#this one was a doozy. buckle up!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mydearzero · 10 months

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Livid | mean!Spencer Reid x Reader

MASTERLIST

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Annoying Spencer, just to see him get mad, was one of your favourite ways to pass time at the BAU. Emily had warned you not too push him too far. You hadn't realised how right she was until Spencer decides he's had enough and takes you down to the basement.

Contents: DUB-CON, NO Y/N, fem!Reader, BAU!reader, mean!Spencer, no aftercare,, dom!Spencer, sub!Reader, co-workers, smut, unprotected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie (is it even a mydearzero original if there's no coming inside?), spanking, dacryphilia, impact play, choking, spit, degradation, humiliation, semi-public sex, punishment, name calling, sir kink, filming and taking pictures without permission, orgasm denial, If I missed any warnings please tell me!

5K words

this one's a doozy folks. buckle up. it's pure porn - nik

You weren't doing it on purpose at first. It just so happened that you occasionally did things that got under Spencer's skin. You gradually realized which actions ticked him off and started doing them more and more. You just enjoyed seeing him annoyed, huffing and puffing, yet never saying anything. His patience seemed neverending.

Emily had warned you not to push him too far. According to her, when Spencer snapped, he exploded.

Yeah, right.

Her discouragement only egged you on. You'd hardly ever seen the genius even get mad. Spencer got irritated at best. He was an angel, really.

So you continued pushing, taking every possible chance to get on his last nerve. It had turned from enjoying seeing him annoyed to wanting to see him furious. You'd seen Spencer snarl at a snobby police officer once. Hell, you'd even seen him snap at an UnSub. But you'd never seen him absolutely livid.

It took you a while to figure out why you wanted to see him get mad.

You thought back to that case, the one that had him yelling at the UnSub. You couldn't even remember the details of the case. All you could think about was Spencer's hands gripping the table as he leaned across it, getting close and personal with the UnSub.

You cared about the veins straining against the surface of his skin, the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. The only lasting memory you had of the case was the tone of his voice and what it did to your body.

A part of you wanted to be on the other side of that table, and it scared you how that part was growing exponentially, especially after Emily's warning.

You didn't want to admit it, not even to yourself. But the sole reason you continued messing with Spencer was the age-old 'teasing your crush to get their attention' stint, and you hadn't even realized it.

You shouldn't have been having all these deep thoughts and desires while sitting at your desk on a random Tuesday afternoon. Yet here you were.

You tried to read the lines on the page in front of you repeatedly but to no avail. Your face sunk into your hands as you groaned inwardly. You had to stop this juvenile behaviour at this second. He was going to catch on. You were certain somebody already must've done the math.

It shouldn't have surprised you when Spencer did finally burst. It wasn't like you did anything out of the usual. He wasn't even being tormented by a gruelling case. He'd just had enough.

"God! You think you're so cute, don't you?" Spencer exclaimed, slamming the mouse you'd taped over on the table. The silence from before and after his outburst differed immensely. It was calm and serene before it turned tense and awkward.

You slowly turned to look at his desk, not meeting his eye. If you had, you would've seen the way his pupils dilated at your meek behaviour. The way he had to regain his composure.

Your heart rate skyrocketed, feeling caught. You knew reading minds wasn't a thing, but profiling sure was one of the things closest to it in this world. Spencer couldn't have known what you were thinking only seconds prior to him finding your latest childish attempt to invoke his anger. But it felt like he knew.

Spencer scoffed as you chewed on your bottom lip, suddenly not feeling so funny anymore. "You don't have anything to say for yourself?"

You gaped as you made eye contact with an overly amused Derek. He was enjoying this show to its fullest extent. "Don't look at me, kid. We warned you." He shrugged.

You turned your eyes back to a still-aggravated Spencer. He pushed himself away from his desk and got out of his chair. He brushed his hands over his jacket, still sending daggers your way.

Your gaze followed him hesitantly as he stalked over to your desk. You scrambled to arrange things as if your messy workspace would only annoy him more.

"Get up." He demanded. You raised your eyebrows in question. Was he serious?

"Ooh, someone's in trouble," Emily teased in a sing-songy tone. Not helping, Prentiss.

"You're messing with me, right? Because of all the stupid pranks?" You asked sceptically. Your voice was wavering and uncertain.

"No, I'm being dead serious. Get up. Follow me." Spencer made an upwards motion with his fingers as he loomed over your seated figure.

You slowly pushed your chair out and sent questioning glances to JJ, who only shrugged. Your legs were unsteady as you stood. Spencer was your coworker, your friend. So why was your heart beating in your throat as if you were about to be sent to the fifth circle of Dante's Inferno?

Spencer didn't say another word as his long legs stalked out of the bullpen, uncaring that you were struggling to keep up. You nearly tripped over your feet several times before reaching the elevator. You stood beside a seething Spencer, who turned to push the 'B' button.

The basement? What business did he, or you, for that matter, have in the basement? Nobody ever- Right. Nevermind.

Nobody ever set foot in the basement.

You twiddled with your fingers in anticipation, hearing Spencer breathe in an unnatural pattern. The floors passed by quickly, and before you knew it, you were met with the sight of the metal doors sliding open into darkness.

Spencer flicked the light switch. Harsh, industrial, white light filled the dusty room. It was smaller than you expected. The rows of file cabinets made it look smaller than it really was. A desk was situated in the middle, seemingly abandoned.

You shuddered a breath as you stepped into the room, feeling exposed even when you knew nobody could see or hear you down here. Your shoes seemed outrageously interesting, your eyes never leaving them as you awaited Spencer with bated breath.

"Look at me." His words filled the silence. The room had an eerie lack of echo, his voice sounding closer than it actually was.

You slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze. He appeared taller like this, especially when you were already feeling small, hunching in on yourself.

"I'm going to give you one chance to apologize for your downright appaling behaviour." Spencer crossed his arms as he leaned against the desk. You felt as if you were being scolded by a teacher for throwing a crayon at another student.

"Why the condescending tone, Reid? We're all coworkers here." You questioned defensively, mirroring his stance by crossing your arms.

"That doesn't sound like an apology to me, but I'll bite. We are definitely coworkers. But you know as well as I that you changed that dynamic when you decided to start acting like a spoilt little girl begging for my attention." His composure didn't change as he spoke the incriminating words.

You didn't know what you expected coming down here with him, but this certainly wasn't it. You felt something simmer at his words, something you didn't want to acknowledge. You searched his face for any emotion, but only found a look that said "Well?"

When he noticed you weren't going to answer, he laughed. It wasn't a hearty chuckle. There was an underlying tone of sarcasm and ridicule to it.

"You've been at this for months, and now you're not even going to attempt to say sorry? I expected a shitty excuse, sure, but an apology nonetheless." Spencer scoffed.

You knew he was holding back. You could see it in the way he turned his head and closed his eyes before facing you again. You damned your profiling skills for giving you a foresight of what he had in store for you. You'd seen nothing of his wrath yet.

You knew he was getting frustrated at your silence, but you couldn't find the words. Nothing you could say could make this any better for you. You ran all the possible outcomes in your head, but every thought was more incriminating than the previous one.

"Fine." He clapped his hands together, stepping away from the desk. He motioned towards it, signalling you to take timid steps towards the piece of furniture. You looked at him questioningly.

His eyebrows raised. The words "You know what to do" went unspoken.

You swallowed as your mouth went dry. You looked at the desk, before looking at Spencer again. He didn't have to say anything. He wanted you to do it yourself. You closed your eyes as you leaned your palms against the unkept wood. You slowly brought your elbows down, leaning on them uncertainly. If this wasn't his intention, you'd just embarrassed yourself into the next century.

You heard him breathe deeply as he walked behind you. You jerked as his hand ran up your back until it reached between your shoulder blades. He pushed hard enough to press your chest flush with the desk, turning your head to lie it on the surface. His hand stayed there as the other was placed on your hip.

Spencer let out a content sigh. "Better."

He stepped away, leaving a cold feeling behind. You didn't dare move, already mortified at your predicament. You tried to breathe as quietly as possible as if any noise you made could set him off. You tried to hear what he was doing, unable to see him clearly in your peripheral.

Your head raised off the desk at lightning speed when you heard the unmistakable sound of a phone camera shutter.

"Did I say you could move?" Spencer asked. You shook your head, quickly placing it back on the desk. For a second, you wondered why you were even listening to him. He had no authority over you. But it felt exhilarating to give it to him.

"You speak when I ask you a question. No shaking your head, understood?" His voice came from in front of the desk. How hadn't you noticed him walking around it?

"Yes, sir," You squeaked, doing as he asked. Sir? Really?

"Good girl."

The words flipped a switch inside you. You licked your lips and closed your eyes, seemingly having to wait an eternity for him to take the next step. You heard the distinct sound of his belt unbuckling. You found yourself crossing your legs at the implication. Surely he wasn't going to whip you?

You thought you were going to get scolded for the action, but Spencer ignored it. He reached for your wrists, lying awkwardly beside your head. You didn't dare make eye contact.

You were confused at his next action until you saw the hole near the back of the desk, meant for cables. He threaded the belt through it before bringing your wrists to it and tying them together. The positioning was awkward at best, but you were starting to feel like that's what he wanted, to embarrass you.

You gave the makeshift handcuffs an experimental tug. They didn't budge, of course. Panic simmered in your chest, a claustrophobic feeling settling at the thought that you were stuck. There was nowhere for you to go, nowhere for you to run from Spencer's revenge.

He ran a hand through your hair, softly shushing you like you were a child. His hand slowly slid down your back. Your breath stuttered at his deliberate pace. He was taking his sweet time.

"Shhh... You're fine." He whispered, putting a foot between yours and kicking them open. You grunted at the action just as he was hooking his fingers into your bottoms and taking your underwear clean off with them. He lifted one of your feet, only bothering to untangle one foot and leaving your clothes pooled at your other ankle.

His fingers trailed up the inside of your leg. The tips of his fingers finally found the spot where you needed them most, but Spencer didn't do much besides feel you up.

"You're so fucking wet it's pathetic." He mumbled as he wiped his fingers on your thigh.

"You can pretend that you're tough and grown up all you want, but this is what you are. A pathetic little whore begging for my attention." Spencer walked around the desk and grabbed your chin harshly. The look in his eyes could only be described as animalistic. The ghost of a smirk danced on his lips.

You saw his eyes flicker down to your lips, and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you. You wanted him to kiss you. But he did no such thing.

"Open your mouth." He demanded, squishing your cheeks between his pointer finger and thumb. You obeyed, but it wasn't good enough for him.

"You can do better than that, c'mon." He urged, putting his thumb in your mouth and pushing your head back. He removed his hand and observed you lying there with your mouth open. He seemed pleased at the sight, humming in approval.

His hand made its way back to your chin, turning your face upwards, craning your neck uncomfortably. You hadn't registered what he'd done until you felt a warm glob hit your tongue. Had he just spit in your mouth? You looked at him aghast.

"Wipe that shocked look off your face and swallow it if you know what's good for you." He patted your cheek mockingly. You closed your mouth and swallowed his spit, not trying to think too much about the fact that known germaphobe Spencer Reid had just spit. in. your. fucking. mouth.

"That's what I thought." He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head. You thought he was going to take it off, maybe leaving it on your arms, seeing as they were currently tied to the desk, but he did no such thing. He brought the hem over your eyes, effectively blindfolding you with your shirt.

You couldn't imagine what you must've looked like. Legs spread, bottoms haphazardly pulled down, shirt over your eyes, hands tied, pussy dripping. Your heart sank as you heard Spencer take another picture.

"You look so good like this, exactly how you're supposed to be," Spencer spoke with a misconstrued sense of pride.

You flinched and yelped when he abruptly struck your behind with a flat hand. You'd expected this was coming, that he was going to punish you, but you hadn't heard him approach. He rubbed his hand over the sore spot he'd just hit.

"You're going to count them for me, and you're going to apologize after every single one. You better mean it because if I feel you're being insincere, you're only gonna get more until I believe you." Spencer set the rules, resting his left hand on your hip. You waited for him to begin, but another strike didn't come.

"This is the time where you say 'Yes, sir' like you did earlier. I must admit, I didn't expect that one. But I like it, so we're keeping it," he mocked.

"-Yes, sir," you stammered. Another hum of approval met your ears as he repositioned himself for the optimal angle.

He didn't hold back as the second slap hit your butt. It stung more than you'd expected, a burning sensation spreading fast.

"Two. I'm sorry, Spencer." You apologized, putting as much sincerity behind the words as you could muster.

"No, that was one. The first one was just a warning. And you don't deserve to call me Spencer right now. You'll need to earn that privilege back. You'll learn to respect me soon enough. Now, start over."

His hand came back down once more.

"One! I'm sorry, sir," you hissed at the pain.

"What are you sorry for, princess?" Spencer asked as he delivered another smack.

"Two! I'm sorry for disrespecting you!" You no longer had the energy to keep your head up, giving up the attempt to look at him and resting it back on the desk.

"And?" He questioned. Another strike.

"Three! I'm sorry for embarrassing you and pulling stupid pranks." You admitted.

"I don't buy it," Spencer contemplated.

"Please, sir! I'm sorry. I'm genuinely sorry for being so childish." You apologized. A strike harder than the previous ones landed on your behind.

"You don't speak out of turn, do you understand?" Spencer gripped your hair and pulled your head up to spit the words straight into your ear. You nodded wildly, as much as his grip on your hair through the shirt would allow.

"Yes, yes, I understand." You said. Spencer let go of your hair. You only had milliseconds to respond, preventing your head from hitting the wood. He returned to his previous position, not wasting any time before landing several strikes to your ass.

This continued for a while, him smacking, you counting and begging for his forgiveness. Your legs were shaking by the time he reached the twentieth hit.

"Twenty... I really am sorry, sir. I shouldn't have pushed you." You sighed, feeling Spencer rub circles over the impacted flesh.

"Have you learned your lesson?" He asked.

"Yes, I won't do it again. I'm sorry." You didn't remember how many times the words 'I'm' and 'sorry' had rolled off your tongue that afternoon, but it must've been dozens.

"Good. Now, for good measure, one last time." There was an underlying tone to the threat you couldn't place. You didn't have to wonder long, the last strike landing directly on your pussy.

"Shit! Oh my god," you cursed, attempting to shut your legs. Spencer's feet kept them from moving. He'd anticipated the reaction. You were glad for the echoless chamber, the humiliatingly wet sound only reverberating slightly.

"Now I can really be sure you'll remember." You could hear the smile in his voice. He was enjoying this too much. But then again, hadn't you been the exact same? Gaining joy from inconveniencing him? You sighed at the realization you couldn't judge him for getting off on this. The last smack certainly hadn't been a dry one.

"Now..." Spencer trailed off. He removed the shirt from your eyes, pushing it further over your head. He pushed the fabric into your mouth as a makeshift gag.

"Don't you make any noise, okay? I mean, not like anybody will hear you down here." He chuckled. You turned your head and your eyes widened as you saw him walk towards the elevator. He pushed the call button and turned back to catch one last glimpse at you. He snapped a quick picture of your reddened ass cheeks before stepping into the elevator.

You yelled his name through the gag, nothing but gurgling, obstructed pleas meeting his ears. He wasn't leaving, right? He wouldn't. He couldn't. He was just testing you.

You were left with the sound of your own pants and racing heart. You tugged at your binds once more. What if he left? Went home? Surely it was past the regular office hours by now.

Tears welled up in your eyes at the idea of being left here like this overnight. What if nobody came down here? What if somebody did come down here and saw you like this? You were conflicted.

After 10 minutes of silent contemplation and several escape attempts, the metallic creaking of the elevator coming down sounded through the basement. You clenched your eyes shut, begging the universe it was Spencer and nobody else.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard the familiar sound of Spencer's shoes hitting the linoleum floor. You watched as he sipped his newly acquired coffee, not acknowledging you, only looking at his phone. After presumably sending a couple of texts, he shut it off and put it away on top of one of the cabinets nearby.

He smiled at the sight of the fresh tears rolling down your face. "Tell me, have you ever heard of Dacryphilia?" He asked as he crouched down to your level and wiped a few stray tears from your chin. He removed the gag from your mouth.

You shook your head before correcting yourself. "No, sir."

"It's a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing," Spencer explained. Leave it up to Spencer to dive into an explanation at a moment like this.

"I never thought I was someone who could be turned on by that. But seeing you like this, I can definitely see the appeal." His words were quiet, but so was the room.

"You look so pretty when you cry for me." He praised, running a hand through your hair. It was a surprisingly sweet sentiment, given the circumstances. He got up from his crouched position before you. You looked up at him. The domineering gaze he gave back told you all you needed to know.

"Thank you, sir," you whispered, hoping it was the correct response.

"See? It's not that hard to be respectful. But I'm not done with you yet."

Your breathing picked up as you remembered your predicament. Spencer didn't waste any time, pushing his pants down. His cock was long and thick.

You thought he was going to make you suck it. He pushed it in your mouth harshly, not giving you any room to breathe. He held you there, choking on his cock by the back of your head for a few more seconds before pulling it out and slapping it on your cheek. He smiled wickedly before tucking it back in his pants. It had only been a taste, literally.

He saw your confused look, but ignored it, opting to walk back around the desk. He wasted no time, pushing two fingers inside your mortifyingly wet hole. He curled them exactly right, and you clenched your fist and eyes to stop your legs from giving out.

Just as you'd started moving your hips along with his hand, he pulled away. "Stay still. Or you don't get anything."

You willed your entire body to remain frozen as he resumed his activities. He brought his other hand to your clit, rubbing at the exact speed and pressure to make your knees buckle. You had to put all your weight on your upper body to stop moving.

"God, will you shut up?" Spencer groaned. You hadn't even noticed you were making any noise, the moans and whines falling from your lips sounding foreign.

You bit your lip to keep them from escaping, but it was hard when Spencer was unrelenting. You felt yourself coming close, soft, high-pitched whines escaping your throat no matter how hard you tried to contain them.

Your toes curled, and your muscles tightened, but Spencer pulled away. More tears welled up in your eyes at the immensely unsatisfying sensation. You wanted to beg him to please continue and let you finish. But he'd told you to shut up, and you really weren't looking to prolong your punishment.

You heard your own pathetic sobs, drowning out the sound of him undoing his pants again. Your chest heaved as you tried to stay silent. Sweat dripped down your face, mixing with the tears.

It was bizarre how quiet he stayed. He was usually so talkative. But the implication that you didn't deserve him speaking to you unless it was an order was clear.

"This is all you're good for. A hole for me to fuck. And don't you dare forget it." Spencer lined himself up and didn't offer any more preparation before sliding inside.

"You're just a deplorable, woeful, pitifully sad little girl." Spencer spat as his grip on your hair returned. His other hand snuck around your neck, gripping tightly. He used the grip on your hair and neck as leverage to set a brutal pace, calling you every synonym for pathetic available.

"You think you're so important? Good enough to be pulling shit like this? You need to learn your. fucking. place." Every word was punctuated by a harsh thrust. "You're expendable at best."

You didn't dare speak, the only thing leaving you was quiet sobs, whines and moans. Your breathing was strained against the hold he had on your neck.

You were embarrassed to feel the knot in your stomach tightening worryingly fast. Spencer was treating you like a whore, and you were getting off on it, faster than anything else ever had before.

Spencer felt you tighten around him and quickly pulled out and stepped away. You felt the cold breeze on your empty hole. More tears spilt as you heard the sound of a video recording starting.

Spencer zoomed in on your desperate, fluttering pussy, before pushing back inside, keeping the camera focused on his cock entering in and out.

You tried to hide your face when he turned the camera to it, but his hand yanked on your hair, making you face the camera.

"Say: 'I'm Spencer's little slut. His own personal hole to use whenever he pleases because I'm a cockwhore hungry for attention.'" Spencer demanded.

"Please, sir. Don't make me say it on camera," you begged. You'd say it, just to get it over with, but the current footage he had was already incriminating enough.

"No, you're going to fucking listen to me for once. Say it." The pace of his hips never let up, your figure moving crudely in and out of the shot.

"I-I'm Spencer's... Please," you began. Spencer's speed inside you increased, interrupting your train of thought. He delivered a harsh smack against your still sore ass, urging you to continue.

"I'm Spencer's... little slut. His own personal... hole... to use whenever he pleases." You inhaled sharply before continuing. "Because I'm a... cockwhore... hungry for attention." You stuttered over the words, forcing them out.

Spencer seemed satisfied, putting his phone away. His hand returned to your throat, cutting off the airflow as he fucked you harshly. Every thrust of his hips sent a jolt of electricity through your body.

The wood was digging into your hips, sure to be beaten and bruised by tonight. Your weight was no longer being held up by your legs, Spencer's presence behind you being the only thing that kept you from collapsing.

You were tight with desperation, every muscle wanting that sweet release he was depriving you of.

Spencer grunted unintelligible curses against you as he pistoned inside. His thick cock felt like it was splitting you open with every thrust, no matter how wet you'd gotten.

"Gonna cum inside you, and there's nothing you can do about it," Spencer mumbled as he sped up. How it was even possible, was beyond you.

"Please, sir. Please let me cum." You whined. If he denied you one more time, you weren't sure if you could take it.

"What makes you think you fucking deserve to cum? You're an annoying, good-for-nothing brat who's getting what was coming for her." He moaned against the shell of your ear. The sound ignited something new inside you. You needed to hear it again.

"Please, Spencer. Please," you begged, more tears threatening to spill after you'd assumed you were all out.

"What, you're gonna fucking cry? Like a fucking baby? Don't fucking do things if you're gonna fucking cry over the consequences, you fucking slut. And it's sir to you, you whore." You'd never heard Spencer this vulgar. And you could've never imagined what it would do to you.

"You know what they call this, crybaby?" Spencer asked, tightening the grip on your throat, cutting off most if not all of the airflow. You shook your head aggressively.

"Karma." He spoke, thrusting harshly to get the message across. The combination of the lack of air and his ruthless thrusts was brutal. You could feel yourself trembling, trying to keep yourself together.

Spencer pushed his cock sharply one last time, twitching and releasing his spend inside you with a loud groan. He released your throat and pulled out. You fell forward, chest heaving with dry sobs. He hadn't let you come. You cried frustrated tears as Spencer took more photos, as expected.

You felt the warm come drip from your pussy as Spencer took close-ups. A tense silence overtook the room as he made himself decent before paying you any attention.

"Garcia still owed me a favour, so she disabled the elevator from coming down here unless you enter a code," Spencer explained as he untied you. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, even if the ordeal was already over. The fact that there had been no real threat settled the uneasy feeling, even if only a little. It was the only consolation he offered. Spencer redid his belt as if it hadn't just been used as handcuffs while he fucked you like you were his property to discard.

You rubbed your wrists, seeing the red wells carved in them from your relentless tugging. How were you going to explain this when you came in tomorrow?

Spencer didn't seem to care, simply grabbing his stuff and waiting for the elevator. You looked around for your underwear, only to see a small piece of fabric sticking out of his pocket. You sighed and put your bottoms back on without the underwear, cringing at the wet, sticky fluid still between your legs. Your top was still wet with saliva and tears.

You got in the elevator with him without saying a word. You'd expected to at least talk to him about it, but as soon as you reached ground level, Spencer was gone.

Your eyes welled up and cheeks heated when you realized you were going to have to walk through the lobby and go home alone, all without any underwear and while still dripping his cum.

Spencer had gotten what he wanted. You were mortified. And you sure as hell weren't going to pull any more pranks anytime soon.

Not while at the office, anyways.

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dedenneblogs · 3 months

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HEARTBREAK HIGH S2 ANALYSIS PART 1 (buckle up this is going to be a doozy)

so... it's out (the trailer).

youtube

my excitement cannot be expressed...

BUTT! today, i will be doing my iconic mouse analysis of this trailer (this is actually the first time im doing something like this so it's not rlly iconic BUTT it will be soon) with the most comprehensive inspection i can using under 2 minutes of video as a basis....

with that said lets

BEGIN!

the heartbreak highers are back for another "cursed" term....

so glad to see the trio back in action. like. actually so happy. MIGHT explode from excitement... as always, their outfits slaylay.

the boyfriends... friends? boys? BUGS??? found out on hh s2!

these goons are back... gayer then ever,,, seriously. when will these two have an episode long make out 'sesh? unlikely, to much dismay....spoiler alert...you'll see....

MISSY!!!!! and sasha, i guess

SPOILER ALERT AGAINNNN missy looks like she'll be more prominent in this season so...WIN!!!!

also why is she mewing who is rizzing up

and new on the the chopping block-- Rowan Callaghan!

we'll get to rowan when we get to rowan

in other (more important) news-- SHE'S HEALING! HARPER IS HEALING!!!

i... *sobs* i she's growing her hair out oh my GAW...... she's getting better...she... there's a lower chance she'll cock-block amerie (oh but she'll get cock [spoiler-- again!])

butt let's not celebrate just yet-- it's still "everyone hates amerie" up in this joint, smellas

may as well... shot them. huh. well. pop off, i suppose... (amerie asserts her right to bear arms-- truly patriotic coming from an aussie!)

...touché coming from the (still) most hated student in heartly who only adds salt to the wound by... using the pink 'ildo from s1 as a mic... chat... she's lost it.

(unrelated but in the background-- MISSY AND MALAKAI!!! they were building up a relationship between them in s1 and how she and her brother (i think? 'memory's fuzzy) helped him heal from the shit he had to go through in s1 and even better connect him with his aboriginal roots. i hope to see more of these two interact come april 11th and i binge the whole season)

ALSO also ANOTHER new character-- Zoe Clarke!

we will ALSo get to zoe when we get to zoe

anywho-- cue: AMERIE'S ONLINE HARASSMENT ARC! becuz every show needs one...unfortunately. Give a cold welcome to Bird Psycho, heartbreak highers (we will get to bird psycho when we get to bird psycho)

(who ever is doing this shit is a bitch but either way: "you dont get to be the hero" shut your goofy ass up)

oh that's gore. that's core of my comfort character.

ok so maybe this bird psycho cuck isnt fucking around because clearly he's gotten to our girl ams :(

(dw they uh...take her out for ice cream. after this. proabably.)

moving foward-- STAND BACK I SAID STAND BACK WEIRD GIRL QUINNI

oughh im gonna be sick. of course. OF COURSE SHE WOULD GO FULL SHERLOCK HOLMES TO HELP HER BESTIE.

yeah anyways with this in mind she'd totally try and crack the fnaf lore wouldn't she. wouldn't she.

she's slay she's girlboss but at the end of the day she's a weirdo

anywho nuff of my rambling there--

ominous of you to say zoe

BUT ENOUGH OF HER CA$$HHHHHHHHHHHH

ca$h omg eshay eshay eshay pspspspsp,,,

i am so happy to see him (spoiler alert for 2 secs throughout the whole trailer) but anywho remeber? remeber right he's in prison. but seems to be doing okay... (maybe for the best heartly drama is really coming to a boiling point)

and-- oh. uh... chicken dumbell... okay... pop off, missy...

when i said i wanted more missy i didnt expect this

spider seems to be into tho maybe what ??1/1/111.1/?!??!/1/1/1

missy x spider was NOT on my bingo card

WHEN MISSY SAID SHE WAS STARTING TO LIKE WHITE BOYS I DIDNT THINK SHE MEANT THIS.

