#this means more to me than I can ever express

[scoriarose]

It makes me happy, divers make notifications of my girls baby photos and fond memories appear. And it's happy seeing those again. When it's just one, sometimes I wonder if someone has a super deep queue, or in diving this one post was especially meaningful or significant to them.

It's kind of like seeing a rerun of your favorite TV show, yeah I saw it before but I like seeing it again.

I'm also the sort that likes deep diving my own camera roll - 95% of it is my pets. I wonder what someone's camera roll says about them? Probably a lot, honestly.

ok i just got this thought out of nowhere but blog divers (people who scroll through a blog and reblog things that were posted YEARS AGO) are actually a super important part of the tumblr ecosystem

With people going inactive and deactivating, a lot of classic tumblr posts and also missed gems get lost because those connections get broken. Even on my own blog I forget about posts I made until I see someone in my activity reblog one of them- which then inspires me to reblog it myself because it was a good post and I want my new followers to see

do not feel bad about diving through someone's blog and reblogging shit from years ago, it keeps dashboards alive

(and if anyone has a problem with that, they can just block you or they can delete the root post ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, two things that have absolutely no effect on the grand scheme of our lives)

[s4kura-tr3]

Jjk men (doesn’t matter who) reaction to their kid disrespecting their mom ?

Gojo : It started out as a typical family afternoon. You were in the middle of explaining something to your child—why they needed to pick up their toys, or why dessert wasn’t happening until after dinner. But out of nowhere, your kid stomped their little foot and said it:

“Ugh, shut up!”

The room went silent.

Your jaw dropped, and before you could even respond, Satoru’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Hey.”

That one word was enough to make both you and your child freeze. Satoru stood up from where he’d been lounging on the couch, his usual playful demeanor completely gone. He walked over, crouching down to your child’s eye level.

“What did you just say to your mom?” His voice was calm but firm, a rare edge to it that made even you straighten up.

Your child hesitated, suddenly realizing they had crossed a line. “I… I didn’t mean it like that…”

Satoru tilted his head, his blindfold slipping down just enough to reveal his piercing gaze. “Doesn’t matter how you meant it. You don’t talk to her like that. Ever. Got it?”

Your child nodded quickly, their eyes wide.

“Say you’re sorry,” Satoru added, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your child turned to you, looking genuinely sorry now. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

You sighed, crouching down as well to gently take their hand. “Thank you for apologizing. But we’ll talk more about this later.”

Satoru straightened up, crossing his arms as he looked down at his child. “Listen, kiddo, you can have all the attitude in the world, but you never disrespect your mom. She’s the boss, even more than me. And if I hear something like that again…” He let the threat hang in the air, though you knew he’d never do more than a firm lecture.

Once the tension eased, Satoru’s usual grin returned, and he ruffled your child’s hair. “Alright, now that we’ve cleared that up, who’s ready for some ice cream?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re not seriously rewarding them right now, are you?”

“Hey, I’m teaching balance!” he said with a wink. “Discipline, then dessert.”

You shook your head, watching as your child eagerly grabbed Satoru’s hand, already forgetting their earlier outburst.

Satoru turned back to you, his grin softening. “You know I’ve always got your back, right?”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I know. Thanks, Satoru.”

Suguru: You were in the kitchen, trying to reason with your child over something trivial—bedtime, homework, or why jumping off the couch wasn’t an Olympic sport. But as the conversation went on, they crossed their arms, huffed, and spat out the words you least expected:

“Just shut up already!”

Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked, stunned, and before you could even formulate a response, a deep, calm voice echoed from the doorway.

“Excuse me?”

Suguru stood there, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe, but the sharpness in his gaze was anything but casual. His usually serene expression was replaced with a quiet intensity that made the room feel smaller.

Your child froze, realizing too late that their words hadn’t just reached you—they’d reached him.

Suguru stepped into the room, his every movement deliberate, his eyes locked onto your child. “Say that again,” he said, his voice low but firm, “so I can make sure I heard you right.”

“N-No, Daddy, I didn’t mean it,” they stammered, their earlier defiance evaporating.

Suguru crouched down to their level, his tone softening just slightly but losing none of its authority. “I don’t care what you meant. You do not speak to your mother that way. Ever. Do you understand me?”

Your child nodded quickly, their eyes wide and remorseful.

“Words have weight,” Suguru continued. “And what you just said was hurtful. To someone who loves you more than anything in the world.” He glanced at you briefly, his gaze warm and reassuring before turning back to your child. “You owe her an apology.”

Your child looked up at you, tears brimming in their eyes. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to say that.”

You knelt down, pulling them into a gentle hug. “Thank you for saying sorry. But we’re going to talk more about why words matter, okay?”

Suguru stood, his posture relaxed again, but his presence still commanding. “Good. Now, go to your room for a bit and think about how you can do better.”

Your child nodded and shuffled off, glancing back at you with a small, apologetic smile.

Once they were gone, Suguru stepped closer, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. “You alright?” he asked, his voice now warm and tender.

“Yeah,” you said, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Thanks for stepping in.”

He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’re going to test boundaries—it’s part of growing up. But one thing they’ll never get away with is disrespecting you.”

You leaned into his touch, grateful for the unwavering support in his eyes. “You’re a good dad, Suguru.”

“And you’re an amazing mom,” he replied, pulling you into his arms. “They’ll learn. We’ve got this.”

Nanami: It had been a long day, and dinner wasn’t going any smoother. Your child, full of energy and sass, refused to eat the vegetables on their plate. After a few rounds of calm negotiation, they crossed their little arms, glared, and said the unthinkable:

“Just shut up!”

The room fell into complete silence.

You blinked, momentarily stunned, but before you could even react, a measured voice came from the doorway.

“Excuse me?”

Nanami stood there, his tie slightly loosened from the workday, his gaze sharp and unyielding. He wasn’t angry, but the weight of his presence made it clear that he was not pleased.

Your child turned to him, realizing immediately that they’d messed up.

Nanami walked over, his movements calm and deliberate, as if every step was meant to emphasize his authority. He crouched down to your child’s level, his hands resting lightly on his knees.

“Repeat what you just said,” he said, his tone low and even, though it carried a weight that made even you sit a little straighter.

Your child squirmed, their earlier confidence replaced with nervousness. “I-I didn’t mean it…”

Nanami raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I asked. Did you or did you not tell your mother to ‘shut up’?”

They hesitated before nodding reluctantly.

Nanami let out a quiet sigh, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on your child. “Listen carefully. Your mother works hard every single day to take care of you, to make sure you’re happy and safe. She deserves your respect, always. Do you understand?”

Your child nodded quickly, their eyes wide with guilt.

“I’m going to give you one chance to make this right,” Nanami continued, his voice softening slightly but still firm. “What do you say to your mother?”

Your child turned to you, tears welling up. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean it. I’ll be good.”

You smiled softly, crouching down to hug them. “Thank you for apologizing. But we’ll talk more about why words matter after dinner, okay?”

They nodded, sniffling, and went back to their plate, poking at their vegetables without further complaint.

Nanami straightened up, adjusting his tie as he turned to you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “You handled that perfectly.”

He offered a small, reassuring smile, placing a hand on your back. “Parenting is a team effort. You’re not alone in this.”

As the two of you sat down to finish dinner, Nanami looked over at your child and said calmly, “And if I ever hear you speak like that again, there will be no dessert for a month. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy,” they said in a tiny voice, clearly humbled.

You hid a smile behind your napkin, grateful for the quiet authority Nanami always carried—and for the unwavering respect and love he showed you.

Toji: It was one of those chaotic evenings where everything seemed to be going wrong. You were trying to get your child to finish their homework, but instead of cooperating, they slammed their pencil down, crossed their arms, and shouted:

“Just shut up!”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

Before you could even process what had just happened, Toji’s deep, gravelly voice came from the hallway.

“What did you just say to your mom?”

He stepped into the room, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he looked at your child. His usual laid-back smirk was gone, replaced with a look that sent a chill through the air.

Your child froze, clearly realizing they had crossed a line. “I… I didn’t mean it, Daddy—”

“Don’t even try that,” Toji interrupted, his voice calm but deadly serious. He walked over to the table, leaning down to their eye level, his towering presence making it impossible to look away.

“You think it’s okay to talk to your mom like that? Huh?” he asked, his tone low but firm.

Your child shook their head quickly, their earlier bravado crumbling.

“You listen to me, and you listen good,” Toji said, pointing a finger at them. “This woman right here?” He gestured toward you without breaking eye contact with your child. “She does everything for you. She takes care of you, feeds you, loves you, and you think you can disrespect her? Not on my watch.”

Your child’s lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Mommy…”

Toji nodded toward you. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m really sorry, Mommy,” they said, tears starting to spill.

You softened, crouching down to their level and pulling them into a hug. “Thank you for apologizing. I forgive you. But we’ll talk later about why this isn’t okay, alright?”

They nodded, sniffling.

Toji straightened up, crossing his arms and looking down at them. “Good. Now, I better not hear anything like that come out of your mouth again, or we’re gonna have a serious problem. Got it?”

“Yes, Daddy,” they mumbled, wiping their tears.

“Good,” Toji said, his tone lightening just slightly. “Now finish your homework. And if I see you giving your mom a hard time again, no TV, no games, no nothing. You’ll be staring at that wall for a week.”

As your child returned to their work, Toji walked over to you, placing a large hand on your shoulder. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. “Thanks for stepping in.”

He smirked, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “They’ve got my temper, but they’ll learn. Nobody disrespects my wife—especially not my own kid.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. Despite his rough edges, Toji always made sure you knew you were his top priority, no matter what.

Sukuna: It was late in the evening, and you were exhausted from a long day of managing both work and home life. Your child had been unusually cranky all day, and now, during dinner, they were pushing every button. You patiently tried to get them to eat their vegetables, but after a few minutes of back-and-forth, they finally snapped, glaring at you.

“Shut up! I don’t care!”

You froze, heart skipping a beat. Before you could even respond, the familiar cold, dark presence of Sukuna filled the room.

His deep, mocking voice echoed from the shadows. “I heard that.”

You looked over to see him lounging in the doorway, his crimson eyes glowing with a mix of amusement and irritation. His face was still the same unreadable mask, but you could feel the power radiating from him, a silent warning in the air.

Your child’s bravado evaporated the moment they met his gaze. Sukuna walked over slowly, his movements precise and intimidating. His four arms crossed, and his smile was that twisted, knowing smirk he often wore when something pleased him—yet it was far from reassuring.

“You think you can speak to her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was laced with a dark amusement, though there was a weight to his words. “You must’ve lost your mind, child.”

Your child shrank back, realizing they were in far deeper trouble than they’d imagined.

Sukuna crouched down in front of them, his face only inches away, his smile widening. “You’ve got a lot of spirit. But you don’t know your place.” His voice dropped, turning icy. “You’ll never disrespect her like that again. Understand?”

They nodded frantically, fear and guilt mixing in their eyes.

“Good,” Sukuna said, standing up with a slow stretch, as if everything were beneath him—because, in this moment, it was. “Now, what do you say to your mother?”

Your child swallowed, voice shaking. “I’m sorry, Mommy…”

You gave them a small smile, but your eyes flicked to Sukuna, who was still watching with that unsettling calm. “Thank you for apologizing.�� You reached over, pulling your child into a gentle hug. “But we’ll talk about this later.”

Sukuna stood back, giving a lazy stretch. “I’m not a fan of anyone disrespecting what’s mine. She’s my woman, and I don’t tolerate it.” His gaze never left your child as he spoke, his tone dark and final.

You placed a hand on his arm, silently thanking him for stepping in. He shot you a quick glance, a twisted grin crossing his face. “Don’t thank me. I’m just reminding them of their place.”

With that, Sukuna turned to leave, his presence still lingering as your child went back to their plate, much more subdued.

“You’re lucky I’m not in a worse mood,” Sukuna called over his shoulder, his voice teasing, but his gaze sharp. “Next time, I’ll let you figure out the consequences for yourself.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible?” He glanced back with an amused glint in his eye. “I’m just making sure they know who the real boss is.”

As he disappeared into the next room, you let out a breath, feeling the strange mix of fear and comfort that only Sukuna could provide. He wasn’t the type to do things by the book, but in his own way, he made sure you and your child were always protected.

[saixria]

The ICHBW live stream animatic is hitting me hard hours after the fact I’m not a crier but I’m actually tearing up. Now I can fully articulate what I love about Athena’s part. Athena’s character came together so well I love it and I think the visuals combined with a day more of thinking + discussing with friends really helped me better understand everything. Those last 90 seconds of ICHBW was the BEST PART OF THE ENTIRE SHOW. Ridiculously long Athena character analysis under the cut which quickly devolves into thematic discussion lmao

First of all, the expressions they have on the animatic makes it abundantly clear that ody and Athena weren’t separated. HER SMILE!! HER LIGHTNING SCAR!! ODYSSEUS’ EXPRESSION SOFTENED TO A SMILE AFTER GETTING OUT OF QUICK THOUGHT!! Odysseus definitely pieced together what she did for her right then, there’s no other reason for Jorge to show Athena showing Odysseus that scar otherwise. It’s like they immediately slid back into place like puzzles pieces even after 10 years. They’ve been changed in completely opposite ways. Odysseus the mortal has been turned to be less human, more ruthless, while Athena the immortal goddess has been turned to be more human, more empathetic. The latter partially because of Odysseus. Tbh Athena ever showing her face to Odysseus after My Goodbye and saying “I can’t help but feel like I’ve led you astray” is as close to an apology as it’s gonna get LMAO. The unresolved WOTM melody in the end is actually because their story together hasn’t ended, it’s because Odysseus doesn’t have to be her warrior of the mind anymore.

I once said that open arms is more than mercy, but treating the world kindly to lead to kinder souls down the road, to change the world for the better, and it holds true even more now. Odysseus is too tired for this. He’s just a man, he knows a better world is possible but he can no longer be a part of it. He can’t witness the better world in his short mortal lifetime, he just wants his happy ending with his wife. He doesn’t want to be Athena’s warrior of the mind anymore, and that’s ok. And yet, and yet he knows it is possible. He needs it to be possible, and he needs Athena to make it possible. Athena accepts it with a soft “very well”. That doesn’t mean they won’t ever see each other again, just that they no longer have that obligation of mentor-student, they’re just two old friends. They can rebuild their relationship slowly but surely with what they have.

Telemachus is the Warrior of the Mind now (AHHHHHH HIS ATHENA CAPE AND HELMET I LOVE HIS UPGRADE). From here, Telemachus and Athena are gonna truly fulfill Athena’s mission of “making a greater tomorrow” except it isn’t to turn the world more logical and ruthless like she once thought, but to make the world more empathetic and kind — she’s finally found what she was fighting for. Perhaps this is why the WOTM melody in God Games ended with Legendary — Telemachus is the new warrior of the mind. Odysseus fought for a world where his son can be safe and grow up kind and he succeeded in that. Far from war, Telemachus grew up able to afford kindness and empathy while also retaining the ability to be ruthless in face of obstacles — and now he can use this to change the world to Athena’s new ideal — where people held each other with more empathy — as Athena’s new Warrior of the Mind.

Athena’s verse existing is a sign of her reconciliation with Odysseus (in character might I add! I don’t think they’re the type to express their affection so easily, they know each other so we’ll that they just know), so instead her verse is there to expand on the show’s theme as I will be talking about next.

I absolutely adore the depth Athena’s ICHBW verse adds to the thesis of the show. I’ve always thought of epic as mostly being about how it was best to strive for a balance between ruthlessness and open arms, but circumstances only allowed Odysseus to become ruthless which was tragic, while different circumstances allowed Telemachus to be both. But it’s not just that. Sure it’s good to have a balance between the two ideaologies but what if we could make a world where ruthlessness wasn’t needed at all? What if we could be unconditionally kind and be treated with kindness in return instead of taken advantage of or hurt? Where, when given the choice between open arms and ruthlessness, people would choose open arms? It wasn’t possible for these characters, but it could happen someday in the future. If Athena and Telemachus can work towards that future so can we. So should we, considering we’re in a much better place compared to them. A friend of mine said this was a call to action to us in the present and I just. Have not been able to stop thinking about it.

Athena has always thought in “maybes” about her purpose. from WOTM to My Goodbye we’ll be fine to ICHBW. “Maybe one day…” -> “One day you’ll…” -> “maybe if I…” -> “what if…” it’s like she’s representing the future, the “greater tomorrow” of what could be, because as Odysseus said, she’s immortal and she will live to see it and change it. Circe saga has something similar — “Maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road”, “maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer no more, or maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer more”. The connection of these hypotheticals “maybe one day” with a future world that could possibly be changed for the better by spreading kindness and open arms extends from Athena’s songs to There are Other Ways, one of the only times in the musical where, when Circe could choose between ruthlessness and mercy, she chose to show mercy and help them in hopes of spreading kindness to the world and making the world a slightly better place — aka a scenario that showed how unconditional kindness, “open arms”, could work, for kindness isn’t the inability to be cruel but choosing kindness even when you have the choice not to be. “Kindness is brave”, like Polites said.

Because of her immortality, Athena is the character who’s most connected to “time” in the musical with her time-related abilities like “time dive”, making people think quicker, having a domain essentially outside of time and space… She doesn’t just have a connection with the future but also the past. As someone who lives forever, she is the one who can connect the past, learning from past mistakes, to change the future: “To fall is to learn one way”.

Speaking of her connection to time, You can almost see that at one point Athena was the narrator of the story (see cut songs: full speed ahead demo and Ismarus) like Hamilton’s Burr: simultaneously an observer and a participant of the story. In the animatic of ICHBW she’s overseeing everything happening from her hour glass, wondering out loud from a meta perspective about the themes of the show, hypotheticals of what a different story, a different world could have looked like, and bringing everything to a close. It really feels like Athena is who’s gonna “live and tell their story” as per Hamilton, as always has been the case from burrthena narration days of Old Epic. She’s not just the bridge between the past and future but also between the story and the audience, by bringing up these themes on a meta level to directly tell the audience to make the world a kinder place, because we have the choice, unlike Odysseus who can only choose to accept his actions and move forward. Because she lives forever she can carry on their memories forever. She can keep telling their story over and over again to remind herself and others to change the world by showing empathy and open arms, and she will keep telling this story to us until ruthlessness is no longer needed in the world. The world where this is possible is not theirs but OURS. It is WE who have the chance to choose between ruthlessness and open arms and the show is telling us that, when we have this choice and aren’t forced to be ruthless, to always choose kindness and empathy. Like Circe, like Telemachus. So that we may impart some kindness unto the world and make it a better place.

“Maybe one day we’ll reach them and we’ll make a greater tomorrow then they’ll see I know we’ll change the world cuz we are the warriors of the mind!” — yes, they have reached us. We are all also warriors of the mind, doing our part to change the world for the better, to be kinder.

To me, one part of Athena’s character that’s never clicked for me was her motivation in WOTM. “Make a greater tomorrow” “we’ll change the world” why? How? What’s the point of including this in her song when it’s never come back up again? Now with the ICHBW verse, everything is tied up with a beautiful ribbon. She has always wanted to change the world for the better, and now she’s finally found out how — to spread empathy and Open Arms — and it’s inspired by the desire to help her friends, to prevent what happened to Odysseus from happening again, honoring him, just as how Odysseus tried to embrace Open Arms to honor his dead friends’ memories.

All in all, I’ve grown to genuinely really really like Athena’s verse in ICHBW. It’s so short but so effective at conveying so much. I hope that made sense bc it’s more a compilation of thoughts I had rather than a structured essay. Perhaps one day I will restructure this into a proper essay but not today for after all I’m- *gets shot

[vampyr-ss]

laundry day | r. sukuna

summary: sukuna’s angry and desperate and you look so cute trying to fold your laundry.

pairing: stepbrother!sukuna x reader

warnings: 18+ + dark content (stepcest) + thigh fucking + slight dubcon + pervy!sukuna + choking + degrading + slut shaming + fingering + cum swapping + lmk if there’s more mwahhh

wc: 1.6k

others/author’s note: step brother sukuna save me….

sukuna came barging into the laundry room with a raging boner and anger clear in his expression. you were minding your business, folding your laundry with one of your earbuds in. you’d barely finished folding your sweatshirts when sukuna came in, his hands finding the edge of the washing machine to close you in. “sukuna-? what are-?” he hisses at you to hush, freeing one of his hands to tug your pants down.

“fuck.” he hisses in your ear. his fingers rub at your clit roughly, the rough pads of his fingers feeling so nice against your soft pussy. your hips just involuntarily, but your face scrunches as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. “what are you doing? this is wrong!” you’re whisper-shouting at him out of fear of your parents hearing. sukuna scoffs at you, sliding his fingers further forward to tease your wetting hole.

he presses kisses to the side of your neck, biting down to suck harsh dark spots along it. he laughs when you shudder. it’s painfully clear you’re trying to decide if you’re enjoying what he’s doing or not. “wasn’t wrong when you had your fingers in your cunt moaning my name. i’m giving you what you want and you’re complaining? ungrateful slut.” he hisses, slapping your pussy harshly. you let out a low moan at the pain that quickly fizzles out into pleasure, your eyes shutting tightly.

your eyes begin to water as disgust fights the pleasure building into your stomach. you shouldn’t want this, you really really shouldn’t. but sukuna’s fingers feel so good on your clit. they don’t rub you the same way you do, they feel better. “‘kuna…please. stop..stop ‘m sorry.” you sob quietly, hands pushing at him behind you. your step brother rolls his eyes, pressing his thumb against your clit as his fingers dip inside of you.

you feel your resolve practically dissipate as his thick fingers bully their way into your cunt. your eyes shut tightly and you lean forward onto the washing machine for support. your cunt gushes as his fingers bury themselves deeper into you, pushing and pulling quickly. you close your eyes impossibly tighter as the loud squish of your pussy fills the room, it’s an unmistakable sound that makes your body burn with embarrassment. “yeaaah, atta fuckin’ girl.” sukuna sneers the praise into your ear.

