).

You would’ve hit the floor if it wasn’t for some unknown force, pushing you back onto the counter, steadying you. The sensation, new, perked you up, causing you to let out a high noise of surprise. You turned, your eyes going wide.

Several beautiful, scarlet feathers caught your fall.

Your eyes flickered up to your patron savior.

  Number two hero, Hawks, smiling at you and giving you a bit of cheshire grin, stifling a laugh.

You slowly descended from the counter, turning to face him at the register, “Well, I really have to say thank you. I nearly ate shit there.”

“All in a day's work,” Hawks winked at you. You beamed easily. Local heroes came and drank at the shop fairly regularly, but never anyone particularly famous, let alone the top ten. Never the incredibly stunning, wind-whipped bachelor hero that was Hawks.

“What can I get for you today?” You asked, going for a notepad.

Hawks eyes scanned the menu behind you. He hummed, pretty, amber eyes settling back on you, “Surprise me.”

Your eyes widened, but you nodded. You couldn’t stop smiling.

“Alright, let me ask a few questions, just to make your drink the best it can.” You told him. “First off, hot or iced?”

“Oh, definitely hot,” Hawks almost wiggled a feathered eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. 

“Okay, how much caffeine? Any allergies?” You asked, scribbling an idea down on the notepad. “Milk preference?”

“As much as you can legally supply me with, no preferred milk, and no allergies. Though, I do like things sweet,” Hawks was removing his gloves as he spoke. “Go crazy, give me the best thing you got, angel. Something that gives me the warm and fuzzies.”

Oh, that was a move. 

Hawks was notoriously (in the media) shamelessly flirtatious with fans and other heroes. It was always painted as something that was in good fun, never sexual, and just part of his brand. This was just common knowledge, but god you never expected it to be directed at you with a cute pet name.

  “On it,” You smiled back at him, face hot. You smoothed yourself down before beginning to craft his drink. 

It wasn’t often that you worked the front counter, and there was a good reason for it. Most of the time, you got too into making drinks, customizing them frivolously (often due to your quirk). Though you were skilled, it took a lot of time that people didn’t have for a coffee run.

But, on the day of a momentous snowstorm, you and Hawks had all the time in the world.

  Keigo was a bit stunned by you.  

You were cute, one. 

You were wearing a soft-looking turtleneck sweater, and high-waisted, wide-leg pants. They were fashionable but obviously aged. But it worked. A cute, embroidered apron was tied over you snuggly around your waist. It was adorned with buttons and pins, brightly colored.

 You spoke so frankly to him. You didn’t gawk at him for even a second, even when his feathers propped you up from falling. You blushed at his pet name but didn’t seem any more fazed than a bit of embarrassment. He liked it. It felt normal.

Keigo rested his hands on the counter, watching you flit about behind the counter. 

“I gotta ask, why are you open in this blizzard??” Keigo tilted his head as your gaze flickered to him. You were still smiling, just a bit, even hard at work. 

  You snorted, “Cheap boss who won’t close, and my coworkers are stranded without the trains running. I live close by and work hourly, so I might as well come in, ya’ know?”

Hawks laughed, something warm and full, so juxtaposed to the storm of flurries outside. 

It was odd, talking to the number two fucking hero so casually, but it felt good. There was a sense of awe and idleness, but it dimmed. There were no flashy heroics, just one person wanting a drink and the other making it.

Your quirk activated on its own as you stared at the syrups. Your quirk’s tell was so small and normal, no one ever caught it. A heavy dilation of the eyes was not something most people were tuned into. Yet there you were, submerged in sensation. Touch, sight, smell, taste, even sound, all blending together. They elicited something deeper in you, creating something abstract you could make tangible.

To make a feeling into a physical reality was a gift, but it came with drawbacks of course.

You poured a few syrups into the bottom of the cup, carefully selecting them.

“I can’t imagine how cold it is up in the sky,” You mused to yourself just before steaming some oat milk. 

“Oh, you have no idea, ” Hawks lamented to you with a groan. “I feel like I’m gonna lose a few toes whenever I work in this weather.”

“Just toes? I’d be worried about a whole foot,” You grinned back at him as you poured more things into the cup, stirring every few moments. 

The feeling in your mind was so tangible to you, and you could perfectly translate it to reality. Something warm, to beat away the frost of the world beyond the tea shop. 

You sprinkled the top with a few dashes of cinnamon, setting it on the counter in front of him. 