BUUTTTttttt-- i. am. down. for. it... somehow. frankly, spider needs someone to put him in his place and low and behold, missy seems to be the student to do so..........

hey. if they're both happy with their...chicken dumbells, i am too.

amerie dont be alarmed but there's a white boy to your right

in other news this love triangle scares the diarrhea out of me

look at them. they're the perfect couple (malakai x amerie 4life) and rowan is--

well he's a nice boy but cmon

LOOK AGAIN IM DOWN FOR THEM TO BE HAPPY BUTT when it comes in between THE BEST SHIP IN THE SHOW (looks at amerie x spider shippers with affectionate disdain) i draw the line.

but who knows? rowan seems nice enough, and if he's able to make amerie happy, let them have each other! <3

also knowing malakai's track record i wouldn't put it past him to get freaky with rowan too (threesome attempt 2??? actually no wait thats a horrible idea NEVERMIND [gets s1 ep4 flashbacks])

also also "classic love triangle" scene gives major "erm...well this is akward!" vibes from ams (we stan cringey amerie in this household tho)

and well. shart. max limit of 30 photos. oh well-- ill make a second part! tune in for the update heartbreak highers :3

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portaltothevoid · 10 months

Text

you're losing me part iv -- copia x reader, ex!terzo x reader

Summary: Your cheating ex is the leader of the Satanic church and you caused a scene in front of the whole congregation. You've been summoned to meet with him, alone, to be served your punishment. Turns out, you're destined for more than you could ever imagine...

A/N: buckle up buttercups, you're in for a doozy. please read the warnings. also this is my first time writing real smut please be nice to me. this little idea i had has grown into something i never thought it would and it is my overflowing cup of reason to live juice. and yes i switched gifs around because i'm new here and found the perfect one for part iii soooo did a little switcheroo. ps there’s a lot of lyrical easter eggs for my fellow swifties

songs: coney island by tswizzle, tempt me by stone nobles (please check out this band, i beg of you. trust me.)

word count: 8.4k (😬😬😬)

warnings: (this chapter deals with some dark stuff) dubcon, manipulation, talk of self-sabotage, flashbacks, oral (f!receving), fingering, p in v, rough sex, choking, fingers in mouth, allusion to panty-sniffing kink (kinda), horror elements, allusion to degradation (the bad kind), female reader, terzo heavy, google translate latin, some google translate italian (i took it in high school but that was forever ago, so i tried?)

“A summons?” you gasped jumping up from the couch. “A summons?! Oh, great. Perfect. Wait, what exactly is a summons?”

“It’s a meeting with Papa… alone…” Copia said, his voice balancing on the edge of feigned calmness and panic.

“Why the fuck does he need to see me alone? He can’t excommunicate me without witnesses, right? …Right?!” Your voice was rising in pitch as you started to pace around the living room.

“I-I don’t know, tesoro. No matter what happens, eh, I don’t think he’ll let you go that… easily.”

“Okay, okay, we just have to remain calm and- and think about this rationally. I-it could just be the slap on the wrist for the outburst, right?”

“Maybe…”

“Then again, if I’m alone in his office it’ll probably be a slap across my ass,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes. Copia couldn’t even respond, he just made a growling sound from deep inside his chest. You held your hands up defensively. “I’m just saying.”

“If so much as lays one finger on you–”

“He won’t,” you interrupted. “What happened after I left mass?”

“I got up to run after you and the fucker, very condescendingly, reminded me…” he trailed off as a realization smacked him across the face. “He reminded me I was to lead the closing prayer, which he assigned to me at the last minute. Cazzo! Quel figlio di puttana (Fuck! That son of a bitch…) planned this. He knows what he’s fucking doing,” he fumed. “That’s why he couldn’t wipe that fucking smirk off his face.”

“Oh fucking hell, we are so fucked,” you groaned, sitting back down on the couch with your head in your hands.

“Eh, maybe not if we’re already figuring out his plan?”

“True... Okay, so… we just have to think like Terzo.” A repulsed shiver went down your spine at that thought alone. “His comment to me was planned. He wanted to get under my skin. Point for him. I spat wine in his face and told him to fuck off in front of literally everyone. Point for me. But he was testing me to see my reaction or maybe it was just to test your reaction, or both? Either way, it didn’t matter because he made it so your duties came first no matter what I did… Point for him. He’s in the lead and now I’m gonna have to be in his office tomorrow. Great. Just fucking great.”

“So he’s going after me now too…” Copia sighed as he ran his hands through his hair.

“N-no. Not just you.” Your voice faltered as you felt your insides do a somersault. A realization of your own drained every emotion from your face. “He’s going after us. He’s going– He’s gonna try and break us apart.” Copia looked up at you, dumbfounded. Of course. Of course that’s exactly what Terzo was doing.

“If he can’t have you, no one can…”

“Do you remember what a big fucking deal it was to get me on the books for living with him?” Copia nodded, not liking where this was going. “I… I never officially moved out… I just… came here. He’s… he’s going to reassign my living quarters tomorrow. That's what this has to be about.”

“Oh Satana mio…(Oh my Satan)”

“Call Sister Imperator. Right now. She can rush the paperwork, can't she?”

“Amore, even if we could, he’d still have to sign off on it in the morning,” he sighed.

“I can’t just sit here and wait for morning. Even if that’s not what the summons is going to be about, at least let’s cover our asses. Now… Call. Her.”

He ignored the warmth that traveled up his body from you being stern and demanding with him and started the call to their superior. She answered right away and you were sitting on the edge of the couch. “H-hi, uh, hello, Seestor. I’m sorry it’s so la– Sì. She received the summons… Eh, sì, that’s why I’m calling you… No… Okie dokie, Seestor.” He hung up the phone after that.

“Did you really just ‘okie dokie’ Sister Imperator?”

Copia just shrugged. “She’s expecting us in her office.”

“Hmph!” you hummed triumphantly as you got up. “Told ya we needed to call her.”

He rolled his eyes at your gloating. “Andiamo, anidamo (let’s go, let’s go),” he said as he placed a hand on the small of your back, letting you lead the way out of the apartment.

Copia knocked swiftly on Imperator’s door. Seconds later it was opened. “Come in. Quickly!” she hissed. The Sister took her seat at her desk, while you and Copia sat in the chairs in front of her. She stared at you, her lips pursed. “That was some stunt you pulled at mass today, Sister.”

“I-I… he… I’m–” you stuttered and then abruptly shut up when she held her hand up.

“I knew of the nature of your relationship with Papa and I know that it is no longer. I know of the infidelity… on both your parts. Save the apologies. I heard what he said to you. When I was your age… I would have acted similarly… I did not bring you both here because of that incident. Clearly Papa Emeritus III is out of control and it’s only going to get worse.” She spoke matter-of-factly. There was no animosity in her voice towards you, this was strictly business.

“I think he’s going to try to separate Copia and I,” you blurted out quickly. You winced at the frantic tone of your voice.

“Yes I know. I have your room transfer papers ready. Luckily, it’s before midnight, so tomorrow he won’t have a say in where you end up since this is already being put in motion. Sign here and here,” she pointed with her pen as she spoke and handed a clipboard over to Copia who then passed it to you.

“Do you… do you know what else is going to happen tomorrow? At the summoning?” you questioned timidly.

“No. I only caught wind about the transfer. But, Sister, you must be prepared. We are thwarting his plans. Whatever happens tomorrow, you cannot retaliate via a spectacle. I am fully on your side here, but we need to bide our time.”

“So… What? I’m just supposed to take the public humiliation and whatever else he’s gonna throw in my face?”

“I think what Seestor is trying to say, cara, is that behind closed doors you can say anything you want to him, but whatever you say to him, we don’t know if he will retaliate right then or wait to strike,” Copia said calmly.

Sister Imperator gave a short nod in agreement. “Your reactions have to be calculated. You cannot let your emotions get the best of you in the moment. You’ve done so well holding yourself together, I know you are capable of this.”

You felt the weight of everything come crashing down on you, overwhelming you. All you could do was chew on the inside of your cheek.

“I know you know this more than anyone, Sister,” Imperator continued, “Terzo is out of control and out of line. This is becoming nothing but a game to him. As Papa, he feels no one has the power to tell him no. At the rate he is going, he will only bring ruin to this Ministry. And I, for one, will do everything in my power to keep that from happening. I know Cardinal Copia feels the same.”

He nodded. “Sì, Seestor. I do.”

“I will do whatever it takes, Sister.”

“Do you know why your role is so vital to this?” Sister Imperator questioned. You shook your head. “You were the only one that could tame Terzo. For a while, I had thought we found our solution to our problems with him. But he is a wild animal. No amount of domestication will tame that beast. You also possess magical and ritual talents well beyond your years. You are a very valuable asset to the church as a whole. If all goes according to plan, your efforts will be regarded in the highest favor from the Dark Lord himself, I’m sure.”

You were too stunned by her praise to notice that Copia shifted uncomfortably. Sister Imperator shot a glare at him to stop before you looked up from your hands. “I– Um, thank you, Sister.”

She gave you a stiff nod as she began to organize the papers on her desk. “Oh, and, Sister? Should anything happen to you, be it comments or gestures, report it to myself or Cardinal Copia. Immediately. If I am preoccupied, tell someone or myself that you have a very important document for me to review. Understood?”

“Yes, Sister,” you nodded.

“Very well then. I will have this processed and on Papa’s desk by sun rise.”

Copia got up and bowed to Sister Imperator. He held out his hand for you to take your leave. Just as you both were a step away from the door, you turned back to her desk. “Sister Imperator?” you asked innocently.

“Hmm?” she murmured without looking up at you.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely.