“take my fingers sis, i just need this pussy wet.” his fingers curl over that soft little spot inside you and your knees buckle. there’s a loud bang! as your forearms hit against the washing machine and sukuna simply refuses to stop. he uses his free hand to grab you by the throat, forcing your head towards him. “not even doing what i fucking want to you and you’re about to fall? no wonder you haven’t been fucked yet, you can’t fucking take it.” you moan louder than you’d intended at his words. you shake your head, opening your eyes just for tears to fall freely from them. “you’re so mean, ‘kuna! i can t-take it!”

he scoffs at your pitifully whined words. he grips your throat tighter, making sure he cuts off some of your circulation. “then shut the fuck up and take it. ‘m not fucking this pussy yet, don’t worry. wanna take my time when i do.” he mutters the last part before thrusting his fingers harder into you. he watches your face as your eyes gloss over with pleasure, lips parting without any sound leaving them. he watches in amusement as panic settles in your eyes when you can’t find the oxygen you need to breathe.

your pussy has to be the most responsive thing he’s ever touched. every time he slides his fingers in and out there’s a loud, defining squish! it makes him want to ignore his precious plans and bend you over the washing machine. he wants to know what sounds she makes when he’s pounding mercilessly in and out of your virgin cunt. you’re so fucking wet it slides down his fingers and down his wrist. he bets if he looked down there would be a pool of cum on the floor because she’s so fucking sloppy.

he frees your throat temporarily—just enough for you to catch your breath. sukuna’s hot breath brushes your lips from how close he is, it’s too much and your cunt flutters in a way that only means you’re close. sukuna entertains the notion by watching your lips part and eyes squeeze shut. he waits until your cunt tightens impossibly around his fingers to rip them from you. “noooo! no! ‘kuna please!” you whine, eyes sliding open to look at your step brother who only grins down at you.

“you didn’t think i’d let it be that easy, did you? i said i wouldn’t fuck this cunt, not anything about not teasing it.” you pout at him so cutely he almost feels bad. almost. he tugs his sweatpants down for his cock to spring into the cold air of the laundry room. you glance down behind you and your breath hitches, eyes widening in fear. “‘s not gonna-” sukuna squeezes your throat again out of pure annoyance. “i already told you i wasn’t fucking you today. shut the fuck up.” he punctuates his last sentence by tightening his grip on your throat.

you’re rendered speechless again by your lack of oxygen, and you can only claw at the washing machine as you begin to feel light headed. sukuna grabs his cock with the hand he fingered you with, sliding his soaking fingers along himself at an attempt at lube. he won’t make you take his dick down your throat today. that’s for another day when he has the time. your stupid fucking mother is around the house somewhere and his dad’s at work. he doesn’t have the circumstances he needs right now.

“pull your hips back.” his voice is harsh in your ear but you oblige him anyway. you pull your hips back, allowing him to push your legs together around his cock. “now be still and let me fuck you like this, okay?” you nod so hard it loosens his grip on your throat. sukuna regrettably lets you breathe, watching you take heavy breaths before he thrusts forward. the way his cock angles it catches your clit every time he moves forward. the moan that tears from your throat is impossibly loud. you can only pray the dryer is loud enough to conceal it.

sukuna tugs your head back to press his lips to yours. the kiss is sloppy and needy, your stupid fucking brain can’t process the complexity of french kissing currently. your lips glide messily against his, tongues dancing as his hips snap back and forth and back again. sukuna’s tip keeps bumping your clit perfectly. so fucking perfect that your cunt keeps twitching and hole clenching around nothing. sukuna bites down on your lip as your wetness begins to build on his cock, white cream dripping onto him and down the thickness of your thighs. he wants to cum in your underwear and make you wear them all day. oh fuck.

sukuna kisses away from your mouth, pressing a kiss to your jaw until he finds himself in the space between your neck and shoulder. he kisses, sucks, and licks at the spot before he bites down harshly. his hips are moving faster, arousal flooding his senses as the softness and tightness of your thighs and how fucking wet you are begins to catch up to him. he can’t help himself, really. his step sister is so fucking cute, all puffy eyed and drooling. your lips are parted, though he thinks he’s managed to rub the intelligence out of you.

he growls low in his throat when you clench your thighs. you’re trying to fight off your orgasm because he hasn’t cum yet but he doesn’t care. he wants however many he can get and he always gets what he wants. sukuna moves his hand from your throat to place both of them on your hips. he pushes your further into the washing machine, bracing your hips so he can shift his own faster and harder into you. the loud plap! plap! plap! of his hips hitting yours fills the room. he ignores the sound for the sake of his sanity. he needs you to cum.

“oh my god! oh my god ‘s- ‘kuna! oh my god.” your whimpers become music to his ears as your hand slides behind you. you slap at his side, trying your best to fend off your orgasm despite no longer remembering why. your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy clenches. you cum with your entire body. your toes curl, fingers digging into the metal of the washing machine and the warmth of your brother’s skin. your legs tense and your pussy gushes as sukuna continues hitting your clit perfectly.

he snickers as he watches your orgasm, reaching down to rub at your clit. “stupid slut, you’ve never cum like this before have you? only used your little fingers, hm?” he takes your babbling as a yes. he keeps rubbing your clit, fucking into you harder as his own orgasm begins to taper over the edge. he hisses your name, his lips finding that space between your shoulder one more time. this time, he bites down harshly as he cums. his cock twitches, balls tightening as his hand on your clit reaches down to pull your panties up. he cums in the seat of your cotton panties, panting softly.

“atta girl. taking your step brother so fucking good.” he reaches down to collect some of his cum, dragging his fingers through your pussy lips to gather some of your slick. he brings his fingers to your lips, shoving them in despite your gentle protests. “look at you. fuck, you need to suck my cock next time.” he watches you in pure admiration. he leans forward and removes his fingers to kiss you. this kiss is nastier, sloppier as if it had even been possible. “i’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

[kairaloi]

I'd never expected this.

I sat at the dining table my dwarf neighbor had built for me when I first moved to the swamp. A warm ceramic mug of tea between my large clawed hands was another gift from a neighbor.

The weather was miserable; pouring rain in white sheets and cold enough to fog breath.

Inside my stone hut, it was warm, dry, and cozy.

My sister sat across from me. She'd been engulfed by the massive wool blanket I'd wrapped her in. The mug was nearly too big and heavy for her to lift, so to avoid spilling, she rested it on the table and tilted it to sip. She'd lost all dignity at this point. In fact, she'd lost everything, or so she claimed.

Water dripped from her hair.

"How about you start from the beginning?" I asked, my voice low and rumbling.

Arabella flinched. Her small, soft voice was still hoarse from her trip through the torrential rain to my soggy domicile of exile. Probably the farthest she'd ever traveled, let alone unaccompanied. I was surprised she'd made it here without more mishap than a torn and muddy dress. "Father... is a liar," she said.

I nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure you didn't come here to tell me the obvious."

Arabella flinched again, lowering her head. "I'm sorry."

That was unexpected.

I sipped my tea. I'd learned how to make a few simple brews from the witch of the forest. In exchange, I gave her some of the meat I caught and scared off hunters that got too close to our part of the woods. Her face was hideous, but she was old, and who was I to judge?

Arabella's face twisted. "He promised that if you took the curse for the family that the rest of us would be fine. But Kyle has... He's turned to stone! Mother is sprouting feathers! Father is the only one untouched--but I know he's made a bargain. Everyone else in exchange for his life!"

I leaned my elbow on the table, chin resting in my palm. "Ah... Arabella, I've learned a few things while out here, so let me fill you in."

Her eyes lifted, wide and shining.

"The curse is permanent." I lifted a finger, releasing my mug to do so. "The curse requires consent. If you don't consent, it doesn't work. So Kyle agreed to take it on. Monica--"

"Mother."

"Monica. Agreed to turn into a chicken."

"Harpy."

My lips curved. "Ah--" I barely stopped myself from laughing.

Arabella's jaw clenched. She looked down.

"So unless you agree to take his curse... nothing can be done."

"But Kyle! He's only thirteen!"

"Oh. Wow..." I mused. I hadn't realized it had been that long. "Well, sorry. But it's like sex. Once the deed is done, you can't undo it. He agreed." I briefly wondered if our parents had even told him that he had an older sister. Probably not. Not that it mattered now anyway. Kyle was as good as dead... unless.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Arabella screamed, her voice giving out at the end even though she'd slammed to her feet. It was hardly impressive since jumping out of the chair made her lose eight inches of height.

"Well... The Bog Hag said that curses are a lot like locks, and any lock can be picked. You just have to figure out the locking mechanism."

Arabella's eyes widened. "Like True Love's Kiss?" she asked.

"A fae demented enough to continue making deals with Allen in exchange for his family wouldn't pick something so cute."

"Father," Arabella corrected automatically, then looked down as she carefully climbed back into the chair. "What do you mean continue?"

"Loki, as he likes to be called, told me that I was taking on Allen's debt," I said with a shrug. "This leads me to believe that Allen has asked for more favors, which has incurred more debt."

"That..." her voice faded, expression changing to one of someone putting the pieces together.

"So I'm guessing the family has had quite a bit of fortune lately?" I asked, picking up my mug to finish my tea. I stood, careful not to knock anything with my tail as I went to the stove to refill my mug.

"Please help me..." Arabella asked.

I looked over my shoulder at her. "Why should I? I'm happy here."

"But you're..."

"A monster?" I grinned. "I feel more myself than I ever did in Allen's house. You can't tell me it was easy to get here with your ribs wrapped in steel and legs bound by cloth." I set my mug on the table and leaned over her, a hand on the back of the chair she sat in. "Tell me, Arabella. Were Madam Wretched's dancing lessons fun? Were Mister Wrathful's tutoring sessions enjoyable?"

My sister swallowed. She wanted to correct me on Wreath and Willson's names, but she didn't.

"Did you jump for joy when they assigned a knight to watch you day and night so you couldn't have a moment of silence without his resentful sighs interrupting?"

She flinched, hunching down in the wool blanket. "It wasn't all bad..."

"One thing," I challenged, lifting a claw near her face. "Name one thing."

Arabella opened her mouth, then closed it. She was struggling.

"All the food. All of it looked and smelled so delicious, but you weren't allowed a morsel," I offered.

She grit her teeth.

"The garden you weren't allowed in without a wide hat, parasol, and six men carrying a tent over you at all times."

"Stop..." she begged, hands covering her face.

"The man you were ordered to marry who looks like a slime and mud golem had a child," I finished.

She choked.

I put my hand on her back, gently rubbing. "Go ahead and laugh."

Arabella sobbed, laughing and crying at the same time. I knelt and put my arms around her. She gripped my thick neck, her tiny hands buried in my wild red mane. "You're right!" she admitted, voice muffled by my shoulder. "But how did you know about him?"

"People from town sometimes go to the Bog Hag for help with... problems."

"His personality is even worse than his face!"

"I could tell by the sneer they gave him in the newspaper."

Arabella sat back, wiping her face with her fingers.

I looked up at her with a sigh. "I'm still your sister," I said, resigned. She'd only been four when I was cursed, after all. She had been my little shadow, and... being thirteen at the time, I'd found her to be very annoying. Now, she was sixteen. If I'd looked up the definition of the word Princess, her picture would've been there; blonde, blue-eyed, petite, weak, soft-spoken...

Arabella stared down at me and swallowed as her eyes searched my face. "Please help me... get revenge."

My lips curled, revealing the sharp teeth my curse had blessed me with.

Despite being cursed into a monster and being banished by your royal parents, you were happy with your life. Your home was peaceful. You always had enough to eat. You even had friends despite your appearance, so yeah your life was great. Your non-cursed sibling's life, on the other hand

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

girl i love your stories that i reread them A LOT. idk if your request is open but if it's not then you can do it whenever I WILL WAIT MY WHOLE LIFE FOR IT

some angst (but end with fluff) about y/n being bad at directions (me tbh) so she keeps clinging to minho and his friends (during idk maybe their tour in japan or other vacations)so when minho snaps at her she left the restaurant immediately and thought about going back to hotel but get lost and her phone died then when minho find out she's not back till late at night he starts going crazy looking for her around

i'll let you get creative from here! tq!!!!

I hope you enjoy!!!

The trip to Japan had been an exhilarating whirlwind of sights and sounds. But for you, it also became a constant struggle to keep up with the group. Your terrible sense of direction was something you’d always laughed off, but here, in the bustling chaos of unfamiliar streets, it felt like a glaring flaw. You clung to Minho more than you intended to, relying on him to guide you when you inevitably got turned around.

By the third day, his patience began to wear thin.

It started with small sighs, then curt remarks. But tonight, as you hesitated once again at an intersection, unsure which way to go, Minho snapped. His voice cut through the group’s chatter, sharp and biting.

“For God’s sake, Y/N, can you stop acting helpless for five minutes? It’s not that hard to figure out where we’re going.”

The words stung like a slap, and the embarrassment that followed was suffocating. The others fell silent, their eyes darting between the two of you. Chan stepped forward, his voice firm and reprimanding.

“Minho, that’s enough! You don’t ever talk to her like that. You hear me?”

Minho opened his mouth to retort but quickly shut it, guilt flashing across his face under Chan's firm glare. Still, the damage was done. You felt small and out of place, like an unwelcome burden. Chan gave you a shoulder squeeze before going to scold Minho a bit more. The group resumed walking, the atmosphere tense as all the boy looked over in your direction with awkward and pitiful glances. Felix and Jeongin tried to lighten your mood by talking casually with you, but the lump in your throat wouldn't shake.

When you reached the restaurant, you quietly excused yourself, claiming you needed some air. No one stopped you. Outside, the cool night air hit your face as tears blurred your vision. You decided to head back to the hotel, thinking it was better to remove yourself from the group altogether.

But as you wandered through the maze of streets, panic began to set in. Every turn seemed to lead to another unfamiliar alley, and your phone’s battery was dwindling fast. When it finally died, leaving you stranded without maps or a way to contact anyone, fear took hold.

Back at the restaurant, the group noticed your prolonged absence. Jisung was the first to speak up, glancing around nervously.

“Uh, has anyone seen Noona? She’s been gone for a while.”

Minho, who had been unusually quiet since his outburst, froze. Chan frowned, his protective instincts kicking in.

“I’ll check outside,” Jisung offered, already heading for the door. He returned a few minutes later, his expression grim.

“She’s not out there,” he said, his voice edged with worry. “I think she’s gone.”

Minho shot to his feet, his heart hammering in his chest. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I don’t know!” Jisung replied, his voice rising. “I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not answering her phone either.”

The weight of the situation hit Minho like a freight train. His earlier anger dissolved into a nauseating mix of fear and guilt. Without another word, he bolted out of the restaurant, desperate to find you.

You’d been wandering for what felt like hours when a man approached you. He looked to be in his fifties, his kind eyes and warm smile a stark contrast to the bustling city around you.

“Are you lost?” he asked in Japanese. You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you tried to explain your situation.

“Come,” he said gently, switching to broken English. “My daughter recognized you. Said you are with boyfriend, Minho? Safe at our house. You charge phone.”

Too exhausted and desperate to refuse, you followed him to a modest house nearby. His daughter, a young woman about your age, greeted you with tea and a charger. The warmth of their home was comforting, but your heart ached with the weight of the evening’s events.

Minho was spiraling. He darted from street to street, asking anyone he came across if they’d seen you. When he entered a small cafe, the owner paused, recognizing your description.

“Yes,” she said. “She left with an older man. He seemed…kind. Not dangerous.”

Her words did little to calm Minho’s fraying nerves. The thought of you- vulnerable and alone- with a stranger nearly pushed him to the brink of a breakdown. His hands trembled as he tried to focus.

“Where? Which way did they go?” he demanded.

She pointed him in the right direction, and he took off without a second thought. When he finally reached the house and saw you through the window, sitting safely with the older man and his daughter, the relief was overwhelming. He knocked and burst through the door, his chest heaving.

“Y/N,” he choked out, rushing to your side. “Are you okay? I was…I was so scared.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Minho pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if to make sure you were really there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I…I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I didn’t mean it. I…I can’t lose you.”

You let out a shaky breath, but before you could respond, the daughter handed you a photo card she’d been holding. It was of Minho, from a recent album. She giggled nervously, gesturing to the collection spread out across the table.

“I'm a big fan,” she said in English, and you couldn’t help but smile. "So, I recognized her from your posts."

“Thank you for helping her,” Minho said to her and the father in Japanese, his voice hoarse. Then, in a move that stunned everyone, he sank to his knees. Lowering himself further until his forehead almost touched the ground, he bowed deeply, the ultimate gesture of gratitude and humility, as he cried out words you couldn't understand, but the small family did.

“Thank you,” he said again in English, his voice trembling. “Thank you for keeping her safe. Thank you.”

The father’s eyes widened in surprise before he helped Minho up, patting his shoulder reassuringly before he looked at you. “She…good girl. You take care of her, yes?”

Minho nodded fervently, his gaze flickering to you. “Always.”

As the family waved you off, Minho kept a protective arm around you the entire walk back to the hotel. Neither of you spoke much, but his grip on you never loosened, his actions speaking louder than words ever could.

By the time you reached the entrance you took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry-"

Minho pulled you into his chest before you could say anything else. "You scared me." He whispered. "I was so scared- people...they can be dangerous."

You didn't say anything, just sunk further into his embrace, your lips turning into a pout as Minho held you.

"You found her?" Chan's accent cut through the sound of Minho's rapid heartbeat as him and Han rushed over. "I'll call the rest of the guys and tell them to come back."

Another wave of guilt hit you and you tried to sputter out another apology but Han spoke.

"It's not your fault Y/N. It's Minho's for acting that way."

You looked up at Minho, whose eyes were blank. "I'm tired. Let's head to bed." He said quietly, pulling you along. He walked into your hotel room and kicked off his shoes, pulling you under the covers with him.

He pulled you flush against his chest and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He said again. "I'm a horrible boyfriend." You turned in the bed towards him, and your heart tugged at seeing his eyes. He had been silently crying, and when he felt he didn't want you to see him cry any longer he buried his face in your chest, hugging you closer.

"I forgive you. You don't have to say sorry."

"I do. I put you in a dangerous position because of my frustrations. That's ignorant of me. If anything had happened-" His voice was muffled but you heard the slight crack in it.

'Well, nothing happened so I'm okay. I'm safe. And the father and daughter were such a cute little family and kind. You were her bias as well so if anything I was probably the most safe there." You teased. Minho didn't say anything instead pulled the blanket tighter around you.

You sighed and closed your eyes, deciding to just let Minho wallow. When he thought you were asleep he moved the strands of hair stuck to your cheek and laid a gentle kiss there.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight for the rest of this trip." You stayed still as he placed another kiss on the corner of your lips, then forehead.

"I love you, jagiya." He murmured, before resting his forehead against yours, a drifting off into a dreamless sleep with you.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

@rockstarkkami

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

[fawninthesnow]

𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞: 2 | Maternal! figure | Caracalla & Geta

Summary: You visit the young princes in the palace; While teaching, and tell them a folktale of a wolf and its two creations.

Warnings: Fluff, (slight) angst, english is not my first language, foreshadowing, spoilers

Work count: 1k

a/n: Keep in mind they are around 14-16 here and orphaned already. After looking through some deleted scenes from the script, I found that all the boys want is to be adopted and loved. This series is for that.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

“Give it to me! I want to read it!” The boys tugged at the letter, snatching it back and forth between them. Finally, Geta managed to wrest it from his brother's grasp and held it high above his head. “You can barely read her writing. Let me read it to you!” Caracalla folded his arms and listened.

Hello, my loves. I’m writing to you from Germania. I miss you both more than words can express; my heart aches at the thought of you being alone in that palace. However, I take comfort in knowing that you have each other. I eagerly await the day when I can hold you both in my arms again. I’ve written two letters, so please, for my sake, stop arguing over who gets to keep the paper.

Caracalla took the envelope from the table; the boys sit beside each other, reading from the papers.

When I get back, we can get to your studies. Hopefully this time without much of a fight—Geta.

Caracalla nudged his brother.

If you are reading this, I should be on the coast of Corsica.

The two turned to each other, “That means she is only a day away, Calla!” His brother excitedly beamed, holding onto the letter in his hands with a careful yet tight hold.

Each moment feels like a journey around the sun without both of you. Please know that my love for you exceeds what I can express and what you can ever imagine. With all my love, Lady [Y/n].

The boys stayed awake that night, eager not to miss your arrival. Typically, it was Caracalla who would stay up late or rise before dawn to spend more time with you. However, since they hadn’t seen you since the holidays and with the new year already upon them, neither wanted to waste a moment away from you.

Geta held a small torch in his clutch, his brother’s hand in the other. “Calla, stay awake.” He sighed as his brother nodded off while standing. Geta led his brother to his room and tucked him in bed.