  Keigo looked down at the drink you made him, raising an eyebrow. He went to take a sip, but you stopped him, “I’d give that a few minutes if you don’t want to burn your tongue, tailfeathers.”

  Hawks nearly fucking squawked as he set down the drink, giving you a look of false anger, “ Tailfeathers? That’s not a kind name to call me. I don’t even have those.”

Keigo huffed, pouting at you. 

  “You call me, a stranger barista, angel, I call you tailfeathers. Easy trade.” You shrugged at him, tapping into the register system. “I’m not charging you until you try it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to upcharge if I don’t like it?” Hawks continued to pout, jokingly so, pulling out a wad of bills that was undoubtedly much more than any drink would cost. 

Your eyes widened, leaving you sputtering, “Oh, never— it’s on the house if it bangs as much as I think it will.”

Hawks laughed, out loud, bending back a bit. You watched his pretty red wings shudder and reflect the warm light of the coffee house. Keigo collected himself, over-dramatically straightening himself. 

You watched with anticipation as he took his sip.

  Keigo was a man of poor taste. Sure, dropping an unholy amount of money on frivolities was one of his small pleasures, after so much of the ascetic bullshit that the Commission put him through, it only seemed fair. But, caffeine was a necessity with his fucked up schedule and he’d be damned waiting in a line or making it at home. Canned coffee was saccharine and speedy and that’s all he fucking wanted. 

But, when the first drops of that stupid oat milk latte hit his tongue, Keigo was beyond enamored. 

Yeah, he wanted coffee to feel warm in this storm, but he didn’t expect to feel warm. With just one gulp, he could feel the heat, like the flames of a steady hearth, drift around his body. 

He brought the cup down from his lips, looking at you with awe. 

You had the smuggest grin spread across your face, arms crossed over your chest.

“Thoughts?” God, you were so cheeky. He loved it. You were so subtly bold.

“This,” Keigo took another greedy swig, wiping his mouth on the back of his ungloved hand, “is the best coffee I’ve ever had in my damn life.”

Your smile just got wider. 

“Glad I could meet your tastes, tailfeathers. No charge,” You gave him a cheeky little wink. You swore you saw his face get redder, but you dismissed it a moment later.

“Oh no, nu-uh,” Keigo pushed the bills towards you. “Take it as a tip then. Seriously. How did you make this?”

You stared down at the bills and Hawks’s hand. His hands weren’t particularly large, but they were scarred plenty. Veins and bone were accented by the dryness of his skin. 

You looked back up at him, still not taking the money, “Can you keep a secret? It’s a big one, especially considering you’re a hero.”

Hawks tilted his head, “If you say you used your quirk to mess with this drink, I don’t know if I’m legally able to keep it a secret.”

“Nah, nah. I didn’t ‘mess with your drink’,” You shook your head, nodding down to it. “Do you know what synesthesia is?”

(He did, surely. But he just wanted to listen to you talk more.)

“Enlighten me?” Hawks ask, stooping to rest his elbows on the counter, chin cradled in his hands.

  For being a man who could kill you in a split second, Hawks was remarkably cute. You understood his sex appeal long before he entered the shop. His hair looked unnaturally fluffy, wind-ruffled, and honey blonde. His eyes had a few cute bird-like markings ringing the sweet, amber irises. He had a delicate but defined jaw. 

He raised a sculpted, feathered eyebrow at you. 

(He’d caught you staring).

You cleared your throat, laughing it off easily (though you were mentally kicking yourself), “Synesthesia, broadly, is like senses overlapping in your brain. Like... The common example is seeing colors when you hear a month of the year.”

“Now, what does this have to do with my lovely drink?” Hawks batted his eyelashes at you. You could tell he was definitely flirting with you, but you brushed it off the best you could. 

He’s a hot guy you made coffee for. Happens all the time. 

“Well, you had me a little bit, I did use my quirk, but it doesn’t mess with your drink physically at all. Not even close,” You laugh. “My quirk allows me to conceptualize abstract ideas into tangible ideas.”

“That really makes it sound like you used your quirk to make my drink,” Keigo watched your eyes dilate as he spoke.

You blinked, and they went back to normal.

“No, no. It’s like for your drink,” Both of your eyes looked towards the steaming cup. “I took your request for ‘warm and fuzzies’ to heart.”

Keigo blinked at you. 