She finally looked up at you, her eyes darting between you and Copia. An uncharacteristically warm smile spread across her face. “No need to thank me yet.” Her demeanor turned back to its usual stoicness. “Now go get some rest. The both of you. You’ll need it.”

~~~~~

Even though you somehow managed to fall asleep, you felt like as soon as you drifted off, you heard the incessant beeping of Copia’s alarm. You rolled to face the ceiling and groaned, but didn’t allow yourself any more time in bed. You wanted this over with. You had no idea what was about to happen. Delaying it wasn’t going to solve any problems. Reluctantly, you got up and showered quickly, putting on your makeup afterwards. While Copia got ready for the day, you searched your side of the closet, trying to decide the best approach for this summons.

Earlier last week, while Terzo was tied up in meetings, you and one of your favorite Ghouls went back to the place you once called home and packed up the rest of your things. When you brought in the last box, and the Ghoul was to return to his post, he gave you his signature straight-lined, toothy smile, something he rarely did around humans. He stood at your side and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, nuzzling his head into you. The affection was so endearing you didn’t mind his mask slightly clunking against your head.

“Thank you for always being there for me, Swiss,” you told him. He had caught you crying on more than one occasion, always wiping your tears away or badly misbehaving around Papa when he realized that’s who was the reason for your sadness. “Don’t forget about me, okay?” you laughed delicately. The Ghoul put both their hands over their heart and shook their head. How could they ever forget the one person who treated them like an equal and not as just a devout servant or like some kind of pet?

His shoulders slumped when it was time for him to go. You put your hand on the side of his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and said, “Be on your worst behavior for Papa. Be the best little shit I know you can be for me, alright?” He perked up and nodded excitedly, happily accepting this task from you. “There we go, that’s my favorite Ghoul,” you smiled warmly and scratched under his chin as his tail swished. He flashed you one more of his signature smiles before turning heel and heading back.

You sighed. “I miss the Ghouls,” you grumbled as you continued to flip through all the clothes you had hanging. You could wear something plain, albeit respectful, just what all the Sisters wore day-to-day. Maybe something more formal… But then you found it. It was a dress you saved for special occasions and events and luckily for you, you had yet to wear this one. A devilish smile went across your face.

Looking in the mirror, smoothing out any stray wrinkles, you nodded to yourself. You looked hotter than hell. You had your wimple on, but pulled some hair out to have it frame your face. You fluffed your bangs, then applied your red lipstick. Yeah, this’ll do.

You walked out of your room, causing Copia to look up from his phone. He almost choked on his coffee at the sight of you.

The dress was a black satin that hugged your body. Leaving very little to the imagination, it had a plunging neckline and an open back. Its asymmetrical hem fell just above your left ankle, while the right side hit the top of your thigh, showing off your whole leg when you walked. On that leg, you had a garter with a single Grucifix dangling from it, made of black diamonds. It had been a gift from Terzo, you only hoped it added insult to injury. For shoes you wore simple, black, strappy stilettos.

“Y-you’re wearing that for h-him?” he stuttered in shock.

You grinned a Cheshire cat smile as you walked over to him. Tilting his head to the side you were on, you leaned down and kissed him. Your hand trailing down his chest, a finger dragging across where his pants started under his cassock. “Oh, caro, this dress isn’t for him. I’m dressing for revenge.” You dragged the hand holding his head across his jawline as you pulled away. “You got a little…” you said quietly as you used your thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth. He could only stare at you as you walked towards the door. His eyes wide and filled with lust. “Meet me back here for lunch,” you said, your tone commanding. You looked over your shoulder with a delightfully sinful grin to see Copia nodding fervently.

Just before you stepped out to leave, he called out, “Be careful, amore. Per favore.”

“Always am,” you responded as you shut the door. Taking one long, deep breath, you began your trek to the summons.

Dark Lord, give me the strength to mask my emotions, to not let them overpower my actions. Please, give me your strength and guidance to get through this. Nema, you thought to yourself, eyes closed and focused as you stood outside his office and set your intention. You elegantly knocked on the door.

“Entra.”

Let the battle begin.

He sat with his elbows on his desk, chin perched in his folded hands. You felt him eyeing you as you walked over to the chair across from him, sizing you up. His face dropped slightly, taken aback by your appearance. His lust for you consuming him.

“You did this all for me, sorella? Or would you still prefer I call you tesoro mio?” His voice was sultry, dripping with sweet honey. It made you sick.

“Sorella is fine, Papa. You summoned me, I only thought it best to wear something more formal,” you smiled politely.

“I always did like the way you think…” he mused under his breath, but still loud enough for you to hear. You ignored the comment. “Do you know why I summoned you, tesorino?”

Your expression held firm as you kept your air of professionalism intact. “I can only assume it has to do with the incident from mass.”

“Actually, I wanted to discuss your living arrangements. But you see, a very curious thing happened. There were already papers on my desk dealing with just that. Isn't it funny how quickly things can get done when you know the right people, hmm?”

“I see it as a blessing. The Dark Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“That He does, that He does…” his smile showed he was impressed by your response and ability to dodge the question, but his tone suggested he knew the move was calculated. “Well, with that out of the way now, I suppose we have time to talk.” He looked at you through his lashes. He softened, his voice quieter. Was this his way of waving the white flag? You weren’t talking to Papa now, you had Terzo in front of you. The real Terzo. However, you weren’t about to drop your guard so easily.

“What is there to talk about, Papa?”

He shook his head, his expression forlorn. “This isn’t business anymore.” When he looked up at you, he dropped any and every mask he was wearing. Even behind his papal paints, you could see how broken and defeated he actually was. “You left… and then I returned home one day and… every trace of you was gone. Poof. As if you were never there. As if we never happened…” he took a deep breath, it was unsteady. He bit his lip in an effort to control his emotions. You stared numbly at him. “Do you remember the first night I stayed with you? When you were sick?” he whispered.

Of course you remembered. How could you forget? You had a nasty cold. You texted him early that day, telling him you were sick and you’d have to reschedule dinner. He told you to rest and get better and that he would see you soon. You didn’t think ‘soon’ meant him showing up at your door later that evening with two quart containers of minestrone soup (that he made himself from his nonna’s recipe (and with Primo’s guidance)) and a bouquet of flowers.

“What are we watching, tesoro?” he asked as he settled in behind you, holding you, arm wrapped around your waist. You felt guilty having him there.

“You really don’t have to stay. I mean I don't want to get you sick and… Really, I’m fine on my own, especially now that I have soup!”

“Amore. Just because you do well on your own doesn’t mean you have to be on your own, hm? I'm here because I want to be, because la mia ragazza preferita (my favorite girl) is sick. If we fall asleep watching tv, then we sleep! There’s no use arguing with me, you know,” he said as he pulled you closer to him and pressed gentle kisses on your neck. “I'm staying– right– here.” His voice was muffled from barely taking his mouth away from your neck as he punctuated each word with a kiss. The affection made you bubble with laughter.

“I'm glad you’re here,” you said shyly. It was at that moment you knew you had a difficult conversation ahead of you. One that could make or break your relationship with Terzo, but you were falling for him. Hard. Nothing could stop your momentum. He had a reputation and if he loved you like he said he did, he’d commit to you. Wouldn’t he?

He let out a content sigh that pulled you out of your thoughts. He nuzzled into your shoulder. “Sono tua. Tutta tua.” He paused before adding, “Solo tua.” You froze. Did he read your mind? Did he feel the same as you? (I am yours. All yours. Only yours.)

“Solo mia? Davvero?” (Only mine? Really?)

“Sì. Sì,” he murmured affectionately as he placed a kiss on your temple. “There's no one else I want to share my time with. You’re all I think about, all I dream about, amore. You ground me. Make me feel like… I'm not… I’m not as— You make me feel like I'm worth loving. I want… us… I want to be esclusivi with you.” A sudden bashfulness came over him that you had never seen before. He was also so cool and collected, but you could tell just from the sound of his voice and the way he was fidgeting, tapping his fingers on your arm as he spoke that he was nervous.

You rolled over and cupped his face, searching his eyes with nothing but adoration. “Promise me then. Promise me, I’ll be the only one. Promise me, I’ll be your only one.”

“Te lo prometto. I promise you. You have my word, amata.”

“If you get sick this is on you. It’s so not my fault,” you jested as you poked his chest.

His eyes lit up. “Will you take care of me if I do?”

You swept his bangs away from his eyes. “Certo, amore.” His eyes scanned your face like he was trying to remember every single detail of it. “Okay, then I have no regrets about doing this and accept the consequences,” you added as you grabbed his face and kissed him. He deepened the kiss, turning and pulling you on top of him. You couldn’t help but giggle. This was it. You both were in it for the long haul. There was no going back now.

You pursed your lips and rolled them together as you tore yourself away from the now painful memory. You couldn’t help but wonder, if that was the long haul then how’d you end up here so soon?

“I do… but forgive me, what does that have to do with anything?”

He was focused on his hands in front of him as he anxiously tapped his fingers together. “Could you ever look at me again the way you did that night? Could you ever love me again?”

“Do you know how many nights I spent wondering where that Terzo had gone?” you snapped as you countered his amative question with one of your own that had been frozen in ice.

“I have always been here, tesoro,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes again.

“Do you remember what you said to me that night? What you promised me? How you were all mine? Only mine?”

“Sì, ricordo (I remember)…” he muttered. The quietness of the room made your ears ring. With so many conflicting emotions running through your veins, the strongest made your blood begin to simmer.

“Then why? Why wasn’t I ever enough for you?” The questions flew out of your mouth before you could even debate betraying your strictly-business-like demeanor. Your voice tinged with desperation, devastation, and nostalgic longing. You wanted to hate Terzo. You wanted to. Most of the time now you did, but here he was in front of you. You sacrificed so much for him, for your relationship, you set all politics aside. Right now, you merely wanted answers to the thoughts that had kept you lying awake countless nights.

His breath got caught in his throat. It was as if he physically reacted to your words piercing through his heart. He stared at you, mouth slightly hung open in shock at both your question and the revelation of the consequence of his actions that it brought. Suddenly, he was on his feet, gliding over to you. Your chair had been far enough away from the desk that he was able to kneel in front of you. He placed his gloved hands on your knees.

Your jaw clenched. You saw right through what he was trying to do. Act as if it was the first time you confronted him. The first time you caught him.

The memory flooded your senses making you relive the moment when you returned to your apartment and sat at the table, waiting for the door to open. You didn’t even bother to turn on a light. Copia had walked you back after he literally ran into you as you tried to flee from one of your worst nightmares. It had taken you an hour or so to even begin to calm down. The clock neared eleven and he still wasn’t home.

He expected to find you already asleep, but he saw you waiting for him, still dressed, makeup ruined. The rage and hurt that radiated off you hit him like a brick wall as soon as he walked in and turned on the light. “Amore, what are you–”

“How was your day?” you asked plainly, staring at your hands folded in front of you.

“Lots of meetings,” he let out a tired sigh.

“Your last one ran really late. Is everything okay?”

He froze for a split second as he started to take off his gloves. He cleared his throat. “Yes, you know, just lots of red tape to sort through while the Ghost tour is being planned.” His voice became just unsteady enough to let you know he feared this was becoming an interrogation.

You nodded. “Hm, I thought that meeting was scheduled for next week.” For the first time since he returned, you looked over at him. You shrugged nonchalantly, turning away from him to look at your hands again.

“I-it got moved up suddenly. Mi dispiace, I thought someone had told you…” he muttered, making his way to the bedroom.

“Ah, yes, I’m sure Sister Thérèse just got tied up with someone… I mean something else. I haven’t seen much of her lately, or at all really, though I’m sure you have.” You turned to see him come to a complete standstill the moment your tone darkened. Slowly, he turned to you. He opened his mouth to stutter out something, but your voice was sharp as a sword. “Don’t.”

“I can explain–”

“Oh, I’m sure you can. There just has to be a reasonable explanation as to why you were balls deep inside her in a random office. And I’m sure there’s another for why the door was left ajar. Usually I would have just kept walking, but there was this very distinctive, very familiar voice. ‘È tutto. Ragazza bene. Sì, sei la mia ragazza preferita. È tutto (That’s it. Good girl. Yes, you’re my favorite girl. That’s it),’” you did your best mocking-impression of him you could muster. “I thought ‘Hmm, I’ve heard that somewhere before. There’s no way it could be..’ Well, sure enough, peaking through that crack in the door, there you were! And now… here we are.” You were so beyond furious that you appeared calm.

He stood there, still frozen, locked in place. You could see the fear in his eyes. If it weren’t the papal paints on his face you could have seen his color fade. When he finally was able to speak, his voice wavered, sounding close to a whimper. “Are… are you going to leave me?”

Your fists clenched and you let out a huff of air. “I’ve thought about it, but given the nature of everything, I just can’t up and leave you.” A silence hung in the air. “How the fuck did it get to this point?” Your voice cracked as you repressed the tears that started to rise to the surface.

He jolted forward, rushing to you, kneeling in front of you, taking your hands in his. “Please, please, amore. I’d– I’ll do anything for you. Amata mia. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Mi dispiace. Mi dispiace.” Sobs rippled through him as he cried at your feet. All you wanted to do was pull him up by his hair and slap him so hard across the face, it would have woken the whole floor up, then scream at him to stop crying. You knew you couldn’t do that. That wasn’t you. So you sat there, silent and stoic, your whole body tense.

After he calmed himself down slightly, his watery eyes gazed up to your towering form. “You promised me,” you breathed through your teeth out of fear that any extra movement would cause you to break down just as he had. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

“I know. I know I did. I… I ruined everything.”

“Why, Terzo? Why did you do it?”

“I… Non lo so.” His lips barely moved as he breathed out words you didn’t care to hear.

You slammed your fist on the table, abruptly pushing yourself out of your chair, needing to get away from his touch. “When are you gonna fucking let me in, Terzo? Huh? This whole ‘us’ thing really won’t work if you don’t ever tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“I-I-I don’t know! She was just there! And– and I knew how wrong it was. I know… but I couldn’t stop. I… I was bored and–”

“You… you were… You– You were bored,” you scoffed. “So I bore you enough to go fuck a wanna be Prime Mover whore?”

His head dropped in his hands. He moved them up through his hair which he gripped so tightly his knuckles turned white and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he groaned.

“Ooh, do enlighten me then!”

“I can’t tell you why I did it, because I don’t know. Veramente (Truly), I don’t know. It’s just– Everything was going so well. Perfect almost. You were taking everything being thrown at you in stride. Your ideas for Ghost, the way you keep me on track, the way you… You were just you. Always there. Always by my side.”

“So you just had to go and fuck it up.”

His shoulders slumped, his jaw clenched. “I don’t deserve you, tesoro. I never did…”

There it was. There was the answer to the multi-million dollar question. You felt your heart shatter as he sat there in his hurt. You scurried over to him, dropping to your knees, holding his face between your hands. With a shake, you forced his dichromatic eyes to find yours. “But you do, Terzo. You do. Satan, I give you everything I have, every day, to show you that.” He turned his head away from you. Your words only made him feel like you were proving his point. “Look at me,” you commanded with another shake. “Before I came here, I didn’t have anything or anyone. I had nothing. When I found you… when you took an interest in me, the kind of person who never had the guts to stand out or be noticed, who didn’t even think they were special enough to catch anyone’s attention, never mind yours… It’s because of you I can even see myself in a different light. Don’t you think someone capable of that deserves someone just as special?”

The kindest words that were ever said to him, the most genuine words, always came from you. He loved you more than anything he could possibly imagine. He knew lately he’d done a piss poor job of proving that to you. He could see the cuts he was inflicting on you. He hated himself for it. He needed you by his side for so many reasons. He needed you to keep him in line. If you ever stopped… If he ever let himself completely lose control… If you ever left him… He couldn’t even imagine the monster he would become.

You didn’t know the depths of the internal battle he was waging on himself, you saw enough of it on his face to know his struggle was heart-wrenching. You loved him. Yes, he royally fucked up, but you still loved him. “We can work through this,” you whispered, moving yourself to intercept his blank stare.

“Will you ever trust me again?”

You winced at the memory. Everytime he came close to regaining your trust, he would do something to break it. Over and over again.

“It was never you who wasn’t good enough, amata mia. You know that,” he purred as his satin covered hands slid up your thighs, taking your dress with them slowly. He paused as his fingers brushed your garter. He toyed with the Grucifix that dangled from it. That he had given you. He smiled affectionately at it, before his devil may care smirk returned. You wearing that wasn’t an insult to him. It was a sign of subconscious devotion.

This was the real Terzo. You chastised yourself for falling for it, yet again. Always a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a lesson you just couldn’t seem to learn. “I am the one who was never worthy of you.” His eyes were locked onto your core. He then stood up, parting your legs by wedging himself between them. As he did so, he dragged his dual-toned irises up your body until they locked with yours. His pupils fully blown out, his breathing became heavier. His lust could only be described as animalistic.

Your words formed a lump in your throat, unable to escape.

He towered over you. His hands grazed along the sides of your entire body. He ripped off your wimple. Your face scrunched at his roughness. One hand, then, settled around your neck, squeezing it, as he put his mouth by your ear. “There is so much for you to learn. So much I have to teach you, demonino mio.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, roaring thunderously in your ears. You felt your blood go from a simmer to boiling. “I’m not your little demon,” you growled as you spat in his face. The hand on your throat swiftly moved to your chin, his grip painful enough to fear it might bruise. He forced you to look at him, to look at his knowing smirk. He knew something you were clueless about.

“Mmm, C’è la mia ragazza (there’s my girl),” he cooed. He kept your face locked in place as he licked your spit off his face, making you watch. Your eyes burned with a ferocity you’ve never felt before. “Satanas, I’ve missed you,” he sighed.

He breathed out a laugh as he unexpectedly dropped to his knees again. Your dress had already moved up so much, nothing was hidden. He pushed your legs open wider as he dove between them, running his nose along your core, inhaling deeply.

“Terzo, stop,” you demanded, trying to squirm your way out of his hold.

“You know you don’t want me to.” He moved up slightly, so his throat was flush against you. When he spoke, it sent undeniably pleasurable shockwaves through you.

“No. Fucking stop! No!” You tried to leap up and push him away from you, but he was stronger and faster. Easily he took your arms and pinned you to the chair, of which you were barely sitting on the edge of in your struggle.

His eyes darkened, his head swayed back and forth as he tutted at you. “Sei stata una ragazza molto cattiva (you have been a very bad girl).” Your arms would surely bruise as he put even more of his weight onto them, further constricting his vice grip he had on you. Relentlessly you still tried to wriggle your way out of his grasp.

Stop fighting, my child… A calming, almost sultry voice, yet somehow also one of safety, rang through your mind.

Terzo pushed his face into the crook of your neck, biting down where it met your shoulder. You cried out as you continued your attempts to writhe away from the monster in front of you. He licked the mark and dragged his tongue all the way up your neck, sucking on the sensitive spot behind your ear. The line between pain and pleasure was beginning to blur. “If you keep trying to fight me, la mia stellina oscura (my little dark star), or you so much as breathe one word of this to a certain Caridnale, he will find himself back in Italia for a very, very long time…” Your body ceased movement. His stronghold on you loosened as he descended once again. “Ora, dimmi, amore, that you don’t want this (Now, tell me, love).”

Give into temptation, my child. The voice rang out again, echoing throughout your mind like a spell to sedate your frayed nerves. You hadn’t the faintest idea why, but this time, you trusted the ethereal voice. You stopped fighting.

Terzo returned to his spot between your legs, humming appreciatively. “Oh, guarda. I can see how much you already want this. Sporco bugiardo (You dirty liar),” he taunted as he ran his finger along the wet patch that had started to pool in your underwear, your body betraying you. While his thumb ran circles around your clit, your breath hitched involuntarily. Your eyes shut, your head turning away in shame. You couldn’t bear to actually watch this.

He teased you, dragging his finger up and down your lace-covered slit, before covering you with the palm of his hand. Now he moved his whole hand in slow, circular motion. He was satisfied when your wetness had completely soaked through your underwear. Next thing you knew, he tore them off you, tossing them over his shoulder onto the desk behind him.

His arm wrapped around your thigh, securing it in place. You couldn’t help but let out a gasp as you felt his tongue circle your clit. His brows furrowed and he let out a sharp huff when he noticed you weren’t watching him work. With his free hand, he grabbed your chin brutishly again, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. You hated the force he was using. You hated seeing the insatiable hunger in his lustful eyes. You hated him. But that all paled in comparison to how much you hated the part of your desire that got caught in the wildfire of your rage.

Once he felt you understood his wordless message, he let go of your chin. Stubborn as ever, and with admirable restraint, you refused to let out the mewls and moans that perilously needed to, biting your cheek until a metallic taste tickled your tongue. The little control you had snapped like an old rubber band when he inserted the first finger inside you. Your hips bucked, craving more friction. The smoothness of his satin glove drove you as mad as it had countless times before. Your breaths became shallow and rapid as he pushed another finger inside you. Pawing at your sweet spot he knew as well as the back of his own hand, you now writhed from the remorseful pleasure. You didn’t even have time to register the smirk he made just before he snuck in a third finger.

“Satanas!” you tried to hiss, but it dissolved on your tongue into a moan. Your eyes slammed shut as your head fell back. Then all movement stopped. You dragged your head up to resume the eye contact he demanded. He stayed frozen, the only movement he made was the one eyebrow he raised, his look expectant of you. You scowled, but in a moment of forgotten animosity, you reached to brush away the hair that had sloppily fallen in his face. “P-please, don’t stop. Please. I need–” that was enough for him to resume with furious intensity.

You found purchase by running your hand through his hair, gripping it so tightly your knuckles went white. As you pushed his head into you, needing even more friction, more pressure, you could feel his fleeting smile before he resumed concentration. “Fuck! T-terz-zo, fuck!” you mewled, the pressure unbearable. You were about to unravel in his hands. “I’m go–” you started to say, but the words died in your mouth just as quickly as he stopped.

He leered over you. He pulled you up by your wrist and grabbed you by your waist. He held you there for a moment, your body flush against his. “You are mine,” he commanded, his voice gravelly. Suddenly he turned you around, pushing you down, bending you over his desk. Your arms caught you as you fell forward. You could hear him undoing his pants and then felt his hand wipe some of your slick off to rub on his dick. A faint, breathy moan escaped his lips as he lined himself up with you. “You will always– be– mine,” he growled as he thrusted into you, punctuating each word with another hard thrust. You cried out in delirious pleasure that overrode the pain of him emphatically bottoming out inside you each time. “È tutto. Ragazza bene. Sì, sei la mia ragazza preferita. È tutto,” he moaned in your ear, repeating what you had overheard him say the first time you found him with another in this very same position.

You reached for the edge of the desk to try and brace yourself, but he pushed his fingers into your mouth, hooking into your cheek. You could taste yourself on his soaked gloves. His pace faltered just slightly as he reached for your wrist and pulled you against him. You moaned around his hand, eyes rolling back, at the slight change in position.

Tears leaked from your eyes due to the overstimulation. You were so close, so, so close. You could feel your pending orgasm building, about ready to explode like a dying star. It had never been like this with him before. Not with Terzo, not with anyone.

Sure, you liked it rough from time to time, but this… this was awakening something else inside you. And it was solely from the sex, it was everything surmounting together: the infidelity, the degradation both public and private, the manipulation… It felt like a caged animal, a beast, which deep down you knew had always lurked inside you just waiting to be set free, waiting for the right time to emerge from your darkest shadows. There was still guilt bubbling up inside you that longed for this to be over, but… you couldn’t deny it, and you would never admit it. This excited you; it terrified you.

His gruff whisper pulled you back to reality, “Voglio che tu venga per me, amore mio… il mio unico vero amore. Vieni. (I want you to come for me, my love… my only true love. Come.)”

You felt yourself erupt, crying out with the force of a hundred hell hounds as your walls pulsated around him, as the most sinful pleasure rippled through your entire body. He kept going with his relentless, starved pace. Only when he spilled himself inside you, did he let up and remove his hand from your mouth. Your cheek, sore, as you tried to adjust your jaw back to normal, tonguing where you still felt the impressions of his fingers.

You stayed there, bent over, laying on the desk. Your bones felt as if they had been liquified. He hummed behind you, pleased with his work. Using the back of his hands, he brushed them up the inside of your legs before wiping both hands along your cunt, gathering whatever excess of fluids his gloves would lap up in one swipe. He removed his gloves, tossing them on the desk beside you. You could hear the soft splat sound they made when they landed near your discarded underwear. His bare hand slapped your ass and you jumped as the sting radiated through you.

Tucking his dick back in his pants and buttoning them up, you could feel him looming over you. You only dragged yourself up to stand when his statue-like presence caused your skin to crawl. Your eyes turned to slits as you turned to face him.

Hooking his finger under your chin, his thumb cleaned up the corners of your mouth. His other hand wiped away the tears that stained your flushed cheeks. “I think your incident at mass can be overlooked now, sì?” he snickered.

The attrition from what had just transpired came crashing down on you like a tsunami causing ripple effects of shame and guilt to wash over you. Suddenly, your breathing became heavy. There was a fire inside your chest that blazed hot enough to burn this entire Abbey to the ground in minutes.

Through temptation has your wrath been spurred. For your sacrifice… you will be… rewarded, that mysterious voice whispered to you again as your body started to shake from the electricity of your fury.

“Ask me again how I could ever love you,” you snarled as you stood up to adjust your dress in a feeble attempt to cover yourself.

“Oh, dolcezza,” his honeyed croon made you want to grab him by the hair and smash his face into the desk behind you. You never knew where these violent thoughts came from, so out of pocket for you. It was gasoline being added to the flames of your wrath. Your hand twitched, almost as if you were about to do it… You were pulled out of your thoughts by his sickly sweet voice. “You have no idea of the power that you possess.” He gently caressed your face, his eyes searching you as if he could see the power he spoke of, as if he was trying to find it. When his knowing smirk shrouded his face again, you had had enough of his bullshit.

You forcefully slapped his hand away from you. You could hear the sting, “Rot in hell, figlio di puttana,” you sneered as you turned to make your exit.

“Only if you’re beside me, amata mia,” he chuckled, rubbing his hand where you hit him, getting too much enjoyment and satisfaction from your reaction. You accepted that you had no idea who the man standing in front of you was or if you ever did and that thought alone only infuriated you even more. He shut up completely when you turned around and glared at him. He could see darkness starting to cloud your eyes. He shook it off, opening his mouth when you only had one more step before you were out of this office. “Oh, amore,” he started, his tone went from casual to sinister, causing you to freeze where you stood. “I mean it, you know, you utter a single syllable of this to Copia, and he’s gone. Sei mio (you are mine).”

Your boiling blood instantly turned to ice. You turned around painstakingly slow. Your rigid body and movements were enough to send shivers down Terzo’s spine. You couldn’t feel it. You had no idea it was happening. The fury of hell shone through your eyes as Terzo watched them fill with black smoke until your eyes turned to dark voids before him. “And I’ll make you wish that I never was.”

You watched as Terzo went slack jawed and his eyes turned into saucers from shock. The anger you felt, the wrath coursed through you like an electric current, was the only thing you cared about. Although you did revel in the fact that he looked terrified enough to cry, you were too wrapped up in your emotions to care.

“I-is that a th-threat, amore?” he stuttered, failing to keep his composure.

“It’s a fucking promise,” you growled, your voice dropping several octaves, sounding borderline inhuman. Terzo stumbled backwards, his hands reaching out behind him to clutch his desk. All you could see was red.

You almost ripped the door off its hinges as you stormed out, leaving it open. You were barely aware of where you were storming off to or that there were two Ghouls making their way towards Terzo’s office. In the haze of your rage, you almost missed how they stopped in their tracks and kneeled the second they saw you. When “Your Eminence,” sounded in your mind from two different and distinct voices as you were a few paces in front of them, your gait slowed. Still bending at the knee, they nodded to you as you passed by. Looking down at them, your brow furrowed for a moment, never having seen this kind of behavior from any Ghoul before. You returned their gesture with a curt, singular nod. They got up to resume going to wherever they were headed and you continued on your war path. Behind you, still watching from his office doorway at the end of the hall, Terzo’s jaw was just about on the floor. He scrambled to get to his phone.

Two Sisters of Sin saw you barreling towards them. Quickly, they moved to the side, but when they saw you up close, they both let out a gasp. You shot them a look only causing them to cower. Once you passed them, they ran down the hall as if they were running for their lives. Your brow furrowed again. “What the fuck…?” you muttered to yourself.

You didn’t have time for this. Terzo said you couldn’t tell Copia about what happened. He never said anything about Sister Imperator. When you reached her office you didn’t even bother to knock, scaring the daylights of her from the sudden burst of noise and movements. Then the color drained from her at the sight of you.

This time, you slammed the door behind you. Sister Imperator backed herself up until she hit the wall. You stood in there for a moment, your breaths coming out in short huffs, almost like pants. Your eyes looked crazed as you widened them. It was like two black holes were staring at Sister Imperator, threatening to destroy anything that got in their way. Chills ran up and down her spine. “Sister, y-your ey– uh…” she sputtered, her breathing becoming shallow. She tried to ignore the tightening feeling in her chest. She swallowed, even though her throat had gone dry. “Sister, w-what happened?”

You charged forward, slamming your hands on her desk, rattling everything on it. She winced and brought her hands up to her chest, clutching her Grucifix rosary beads that hung around her neck. A malevolent sneer etched onto your face. “Terzo happened,” you growled, although this time, it actually sounded like your own voice.

You pushed off her desk and began pacing, slowly, deliberating, as if you were trying to both calm down and calculate something. When you gathered your thoughts and paused, turning to directly face the panicked clergy member, your words sounded nothing less than a warning.

“Imperator, I don’t know what game you and Copia and Lucifer knows who else are playing with Terzo… and I don’t exactly know my role in it,” you clenched your jaw, speaking through your teeth, “since no one cares to divulge that information.” You took a deep breath and regained composure as you feigned innocence. “I only care about how it ends. Do you know how it will end, Sister?” Her mouth hung agape. Any sound that tried to escape was nowhere to be found. She could only shake her head in response. You leaned forward onto the desk again, you slowly pulled your chin in, but you kept your gaze locked on hers, your eyes now almost looking up at her. A smile wider than a cheshire cat’s grew on your face. If Sister Imperator didn’t believe in evil, she certainly did now. “It’s going to end with his head on my altar.”

taglist: @da-rulah @fishwithtitz @ivycasket @water-ghoulette (drop a comment if you'd like to be added!)

part iii | part v

#you're losing me #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #terzo #papa emeritus iii #terzo angst #terzo x reader #terzo x female reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii x female reader #terzo smut #Spotify

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redflagbreakfast · 1 year