“Where are you going?” Caracalla asked as he regained some consciousness.

“I will stay with you.” He laid his head back onto the pillow.

You glanced into the bedroom when you heard their voices. The two were facing each other, unaware of your presence. As you stepped inside and smiled, Geta instantly stood up and rushed into your arms. “He is sleeping?” Geta nodded, his head buried in your clothes. “Are you tired?” He didn't need to agree; it was evident. You climbed into bed with Caracalla and carefully lifted Geta, bringing him in as well. In response to your scent, Caracalla turned toward you and wrapped his arm around your side. On your other side, Geta mirrored the gesture. You pulled the blanket over all three of you. “I love you both so much.”

***

“Grab it, Caracalla!” His brother yelled as he jumped back into the fountain. His brother continued to laugh, taking his time with the slithering creature. “Caracalla! I swear!”

The boy picked up the snake in his two hands and inches closer to his brother. “…oh, Geta?”

“I’ll tell! I’ll tell [Y/n]!”

“Tell me what?” You left the palace and joined them in the overgrown courtyard. Upon seeing the snake in Caracalla’s hands you frowned, your hands on your hips. He looked down at his feet and placed the snake back into the bushes. Geta ran to your side and held onto your clothes. “You know better.”

“I know.”

“You know your brother hates snakes too.”

“I know.” He repeated. You did not need to tell him to apologize. “I am sorry, Geta.”

“If I see another snake in your hands, you will go to your room.” The boy groaned, “Wait…why are you both out here? You should be inside with your studies.” The two brothers looked at each other.

Inside, you read from a scroll and the two boys took notes, “Beyond the oaks in Germania, Gray wolves are carnivorous and primarily hunt ungulates such as deer, wild boar, and even smaller mammals; ready to traverse for several miles. Do you recall the ways they communicate?”

“Howls, body language, and scent marking.” Caracalla said, rather doubtful of himself.

“That is true! Good job.” You cuffed his cheek. “Wolves have a special place in German literature; representing wilderness and the untamed spirit of nature.” You gaze fell on the two and cleared your throat. “Would you both like to hear a story?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, please.”

You took a few of Caracalla’s wooden toys; a wolf, two boys and two rather worn figures. “There once were two people…although they tried, they never could tame this wolf.”

“Hm? Why didn’t they just give it away?” Caracalla asked.

“Well, it is an animal that cannot be disposed of. Now, others would come to their home and would give the two all kinds of advice! ‘Just hit it, it will listen.’ ‘Let it be, it will listen.’ ‘Put it outside, it will listen.’ Nothing worked. The wolf would always come back…rowdy, violent and disobedient.”

“It is a wild creature! Why would they invite it into their home to begin with?” Geta asked and leaned forward, rather invested.

“Some things come inside without an invitation.” The two brothers looked at each other. You pushed the two figures away, leaving the two boys and the wolf. “And the two people…they had two children soon after, leaving the wolf with them.” The boys looked rather puzzled, sad---

“As the children grew, the wolf would linger around the home. Eventually, the children grew fond of it. They shared a bed, food. Soon, they built a home just for the wolf, visiting it every day.”

“They should kill the wolf.” Geta spat.

“That is a very big task, Geta.” You said softly, looking him in his brown eyes. “What do you think, Caracalla? What would you do?”

“I am not sure…I would treat it like a wild animal. I would never make a home for it.”

You squeezed their cheeks. “Alright. That is enough for today.”

Part 1

A/n: Wolf is in reference to the movie but does not mean the same thing. <3 After doing more research on the actual twin emperors of rome, I am now aware Caracalla is older yet loved his brother very much; I will be going off of their real stories instead of the movie! I love the movies dearly lol but I prioritize my writing.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

Must be following to be added to next taglist! I prioritize my followers <3

[corruptedcaps]

Model Behaviour

Liam paced his tiny workshop, his fingers twitching nervously as he glanced at the nearly completed bodysuit hanging in front of him. The latex and silicone masterpiece shimmered under the harsh overhead light, an uncanny recreation of the fictional supermodel girlfriend he’d spent the past year bragging about.

Maddy sat on a stool, arms crossed, her expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

“This is insane, Liam, I can’t believe I’m even considering this.” She said.

Liam stopped pacing and turned to her, pleading. “Maddy, you’re my best friend. You know I didn’t mean for this to happen. It just… got out of hand.”

“You could’ve just told the truth at any point,” Maddy shot back. “Instead, you built that.” She gestured at the suit.

“I panicked, okay? And now, if I don’t show up with ‘Sophie,’ my career is over. They’ll never take me seriously again.” He said, his face distraught at the thought.

Maddy sighed, shaking her head. “Ok fine let’s do it.” Liam lit up with excitement.

“The suit’s fully functional. It even has built-in voice modulation. You’ll look, sound, and… act just like her.”

“Wait, act?” Maddy raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Liam hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “I may have added a… personality enhancer. You know, to make you more convincing. A touch of… um… supermodel flair.”

Maddy’s eyes narrowed. “Define ‘supermodel flair.’”

“There’s no time, just know it’s just a little conditioning to help you out is all.” He said hoping his house of cards won’t topple.

Maddy glared at him but stood up. “This better not mess with my head, Liam. If I end up on a therapist’s couch because of this, you’re paying the bill.”

“Noted,” Liam said, handing her the suit. “Now, let’s get you suited up.”

Minutes later, Maddy stood in front of the mirror, transformed. The suit hugged her frame perfectly, the flawless blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. Her lips were pouty, her posture effortlessly poised. She turned slowly, her reflection almost unrecognizable.

She placed a hand on her chest, running her fingers over her impressive boobs. “That’s… me?” Her voice, now sultry and smooth, startled her.

“Pretty convincing, huh?” Liam said nervously from behind her. “You look incredible.”

Maddy tilted her head, studying herself. A sly smile crept onto her lips. “Of course I am. Incredible doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Liam frowned. “Maddy? You okay?”

Maddy adjusted the shimmering blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her heart pounding as she stared at her transformed reflection. This was her chance, the closest she’d ever get to being Liam’s girlfriend, even if it was just pretend. It was the main reason she had agreed to do it in the first place.

And yet as she gazed at her new and improved body a voice in the back of her head was telling her that Liam didn’t deserve her now that she could have any man she wanted now. The voice made her hunger.

“Of course I do, darling.” She purred, her modulated voice smooth and sultry. She struck a playful pose, a mix of teasing and allure. It felt incredibly natural. “Now can we get going, I NEED to be seen.”

A few hours later Liam stood near the drinks table, awkwardly nursing a glass of sparkling water as his coworkers mingled around him. His eyes kept darting to Maddy, who was currently surrounded by a captivated crowd, her laugh ringing through the air like music.

She was wearing the dress that she demanded he buy her on the way to the party. A shorter than short red dress that she insisted was festive but also showed off her long legs and ample chest. She was the center of attention, and Liam could hardly believe how flawlessly Maddy had pulled this off, or rather, how flawlessly the suit had.

As he watched her endless charm his colleagues, his boss, David, sauntered over to Maddy with a confident grin. David was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a reputation for his charm. Liam’s stomach sank as he watched David lean in, clearly flirting.

“Liam, she’s stunning!” Claire from accounting exclaimed, sidling up beside him, blocking his view of Maddy. “You were underselling her. No wonder you were so smitten.”

“Uh, yeah, she’s, uh… one of a kind.” Liam muttered, forcing a smile.

“So, Sophie, Liam’s been keeping you a secret from us for too long. What do you do?” David asked, his voice smooth.

Maddy tilted her head, a playful smile curving her lips. She was drinking in David. A man like him would never have took a second look at a girl like her before. A girl like Maddy.

“Oh but you’re not Maddy anymore remember?” The voice said in her mind, now louder than before. “You’re Sophie a beauty queen, who knows a king when she sees them.”

The words weee accompanied by a dumping of endorphins that made her eyes flutter a little and a soft moan pass through her lips.

“Are you alright?” David asks with actual concern.

Maddy felt a flush of lust come over here as concern etched David’s face. “Mmm I’m sorry, it’s just I was taken by your good looks for a moment. It’s made me light headed.” She said biting her bottom lip at him. He looked a little taken aback by it himself but was still intrigued.

Placing his hand on her lower back he started to guide her way from the noise of the party. “Why don’t you sit down? I know the perfect place.” He said to her with a knowing smirk which she returned.

Meanwhile Liam was still trying to break away from his conversation with Claire. “I know why don’t I introduce you.” He finally said after ten minutes of her gushing about how amazing ‘Sophie’ looks.

However as he glanced back toward where Maddy had been he found her to be gone. His eyes scanned the room frantically until he spotted her. He left Claire to go deeper into the office, far from where the office party noise was. However as that sound died, a new one took its place. The sound of a woman moaning and panting.

Liam turned the corner and saw Maddy sitting on David’s lap, jumping up and down as she moaned like a wanton whore.

Liam froze, his stomach flipping. “No. No, no, no…”

He pushed through the cubicles, his mind racing. By the time he burst through the door, Maddy was running her fingers through her hair as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, climaxing and completely lost in the moment.

“Sophie!” Liam blurted.

She pulled back, her expression still utter bliss as her orgasm settled. However as the afterglow of it faded so too did her euphoria, as it shifted into something cool and indifferent. But also something else in her eyes that Liam couldn’t place. “Oh, Liam. There you are.”

David looked between them, smirking. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t realize she was off-limits.”

“She’s… she’s my girlfriend!” Liam stammered, his voice trembling.

Maddy raised a perfectly arched brow. “Girlfriend? Liam, don’t be so possessive. It’s unbecoming.”

Liam blinked, stunned. “What?”

David chuckled as he did up his pants. He clapped Liam on the shoulder, as he said “Relax, Liam. She’s just being friendly.”

“Friendly?!” Liam’s voice rose. “You were fucking!”

Maddy sighed dramatically, turning back to David. “He’s always so sensitive. Isn’t it adorable?”

David laughed, clearly amused.

“Meet me back at the party hot stuff.” She said, kissing David on the lips in front of an irate Liam. David smacked her on the ass as he sauntered out back to the party.

Liam’s face burned with embarrassment and frustration. “Maddy, what the hell are you doing?”

“Maddy? Who the hell is Maddy? Have you had one too many cosmos?” She said sharply, her voice dripping with condescension.

“This isn’t you!” Liam hissed, lowering his voice. “It’s the suit messing with your head.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms. “What suit? What the hell are you talking about?”

Liam froze, the words catching in his throat. “The suit, you’re wearing a suit! I built it, remember? You’re not really… this. You’re Maddy!”

She laughed, a harsh, hollow sound that made his stomach churn. “You’ve lost it, Liam. Is this ‘Maddy’ one of your friends you have a crush on or something?”

“No, no, no!” He stammered, his voice cracking. “You’re Maddy! You’re my best friend! We put this plan together, remember? You’re wearing a suit that I—”

“Stop it!” She snapped, her eyes blazing. “Do you hear how insane you sound? A suit? Ugh… at least you losing the plot will make this a lot easier.”

Liam looked at her confused. “Make what easier?”

Maddy let a smirk curl up on her lips, clearly revelling in what she was about to do. “We’re done. Honestly I don’t know why we were even together in the first place.”

Liam shook his head, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Maddy, listen to me. You’re not thinking clearly. The suit, it’s altering your mind. You have to fight it.”

She took a step closer, towering over him in her heels, her presence somehow larger than life. “You’re pathetic.” She said, her voice low and cutting. “You can’t handle the fact that I’ve outgrown you. That I don’t need you. You’re the one who’s confused, Liam. Not me.”

His heart sank as she turned on her heel and strutted back toward the party, her laughter floating over the sound of the music.

Liam stood there, frozen, his mind racing. She didn’t remember the suit. She didn’t remember who she really was. She was Sophie, his perfect girlfriend who wanted nothing to do with him.

[sparkystar12]

It's a coincidence that this came up on my feed and it's at the right time. I'm crying now because I watched this movie, and this made me realize how much I love this friend. I love this friend more than life can express itself. It’s freaking crazy how this movie hit a nerve, and then my grief is all over again, and I’m alone but left with this deep ache that I can’t even describe. At the same time, I need this release to heal. I need to know how much I love this person. Incredible. 💕

Still moving forward. It's still hard. This loss wouldn't go away, but I’ll manage. It’s all about perspective- this friend is probably happier without me and I want this person to have this if that means my absence gives this person peace.

Maybe one day, we'll find our way back and our relationship will be arranged perfectly, more than it ever would have been. But I'll learn to live without you, as I have been doing this for the last four months.

😭✌️

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[helenazbmrskai]

Han Jisung // gifted comfort 🎁

Note // This is entirely my indulgent fic for the holidays, it marks the day I post my first skz fanfic, have a good read!

Pairing [Han Jisung x avoidant attachment type! Reader]

Genre [Christmas AU, hurt and comfort, fluff, angst, smut]

Summary [You ask your friend to accompany you to a dreadful family reunion and the catch is that you rejected his confession but he's not one to give up when he knows your refusal is not for the lack of interest. Things might work out better than he expected right on your childhood bed.]

Warnings [family disharmony, anxiety and implied rocky relationship with the reader's dad, smut (handjob, sub!han, sexual intercourse)]

Rating [+18, smut]

Han reaches for your hand to stop the shaking of it momentarily. His thumb rolls over your knuckles enthralling a sense of comfort and you try hard to relax. ”Take in a deep breath cheeks.” The nickname at the end makes you smile. You close your eyes and exhale slowly, in the darkness you can only feel his warm hands one holding your hand and the other wrapping around your waist. It’s a small familiar bubble he created just outside your parent’s front porch driving away all the bad memories that keep coming back the more you get close to your childhood home.

It has been a dread to come home but with Jisung glued to your side, you listen to the small voice in your head that he- he might be able to keep you sane until it’s past Christmas. The knots in your stomach subside a bit that had you in a twist for a couple of days now. ”I think I will be sick.” Unsure how to express the feelings that overwhelm you if you had to summarise it you would say it’s similar to rocks sitting on your chest.

”It’s just the nerves, honey, you will be fine I’ll be here with you.” You don’t doubt him, he’s been your unshakeable pillar for years what concerns you is not that your family will hurt you but that they will hurt him.

”We talked about this. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Sensing your uptight shoulders and rigid posture Han can tell that you’re overthinking again in your head. Just like he always does when you get like that he pulls you close and rests your foreheads together so that you can see only him in your eyes.

He gets you to look at him effortlessly by now, one finger moves under your chin with practised ease and tilts your face up. ”Tell me what you’re truly afraid of.”

You bite your lip in discontent, you hate when he knows exactly when you’re about to lie about something.

”I hate how well you know me.” It’s just a few words whispered to no one in particular but he hears you, like always. He chuckles at your antics. Feels it how you relax in his hold. His knowing smirk is all you need to know this is what his plan was all along. With renewed intent, he cups your cheek and smiles seeing your annoyed look.

”You might hate it now but I’ll make sure you’ll love it someday.” You wince remembering the conversation that you had a week before. You know it was not his intention to plant seeds of guilt but you cannot help this gnawing feeling you have ever since you rejected him. He’s a great guy, the best to be honest he’s the one who makes you the happiest and you love spending time with him it’s just that you have this fear about your relationship. You know that he deserves someone who could be more emotionally available.

”I’m sorry.” It’s an impulsed apology and Han wants none of it. You talked it through after you rejected him and he took note of your uncertainty and decided to give you space to think but that doesn’t mean he has given up on you.

”Don’t apologise sweets. Just because I love you it doesn’t mean you have to feel any guilt for it.”

So sweet. Always the gentleman when it comes to you, he has the patience like an endless ocean and uses it all on you.

”Still-” You stop talking when his thumb frees your lower lip, he hates it when you bite it because it often bruises and you complain that it hurts while you eat. ”It’s not because I don’t l-” unable to say „love” you correct it. ”Like you.”

”I know that so don’t worry.” You hum in a moment of agreement and let your nerves subside a bit. It helps that Han is waiting for you patiently, he knows so well when you need his touch and when you need space. Afraid that you got spotted after standing on the porch for a long time you look around for any eyes but thankfully there’s none and you’re still alone in this bubble he created for you.

”Don’t think I forgot about what we were talking about. Tell me what’s on your mind. We’re not going anywhere until you let me in here.” Han playfully pokes the side of your head and you swat it away like he expected with a roll of your eyes. He’s real good at changing up the atmosphere whenever you need it.

”Hah, okay. I guess I’m just afraid after you meet with my parents you will change your mind and leave me after you realise I’m not worth the effort.” It’s out in the open you can’t bear to look at his reaction so you look down ashamed.

”That’s not going to happen. You are worth all the effort I’m putting into our relationship. I know you’re trying on your own as well so there’s nothing to be worried about.” It’s reassuring to hear him say it in such a convincing tone. You happily melt into his arms as he hugs you close.

Finally feeling ready enough to face the family.

”Are you going to come in or you will talk here for ’nother hour?” You jump out of Jisung’s arms when you hear your father’s voice. Breaking this perfect moment with his horrible timing to announce his presence. He had his usual scowl on his face – not that he ever had anything nice to say. Your hand visibly shakes as you press it to your side greeting your father. Jisung gets ahold of your hand and smiles gently at your father. He greets him with respect and you witness their awkward handshake but rather civil considering your dad’s temper. Once your mother shows up the tension in your shoulder eases up a bit.

She is more welcoming when she introduces herself to Han. You hold onto his hand like a lifeline as you get inside.

The interior hasn’t changed much since you were a kid maybe a few things were repaired and changed up here and there. The house itself is not too big so it doesn’t need a tour per se but you still offer Han to show him around.

Your mother approves of it as she still has a few things to do before dinner is ready and your father retires to the main bedroom to continue his show leaving you to your devices. Good to know that some things just never change around here.

”Glad that you’re here y/n. Get some rest and I’ll call you two when the food is ready.” Your mother shows the both of you a reserved smile but there’s affection for you in her gaze Han can see it.

It’s no surprise that you cannot show how you feel as there’s much in the household that cannot be expressed.

He can see why you were worried but in his eyes, your image will not change due to this. Your parents are not you and in the end, he should be grateful that he could meet you thanks to them bringing you to the world.

Han looks around the house with interest as you guide him a step ahead, his eye occasionally catching on a family picture on the cabinet but the most attention he pays to is how your room is decorated.

Your Scooby Doo’s bedding is adorable and he takes note of the posters you have of celebrities on your wall, males of course. He takes note of your tastes even if it’s limited to your teenage years this was the room that you spent the most time in. It makes him feel good that you let him into such an intimate space of yours. Whilst he’s grateful he can’t help his teasing though as you have the best reactions. You look so beautiful shy and red all over as you try to hide some plush bears.

”It’s been a while since I was here, okay? Don’t laugh at me, I bet your room is no better than this.” You visibly sulk at his enjoyment.

”I’ll show you my room next time.” You blush at what he’s hinting at and you cannot say that you don’t welcome this warm feeling. When Han sees that you’re not opposed to the idea he approaches you.

”My mom will absolutely adore you. I can’t wait for you to meet her.” You mirror his relaxed smile and let him pull you into a hug. You hum not in agreement or disagreement to keep the serenity of it. You don’t dare to look too hopeful even if his words of your futures together sound tempting when he envisions it. You like to hear him tell you about future events and plans it’s nice that he sees every image with you in the picture. It’s nice it feels like between his arms you belong.

Ever since he confessed his love to you there’s this tension a certain mood shift you feel between the two of you. It started to get to you but now it feels like it will consume you if you don’t say anything.

”What will you do if I say I wanted to kiss you?” Nervously curious there are newly formed knots in your stomach but this time it’s not anxiety that has you biting your lips as you anticipate the answer to your very bold question.

Jisung looks taken aback by your sudden boldness. It’s not that he couldn’t sense this tension in the air he decided not to act on it after your rejection. It hurt him but did not deter him from trying again especially since he knows you feel the same. He’s hopeful that you mean it but even if you don’t he’s not going to say no to you.

”I would say you can kiss me anytime.” Still unsure how to thread into his uncharted territory he gives you all the control. If you wanted to kiss him you can if you wanted to take it back and forget about it he would do it but it would be a lie since he wouldn’t be able to forget anything about you. He just likes you so much that you wrapped him around your pinky finger effortlessly. It does hurt his ego. You had his heart for a very long time now and it’s time you realise your power over him. You can feel it, his resolve weakening as your breaths mingle when you draw closer. His eyes visibly drop down to your lips frowns when he sees you bite your lip again.

”Where’s your self-preservation, huh? What if I asked to have sex?” You withdraw and he doesn’t like it he’s been anticipating that hypothetical kiss that you sweetly promised with your daring eyes. He was so close to it. You don’t look frightened like usual when anything remotely romantic comes up and that gives him the courage to be honest with you as well. He draws you back into his space.

”I would say we can have sex if you wanted.” A part of you expected him to change the subject or crack a joke but he remains serious as he looks at you under his hooded eyes. You’re speechless.

”Jisung. We’re at my parents.” You lower your voice to indicate that you can get closer to getting caught with each passing minute. Dinner could be ready anytime soon. Jisung just laughs at your scandalised face the tension eases a bit but he’s not letting it completely get lost as he grips your waist lovingly his hold tightens as he bends to laugh directly into your neck taking up your space. You realise he’s checking your reactions to his touch and closeness. See if you will laugh with him and push him away. Jisung is in desperate need of your attention and you talking about having sex with him is not lost on him it put him in a predicament. Afraid that you might never ask him again he catches himself becoming impatient. He imagined it. He wants it but only if you do too.