Your pupils expanded again, “I figured ‘ you know, this guy has to fly around in the cold all day, right? Probably is freezing and far away from home ’— and there was my inspiration.

“I used my quirk to conceptualize... the idea of being warm and safe into a tangible concept. A nice, easy coffee drink. Four shots of espresso, oat milk, homemade lavender honey syrup, two of my own, specially made tea extracts, and a bit of cinnamon for good measure.”

Hawks blinked at you, “Your quirk gives you the... blueprints, to turn ideas, literal feelings, into reality and these blueprints just work?” 

You nodded and shrugged, “Most of the time. The less I’m focused on it, the more likely it is that the feeling won’t be able to manifest. I just get more exact with my construction with the fewer stimuli.”

“Drawback?” Hawks quirked an eyebrow, already having a good idea as to it.

You gestured lazily to the empty coffee shop, “I get overstimulated easily, quirk activated or not. Makes a lot of shit hard, but I like my quirk. I mean, it’s nothing like having a crazy strong pair of wings, but it services me well.”

“Did you really ‘manifest’ ‘warm and fuzzies’ into a drink, or did you make it a bit deeper than that?” Keigo sipped again, relishing how it warmed him all over once more. The taste that was dancing over his palette seemed a little more complex than what they were saying. 

“To be frank and to have a bit of an ego, yeah, I went for my go-to feeling when making drinks for myself,” You averted your eyes from him. “A good drink should feel like you’re getting hugged from the inside out, you know? Comforted. It’s hard enough to get that tangibly without a quirk. I just try to help where I can.”

  Keigo blinked at you.

You had turned suddenly, shy, eyes anxiously darting and a hand tugging at the sleeve of your sweater. A cute flush was spreading over your cheekbones when you finally looked at him again, “Kinda corny, right?”

Despite the fact that Keigo’s heart was fucking pounding, he shook his head, voice steady and sure, “Nah, I think it’s cool. You’re doing a lot more than just making coffee for folks.”

Your face got even redder as you rubbed the back of your head,

“I usually work in the back, so I don’t tend to make a lot of coffee for people. I make the tea blends that we sell. I don’t always use my quirk, but sometimes I do.”

Keigo watched you nervously pull at your apron, giving him an oddly desperate deadpan, “Please don’t turn me in.”

That made Keigo bust out laughing again. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him in shock, and then join him. You covered your mouth at first, but finally, just let yourself laugh with him. All it seemed like that there was in the world was you, Keigo, the lavender latte, and the snowdrifts outside.

  Hawks’s pager beeped, almost instantly pulling him from his laughing fit. He glanced at it, giving a dull grimace, “Duty calls, it seems.”

“You’d think villains would take snow days?” You told him as he re-gloved his hands. 

“It would really make my job easier,” He chuckled. Hawks pushed the forgotten money on the counter. “That’s all for you, ya hear me? Keep it or I will actually turn you in.”

Oh, you were feeling bold. 

Before Hawks could pull his hand away, you placed your own on his, stopping his movement.

“Only,” You somehow, one-handed, managed to pull a bit of receipt paper from its machine. Still one-handed you grabbed a pen and scribbled onto the paper. You pushed it towards Keigo. “If you take this very conveniently small piece of paper that totally doesn’t have my name and number on it. Just in case you’d like another lavender latte like that.”

  Oh, Keigo was floored.

He had rapid fucking fans. They were feral. He’d had fans drop their entire life stories on him, gush to him, stalk him— one time, a fan dropped to their knees and licked his boots. And he’d certainly received many phone numbers in his day, so many, but never like this. 

This felt a little different.

“Well, I was gonna say, I might need some contact to know when you work next. Just so I can grab one of your lovely drinks,” Hawks winked at you, all smitten.  He walked backwards towards the door, still meeting your eyes

“Feel free to.” You were just as starry-eyed as he was. “I have a lot to show you!”

And with that, Hawks whisked himself out of the door, fast as ever.

And you both simmered, full of intangible feelings. 

[passivenovember]

And Everyday was Overcast.

Part One : Hammers and Nails

Billy needed someplace to go when the grave was desecrated.

When his eyes unglued themselves, peeling off eyelashes in their wake, when the earth was overturned, torn and left hanging like shreds of old fabric; Steve had been there. By some miracle he had been consumed like he always was, sat thinking by a plot that had grown yellow flowers to blanket Billy in his eternal sleep. And maybe it was those small visits sheltered between morning runs and eight hour shifts stocking the horror section that Billy had come back.