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Introduction:

Buckle up, because this ride is going to be a doozy, and I already know it, and the story has just begun. I am constantly drawn to successful, handsome men who fall head over heels for me and do all the things I could dream of to win my affection in return. Sounds like a dream, right?

But hold on to your panties, ladies, because these guys aren’t your typical prince charmings. Nope, they’re narcissists. And guess what? Now I’m going dates with them on purpose! I don’t seek them out, they find me, and rather than immediately, turning down, I simply stick around long enough to journal about the red flags.

Now, some of you may be thinking, “Why the hell would someone willingly subject themselves to dating a narcissist?” Well, friends, let me tell you – it’s all for the sake of education, entertainment and training purposes only.

You see, I, like many women out there, have been taken advantage of by narcissistic men in the past. But instead of wallowing in self-pity and bitterness, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I’m dating these men as a social experiment to learn their ways, document the red flags as they happen, and ultimately teach women how to be in control. I mean…what could possibly go wrong?

I will be writing this journal in real time, and sharing past stories of my spectacular dating failures along the way. So obviously, I don’t even know how this ends. Maybe it’s a journal of my ultimate demise, maybe I fall prey to one of these men, or even worse, fall in love because I am not as tuned in as I think I am. But, I doubt it, Fuck, I eat red flags for breakfast.

And let me tell you, the red flags are already flying high…and it has only been a few short weeks. Love bombing, jealousy, and a sense of entitlement – these guys have it all. But I’m not one to back down from a challenge. As an entrepreneur who owns multiple companies in male dominated markets, I know a thing or two about taking charge.

So join me on this potentially haphazardness roller coaster. Let’s take a page out of these narcissist’s play books and learn how to be in control, no matter the situation. Who knows, you may even pick up a few dating tips along the way (but let’s be real, probably not from them).

#red flags #dating #covert narcissism #gaslighting #entrepreneurship #abuse survivor #abuse recovery #narcissticabuseawareness #domestic violent relationships #healing from trauma #ptsd flashbacks

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batbusiness-schooldropout · 23 days

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Buckle up everyone. This is a doozy and multiple parts.

Pt.1

I watched a tiktok (and forgot to like it, so now I can't find it again) about that "looking for a man" song. In it, a girl was trying to determine what the chances were of finding such a man.

I believe she made some miscalculations. So I will be going over the numbers.

Just to recap; the song says that we are looking for

A man

In finance

With a trust fund

6'5

Blue eyes

Let's get the obvious out of the way. While he meets most of the requirements and is one of, if not the tallest, people around, Seto Kaiba is (for better or worse) not real and only 6'1.

Now then, to begin with, she uses statistics for the US, but I believe that if you're gold digging at this level, you're operating at a global scale. There are around 8 billion people currently alive, with 50.4% of them being male.

Now, from what I can tell, this statistic counts only AMAB people. I want to add transmen into our equation, but we're going to have to make some assumptions.

Several different sites I looked at had different answers to the question "how many people are trans?" ranging between .1% and 1.1% and none of them separated transmen and transwomen in any way useful for us. So I'm going to split the difference at .5% of the world's population is trans and approximately .25% are transmen.

So the first step in finding these men is; 8billion(.504+.0025) which gives us 4,052,000,000 men

#im losing it #im looking for a man in finance #suprise cameo by #seto kaiba

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icannotgetoverbirds · 28 days

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buckle up, this one's a doozy

Idk if it's actually a doozy, but this is the story of how I deconverted from a cult and got my egg cracked at approximately the same time, all thanks to... weed.

Let's set the scene, shall we?

It is December 22nd, 2021. The pandemic has been raging for nearly two years at this point. I am, at this point, still a believing mormon. That said, my attendance to church meetings has been incredibly spotty, with the most reliable method to get me to worship being choir practice.

I am laying in my bed in the evening, and of all possible things, I am thinking about weed. Namely, the church's policy about weed, and the absolute failure that is the war on drugs, and my personal belief system (and also about whether or not I should try weed for my anxiety disorder).

What's mormonism's policy on weed, you ask? Well, it's surprisingly liberal for a whole-ass cult, but still has enough nonsense for the events of this story to play out. To put it simply, you can absolutely use weed for medicinal purposes, but recreational purposes is a big no-no.

This, of course, presents a dilemma: where do you draw the line between recreational and medicinal use, especially in the case of, say, using it to medicate an anxiety disorder? I'm sure that the Church-Approved™ conclusion is "That's between you and The Lord, figure it out yourself, good luck!" I don't remember if I came to that conclusion or not, but I know for a fact that my "prove beyond a shadow of a doubt before you make an important decision based off of Feelings Supposedly From God Or The Holy Spirit" ass would not have been satisfied with that answer.

So I think about it in terms of politics, and logic, and science. After all, science is just our frail and minuscule way of comprehending all that Our Father Who Art In Heaven has created, right? So if Our Father Who Art In Heaven can't give me a straight answer, science surely can.

I come to a few conclusions. First of all, there are very few people, if any, who are qualified to draw that line. I am not included in that group of people. Secondly, nobody in their right goddamned mind would so much as try to draw that line unless they have some serious qualifications in the variety of fields that it applies to. Third of all, and this is where shit starts to unravel very fucking quickly: who in the goddamned fuck are a bunch of old white men who've probably never seen a gram of weed in their entire lives to think themselves qualified to draw that line?

The shelf cracks. The prophets are fallible, even in this day and age. Not only are they fallible, but whoever made this decision is a FUCKING DUMBASS. God must be looking down at them and shaking his head disapprovingly, huh?

So I think to myself, yknow what, this is a stupid fucking rule. And my autistic-disregard-for-stupid-fucking-rules-having-ass was not about to tolerate it. So what do I do? Metaphorically speaking, I chuck it out the window. Who cares? I'm gonna do weed for my anxiety, and if anybody tells me that I'm disobeying god, I can tell them that god doesn't fucking give a shit about weed if he's as kind and loving as the prophets say he is.

A moment passes.

Now wait just a goddamned second! If I'm chucking this rule out the window, isn't there something else I should re-examine? If I'm disregarding what the prophets have said for my own pleasure and recreation, isn't there something regarding the lives, livelihoods, and joie de vivre of countless other people, myself included, that I should be looking at?

Suddenly, the years of (pent-up and suppressed) sheer fucking indignation of the way queer people have been othered by the church hits me all at once, full fucking force. I am angry, angrier than I have ever been. Abso-fucking-lutely not. No. If the prophets are wrong about weed, then they're DEFINITELY wrong about queer people.

And in this moment, I make a decision. "Until the mormon leaders get their shit together, I'm out! I'm fucking done! I'm gonna go live it up and get blazed out of my gourd for shits and giggles, and maybe I'll try a tiny sip of beer, and by god I am going to transition-"

"HEY WAIT JUST A GODDAMNED SECOND"

[Plain text ID: Text in a large, bold, italicized red font that reads "HEY WAIT JUST A GODDAMNED SECOND"]

Shelf shattered, omelette made of my egg, life ruined for the better.

The next morning, I come out to my mom and sister. I still believe in god and mormonism and yadda yadda, I just think the leadership needs to get their heads out of their asses.

Not long after, I decide to finally check out exmormon spaces. Yknow, get the full experience.

I am bombarded with "HOLY FUCK IT'S A CULT. IT RUINED MY LIFE. IT RUINED YOUR LIFE. IT TORE MY FAMILY APART. IT'S NOT EVEN REAL. READ THE CES LETTER, CHECK MORMONISM AGAINST THE BITE MODEL. THINK FOR YOUR GODDAMNED SELF FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE."

I check the sources provided. Well, I'll be damned. They weren't kidding, that mormonism sure can cult started by a con man. At this point, I am now beyond the point of no return. There's no going back. I have seen the light. I want out forever, I want my records removed, mom pick me up I'm scared.

My family never looks at me the same way again :>

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thecampjuicebox · 8 months

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Cute lil fic request from @praise-suns-and-chill! Buckle up, this one's a doozy.

Little Love

Pairing: Tav(f) x Astarion

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

Warnings: Pregnancy, vomit, fluff, angst, game spoilers

The cool morning air does nothing to relieve the violent nausea rendering you helpless as you fold over at the abdomen, hand clutching your hair back. The rest of the camp is sound asleep still, the only sound being your retching into the grass. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and straighten. "Gross..". Your lover stirs in your shared tent, head poking out of the front flaps. He scans the area before his eyes settle on your now trembling frame, another bout of nausea turning your face a sickly green color.

"Tav, my love? Are you alright?"

You wave a hand in his direction, bending over again to succumb to the sickness, your ears ringing from the sheer force. Astarion quickly backs into the tent, hands slapping over his ears. "Gods that is horrid." Your nose and throat burn, the taste of hot bile on your tongue. With a groan you smooth your sweaty hair back and carefully straighten again. The pale elf slinks behind you, chalice of water in hand and he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your head. Your teeth chatter at the threat of getting sick again but you grab the cup, taking little sips, your lids fluttering at the relief from the awful taste in your mouth.

"Gods, that's almost a tenday straight, Darling. Are you sure everything is alright?"

You chew your lip for a moment, hesitant to answer.

"Yes, I'm alright. Let's wake everyone up. We've got a very long day ahead of us."

...

Slumping against your bed in the upstairs of the Elfsong Tavern, you kick your boots off, back aching from the events of the past few days. The Absolute has finally fallen. You and your group are free of the parasite for good. After the large brain fell into the Chionthar, you and your group decided to remain in the city to help rebuild the best you could, making your way back to one of the few places still standing. You rub your temples, sighing quietly to yourself. Gale slowly approaches your bed, small plate of food in hand as a kind offering and a thank you for your leadership being a huge factor in stopping the near disaster in the city.

"You looked hungry."

The smell of the food makes your mouth salivate and you reach for the plate, smiling sweetly. You scan the plate, a large piece of meat resting on top of a bed of colorful vegetables, all expertly seasoned and cooked to perfection. You pop a small piece of carrot into your mouth and chew slowly, eyes rolling back at the taste.

"I appreciate you, Gale. Thank you."

Shadowheart pokes her head around the corner, pointing a finger into the air as she speaks.

"Yes, she needs to eat. She is eating for two, after all."

You choke on the bite of food, Gale's eyes widening in surprise. Shadowheart steps closer to your bed, leaning against the ornate wooden footboard. She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her fingers against her bicep, eyeing you carefully. Your eyes flick to Gale and then Shadowheart, little beads of sweat forming above your eyebrows and you tap your fingers against the underside of the shiny silver plate, your appetite suddenly disappearing.

"What are you talking about, Shadowheart? How do you know?"

"I'm a cleric. It's also not hard to spot morning sickness. Or how you've completely skipped your moon blood twice now. It's simple, really."

You sigh and lower your head. "Shit." Shadowheart's eyes narrow at you and she leans in to whisper quietly.

"He doesn't know yet, does he."

Her words are more of a statement rather than a question and regardless, they cause a lump in your throat. You chew your bottom lip and shake your head, tears stinging in the corners of your eyes before freely streaming down your pale cheeks. Gale quickly takes the plate from your hands and frowns. Your hands come up to cover your eyes with your palms and you rub at them slowly, tears moistening your skin. A heavy sigh leaves Shadowheart's lips and she sits beside you, an arm carefully slinking around your waist, her head resting on your shoulder. You sob quietly into your hands. You double over, arms folded into your chest, your forehead almost resting on your knees.

"I'm so scared, Shadowheart. I'm so incredibly scared."

She nods and pulls you closer. Gale takes a seat on your opposite side and reaches up to rub soothing circles into your back, eyes welling up at the state of panic you're in. He pushes your hair behind your ear to free your eyes from the wet strands. You sit up and place your hands on your thighs, chest heaving as you try to control your near hyperventilating breathing, lashes dusted with tears.

"Maybe he'll be excited, you know? Might be fun to have a miniature Tav or Astarion running around, the little terror."

You giggle at Gale's words, eyes quickly snapping forward as the vampire clears his throat and appears in the doorway of your small section of the room. His eyes sparkle with tears and his bottom lip quivers.

"A-A.. A what?"

You pick at your fingers nervously, bottom lip tucked tightly between your teeth. He approaches you cautiously, falling to his knees in front of you and he nuzzles his face into your stomach, a quiet sob leaving his lips. You instinctively place a hand on the back of his head and Shadowheart giggles. Gale quickly wipes his eyes and clears his hoarse throat.

"You're pregnant, Tav? Really? Tell me it's true.. Please tell me it's true."

Astarion looks up at you, eyes puffy and red. You nod and he beams up at you, happy tears freely streaming down his cheeks. You didn't expect him to be so happy. All of your fears melt away in this moment and your heart pounds behind your ribcage. You've always wanted to be a mother. Never did you think it would be with Astarion, however. Hells, you didn't even think it was possible, so you accepted the fact of the matter and loved him regardless, ready to spend your life with the two of you alone. Now everything is different. New. Happy. He stands and quickly pulls you up and into his arms, lifting you off of the floor and twirling you around. Shadowheart and Gale both stand quickly and reach their hands out, ready to catch you on the off chance the vampire accidentally drops you, yelling a fast "Careful Astarion!" You giggle and bury your face into his neck, tears wetting your cheeks and his skin. Your arms grip him tightly, legs wrapping around his waist to stabilize you even more. Halsin, Lae'Zel, Karlach, and Wyll join the commotion, all approaching with confusion written all over their faces. Karlach's eyes widen in realization.

"Oh shit, Soldier. Cat's finally out of the bag?"

Lae'Zel tuts, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head.

"Tsk'va. It took you long enough."

Halsin claps happily, moving forward to wrap both you and Astarion tightly in his muscular arms, lifting the both of you off of the ground.

"Oh, SIlvanus's blessings to both of you!"

You giggle and throw your head back. Halsin sets the two of you down and all of the men of the group gather around Astarion, murmers of "Congrats!" and "How do you feel?" filling the room. The women of the group crowd around you, excited hands rubbing at your belly, little squeals of happiness and Karlach's loud "WOO! LITTLE TAV!" erupting from the group. You and Astarion exchange happy glances and his face contorts in a half annoyed, half angry expression, eyebrows knitting together.

"Hold on, hold on. You ALL knew?!"

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion fluff #astarion x tav

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eazy-peazy54 · 14 days

Text

My problem with the Will Wood fandom, (a.k.a touch grass, a.k.a stan culture can suck it) (an essay.)

This one is LONG and a DOOZY, so buckle up if you like to read.

just want to clarify, i do NOT hate the will wood fandom in itself. AT ALL. I love you guys (/p)

i just dislike the people who say weird and creepy shit. if that doesnt apply to you, cool! but tell the people who do that shit to knock it off.

NO DISCOURSE IN THE REBLOGS I WILL ATTACK YOU

One HUGE gripe I have with the Will Wood fandom is how some of you guys treat Will Wood like (and this is literally the only way I can put this that isn't too serious) some all-powerful deity of knowledge that you would kill AND die for. In this essay, I will explain why [some of] you are fucking creeps.

Will Wood. Where do I begin. For the very few who are unaware, Will Wood is a singer-songwriter who makes very strange avant garde whatchamacallit evil jazz/swing music. He has been known as Will Wood since 2015, where he released his first album, Everything Is A Lot, under the name Will Wood and the Tapeworms.

Me personally, I first heard of him from the song Dr. Sunshine Is Dead, from the good old days of 2018 animation meme Youtube.

Ever since the inevitable Tiktokification of the song I / Me / Myself, from The Normal Album, the Will Wood fandom has become... well.. full of children. I have no place to speak, of course, because I myself, am a teenager, but I'm talking like. 11-14 year olds.

11-14 year olds who are all fucking INSANE.

Will Wood has been put in what I like to call;

The Holy Trinity.

This being the big three artists who the mentally ill queers (like me) listen to.

Lemon Demon, Tally Hall, and of course, Will Wood.

Being in this holy trinity has both done him good, and bad. On the positive side, yay!! More streams, more plays, more people to appreciate the craft, and more people who like the music! On the negative side, now you have an army of children listening to adult music, interacting with adult music and music videos, who are willing to do ANYTHING to get your attention, because they are young and don't know much better.

And here, stuck in the middle of it all, is poor William.

Stuck as a straight "gay icon," in a sea of twelve year olds.

Well shit.

---

Leading to the second part of my half-essay.

2020. The year shit changed for Will Wood. The Normal Album was released, and people found themselves relating to I / Me / Myself, as stated before. Then this "new," unheard of fandom was kind of birthed upon Tiktok. They were treating him like fucking jesus.

Which is weird.

They were sad, gay, looking for answers, and found them in Will's music. Which is like. Cool!

But when people were saying that he was trans, and then switched up and said he was making fun of trans people?

Yeah. Not that cool actually.

Coming back to the present now, Will has stated how weird these kids are.

In a response from a AMA for In Case I Make It on the official Will Wood subreddit, (I know. Ew, gross, Reddit, but this post was what inspired me to make this in the first place, so,) Will says this:

---

"When I was living in the sticks along the Delaware during the pandemic, I had this weird sort of mystical thing going on inside my head that was trying connect dots in my life and turn meaningless nothing things into signs that I would die.

This was happening around the same time I was dealing with getting actual public attention for the first time, and was living in an area where nobody wore masks, and was living with people who were at risk of serious covid complications if they caught it. Also for most of it I was the dreaded 27, and having been a bit of a junkie in my younger years and an idiot with a barely-treated psychiatric wreck in my brain for most of the ones following it, it was not unlike me to assume I'd die young.

It just seemed too perfect.

As I was dealing with the reception of the normal album (my first truly scathing reviews, I/Me/Myself "discourse," being the subject of conversation on a larger scale) which was beyond what I was prepared for psychologically in terms of its scope and type, my anxious rumination started to veer toward genuine paranoia.

I started thinking that I would die by my own hand or be murdered by one of these crazed Will Wood fans in the dead of night. So I didn't sleep like ever, I lost a bunch of weight and couldn't gain it back for a while, I freaked out a whole bunch and I'm surprised looking back I never lost my sobriety or whatever.

Since it started to look more and more like cosmic fact that I was doomed, I started to feel greater and greater desperation to get out these songs that I had been quietly writing over the previous year or two. Songs I'd written while going through a big breakup and wrestling with rotten parts of me that were finally accessible due to my finally being properly medicated and dealing with the real shit in therapy. And then songs I'd written as I went through these changes."

---

Obviously that is a lot to unpack for a Tumblr essay, but since you’re this far, you probably read it all already.

“Stans,” as most would call them, and “Stan Culture” as a whole, is just a huge wreck. Everyone is always fighting someone. We know this. We all do. Stans scare artists.

I want you to think. Think of the artists who are inspired by Will Wood. The ones who want to cater out their music to the Will Wood fans. Imagine if you will, those artists seeing that AMA post, seeing the crazed fans, seeing the relentless sexualization, the jokes about serious issues, like Will’s past drug use, seeing all of this and thinking:

“Is it really worth it?

Is it really worth all of this to make music and put myself out there?”

Now, that may make you uncomfortable, but it's the honest truth. And it's happened to so many people, and so many artists.

---

And now a message to the disgraced kids who managed to latch on to Will Wood’s music.

Treating a musical artist like a god is not gonna help anyone. I’d know. I’ve seen it happen multiple times, to multiple artists.

I guess what I’m trying to say is think before posting on the internet. Think to yourself; would I say this to the artist's face? Could someone see this and think differently of me? Is this just weird to say in general?

Remember that these people are real people. Will Wood is a real person. With real thoughts. real feelings. a life to live. He's not just some music making machine. He’s not just some silly character. He’s not just some whimsical guy who we can all project onto.

Will Wood is a real person, and everyone should treat him that way.

Thank you for reading.

(I will edit this essay if I think of anything else to add. That or I'll just reblog it.)

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babystrcandy · 2 years

Text

matilda (pt. 6) | myg

summary: Loneliness had always been a constant for you, haunting you like a ghost; until your older brother’s best friend, Min Yoongi, came into your life. You both promised each other something back then - you’d always have his support and he’d always have yours. But with time and age, you weren’t sure how much that all still stood to be true.

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | brother’s best friend au, f2e2f2l, slice of life, angst, fluff, smut word count: 25.9K warnings/notes: buckle up, it’s a doozy, mention of character death (reader’s father), depictions of grief and guilt, unsupportive/neglectful parents (reader’s mother is a starts-with-a-c-ends-with-a-unt), the paper ring . . . , oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, hickies, titty sucking, yoongi likes his kisses, someone play lover because yoongi and reader are the best, protective yoongi ;), seokjin (that’s it), yoongi’s studio is soundproof *wink wink nudge nudge*, unprotected sex, spanking, creampie, i think that’s it but if i missed anything pls let me know, hope you enjoy <3

chapter six: you can let it go pt. 2 ( ← previous | next → )

THE SUN FILTERED IN through the blackout curtains, stirring you awake. It was day; a new one; one you’d have to partake in soon.

With a soft groan, you shuffled in your spot, trying to stretch your limbs when you clashed against something warm. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes landed on Yoongi, who was still fast asleep, mouth slightly parted and hair draped over his face. Oddly, he looked younger, like the years of solitude hadn’t weighed down on him; like he was still twenty years old with an unpredictable future ahead of him.

Then, you realized you were tangled up with him, his heavy leg so casually thrown over yours while his arm cinched tight around your waist. And then the memories of last night crept back in.

You and him in your old backyard, in your room, his hands on you, his lips touching your most intimate areas, his tongue, his teeth, even his length pressed up against your core. You remembered your bodies connecting, and the pleasure he’d given you. God, the pleasure .

Most of all, you remembered how he’d taken your hand into his and pressed it up against his chest, letting the beat of his heart speak the words he couldn’t say. You remembered it all, and a small smile found its way onto your face.

Not once did you ever think your relationship would find the two of you here, sharing a bed and tangled up with each other. But time was a tricky thing, and it’d led you here.

Perhaps time did have its shit figured out. Perhaps . . .

Carefully, you leaned closer to him, shifting to graze a finger across his plump cheek. It was smooth to the touch and the movement made his nose twitch in the same way a cat’s would. You found it utterly endearing.

This was Yoongi. Your Yoongi.

The smile remained on your face as you pressed a soft kiss to his nose, careful not to wake him before you stealthily crawled out of his arms and stood on the cold floor. A shiver ran up your spine at the feeling but you paid it no mind, sending Yoongi’s sleeping figure one more smile before you set your sights on the rest of his room.

In all the months you’d stayed with your brother and Yoongi, not once had you seen his room. Surprisingly, it was a little predictable—neat and tidy as he had always been, however, pages and pages of what looked like lyrics were littered around his room, spread out across his dresser, his bedside table, and even in a corner of the room.

Everything about his bedroom oozed his essence from the black bedsheets, black curtains, and black furniture clashing with the white of the walls to the pictures of him and all your mutual friends hidden behind lamps or computer set-ups. You could only stifle a laugh at the realization.

Then, your eyes drifted to his dresser, spotting a pair of sunglasses that he’d stolen from you in the spring. With a gasp, you tip-toed toward it, grasping it in your hand with a click of your tongue.

“Dummy,” you hummed, chuckling to yourself.

And you were about to turn around to try on the sunglasses in his mirror when something else caught your eye; something . . . familiar.

Blinking in disbelief, your eye caught onto one of the open top drawers to his dresser, discovering that tucked away in the corner sat a familiar paper ring.

Another blink of disbelief consumed you as you opened the drawer a little more so you could grasp the ring, pulling it out to find that it was, in fact, the very paper ring you’d given to him when you were merely twelve years old . . . and then again when you’d left for Busan.

That had been four years ago; you’d left him with that damned paper ring over four years ago. And there it still was, albeit dangerously withered with age and time, but still the same ring you’d made yourself. You’d recognize it anywhere. You’d recognized it now.

It hit you then.

Yoongi had kept the ring all these years.

All these years . . . it’d been in his possession, and not somewhere drowning in the trash. He’d kept it.

You wanted to know exactly what that meant. His feelings for you were obvious, that much was clear but you wondered just how deep they ran. Did he perhaps feel the same as you?

You swallowed in anticipation. Had he always felt the same? Is that why he’d kept it?

Surely—

But your thoughts were interrupted by a deep, groggy voice. “Come back to bed,” Yoongi grumbled, slightly whining your name like a plea (which, if you were being honest, was entirely amusing).

With the paper ring still grasped in your hand, your eyes flickered over to Yoongi, who still laid on the bed. There he rested, tangled in sheets, his hair messy, and a tired expression spread across his face. You couldn't help but smile.

The smile didn’t leave your face as you made your way toward him, climbing under the covers and laying on your back. You shifted closer to him and he instantly wrapped his arm around your waist, burying his face into your neck.

"Mmm, missed you," he mumbled into your hair, kissing you there while he swung a leg over your body.

Still, the smile remained as you wrapped an arm around the one on your waist and nuzzled into him. “It's been two seconds," you hummed, teasing evident in your voice.

Yoongi only responded by mocking your response before he nuzzled closer to you, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulder. You snorted in response, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair, massaging his scalp. He hummed in satisfaction, leaning into your touch.

As you tussled strands of his dark hair, your gaze drifted down to the paper ring you'd been toying with in your other hand. Only then did you find yourself saying, "You kept it."

Yoongi lifted his head from your shoulder. "Hmm?" he hummed, peeking through sleep-ridden eyes at what you had in your hand. His eyes widened slightly when it dawned on him what you had in your possession.

Growing awkward, you cleared your throat. "Sorry . . . I was snooping . . . found the paper ring I gave you," you mumbled out, keeping your eyes on the ring. "I just . . . I didn't realize you'd kept it." You couldn't help it. Your eyes never met his. Call it bashfulness or embarrassment. You were sure you felt it all.

But, Yoongi only kissed your hair and tugged you closer. "Of course, I did, kid," he murmured into your hair. "You made it for me."

Only then did you look at him. And by look, well, you meant you simply stared at him in disbelief as a blooming warmth blossomed in your chest. A soft smile filtered onto your face a mere second later.

He'd said it so casually. You made it for me.

You smiled a little wider.

Yoongi scrunched his nose, awkwardly. "What?"

And all you could do was lean forward and press your lips against his. It was fleeting but still warm and gentle. It was all you needed to relax into him further, pressing a hand against his chest to feel the beat of his heart. You couldn't help it. You pressed another kiss to his face, not quite on the lips and not directly on his cheek either, but rather at the corner of his smile.

"I just—" you cut yourself off, grinning like a mad man and shaking your head— “I care about you so much." (You didn't want to admit that you ended up kissing him again but . . . well . . . you did.)

Yoongi chuckled. "What's this about?"

You only shrugged, flipping the ring over in your hand. "I didn't think you'd keep this stupid thing," you admitted in a soft voice, eyes not meeting his.

"Hey—" Yoongi plucked the paper ring from your hand, pinching it between his fingers— "this stupid thing has been my good luck charm for the past four years."

Your brows only twitched in questioning.

And Yoongi went on to explain. "Every interview, every song, every demo, every album release . . . I kept it on me . . . and I've only ever been met with success," he began, a calm tone to his voice. He dipped his head to catch your eyes—he wanted you to see he was speaking the truth. "When I told you your support was the only thing I had pushing me, I meant it. It's gotten me here. It's given me hope when I had nothing. It's made me a better man. You have . . . "

You blinked, unable to do anything else.

There was nothing else you could do. You just felt so . . . so . . . warm.

A strained groan sounded from the back of his throat as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Is it cheesy to say I owe a whole fucking lot to you?" he questioned almost as if he were testing the words on his tongue.

Fisting his shirt as you swung a leg over his waist in an attempt to draw him closer, you mused, "Mmm, very, but you're in luck, I accept cheese."

Yoongi laughed in response. "Maybe don't come up with your own slogans."

You clicked your tongue. "Yah, like you could've come up with anything better."

"Better than that ."

A narrowed glare was your only response, slightly pouting at him. He simply grinned, gummy smile on display as he shook his head at you, his eyes still trailing across your face while he reached over you and put the paper ring on the bedside table. Once both of his hands were free, he circled them around you, tugging you even closer and kissing your brow, your forehead, and even your nose in the process. All the while, you groaned, putting up a big front, but the small stifled laughter which escaped you gave you away entirely.

"You're such an asshole," you tsked, shoving a finger into his chest once he pressed a final kiss to your brow bone.

"Heard it all before. Don't care," Yoongi hummed, calmly brushing his nose against yours. "Kiss me."

You scrunched your nose in response. “Your breath stinks."

“Does not,” Yoongi snorted, sucking on his teeth before he sniffed and scrunched his nose. “I think that’s yours wafting back into your face.”

You made a face. “Disgusting ma—“

“Baby—“ Yoongi cut you off, brushing his lips against yours in a feathering touch— “kiss me.”

"You're so needy."

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his borrowed tee).

A small gasp escaped you when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your areola, teasing you more than sending pleasure your way.

You tugged on his hair in annoyance, and he only chuckled, sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your clothed core against his thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hand gripped your waist, tugging you down onto his thigh as he rubbed it against your sex. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up to reveal your bruised skin from last night’s endeavors.

Briefly, Yoongi marveled at the vaguely obvious marks he’d made on your skin from all the sucking and biting. But his mouth was on you in an instant, dipping low to trace his tongue against the skin of your stomach. He sucked more marks onto your skin while guiding you to rub your core against his thigh.

But his touch was gone almost too quickly. He’d broken apart, coming up to catch your lips again. "Mmm more,” he murmured against your lips, gripping your ass.

"Needy needy needy,” you managed to tsk, although your voice sounded way less than stable.

It seemed even Yoongi had caught onto the wavering in your voice as he only responded with a small, teasing kiss to your jaw before he gripped your backside and ground into you. You were left a mess, haphazardly rutting against his clothed length, the movements causing your core to pulse.

"What can I say? I'm at your mercy,” he confessed, breathlessly as he sloppily kissed your jaw. "Take pity on me, angel."

You shook your head, lust fueling your being. "I don't think I will," you muttered as you ground onto his hardened length, eliciting a small groan from the back of his throat. "Want you to fuck me now."

Yoongi hummed against your jaw. "Trust me as much as I wanna get you on all fours and fuck you from behind . . . your brother'll be home soon . . . “ he trailed off, pressing one more kiss to your jaw before pulling back completely, the two of you ceasing your movements. "And I, uh—" his knuckles trailed down your arm, gently grazing the skin— "I wanted it to be special."

You couldn’t help it, you snorted. " Now you're a hopeless romantic?"

He kissed your forehead. "Mhm."

"No soaking?"

"You're teasing me, you shit.”

"I can't help it," you hummed, laughing slightly as you pinched his scrunched nose. "You get this look on your face when I do."

"I don't have a look.”

"Mhm.”

"Such a smartass.”

You only rolled your eyes in response.

While, his eyes darted across your face, taking in your features with a soft smile. A second of comfortable silence passed before he spoke again, "Can I confess something?"