”You’re right. I’m sorry for acting this way.” He catches himself a moment later as he withdraws from your neck. You rejected him not that long ago so he swore to move at snail's speed with you building up his next confession but here he is – getting greedy. You’re torn if you should stop him from getting farther away or if you require space to think clearly. Both of you are getting lost in your thoughts. You can tell he tries to compose himself thinking that you won’t read the need from his eyes that look back at you. You want to say something, anything but-

”The food is ready.” A single hard knock interrupts you before you can say anything. Yes or no, you’re unsure. Yelling back a ’be right there’ so your mother could hear you. You deserve a pat on your back for your voice coming out clearly. You know you should say something first before Jisung misunderstands you.

”Let’s talk about this again later, shall we?” An encouraging smile and a melting heart eye is all you can do to convey your sincere heart. While having doubts about where it could all lead – these feelings are growing too much for you to ignore. You can’t help but chase after this love that he’s capable of giving.

”-Alright.”

You can tell he has something to say. Maybe to reassure you he’s not here to make your choices. If you said the word you know he could wait more if not forever for you to come around. Ever since you knew him he’s always been relentless. If there was anything he wanted he kept chasing it. He never failed to claim anything he wanted so far – and it seems like you won’t be the first exception.

He did capture you in the end.

Jisung follows you to the dining room and while you expect it to be awkward with you sitting in front of your dad with your sister present and more people around you, you are able to relax more into your seat.

There’s silence breaking chit-chat here and there your mother mostly asking questions about your days and your sister’s laced with some Christmas music playing in the background. You’re surprised that Jisung talks with your dad a few words – thankfully at his best behaviour considering there are outsiders at the dinner table – you catch up with your sister’s husband a bit before you make sure he’s included in your conversation.

Feeling touched that he accompanied you even though he doesn’t know anyone here you find his hand under the table and thread your fingers together. He stops mid-conversation his hand grabbing onto you firmly to show you he’s here with you. There’s an unusual smile on everyone’s faces throughout the dinner.

This is the most peaceful it has been in ages.

”He’s a catch.” You jolt when you hear your sister whisper the words into your ear with dirty plates in your hand. You assured Jisung that he could shower first as you would take care of the dishes first. This might be the first time you separated from him but you calmed down enough that you don’t feel dread by it. It’s the perfect time for your sister to start her little inquiry. She caught you in a corner and you smile warmly at her as she asks you about him. Everyone else retreated to their rooms.

”Yeah, he’s good to me.” Your smile is incriminating that your sister knows by now that you’re head over heels for him.

”I can see that. He likes you so much. He couldn’t look away from you the entire time.” Her teasing is hammering home especially after you remember that you still have a conversation to touch upon later tonight.

”Enough about me. What about you? Everything alright?” She nods with a smile.

”Very peaceful now that we have our house.” You can imagine that.

It’s been a while since you last talked so you try to catch up in a few before you both head to bed. Once you enter your room Jisung is already lying on your bed freshly showered with a book in his hands. The day is catching up to you it seems as you nip a yawn at the bud. The day’s anxiety leaves your body at once now that the tiring socialising is over, you book it as a success without incidents.

”Everything’s alright?” You hum an affirmative into his t-shirt your legs and hands trapping him in a hug.

”Tired? You’re awfully cuddly.” Jisung giggles at how cute you are right now his hand absentmindedly goes to play with your hair and you further relax into his chest. You know you should get up and shower but this position is too comfy for you to move just yet. He smells like your soap. It awakens a weird sense of possessiveness in you.

”Not tired. I think we have a thing or two to discuss.” You push yourself above him positioned so that your palms are keeping you up next to his head planted onto the sheets. He visibly gulps at your sudden change in mood.

You oddly feel unrestrained.

”I guess we do.” It’s maddening when he shows you a boyish grin. His hand rests on your hip basking in your proximity. You lower your face until it’s inches away – he’s anticipating your kiss with eagerness, eyes already hooded and lips parted slightly in a sensual way. You know he’s waiting for it.

”You said I can kiss you anytime I want.” He confirms it with an annoyed huff. You pulled away just before your lips could touch.

”I did.” You’re teasing him and he doesn’t like it as he’s been anticipating it so much, you’re so close yet so far away that it’s agonising. Yet he can’t do anything about it. He closes his eyes in frustration before opening it again to look at you with such want that surely stirs something in the pit of your stomach.

You can do anything and he would wait until you decide he can have it.

”Said we can have sex if I wanted?” You’re repeating his words but his ears uncharacteristically turn red in the meantime.

”I d-did say that.”

It’s so unfamiliar, this shift that’s happening right this moment. You’re the one who’s insecure most of the time, sometimes gloomy and hard to handle but he always treats you right with confidence.

Hearing his stutter is a sign that you can sometimes steal his confidence.

”Please give me a kiss.” Jisung carefully cups your face pressing you close to his body, his beginning is music to your ears. You lean closer just to tease him a bit more which earns a pout from him.

You kiss his jaw and when he lets out a surprised sigh you kiss his pout away, pressing your lips to his awaiting ones.

”Hmn.” The sounds he lets out are stirring. You want to tell him to keep quiet since you’re still in your parent’s house but he recaptures your lips before you can say anything. ”A bit more, please.”

He keeps pressing, begging and kissing as if you will let him go any moment. As if he will never get to taste your mouth keeps pushing his lips against yours, moulding it hotly, lips fitting perfectly as he slowly holds you close to him. There’s a longing desperation in his actions.

Hums, moans and begs.

He drives you wild with his words and sounds.

Even though you love to hear him you’re prone to get caught if this continues so you have to tear yourself away from his mouth to recapture his attention. His glassy eyes manage to focus on you.

”Be quiet.” Jisung looks away shyly ashamed of how turned on he is just because of a few kisses. You looking down at him sternly doesn’t help. You didn’t even use your tongue yet and he’s so into it. Even if he’s ashamed of his reactions he can’t help but nod in hope that you will continue if he obeys. ”Think you can be quiet Sungie?”

He knows by now that you’re teasing him. The nickname. It’s so rare for you to use and to hear it in such a context. ”I can.” He’s completely lost to you. He wants you so bad it’s physically paining him. He doesn’t care if it’s in your childhood bed in your parent’s house or if you want to forget about it in the morning. He needs it now. Want to feel your hands and mouth all over his body.

”I’m sorry but can you help me? Honey?” He’s aching it doesn’t feel as good when he touches his cock through his pants like it used to. Even with you watching his rubbing motions it’s not nearly enough.

He knows he’s being shameless and impatient.

”It’s okay to want things from me. You don’t need to say sorry. I know our case is special as I have many issues to deal with- but you never have to apologise for seeking my affection or touch.” It’s a rare show of vulnerability in your voice and Han soaks it in, relieved that you don’t think he’s being pushy and impatient. He always wants you to have everything so it’s hard for him to ask you to fulfill his desires.

”It’s okay even if what I want is you?” It’s out before he could think. His second confession. He got rejected not too long ago yet he dared to say it again. You chuckle at the visible panic on his face, you can tell he’s waiting for you to pull away to say no.

You’re tired of fighting it.

”It’s okay for you to love me. I want it. Your love.” His heart leaps to his throat when he hears you finally accept his confession. You seal it with your lips against him this time neither of you shies away as you deepen it with your intertwined tongues.

”Thank you, thank you, thank you-” It comes out in gasps as your hand travels under his pants in the heat of the moment, your lips never falter as he presses the words into your mouth, and your fingers grip his length until you’re unsure if he’s thankful for you accepting his confession or if it is a reply to his desire to touch his cock. Either way, you’re here to please, it might not mean much but you always wanted to thank him for caring for you and this presents a great opportunity to do so.

It’s a bit tricky but you make the best of it due to the limited space, moving with the impatient rock of his hip you have a firm grip on him that looks to be just the extra push he needs. ”Feel ’so good- hmn, don’t stop.” Wordlessly you continue to go up and down his cock getting the extra wetness all over him.

He tugs his sweatpants down his hips so that his cock can be uncovered with more room for you to move and pick up the speed of your pumps. His unbecoming is near and what a mess he is almost as messy and sloppy as his cock is wet and squelching in your hands. His heavy breathing indicates it’s getting harder for him to control his moans it takes a high pitch when you get the right angle.

His cock is bigger than you expected, the producing veins and the grith everything is pretty about him. Curious if he would taste good you lean down to take the tip into your mouth when he pulls your head back a loud whining voice is filled with panic at your actions. ”D-don’t, if you do I don’t know if I could l-last.”

”Alright, if you don’t want to cum, then where you would like it?” You share a short sweet kiss before you straddle his lap.

”Do you want to cum inside? It might be the less messy option.” Whilst you nonchalantly ponder over the options Han is falling apart beneath you. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to each other.

He can feel your wetness rubbing up on him bare.

”What d- do you want?” Always the gentleman. Sharing a few kisses you align him with your opening.

”Of course I want you to cum inside. I have protection so you don’t need to worry about kids.” Han nods at your suggestion very eager to feel you around him if the twitching of his cock is any indication.

”What about you? Do you want it?” His hands grip your hips in anticipation. It tightens around you when you slowly sink to the bottom the stretch is tortuous as your walls clamp around him trying to accommodate. The tight pulsing is never ending it has Jisung’s already sensitive cock swell in you ready to burst.

”I’ve been dreaming about it for so long. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. I think I will cum soon.”

You can see that as he closes his eyes when you move his expression pained as he tries his best to keep hard for you. He wants you to get off first before he explodes but it’s hard as your hole sucks him in not letting up your tight grip on his throbbing length. The friction is delicious as you rock your hips, every vein presses against a nerve inside of you the grove of his length providing the perfect arch to reach your spot.

You’re convinced that his cock was made for you. It’s not hard for you to reach high places with the precise thrusts he delivers into you from below. Jisung aligns it with your bounces in sync gripping you by the hips, dragging you across his cock to take you on a ride. The pressure is building in your stomach until it explodes and you cum around his cock it doesn’t take more than a few more minutes for him to follow you.

His cum shoots deep inside you, flooding you with his warm cum that starts to drip out the moment his softening cock slips out of you.

You get up to get yourself clean before it can stain the bedsheets even if his begging eyes for cuddles are tempting you don’t want to start the next morning explaining to the household why you need to wash your sheets.

”I’ll quickly shower and be right back.” You place a kiss on his pouty lips, there’s a glow around him all sweaty and smooth around the edges as his expression is relaxed post-orgasm. You certainly adore this look on him.

”You can join me since I dirtied you up.” A sheepish smile is what you give him. He did take a shower merely two hours ago. You press your lips to his jaw and collarbones earning sweet little sighs from him. He makes you grow soft it’s out of your control as you can’t stop the constant touches you do.

Pushing his sweaty hair back you caress the hairs at his nape pulling him in for a longer kiss this time.

”I guess I should.” He looks too smug for someone who whined for you to put it in but you let it slide as you intertwine your fingers.

Han kisses your shoulders up to your throat it’s sweet without the urgency he had before it feels more like he’s trying to worship you. It makes your heart flutter and you can’t help but pull him up to kiss you this sweetly on the mouth as well.

”This might be my favourite Christmas so far.” You admit. Looking at his adorning eyes you can see your reflection in them. ”It’s all thanks to you.”

[ktownshizzle]

A Christmas Encore | Part 1 of 2

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You never thought you’d see Min Yoongi again, not in this lifetime, not in this place. He left years ago with big dreams and bigger talent, trading snow-covered Seollim Hollow for the city lights of Seoul. But now, with the cultural center—the heart of your hometown—on the verge of being sold to a soulless corporation, you’ll do anything to save it.

When Yoongi appears on your doorstep, it feels like a miracle wrapped in regret. But as the two of you work together to save the center, old promises resurface, along with feelings you thought you’d left behind. Can you trust someone who was never meant to stay? Or will you just get hurt again?

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Childhood Friends to Kinda Lovers to Kinda Strangers to Friends to Lovers (WHAT?! Yeah I got dizzy too) Second chances basically, Fluff, Smut, Mild Angst, Very Hallmark

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ only. Cheesy sometimes theatrical dialogue (just roll with it please), christmas cliches, virgin and vanilla sex (written in flashback scene), penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it), reader is in an FWB arrangement with a different male character, a couple of cute kisses, yoongi’s a little messy (thinks you have a boyfriend, but flirts with you anyways), lots of pining and yearning but MC is still a baddie who is fighting capitalism, Maknae line are here

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 11k (i knowww. 😬 That's why i’ve broken it in 2 parts)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting Date: December 28, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hello ho ho. We are back with another Ginger Yoongi fic, because I lub him 🧡 If you’ve read the teaser, I added one significant line here which I placed in boldface. Flashbacks are in italics. Hope you are enjoying your holidays! :)

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

Part of A Holly, Jolly Holiday with Min Yun-Kay collab with @yooglefics

The air in Seollim Hollow’s town hall is colder than the streets outside, though snow has been falling all day. You stand stiffly in front of Mr. Choi’s desk, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you try to keep the trembling in your hands at bay. Mr. Choi, the man who holds the fate of the cultural center in his grasp, leans back in his chair, his gaze apologetic but firm.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, his tone measured, almost regretful. “You have to understand, the town needs this money. We’ve been running on fumes for years, and this offer… it’s more than we could have ever hoped for.”

“Fuck money!” You slam your hand on his desk, voice thick with frustration. “You know what that center means to this town. It’s not just a building—it’s where the kids go after school, where the seniors quilt their memories together, where people connect in ways they can’t anywhere else. Without it, Seollim Hollow loses a part of itself.”

Mr. Choi’s expression softens for a moment. “I know,” he says quietly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. “I really do. That’s why this decision wasn’t easy. But this isn’t just about sentimentality. The town’s been struggling, and we can’t keep running on good intentions alone. The offer they’ve made—it’s more money than we’ve seen in years. It’s enough to keep us afloat.”

“By selling our soul to a corporation,” you counter bitterly, your grip tightening on the edge of his desk. “By tearing apart the heart of this town.”

“It’s not personal,” he replies softly, though his tone carries the weight of his own conflict. “It’s not easy, either. I’m just trying to do what’s best for the town.”

“What if…” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you’ve even thought them through. “What if I can find the money to match their offer? Would you give me the chance to save it?”

“Do you know how much they’re offering?”

“Tell me.”

He rattles off a number, and–shit–your heart sinks. It’s worse than you imagined, the kind of figure that feels impossible. 

Mr. Choi’s voice softens. “It’s a lot, I know. And honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to put this on you. But if you’re serious, and you think you can do it… I’ll give you two months. Two months to pull it together. If you can match the offer, I’ll bring it to the council.”

His gaze is steady, earnest. You can tell he doesn’t believe you’ll succeed, but there’s a quiet sincerity in his voice, like he wants to give you the chance, even if it’s a long shot.

You nod, jaw tight, and push away from his desk. “I’ll do it,” you say firmly, even as your stomach churns.

“The buyer’s representative will be in town soon to finalize details,” Mr. Choi says, shuffling papers. “They’ve been… persistent.” He hesitates before looking at you with a grimace. “I just hope they’re as reasonable as they seem.”

As you turn to leave, his voice stops you. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I hope you succeed.”

The cultural center feels like a refuge as you step inside, shaking snow from your boots. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and make your way to the meeting room where the rest of the team is waiting.

Everyone is already bundled up in their winter layers, scarves and hats still clinging to stray flakes of snow. They sit around the table, faces ranging from cautious to hopeful. These people are the lifeblood of this place—they’ve poured countless hours into keeping the cultural center alive and making the people feel the same way through music, sports, and art.

There’s Jungkook, a pitch-perfect singer whose natural talent and boundless energy makes every day a little brighter, his enthusiasm infectious even on the hardest days.

There’s Jimin, a former ballerina whose grace and dedication to dance and sports inspire everyone to push a little harder, his charm and easy warmth a constant source of comfort.

And there’s Taehyung, an artist with a quiet yet magnetic presence, his creative soul always dreaming up murals, community projects, and ways to make the town a little more beautiful.

Oh, and between the three of them, their face card never declines. 

With their immense talent, killer looks, and hearts of gold, you couldn’t ask for a better group of soldiers to see you through this ordeal.

You take a deep breath and face them. “Alright,” you say, and your voice is steady this time. “We’ve got two months to save this place. That’s it. We need to raise enough money to match the offer from the corporation, or it’s gone. We can do this, but it’s going to take everything we’ve got.”

“How much is the offer?” Taehyung asks hesitantly.

You tell them, and a ripple of gasps moves through the room. It’s a huge number. Maybe impossible. But it’s not completely out of reach.

“We’re going to hold a benefit concert,” you say. “A big one. Something that’ll get the entire town involved. We’ll sell tickets, get sponsors, take donations—whatever it takes. This can work. It has to work.”

Ideas fly around the room. Jungkook says the children’s choir he conducts can perform. Taehyung lists a couple of local baker-artisans that can organize a bake sale, and he volunteers to start a website so they can accept online orders. There’s a spark of energy in the air, cautious but real, and it makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this isn’t impossible.

“Do you think this will be enough?” Jimin asks as he surmises all the ideas he’s scribbled on the whiteboard.

Silence falls over the group. They’re looking at you, waiting for a solution you don’t have yet. You force a smile and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

The meeting wraps up, and the others file out, leaving you alone in your office.

You stay through the night thinking of ways to make this work. You sit at your desk, scribbling a to-do list, chewing on the end of your pen. Next, you’re drawing up budgets, listing contacts. God this is a fuckin’ mess. You’ve made a promise to your team, but the cracks in it are already starting to show.

Then, you hear a shuffle of footsteps outside your office and freeze. It’s late. Too late for anyone to still be here. Shit.

You should’ve locked up when the boys left earlier. Too late now.

Your pulse kicks up as you glance at the coat rack in the corner, grabbing the old baseball bat you keep propped against it. You stand, holding the bat tightly in both hands as you approach the door.

“Hello?” you call out, trying to sound calm but firm.

The figure standing in the doorway doesn’t move. They’re tall, dressed in a black coat, with a ball cap pulled low over their face. Your heart races. An intruder? Someone sent by the corporation to intimidate you?

“Don’t fuckin’ try anything,” you say sharply, raising the bat a little higher. “My… my boyfriend’s a cop.”

The figure finally shifts, lifting their hands slightly in surrender. “Relax,” they say, their voice low and familiar. Too familiar.

You freeze. That voice is impossible to mistake.

The man reaches up and tips his cap back, revealing a face that stops you in your tracks. Min Yoongi.

Your mind scrambles to catch up. It’s him. But not exactly how you remember. His eyes are even sharper, his jawline more defined. Tufts of bright hair peaks from his cap. He’s wrapped in a black coat that fits him perfectly, the snow-dusted collar somehow making him look like he’s stepped out of a k-drama.

“What…” Your grip loosens on the bat, and it clatters to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks into the faintest smile, the same one you’ve seen in every polaroid and Christmas card he’s sent over the years. “Hi,” he says simply, as if he hasn’t just materialized in your life after years of absence.

You stare at him, your thoughts a snowstorm. He looks good—too fuckin’ good, if you’re being honest. But he doesn’t belong here, standing in the doorway of your tiny office like he’s just another guy in town.

And yet, here he is.

(Flashback)

You’ve always known Min Yoongi. At least, that’s how it feels. He’s been part of your life for so long that imagining a version of it without him is impossible. 

Your parents had been neighbors, then friends, and you’d grown up sharing porches and bike rides and bowls of tteokguk on New Year’s morning. When you were younger, you’d bicker like siblings, but by the time you hit your teens, something had shifted—an unspoken understanding between you, like you’d been playing different roles all along and had finally settled into the right ones.

You’d always thought of Yoongi as yours, in some indefinable way. Not like a boyfriend, not like family, but something in between. 

It’s late one night when the bond between you is cemented forever.

You’re sixteen and walking home from a talent show at the community center. Snow falls in lazy flurries, clinging to your scarf and catching in Yoongi’s coat. The air smells crisp and clean, and the night feels like something out of a dream.

Yoongi’s carrying his guitar slung over his shoulder, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He’s quiet, still riding the high of his first-ever performance. You’d clapped so hard your palms were stinging by the end, and the memory makes you smile.

“You were good,” you tell him. “Not just ‘good for your first time,’ but, like… really good.”

He shrugs, but the tips of his nose turn red. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, pulling his beanie lower to hide his eyes. “Thanks.”

You laugh, a puff of white in the cold air. “I am truly honored to know such the nation’s next musical superstar.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. You know Yoongi well enough to recognize it for what it is—real pride, buried under layers of modesty.

“You should keep doing this. You’re going to be great at it.”

Yoongi stops, turning to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are soft. “You really think that?”

“Of course,” you say without hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He glances down at the snow for a moment, his breath fogging the air. Then, quietly, he says, “If I’m serious about this, I’ll have to leave. I can’t do it here.”

The words settle heavily between you, and for a moment, you can’t find anything to say. You knew Yoongi wanted more, wanted a life bigger than Seollim Hollow could give him. But hearing him say it out loud feels different. More real. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“Not now,” he adds quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. “Not yet. But someday.”