From the grave. From the brink.

The Earth started vibrating, spidery cracks turning volatile, and Steve was met with ocean blue. Red rimmed eyes locked on his face, hands reaching and gripping. Nails digging in as Steve wrapped Billy's grime covered shoulders in his own jacket. Rubbed the chilled skin of his arms, looked in his eyes, and took him home.

Someplace Billy could wash the day from his skin.

--

The blonde haired boy who had turned from human to creature and back again deserved something more than what he was left with. He deserved warm meals, and sunshine on his skin, and soft bed sheets that opened like a celestial sky when Billy felt like shelving the enormity of what he had discovered. What waited after death.

Steve wanted that for him.

Not happiness, not closure, exactly, but something close to it.

At the root of it all, Steve knew Billy should feel safe. Welcome and warm and comfortable, in the house that Steve’s father had built for his mother all those years ago when she was plump and round with child. Steve felt like his father that day as he carried the last box over the threshold and took in the rigid, tense line of Billy’s shoulders.

He let the moment rest. Let it breathe, as his father always instructed. “Do you think you could feel safe here, Billy?”

The air sat heavy. Cold and wet and warm, somehow, like the morning after a night of heavy rain. Billy sucked in a sharp breath and pivoted slowly, face reverent, as if standing barefoot in a cathedral among gods and heroes. Met with divinity.

Instead he got Steve.

Just Steve, trying not to stare at the lone curl hanging over Billy’s forehead when he offered a tight, controlled smile. “It’s fine.” Billy said, only.

Steve tore his eyes away. Focused on the second story banister to stop his gut from falling through the floor. ”Fine? As in, I would rather eat my own toenails than live here, fine or, like. It's okay, I don't mind it here, I might even like it someday, fine?"

Billy adjusted the strap across his shoulders. “It’s just what I expected it would be.”

Steve shook his head. “What’s that mean?”

"Relax, Harrington, it's." Billy turned again, eyebrows scrunched together. “Its. Pastel. And huge. Obscenely decorated—“

”My mom had it professionally done before they—“

”It was built for a happy family with lots of kids. Lots of love, but now it's. It feels. Lost.”

Billy had started saying things like that.

Heavy, saturated, impossible things that left Steve scrambling. Wishing for the intelligence to absorb the meaning rather than question it. Steve rested the box at the foot of the stairs and offered a smile to the second story. Runoff for the pools of blue that looked on.

"That's a lot of adjectives. I can get you a hotel, maybe. Or an apartment. I could cosign, I know they gave you a pretty penny and you could probably afford your own, but. I could. I would." Steve said harshly. "For you. I would."

"It's fine here. It's okay."

Steve felt like a science experiment. Egg boy with three heads and ten legs or something. Suckers on the tips of his thumbs, the way Billy studied him. Steve counted the freckles on Billy's nose--one, two, three, four--trying to stay afloat.

--

Dinner was made every night though Steve never saw it happen.

The cookbooks sat alphabetized over his mother's antique bar cart on that little periwinkle blue shelf. He'd come home, every night, at six on the dot, to a set table. The mixing bowls were always clean and put away, counters wiped and ingredients stored neatly on the shelves his pantry, but the wooden spoons spelled it out for Steve, still shifting from dark to light as they lay drying on the dish rack.

"You don't have to make dinner, you know." Steve took another bite of Salisbury steak, furious that it tasted so good. Like love soaking into his skin.

Billy shook his head. "I want to."

"I know, I'm saying it's okay if you decide not to, one day. Like if you get caught up reading. Or if you can get Max to drive you to the history museum, or if you--"

"It's the least I can do."

Steve hated that. He let his fork clatter to the table. "I'm not expecting repayment for this."

"I'm not a freeloader."

"And I'm not an asshole." Steve deadpanned, lifting a finger that sewed Billy's smug lips together. "Don't say it."

"Say what?"

"Whatever you were thinking, with that clever glint in your stupid blue eyes."

Billy cracked his knuckles, clearly fighting a smile. "Never thought you noticed the color of my eyes, Harrington."

"Yeah, sure." Steve stood, gathering the plates and forks and knives from the table, his own eyes counting primary threads. "Can see those things from space, Jesus." He finally looked up, at Billy's curiously pink face.