"You and your confessions," you tsked as you trailed a hand across the neckline of his shirt. "Tell me, are you a pathological liar?"

"Occasionally," he sighed with a shrug. But the amusement on his face dwindled as he took his bottom lip under his teeth and scrunched his nose in preparation. Then, he was speaking once again. "I kind of want you to run your nails against my dick.”

You nearly laughed in his face, clasping a hand over your mouth as you stared at him with wide eyes. Slowly, you lowered your hand. "Is this your weird attempt at asking me to scratch your balls? Are you really that lazy? 'Cause I won't do it. I won't," you rambled on, shaking your head in amusement.

Yoongi slapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. "No, god, you make me sound like a freak.”

"It was an odd request, Yoon.”

He lowered his head to your neck, resting there in embarrassment. "I know what feels good to me," he mumbled against your skin. "It's just, I don't know, comforting?"

"Having your dick scratched?"

He nipped at your skin. "Shut it, kid.”

You knew you were teasing him, but you couldn’t help it. This was too amusing to let slip by. Nevertheless, your hand found his back, running up and down in a comforting manner as you sighed, "Calling me kid after asking me to scratch your itchy dick? Tsk. Not the time to friendzone.”

"Yah, I don't have an itchy dick," he grumbled, squeezing your thigh.

You only laughed, continuing to scratch his back.

Mere seconds later, his head lifted up to meet your eyes once again, a dopey smile on his face. "We have such weird conversations."

You nodded. "We do, don't we?"

With a laugh, Yoongi fell back, his back pressed flat against the mattress now as he slung an arm around his eyes. You watched with a dazed smile on your face, eyes trailing down his body. Shamelessly, they flicked to the front of his boxers. They were impressively tented, the outline of his cock very prominent.

Then your mind began to spin . . .

"You know—“ you began, resting a hand on his abdomen— “as an artist, I like to . . . map out my entire model before I sit down and paint.”

Under his arm, a hint of a grin twitched on his face. "That so?"

"Mmm.”

With your eyes watching his face, you dipped your hand just barely under the hem of his boxers. You teased the skin there, slipping lower but carefully avoiding any contact with his length.

Yoongi’s hand was wrapped around your wrist in an instant. "What are you doing, baby?"

"Mapping out my model," you hummed, sweetly.

The arm around Yoongi’s eyes dropped, that dark gaze on you again as he shifted onto his side, facing you while his hand trailed up your arm. He released you from his grasp, eyes searching yours as he gave you a nod of approval. Your hand was on his hot, hard length in an instant, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.

"Sit still,” you tsked, gently palming his length. “Models are supposed to model , not squirm."

Yoongi’s hand came to your hair, fisting it. "Can't control myself with your hand on my dick like that," he muttered out, clenching his jaw tight when your thumb swept over the crown of his cock, circling the bead of precum at the slit.

"Calm down," you whispered, voice like silk. You held him gently for a moment, thumb rubbing up and down the shaft before you pulled him out of his boxers. "Wasn't it you who wanted me to scratch your cock?"

He sucked in air through his teeth. "You're teasing me again.”

"It's just so easy," you said in a sing-song voice as you gently grazed the freed length with your fingertips. "Now . . . show me how. My artist heart can't wait any longer."

Yoongi’s hand was on yours in an instant. "Like this," he strangled out, guiding your fingers along his shaft so your nails just barely grazed him. "Slow, light, and long. Up and down."

His hand fell from yours a second later as he slumped against the pillow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. You remained amused, but kept your eyes on your movements, careful not to hurt him. You wet your bottom lip, thoughts running wild.

"What does this do for you?" you found yourself asking.

Yoongi merely shrugged. "Nothin' just mmm like feeling you touch me without all the . . . heat .”

"We really do have odd conversations," you laughed, hand still moving against him in a gentle manner.

"We do.”

Silence consumed the two of you as you continued your movements, taking in the sight of him. Even in the daylight, he stood hard as granite, tipping up toward his navel. And the tip was so very very blushed, making your core ache for him.

The aching in your core became too much, so much so that you found yourself asking, “Do you, um, still not want the heat?"

Shameless . You could’ve smacked yourself. But at that very moment, you didn’t care. The only thing you were focusing on was how his cock seemed to twitch in your hands as those words left your lips . . . and how he immediately looked at you with such burning desire you almost shied away.

Yoongi looked flushed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once again as he nodded once. "I could do with a little," he rasped out.

You raised a brow. "A little?"

And Yoongi only responded by shooting a cheeky half-grin your way before he hooked his thumbs under the hem of his boxers and pulled them off his body entirely. He flopped back down on the mattress, arms out.

"Explore, little artist," he hummed, a prideful expression on his face as he glanced between his length and your face.

You only grinned in response, subtly challenging him. "Why stop there?" you voiced aloud, hands already inching toward the hem of his shirt. "Need my full life model.” You gathered his shirt in both hands and drew it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

A shared smile was passed between the two of you before you pressed a kiss to his lips, then pulled back, careful not to get caught up in the taste of him. With one hand, you pushed him back on the bed, giving you more room. He sent a nod your way as if to say, explore at your will.

And you did. He’d teased you enough last night, he’d even won the stupid bet . . . now . . . now you wanted to torture him just a bit.

With a small grin on your face, you trailed your finger down the center of his chest, moving slower than a snail. But Yoongi just sat there, watching you intently as you trailed your hands across his arms, his chest, his neck, even along the veins on his hands, generously neglecting his length which leaped and strained for your attention.

"When you said you wanted to explore . . . I thought there'd be more . . . exploring ," he gritted out, swallowing hard.

"Technically, I said map out," you simply hummed, your fingertip dipping to his pelvic region, tracing words against his warm flesh. This seemed to spark something in him, his cock twitching before your very eyes, making you hum a chuckle of amusement. " Needy ."

"Brat," he muttered out through clenched teeth. God, was he doing his most to keep himself restrained. It was almost . . . amusing (who were you kidding, it was definitely amusing).

"I'm gonna need more words from you," you taunted, clicking your tongue as you skipped your fingertips over his hip bone. "What exactly do you want me to explore, Yoonie?"

" Yoonie ," he mocked the nickname you’d called him with the shake of his head. “Such a tease."

With a devilish smile creeping on your face, you leaned forward and ran your tongue along the skin of his pelvic region. You pressed a kiss there near his hip bone when you were done and hummed out, “I'm waiting for the words.”

He sent you a look, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. "I want my dick in your mouth. That wordy enough for you?"

"Jeez, at least take me on a date, Casanova,” you taunted further.

Yoongi had his hands in his hair a second later, tugging on the strands. "I'll take you on another one later.”

You raised a brow. "Beg.”

A strained laugh escaped him. "You are not pulling one out of my book," he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. "Unbelievable."

You leaned forward, just barely brushing your lips against the tip of his cock. "It doesn't sound like you want me.”

"Fuck, OK," he practically whined out. "Please?"

You pulled away. "Mmm, not gonna cut it.”

But Yoongi threaded your hands together, running his thumb along your knuckles. "God, please, touch me. Touch me, angel. Please," he finally rushed out, giving in to your request.

You could only grin. One point for you. The two of you were tied. "Show me," you hummed, innocently squeezing his hand.

"You're really trying to make me work for it?"

"It's my job.”

Yoongi tongued his inner cheek, shaking his head at your grinning face. You could practically hear his thoughts, and god, did they amuse you.

So much so that the grin remained on your face as you unlocked your hand from his and touched it to his thigh. "Here?" you questioned, rubbing circles into the flesh.

Yoongi only shot you a look, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Your amusement only grew further.

"Sorry, I'm a visual learner,” you hummed with a soft sigh, waiting for him to take the bait.

And he did. He grabbed your hand and dragged your touch to where you both secretly needed it. He curled his hand over yours, guiding you to wrap your fingers around his stiff length, showing you how to stroke it the way he desired.

Once you hooked one leg over his thigh, gaining more access, you guided your hand up and down his length, slow and taunting. His hand fell from yours, allowing you to run your thumb across the head of his blushing cock, tracing the flared ridge of the crown and the slit where precum gathered. It took everything in you not to dart out your tongue and lick a strip across the small dewy slit.

Then, almost as if he’d heard your thoughts, he choked out, "I don't suppose you . . . map out your models with your mouth, do you?"

Still wanting to tease him, you tsked, "That's just sinful.” Those words left your lips, and your hand was running down his shaft all the way to the root, then up again to smear the precum with your thumb across the tip of his length.

Yoongi breathed shakily through your soft touch, laughing slightly. "Sinfuh—fuck .”

But you cut him off before he could mock you, your desires and his getting the best of you as you flicked out your tongue to lick away the precum. The bitter salty taste of him coated your mouth, and that was all it took before you ran your tongue up the underside of his cock all the way to the head. You caught sight of his eyes on you, keeping your gaze locked with his as you flashed him a tiny grin before you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, immediately swirling your tongue around it.

His jaw visibly clenched, Adam’s apple bobbing as you kept your eyes on his before your lips slid downward, slipping over the crown and further down his shaft. Then, you hollowed your cheeks, slowly moving your head up and down his length, taking him further each time. And he was left a mess, teeth clenched so tightly you were sure he’d break one while his chest heaved up and down with such fervor.

Your movements quickened, tongue flat against the underside of his length while you moved your mouth around him, letting your hands stroke what you couldn’t swallow. And when he was panting quickly, cock throbbing in your mouth, you sunk down as far as you could, the tip of him hitting the back of your throat briefly.

That was when a low groan sounded from the back of his throat and he bucked into your throat, causing you to gag slightly. His hand was caressing your cheek in an instant, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.

"Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . “ he panted out, lazily looking at you through lidded eyes. “I just . . . wanna fuck your throat."

You released him from your mouth with a popping sound, catching your breath as you hummed, "All you have to do is ask, Yoon."

Yoongi propped himself up on his elbows, hand coming out to tilt your chin. "Hey, hey, baby, are you serious?" he asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Mmm," you hummed, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock, causing him to shudder.

"I need to hear the words," Yoongi all but whined.

That only spurred you on further. You pushed up, crawling toward him as you straddled his waist and leaned in so your lips were just barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I want you to fuck my throat, Yoongi,” you hummed, sweetly.

Yoongi shook his head, a dazed gummy smile spreading across his face. "You have no idea what you do to me,” he confessed, his voice confident, full of truth.

"I think I have a hunch,” was all you said in response, eyes flicking down to his aching length.

"No—“ Yoongi suddenly said, reaching out to touch your face, thumbs resting just under your jaw as they grazed the skin there— “more than that. More than . . . “

His words trailed off and he tilted your chin, causing you to lock eyes with him. The sight you saw only made you breathless. What was this emotion Yoongi held in those deep pools of brown?

Then, his brows twitched with longing and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he whispered in the softest voice, “You unravel me . . . "

His eyes searched yours for understanding, and as they did, you felt your expression falter, your heart swelling in your chest. You unravel me.

You swallowed, awkwardly. "You must really want me to blow you."

"No, no—" Yoongi was quick to dispute, shaking his head— "Well, not no, but . . . honestly . . . truly . . . completely . . . you unravel me."

You unravel me.

There wasn’t a word to describe how you felt in that moment. You just kept staring into his eyes, hoping he’d see the words you couldn’t get yourself to admit.

You unravel me.

You’d loved Yoongi for years now. You knew this. It was the easiest thing for you to pinpoint, but in that moment as those words played in your mind, you thought perhaps love was not the right word to describe what you felt for him.

What you felt—that warmth blossoming in your chest—was more than that silly little word. Your feelings for him went beyond love. You wished there was a word to describe it better.

You unravel me.

Perhaps . . .

Perhaps that was the word you were searching for. You unravel me , and you were sure he’d done the same to you.

You unravel me, too, Yoon, you found yourself thinking as you grinned at the man laying beneath you with such adoration you nearly felt like one of your beloved paintings.

And with the wide, beaming smile on your face, Yoongi couldn’t help but smile back, shaking his head as his hand tangled in your hair. You wanted him. You wanted him in every way.

You’d shifted down his body a second later, taking his cock in your hand as you slapped it against your tongue. He laughed at your impatience and tightened the grip he had on your hair, gently pulling your head away from his length.

When you pouted at him, he faltered, wetting his bottom lip. "OK, shit, I'm gonna hold your hair and . . . you pull away if it's too much,” he rushed out, touching a hand to your face, thumb grazing your bottom lip. "OK?"

You took his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before releasing it with a pop. "More than OK,” you hummed deep in your throat.

"You're gonna kill me, woman," he confessed, earnestly.

He was guiding your mouth down his cock in an instant, and you followed his lead, flattening your tongue and careful not to graze his shaft with your teeth. At first, your movements were slow, lazily trailing up and down his dick, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the pink tip.

But then Yoongi’s grip on your hair tightened, and he bucked into your mouth, the head of his cock reaching your gag reflex. You breathed through your nose, forcing yourself not to gag as you emitted a soft moan while he repeatedly bucked into your mouth. Feeling more confident, you reached your hand out to massage his balls, coaxing a low moan—or rather a mix between a growl and a whimper—from the back of his throat.

"You're doing so good for me, baby," he rasped out, his words falling from his tongue like pants. "So fucking warm, so fucking ready. God, my girl. You're my fucking girl."

He bucked into you once more and steadied himself there in the back of your throat, feeling you moan around him. "That's it. Like that, fuck,” he groaned, sliding his dick back out once you gagged.

Your mouth was left hanging open, the tip of his dick resting on your tongue as you hastily breathed in, trying to catch your breath. A hand fell on your cheek, stroking the skin as you swallowed, soreness in your throat quickly forming as an unmistakable tear trickled down your face.

"Breathe, baby, breathe," he cooed, wiping away the tear with his thumb.

Once you’d caught your breath, your eyes snapped up to meet his as you swiped your tongue along the rim of his tip. He only grinned, shaking his head at you.

"One more?” he pegged the question, reading your thoughts. “Can you do one more?"

You nodded, swirling your tongue around the tip, teasing the small slit. And Yoongi only responded by rubbing your cheek once more before his hand was grasping your hair again as he slid his cock into your warm mouth. You moaned around him, clenching your thighs together at the feeling of your own slick pulsing out of you once you’d gotten a second taste of him.

He’d repeated his actions from before—slowly sliding your mouth up and down his shaft before he bucked into your mouth, rocking his hips. Your eyes began to burn, your mouth growing sore, but you persisted, swallowing around him as he fucked himself into your mouth.

"So fucking sweet to me," Yoongi hissed out, his voice almost a quiet whimper as he slid out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe.

As you caught your breath, he released your hair from his grip, curling it behind your ear before he moved his hand to stroke your cheek. You backed off of him once you caught your breath, sitting straight.

"You don't have to continue, angel," he gulped, tonguing the corner of his mouth. "I can get myself off. Take a break."

"Where's the fun in that?" you only laughed, still slightly out of breath, and throat feeling sore. "Besides . . . I thought you said you wanted to cum in me?" You quirked a brow, his eyes widened ever so slightly. "What if I want you to cum in my mouth?"

You took his shocked expression as a good sign, leaning down again and straddling his thigh before you bent to take him into your mouth. At the now familiar feeling, you hummed a pleasant sigh, the tight, wet friction creating enough pleasure to coax strained tuffs of air out of his lungs.

"Can I touch you?" he rasped out, desperately.

You nodded, cock still in your mouth. "Please," you mumbled, words muffled as you sank lower.

He slid his hand down your body, sliding under the hem of the boxers you wore. You moaned around him, the vibrations causing him to shudder as you widened your legs just enough for him to slip his hand into your wet heat. He sucked in air through his teeth at the feeling, slipping a finger into your folds and pressing his palm against your swollen clit, allowing you enough access to grind into him.

The two of you moved together, your mouth sliding up and down his cock while he pumped his fingers into you, moving his palm against your clit. He went faster, and you followed, both of you immersing each other in a pleasurable heat filled with soft moans and desperate pants. Heat pooled in your stomach. You were close, and you could tell he was too.

With that in mind, you pulled out one of your tricks, gathering enough saliva in your mouth to generously coat his cock before you let your hand take your mouth’s place, allowing for faster movements.

Then, you bent one of his legs up, allowing you access, which you took, mouth wrapping around his balls, sucking on them, swirling your tongue around them. You even flicked your tongue quickly against the small strip of skin just behind the swell of his balls.

It was a carnal act; one you’d normally be embarrassed by but now, with your orgasm quickly approaching, you didn’t care. You wanted him to cum, and you wanted to be the cause.

"Cum for me," you heard him rasp out as his cock twitched in your hand. "Can you cum for me, baby?"

You ground down faster against his palm, clit aching as you picked up your pace, jerking him quicker. Aching for him, you took him in your mouth again, sucking and moaning around him as you used your hand and mouth to bring him closer, and that was when you felt it—the coil in your lower stomach quickly approaching.

Yoongi rolled his head back onto the pillows, arching into your touch. "That's it. Fuck, that's—“

The coil snapped, and your muscles contracted, coaxing a breathy moan out of you. And then his own orgasm consumed him, cum shooting down your throat as you continued to stroke him through your high.

As the two of you came down from your highs, you swallowed his cum, sliding him out of your mouth with a pop. While, he drew his hand from your heat, sucking your release from his fingers before he reached for you, dragging you into his chest. Although still hazy, you managed to laugh against him while he peppered kisses into your hair, along your shoulders, your neck, even your cheeks, and finally on your swollen lips.

"Fuckin' perfect," he hummed, kissing you again. "You're fucking perfect." As he spoke through lazy kisses, he rubbed your cheek. "Did so good for me. Taking my cock like that. Swallowing all of me. Shit, baby. That mouth is a godsend. Fuckin' godsend."

"This is a new side to you, Min," you mumbled, wrapping an arm around his waist as you buried your face into his chest. "Submissive bitch."

"Brat," he tsked into your hair. "I should—“

But his words were cut off by the slamming of a door—the front door to your apartment. Your eyes widened, and you glanced his way, swallowing hard. Fuck .

"Please, tell me that's not Seokjin?" you hissed out, sitting up.

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I think it is," Yoongi sighed, pursing his lips in thought.

Maybe he’d go straight to his room and not stop by Yoongi’s. Did you leave anything out in the main room last night? Fuck, did you? Maybe Seokjin wouldn’t notice. Maybe—

"Yoongi!" Seokjin’s voice came almost instantly, followed by him beating his fists onto the door of Yoongi’s bedroom.

The two of you sprung to your feet, Yoongi quickly grabbing his clothes and shoving them on. He’d gestured for you to hide as he made his way toward the door. He’d glanced your way one more time, making sure you were hidden in his closet before he ruffled his hair and swung the door open.

"Hey," he rasped out, clearing his throat.

"H—“ Seokjin cut himself off. "Woah, what happened to you?"

Yoongi only grumbled. "I'm not in the mood for games, Seokjin.”

(You stifled your laughter. He was always such a pain in the ass.)

" Seokjin ? God, you really are pissed," your brother mused, mocking the way Yoongi said his name. "You get lucky? Huh? Shit, are they still here? Is that why—“

"Jin . . . please," Yoongi cut him off.

Seokjin snickered. "You're shameless.”

"You're wearing your shirt backwards," Yoongi simply stated, deadpanning. "Courtesy of your special friend from last night?"

Seokjin only clicked his tongue, silently scolding the younger man. "You really need to stop hanging out with my sister," he muttered, bitterly. (You grinned ear to ear.) "You're starting to sound like her."

Yoongi shrugged, calmly. "She's rubbed off on me.”

It sounded as if Seokjin had leaned on the doorframe. "Where is she anyway?" he questioned with a sigh. "Her shoes are here but her room's empty."

"Oh," Yoongi bit out, his voice a little less than calm now. ( Keep up the act, Yoon , you thought.) "She came home last night, yelled something about how the heels were too small, grabbed those little slippers of hers, and booked it to Hari's."

That bitch. You were going to give him hell for that one later.

"Huh," Seokjin mused.

"Yeah . . . "

A beat of silence.

Then, Seokjin spoke again. "Well—“ he slapped a hand down on Yoongi’s shoulder— "Have fun with your friend . . . "

He was gone the next second, the sound of Yoongi shutting his door filtering through your ears. You’d stepped out of the closet then, arms crossed over your chest as you glared at the man standing before you.

" Little slippers of mine?" you huffed out, approaching him with a wrinkle between your brows.

Yoongi seemed to be amused by this, sending you an infamous half-grin before he leaned down to press his lips against yours. He pulled you closer by the waist, sighing into the kiss. And then . . . then he did something which shocked you—he brought his hand down on your ass, loudly slapping the flesh there.

You nearly gasped right then, but quickly covered your mouth. "He will literally hear you," you hissed out.

But Yoongi only silently shook with laughter. "Good thing he didn't come when my dick was down your throat.”

Your eyes widened, and you drove a finger into his chest. "You really are shameless," you scolded, your voice hushed.

He only winked in response, that cheeky grin never letting up.

Absolutely shameless.

In the following days, you and Yoongi had to admit the two of you were shit at keeping up this little act of yours. First, it started with the three of you gathering in the living room to watch a movie the day Seokjin had almost walked in on you tangled up with Yoongi in his bed. The entire movie Yoongi kept resting his hand on your thigh, a subconscious gesture that you hadn't even noticed until Seokjin called the two of you out on it. You'd nearly choked at his questions, but Yoongi kept his cool, shrugging off your brother's remarks and adding the gesture up to nothing. You'd nearly laughed, still reeling from that morning.

Then, just on the Tuesday of that week, Seokjin had walked in on the two of you passed out on the couch together, a mess of limbs. You'd only found out about this via a photo your brother sent in the group chat. Now, Yoongi had tried to tell you your brother didn't know anything, and the two of you had fallen asleep together even before this so there was nothing to worry about. But . . . you still worried.

The thing was: you didn't know how Seokjin would take the news. When the two of you were younger, there was no doubt he would've punched Yoongi in the face for even thinking about touching you. But now, you didn't know where he stood.

So walking on eggshells around your brother seemed like the best option for now.

Except, you didn't take into account that it would be so incredibly awkward around him anytime the topic of Yoongi was brought up. On Wednesday, he asked you if Yoongi had gone to his studio, and you quickly rushed out an I don't know , gaining an odd look from your brother before he shook his head and went off. See . . . that was the problem: you.

You couldn't lie to your brother.

Furthermore, you were tired of hiding how you felt towards Yoongi. You'd done that for nearly two decades. That felt more than enough time for you. Too much time, you thought.

Fortunately, on the Thursday of that same week, you knew for a fact that Seokjin wouldn't be home until late. So when you found yourself in the kitchen, attempting to make a recipe you'd looked up online, as Yoongi approached you, hands on your hips, you didn't flinch away. Instead, a pleasant sigh left you as you leaned back into his touch, resting the back of your head on his shoulder while he nudged his nose against the slope of your neck.

"I wanna take you to my studio next week," Yoongi mumbled into your skin, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you closer.

You laid your hands on top of his. "Thank you for asking if my schedule's free, Yoon."

He sighed into your neck. "Sue me, I want my girlfriend to hear some of my work," he mumbled, kissing up the slope of your neck and breathing in your scent just under your ear where you'd spritzed some of your perfume earlier that morning.

But you weren’t focused on that.

No, you were focused on the term he'd used. Girlfriend . You suddenly felt sixteen years old again, yearning to hold hands with him as the two of you walked down the halls of your high school. Only Min Yoongi could make you feel like a lovestruck teenager again.

In your silence, Yoongi sighed into your neck once again. "Fine, are you free, baby?" he questioned, teasingly.

You only tilted your head, eyes on his profile. "Are we dating, then?"

Yoongi stilled behind you, slowly locking eyes with you as he searched them, looking for something. You offered him a smile, and his eyes softened, seemingly finding what he had been looking for as he hummed out, "I . . . would like to."

"Girlfriend? Hmm ," you tested the word on your tongue, then nodded. "I like the sound of that."

He smiled and pressed his lips against yours. "Good."

Your eyes lingered on his lips, wondering if you'd ever get used to this. With a complacent sigh, your gaze drifted back to the recipe on your phone, thoughts spinning mindlessly. "What do you want to show me?" you nonchalantly asked as you scrolled through recipe after recipe, trying to pick which one called out to you.

"Mmm, secret," Yoongi simply responded.

You lifted your head from your phone and tsked at him, "You're aggravating."

Yoongi pressed a hand to your hip, massaging the skin there. "You love it," he mumbled into your hair, nuzzling his nose against you as he slowly swayed the two of you in place.

You rolled your eyes. Cheeky bastard.

"What are you—"

But the sound of someone unlocking the apartment door, made the words die on Yoongi's tongue as the two of you glanced at the door in confusion. You shot Yoongi a perplexed look, finding him mirroring your expression before the two of you pulled apart, preparing for Seokjin to barge through the door.

And he did. In came Kim Seokjin, a muttering mess, talking to himself with his hands moving haphazardly through the air. He didn't even kick off his shoes as he entered the apartment. Something was off.

"Jin?" you questioned, calling your brother's attention.

His eyes flicked to yours, narrowing as if he was shocked to see you. Odd.

You set your phone down. "Thought you said you wouldn't be back 'till late?"

"Yeah, man, what happened to the meeting?" Yoongi piped in, grabbing a tangerine from the bowl on the kitchen island and beginning to peel it.

Seokjin only sighed, threading a hand through his hair. "Still happening. Plans changed," he grumbled, voice void of emotion other than irritation. "Forgot the USB for the meeting in—" he checked his wristwatch— "shit, in ten minutes."

He stalked off, trudging through the apartment and heading straight for his room. You and Yoongi shared a puzzled look for a brief second before Seokjin was grumbling out of his room again, USB secured between his thumb and pointer. He reached the apartment door again, about to bid the two of you goodbye when a flash of realization flooded his face and he snapped his fingers your way.

"Oh, by the way, mom called," he informed you, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose before he dropped it to his side completely. "She wants to hear from you."

You only sighed. "I know. I know. I Just—”

"Kiddo . . . " Seokjin cut you off in a gentle voice, causing more confusion to swirl in your mind. His face fell ever so slightly at the sight of your wide, puzzled eyes, and all he could do was send a tight-lipped smile your way . . . almost as if he were being sympathetic. "The anniversary's on Saturday. Dad's . Call her."

Oh.

Those words caused your shoulders to drop as it dawned on you that you'd forgotten the anniversary of your father's passing. Dread filled you a second later and guilt lingered like a ghost. How could you forget that? It'd been haunting you for months now . . . how could you let it slip your mind?

You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see your father's ghost looming there. But nothing met your gaze, and you could only think how maybe that was fate's cruel way of torturing you. Perhaps if you'd gotten to see him one last time before his passing then you wouldn't feel like this—stuck.

But that would've been too kind.

You could only have so much luck with fate. Eventually, the balance scale would have to tip both ways. You supposed this was fate's way of tipping the scale. You wished to tip it back. Desperately.

"I will," was all you managed out after a few seconds.

Then, Seokjin was off, sending you and Yoongi a nod before he stepped out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving the two of you to bask in the silence. But unlike before where you'd wallowed in it, standing alone with your head held low and arms wrapped around your body in a hug, you weren't met with that loneliness. Instead, Yoongi had reached you in an instant, bringing you into his chest as he rested his chin atop your crown and rubbed your back.

"I forgot," you mumbled into his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt into your fists. "I can't believe I . . . "

"Hey, hey, it's OK," Yoongi whispered into your hair, handling you as if you were made of glass and he was desperately afraid to break you. "You were happy, don't feel sorry about that. It's been a long time since I've seen you like that." He kissed your hair. "Uh, I know it won't help but . . . I forgot Seokjin's birthday one year. He still won't let me live it down, but no harsh feelings. We're still tight. "

You rubbed your thumb against his clothed chest. "It's not the same, Yoon," were the words which left you in a soft, heavy tone.

"I know."

He hugged you tighter, combing his fingers through your hair now. You nestled closer, leaning your head on his chest as your eyes fluttered shut. The heaviness in your chest didn't let up but you found solace in one thing—you weren't alone . . . and you didn't have to go through this alone.

"I wish I could take it from you," Yoongi suddenly whispered after a few seconds, his voice unsteady.

You furrowed your brows. "Take what?"

"The pain."

Oh.

Your heart swelled and words gathered on your tongue.

However, your mouth never opened, and the words stayed trapped there, quickly dying out. The truth was: there were many things you could've said in response, but none of them ever felt quite right.

Because here he was, telling you he'd carry your pain for you, and all you could think was how much your heart beat for him. There were no words for that; there weren't any words to tell him just how much his comfort, his company, his entire being meant to you. So you settled for a comfortable silence, wrapping your arms around his waist, tugging him closer to you as you pressed a lingering kiss to his chest just above where his heart beat.

"I want . . . I want to comfort you . . . but I don't know how," Yoongi went on from there, gathering more courage to spill his thoughts.

"You already have," you hummed, smiling slightly. "You're here by my side, and neither of us is running away. You're here. That's comfort enough."

Yoongi nodded, hand still running through your hair as the two of you silently swayed in the kitchen of your apartment. And for once in your life, you realized you felt at home. This was where you wished to stay, but not because you'd grown up here in the city of Seoul, but rather because you finally felt . . . safe.

Safe.

A smile touched your lips. You could get used to that feeling.

"Are you still smoking?" Yoongi questioned after a while, and you knew what he meant.

"Sometimes," you admitted, sheepishly. "I haven't in a while, but . . . when things get hard I do. I don't, uh, I never mind." And you hadn't. Not since a few months ago.

"Then I won't let you out of my sight until this passes," Yoongi simply stated.

You shook your head, sighing out a mangled laugh. "Will it ever?"

A beat of silence.

Then, Yoongi spoke. "I think it will," he said, earnestly. "The pain will always be there, but . . . it'll get manageable. And I'll be here. Seokjin, Hari, everyone . . . we'll all be right here. You get the urge to smoke, just grab me and we can go fishing with your brother."

You couldn't help it, you snorted. "I literally hate fishing."

"I know," Yoongi hummed, chuckling slightly. "I do, too. Knife throwing, then?"

"Mmm, are you the target?" you mused, teasingly.

"Yah," Yoongi softly scolded, pinching your side. "You sure you're not the sadist?"

You only shook your head, giddily as you pressed further into him. Safe. This was what that felt like; it felt like him.

Another beat of silence passed.

Then one more.

Before he spoke again. "Just . . . promise me you'll come to me if it gets too much. You don't have to do anything alone ever again. Even if you think you have no one, you have me. You never lost me, OK? I'm here," he whispered into your hair, and you believed every word, wholeheartedly.

That deep belief was the exact reason you felt so comfortable only giving him a soft hum and nod of acknowledgment.

But Yoong liked words. So it was no surprise when he hummed out, "Promise?"

You softly snorted. "Promise."

Then . . . his hand drifted down your arm until he reached your hand, his pinky finger locking around yours. He mumbled something about you shaking on it, and all you could do was laugh in amusement.

You tilted your head enough to find his eyes with yours. "Aren't we getting too old to be keeping pinky promises?" you questioned with a wide, toothy grin on your face.

Yoongi only glanced down at you, mirth glossing his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Oh, absolutely . . . " he trailed off, gently squeezing your pinky with his.

And you simply rolled your eyes, a small playful smile still on your face before you tightened your grip on his pinky and shook. Another promise was shared between the two of you. One that wouldn't be broken.

You both swore that .

The anniversary of your father's passing came all too quickly.