Your chest tightens, but you force a smile. “Well, when you’re famous, you better not forget me. I’ll show up in Seoul and embarrass you in front of all your fancy friends.”

That makes him laugh–his soundless shoulder chuckle you always love seeing. “Forget you? Nah, you’re too weird...”

“Promise me, then,” you say, holding out your pinky. “You’ll never forget the weird girl.”

He looks at your hand for a moment, then hooks his pinky around yours. His fingers are warm against the cold night. “Fine,” he says. “But only if you promise the same.”

“Deal.”

You’re about to let go, thinking that’s the end of it, when Yoongi glances up at the streetlamp above you. Hanging there, half-hidden by the snow, is a sprig of mistletoe.

He hesitates, his hand still holding yours, and looks at you with an unspoken question in his eyes.

Your pulse skips. For a moment, the rest of the world seems to fall away. Just you and him, standing under the mistletoe.

You nod, giving him your answer without a word.

He leans in slowly, his breath warm against your cold cheeks. His lips brush yours, soft and careful, and the moment is an ice sculpture, so fragile you’re afraid to move, afraid it might shatter.

When he pulls back, you’re both quiet, the snow falling around you like a curtain closing on a scene. Yoongi’s cheeks are pink, looking away but his lips hold the faintest of smiles.

He walks forward, glances back though he’s not quite meeting your eyes when he says, “You won’t forget that, will you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, biting your lip as you surge forward, bumping him as you walk ahead with a happiness you couldn’t quite contain.

And in that moment, you believe it. You believe you’ll carry that moment with you forever.

(End of Flashback)

Adulthood changes everything.

Yoongi leaves a few years after that night. Three to be exact. He tells you quietly one day, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cultural center’s music room, that he’s moving to Seoul to chase his dream to be a serious musician. You wish you could say you’re surprised, but you’re not. You knew he’d leave eventually. You’d prepared yourself for it.

Or at least you thought you had.

At first, you keep in touch. There are phone calls, texts, even a few visits during holidays. But slowly, inevitably, the gaps between those moments grow wider. Yoongi gets busier, and you try not to hold it against him. You hear whispers from mutual friends about how well he’s doing, about the producers and idols he’s working with. You’re proud of him. You always knew he’d be brilliant.

But sometimes, late at night, you feel the ache of his absence. You miss him. You miss the way he used to make you laugh when you were having a bad day, the way he’d quietly push his half-eaten snacks in your direction because he knew you’d forget to eat when you were stressed.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. You’ve learned that love—real love—isn’t just about wanting someone. It’s about being able to keep them. And Yoongi was never yours to keep.

Even as your lives drift apart, there’s one thing Yoongi never forgets. Every year, without fail, a postcard arrives in your mailbox a few days before Christmas.

They’re always simple—no long, heartfelt messages, just a quick note scrawled in his familiar handwriting. “Merry Christmas.” “Hope you’re doing well.” Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll add, “I miss home.”

You keep every single one. They’re tucked in a small box under your bed, and every December, you take them out and read through them. It’s a ritual you never admit to anyone. The postcards remind you of a part of him you thought you’d lost, a thread of connection that still holds, no matter how frayed it might feel.

Sometimes you wonder what they mean to him—if he sends them out of obligation, out of nostalgia, or because he misses you in the same way you miss him. But you never ask.

You think of Yoongi as the one who got away. And you’ve made your peace with it. He deserves to chase his dreams, and you deserve a life with someone who won’t leave.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

“Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

“I’m not stopping, princess.”

The grip the man has on your waist tightens as he drives his cock to your entrance, fast and deep. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the quiet of your room, matching the beat of your headboard banging against the wall. The neighbors are gonna hate you.

“C’mon, princess, cum with me” his hand reaches forward, parting your slick folds to rub your swollen clit furiously. Shit—

“I’m almost there…” you pant.

After a particularly hard thrust, you’re moaning, and he’s groaning, and you’re both coming at the same time, bliss washing over your body in waves.

You fall flat against your pillows as he pulls out and you sigh. You really needed that release.

Minutes later, Sgt. Jung Hoseok—Seollim Hollow’s most cheerful cop and your sometimes stress relief—grins at you from the other side of your bed like you’ve just handed him the best news of the year.

“Min Yoongi’s back in town? Wowwww…” he says, dragging the words out as he stretches his arms behind his head. His grin widens when you don’t answer right away. “Is that why you called me tonight? You never initiate. Is this some kind of nervous breakdown booty call?”

You throw a pillow at him, but Hoseok just catches it, laughing so hard his shoulders shake.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but the warmth in your cheeks gives you away.

When you were in your teens, Yoongi and Hoseok were the town’s favorite duo, the cute boys everyone couldn’t help but smile at. Hoseok was the one who dragged Yoongi into b-boying, claiming they’d be unstoppable if they combined Yoongi’s rhythm with his own moves. And even though Yoongi liked to grumble about how much he hated it, he was actually pretty good—not that he’d ever admit it. Still, you knew he was way more into playing instruments than throwing himself into flips and spins.

They were total opposites—Hoseok all sunshine and endless energy, Yoongi the moody, chill counterpart—but somehow, it worked. The town loved seeing them running through the streets, jumping off ledges, or randomly breaking out into a routine just for fun. They were just two boys with way too much chemistry and rhythm to keep to themselves.

But just like you and Yoongi, he and Hoseok also drifted apart when he moved to Seoul. Hoseok took the more practical approach, used the innate energy and strength he has to keep the community safe. He followed in the footsteps of his dad and became one of the neighborhood policemen.

“Your face…” He cackles, sitting up now, bare chest gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. “Did you just realize you’re still hung up on him after all these years?”

“Yah!!!” Your stomach flips, and you hate that he’s got you pegged so easily. You mutter a feeble, “Fuck you.”

“Already did,” he teases and you roll your eyes.

The “friends with benefits” part of your relationship started casually, almost accidentally early this year, and over the past months, it became something routine. A distraction. A comfort. Nothing more, and you both liked it that way.

Except right now, Hoseok looks entirely too smug, like he knows things you haven’t admitted to yourself.

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish, and Hoseok’s sharp eyes catch it instantly. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well…” You pick at a loose thread on the blanket, avoiding his gaze. “I might have said something… dumb when I saw him.”

“Define dumb.”

Your cheeks burn. “I told him my boyfriend’s a cop.”

Hoseok blinks. Then he bursts out laughing, so loud and sudden it startles you. “Oh my God,” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “You mean me? You told Yoongi I’m your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say it was you!” you snap, throwing another pillow at him. “I just panicked, okay? He showed up out of nowhere, and I thought he was gonna murder me!”

“Yah... He’s gonna figure it out, you know. You think he’s stupid?”

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I don’t know, Hoseok! I was already having a bad day.”

That shuts him up for a second. Hoseok straightens, his laughter softening into something more thoughtful. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re really messed up over this, huh?”

“No, I’m not—”

“Can’t wait to run into him soon. See how the big-shot producer’s doing,” he says.

You sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I was thinking about asking him to help with the benefit concert, actually.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to ask your childhood best friend—who also happens to be the guy you’ve been quietly pining for since forever—to save the town’s cultural center with some grand Christmas concert?” 

“You roll your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” he says, dragging the word out with all the disbelief he can muster. “Honestly, it sounds like the plot of a good story, and I can’t wait to read it.”

“Hoseok,” you warn, but he just chuckles, standing up and grabbing his clothes from the floor.

“Look,” he says, tugging on his jeans, “if you think you want to start something with Yoongi—like, really start something—I’m cool with calling this,” he gestures between the two of you, “off. No hard feelings. I’m not about to stand in the way of a Christmas miracle or whatever.”

You gape at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head.

You shake your head, trying to play it off. “I’m not–Yoongi’s just… probably in between things. He’ll be gone again before New Year’s. I’m not counting on anything.”

“You sure about that?”

“A thousand per cent.”

“Alright,” Hoseok shrugs. “Knew you couldn’t last a week without hopping on my dick anyway…”

“Boy! If you don’t–” you throw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face.

That makes him laugh again, his bright, warm laughter filling the room as he pulls on his jacket. “Aight, I’m just playing,” he says, still chuckling, but his tone is lighter now. “I’m out. But call me if you need me.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you lean back against your pillows, staring at the ceiling. You know Hoseok means well, but he doesn’t get it. Yoongi was never meant to stay. He made that clear years ago, and you’ve made your peace with it. You’re not about to let yourself hope for anything more. Not this time.

Why couldn’t you just fall in love with someone like Hoseok?

The next time you see Yoongi, he looks like he’s stepped straight out of some idol photofolio.

It’s mid-morning, and you’re walking toward the café on Main Street when you spot him across the square. Shelby, the dog his mom got years ago, is tugging at her leash, bounding through the snow while Yoongi trails behind her, americano in hand. His orange hair glows against the overcast sky, a cobalt jacket pulling his frame together like he’s stepped out of an editorial.

He looks striking. Expensive. Entirely out of place in Seollim Hollow.

You don’t realize your feet are moving until you’re halfway across the street. “Yoongi!”

He looks up, pausing mid-sip of his coffee, and tilts his head slightly when he sees you. Shelby stops sniffing a patch of snow and wags her tail furiously at the attention.

“Hi Shelby!” You say, scratching the back of her ear for a few seconds before turning to the cat-like man who was looking at you amusedly. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad.”

You hum, pouting as you try to string together the words you wanted to say.

His lips form a straight line, the edges of his mouth bracketing his awkward smile.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you say, willing your voice to steady. 

Yoongi’s brow lifts slightly. “What about?”

“You’re a music producer, right?”

He shrugs, “Why? What do you need…”

So you tell him your predicament. How some greedy, low-life motherfuckers want to tear down the cultural center. (His eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline when you say this, but you’re just getting warmed up.)

“Like, who even does that?” you rant. “Only the worst kind of people. The type who steal candy from babies, kick dogs—not you Shelby girl—and probably thinks pizza tastes good with pickles.” You pause, pointing at him for emphasis. “And not in the fun, quirky way either. Like, sociopath level.”

Yoongi blinks at you, clearly trying to process your spiraling rage. “So… you’re upset.”

“Fuck yeah I’m upset!” you snap, gesturing wildly. “They’re trying to destroy something important! For what? To build another strip mall no one’s going to shop at because Amazon exists? It’s evil. Straight-up Squid Games territory.”

“Is that what they’re doing with it?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I don’t care. They’re all the same capitalist motherfuckers in my book. But they’re not taking the beating heart of this town. Over my dead body.”

At this, Yoongi just nods slowly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Remind me never to cross you.”

You further explain your ideas to save the town. But where he comes in is the benefit concert. You tell him you need his help in song arrangements, coordinating and coaching the performances, even performing himself, if he’s willing. You’re careful to manage your tone, to make it sound less desperate than it is. He listens, his face unreadable, but he’s probably qualifying if he can actually help you, or maybe if he even wants to.

“All the proceeds are going toward reclaiming the cultural center,” you say firmly. “If we hit our goal, we can match the corporation’s offer and keep it from being sold.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Shelby, apparently bored, starts sniffing his shoes. “I can help,” he says finally.

Your chest loosens with relief. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, lips twitching upward. “Yeah. But you’ll owe me a drink. Or dinner. Something.”

“I can do that.”

His smirk grows faintly. “So… you want me to perform too, or just help with arrangements?”

“You’d perform?”

“Depends.” He tilts his head. “How desperate are you?”

“Enough to go down on my knees.” 

His eyes are like saucers, but he keeps the rest of his face neutral. “Mm. Noted.”

Suddenly you realize what your words could’ve meant and your nervous laughter spills out before you can stop it. “I just meant I’m not too proud to beg.”

“Again, noted.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t think you meant anything else,” he tells you, although you can tell he’s lying by the way he’s poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue.

Just as you’re wrapping up the conversation, Yoongi glances at you, his voice shifting slightly. “Oh, I ran into your boyfriend earlier…”

You tilt your head dumbly.

“Hob-ah.”

Oh shit. Your stomach drops. “Ah, Hoseok. My boyfriend…” you quickly remember the lie, and you recover, kinda. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone as casual as ever. “We ran into each other at the bakery. He was picking up red bean buns for his appa.”

You nod, throat dry.

Yoongi hums, sipping his coffee. “Guess nice guys really do get the girl in the end.”

Before you can even process what he just said, you hear the unmistakable voice of his eomma from across the street.

“Well,” he says, adjusting Shelby’s leash. “See ya.”

He lingers for a beat, then gives a small wave before turning to walk away. 

You stand frozen, Yoongi’s words looping through your head. You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. A pang of bitterness settles in your gut. Yoongi’s wrong. The type of guys that get the girl? The ones who stay.

When Yoongi shows up at your office the following Monday, and it takes everything in you not to gape like an idiot.

He’s wearing a black turtleneck that fits him too well, sharp and effortless in a way that makes him look untouchable. He’s leaning against your doorframe like he has nowhere else to be, a small notebook tucked under his arm, which looks just like the notebook he used to scribble lyrics in back when you were teenagers.

“You’re early,” you say, as you settle your bag on your desk.

“Well, you’re the one running the show. Figured I’d want to stay on your good side.”

You roll your eyes, “Sit. I’ll get you up to speed. And Yoongi, you’re working pro bono, you’re already on my good side.”

He grins slightly, scratching his nose as he shakes his head. It’s the same mannerism he’s had when you were young, when he’s just a tad embarrassed. You try not to be too endeared even though it’s virtually impossible.

You walk him through your plans for the benefit concert, pointing out the lineup you’ve pulled together so far. Yoongi listens quietly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of your desk as you speak.

“You’re really pulling this together,” he observes.

“It’s been a group effort. You should meet the maknaes, they’re the reason everything is moving so swiftly,” you say, brushing it off. “But we’re still short of a showstopper. Someone who’ll get the town buzzing.”

Yoong nods his head. “If you want I can make some phone calls, see who I can rope in from my contacts.”

“You’d do that to save the center?”

“Yeah, I’d do it for you,” he nods. “And the town.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. “Thank you. I owe you.”

He exhales softly and leans back in his chair. “I already told you, just buy me dinner once and we’ll call it even.”

You let the silence fester for a bit, but curiosity got the best of you.

“Why are you here anyway?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but you kind of appeared like some apparition all of a sudden.”

Yoongi looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s debating whether to tell you the truth. Then he shrugs, eyes dropping to his notebook. “I guess I was just missing home. And eomma’s been on my case about coming back for the holidays this year, so…”

You don’t understand why he looks sus. His answer is casual, but unconvincing. You still don’t know if you’re buying it.

“Okay,” you say, because pressing him won’t get you anywhere. But as you move on to the next topic, you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more he’s not telling you.

“It’s funny,” he says casually, looking around the cultural center. “I didn’t think this place would look as well as it does.”

You give him a funny look. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought it’d be more… decrepit? It’s been here since we were young.”

“You’d be surprised what this town can do when it comes together. The Kim’s donated paint one year, even did all the labor. We did a fundraiser to get new musical equipment. The maknaes did all the regrouting and retiling in the bathrooms and the pantry.”

“You’re amazing.”

“It’s all them,” you say, kicking your shoe lightly on the carpeted floor.

Yoongi smirks, “you don’t know the effect you have on people, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flush.

“They may have done the brunt work, but you’re the leader that inspired them to do it,” he says, with the confidence of someone who’s known you all his life. Even if he did disappear for years. “It’s not easy keeping things alive.”

Your heart stops for a second at his words. You know he’s just talking about the center. He’s not talking about anything else. Certainly not his unspoken feelings towards you that were obviously left in the past. So you manage a curt, “Thanks, Yoongi.”

When he comes over the next day, he’s all business. He steps into your office with his notebook and a couple of sheets of paper, saying he has ideas for the lineup.

You’re expecting something good, but what he shows you takes your breath away.

“These arrangements are perfect,” you say, flipping through the pages he’s handed you. It’s been years since you’ve seen his work up close, but the brilliance of it still stuns you. “You’re still… incredible at this, Yoongi.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are faintly pink, and the sight tugs at something deep in your chest.

“And this…” You pause at the last page. “What’s this song?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he nods toward the piano in the corner of the room. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

You hesitate, your heart already pounding, but you follow him. He sits down on the bench, and without a word, he gestures for you to sit next to him. The space is too small. Your shoulder brushes his, and you suddenly feel nineteen again. The last time you sat beside each other in this very bench, in this very room, is still ingrained in your memory. You wonder if he even remembers.

Yoongi’s fingers press against the keys, and the first notes ring out softly, reverently. The melody is mesmerizing, weaving through the room like smoke curling through the air. You watch his hands—elegant and sure and effortless. 

And somewhere between the rise and fall of the music, you can’t stop yourself from still wondering: Why did he leave? Why did he let so much time pass without a word? And why, now that he’s back, does it feel like you can’t breathe when he’s near?

The song ends too soon, the last note lingering in the air as Yoongi turns to you. He catches you staring, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, unable to look away. “I– I don’t know.”

His gaze drops to your lips, staying there for just a moment too long. And, wait–is he leaning just a little closer?

You think he’s going to kiss you. You want him to kiss you.

But then Yoongi pulls back slightly, his expression shifting. “Hoseok’s probably waiting for you at home.”

The words douse the warmth in you like a bucket of ice cold water.

Your stomach drops, and you can’t stop the truth from falling between your lips, “No, he’s not.”

Yoongi nods once, his face unreadable again as he stands. “Still, I should go.”

You don’t stop him. You can’t. Because you have to remind yourself, he’s not here for you. You don’t even know if he wants to stay or if you could ever ask him that. If your past is an indication, Yoongi was never yours to keep and you were never enough to make him stay.

When the door closes behind him, you’re left sitting at the piano bench alone, your heart still racing and your thoughts an absolute mess.

(Flashback)

It had been a quiet winter evening, the kind of cold that numbed your cheeks and made your breath fog up in front of you. The cultural center was nearly empty, save for you and Yoongi, tucked away in the rec room where he was hunched over an old piano. The air smelled faintly of dust and wood polish, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room.

Yoongi’s fingers moved over the keys with absent precision, but the music wasn’t soft tonight. There was tension in the notes—sharp and uneven, like his thoughts were spilling out of him one chord at a time. You watched from the doorway, arms crossed, the anger in your chest building until it felt like you might burst.

“So that’s it?” you blurted out suddenly, your voice loud in the silence. “You’re just leaving?”

Yoongi’s hands stilled immediately, the final note ringing harsh and hollow before fading out. He looked up, frowning. “You knew I was leaving.”

“You didn’t say it was this soon.”

He sighed, turning back to the keys, playing a few softer notes now—like he was trying to calm both the piano and himself. “You make it sound like I’m never coming back.”

“Are you?” You stepped into the room, the accusation sharp in your tone. “Because it sure feels like you’re running, Yoongi. From this place. From… everything.”

He turned to face you fully then, his brows drawn together. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are!” The words came out louder than you’d intended, and Yoongi blinked, surprised at your volume. But you didn’t stop. “You’re leaving your mom, leaving me—all so you can go chase some stupid dream in the city.”

Yoongi flinched at that, his expression darkening. “It’s not stupid.”

“It feels stupid,” you shot back, your voice trembling now. “What’s wrong with staying here? With making a life here? ”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite read. “For you, maybe. But not for me.”

The words hit like a slap. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Yoongi wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter but just as cutting. “You’ve never wanted to leave this place. You don’t need to look elsewhere to give your family a chance at a better life. You’re happy here, stuck in this tiny town where nothing ever changes. But that’s not me. I can’t stay.”

“Why not?” you asked, the question breaking out of you like a plea.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. “Because I want more, okay? I want… I don’t know. I wanna be rich, I wanna be me, I wanna be something.”

“And what am I?” you whispered, the words barely audible. “Am I nothing?”

Yoongi froze, his expression faltering for the first time. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s what it feels like,” you said, your voice breaking as you turned away from him. “You make it sound like staying here means I’m such a loser. Like I’m not enough.”

“That’s not—”

“No.” You spun back to face him, tears pricking at your eyes. “Just go, Yoongi. Go to Seoul. Go be something, like you keep saying. I hope it’s worth it.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You waited for him to say something—anything—that might fix the jagged edges of the fight, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his face unreadable, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

That night, you toss and turn in your sheets, the ache in your chest refusing to let you sleep. The silence of the room feels heavy, the kind that makes every sound louder—the creak of the floor, the rustle of your blanket.

Then there’s a knock. A soft, deliberate rap on your window.

You sit up, heart already pounding, and there he is. His silhouette is familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten, hunching over the windowsill before he lands on your carpet with a dull thud.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, rolling on your bed to face away from him, hoping the distance might make it easier to breathe.

“I can’t go like this,” he says.

“It’s fine,” you reply quickly, your voice quieter than you meant.

“The hell it is.”

You hear the shuffle of fabric as something—probably his coat—falls to the floor. And then the mattress dips under his weight, and before you can steel yourself, warmth blooms behind you. His arms slide around you, pulling you against him with a kind of confidence that feels too natural for something you’ve never done before.

“What are you doing, Yoongi?” Your voice shakes, and you hate how it betrays you, how it cracks under the weight of the tears threatening to spill.

“Shh…” he murmurs, tucking you closer to him, his forehead pressing against the back of your head. “Don’t cry.”

Your breath hitches, and you choke out, “I hate you.” It’s a lie, of course, but your heart pounds against your chest, calling you out for it anyway.