Pink lips, cheeks, nose.

Steve gripped ceramic. Swallowed against a swell of guilt. "You don't owe me anything, Billy. I like having you here. I want you here."

Billy gave a simple, controlled nod.

Steve got used to it.

--

The shack wasn't built until the doctor told Billy that he'd probably wouldn't remember all of what happened. The big things would stick out, neon greens and blues against the forest head, but Billy shouldn't be too hard on himself if the important things got thrown away.

And some of those jagged little pieces were there. The bad things. Anger and hatred, both for self and world, left hanging on the cliff of who he was now. Everything that had formed Billy Hargrove--the person he was, the person Steve had pretended not to notice--were packed away. Soft, silky emotion covering knives left dull and rusted in their drawer.

Billy remembered like flashes of lightening across the summer sky--sudden and then gone. Here and away. He remembered Hawkins high and Max who'd grown six inches in three years. Dustin who had been wearing that stupid shirt when the mall burned down.

And Steve.

Always Steve, sat next to him. A foot away at first and then holding his hand, later, when Owens said Billy should be kind to himself. Gentle.

He wasn't.

And he didn't come out of his room for three days after that, after the wall was placed in front of him. The crack under Billy's door always keeping Steve at bay. Trapped behind the starting line. He paced around on the carpet, lifting his fist and letting it fall again, never breaking up the silence.

Billy was crying.

Billy never cried, anymore, but he cried that night and Steve felt helpless. Pathetic and stupid and useless, locking himself in his father's study and trying to formulate a plan, just like Owens had told him to when the sun fell on a world without Billy Hargrove and then suddenly rose again, set anew.

Set crooked when Billy stormed from the hospital room, slamming doors that echoed like rolls of thunder in his wake.

Figure out a way to help him.

Sterile, eerie white walls stared back at him as Steve shrugged his shoulders on the third day, aluminum hospital chair groaning beneath his weight.

I'm not sure how to do that.

You don't have to do anything. Owens said. Just help him get the emotion out. Let him write, draw, sing, dance, whatever he needs to assist in telling us his story.

--

Potato casserole and red wine bore witness to Steve's leap of faith. Billy turned away from the novel he had tucked under his arm when Steve got home from work that day, eyes curious. "Spit it out, Harrington."

"I'm not sure what you--"

"You've been giving me the side eye since you got home." Billy turned the page in his book, still managing to read both it and the room as he urged, "Tell me what's wrong."

And nothing was wrong, and.

Everything was wrong. Steve leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Do you want to come with me to the art store tomorrow?"

Billy frowned. "I don't need anything from the art store."

"It's not always about what you need," Steve reasoned, patting his mouth with a napkin. "We could get stuff you want. That's all, just pretty things. Nice things. It could be a treat."

"Paper and scissors are considered a treat?" Billy cocked an eyebrow. "I do love touching shit, it's one of my favorite hobbies."

Steve scrubbed at his mouth, swallowing down against a big, fat, crooked smile dripping with affection. "C'mon, it'll be fun. We can get whatever you want; clay, oil pastels, acrylics--"

"I wanted to check out the library tomorrow."

"You go everyday, blue, you're a regular bookworm."

"So?" Billy demanded, taking another bite of casserole. "I like to read. Just 'cause you can't doesn't mean the rest of us have to hold back." He grinned, low and slow. "Don't let your jealousy turn you into a tyrannical landlord, pretty boy."

"God, you're the absolute worst."

Billy turned back to his novel. "The art store will just inspire me to paint nudies."

"So paint them." Steve challenged.

Bait. Hook and line.

"You gonna pose for me if I let you buy out the joint?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe once, if you look at the easels while we're there."

"No shit?" Billy leaned forward, biceps flexing in his cutoff as he stuck a polaroid of a smiling blonde woman between the pages of his novel. "The fuck is this about, Harrington?"

"I'm worried."

"That you'll take me to a crafts store and I'll put you out of house and home? Reasonable concern, I guess."

"About the diagnosis, dipshit. About you." Steve gulped down the rest of his wine. Made sure every last drop had seasoned his words before any were said aloud, where they might do damage. He let the glass rest on the table between his fingertips, stem rolling from pad to pad. He took a deep, steadying breath. "You haven't been the same since--"

"I got hijacked by a space demon or crawled out of my own grave?" Billy shrugged, picking at something in his teeth. "Be more specific."