You'd like to say the day went smoothly, but it'd passed with bumps in the road. From the moment you awoke, the abnormal rain beating down against your window was enough to tell you how the rest of the day would go.

Seokjin had driven the two of you to the train station to retrieve your mother and her new husband later that day. You'd said your greetings and shook hands with the new man in her life, but nothing went beyond simple conversation. Once you all slid into Seokjin's Porsche Panamera GTS (which your mother had complimented many times in just the first few minutes), you kind of clocked out, sitting silently while your brother and mother conversed, occasionally dragging her husband to share a little more about himself. All the while, you stayed silent, checking your phone every so often when Yoongi would send texts your way.

Your mother had brought up how successful Seokjin had been with the company, and it only spiraled from there . . . your mother going on and on about all the achievements that your brother had accomplished. Not once did she mention anything about your career.

It was clear she still didn't support the path you'd decided to take. You knew she hadn't. You knew she never did. The snide remarks only became worse after your father's death, oftentimes resulting in her phone calls turning sour once she brought up the fact that your father would be disappointed in the person you'd become. She claimed the daughter of a businessman shouldn't have wasted her life like you had.

You knew it was childish, but you could help but feel a certain jealousy toward your brother. Even now when the two of you were approaching your thirties, your mother still instilled that subtle competition onto the two of you.

But you knew no matter what the competition would always end the same way . . .

Seokjin would always be the golden child; and you the second child, the restless child.

Sometimes, even now, you wondered if maybe your father's opinion would've changed. If it did at all. Before his death, you remembered seeing him at your house right before you'd left for the train station. There, he'd caught you at the front door, a moment of silence passed between you before he gave you a simple nod and retreated back into his office. That was the last time you saw him.

You wondered if that nod meant more than a goodbye. Yoongi had told you months ago your father had been proud of you. Maybe, unbeknownst to your mother, the nod your father had sent your way before your departure . . . had actually been a nod of approval.

But how could you have known?

Your father had passed. He was one with the weeds now, and here you were along with your brother and mother (and god help you, her second husband), left to remember your father on the three-year anniversary of his death. There was no knowing what that nod truly meant. Not now anyway.

Now . . . it all felt a little bittersweet.

You couldn't help but sigh at your thoughts.

Today would be rough, you decided as you slowly shifted in your seat, tuning out the voices around you and leaning your head on the window, silently watching the streets of Seoul zip by. Your eyes traced a raindrop sliding down the window, wondering when you'd reach the restaurant your mother had booked for dinner. (She had the bright idea that since both her children were in the same place for once that having dinner as a family to remember your father was the right thing to do. You, however, wished you had the guts to decline the offer, but there you were anyway.)

Another sigh left you, then you felt a hand touch yours, gently squeezing. Your eyes flicked to the touch, discovering that Seokjin had reached out to grasp your hand, catching onto the discomfort you'd expressed. You glanced up at him, finding he was still glancing between the road and the rear-view mirror while conversing with your mother. But his hand was gone with one final squeeze.

A smile lifted onto your face. He'd wanted you to know he was there. The smile grew a little more.

Then, your phone buzzed in your lap, gaining your attention. You turned it on, only to be met with a text from Yoongi.

Yoonie Blow a gasket yet?

You stifled your snort and unlocked your phone, quickly replying to him.

You Almost. Still the black sheep, apparently

The three dots appeared immediately. Then the blue text followed.

Yoonie I finished early. Want me to meet you guys at the restaurant?

You sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of your teeth. You did want him to come. Really you did, but you didn't want him to feel like he had to. You—

Another text from Yoongi.

Yoonie Don't do that self-doubt bullshit, angel. Let me be there for you

You couldn't help it, you smiled. Then your fingers were typing for you.

You I'll text you the address

Yoonie That's my girl

It only took a few minutes before you interrupted your mother on one of her rants, and asked your brother the address to the restaurant, stating Yoongi wanted to join. You covered up your almost too obvious relief by claiming he wanted to see your mother to pay his respects. And that was that, Seokjin recited the address and you forwarded it to Yoongi.

The rest of the ride, you sat there silently, with a soft smile on your face.

Dinner only came with more problems . . .

. . . all starting with your mother's husband butchering his speech.

"I—uh . . . I've only been in your mother's life for a short time now, but I just—I wanted—I would like to say how much I'm thankful to be here with you all—you kids . . . today. I'm sure your father—uh your husband—Mr. Kim would be pleased to see you all together, so without further adieu—" your mother's husband stammered on, raising his drink— "a toast. To—"

"Oh, darling," your mother interrupted, lowering her husband's arm. "We only toast with champagne."

No, you didn't. She'd never done that before.

He blinked. "Oh, right."

Your mother simply smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Family tradition."

No, it wasn't.

"Well, I think that should start us off," your mother quickly stole the attention of everyone at the table, eyes immediately going to Seokjin before flicking between you and Yoongi. "How have you been Yoongi, dear?"

Yoongi leaned back in his chair. "Well," he hummed in a calm tone, lifting the rim of the beer bottle to his lips before taking a swig. "Everything's well. And you?"

“Splendid.”

Time ticked on from there, a few words being exchanged between Yoongi and your mother as she asked him about his job at the music company he was a part of. (You didn't miss the way she wrinkled her nose in judgment when Yoongi went on about the new album he had in the works, featuring various artists and even some with his own voice. She was still the same woman she always had been: too headstrong to see another path other than the one she knew.)

After a few faked smiles and meaningless words, your mother set her sights on Seokjin once again, smiling brightly at him while she questioned how the company was doing. They went on and on and on, all the while her husband sat idly by, nodding as words were exchanged. He seemed nice enough . . . maybe a little pathetic, but nice.

And almost too predictable, you sat silently, hands clasped in your lap as you occasionally picked at your food. She hadn't asked you a question in forty-five minutes, and you were beginning to think she wouldn't. Not that it bothered you too much, you'd already expected this. But what you didn't expect was to see Yoongi shift out of the corner of your eye as he placed his arm on the back of your chair, lightly stroking your shoulder with his thumb.

It was a simple gesture, but it was enough.

You glanced up, finding his warm eyes.

With Yoongi by your side, you could get through this meal. You could.

But . . . then you heard your mother's voice and this time her sights were set on you. Shit.

"So how have you been, dear?" your mother asked, a tight smile on her face.

You stayed silent for only a second, questioning if she were actually addressing you, and then you were speaking. "Oh, fine," you muttered out, clearing your throat. "I've been trying to get back into the studio and—"

Almost as if on cue, your mother cut you off with a scoff. "God, still? I thought after the contract you were going to give it up?"

"When have I ever said that? It's my career, mom," you instantly muttered out, clenching your hands into fists on your lap. "I'm just taking a break, trying to find a muse, if you will."

Your mother sighed, sipping from her glass as she glanced back at her husband. "Wouldn't you rather go back to school and do something noble?" she questioned, glancing at your brother next with her brows raised and a small smile on her face.

She'd always done this: taken little jabs at you. There was not a day that went by where your ears weren't filled with her little comments, pin-pointing one of your decisions that she had quickly claimed were mistakes. Dropping out of college? Mistake. Moving to Busan? Mistake. All of it. Your entire life had added up to one big mistake in her eyes.

Half the time you didn't know if she said the things she did to teach you a lesson or because she just wanted to hear herself talk. You didn't care either. It made your blood boil nevertheless.

But you'd learned not to talk back. It only made things worse. So with your blood boiling, you cleared your throat and averted your gaze to your plate, expecting her to go on and make her point.

Except . . . her voice never came. No, instead, the man beside you spoke.

"You don't think art is noble?" Yoongi questioned, his voice dark as he shook his head and scoffed. "Contributing to culture . . . that's not noble?"

Your mother's eyes were on him in an instant. Redact that— everyone's eyes were on him, even yours.

A second of silence passed. Then another. And one more before your mother released a strained laugh almost like she couldn't believe someone had actually questioned her words.

And then, she spoke. "I think my dear daughter got in over her head and now that her contract’s up she realizes what a big mistake she's made," she clarified, pursing her lips. "You always indulged her in these fantasies. I've never liked that." She glanced between your stunned face and the stern look in Yoongi's dark eyes. "Besides, it is none of your business. Off scamming people into buying overdone music. What would your father say?"

That snapped you out of your daze as you turned to face your mother, brows furrowed and lips in a straight line. "Mom," you began with a shake of your head. "Don't talk to him that way."

Your mother only clicked her tongue, but she didn't say a word.

In fact, no one uttered anything.

Until . . .

"Alright," Yoongi muttered under his breath, leaning an elbow on the table as he gestured toward your mother. "I apologize in advance but—Your daughter's work is impressive."

A scoff from your mother. "Please."

Yoongi clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching there. "Her drive, her technique, her entire essence is poured into each and every one of her pieces and people see that. People live off that. They admire it," he went on, his voice stern, but not as calm as it had been before. "She's only twenty-six and yet she's been all over—Paris, New Orleans, London, Melbourne . . . all—all over the States, and Europe and that's only the half of it. Do you know how rare, how groundbreaking that truly is?"

Your mother stayed silent, but ever so uptight. She didn't dare glance your way.

And Yoongi only continued from there. "It's sad how you can't see it . . . " he trailed off. His eyes flicked to yours as he inhaled sharply, but the breath was barely audible. You, however, had heard it, and your brows twitched, wondering what he was thinking. He'd answered your wonderment shortly. "She has spent the last four years building her career up, inspiring people all over the world, and still . . . a few words from you and I see her revert back into herself."

You swallowed hard, placing a hand on his forearm. "Yoongi, you don't have to."

He'd only shook his head, a soft smile on his face that was only meant for you. "I know, but . . . I want to."

I want to. You closed your eyes, soaking in his words.

He'd turned back to meet your mother's cold gaze a mere second later. "The world never teaches you how to dream, but it always promotes competition. You've been pitting the two of them—" he pointed between you and Seokjin— "against each other from day one, and she's too good to say anything, but I'm not. I've seen what you've done. The way your words broke her down . . . but she always got back up. She's always kept going, and it paid off." He tongued the inner corners of his mouth, scoffing slightly with a shake of his head. "If that's not admirable . . . if that's not noble , then I don't know what is."

"I see," was all your mother said.

It was enough, however, to coax a sigh out of Yoongi as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I know I'm making a scene, but . . . you don't get to sit there and treat her like that," he uttered out, gesturing toward your mother once again. "You don't want to support it, support her, then fine. She doesn't need your bullshit support anyway. But . . . you best respect her. She deserves that much."

And all that met him was the silence. All eyes remained on him, but yours especially never left his face.

"Well . . . " Seokjin coughed out after a painful minute of piercing silence. "The pork belly here is really good."

All eyes lifted off Yoongi, shifting toward Seokjin before the three of them immersed themselves into quiet conversation once again. You knew your mother would never let Yoongi live this down, but for now, there was nothing left to say. Even so, your eyes remained on Yoongi's hardened face, desperately wishing to spill everything on your mind.

At that moment, you were reminded of the silly promise you'd made to each other when you were kids. He'd always have your support, and you'd always have his. You'd promised each other that . . . and he'd kept that promise today.

Your hand met his a second later, squeezing. Carefully, you watched as his eyes flicked to your hand in his, then slowly flick up to meet your gaze.

A smile tipped onto your lips. Thank you, it seemed to say.

He smiled back, threading his fingers together with yours. Always, he'd replied by grazing your knuckles with his thumb.

You'd decided to ride home with Yoongi, bidding farewell to your mother at the restaurant before you slid into his car and the two of you took off. There was nothing left to say to your mother. She didn't want to talk to you anyway. Bringing up what had happened at the restaurant would only start a fight you didn't have the energy to deal with, so going home with Yoongi was your best option (it was also the only option you even wanted to think of).

And while the ride to the apartment was silent, it was not uncomfortable. His hand stayed tangled with yours the entire drive. It wasn't driven by heat or anything like that; it was just a simple touch, a simple comfort for the both of you.

I just want to feel that you're there.

Reminds me that this is real.

Those had been his words he'd shared with you the night of your date, and they'd stuck with you. You were sure they always would. Reminds me that this is real. It was. You found solace in that.

His words remained on your mind as he pulled into the parking lot and the two of you made your way up to your apartment. Only once you got inside, and flicked off your shoes, did you turn to Yoongi, drowsily rubbing your face before you entered his room and laid on top of his bed, snuggling into his pillow. He'd only laughed in response, saying something about Seokjin being home soon, but nevertheless curled up right beside you, tugging you into his chest.

The two of you just laid there, a mess of limbs, relishing in the sound of each other's quiet breathing. This was real.

"Is this awkward now that you've seen my dick?" Yoongi abruptly muttered into your hair.

And you couldn't help it, a loud laugh escaped you. You knew what he was doing. You knew his words had only left him in an attempt to cheer you up with everything that had happened that day. (You'd be lying if you said it didn't work a little.)

"More than seen it," you softly replied with a small smile on your face.

He tugged you closer in response, one arm securing around your back with the other tangled in your hair, massaging your scalp. You relaxed into his touch, breathing in his scent—a mix of jasmine and wood. You realized you finally felt at peace there in his arms. That only made you smile wider as your eyes fluttered shut and you nuzzled your cheek into his chest.

This was real.

But time ticked by and you grew anxious, wishing to tell him how much you appreciated what he had done for you that night. He'd always shown his elders respect, so standing up to your mother like that was uncharacteristic of him. He'd done it for you, and that meant more to you than you could even begin to fathom.

You bit the inside of your cheek, releasing a soft sigh. "Thank you . . . for back there," you mumbled, rubbing your hand up and down his chest, finally stopping just above his heart where you drew circles with your pointer. "I just . . . I can't stand up to her."

"You will . . . one day," Yoongi simply replied, pressing his lips against your forehead.

Time ticked by. You weren’t sure how much, you just let it drone on, allowing yourself to melt completely into Yoongi's arms. It must have been at least half an hour later when the front door to the apartment clicked open and shut a second later, followed by shuffling footsteps approaching Yoongi's open bedroom door.

Neither of you bothered to rip apart, Yoongi whispering reassurance in your ear that your brother wouldn't catch on. And you put your faith in him, tilting your head slightly just in time to see Seokjin step under the threshold of the door. You gave a soft laugh and waved him into the room.

A soft sigh left Seokjin as he stepped into the room. "Move over," he huffed, approaching the two of you on the bed and climbing onto it, shifting onto the open spot just between you and the wall. With a strained groan, he laid down, his back on the bed, shifting one arm under his head while the other lazily draped over his stomach.

You poked his armpit, earning another groan before you turned back to Yoongi and laughed into his chest. Yoongi only patted your head, smiling down at you.

Seokjin smacked the back of your head in retaliation, and you only laughed more. And while it was dark, you were sure your brother had a small smile on his face as well. Nevertheless, his words changed the course of your mind as he hummed out a, "Well . . . that happened."

You, of course, knew what he was talking about: the dinner.

And Yoongi did too, as he stiffened under your touch.

"Are you mad?" you found yourself asking.

Seokjin only gave a dry laugh. "God, no, I just didn't want to fight with her," he explained, clicking his tongue and then inhaling deeply. "She's just . . . she has a strong personality."

You nodded. Then, your hand was reaching out to pinch his side. "Yeah, you're just like her," you teased, wishing the heaviness of the day would just disintegrate if you tried hard enough.

"With that logic, you're just like dad," Seokjin retorted, flicking your hand away.

With that, you dropped your hand. Maybe there was some truth to his words. Maybe . . . maybe you really were like your father. Parts of him could've been seen in you. You knew that. You just wished you knew what parts of him you'd inherited.

You swallowed, hard, feeling at a crossroads once again.

And as if sensing your shift in mood, you felt Yoongi's hand trail down your arm, nails grazing the slope as they reached the palm of your hand then spread out to your fingers, all the way up to the tips. It was a comforting gesture, one that numbed your mind, and you found yourself sighing into him.

"He would've hated that," Seokjin's voice came again, tearing you from your mind. "The dinner . . . "

Yoongi snorted.

And you laughed. "Oh, completely. He would've walked out within the first five minutes."

"Snuck out the bathroom window or something," Seokjin added with a shake of his head.

"He wouldn't even go that far to hide it," you countered, humorously. "He'd just leave."

"You're right. You're right."

But while the silence enveloped the three of you, the darkness consuming your sight, your mind began to wander. All you could think of was the funeral. You'd stayed until the end, then hopped on a train as soon as it was over. You hadn't stopped once to let anyone approach you or to ask how your brother or even how your mother was taking it. You'd just left.

How could you just leave like that?

How could you—

The floodgates had begun to tremble and you knew what was happening. Fuck. No, no, no. You didn't want to cry. Not now.

You just . . . you'd spent so long running from feeling all of this, from mourning the death of your father that it'd begun to build and build and build. And now? There was nowhere to run . . . and you didn't want to. Not anymore. Not again.

That, however, didn’t make this any easier. Letting yourself feel wasn't something you were used to. So with an unsteady mind and fear pounding in your chest, you opened the floodgates . . . willingly this time. The tears followed short, your entire body convulsing with quiet sobs.

You felt your brother and Yoongi go stiff as you quietly sobbed, quickly bringing your hand to your mouth to cover the sounds. And they let you, knowing this . . . this was what you needed.

"I just don't get it," you gasped out. "We weren't even that close. Why do I miss him so much?"

Yoongi hadn't released you from his grip, him squeezing your arm made you realize this. "Because there was a chance you could've been closer," he mumbled, whispering it to you both and Seokjin, knowing the both of you needed to hear those words.

A second of silence passed.

Then, a hand fell to your hair, petting the back of your head, and you knew the hand belonged to Seokjin. His voice filtering through your ears a second later confirmed these thoughts. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing right by him with the company," he admitted, shocking you so.

What?

But . . . Seokjin had always been so sure of his decisions, always so sure of himself.

You glanced over at him, brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you mean?"

Seokjin swallowed so hard it echoed in the air before he muttered under his breath, "Mom thinks I'm doing so great, but . . . If I make the wrong move, I could tank the company . . . that would be like letting him die in vain." He shook his head, and when he spoke again, you could hear the uneasiness in the way his voice wavered. "Sometimes when deals fall through or I fuck up a meeting . . . it feels like I'm failing him."

Oh. You’d never thought he felt that way. He was Seokjin, the golden child. He didn’t doubt. He never had. So then . . . ?

A bitter laugh left your brother. "His shit's still there, in that office. His telescope's sitting there and I swear sometimes I can still see him standing there, looking out of it at the moon . . . and then I hear him and I can never tell if he's saying he's proud of me or if I've failed him."

And then you realized.

Growing up, Seokjin had always needed affirmations. He'd always sought them out, and he'd looked for them with his head held high. He'd made it known to your parents how a new watch for acing a test was what would let him know he'd done well. You'd never been that way. You'd always sought out their approval, silently, so silent that perhaps they hadn't even noticed just how much you needed it. You'd always paved your own way, searching for your own approval while Seokjin looked to his parents, knowing exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. You saw this now.

While you had been quiet, Seokjin had been vocal.

It was as simple as that. The two of you were different: two sides to the same coin.

Perhaps your parents had seen this too. Perhaps your father had.

And maybe you were looking too much into it, or maybe . . . maybe you were right. But . . . with your father's passing, he'd signed all of his materialistic things in Seokjin's name from his company to the watch he'd always worn. He'd done this to show his son he could continue on his name, and in doing so, he'd make him proud. While . . . he'd signed away a large sum of his savings in your name. Maybe . . . maybe he'd done that because he knew you'd use that money for what you wanted, not for what everyone else desired. He knew you'd take that money and do something good, something grand, something utterly you.

Perhaps that was his own way of letting you know you'd made him proud.

He was proud of you, and he'd be proud of you now, Yoongi's words filtered through your ears as you remembered what he told you your first night back in Seoul. And you chose to believe that.

Your father had been proud of you. He knew you would find no use, no inspiration in the materialistic things he'd once owned. No, he'd left you that money so you could do something more.

A smile lifted onto your face as you realized this. Your father would be proud to see what Seokjin had done with the company, and he'd be proud to see what you'd done with your career. You chose to believe this.

And you chose to admit it aloud as well.

With a nod of your head at your thoughts, you reached out to squeeze your brother's arm. "Dad would be proud of you, Jin," you spoke softly and quietly as a single tear slipped down your cheek. This time you didn't wipe it away. "He left you all that . . . so when you looked at it, you'd see him. Those were his prized possession. I think, in a way, you were too." You nodded once more. This was the truth. "He was proud of us , in his own way . . . and he'd be proud to see how the company turned out."

A second of silence passed before Seokjin rested his hand atop yours. Thank you, the gesture seemed to say and you only offered him a smile in the dark.

The silence was lighter now as it encircled the three of you in its embrace. Perhaps the truth wasn't so scary after all.

Minutes later and you swore you were almost drifting off into sleep when Yoongi shifted beside you and groaned, "Are we all really about to sleep in my bed?"

Your brother barked out a laugh. "Afraid so, Min."

Yoongi only grumbled in response.

"He's such a grouch," Seokjin tsked.

You nodded. "Tell me about it."

"I can hear you," Yoongi bit out, pinching your side.

A soft laugh left you as you twitched in his arms. "He says that like that wasn't the point."

"He's just—"

But Yoongi cut your brother off before he could speak. "Yah!" the man hissed, pulling away from you and turning on his side, his back now facing you. "If you're both going to sleep in my bed, then at least shut the fuck up."

His outburst brought a certain silence once again, you and Seokjin stifling your laughter before your brother turned away from you and faced the wall, rolling onto his side. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, and that was when you complacently sighed and turned to face Yoongi's back.

A soft smile twitched onto your lips as you shuffled closer to him, snaking an arm around his waist. Yoongi immediately grabbed your hand, tugging you closer to him as he intertwined your fingers with his and pulled it to his chest. You shook your head in amusement and placed your cheek against his back, nuzzling closer to him.

You knew wrapping yourself up into Yoongi like this was risky considering it could give Seokjin the hint that the two of you were more than friends. But you didn't care. You'd try to figure out a lie later if he asked. But right now . . . right now you just wanted to blissfully drift off into sleep with the scent of jasmine and wood consuming your being.

And you did exactly that.

True to his word, the following week you found yourself staring up at the tall corporate building with Yoongi standing by your side, taking in your stunned expression with mirth in his eyes. You knew he'd belonged to one of the largest music companies in the country, but you'd never seen it in person, only in photos, so standing before it, realizing just how small you were compared to the building towering over you, felt a little unreal.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Yoongi approach the front doors. You cleared your throat, clutching the hem of your skirt to tug it down before you followed after him (yeah, yeah, yeah, you knew it was stupid to wear a skirt in the beginning of November, but hey, the weather was on the warmer side, so fuck it).

Once inside, many people greeted Yoongi, mumbling a good morning to him, and then referring to him as Suga . You’d only quirked your head to the side in confusion as you followed him into the elevator, then down a hall.

Only then did you address your confusion. "Suga, huh? Stage name?"

He glanced over at you and flicked your nose. "So smart, dollface.”

"Fuck you," you grumbled, swatting at his hand. "Why Suga?"

"Stands for shooting guard.”

You snorted. "You are so predictable.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he huffed before he glanced around, then tugged you down another empty hall. Instantly, he slapped your ass, chuckling when you jumped at the touch.

You shot him a dirty look.

Yoongi ruffled your hair. "You're lucky we're in public, you know?" he spoke under his breath before he tugged you further down the hall, not giving you enough time to adjust to the warmth pooling in your lower stomach at his words.

Finally, he stopped in front of a door in the middle of the hall, and you were left to observe. A keypad met your eyes, and then you caught sight of the sign labeled Genius Lab , and you couldn’t help but snort.

"Genius Lab?" you mused, quirking a brow at him.

He glanced over his shoulder at you. "Something funny?"

"Nope, nope, nothing.”

A click of his tongue was your only response as he dipped to punch in the passcode.

"Passcode, too?” you remarked, teasingly. “Wow, I'm impressed you've managed to remember it.”

The lock beeped, unlocking as Yoongi rested his hand on the handle but didn’t shove it open. No, instead, he turned to look at you once again, this time sighing. "Yeah, well, when you forget it once and lock yourself out for four days, you tend to make it a point not to forget it again," he admitted, a little bashfulness to his tone.

"Again," you hummed. "Predictable."

Yoongi only rolled his eyes before he pushed the door open. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, get your ass in there," he huffed, shoving you inside the small studio.

Once inside, your eyes widened. All around you laid equipment, a desk and a chair to match among other things that just had Yoongi written all over it. But what caught your eye was his old basketball jersey hanging up on his wall as if overseeing all of his success.

You remembered that jersey.

Before one of his games, he’d asked you to sign the inside of it, claiming it’d give him good luck. And you’d signed it willingly with a wide, toothy grin on your face. You’d almost forgotten but there it was staring right back at you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You even found yourself approaching it, hand stretched out to check if your name was still there. “You still have—Ow!"

But you never reached the jersey. Instead, Yoongi slapped your ass once again, this time harder, halting you in your actions before he sat down on the gaming chair with a cheeky grin on his face. Under your harsh gaze, he leaned back, arms resting on the armrests as he spread his legs while raising his brows at you. That same damned grin remained on his face.

"Yoongi, seriously?” you all but spat.

Yoongi bit the tip of his thumb, eyes dragging down your figure. "Sorry, couldn't resist.”

You only crossed your arms over your chest. "What if someone heard that?”

"Soundproof.”

"Oh.”

(You ignored the warmth pooling in your stomach at what that tiny detail entailed.)

Yoongi grinned wider. "C'mere," he commanded, patting his thigh.

And you couldn’t resist. You reached him, sitting down on his lap and leaning your back against his chest as he shifted underneath you to secure his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, and he hummed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he felt safe with his arms wrapped around you, too.

"So this is it?" you found yourself asking, eyes still searching the dim-lit room.

"Were you expecting more?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," you mumbled. "I mean . . . this is it. This is your life. It's you." You turned to face him, smiling. "I just—Thank you for sharing it with me."

"You're a part of my life," Yoongi simply said. "A big part of it. I wanted to share this with you."

You couldn’t help it, you scrunched your nose just as you felt your heart swell in your chest. "You really are just a big sap, you know that, Yoon?" you all but giggled before you pressed a kiss to his nose.

"Shut it.”

Another laugh came from your lips. You averted your gaze to the equipment laid out in front of you, your mind wandering. "So, is this why you wanted to take me here?" you questioned your thoughts aloud. “To share this with me?”

"Yes and no," Yoongi mumbled against your skin. It was almost as if he were hiding himself from your view. "I wanna . . . wanna show you something."

The next second he was reaching for a black notebook placed neatly at the corner of his desk. He slapped it down in front of you, and began turning the pages.

He paused his page flipping. "I told you about the new album I'm writing, right?" he asked.

You nodded.

Then he gripped the page in between his fingers, seemingly hesitating for a mere second before he sighed and continued flipping until he paused to reveal a page consumed by messy handwriting.

Was this one of his songs?

But Yoongi’s voice filtered in through your ears before you could get too inside your head.

"It's, uh, it's different from my other work. There are still different artists weaved into certain songs, but for the most part, it's all me: the lyrics, the music, the voices . . . " he trailed off, tapping the page. "I got the idea almost a year ago now. I just—I wanted to try something different, you know? And inspiration struck so I just kept writing and writing, and the album kind of . . . wrote itself?"

"Is this you saying I get to have a sneak peek?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so," he chuckled under his breath as his hand trudged through his hair. "I've been experimenting with rap and I'm taking vocal lessons too, so there's some of that. I wanted it to be raw, you know? Real." He wet his bottom lip, glancing at the side of your face briefly. "Every song's inspired by something that’s happened in my life, so I guess . . . I guess I wanted an outside opinion to see if it's shit or not."

You only grinned at his response, eyes meeting his. "Min Yoongi, are you nervous?" you taunted, poking his side.

"If that's what you call this—” he tongued the inner corners of his mouth— “then yes," he sighed humorously before he trudged his hand through his hair once more.

"You're so cute.”

"God, don't call me that.”

You clicked your tongue at his response. "OK, OK, let me hear it.”

He looked at you for a second as if hesitating, then he reached for the headset resting on the desk and placed them over your ears. He went to work after that, turning on the computer and sifting through his folders until he reached the file he desired. Then, with an inhale, he hovered the mouse over it and took a glance your way.

"There's one song that I think needs tweaking, so . . . it's up to you to tell me what's shit about it and what's not, got it?" he informed you, his words sounding awkward on his tongue.

"Yoongi, I don't know anything about music," you reassured him.

"Bullshit," he playfully scoffed. "You grew up with me, you've got to have a good ear on you."

"No promises.”

He only responded with a shake of his head.

A second of silence passed.

Then, he spoke again. (God, he really was nervous.)

"OK . . . this is an older work. I've switched it up a little over the years, added lyrics, but by lyrics I mean it's got my tone-deaf voice on it so you've gotta keep that in mind," he warned as he tongued the corners of his mouth again. "If it's shit, it's shit. Spare me the looks, just ask to move on and we'll move on."

"You really are nervous," you mused. Then, you leaned forward, squinting your eyes at his forehead before you tapped a finger to his brow. "Is that sweat?"

He swatted your hand away. "Yah, don't tease me.”

You only snorted, waving him off as you turned your attention to the computer.

His voice came again, even more hesitant now. "Oh, and um . . . here—" he tapped the notebook again, drawing your eyes down to the words sloppily written across the page— "it's the lyrics. The rough draft anyway. Just . . . read along while it plays and uh . . . make any marks you think best."

You nodded. "Press play, Yoon."

"Right.”

The song began with the soft strumming of a guitar, creating a simple melody in your ears. You touched your hands to the headset over your ears, a soft smile lifting onto your face. It was silly but you could’ve sworn you’d heard this song before. Then, his soft, deep voice joined the soft guitar. His voice was breathy and slightly off-key but it worked with the overall soft hum of the song . . . but your mind was still stuck on the rhythm of it, the tune, the ambiance. It felt almost nostalgic to you.

And then as the song played on, you realized where you had heard it before.

This . . . this was the same song Yoongi had first ever composed. It was the same song he played at his first gig; the first song you thought might have been composed for you; the song he played the night at his bar. This song you now knew had been for you, but you hadn’t understood the extent of it until that very moment.