Yoongi hums, his breath warm against your neck, and the sound is a smirk made audible. “No, you don’t.”

You roll over to face him, your vision blurry now. His face is close, closer than it’s been in years, and the glassiness of his eyes mirrors your own. There’s a sadness there, deep and heavy, that he doesn’t say out loud but you can feel pressing against you like a second heartbeat.

“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I did,” you whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Before you can process what’s happening, Yoongi leans forward and kisses it away, his lips brushing your skin so softly it makes you shiver. He pulls back, searching your face.

“Is it okay if I…” He trails off, the question hanging in the air.

You know the question. You answer without words, leaning in and closing the gap between you. Your lips slot against his, and it’s slow at first but it deepens quickly, your fingers tangling in his hair, his hands pulling you closer like you’re the one who’s skipping town.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven. But he doesn’t stay still for long—his hands find your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt until they rest just beneath your ribs. His touch is warm, and your breath stutters in response.

“I want you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his voice rough when he says, “Me too, baby. I want you so bad.”

The shirt is gone before you know it, leaving you exposed to the cool air, but the warmth of Yoongi’s touch quickly erases the chill. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again he cups the underside of your breast and smooths a calloused thumb over a nipple. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Off,” you mumble against his mouth, tugging at his sweater. He obliges, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this—bare, unguarded.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

When he sinks into you that night, it feels like your world is spinning off its axis. The fullness, the warmth, the way his body feels against yours—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes you feel complete. His taste, his softness, his scent, you’re drowning in everything Yoongi and you’re not sure you want to resurface.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out, air sucked out of your lungs as he bottoms out.

“Shit,” he grunts, voice raw as he stares at the area where your bodies have connected. “You feel so good.”

“Baby…” you test the name on your lips, wishing this wasn’t the first, and likely last. You plant your hands on his shoulders. “Go slow.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, and he does—slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every moment, every sound, every gasp, every single feeling.

It’s a little painful at first, the stretch of his cock against your walls pulls a soft whimper from your lips. Yoongi notices immediately—of course he does. His fingers slide gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as his mouth finds yours. He kisses you slowly, tongue sweeping against yours in a way that steals your focus, drowning out every inconsequential ache.

Soon, there is nothing else but bliss. Pleasure has bloomed full force as he fucks into you.

His mouth moves to your neck, teeth sharp as he clamps down your soft skin, no doubt wanting to leave his mark. It’s a little cruel, you would think days after when a Yoongi-shaped hole suddenly forms in your heart, but tonight, you revel in the fact that he wants to claim you as his.

“Baby,” you plead. God, why do you sound so desperate?

Something builds and builds inside you, threatening to explode and you’re afraid, so fucking terrified that you won’t find every single piece of yourself when you shatter.

“Yoongi…” you call his name again, the storm in you gaining strength, even though the pace of his thrusts are unchanged.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks you half-heartedly, busy pushing your tits upward to capture a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently.

“Ahh, shit.” That’s nice. You love it but you need more. “Can you go faster?”

“Okay, yeah,” he adjusts his stance, slipping out of you momentarily, and you feel your juices seeping out of your cunt and onto your sheets. “Can you maybe raise your leg higher?”

You do so, holding the back of your knees, opening up to him wide and wanton, shame out the door and into the flurry of snow outside.

He lines himself up on your slick entrance, this time slipping straight inside without much resistance. He thrusts again, hitting you deeper and better at this angle.

Your eyes meet as he bucks his hips into you over and over. Your eyelids grow heavier with every passing second, but you fight to keep them open, desperate to hold onto this moment. You want to memorize him—every detail, every fleeting movement. The way his hair falls, framing those sharp, feline eyes that hold something soft beneath their intensity. The way his pink, pillowy lips part slightly, his sinful tongue skimming the corner of his mouth. He looks tender yet determined, his focus unwavering as he works to make this good for you. There’s a gentleness to it, a care that leaves your chest aching even as your body melts under his touch.

His hand makes its way down to where your sweaty bodies are linked, thumb searching your clit against your slippery folds. Has he done this before? Because how can he know that the wiggle of his single digit is enough for you to lose your goddamn mind. You want to scream, at the risk of getting caught by your eomma, but you can’t care about that right now. The pads of his thumb brushes over you, pulling a gasp from your lips as your senses blur, overwhelmed by him—his touch, his heat, the way he seems to know exactly how to unravel you.

“Take it, baby,” he urges, voices as reverent as his every movement.

Soon you’re keening at the pressure on your nub and the friction against your inner walls. Your pleasure crests without warning, body arching towards him as you ride out your orgasm.

“God you’re so tight, shit I’m about to—“

A few sloppy thrusts, a stutter in his breath and a stretched out groan. You close your eyes, every feeling increasing in intensity, and suddenly you’re empty, you hear a grunt, and his warm cum spills on your pussy lips, sliding towards your ass.

It’s messy. He’s sweaty. You’re spent.

The feeling is unfamiliar, the sensations coursing through your body strangely new. Yet, it’s the whirlwind of jumbled thoughts in your mind that unsettles you the most.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head resting against his chest. The weight of the moment feels too much, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out: “I wish I could keep you.”

Yoongi tenses, his hand coming up to rest against your back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he presses a kiss against your hair. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The next morning, you woke to find that Yoongi was gone.

It wasn’t until two days later, when you finally found the courage to sit at the piano in the rec room, that you found the note. It was tucked carefully inside the piano bench, folded neatly and written in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting: Don’t forget.

As if you could. He’s made it impossible not to.

(End of Flashback)

It starts with a phone call from your mom. “Yang-hee invited us over for dinner tonight. Isn’t that nice?”

“Huh?”

“Dinner with Yang-hee and Yoongi,” she says, unbothered by your fake disinterest. “You’re coming too, obviously. It’s been years since we’ve all sat down together, and you know how Yang-hee is. She’s been so excited her son’s back.”

It’s not like you can say no, so you don’t.

Later that evening, you find yourself standing on the porch of the Min’s, a whole casserole of your mom’s homemade japchae in your hands. 

It’s not the same house. It’s still built on the same street, but it’s completely renovated, extended, pimped the hell out. The spoils of Yoongi’s successful career are definitely visible in the way their mansion (I guess you can’t call it a bungalow anymore) stands proud.

Yoongi opens the wide wooden door, dressed in a festive green and red Christmas sweater and white pants. His orange hair is a little messy, and he greets you with that cocky little smirk as if he doesn’t have a goofy Santa Claus headband perched on top of this head.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N.” he turns to your mom, who gives him her sweetest smile. She’s always really loved him.

“How have you been, Yoongi my dear?”

“I’m doing well. You’re looking even younger than when I last saw you.”

He’s so full of shit. But your mom is none the wiser as she breezes past you both with a giggle, already chatting animatedly with Yoongi’s mother, leaving you standing in the doorway with him.

“You came,” he says, finally taking the casserole from you.

“Of course I came,” you shoot back, trying to sound unaffected. “Consider this the dinner I owe you.”

He shakes his head, “Nice try.”

“Nice headband.”

“Hoseok not coming?” he asks a little too casually as he leads you to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know the invitation was extended to him.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think eomma will mind.” Then he pauses, looking at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I–umm. It’s nice to have you here.”

It’s so simple and yet hits like a punch to the gut. 

Dinner was sublime. The table is covered in a festive red cloth, tiny gold stars scattered across its surface. Platters of food crowd every inch—kimchi stew steaming in a clay pot, neatly sliced rolls of gimbap, and bowls of your eomma’s japchae glistening with sesame oil. A plate of sugar-dusted cookies sits at the center, shaped like Christmas trees and snowflakes. But the best part is that it feels like old times—full of laughter, familiar stories, and his mother fussing over both you and Yoongi. Your mom talks about the concert, and you catch Yoongi listening quietly, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. There’s something grounding about being here, the four of you around the table, like no time has passed at all.

After dinner, Yoongi’s mom insists on showing your mom something in the kitchen, leaving you alone with him. 

“You still remember where my room is?” he asks behind his mug of eggnog.

“Please.” You push your chair backwards, standing up. “I practically lived here when we were kids.”

So his old room hasn’t changed much. Despite the makeover from outside, the expansion of the living room and dining areas, you guess Yoongi had asked his eomma to preserve this room like a little time capsule of sorts. The walls are still plastered with faded hip hop posters, plus an SNSD one that made you unreasonably jealous way back when. 

You point to it with a laugh. “What was your favorite line from that song?”

“Listen, boy! My first love story!” he replies without missing a beat and you both erupt into giggles.

Your eyes dart around a bit more, and you find scribbles from years ago. On the far corner, your handwriting is etched faintly into the paint, and you feel a pang of nostalgia. You step closer, brushing your fingertips over your names and the date. It was the night of your first kiss.

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, soft and steady. “Vandal.”

“You let me,” you try for casual, though your throat feels oddly tight at the memory. “I didn’t think you’d still have it here.”

He doesn’t answer, and you turn, glancing at the study desk and there’s the old notebook you gave him for his seventeenth birthday. The one you’d filled with doodles and little prompts, telling him to write music “so the world would hear it.”

“You kept this, too?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Yoongi shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You gave it to me. Why wouldn’t I?”

Something about that makes your chest ache. You shake it off quickly, turning back to him with a small grin.

Later, the two of you end up on the porch, mugs of whisky-spiked eggnog between you, your breath clouding the cold air. You’re both a little tipsy, maybe drunk even, the edges of this nostalgic night already fuzzy around the edges.

You tilt your head toward him. “Yoongi-yah… you got a girlfriend back home?”

Yoongi glances at you, one eyebrow raised. “No.”

You’re surprised by the sharp flicker of relief in your chest. You try to play it off, swirling the cup in your hands. “Oh? Why not?”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, before he finally says, “Because the girl I wanted didn’t wait for me.”

Your breath catches as he looks straight into your soul. You pull your sweater tighter against your frame. “Yoongi. You can’t say shit like that,” you admonish him, but your voice doesn’t sound as strong as you want it to. 

He says nothing, just watches you with that quiet intensity that always intrigued you. Then, slowly, he tips his chin upward.

You follow his gaze, your stomach dropping when you see it: a sprig of mistletoe dangling above you, its leaves swaying gently in the breeze. He knows it’s there—hell, he may have been the one to hang it.

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Why would he even—

Yoongi grins faintly, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean closer, doesn’t close the gap. He just lets the moment hang there, full of unsaid words and unanswered questions.

“What am I going to do with you…” you shake your head, admonishing him again.

“Honestly, anything you want…” He shrugs, his smirk softening into something else. “Goodnight,” he says quietly, standing up and stepping back inside the house, leaving you sitting on the porch with your thoughts spinning and your heart completely out of control.

That night, you lie in bed staring at your phone, your interactions looping in your mind.

You don’t know what you’re doing when you pull up Hoseok’s contact, but the text you send is short and simple:

You: Can we talk?

It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to call back. You swipe to answer it.

“You finally breaking up with me?” he asks with a giggle.

You groan, “Stop.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s been fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

“Aw, quit the bullshit.” 

“It’s true!” he claims, laughing slightly. “Tell him if he doesn’t take care of you, I can literally throw his ass in the slammer. Make up some compounded traffic violation or whatever...”

You can’t help but laugh, even as your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“You’re insane,” you tell him, but you know Hoseok’s words will stay with you.

Because now you’re left with no more distractions. No more easy answers. Just the weight of Yoongi’s return and the question you’re not ready to ask yourself: what if this is finally your time?

You don’t see it happen, not all at once.

There’s no single moment where you look at Min Yoongi and realize you’re slipping back into something that feels alarmingly like love—just tiny, inconsequential moments strung together like fairy lights on the cultural center’s drafty ceiling.

Yoongi spending hours at the piano, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys as the children’s choir sings, while you sneak glances at him.

Yoongi, elbow-deep in sheet music, his sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes as he concentrates.

Yoongi joking around with the maknaes like they’ve known each other all their lives.

Yoongi handing you an americano every afternoon like clockwork, his only explanation being, “You’re too grumpy without caffeine.”

It’s nothing, really. Nothing you can’t brush off.

Except when the three stooges notice and start taunting you relentlessly.

“The maknaes won’t stop teasing me,” you tell him one afternoon, watching as he scribbles something onto his notebook. “Jungkook especially.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “About what?”

“About you,” you say, huffing dramatically, though your heart thuds a little at admitting it out loud. “They think you—” 

Now Yoongi glances up, dark eyes fixing on you. “I what?”

You wave a hand vaguely. “You look at me.”

Yoongi blinks, clearly holding back a smirk. “I look at you?”

“They make it sound like you’re composing an epic romance ballad in your head every time you glance my way,” you say, curious to see how he’d react.

“Hmm.” Yoongi taps his pen against his notebook. His gaze doesn’t waver. “And what if I am?”

You freeze, caught entirely off guard. “You’re not.”

He shrugs lightly, looking back at his notes. “If you say so.”

And just like that, the conversation ends, but you’re left staring at the back of his head like an idiot.

You’re closing up the center after a particularly grueling rehearsal when you hear a voice in the piano room. It's Yoongi.

You pause just outside the door, catching the tail end of his conversation. His voice is low, clipped. “I already told you—it’s not that simple. Just… hold off until I figure it out, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then he sighs, frustrated. “Yes. I’ll take care of it. Don’t contact them directly.”

Before you can process the tone of his voice, he spots you in the doorway and quickly ends the call, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Everything okay?” he asks, his expression neutral. But something in his eyes feels off.

“Hey,” you say finally, stepping into the room. “You hungry?” The words are out before you can stop them. 

“A little.”

“I still owe you dinner,” you remind him. “You want to come over?”

For a moment, Yoongi just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

At your place, you keep it simple. You’re too tired for anything elaborate, so you throw together a few bowls of rice, leftover stew, wagyu cubes you tossed in a pan, and whatever banchan you can find in your fridge. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind—he sits at your table with his sleeves rolled up, his beer bottle half-empty, watching you with a faint smile as you fuss over the food, refilling his plate once in a while.

“You don’t have to do all that,” he says. “It’s just me.”

“Don’t get spoiled,” you shoot back, setting a bowl in front of him. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

Dinner feels like something you’ve once yearned for especially during the first few years after he left. You talk about little things—how rehearsals are going, Shelby’s stubborn refusal to follow him anywhere, the little quirks of your team. Yoongi listens more than he talks, but when he speaks, it’s thoughtful, like he’s been holding the words in until they’re worth saying.

At some point, you find yourself finally telling him about the lie you blurted out the day he showed up.

“So you remember when I told you my boyfriend was a cop?” you say, poking at your rice with your chopsticks.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

“Well…” You hesitate. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Didn’t realize you were dating Hoseok.”

“I’m not!” you say quickly. “I mean… Hoseok and I are… friends. But he’s not my boyfriend.”

“What’s with the pause?”

Your cheeks are on fire. You should have just kept it smooth, but your poker face is crap.

“Oooh Hoseok-ie, huh?” Yoongi’s expression is full of mischief, with a playful tone as he teases you. 

You groan, covering your face. “We just, like to keep each other company, sometimes. But not anymore. It’s over. So over.”

His eyes narrow on you, a smirk on his lips. “Okay.” He says.

You glance up, flustered. “Okay?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t push further. Instead, he studies you for a long moment, his smile softening. “I’m glad you’re not with Hoseok,” he says simply.

The words hit harder than they should. You look down at your bowl, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

The night you hit your first funding goal feels electric. Outside, the snow falls softly, blanketing the world in white, while the glow of Christmas lights spills through the frosted windows of the cultural center. Inside, the air hums with celebration, the kind of unrestrained joy that feels almost too big for the room.

The office is a whirlwind of holiday chaos. Jimin’s sporting a Santa hat, twirling like a figure skater in the middle of the room. Taehyung is wrapped in tinsel like a human Christmas tree, tossing candy canes to whoever will catch them. “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blares from the speakers, almost drowned out by the sound of laughter echoing through the halls. The air smells faintly of peppermint, hot chocolate, and the faint spice of cinnamon—Taehyung’s candy stash has clearly been raided, by Jungkook.

You check your laptop one last time, and there it is: the donation total, glaring on the screen like a miracle. The sight makes your stomach flip in disbelief and relief.

“Do you know what this means?” you yell, spinning in circles as Jimin grabs your hand and cheers beside you. “We might actually do this. We might actually save the center!”

“FUCK CAPITALISM!” Taehyung hollers from the corner, pumping his fist in the air, and you can’t help but laugh.

“We’re halfway there!” you add breathlessly, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “This is insane.”

Jungkook whoops in victory, charging across the room and tackling you and Jimin into a clumsy, giggling group hug.

Amidst the chaos, your gaze drifts toward the far end of the room. Yoongi stands by the piano, arms crossed as he leans against it, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but the way his eyes meet yours sends warmth spreading through your chest, as if he’s silently celebrating right along with you.

“Be right back,” you say, slipping away from the others before you can think better of it.

Yoongi doesn’t move as you approach, but his smile lingers. “You’re happy.”

“Of course I’m happy,” you say, unable to keep the grin off your face. “We might actually do this, Yoongi.”

“I always believed in you,” he replies softly.

Before you know what you’re doing, you close the gap between you and throw your arms around him. “This is amazing!”

Yoongi lets out a startled huff of air as you collide into him, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you. “Careful,” he says.

Except, suddenly, you’re both off balance, and the next thing you know, you’re falling—collapsing together in an awkward heap on the office floor.

“Oh my God,” you groan, sprawled half on top of him. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi blinks up at you, his expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Fuuuuuck. My back.”

“I’m sorry–shit!” You scramble to sit up, but his hands tighten gently at your waist, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he says softly, eyes just opening from a grimace.

Your breath catches. The laughter dies in your throat as you realize how close you are—close enough to see the faint flush at the tips of his ears, the way his dark feline eyes are fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Yoongi…”

You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to figure it out. Because suddenly, he leans up, closing the distance, and kisses you.

It’s a simple peck at first—chaste, like he’s testing if you’d retreat. But you don’t.

He catches the pout on your lips and smirks. This time, he fixes his grip on your waist, rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you.

Before you can react, his lips are on yours again, slotting against your plush seamlessly like it belongs there. You kiss him back, of course you do, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as the world narrows to just this—him and you.

You don’t exactly remember the feeling when you kissed for the first time in the snow-covered streets or the second in your childhood bedroom, but this third time...

It’s a feeling you don’t want to end—

But, out of nowhere, you hear unmistakable sounds of whoops and hollers and when you peel your eyes open, confetti rains down on both of you.

“What the—” you gasp, jerking back as colored paper sticks to your hair and shoulders.

Above you, the maknaes are causing a ruckus, Jungkook clutching an actual pail (like where did that even come from?), while Jimin looks dramatically at the two of you on the floor, wiping pretend tears.

Suddenly, piano music is added to the mix as Taehyung plays some Christmassy tune you can’t remember the title of because there’s just so much shit happening all at once.

You glare at them. “Yah! Get out of here! You’re ruining the moment!”

But they’re not listening, clearly high off the adrenaline from the funding milestone, but also might just be high in general, because they’re already breaking into exaggerated oohs and ahhs, chanting, “Hyung and noona sitting in a tree—”

Yoongi, to his credit, hasn’t moved. He’s still on the floor, his face redder than the poinsettias decorating the cultural center, but his eyes are locked on you. He’s embarrassed—mortified, even—but there’s a quiet determination in the way he looks at you, like nothing could shake him now.

“Jungkook-ah, Jimin-ah, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi roll calls, his voice low but firm.

The maknaes pause, mid-tease, blinking at him.

“Leave.”

Jimin smirks, nudging Jungkook. “Should we?”

Jungkook shrugs dramatically. “I mean, they’re not even getting up…”

Taehyung’s head appears between the two, his arms resting on each of their shoulders. “I think–”

You point toward the door, scowling. “GO.”

With one last round of laughter, they finally fuck off.

The silence settles quickly after they’re gone, and for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing. You glance back at Yoongi, honestly not knowing what to expect.

He’s gnawing at his lip. You reach up and touch your finger on his mouth, shaking your head so he releases his plush that’s gone red from his teeth pulling on the skin.

Finally, he speaks: “Go out with me.”

Your heart stutters, the words catching you off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” he tilts his head. “Say yes.”

You stare at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, and there’s only one correct answer to give.

“Yes,” you whisper, your lips curving into a shy smile. “Okay.”

Yoongi exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you can’t help but notice the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” you say, brushing confetti off his sweater, “The maknaes were right after all.”

“Don’t even give those fuckers any credit right now.” He chuckles softly, his hand slipping into yours. “They’re lucky I didn’t throw that pail at them.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there on the confetti-strewn floor, your hands intertwined, and it feels like this is your second chance to get it right after everything that fell apart before.

Your Christmas encore.

:)

A/N: Happy holidays, Yoongi's ho ho hos! How did we like this first part???

Coming in Part 2: - Why did Yoongi really come back to town? - Is Hoseok as nonchalant about calling off the arrangement as he seems?

We’ll find out soon!!! See you in the comments.

As always, thank you for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo Comments and Reblogs are always loved and appreciated. 🙂

Permanent Taglist (Part 1):

@wonh0oe @hyukaluve @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

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@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

[metaphoricgibberish]

🥹😭

this means more than my writer heart can express in all the depraved words inside me.

thank you so so much for being so kind. i’m so very grateful. all i’ve ever wanted was to write a story that made people feel something, anything… so thank you for this.

i appreciate it immensely, you’re so very lovely.