Steve fiddled with the handle of his fork. Hand picked his words. Refined the meaning. "Yes, and. Both."

Billy didn't say anything for a while and the room finally settled. Falling fast asleep, thick with inertia and silence until the book was opened once more and Steve went back to digging through his casserole, picking at the spring onions.

Letting the moment breathe.

Until, finally. "I feel like I could crawl out of my own skin."

Steve tripped over himself to get those blue eyes on him once more. "That's understandable--"

"I feel fucking useless." Billy snapped, voice cracking in two, and. Suddenly Steve couldn't look at him. Couldn't bare to see his face. "I'm trying to replay what happened. Every second, I'm trying to figure out why. Why me."

Steve counted the primary threads in the table cloth. One, two, three. "You can't go on asking yourself questions like that."

"I can do what I--"

"It wasn't your fault, Billy. Any of it."

"I'm not talking about the Fourth of July, I'm talking about. Death. I'm talk about what comes before and what comes after and how they're the same." Billy turned the page in his novel furiously, eyebrows scrunched together. "I never thought they'd be the same. It's like I've started over."

Steve couldn't possibly understand, but.

He watched pools of blue scan the page. Took measured breaths, never pushing until Billy was ready to share more. Until he tossed the book on the counter and sighed, head buried in his hands. "I don't understand how I got here."

"Easy," Steve whispered. "That's easy. You were born from love--"

"My parents aren't in love anymore."

"But they were, once." Steve shook his head. "When you were made. They loved each other, and they loved you, and your life was full of love that never made sound but it was still there." Steve willed Billy to look at him. Willed the skies to turn blue again.

They didn't.

Billy sighed, low and slow. "Did love bring me here again?"

"I guess so."

"Who's love?" Billy demanded, leaning forward into the table and crushing his novel where it lay against light oak tabletops. "Who loved me enough to bring me back here? To wish for me."

And.

There were a lot of things Steve wanted to say. Lines he wanted to map out, directions that lead from A to B and back again, but it didn't seem useful. Didn't rest important, as Steve took the novel from its place on the table and smoothed worn pages, tucking the polaroid in its place. "I'm sorry things feel weird for you." He said softly.

Billy grabbed the book, staring down at his casserole. "'S not so bad, I guess."

And, for Steve, that wasn't good enough.

--

Billy worked mostly in charcoal. He painted nightmares, and doorways into the past, delicate, swirling lines telling a story that made Steve's heart ache to see. To hear, with every drag of material across fruited canvas'.

Steve asked him about it, once. Over dinner, with the lights turned low. "Why do you paint such horrible things?"

And Billy had smiled. Bright and true. "How's that?"

"Y'know. Black scabs and eyeballs melting out of skulls and sliding down the ridge of people's faces, and--"

"It's what I see." Billy replied, voice soft. Measured. "It's what follows me around."

So Billy spent every hour locked in his shed, curls tucked over a growing body of work. Fingers turned rotten with charcoal soot as he made sense of what happened.

Steve liked to watch him work.

Liked to see the tension ease more and more from the strong shoulders that travelled beside him up the stairs each night. Steve felt the dig of each pencil in the crevice between his ribs when Billy finished masterpiece after masterpiece.

Still, it wasn't enough.

Along the ridges of creation, therapy lay half buried in the sand. It was state mandated, that Billy go and learn how to deal with the things charcoal couldn't straighten out for him. Like the nightmares, and the migraines that kept him from eating dinner at the table when June gave way to July.

Steve worried. Constantly, fervently, but Billy refused to go, always wiping his hands on the powder green apron Steve got for him at the art store, and insisting, "This is a form of therapy." Billy gestured around the room. To the mountains of loose sketch papers and half finished canvases that lay strewn across every surface. "This is how I cope."

And it was.

And it happened the same way every time.

Things got bad for him and Billy would disappear into his shed. Steve would come home from the office to find that his mother's prized Thomas Kincaid collection had been replaced by Billy's work. It was haunting. Sick and twisted and so, so beautiful.

He found himself standing and staring at it for hours, eyes tracing over the swirling lines of purgatory.

It made Steve feel helpless, but.

Still, Billy refused to go. Still, he buried himself in his work. Still, he painted himself into a hole.

The path toward recovery was littered with charcoal drawings until it wasn't.

Until Steve came home one afternoon to find Billy talking with a little boy who had his throat cut open.