As his voice filtered through your ears, going into another verse, your face slowly fell. You weren’t upset or anything of the sort . . . rather . . . you had caught onto what he was saying, what he was telling you through the lyrics. You’d first thought it to be a thank you when he’d played it at the bar, but now . . . you were sure this was an apology.

You blinked, eyes burning as you flicked your gaze down to the notebook. You flipped a page, searching for the verse playing in your ears, and when you found it, you couldn’t ignore the lump in your throat that had begun to form.

You can let it go, you read and your heart swelled in your chest.

This . . . this was written for you; for the years you’d been burdened by life. It was an apology, a thank you, an ode to you.

An ode . . . there . . . that put you at rest. It was an ode.

You lost yourself in the song, the lyrics, the guitar, all of it in that moment. And you just let it consume you.

The song trailed on for another verse, but your mind was too preoccupied spinning and spinning farther away from you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. This was the song he’d first composed, the same one he’d shared with you on that train when you were kids, the same one he’d played for his first gig, the same one he’d played the night at his bar. This was the song he’d written long ago and . . . he’d written it for you.

Your mind only spiraled from there . . .

It all made sense now.

You couldn’t stop yourself. The next second you reached forward and restarted the song, letting the tune consume you. The lyrics were more clear now, and you had to stop yourself from gasping as the song filtered through your ears once more.

The song began painting the image of you and Yoongi riding your bikes to catch the train—the very train that would take you to the art gallery . . . to your first show. You’d had no care in the world back then. Everything was not a big deal, because you hadn’t let it become one. You only realized just how blind you were to the rest of the world when you returned home that same night and had to face the music.

The backlash you’d received from your parents when you returned, Yoongi by your side, hadn’t bothered you then. It hadn’t been a big deal, not when Yoongi had looked at you with pride and adoration in his eyes. It didn’t matter if your parents didn’t support you, you’d done well. Your own support along with Yoongi’s had been enough for you back then.

It was still enough now.

The next verse delved into the many celebrations you'd had on your own, not bothering to invite your parents. An image of you surrounded by the smiling faces of your friends greeted you then. A warm feeling bloomed in your chest as you remembered the surprise Hari had orchestrated after you sold your first painting.

All the other times you’d thrown little party after little party after each success crossed your mind then. You’d never invited your parents, instead sharing your achievements with your close friends over a few bottles of wine. That little family you’d found on your own had been enough for you.

It still was.

However, as the song played on, the gentle baritone of Yoongi's voice mixed with the subtle guitar, you realized there was one particular verse that your brain stuck on. Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright but I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside, the lyrics filtered in through your ears as you pin-pointed the verse on the notebook, checking with your very eyes to see if you'd heard it correctly.

When you saw the exact words splayed out on the paper, Yoongi's notes written in the margin lines, you couldn't help the twitch in your brow. He'd truly written that. That was exactly how you knew the song had truly been for you. And as your eyes flicked up to catch the title of the song splayed out in chicken scratch at the top of the page, your suspicions were further confirmed.

Matilda. That had been the song’s title.

Matilda. The silly little movie you’d watch over and over again as a kid, oftentimes forcing Yoongi to sit through it with you.

Matilda—the tether that had been keeping the two of you bound to each other for years now.

That silly little movie had helped you through the darkest of times, relying on it like a crutch. It'd kept you going, serving as your drive. In other words, Matilda had been your inspiration, and you had been Yoongi’s Matilda. You realized now he had been yours for a while now, too.

He’d brought the sun to the darkest days. Truly. He’d been your helping hand, pulling you out of the darkness, and you’d done the same for him. An eternity of pushing and pulling at one another, simultaneously keeping each other afloat in the dark abyss of life.

The suspicions you had of the song mapping out the course of your life bit by bit, only furthered when you listened closely to the next verse. Yoongi's voice came from the headset, whispering that you didn't need to be sorry for leaving your hometown and growing up. He'd reassured you there was nothing left for you. You'd deserved to move on; deserve to live for yourself instead of for everyone else.

Your heart swelled. For so long you’d been burdened by leaving home for a better life. You tried to figure out why it bothered you so, not realizing all you really needed was for someone to tell you it was going to be alright. You’d only needed a little reassurance all along.

His voice filtered through your ears again, another deep baritone verse began to play, painting an entirely new picture. The song went on to repeat how you didn't have to be sorry for doing it all on your own; for living your life on your own. You swallowed hard. You'd done it all on your own.

And you really had.

You’d done it on your own because you’d believed you had to. You didn’t need to do that anymore, to guard yourself so harshly.

You didn’t need to do it alone anymore. But all the same, you didn’t need to apologize for going off and leaving your parents behind.

What happened was not your fault. You’d loved your parents in your own way. While there may have been regrets, there was no need to stick this burden upon yourself.

Another verse, and the voice—Yoongi's voice—was reassuring you that they—your family; the words of the past—couldn't hurt you anymore as long as you could let them go. As long as you could let the past go, release it from your grasp, and release yourself from its burden . . . then you could truly live.

Forgiveness was what you needed. You needed to forgive them. Then, you needed to forgive yourself.

You’d repented long enough. It was time to let the past go.

The song slowly sang the last two verses, the words the same. But a simple line stuck out to you. It was Yoongi singing, his voice lower compared to the rest of the song, his words painting the picture that you could surround yourself around people who would always be there, who would always support you. You didn't have to seek their validation.

As the song iterated, this family that you could start all on your own would be yours. It wouldn't be tainted by the past. It was yours, not your mother's or your father's ghost . . . it was just utterly yours.

You could move on; you could let yourself move on.

And just like that, the floodgates opened . . .

Unable to stop yourself, you blinked, more tears trickling down through the floodgates and onto your cheeks. You never knew he could see just how much the burdens placed on you by your parents had wielded your mind. You never knew he’d seen that part of you—the part of you still searching for validation with wide, hopeful eyes.

You can let it go, the song had sung. These were the words he couldn’t say but so desperately wanted you to know.

It was a simple message.

He’d told you long ago that jazz had started in a little place in New Orleans where no one could speak to each other, so they spoke through music. He’d spoken to you through this song . . . and you’d heard him.

You heard him.

And he saw you.

A hand touching your arm was the only thing to bring you out of your trance. You blinked, a few more tears trickling down your face as you glanced over your shoulder to meet Yoongi's searching gaze. He looked almost . . . anxious. It was cute, you thought.

"So?" he muttered out, clearing his throat when he heard the hoarseness of his voice. "What'd you think?" He wiped away your fallen tears with his thumbs.

You only stared at him, taking him in. For a long time now, you hadn't truly looked at Yoongi. But there he was, staring right back at you and you couldn't help but get wrapped up in his features. From his button nose to the smile lines just in the crinkle of his eyes, you took all of him in. Your eyes even fell upon the small freckle on his nose, and you remembered you'd claimed it as your favorite thing about him when you were a mere child. It still remained one of your favorite things about him.

But Yoongi, more anxious than he'd ever let on, shifted beneath you, averting his gaze briefly as a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Is it creepy?" he sighed, closing his eyes in regret. "Fuck, it's a creep move, isn't it? I knew—"

"Min Yoongi," you quickly cut him off with a soft laugh, "you really are a sap at heart."

Slowly, Yoongi glanced up, eyes wide. "What?"

You laughed a little louder in response.

God, you loved him.

"You wrote me a song," you simply said, a toothy grin still on your face.

His expression lifted at your words, then he tilted his head, screwing up his face as he strained out, "Well . . . "

It was your turn to widen your eyes in astonishment. "An album ?"

Yoongi sent you a sheepish tight-lipped smile, and nodded. "Is it entirely too . . . sappy to say you've been—" he shrugged, thinking of his words before he continued— " something of a muse to me?"

"Yes, entirely. "

"Guess I'm fucked then."

You shook your head, your cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling. But you didn't care. This was bliss.

And in your blissful haze, you shifted in his lap a little more, wrapping your arms around his neck before you pressed your lips against his. The kiss was fleeting, but it managed to warm your entire being, providing a comfort you never thought you'd need.

You pulled back a second later. "No, not entirely fucked," you mused, kissing his nose, right on the freckle you adored. "You're lucky I'm so self-absorbed." A click of your tongue, and you continued. "I mean, don't get me wrong, this is totally just charity work, but what can I say? I just love my fans."

Yoongi's eyes roamed over your face as he shook his head. "You're the worst," he hummed, a hint of a smile twitching at his lips while his hands remained at your waist, keeping a steady grip on you.

"Clearly, not," you taunted, brows furrowing. "I mean damn, you're giving me a big head."

A low groan escaped Yoongi as he tilted his head back, baring his neck to you. "The worst," he muttered, his Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke.

That was enough to set you off, lust immediately filling you.

What?

He had a beautiful neck. God, did he ever.

Almost subconsciously, your hand came up to fist the hair near the nape of his neck, tugging it back ever so slightly to reveal more of his neck to you. You only grew greedier as your mouth attacked his neck. You licked a long strip up the column of his neck, running over his Adam's apple, and vocally voicing your approval when you felt him swallow under your touch.

You continued your exploration of his neck, pressing open-mouth kisses up his jaw, lapping and swirling at the skin as you made your way to his ear. You teased the skin just under his ear very briefly, sucking the flesh, and you could've sworn you'd heard him inhale sharply as his hand tightened on your waist, but it was too quiet to be sure.

Then, you devilishly grinned against his skin before your tongue flicked out to wet his ear. You took it a step further, enveloping the lobe of his ear into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around the piercings while you gently sucked the skin. When you bit down ever so slightly, he'd shifted beneath you, a soft, barely audible moan being coaxed from his chest.

At the sound, you sucked lightly on the indents you'd made, slowly pulling back with a complacent smile sitting on your face. His head lolled forward, lidded eyes connecting with yours as you took note of his slightly parted lips.

"Still the worst?" you smugly questioned, trailing a finger along the marks you'd made on his neck.

Yoongi only shook his head in disbelief, grinning as he briefly tilted his head back, a vocal sigh tipping from his lips before he straightened his neck and locked eyes with you once more. Definitely not the worst. He just didn't want to admit that.

Didn't matter. You had other plans anyway.

"So—" you began, dragging your nails down his chest in a gentle graze— "soundproof, you say?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," he snorted, pushing your face away.

Oh? He didn't understand what you were getting at. You stifled a laugh. Cute.

That same misunderstanding gave you enough motive to exploit it. You'd shifted on his lap, steadying your hands on his shoulders so you wouldn't fall as you placed knees on either side of his thighs. You didn't stop there, either. No, instead, you decided to tease him, tilting your hips ever so slightly toward him as your short skirt rode up your thighs. Never once did your eyes meet his as you sat down completely on his lap, skirt now bunched up at your hips and red panties peeking out just enough for him to see.

Only then did you flick your eyes up to meet his, a half-grin twisted onto your face as you took in his expression. He was looking at you like that again—mouth slightly parted as dark, lidded eyes traced your features, glancing down to where your bodies met every so often. You gave a roll of your hips, to confirm your suspicions. As you rutted against him, your core brushed firmly against his hardened length straining in his pants, and you grinned in response.

"Wanna put it to use?" you questioned. "The room . . . of course. We could listen to the album all the way up . . . or . . . "

His eyes grew darker, clouding over. "Don't tempt me, angel," he groaned under his breath, but his grip on you tightened, his arm wrapping around your back as he pulled you closer. His other hand drifted to your neck, thumb grazing your jaw. "I can only control myself for so long around you."

Something snapped within you, your core aching for him. That was when you felt it—the sticky wetness clinging to your folds. You rolled against his length again, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips while you watched Yoongi close his eyes, jaw clenched.

"Can't help it," you all but whined, fisting his shirt in your hand. "Want you to fuck me so bad. You wrote me a song, Yoonie. Let me show you how grateful I am. Please .”

"Don't say that," he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes still closed.

"Why not?" you breathlessly questioned as you ground against him again, almost certain your wetness had leaked through your underwear and now begun to form a wet spot on the front of Yoongi's pants.

A low groan sounded from the back of his throat, and he didn't give you time to think before his hands were gripping your hips again. His grip on you tightened, holding you in place as he bucked up into you, grinding his clothed length against your aching core. Your grip on his shirt became a lifeline as he rolled his hips against yours, stimulating your clit with every thrust and leaving you a gasping mess. But the feeling was gone almost as soon as it came as Yoongi grasped you against him, arm wrapped around your waist again, securing you to his chest as his other hand threaded through your hair. He'd tugged on your hair just enough to bare your neck to him before he'd leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

And then . . . then he spoke. "Because it makes me want to rip off those soaked panties and fuck you right here like the dirty girl you are," he darkly whispered, his voice stern yet slowly cracking under your touch.

"And that's a bad thing?" you questioned, drawling out your words. You trailed your eyes down his chest, catching sight of the uneven breaths. A smirk quirked onto your face at the sight before you slipped out of his grasp and sunk to the floor, kneeling between his spread-out legs. "Want you to fill me up, Yoonie. Want you." You placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly.

"Fuck," he groaned out, elongating the word as he dragged his hands through his dark locks. "I had a plan, you know?"

"Mmm, plans change, plan guy," you hummed, pleasantly, rubbing your hand up and down his thigh. You glanced at him through your lashes, lips twitching upward as you leaned forward and began placing your lips on his thighs, kissing him through the fabric standing in your way. "You've been teasing me all week. Making me sit on your cock. Taunting me with it. Do you know how many times I've had to get myself off in the shower, pretending my fingers were . . . something else. It's just cruel, Yoonie."

His hands dragged down over his face, covering his features from your view. He gave a vocal sigh, and hissed out a laugh, "What are you doing to me?"

"You say that a lot," was all you managed, hands coming up to trace the zipper to his pants.

He dropped his hands, resting them on either side of the armrests, and clutching them so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You make me think it a lot," he admitted, eyes attentive as they watched you slowly unzip his pants, then teasingly fold down the hem.

Your eyes flicked up to his face, watching his expression. "This OK?" you pondered aloud, asking for permission.

Much to your elation, Yoongi could only nod, not trusting his tongue as he clamped his jaw shut. You were tugging his dark pants off him with his help as he lifted his lower body so you could pull the material down his legs. In a second, you threw the pants on the other side of the studio, eyes quickly falling upon the impressive tent in his boxers. His eyes met yours then, brows raising as if to say, Go on.

And you obliged with a roll of your eyes. Your hands were on him again in an instant, curling around the hem of his boxers before you'd tugged those off his body and discarded them on the floor. With eyes flicking back to his lower half, you were met with his hardened length, standing tall, the pink tip damp with precum. He was all shades of beige, pink, and so very very enticing. You couldn't help but grind your core against the heel of your shoe, creating little friction to subside the ache blooming within you.

You swallowed hard, your eyes meeting his. He stared back at you, eyes dark and lidded and solely focused on you and your every movement. You felt like the focal point of his attention; his muse as he had said.

That very thought spurred you on. With a slow bat of your lashes, a knowing smile touched your lips ever so slightly as you shifted on your knees, leaning closer to his lower half. You'd wrapped your hand around his shaft, thumb grazing over the small slit at the head of his cock as you spread the precum. The touch was enough to coax a hiss out of him. A grin was your only response as you traced the rim around the head. You had him right where you wanted him.

A darker gaze clouded over your eyes then, not looking away from him as you slowly—so slow it could be considered torture—licked the head of his cock. Your warm tongue lapped over the small slit, gathering all the precum in your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed as you swallowed his arousal, humming a soft moan of contentment, already working yourself up over the thought of seeing him squirm under the touch of your tongue.

But you didn't get the chance to take him in your mouth again.

"Fuck it," you heard him hiss out instead.

His hands were on you in an instant. With a startled gasp, your eyes flung open just in time to see him stand to his feet, pulling you up along with him as he kicked the chair, letting it hit the door without a care. His lips found yours a second later, sucking, biting, and melding your tongues together in a punishing dance. You melted into his touch, humming sounds of approval as his grip on you tightened at every noise which spurred from your throat. You couldn't even pinpoint where his hands touched; one second they were squeezing your hips, then your sides, your ass, your tits, everywhere. It was almost as if he couldn't get enough of you, trying to memorize every curve and slope of your body.

Then, he pulled back, leaving you breathless with your lips swollen and tingling from his torment. Your eyes fluttered open a second later, finding his gaze already on you, taking in the swell of your puffy lips. And then . . . then the bastard dropped to his knees, eyes flicking from your panties to your flustered face. He didn't give you enough time to react before he pressed you back, your hands shooting out to stabilize yourself against his desk. Generously, he allowed you to inhale sharply before his fingers hooked around the hem of your panties, pulling them down along with your skirt, and tossing them somewhere.

You whined at the coolness which met your bare core, rolling your hips ever so slightly. This seemed to amuse Yoongi further as a sly grin slid onto his face while he looked up at you with mirth in his eyes.

"Eager?" he taunted, tonguing his inner cheek as he continued to grin.

A huff from your lips was the only response he gained from you. You didn't trust your tongue. But as he hoisted one of your legs up onto his shoulder and blew cold air across your aching cunt, earning a strangled gasp from you, you couldn't help the words which left you. "Oh, fuck you," you hissed out, tightening your grip around the desk that was holding you up.

He pressed a teasing kiss against your inner thigh. "So mean," he mumbled before he began to suck, lapping and biting a bruise into the skin.

"Ngh! You are infuriating, Min Yoongi," you rushed out as you felt his lips suck higher and higher, inching closer and closer to your core. "Living in my goddamn head for months now. Dreaming of your touch. How your tongue would feel. Your fingers. That cock. God—" He flicked his tongue across your clit ever so slightly, and you yelped— "fucking sadist. Fuckin—Ah!"

His mouth was on your core in an instant. All words died on your tongue, your mind numbing as you felt his tongue lick a strip up your slit, dipping into your warm heat briefly before his mouth closed around your clit, sucking the nub. You were left a panting mess, rolling your hips against his skilled tongue as he continued his punishing torment, lapping and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, simultaneously making you forget every thought until all you could think was fuck, fuck, fuck.

You wished you had more room to balance yourself so you could thread your hands through those dark locks, but he kept you pinned against his desk. It was utter torture, twitching under his warm tongue and not being able to touch him. You whimpered against him at the thought.

His hands gripped around your ass, squeezing the flesh. "So that's how I get you to shut up," he mused, darkly. He flicked his tongue repeatedly over your sensitive nub, the motion quick and blissful. Then, he pulled back, pressing a taunting kiss against your core before he spoke again. "Noted."

In that moment, flustered with pent-up desire, you gathered the strength to peel your eyes open and look down at him, finding his eyes already on you as he blew cool air across your dripping cunt in an attempt to soothe the pulsing. But you knew there was only one thing that could satisfy that deep ache.

"Please," you rasped out, voice hoarse you barely recognized it. "Please, fuck me."

Yoongi only grinned wider.

Cocky bastard.

You whined in response. God, you'd never been this deprived before.

His mouth was on you again the next second, sucking on that bundle of nerves. And you were left to grind against his tongue, shamelessly. He chuckled against you, the vibrations only spurring you on more.

"Needy needy needy," he mused as his thumb grazed up, dipping into your heat ever so slightly. "And so . . . wet. "

But you were stuck on his other statement. The cocky son of a bitch was mocking your words. (It seemed Min Yoongi didn't like to be teased, and well, neither did you.) So you found yourself scoffing. "Oh, you are not using my own words—ah—" your words were cut off as a sharp staccato yelp left your lips when his sucking against your clit became more intense, needier . . . like he was truly a man starved, in need of your desperate whimpers— "against me, Min Yoongi."

"Always so sensitive," he remarked, gently grazing his teeth over your clit, earning a jerk of your hips from you. “Needy, too. ”

You cursed under your breath as you felt his tongue lay flat against your core once again. And you couldn't help it, you rolled your hips, grinding against his tongue, brushing your clit in just the right way. A low moan sounded from the back of your throat as you felt the familiar coil in your lower stomach begin to wound up. You began to chase it, breaths coming out faster as you quickened your pace, being held up now solely by Yoongi's tight grip on your thighs and ass.

Throwing your head back, you fisted a hand in his hair, not caring if your legs gave out on you. Yoongi would keep you steady.

Losing yourself in the feeling, the rhythm of your hips snapping against his skilled tongue was enough to coax continuous soft moans from your puffy lips. And just when you felt the coil begin to tease you a little too much, Yoongi slipped two fingers into your heat, curling inside of you right where your sweet spot lay. You cried out, core clenching around him as you continued to fuck yourself on his tongue while his fingers pumped in and out of you at a punishing pace.

It became too much, your lower stomach tightening as your muscles pulsed. "Fuck, oh fuck—Yoongi, I don't think I can," you stammered out, your rushed breathing turning into desperate pants.

"I know. I know. Let go. Let go, baby," Yoongi hummed.

Let go, he'd whispered, and you complied. His fingers stroked your sweet spot, his mouth sucking on your swollen clit as the coil snapped, causing you to cry out. Your muscles tightened, your core pulsing as your high broke through every part of your body, your head tilting back in ecstasy as those soft moans pipped out of you in hiccups. His fingers stayed inside you, mouth still working against you as he helped you ride out your high until you were whining and twisting in his arms from overstimulation.

His hands were soft against your skin, gently helping you stabilize yourself against the desk as he stood to his feet. He wrapped an arm around your waist, stepping closer to you until you were chest to chest, with his face dipping into the crook of your neck. A whimper left your lips when he bit down on your sweet spot, then lapped at the indentations. But that soft whimper was all it took before Yoongi was kissing you again, his lips rough and needy against yours. His tongue melded with yours and that was when you tasted it—your arousal coating his tongue.

You couldn't help it, you moaned at the taste. There was just something about how bold he was; how much he wanted to eat you out. It was arousing, almost too much to the point your entire body buzzed once the taste hit your senses.

Even more, it was almost embarrassing the effect it had on you. Because one second you were still recovering from your orgasm, then with one taste, you were aching for him again, subtly guiding your hand down to his still solid length. Your hand wrapped around the base, coaxing a shocked groan out of him, and at the sound and feel of him, you couldn't help but whimper in response.

"Please," you all but cried into his mouth.

Guiding his cock to your core, you used the tip to smear your arousal around, even going as far as to punish yourself when you grazed over your clit. Another whimper vibrated in your throat as the painful sensitivity hit you, but you continued brushing against him as you flicked your gaze to meet his, searching his eyes for an understanding. You were only met with a cheeky grin.

His hand clasped around your jaw, putting pressure there. "Still want my cock even after I've made you cum?" he silkily taunted. His other hand reached around to grab your ass, kneading the plump flesh just to hear you whimper under his touch once again. He chuckled, darkly, shaking his head. "You really are a dirty girl."

"I hate you so much," you huffed out, clearing your hoarse voice.

Bemused, Yoongi scrunched his nose, tilting his head to the side as he dragged his eyes down your body. "Nah, you really don't," he countered, biting his inner cheek as his eyes lifted back up to meet yours. "You wanna know how I know that?"

You could only nod, swallowing hard.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him wrap a hand around the base of his cock, replacing your shaking fingers. Then, you felt the tip line up with your entrance and you nearly bucked forward. Fuck. This was really happening. This was—

"Because, this—" the tip of his cock jutted inside your folds, making your breath hitch, but he didn't sink any deeper— "doesn't lie."

A noise sounded from the back of your throat in preparation, but much to your dismay, Yoongi slipped out of you. You all but whined at him, glaring as he chuckled at your protests.

"Yoongi, you motherfucker, if you don't fuck me right now I swear—"

"Swear what?" he cut you off, a warning thumb pressing down on your clit.

You stood shocked, jaw shut tight. No words came to mind. You just stared at him.

That seemed to amuse him further, eyes twinkling with mirth, so much so it almost took over the glassy look. "Ah, empty threats," he hummed, clicking his tongue as he loosened his grip on you. "Be a good girl for me and turn over. Wanna see this ass."

With a final squeeze to your ass, he stepped back, allowing you enough room to do as you pleased. You stared at him a little longer, swallowing hard as the aching between your thighs became unbearable. Then, you did as he asked, turned around, and bent down over the desk. Shamelessly, you spread your legs and arched your back, giving him a full view of your needy cunt, glistening with arousal.

A low groan sounded from him at the sight of you, only making your cunt throb more. But you didn't have time to bask in his shameless approval. His hands were on you the next second, placed on your hips, his fingers digging into your hipbones as you felt him step an inch closer to you. He leaned down over you, chest pressed against your back as he kissed your hair.

"Want me to fuck you, angel?" he murmured into your hair, and that was when you felt him grind his cock into your bare ass, eliciting a sound of shock out of you.

"Fuck, yes," you breathed out, arching into his touch.

With a dark chuckle, he pulled away from you but his hands remained secure around you. "Prove it," he mused, squeezing your hips. "Can you count to five?"

What? You nearly rolled your eyes at his antics. Always the one to tease . . . Min Yoongi. (You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it thoroughly.)

Still, you had half the mind to question him. "Is that supposed to be some stupid attempt at undermining me?"

"Nah—" one of his hands had shifted to grip your ass, kneading the plump flesh as he pulled the skin taut just enough to catch a further look at your aching core— "just wanna see if you can keep count for me."

"Keep count for—"

A hand came down on your ass, pain rippling from the impact.

"Fuck!" you cried down in a high-pitched moan, jerking forward against the desk.

That was when you realized what he just did. Yoongi'd smacked your ass. He'd actually just spanked you. And fuck, did it manage to turn you on even more. You felt yourself clench around nothing as you collected your thoughts.

Then, you heard his voice. "You like that?" he questioned, hesitance entangled in his tone almost as if he were asking for your permission to continue.

God, did you shamelessly shake your head ‘yes, yes, yes!’ with so much vigor you were sure you'd made yourself lightheaded. That, however, had been enough to amuse Yoongi as he chuckled above you, his hand kneading your ass once again.

"Good, count," he hummed before he spanked your ass once again, kneading the flesh to soothe it when you cried out.

"Two," you choked out, trying to grip at anything to stabilize yourself.

Yoongi continued spanking you, leaving you a mumbling mess as you counted with each pleasurable smack. You were sure your arousal had begun to leak down your inner thighs now as he delivered a fourth smack to your ass. Groaning a sigh of approval, Yoongi pulled your cheeks taut, your aching core on display for his eyes. He couldn't help himself, he touched his pointer and middle fingers to your cunt, dipping into your pulsing hole and giving you a few teasing pumps before he pulled out of you completely.

"Almost there, baby," he affirmed, his voice strained.

You nodded, readying yourself before he brought down another spank onto your ass, causing you to whimper a soft, five.

"So good," he cooed, leaning down to kiss your clothed back. "Such a good girl." He kneaded your sore cheeks, soothing the ache.

Once able to catch your breath, you stammered out, "Why—Why five?"

"Halfway to ten," Yoongi remarked and you could practically hear the smirk on his face. "Gonna fuck you through the other half." You felt him shift behind you, then the feeling of him aligning the tip of his cock with your entrance made you arch your back in anticipation. He chuckled once more. "You still want it raw?"

You could only nod (a little too quickly).

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Gonna need to hear the words, baby."

You all but groaned. "Yes, Yoongi! Fuck, yes, fuck me raw, please I can't—shit! "

The tip of his cock dipping into your folds cut you off entirely. And then, he was sinking deeper, inch by inch, making you forget your train of thought entirely. Fuck, was he thicker than you remembered, stretching your walls as you clenched around him at the feeling. But you didn't mind the slight burn; you welcomed it, tilting your ass toward him, taking him further.

Uneven breathing left your lips as you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt, the feeling of your ass pressed flush against him hitting you all at once.

He groaned out a series of curses, gripping your hips tightly as he gave you time to adjust to his length. You ached with desire, clenching around his thickness, and nearly making him falter. You couldn't help it, it just felt so fucking good—the feeling of being filled by him. It was utterly carnal.

"Yoongi," you breathed out, already breathless as the feeling of him inside you quickly morphed from slight pain to immense pleasure and the desire to be fucked. "Please, please move." You all but sobbed, discarding your dignity as you openly begged him. "Wanna feel you."

"You're gonna be the death of me," he groaned before he drew back, leaving only his tip inside you.

A brief second passed. Your breath hitched. Then, he snapped his hips, plunging into you with such force, the tip of his cock nearly kissed your cervix. And he didn’t stop there, he continued pounding into you, setting a ruthless pace and fucking you through your uneven gasps. You clenched around him, gripping onto the edge of the desk to stabilize yourself as his cock sunk deeper and deeper, hitting places you’d never even felt before.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You only felt the pleasure of his cock fucking into you, wet squelching sounds filling the air, tangling with his soft grunts and your low moans.

Pain suddenly pinched your ass, coaxing a high-pitched moan from your lips as you realized Yoongi had spanked you. Your core pulsed, squeezing him tighter at the mere thought.

"Feel so good," Yoongi groaned out, voice hoarse as his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your hips. "So fucking tight. Shit, greedy pussy taking me so well. Fucking greedy. Fucking filthy.” Another spank to your ass before he pulled your cheeks apart, watching as his cock fucked into you. “Fuck." He slowed down his pace, rolling his hips, hitting deeper and harder than before if that were even possible.

His pace began to steady, fucking you hard but not quite as fast as before. It was almost as if he were trying to savor this moment; flesh you out entirely; feel all of you. And you were left at his mercy while he spanked your ass when your moans grew louder.

Then, he pressed a hand to your lower back, pushing down for a better angle. And fuck. Once his hips snapped, his cock plunging into you at that same agonizing rate, you felt him brush against your sweet spot. Unable to stop yourself, you cried out, a panting mess as you pulsed around him, sucking him in.

Yoongi chuckled, dry and sensual. "Oh, yeah? There?" he hummed, amused.

"Yes, god, yes! Don’t fucking stop," you moaned out, not even trying to hide just how close you were to the end.

Another chuckle came from his lips at your words as he continued fucking into you, hitting that sweet spot over and over. His hands were gripping your ass again, squeezing the flesh and pulling it apart to watch his cock plunge deeper and deeper into your wet folds. "This fucking ass," he growled. He actually fucking growled as his fingernails dug into your cheeks and he quickened his pace ever so slightly. "Can you do one more for me, baby?"

And you knew what he meant—his words holding a double meaning. You knew the answer to both.