🖤🖤🖤

(my masterlist got deleted somehow idk?)

hi, hello - my name is sara and i write depraved things about pedro pascal characters. i'm not super into writing one-shots (love reading them tho) so all my stories are in series format. my DMs are always open, i love talking fics, pedro, tlou, narcos, and anything at all regarding men old enough to be my father.

happy reading, i appreciate you all tremendously <3

To the Light [ joel miller ]

"He was such a greedy fuck, when had that happened? What was it about her that had turned him into this… desperate, frenzied, fucking insatiable man that had stooped to the point of planning his entire day around getting a glimpse of her. It wasn’t just one thing, he knew that, rather it was an amalgamation of everything about her, everything he could see, everything he knew, and the large cavern of things he didn’t know, but wanted to so badly it ate away at him, like a virus, like fucking cordyceps, surging through his body and altering his brain chemistry, his ambitions and intent, so that it was just��her, his sole focus was just her."

summary: Joel finds a young woman being held hostage by a group of men while he's out on patrol one day. He brings her back to Jackson, where she's given the opportunity to have something resembling a real life, for the first time. The two of them orbit around each other, destined to crash, if both of their reservations don't get in the way.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 96.8k (completed)

see tags and warnings on ao3

____________

Joel finds the love of his life lost in the woods.

Read on AO3

Fic playlist on Spotify

Read insatiable (a To the Light one-shot) here.

Read hearth (a To the Light one-shot) here.

Dawn [ javier peña ]

"It had been wrong, back then, his feelings for her. He'd known that and that's why he'd never let anything happen between the two of them. But he'd always been weak. That first time he'd seen her after Richie had gone off to fight a war just as brutal and useless and the one he'd been fighting out in Colombia, that first time he'd really seen her— just a glimpse as she left the market, bag hoisted up on her hip, long, wavy hair bouncing behind her, shapely legs visible in that little yellow sundress that hugged her waist just right— he'd been a fucking goner."

summary: Javier Peña returns to his hometown after leaving the DEA. He doesn't want the undeserving praise everyone is trying to push on him, he doesn't really want anything at all, beyond a quiet life on his father's ranch, such a stark contrast to the atrocities he'd witnessed over the ten years away. But there's one familiar face that he can't seem to shake no matter how hard he tries.

pairing: javier peña x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 80.8k (completed) a.n. first chapter of my new Javi fic is up! each chapter will be named after a Lana Del Rey song with a corresponding lyric (idk Javi is Lana coded to me). I hope you enjoy <3

see tags and warnings on ao3

____________

Javier Peña falls for his best friend's little sister.

Read on AO3

Nights Like This One [ joel miller ]

"Joel couldn't resist the tug any longer, finally succumbing to the dull ache at the base of his spine as he turned around and locked eyes with her— bright fucking blue, twinkling animatedly when they met his. Most of the time her eyes looked hollow, devastatingly so, but he'd noticed that when they got into these bickering matches her eyes lightened, and so then how was he ever expected to stop?"

summary: Joel Miller is hired by an elderly woman to fix up her home. However, in the middle of the renovations, she dies and her daughter, Lily, moves from California to Austin to live in her mother's home. Joel continues to work on the house despite the two of them constantly butting heads. Tensions rise and the two are destined to crash whether they like it or not.

(Initially takes place pre-outbreak, story spans through outbreak day, all the way to 2023).

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 142.6k (completed) a.n. hi my friends! a few things: i did change sarah's age because i wanted to, i have creative liberty this is MY FUCKIN STORY!! lol. also i know nothing about construction, so i apologize, watch me make shit up with only google as my guide. please don't hate or be mean to my OC, she's going through some shit and the roles will be reversed later on after outbreak day, so let her be the emotionally unavailable, cold one for now. chapter length will be much shorter than most of my other fics solely because this has so many chapters. i'm writing it more in novel format than fic format, so forgive me. blame my useless, $120k creative writing degree. i hope you enjoy this. i'm having a lot of fun writing it.

see tags and warnings on ao3

____________

Joel Miller finds the love of his life right before the world ends.

Read on AO3

Fic playlist on Spotify

The Human Condition [ therapist!joel miller au ]

"Joel passed his palm over his mouth, his eyes drifting over to the clock on his office wall for perhaps the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. He dreaded his one o'clock appointment, but not for the reasons that he should. He dreaded it because he looked forward to it far more than was appropriate, for reasons that would surely get him fired."

summary: Violet Wood is lost, thinks perhaps she's been lost since the day she was born.

Joel Miller is a psychiatrist who has experienced a tremendous loss of his own.

Neither of them are expecting each other.

pairing: joel miller x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 26.4+ (ongoing series - 5/10 chapters up) warnings: extreme trigger warnings for suicidal behavior/attempts, mental health discussion, EDs, self-harm, depression, anxiety a.n. i have been thinking about this forever, and i'm really excited to start sharing, albeit slowly. hope you all enjoy <3

see more tags and warnings on ao3

____________

The Joel Miller Therapist AU

Read on AO3

Spotify Playlist Here

Sanctuary [ javier peña ]

"She glanced over at him, her lips hinting at a smile as his pretty brown eyes locked on hers. She wanted him to tell her something now, not that she had taken him here as a greedy means of give and take, even though that’s all their relationship was. Give and take. Just sex. If she couldn’t know his last name or why he had scars all over his chest, then she wanted to know what he thought was beautiful, what he thought was ugly, what existed in both spaces for him."

summary: Takes place after the third season-- Javier moves to San Francisco to escape what he'd witnessed in Colombia over the past several years. The DEA is desperate to get him down to Mexico to help take down the Guadalajara Cartel, but Javier isn't so sure he wants to continue down that path. His decision only becomes increasingly more difficult when he meets a bartender named Emma, whose commitment issues seem to mirror his own.

pairing: javier peña x ofc rating: 18+ mdni word count: 93k (complete)

see tags and warnings on ao3

____________

Javier Peña meets his match in the form of a little bartender in San Francisco.

Read on AO3

[ask-the-koopa-family]

A little story where Teen Bowser thinks about his future....

Art/story are mine dont copy/repost

#bowser

#bowserjr

#supermariobros

#supermariofanart

#supermario

The throne room is quiet in the late evening, the torches casting a warm glow on the dark stone walls. Bowser sits on his massive throne, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. His heavy claws drum absentmindedly against the armrest. A smaller, quieter figure steps into the room—Bowser Jr., now a teen, taller now, his shell larger and spikes sharper, though still not as imposing as his father’s. He stops at the entrance, hesitating.

Bowser Jr.: [softly] “Hey, Dad… You busy?”

Bowser looks up, his serious expression softening slightly as he spots his son.

Bowser: [gruffly] “Busy? Nah. What do you need, kid?”

Jr. steps forward, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, avoiding eye contact.

Bowser Jr.: “Nothing big. Just… I wanted to talk.”

Bowser straightens slightly, sensing something more in his son’s tone. He gestures to the steps below the throne.

Bowser: “Sit down. What’s on your mind?”

Jr. slouches onto the steps, fiddling with a loose string on his hoodie. There’s a pause before he speaks.

Bowser Jr.: “Do you ever… y’know… worry about stuff?”

Bowser: [raising an eyebrow] “Worry? I’m the King of Koopas. Kings don’t worry.”

Jr. looks up, unconvinced.

Bowser Jr.: “Yeah, but… you do, don’t you? I mean, you worry about Cherry. And us. And the kingdom. I see it.”

Bowser’s expression softens further, his fiery eyes studying his son carefully.

Bowser: [sighing] “Yeah, okay. Maybe I do. A little.”

Bowser Jr.: “How do you handle it? Like… not knowing if you’re doing the right thing?”

Bowser pauses, surprised by the question. He leans forward, resting his heavy elbows on his knees.

Bowser: “Where’s this coming from?”

Jr. shrugs, avoiding his father’s gaze again.

Bowser Jr.: “I dunno. Just thinking, I guess. Everyone’s always saying I’m gonna take over someday… be king after you. And I keep wondering… what if I mess it up?”

The room falls quiet for a moment, the crackle of the fire filling the silence. Bowser stares at his son, taking in the worry hidden behind his tough exterior. Finally, Bowser stands, his footsteps echoing as he walks toward Jr. He sits beside him on the steps, the stone groaning under his weight.

Bowser: [gruff but gentle] “Listen, Junior. Being king… being a leader… it’s not about being perfect. You think I’ve always known what to do?”

Jr. glances up at him, surprised.

Bowser Jr.: “You haven’t?”

Bowser chuckles, shaking his head.

Bowser: “Nope. I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Some pretty big ones, too.”

Bowser Jr.: “Like what?”

Bowser’s face grows distant for a moment, but he shakes it off with a small smile.

Bowser: “Doesn’t matter now. What matters is learning. That’s how I kept this kingdom strong. You think every decision I’ve made was the right one? No. But I stood by them, and when I messed up, I did better next time.”

Jr. processes this for a moment, the weight of his father’s words sinking in.

Bowser Jr.: “But… what if I’m not like you? What if I’m not strong enough?”

Bowser’s face softens, a proud gleam in his eyes.

Bowser: “You don’t need to be like me. You’ll find your own way. You’ve got more fire in you than you realize.”

Jr. looks up at his father, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Bowser Jr.: “You really think I can do it?”

Bowser places a massive clawed hand on Jr.’s shoulder, his grip steady and reassuring.

Bowser: “I know you can. You’re my kid. And no matter what happens, I’ll always have your back.”

Jr.’s smile widens slightly as he nods, his shoulders a little straighter now.

Bowser Jr.: “Thanks, Dad. That… means a lot.”

Bowser grunts, ruffling Jr.’s hair roughly with his other hand.

Bowser: “Don’t mention it. Just don’t let me catch you moping around like this again. Got it?”

Bowser Jr.: [laughing softly] “Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

Bowser stands, stretching his arms with a loud crack as he steps back toward his throne.

Bowser: “Good. Now get some sleep. Future kings need their rest.”

Jr. stands as well, turning toward the door with a smirk.

Bowser Jr.: “Alright, fine. I’ll get some sleep. Maybe I’ll dream about building the biggest, coolest castle ever. Bigger than yours, even.”

Bowser: [chuckling] “Bigger than mine? You’ve got ambition, kid. Just make sure it doesn’t collapse on you.”

Bowser Jr.: [laughing softly] “I’ll make it strong. Just like this one. And… just like you.”

Bowser pauses, his expression softening as he watches Jr. head toward the door.

Bowser: [gruff but warm] “You’re already stronger than you know, Junior. Now go get that rest.”

Jr. gives a final nod before disappearing down the hallway. Bowser sits back in his throne, a quiet pride swelling in his chest. He gazes into the fire, the crackling flames steady and unwavering—just like his hope for the future.

Bowser: [softly, to himself] “The kingdom’s in good hands.”

The end!

[tanjamikaelson]

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 16

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 16: | I DO, I LOVE YOU |

The next day, you gathered all the courage you could muster to go see Rafe. You knew this conversation would be difficult, but you needed to try to make him understand why you had been with the Pogues. Maybe you could explain it in a way that would get through to him.

When you found him in his room, it was in complete disarray, with clothes and objects scattered everywhere. It mirrored the turmoil you knew was going on in his mind. Rafe stood by the window, his posture tense, as if he’d been pacing the room for hours. You knocked softly on the door and hesitated before stepping halfway inside.

“Can we talk?” you asked quietly, your voice soft, almost pleading.

Rafe turned to face you, his expression hardening immediately. His sigh was heavy, as though seeing you brought back all the pain he’d been trying to suppress. He rubbed his eyes in frustration. “Why were you with them?!” he demanded, his voice sharp, hurt flashing across his icy blue eyes. You opened your mouth to explain, but before you could get a word out, he snapped, his voice tinged with accusation, “I was right. You’d choose her over me.”

“No, you’re wrong,” you said quickly, your heart sinking at how much he misunderstood. “I would never rat you out, okay? I promise.” You took a step forward, trying to reach for his arm, but he pulled back, his hands shooting up defensively.

Rafe shook his head, backing away from you like he couldn’t bear to let you in. “I don’t believe you,” he muttered, his voice low but dripping with pain.

Your heart broke a little more with every word he said. “Please, Rafe. You have to believe me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you took another hesitant step toward him.

Then he hit you with the question you hadn’t expected. "I want you to tell me something, I want you to tell me the truth, Y/N. Do you even love me?" His eyes locked onto yours, burning with desperation as if your answer was the only thing keeping him together.

The question took you by surprise, and for a moment, you stood frozen. You hadn’t expected this, you hadn’t expected this would be the moment to tell him, not now. But you couldn’t lie to him. Not after everything.

“I do. I love you, Rafe,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper as you searched his eyes, hoping for any flicker of emotion, any sign that he believed you. But instead, you were met with that cold, guarded stare.

He shook his head again, his mouth twisting in bitter disbelief. “You don’t love me. If you did, you would be by my side,” he said, his words like knives cutting through the space between you.

“I am by your side,” you insisted, your voice cracking under the weight of his rejection.

But Rafe wasn’t having it. “No, you’re not,” he shot back, his tone harsh and biting. “All you did was try to stop me from finding John B, from doing what I had to do. You helped them escape.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to explain yourself. “It’s because I don’t want to see you consumed by your anger,” you said, a single tear sliding down your cheek. “When I saw Pope choking you, I was afraid he would kill you.”

Rafe’s gaze hardened again, his lips curling into a sneer. “And you still left with them,” he reminded you, his voice full of resentment.

“You told me to go,” you whispered, hoping he would remember that moment, that he had pushed you away first.

“Not with them!” Rafe’s voice exploded in anger, making you flinch. His outburst reverberated through the room, sharp and cutting.

“I’m sorry—” you began, but the words caught in your throat as he cut you off again.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it,” Rafe said coldly, his voice eerily calm now. “I want you to leave.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “You don’t mean that,” you whispered, refusing to believe he truly wanted you gone.

“Yes, I do,” he said, his tone colder than you’d ever heard before. “I want you to fucking leave.” He pointed aggressively at the door behind you, his finger trembling with rage.

You stood there, frozen, your heart breaking into pieces. You could see the hurt in his eyes, but it was buried so deep beneath his anger, that you didn’t know how to reach him. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t leave him like this.

But Rafe had had enough. His patience snapped, and before you could react, he grabbed your arm and pushed you roughly toward the door. “Don’t come back,” he said through clenched teeth, his voice filled with finality.

And with that, he slammed the door shut in your face, leaving you standing there in the hallway, tears streaming down your cheeks. The echo of the door closing felt like the final nail in the coffin, and you knew, at least for now, that he had shut you out.

RAFE’S POV:

As soon as the door slammed shut, Rafe’s whole body trembled with anger. His heart pounded in his chest, every muscle tense and rigid as if he was holding himself together by sheer will. He stood there, his back pressed against the door, his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw something, punch the walls, anything to release the storm of emotions raging inside of him. He had just thrown you out—pushed away the one person who had been there for him through all the chaos, and it tore him apart more than he was willing to admit.

But he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t forgive the fact that you had helped Sarah and John B. His own sister and that Pogue—the two people who had turned his life upside down. He hated them for what they’d done, and now, you were mixed up in it too. He wanted to believe that you loved him, that you were still on his side, but his anger clouded everything.

And yet, even in his rage, he felt the sting of regret. He loved you—he knew that much, even if he hadn’t said it. But the words felt stuck in his throat, suffocated by the bitterness he couldn’t shake. He hated himself for how things had spiraled out of control, for letting his anger push you away. But right now, he couldn’t think clearly. He couldn’t see past the rage and betrayal.

Still leaning against the door, Rafe closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breathing. The image of you standing there, tears in your eyes, refusing to give up on him despite everything—it made his chest tighten with guilt. But his pride, his anger, wouldn’t let him soften. Not now. He couldn’t forgive you for helping them. Not yet.

For now, he had to let you go, even if it felt like tearing a piece of himself away.

Y/N’S POV:

You stood frozen in front of Rafe’s door, unable to move, unable to process what had just happened. The only thing breaking the stillness were the silent tears rolling down your cheeks. It felt like the ground beneath you had crumbled, and you were just... standing there, unable to catch your breath, drowning in the weight of everything.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally managed to turn on your heels. Your vision was blurred by the tears, making each step down the stairs feel like you were navigating through a fog. You gripped the railing tightly, trying to steady yourself, trying not to stumble as the sobs threatened to break free from your chest.

Once you reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the yard, you were met by Rose. Her face was lined with concern as she noticed the tears staining your cheeks. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice gentle but laced with worry.

But you couldn’t speak. If you tried, you knew the dam would break, and the sobs you were holding back would spill out uncontrollably. So instead, you just waved your hand dismissively, not trusting yourself to say anything. You didn’t want to break down in front of her.

You hurried to your car, your hands trembling as you fumbled with the keys, desperate to escape, desperate to be alone. The moment you closed the car door behind you, the sobs finally came, shaking your body as you tried to keep your breathing steady. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, but it was no use—the tears just kept coming.

As you drove away from Tannyhill, all you could think about was the look in Rafe’s eyes. The coldness, the disappointment—it cut deeper than anything. He had never looked at you that way before, and it felt like a knife twisting in your chest. His words echoed in your mind, "You helped them escape."

But the only thing that truly haunted you was the thought that you hadn’t helped them escape at all. You had helped them die. You had thought you were saving them, but now they were gone—Sarah, your best friend... gone.

It hurt just the same. The ache in your heart, the heaviness of it all—it was too much to bear. You didn’t know how to fix this. You didn’t know if you even could.

You had lost Sarah. And now, it seemed, you had lost Rafe too.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @thepopcultureaddict @deeznuggetsbebussin@wtfdudesblog

[iamnmbr3]

How voldmort treats Snape also makes me think of how voldmort when he found out about the two children the prophecy was about, hpw he chose the half blood child like him. I don't know what it means but it gives me something to think about. 🤔

Yep. Except even more-so. Harry's mother is muggleborn, not actually a muggle, and if his parents had lived Harry would have grown up very integrated into the magical community and with a lot of wealth and basically lived a live comparable to that of any well-off pureblood child, even if his blood status would be looked down on by some traditionalists.

Snape on the other hand is the child of a muggle father and a witch mother who appears to be the victim of abuse just as Merope was (tho Merope's abuse was at the hands of her father and brother, not Tom Sr.). His parents have a deeply troubled relationship. He didn't have an involved parental figure, grew up in poverty, and experienced social ostracization. He understands the muggle world but is an outsider there, and also isn't part of the pureblood elite. He's extremely talented at and interested in magic. They are VERY similar.

And Voldemort definitely favors Snape in a way he doesn't favor any of his other Death Eaters. He seems to enjoy interacting with him to some extent (and Snape is smart enough to follow what Riddle is saying and not fall for his sometimes cruel verbal traps the way Bellatrix does) and he never tries to degrade or humiliate him as he does with his other followers - even Bellatrix. He seems to genuinely admire Snape and never shows signs of contempt towards him. Snape also knows how to handle him - he understands that Tom doesn't tend to appreciate or respect too much groveling - and Snape is able to manipulate him into believing he can be trusted.

Tom also gives Snape a chance to come back late and explain himself, rather than killing him on sight. He actually apologizes for killing him and expresses regret - the only time he ever does so - and seems unwilling/unable to use the killing curse on him. He also goes to great lengths to seek an alternative to killing Snape - and seems eager for Snape to know this fact, and to understand. Additionally, the whole book series happens because Snape asks Voldemort to spare Lily's life...and he listens. And goes to great lengths to try to honor the request - even arguing with her. Yes, he ultimately kills her, but the fact that he truly would have let her go if she took him up on his offer is extraordinary. We don't see him interacting with or treating any of his other Death Eaters in this way. Snape is different.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Her sweet peach

Roronoa Zoro x reader. NSFW!

Companion to His fourth sword.

*****

Peaches have long been your favourite fruit, ever since you begged your mother to buy one every time you accompanied at the market, to eat on the way home; the juicy, sweet taste filling your senses is still one of your life's small pleasures, enough to elicit a smile even in your darkest days.

Which is why you have been so happy to discover that the small, peaceful island your crew has just docked at is a horticulture centre, the favourable climate allowing the growing of a great number of fruits among which bananas, apples, plums… and peaches. 

The sun is shining, you’re free to enjoy an afternoon of rest since you’ve spent the morning helping Franky patch up the damages the Sunny had suffered after your last battle, and you have visited the nearby village to buy a few of the largest peaches you have ever seen.

This is living, you happily think to yourself as, clad in your favourite bikini, you lie on a beach chair, your sunglasses protecting your eyes from the sun’s rays. You're the only one among your friends who has chosen to spend the afternoon sunbathing on the deck, while the others take care of the ship or find other ways to occupy their time, which is why you expect to remain alone…

… until the sound of heavy footsteps, and the familiar clink of metal touching skin -specifically, of swords in their sheaths gently bumping against the leg of the man who carries them- announces the arrival of the person you have been thinking about more and more often, and deeply, over the last few weeks. 

“Hey.”

“Hi, Zoro.” you answer happily as you take off your sunglasses to observe, and admire, the tall figure of the swordsman now standing near your chair “Finished your training for the day?”

He nods, sweat glistening on his chest and shoulders; naked to the waist he's even a more attractive sight than usual, which is saying something, especially for someone who, like you, has had two months to appreciate Zoro’s beauty up close. 

You propose to take another chair so that the two of you can sunbathe together, but Zoro shakes his head, and sits on a corner of your chair, content in your company just like you are in his. You share a smile, not bothering to speak to express what you’re both thinking about. 

“You bought something at the market?” he asks, noticing the brown paper bag placed on the deck near you, from which you are picking a new fruit to enjoy; at this rate you’ll spoil your appetite for dinner, but you’re confident Sanji will forgive you.

“I did! These peaches are really delicious. Do you want one?”

Zoro smiles, amused by your enthusiasm; he has taken advantage of the closeness to start caressing your calf, the touch of his calloused hand moving up and down your skin both gentle and possessive. “Let’s share one.”

You do, taking turns in biting into the soft, fuzzy surface, until only the central stone remains and juice has dampened your fingers. “Wasn’t it good? I’ll have to go buy some more before we sail, they’ll last longer if I keep them in the fridge…”

“It was really good.” Zoro admits “Of course, I know an even better one.”

“Sorry?”

“I know of a peach that is sweeter and juicier than any other - than any other thing, really. I’ve never tasted it, but I just know it is delicious.”

You blink, staring at Zoro’s completely serious, even solemn, expression as you struggle to comprehend the meaning of his words. “What are you talking about? The seller at the market assured me this is the sweetest sort among the many cultivated here on the island.”

“I’m not talking about a variety of fruit; it’s a single, very special peach.”

“I… I don’t understand…”

But you should, after two months spent fooling around, one going on dates every time your ship docked at a new island or town, and exactly thirty-one days after the one you got to taste Zoro’s fourth sword for the first time. Yes, all things considered you should have expected this would happen, and that Zoro would find a way to settle the score between the two of you.

But no matter how clueless you are, this is the sort of surprise you can’t help but appreciate.

“You want me to show you?”

“I… guess so…” you answer, still confused -how can a particularly sweet, single peach exist? Even if such a distinction made sense, one should have to eat the fruit to judge it- and you see Zoro grin, the satisfied glint in his eyes expressing that he managed to get you exactly where he wanted you to be.

“Right…”

He moves slowly, with the sinuous and deliberate grace of a panther approaching his prey, as he stretches over you, swinging a leg over the beach chair and then resting his hands on the sides of the backrest. Soon his face is close enough to yours you’re breathing the same air, and there’s something in Zoro’s eyes, and in his smile, that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Zoro…”

“Let me taste you.” he murmurs, and a moment later he has pressed his lips to yours. 

You kiss avidly for a couple of minutes, but when you raise your hands to touch Zoro’s hair and face, he gently but resolutely moves them away. “Let me.” he mumbles, and a moment later you can feel his tongue caressing yours; you let him, pleasantly dizzy, but a sudden noise coming from underdeck makes you jump. “Wait…”

“Shh…” he murmurs, as his mouth descends towards your neck; you feel him gently bite the soft skin. His right hand descends on your body to cup your bikini-covered breast, the pad of his thumb gently stimulating your already hard nipple through the fabric. 

A moan erupts from your throat. Oh, God…! “Zoro, we can’t…”

“I say we can.”

“But the others… we’re on the deck, anyone could see…”

The island’s little port is empty, but Luffy and the others are nearby, busy working on the ship or going about their own business but free to step on deck any moment, through a door that is only a few steps to your right. You and Zoro have kept your relationship secret until now, mostly because you both feel the matter only concerns the two of you rather that the whole crew, and while you have nothing against telling your friends, you want to do it while you’re all gathered around the dinner table, not being surprised while you and Zoro make out. You should stop, and take this to one of the cabins like you’ve done so many times over the last two months…

“Zoro, please… we are completely in the open…” you murmur, sounding less urgent and resolved than you wish you did; Zoro knows neck kisses are your weak spot, and he’s mercilessly exploiting that knowledge against you… who, in turn, are starting to think that maybe it’s alright to take a few minutes for yourself, since the chance of being caught is after all negligible if you make it quick. You moan softly, the sweet torture of Zoro’s lips, teeth and tongue eliciting goosebumps on your skin as his hand caresses your chest; if he carries on like this he’ll suck a lovebite on your neck, which will be a pain to hide, but you can manage, and since the deck is silent you’ll allow yourself to enjoy this for a minute more… only a minute more…

… and then Zoro’s hand quickly pulls your bikini bra down, exposing your chest.

You jump - literally. “Zoro…!”

“God, you look so good…” 

“Zoro, we can’t… what has gotten into you?” you hiss, bewildered; he grins in response, his gaze unashamedly revelling in the sight in front of him. “As I said, I’m going to show you the sweetest peach in the world.” he explains “And you did say I had to return the favour, right?”

“... what?”

“That day in my cabin. When you… took care of my fourth sword.”

Despite his position of power, Zoro can’t help blushing as he mentions the moment you shared a month ago; the memory elicits a smile on your lips, followed by a surge of panic once his intentions finally become clear.

“You… you want to do it now? Here?”

“Well, I am in your debt, aren’t I? You said it yourself.” Zoro points out, his eyes still trained on your chest; it’s a sight he already had the chance to admire several times, but the naked, unashamed desire in his gaze is no less intense, and you have to admit it, it doesn’t leave you indifferent. At all “And there’s no time like the present, like they say.”

“I know, but… we could go under deck, make sure no one sees us…”

“No one can see us now. Now let me take care of you…”

He’s not forcing you to do anything, you are well aware; you could easily fix your bra, stand and walk away, either holding Zoro’s hand to find a safer place somewhere on the ship or on your own, after telling him you don’t feel comfortable with what he’s proposing and you’d rather wait for a more appropriate occasion.

You could do it; despite his enormous strength and occasional lack of social graces, Zoro is not a brute and would never pressure you to anything you’re not comfortable with; you know, and you love him for it, and remembering that you don’t want to be caught by one or more of your friends while you and Zoro fool around, especially not if you really end up doing what he’s suggesting, is harder and harder with any passing second…

What he is suggesting. God, you can feel your heart pounding at the mere thought.

You don’t openly say go on, but Zoro must see he has overcome your objections, because he grins and licks his lips in anticipation, like a man who sees an excellent meal served at his table… with the sole difference that in this case the thing he’s going to eat -or to eat out, as it happens- is not the delicious food Sanji prepares for the crew every day, but you. 

He kisses you again, deep and firm and passionate, intense like most of what he does is; you share a look, and suddenly you are completely unable to speak.

“Scream if you want; I like it.” Zoro invites you, and a moment later he has lowered his face to your chest and captured your nipple between his lips.

You don’t scream. You moan, and pant, and are forced to press a hand to your lips, but you don’t scream, your voice literally caught in your throat as Zoro plays with your chest, kissing, biting, sucking as if today were the last day of his life. “You have amazing tits, you know?” he murmurs into your skin “I’ve thought about this; I’ve dreamt of seeing them bounce as you move above me.”

The image his words are evoking is enough to make your head spin. You have thought about it as well, plenty of times in fact, the growing intimacy between you and Zoro naturally leading you to imagine and look forward to the day you’ll finally take your relationship to the next level. The fact that he envisions it with you on top is more than a little titillating, but right now… right now all you can think about is Zoro making good on his promise, and you feeling the kisses he’s placing on your chest on an even more delicate part of your body. 

Moving cautiously, you slip a hand behind your back to unclasp your bra; Zoro allows you to take it off, and then smiles up at you, aware that he has completely silenced your protests. He moves to sit on the bottom edge of the beach chair in order to have both of his hands free, and unclasps his swords from his belt to delicately place them on the deck next to him. A moment later he’s bent over you once more, his hands squeezing your breasts as he rubs his face against them. 

You lift your -slightly trembling- hand to caress Zoro’s hair, and this time he lets you, smiling into your skin. “Relax now.” he murmurs, and then his kisses start descending down your abdomen, soft, delicate pecks that leave a trail of fire behind them, the movement agonizingly slow. Torn between the impulse of telling him to hurry up because you can’t wait and the desire to savour any moment like a piece of delicious fruit, you are holding your breath by the time he reaches the hem of your bikini panties, and then… Zoro stops.

He stops, and you can feel him hold his breath for a moment, which immediately transforms the unhappy surge of frustration in your chest into worry.

“Are you alright?” you murmur, propping yourself up on your elbow to meet Zoro’s gaze “You don’t have to do it, you know.”

“I do want to do it.” he assures you, unsure like you’ve never seen him “It’s just… I want this to be good for you; I don’t even know what I have to do.”

“You really don’t?”

“I mean… I know the theory; putting it in practice is a different matter.” 

You can’t help but smile. “Zoro… you need to stop considering this thing between us a test or something you need to prove yourself worthy of. Would you have gotten angry if I had seriously asked you to stop?”

“Of course not. It’s just…”

“Yes?”

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unsaid secrets and shames. You can feel heat pool in your belly, your body already screaming with anticipation for what Zoro has promised, but rather than hurrying him you sit up, so that you’re face to face.

“Just what?” you gently invite him “What is it that worries you so much?”

“I’m not worried! But I was thinking that…” Zoro rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze as he confesses: “That you might decide to do it with someone else. With Sanji, or with some guy you meet on some island we stop at. You know, someone who knows more about this than I do.”

“Zoro…”

“It’s stupid, I know; let me try, I’m sure I can do it…”

“Of course you can; and I wouldn’t mind either way.” you assure him, taking his face in your hands “Zoro… I like you. Very, very much, and I’m not going to stop being with you simply because… because of this, first of all because you could never disappoint me, and second because sex is only one of the many things of you I’m attracted to.”

You sigh, well aware that lust is no longer the only reason why you are blushing; it’s way too early for you and Zoro to be talking about feelings, which is something you feel difficult and embarrassing in the best of cases, but the last thing you want is for him to think he owes you or that you might start looking at other men because he doesn’t immediately become the perfect lover. The poor man is still a virgin, for God’s sake!

“Now would be a good moment to tell me you also really like me, Zoro.”

“Of-of course I like you. For more than sex, that is.”

“And you wouldn’t do what you do with me with any other woman?”

“Of course not.”

“Thank you.” you say, and smile as you lie back down on the chair “Now go on; take your time and listen to your intuition. Your body knows what to do already, even if your mind doesn’t.”

Zoro nods, finally relieved, and gets to work. You can’t take your eyes off him as he bends to kiss your stomach once more, and then your thighs, and then finally the centre of your pleasure, his kiss slow, lingering and almost lazy, that opens in a new smile when Zoro feels you tremble, your body already reacting to his passion.

“Lift.” he orders, and you comply, allowing him to hook his thumbs around the side of your panties, and then slide them down your legs.

You are now completely bare, naked as the day you were born, visible to any of your friends who might decide to step on the deck for whatever reason. You don’t think you could survive the shame, but right now all you can think and care about is Zoro, once more looming over you, almost fascinated as he admires your nudity.

“You are beautiful.” he murmurs, almost reverent, and you smile as you spread your legs, just enough to let him catch a glimpse of your wet, warm folds. 

“This is all for you.” you murmur “Please, Zoro, I need you; I need to feel you…”

He groans. “Fuck, (name)...”

You help him get comfortable with your heels resting on his thighs while Zoro leans forward and wraps his arms around your thighs; you share a last smile, and a moment later he’s kissing you for the first time, the warm touch of his mouth sending a shiver of pleasure through your body. You tremble, his name leaving your lips in a whimper as his kisses multiply, sweet and worshipful, and a moment later you can feel his tongue on you, the slow, intense drag over your pubic hair sending a new jolt of pleasure through you. 

“You’re not… shaved.” Zoro murmurs, not breaking the contact so that you can feel his words reverberating against your skin.

“I’m not; is that… a problem?” you ask, a vein of uncertainty appearing in the sea of your pleasure; none of your previous partners complained, but you know Zoro shaves regularly, which might mean that he prefers his women equally hairless “I’m sorry, if you want I can…”

“It’s fine. No, I mean, it’s perfect.” he quickly reassures you; you can’t see his face from your position, but you can hear the smile in his voice “I like you the way you are.”

Those words, and the hidden meaning Zoro is perhaps slipping into them, touch you deeper than you expected them to. I like you as you are too, you’d like to say, and you’re about to, but then, as he keeps kissing your pubis to his heart’s content and his hands run up and down your thighs, Zoro’s tongue inadvertently brushes against your centre, the touch quick, almost absentminded, but enough to make you scream - a sudden, uncontrolled cry while Zoro is forced to quickly grab your legs once more to keep you still.

“Down, you…”

“Zoro, please…”

“Please what?” he asks, his handsome face suddenly peeking up between your legs; despite his lack of experience he knows you are at his mercy and is clearly proud of it “What do you want, (name)? Use your words.”

“You prat…” you mumble, but there’s no bite behind the insult, and you can’t help but smile “I know I told you to go slow, but…”

“... not too slow?”

“Exactly.”

“As you wish.” Zoro says, but nevertheless, when he dives back between your legs, it takes him a few more, agonizing minutes to actually reach the part of your body that desperately needs his attention. Completely naked under the sun, your muscles made tense by desire, you hold your breath, praying for a moment, just a moment of respite from the lust burning in your belly, but Zoro is determined to take his revenge for the sweet torture you inflicted on him four weeks ago, and by the time he finally takes pity on you you’re practically crying with desire, begging the swordsman to face-fuck you, now, otherwise you’ll lose your mind…

And Zoro finally does.

“Oh… you’re so wet…” he whispers, almost amazed; you can feel his voice vibrate against your clit, and your whole body has a new spasm.

“And whose fault is that?” you ask, or rather try to, because emotion has stuck your voice in your throat, and once again, you feel him grin. You whimper, because while you’ve always hated being manhandled as if you were an object, you can’t help feeling even more aroused now that Zoro is the one doing it; in a complete reversal of your positions a month ago, when you took care of his needs, he is now completely dominating you, your poor body completely at his mercy, surrendered and begging for a relief he could easily deny you.

Fortunately, he doesn’t.

“What a sweet little peach.” Zoro murmurs; he’s licking, almost lapping at your core with abandon, the completely lurid sound fueling your lust “You… taste so sweet… so juicy… hmm, (name), I want to lick you dry…”

The hand you have pressed to your mouth is not enough to stifle the symphony of moans, pants and cries Zoro’s tongue tears from your throat; he has taken your advice to let his instincts guide him to heart, and quickly learns how to give you pleasure without the need for further instruction. He is really treating your pussy as if it were a delicious fruit, savouring and tasting it, unashamedly pushing you to the brink as he holds your body close.

You can already feel pleasure mounting inside you, the lust only partially sated by his ministrations, and no matter how sweet it would be to just let go and find your relief, you want this to last, because, as you told Zoro that day in your cabin, the longer you’ll force yourself to resist, the more pleasant it will be once you finally come. 

You sigh his name, and a moment later, behind you, a door slams; Zoro tenses, and “No!” you cry “Don’t stop…”

He laughs. “Not so worried about being caught now, are we?”

“Not anymore, no.” you admit, by now beyond blushing “Rather, I-I have to admit… I wouldn’t mind that.”

Zoro groans. “Shit, (name)…”

Being seen right now, in the state you are, Zoro eating you out as if his life depended on it, one of your friends - no, the whole crew witnessing such an intimate moment… the mere thought makes you tremble, and not in fear and shame. You arch your back, pressing yourself against Zoro, as your hands find purchase on his shoulders. 

“More.” you urge him, your voice reduced to a growl. You have lost all control of yourself and you are proud, rather than embarrassed, of it; proud, and grateful, for the sweet, generous man who is giving everything he has to gift you a moment you will remember forever “Zoro, I want - I need more. Make me come. Darling, make me scream.”

Another groan - raw, deep, visceral, almost animalistic, as if the one taking care of your pleasure weren’t a clever, steadfast young man but an animal, a savage beast forced to an enormous strain in order to maintain at least a modicum of control as he ravishes you, just a step away from losing control, from giving in to his basest instincts to own you…

And then he stops again.

Light-headed as you are, it takes you a moment to realise it, to feel the absence of Zoro’s kisses on your core, and then you frown, disappointed but not worried, thinking that maybe he just needed a moment to catch his breath or clean his face.

But then the seconds pass, and nothing happens; Zoro is still holding you by the legs, unmoving, his face still inches away while the tide inside you stills, unable to mount to its release. You are painfully, desperately stretched, muscles tense towards a liberatory reward the man in front of you could easily give but that you can’t reach without him; still lying, you roll your hips, hoping to cover the brief distance between you, but you can’t, Zoro’s hands still keeping you in place.

You lift yourself on your elbow, finally meeting his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” you ask, hoping to sound less frustrated than you are. You are almost there, dammit!

“Yeah, I’m good. I was just thinking…”

Zoro bites his lip; he’d have any reason to feel smug, but suddenly uncertainty is colouring his face. You can see traces of your fluid on his lips, a sight that has your hips spasm.

His mouth is no longer enough, you decide on that moment, no matter how sweet and passionate his kisses. You need more, more of him, all of him, body and heart and soul, like you need to give him yours - and you will soon, you are pretty confident Zoro would be glad to agree, but now you just need a minute more… you need to come, you need it desperately, otherwise you don’t know what will become of you…

“... are we a thing now?”

“... what?!”

“You said you don’t want to do this with anyone but me, and I don’t want anyone but you either.” Zoro reminds you; he’s focused on your conversation but otherwise perfectly calm and in control, as if he couldn’t care less about the poor, needy woman lying in front of him, out of her mind with lust and desperately needing to be fucked “Does this mean we are a couple? You know, since we’re exclusive… and we’ve been seeing each other for a while…”

“...”

“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want… or if you need to think about it…”

“It’s not that.” you reassure him, amused despite your exasperation “You could have found a better moment to discuss it, that’s all; one doesn’t normally stop to talk while they’re in the middle of this. Zoro, I feel like I’m going to burst.”

“Oh! Uhm…” Zoro blinks, sincerely taken aback “Sorry, I didn’t think… I’ll finish now…”

“That would be nice, thank you. And Zoro?”

“Yes?”

You smile; you can’t help it. “And I’d love for us to be a couple.”

“... really?”

“Of course. The exclusive sort, of course.”

Zoro bites his lip, as if suddenly aware of his lack of timing and of the absurdity of the situation, but then he smiles, his eyes expressing all the joy he’s unable to voice. “That’s… good.”

“Very good, yes. Now would you mind making me come?”

Zoro hurries to nod, and then his face disappears between your legs once more; his new attack is immediately fiery, relentless even, as he quickly picks up the pace he had built until a moment ago, as if determined to make up for lost time. Relief fills you as your body finally finds the escape it was craving for; it feels like holding your breath for hours and then filling your lungs with clean, fresh air.

“I-I’m close.” you stammer, once more close to your breaking point; it’s never been like this for you, so intense, sweet and devoted despite its ardor, as if Zoro were channelling all his strength and his indomitable will, not against a foe or to fight for his life, but to give you pleasure, and to be a good partner for you “I’m almost… Zoro…”

He doesn’t answer, but he moans, and then does something so indescribably lurid with his tongue, that it pushes you over the brink; the tether inside you snaps, and then you’re coming, Zoro’s hands keeping you still as he eats you out, ravenous, passionate, hungry for you, for your sweet peach, angry and jealous enough he wants it, and you, all to himself.

You’ve got nothing against that, and you vow to make sure he knows it soon; your scream of pure pleasure fills the air as your body trembles, your nails digging into the flesh of Zoro’s shoulders keeping you from being swept away. 

Your orgasm is long, intense and absolutely sublime; he guides you through it, prolonging your pleasure as much as he can and then gently lowering your legs to the chair as you try to catch your breath. He places a last, sweet kiss on your belly and then stands -carefully; his legs look a bit wobbly- to come kneel again by your side.

“Are you alright?”

For a full minute all you can do is nod, and smile broadly. “I’m fine. And it was amazing, Zoro; thank you.”

“A-are you sure? I wasn’t sure… and then I stopped, like an idiot…”

You silence him with a finger to his lips; then you change your mind, and do it with your mouth, feeling pleasantly numb and yet wanting more. More of this; more of him. “It was perfect; you clearly are naturally talented in more than just swordsmanship.” you reassure him “Was it nice for you?”

“Very. I… I can't wait to do it again.” 

“And we will. And tonight we can look at the stars in the crow’s nest.”

“Sounds nice. We can drink the sakè we bought on the last island.”

It's nothing you haven’t done a thousand times already, but a large smile blossoms on your lips. “Yeah, fine.”

Zoro grins. He's been doing it more and more often recently, at least while the two of you are together; you had never noticed how lovely his smiles can be. “As I thought, you taste better than any peach in the world.”

“Well, thank you…”

You should probably cover yourself, since you're still naked and in plain sight, but you don't, and you don't care. Zoro rests his forehead against yours, and for a minute you remain still, enjoying the intimacy of a shared breath.

“So… it's official.” you comment after a while, feeling… not exactly shy, but a little trepidant “You're still in time to change your mind.”

“Why should I? I asked you, after all.”

“I know, but…”

“But nothing; I, err, don't really know what it means to be a b-boyfriend, but I promise I'll do my best.”

“Your best is enough.” you reassure him, and smile “And if not, once again, I can teach you.”

Zoro frowns. “Can you? How many other boyfriends have you had?”

“That's not what I meant, you dummy…”

You share a smile, laughing softly as your lips meet in the middle.