With dignity out the door, you nodded, mouth wide open in ecstasy. You were sure you’d begun to drool onto his desk, but you didn’t care. This was too good. Too fucking good.

The warmth pooling in your lower stomach only heightened as you felt his hand deliver one more pleasurable spank to your ass, coaxing a high-pitched moan out of you. But you weren’t given time to adjust to the slight pain in your ass. No, one second you felt the small pinch, then the next, Yoongi was bucking into you with such vigor that you had to shoot your hand out to stop yourself from hitting the wall. You didn’t even care. You just felt Yoongi’s thick cock hit your sweet spot again and again, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

The coil taunted you, winding and winding up. You could only moan in response, begging for it to snap. That was when you felt your core clench, practically causing you to sob under the force of his cock snapping into you.

"You gonna cum?" Yoongi chuckled through his breathless grunts, his pace never letting up. "Can feel you sucking me in, clenching around me. Greedy greedy greedy."

He was mocking you. You’d get him back . . . eventually. But right now? God, you didn’t have half the mind to care.

All your care slipped away entirely the moment his fingers dipped around you, pressing down on your clit as he rubbed firm circles onto the sensitive nub. You cried out at the added stimulation, ears beginning to ring as you thrashed underneath him.

Still, through the ringing and your own cries, you heard Yoongi command, "Cum for me, yeah?"

And you obliged.

Everything pulsed as he kept his relentless pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his fingers worked skillfully against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure building and building. Then, you heard a small groan leave Yoongi’s lips, and that set you off. The coil snapped inside you, allowing you the release you had so desperately desired. You screamed out, hands sweatily sliding against the desk while your cunt clenched around Yoongi’s cock, squeezing him for all he had as you melted into your blissful high.

He fucked you through your high, allowing you to unravel completely. He gave you a few more pumps before he pulled out, his cock still hard and aching for his own release. But he let you come down from it all, whispering praises in your ear and rubbing your back as you tried to calm your breathing.

When you could finally get a grasp on reality, you weakly lifted your head and glanced over your shoulder to find Yoongi leaning over you, lust still clouding his expression and . . . cock still hard enough to cut granite. You swallowed; a deep part of you—the part that had been waiting for this moment of union for years now—still ached for him . . . to feel him . . . in every way.

As if reading your thoughts, Yoongi whispered, "Think you can take a little more? . . . Don’t worry if you can’t. I rather like the idea of cumming on your tits." There was that sly grin again.

You only bit your lip to halt your own grin. "I want you to cum inside me, Yoonie,” you hummed, sweetly.

The grin on his face grew, causing him to shake his head. You amaze me, that grin seemed to say. And you relished in that fact alone.

He leaned toward you, kissing your cheek. “Such a good girl to me. So fucking sweet," he whispered before he leaned back, allowing you enough room to move. "Turn over. Wanna see you."

And who were you to disobey?

With a dopey grin on your face, you used all your strength to stand to your feet, finding your legs more wobbly than you thought. You laughed at the feeling, stabilizing yourself against Yoongi by placing your hands on his shoulders for support. He’d only hummed at you, softly dragging his knuckles down the slope of your body before his hands met the material of your shirt’s hem. He’d lifted it off your body, adding it to the tossed clothes on the ground.

Much to his surprise, your bare chest met his gaze. You beamed up at him, no longer sheepish at the fact you’d chosen not to wear a bra that day. Yoongi only raised a brow, eyes flicking from your hardened nipples to your glassy eyes.

“Presumptuous?” he mused, placing his warm hand over the mound of one of your breasts. The action made you sigh into him, tilting your head back ever so slightly. "So beautiful.” He pinched the nipple between his pointer and thumb before he dipped his head down to catch your neglected bud in his mouth. Briefly, he sucked the peak before pulling back and releasing it with a pop. "Fucking angel."

"Careful, Min—"

He cut you off as soon as he pinched your nipple, twisting it between his fingers. A mangled breath hitched in your throat as you arched into his touch. Your eyes flicked up to meet his then, finding them consumed by mirth as that damned half-grin resided on his lips. He’d done that on purpose. Fucker.

"You were saying?" he teased, raising a brow.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. "Just fuck me, you asshole.”

Yoongi only grinned wider at that, pure amusement and raging lust consuming his soft features. "Only because you asked so nicely," he hummed . . . and then . . . he winked. He fucking winked.

But you weren’t able to respond before his hands were on you again, pressing you against the desk so you could lean your weight onto it as he lifted one of your legs onto his hip. He tugged you closer while one of his hands drifted down to his aching cock, gripping around the thick base as he guided the tip to align with your swollen entrance.

"Eyes on me," he clicked at you.

Your eyes immediately found his, searching through the sea of lust and mirth, and then you felt it—his cock slipping past your folds with ease now. It was almost impossible to stop the soft whimper which left your lips as you felt his hard length stretch your tight walls, inch by inch. You were sure you’d never get used to this euphoric feeling, and god, did you revel in that.

With one more inch, he’d bottomed out, your cunt taking him all the way to the hilt as the two of you inhaled at the feeling. You clenched around him, still sensitive from your previous two orgasms, and dreadfully tired, but Yoongi didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

What shocked you, however, was the way he was staring at you, soaking in all your features as if in pure awe. It’d had an effect on you, making your brows twitch in longing. This was really happening. This was real.

The corners of Yoongi’s mouth quirked into a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, like that,” he whispered, softly before pressing his lips against yours.

Only a second had passed before he’d leaned his forehead against yours and whispered for you to brace yourself, before you felt his cock slowly slide out of you until just the tip was enveloped by your folds. He gave you just enough time to inhale, and then his hips snapped forward, bucking into you with a punishing rhythm.

The way he fucked you—relentlessly pounding into you, his nails digging into your hips as he hit all the right spots over and over again; it was almost sinful. You felt like a fucking sinner, and god did it make your soul burn with pride. And the soft grunts that’d sound from the back of his throat managed to raise every hair on your body. You never wanted him to stop.

And then . . . then you squeezed around him, milking his cock, and a soft whimper that was different from the rest left his lips, and you swore you thought you were going to melt right then. Because holy fuck, that was hot.

You repeated the action, purposely clenching around his cock as hard as your muscles would allow you, and that soft needy sound tumbled from his tongue, this time in short pants. It’d coaxed a moan of your own out of you, as you gave a light laugh. This, however, seemed to spur Yoongi on as he grunted, his grip on you tightening just before he began pounding into you at an even faster, harder, more relentless rate.

His thrusts left you a whining mess, forcing you to slam your hands down on the desk for support. And he didn’t stop, chuckling as he fucked into you. Then when he set that ruthless pace, you could have sworn you felt his cock twitch against your tight folds.

The whimper he gave a second later confirmed your suspicions. "Shit—I," he huffed out, his breathing uneven and jagged. His thrusts became weaker, his whimpers louder now, and his grip loosening as he continued pounding into you.

He was a fucking mess, and you thrived off it.

You swallowed your moans once he hit that sweet spot again. "What's the matter, Yoon? Gonna cum?" you taunted, relishing in the fact that you were making the stoic Min Yoongi an utter mess.

Yoongi lowered his head to your neck, stabilizing himself against you. "Gonna fuck that mouth one day you won't be able to speak," he grunted, grip tightening on your hip as he shifted your leg ever so slightly to plunge deeper inside of you.

"I'll hold you to it," you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Yeah?" he taunted.

"Ye—"

He’d bit down on your neck the next second, making you cry out in pleasure. "Yeah, take my fucking cock," he groaned out, snapping his hips at a faster rate, but each thrust became sloppier, less meticulous the more he indulged himself. He was close.

A dopey grin fell upon your face as you realized this, clenching around him again. He gave a groan of submission, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was so fucking close. So so so close, and you reveled in this, wishing to tip him over the edge. With that thought on your mind, your hands shaky, you reached under your leg and cupped his balls, massaging them the best you could with the position you were in.

He nearly fell on top of you, bracing himself with one arm on the desk. "Like that—shit, shit, shit, like—fuuuuck, ” he whimpered out, thrusting once more before he stilled, his hips shaking slightly as a low moan sounded from the back of his throat. His hips gave a smaller thrust before he spilled his load into you as he tilted his head back at the pure ecstasy which consumed him.

You marveled at him, taking in his closed eyes and parted lips while he still held onto you as if he were scared to lose you the moment you were out of his grasp. You knew then that you really did love him. Truly. Completely. With your whole heart. You loved this man in every form, every way.

You couldn’t help yourself, you reached out to slick back his damp hair that’d stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’d slowly come down from his high, his cock twitching inside you once more before he lifted his head, eyes locking with yours as a dazed smile graced his face. His lidded gaze trailed over your face, flicking down to your lips before he crashed into you, melding your lips against his in a brief, warm kiss.

Then, he pulled back, but stayed close, his forehead pressed against yours. He stayed inside you, too, his cock softening inside your walls as his cum seeped past, trickling down your thighs. "That was—" he cut himself off, tilting back only slightly so he could see your face in full view. His brows twitched then as if he realized something before words that stunned you tumbled from his tongue. "I love you."

You snorted in disbelief. Sure, he felt something deep for you, but . . . come on. "Shut—"

He’d only cut you off with another kiss. "No, I love you,” he pressed again, his face lightening as the words left him like he was hearing them for the first time too; like he was realizing it for the first time. And then . . . then he’d smiled—a wide, genuine smile filled with teeth and crinkled eyes. "I—fuck—I love you." Another kiss to your lips, then your nose, your cheeks, and finally your forehead before he pulled back, still grinning down at you. "I fucking love you."

But you remained . . . shocked. "Yoongi . . ."

And you watched as Yoongi’s face quickly crumbled before your very eyes. "Damn, harsh, wait until I pull out before you reject me, sweetheart."

You were quick to stop him from pulling out of you, hands grasping his hips. "No, no, stay, I just . . . “

The words on your tongue died as your mind spiraled. The thing was . . . no one had ever confessed that to you before, let alone the only person you’d managed to love in your life. All the hookups, all the month-long relationships, all the people you’d toyed with over the years . . . and not one had ever loved you. A few of them had managed to convince you of this, but ended up cheating on you with someone else, someone better later down the line. So you’d never really believed anyone.

And now . . . now Min Yoongi stood before you, confessing that his heart beat for yours in the purest way possible, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. You just . . . you needed to hear him mean it.

Your eyes finally flicked up to meet his again in that moment, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Then, you pressed a hand against his chest right where his heart beat, and you found yourself asking, “Do you mean it?"

In other words, you’d asked him if after all this time, after all the years, all the fights, all the history . . . did he truly want you. Would he truly accept you?

And Yoongi had only smiled, a soft comforting smile as if to say, always.

Then, he spoke. "I've been an idiot for almost two decades now,” he began, his hands quickly finding your face as his thumbs grazed your cheekbones. “I've let you slip through my fingers too many fucking times. I'm not doing that again. I'm not going to live a life without you. Never again. I've always loved you, angel. Just took me a little to figure it out . . . took me even longer to find a way to say it."

Your brows twitched at his confession, a small smile finding its way to your face. "You are such an idiot," you laughed as you placed your hands over his, nuzzling into his touch.

"I know. I know.”

And once his lips touched your forehead in a gentle kiss once again, you couldn’t stop the floodgates. Your eyes squeezed shut, your bottom lip trembling as you hummed shakily.

You didn’t know what had caused it. Perhaps it was everything at once. But one second you felt this tremendous joy, then the next everything was bursting out of you. And you couldn’t help it, you’d let a few tears trickle down your cheeks.

"No, no, don't—don't cry," Yoongi rushed out, wiping away the salty tears with his thumbs. "I hate making you cry."

"I'm not sad, you dumbass. Sometimes you are so dense, Min Yoongi," you laughed through your tears, kissing his palm. “It’s just . . . “

It was just . . . you were just so . . . happy. For the first time in a long time, you could pinpoint this emotion, and you felt it in extremes. This was bliss.

You unravel me, his words filtered through your ears then. You unravel me.

And you thought that was exactly how you’d explain the emotions you felt at that very moment. Min Yoongi had a way of unraveling you completely, allowing you to bare your soul, and you had the same effect on him. Funny . . . how that worked.

You unravel me.

Then, your eyes found his, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It's just . . . you unravel me, too,” you finally confessed, earning a stunned expression from Yoongi. "You unravel me." The words left you again as you nodded in confirmation. "Completely."

You were only met with Yoongi pressing his lips down onto yours again. Warm, needy, and safe. You found sanctuary in his kiss.

You unravel me. His kiss confirmed that.

The trip home was anything but calm.

You and Yoongi were all over each other—hands, lips, tongues, teeth. There was not a second the two of you disconnected from one another. Your touches varying from soft to hard to needy even, slowly melting your thoughts until all you could think about was Yoongi and his lips and his hands and god, what that devious mouth could do.

Even when the two of you reached your shared apartment, Yoongi couldn’t keep his hands off you. He’d pushed you inside, slamming the door before he pressed you up against it and pulled you in for another heated kiss. It didn’t take long before you were moaning into his mouth, begging for him to touch you more.

“Oh, greedy are we?” he taunted, sucking on your bottom lip. “Gonna fuck you so hard you lose your voice.”

You whimpered.

“Yeah?” he chuckled, darkly. “You like that? Want me to fuck that tight little pussy until you can’t scream no more?”

You opened your mouth to bite out a snarky response. Only . . . you never got the chance to respond.

One moment you were opening your mouth to retort, then the next you heard, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

Your heart flatlined, wide eyes focused on Yoongi.

Ever so slowly, you turned your head to face the person, your gaze landing on your brother, Seokjin, who had most definitely seen Yoongi kiss you. Scratch that, he’d most definitely heard Yoongi say he was going to fuck you. That . . . that was definitely so much worse. So so so much worse.

The wide-eyed expression on your brother’s face told you all you needed to know. The secret was out.

Seokjin knew.

You swallowed, hard.

Fuck.

653 notes · View notes

ending-the-cycle-ask · 1 year

Photo

~ The Good Doctor ~

———

Wanted to draw one of my favorite guys~ This was supposed to be a quick piece as a test, since I don’t draw my OCs for EtC in my regular style much, but. This ended up taking 6 hours instead of 1, whoops ^^; I’m proud of this though, I may continue drawing Watch’s scars this way. They look a lot more realistic—- I’ll probably draw Father Time in this style as well soon :)

As for EtC itself, I finally buckled and am letting Erik help me with art! Next update is kind of a doozy, especially for the lore, not to mention life has been getting in the way, so that’s why it’s taking so long, sorry ^^; I’ll spare you from more rambling, but it’s in the works!

#ending the cycle #etc etcetera #etc doctor watch #etc pocket watches #henry stickmin oc #OC #procreate #procreate art #procreate illustration #digital art #Digital Illustration #tw scars #scars

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streamafterlaughter · 3 months

Text

Fundamental Differing

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nav | chapter XXI | masterlist | playlist | pin board

Chapter XXII: Blood Sugar Sex Magik

tags/warnings (spoilers below the cut!): MDNI 18+ ONLY! angst, drama, confession, tension, ALL YOUR FAVORITES! rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, afab!gnc!reader, mentions of reader being bisexual. dual pov

a/n: buckle up people it’s a doozy. i think you’ll like it though.

cw: unprotected p in v, oral (afab receiving), graphic content not meant for people under 18. MDNI, NSFW.

a/n: haha. hey. hi guys. sorry for all that waiting… i hope it was worth it. This chapter is a little different, no prologue flashback, one scene instead of multiple. Decided this deserved its own chapter. a nice lil mindless sex scene for your reading pleasure. thanks SO SO MUCH for reading, and for your patience!

Disclaimer: i do not give permission to repost my work, please let me know if you see my writing posted anywhere else. reblogs welcome and encouraged to support the author!

—

Your POV

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You were drunk, but not too drunk to forget what you’d said last night.

The sunlight streams through the blinds, giving the room an orange glow. It’s early, but the bed next to you is empty. Understandably. Shit! You sit up, groaning as the movement makes your head throb. You’re in your underwear, and the shirt you’d worn to the bar last night. You can feel the underwire of your bra digging into your flesh. There was absolutely no reason to go that crazy last night, not if this is the aftermath.

As you’re gaining the courage to stand, the door swings open, and you catch Eddie’s eyes for a millisecond before he looks to the floor, face beet red, breakfast burrito clenched in his grip.

“Sorry, shit, I thought you would have left by now.” Eddie tries to leave the room, but you stop him before you know what you’re doing.

“Wait! Wait,” He stops, slowly stepping back into the room. “Eddie, I am so sorry.” You blurt the words out before you can chicken out. “That was so unfair to you. I was so wasted and I was celebrating, and I wanted to tell you about it but I-”

“Y/n,” Eddie’s voice is calm, firm. “Slow down.”

You take a deep breath, centering yourself. Your head has stopped spinning since Eddie’s appearance in front of you, but you try not to make too much of that. He’s dressed in his usual attire, a pair of black ripped jeans, beat up sneakers, and a well worn band t-shirt. Today’s choice just so happens to be the homemade, one of a kind Death Dance Approximately shirt you’d given to Eddie a lifetime ago. He’s since cropped it right above his navel, exposing his midriff, including a tattoo you’d forgotten existed: Your initials on his hip bone.

Shit!

“Okay,” You start, unsure of how you’re gonna dig yourself out of this one.”I want to apologize.”

Eddie’s face contorts, confusion carved into his features. He leans against the wall, still so far away from you.

“What for?”

You gesture loosely to the air. “Well, you know, everything. Last night.”

“Everything, huh?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he sounds hurt.

“It wasn’t fair. I was drunk, I shouldn’t have barged in here, put you in that position.” You trip over yourself, feeling your throat tighten. Do not fucking cry right now.

“Well,” Eddie draws the word out slowly as he pushes off the wall and towards you. “I can only accept that apology under a certain condition.” He looms over where you sit on the edge of the bed, surrounding you. He smells freshly like cigarettes and mint, clouding your brain as he fills your senses.

“And what would that condition be?” You try to sound unbothered, but your words come out meek, nervous.

“If you mean it or not.”

You gape at him, unblinking, waiting for him to crack, to say “Nah, I'm just kiddin’! We don’t have to get into this right now!” But he doesn’t. He takes another bite of his breakfast instead before tossing it on the dresser, completely unfazed by your silence.

“Do I mean that I'm sorry?” You’re playing very, very dumb right now.

Eddie isn’t willing to drop it, though. “Sweetheart, c’mon. We’re adults. I thought we were over this tiptoeing shit.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes rolling.

“I-” You huff, flustered with the way his neck flexes.. “Look. I didn’t want it to happen like that.” You look at him, determined to get through this without actually admitting anything. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Why not?” Eddie shrugs, like this is no big fucking deal.

–

Eddie’s POV

He really hopes you can’t tell he’s sweating. He can feel his heart in his throat, choking him with every breath. He keeps his eyes on you to focus. He can’t let you go again. Not after those words have left your mouth.

“Why not?!” You shake your head at him, frustration practically bursting out of your ears. Good, he thinks, you deserve to squirm a little. “How about, because this is what happened the first time? We moved too fast, we didn’t think, and look how that ended up! Or, how about, you’re supposed to be getting well, and the last fucking thing you need is me distracting you. Or, because if this doesn’t go well, we still have another month on the road together! And the fans, what are they gonna say when-”

“Stop.” Eddie shakes his head, kneeling on the floor in front of you. He should be pissed, but he can’t bring himself to be even a little upset. He has the upperhand now, and all he wants is to hear you say it again. Sober, this time. “Please, just tell me if you mean it.”

–

Your POV

I should lie to him. It’s not a good idea to tell him, not right now. You could take it back, this is your chance to make everything go back to that uncomfortable, tension riddled “normal” you’ve become so used to with Eddie. Things would be so much easier if you could just lie to him. But the way he’s looking at you, with a hopeful discretion, chocolate eyes wet with unfallen tears. makes every rational thought slide out of your brain, only leaving room for the way he’s pleading with you, wordlessly, as his hands grip yours tightly, hopefully.

“I mean it. Of course I fucking mean it, Eddie.” You barely get the words out before he’s climbing on top of you, hands letting go of yours to find purchase on the mattress either side of you, and you let yours fly to his hair, tangling your fingers through it like it’s second nature. You are quickly overwhelmed by him, your space completely infiltrated. The walls you’d been reinforcing to keep him out now crumble without a second thought, and he’s the one behind the wrecking ball.

“Thank fucking god.” He mumbles against your lips, and you smile into the kiss as he lays you down on the mattress.

“Eddie, wait,” You come to your senses, one final time as his mouth detaches from yours. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Eddie has moved his mouth to your jaw, and you feel him chuckle against your skin as he kisses down your throat. “Even after all these years, you still doubt that I want this? That I want you?” You can feel his hand slide up your shirt, his skin lighting yours on fire. “You are all I want. All I could ever want. In fact,” He pulls himself away from your neck to look at your face. He’s serious suddenly, all traces of sweet teasing gone. “I should be the one asking if you want this.” He moves to get off of you, but you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him down. You’re tired of pretending not to want him, of avoiding how you feel because it’s easier. “I do. I really, really do.”

Eddie groans as you pull him back to your lips, letting the kiss say everything you’ve wanted to this whole tour. You hold his face in your hands, afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. His hand finds your skin again, sliding up your back to where your bra is still clasped. You’re nodding before he can even get the question out, and you feel the relief as he unhooks the fabric. He tugs your shirt off swiftly, and you let the straps of your bra slide down your shoulders.

–

Eddie’s POV

He separates from you then, getting up to kneel in front of where you lay on the bed, mostly exposed, save for your modest pair of black cotton panties. “Fuck,” The word comes out in a heavy breath as he takes in the sight before him. Your torso is littered with tattoos he’s never seen before, including one nestled between your tits. And speaking of, he can’t help but let his eyes land on your chest, admiring how your nipples have pebbled even before he’s really touched you.

“Still beautiful as ever.” He’s mostly talking to himself, but you smile up at him, eyes crinkling around the edges, and he feels his dick throb in his too-tight pants.

“I can’t be the only one exposed here!” You exclaim through giggles, and he obliges without argument, yanking his shirt over his head before moving back towards you.

–

Your POV

He’s been shirtless in front of you a few times over the past month, but not in this context. You watch, delighted as his abdomen tightens when you run your fingers down his stomach, along his happy trail to the waistband of his pants. You rake your fingernails over his skin, trace the new ink you hadn’t yet seen up close, listening to his breath hitch when you unbutton his jeans. Before you can yank his pants down, though, Eddie grips your hand in his, moving it back to the mattress. “We’ll get to that. Let me taste you first.” If you weren’t so eager, the words would have knocked you out, but you nod again as Eddie climbs clumsily off the bed to kneel back on the floor. He takes hold of your ankles, swiftly pulling you to the end of the mattress. You feel those pesky bats in your stomach for the first time in what feels like forever, heat rushing to your face as Eddie moves further in between your legs.

He’s in no rush as he moves up your body, lingering to place soft kisses in the crevices of your knees, the plush of your thighs, the peaks of your hips. He ghosts over your clothed heat, nose grazing your mound as he watches you writhe and plead above him. He’s amused by your eagerness, you know him well enough, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You want him, need him, and you’re tired of pretending you don’t.

Eddie is about to yank your last shred of clothing from your body when there’s a knock on the door.

—

Eddie’s POV

You have got to be fucking kidding. “What?!” He shouts, irritated, relaxing only slightly when he feels you giggling underneath him.

“Have you seen Y/n?” It’s Steve, taking his morning roll call. Eddie looks to you for the answer, but you only shrug, face getting redder by the second.

He moves to get off of you, but you follow him like attracting magnets, attaching your lips to his neck as he tries to answer his friend, causing his words to get lost in the fog, only letting out a strangled “Uhh…”

“Ed?” Steve twists the doorknob, out of habit probably. You flinch, and he feels his heart crack. “Wha- yeah! Sorry, I'm a little busy right now!” He clenches his teeth to keep from moaning as you lick a stripe up the column of his throat.

“Busy? You wanna know busy?!” Eddie can picture Steve behind the door, leaning into the peephole, one hand on his hip the other gesturing wildly. As pretty as Steve may be, the image is killing Eddie’s hard-on right now.

You’re not about to let that happen, though. “Steve, go away.” A command. He shifts, dick twitching in his pants again like a fuckin’ teenager.

“I-,” Pause. “Y/n?”

“Yeah.”

Silence. Then the fading of his footsteps down the hall. Eddie wills himself to look at you again, and is rewarded with your shit eating grin. “You are such a brat.” He scoffs, no actual effort behind the insult.

You have the gall to pout at him, like you’re an innocent bystander.

“Does this mean you don’t want to fuck me anymore?”

He gapes at your question, blinking rapidly as he digests it.

—

Your POV

You’d meant it to lighten the mood, but you’ve caught him off guard. Instead of his answer, you’re greeted with another interruption beyond the door. “Hey, love birds! Steve sent me over here because it is far too awkward for him to talk to you in this position, but I, frankly, am happy to relay the information.” While Robin is talking at you, Eddie is making his way closer, lowering to the floor while you bite back laughter at the mess you've gotten yourself into.

”We check out in two hours. If you plan to live out your honeymoon a little longer, it will be on your own dime!” Eddie kisses up your leg, grazing your skin with his nose, sending chills up your spine. Robin is seemingly unaware of your state, or she genuinely does not care. “We’re all going out for dinner tonight before everyone goes home, and both of you better not skip it to cuddle up in bed, you can do that for as long as you want, starting tomorrow. Also,” Eddie’s yanking at your waistband, his body shaking with giggles that you echo despite the knot in your stomach tightening with his touch. “Why are you laughing? What are you guys even doing in there? I know you’re not still asleep.”

”Robin!” Eddie calls, voice strained against his laughter. “I’m trying to eat!”

You drop your jaw, sending a backhanded slap to his shoulder.

”Did you guys get room service? Got any extra-,”

You cut her off with an involuntary moan, caused by Eddie slipping a finger past the damp cotton barricade of your underwear to slide teasingly between your folds. You smack a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. There’s no way she didn’t hear that.

“Are you okay in th-“ It clicks. Finally. “Oh my god. Oh my god! Are you guys fucking?!” No regard for her fellow guests, or her best friend, Robin is cackling on the other side of the door. You’re in crisis, and she’s laughing!

”We’re trying!” You shriek back, feeling the frustration build as Eddie’s finger circles around your clit, causing you to grind against his hand.

“Oh my god. Wait. Is this first time?! Am I interrupting? Holy shit, I am so sorry-“

”Robin!” Eddie shouts again, this time sternly, losing his patience.

“Yeah?”

”Leave.”

”Yup, yup. See ya!” And finally, the fading of her footsteps, scurrying down the hall.

Eddie turns his face back to your center, littering kisses on your thigh as he wiggles your underwear away from your body.

You can’t help but get in one last dig. “You think she’s going to tell Gareth?”

His smile drops from his face completely, jaw tightly clenched. “I have no problem ignoring him yelling at me on the other side of that door. I think at this point he knows I don’t listen to him. And, he’d probably be relieved to find out I grew a pair.”

You scoff, ready with a wise ass remark when he shuts you up with a slow, wet lick between your folds. He glides your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and you don’t miss him pocketing them before moving his hands back to your thighs.

“Fuck,” you whine, desperately clawing at the sheets as Eddie’s tongue latches to your clit, tracing eager patterns across the bud. You drop your head back to the mattress, willing your brain to turn off. Eddie groans into your pussy, rutting against the mattress as he slips a single ringed digit into your hole. You buck your hips, aching for more and blinded by how good it all feels, how familiar. You’d had your fair share of one night stands since leaving Eddie, enough to get used to the normalcy of bad sex. Now, you’re blinded by how Eddie reads your body, like you’re written in a language only he can understand.

His tongue moves in circles over your clit, fingers curling steadily inside of you. The sounds he causes you to make are wet and absolutely filthy, but you can’t bring yourself to feel any shame. It’s Eddie, after all. You can feel your desire ripple through you, the coil in your stomach tightening with each swipe of his tongue, every stroke of his finger. He doesn’t relent, keeping an agonizing pace while you grind your pussy against his face, desperate for release. In response to your begging, Eddie groans into your core, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure up your spine, and your vision goes white.

“Eddie, I’m gonna, fuck I’m gonna come!” It doesn’t take you long to feel your resolve snap, sending your legs shaking on either side of Eddie’s head. He holds you in place, still lapping at your juices as he claws at your hips, a response to the desperate praise you sing for him, an unintelligible string of curses and his name through breathy sighs as you attempt to slow your heart down. Eddie only pulls away when you tap the top of his head lightly, signaling your overstimulation. He releases his mouth from your core with a wet pop, and you can see his lips and chin are shiny with your arousal.

“Good as you remember?” He hovers over you, teasing smirk on his swollen lips as you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Even better, somehow.” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his body flush against yours. Your breathing is still ragged, heart still skipping around in your chest as he closes the gap between you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You take his distracted state as an opportunity, tightening your grip around him, flipping him onto the mattress, landing on top of him a little less gracefully than you’d have liked, causing Eddie to burst into laughter. You’re quick to shut him up, grinding your sensitive cunt over his clothed cock, feeling it kick up at the contact. “You wanna help me get these off?” You ask sweetly, toying with the button of his jeans.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart.” His head falls against the mass of pillows, head foggy with the heat between his legs. “Keep doin’ that and I won’t even get the tip in.” Eddie grips your hips harshly, willing you to be still. Touching you doesn’t help in centering himself, though.

“What a shame that would be,” You tease, unclasping his belt as you speak. “Guess I’ll have to move quickly.” Eddie gets the hint, tucking his thumbs into the waistband to assist in getting his stupidly tight jeans off. He’ll curse himself about it another time, though. Right now, he’s solely focused on you, yanking his pants and underwear from his body, and tossing them to the floor carelessly before straddling him again.

You’ve always been a tease, and even all of this time apart hasn’t changed that, Eddie notices. You move slowly, sliding the length of his cock between your wet folds, head lolled to the side as you close your eyes, as if focusing into the feeling between your body and his. Eddie bites back a groan as he watches your performance, awestruck by the closeness. You infiltrate his senses, and he wills himself not to close his eyes from the pleasure.

Finally, after what feels like eternity, his swollen tip catches on your entrance, jolting him into action. He takes his cock in his hand, preparing to line up to your center the way he must have hundreds of times before. Even after these years apart, the distance both emotionally and physically between you, it is a second nature to him. You’re about an inch away when he has a moment of clarity.

“Wait,”

You huff in complaint. “Seriously?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

–

Your POV

That has never stopped him before, and you can feel the panic in your throat as you ask the question. “Have you ben fucking other people?”

He stutters, “Well, I-”

“Wait. Don’t answer that. Did you wear one when you were fucking other people?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m on the pill, you’re being safe.” You shrug. Nonchalant. Not desperate at all.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“When you fuck other people, do they… ?”

“I just said I’m on the pill.”

“Yeah, okay, but you don’t know who these guys are, what diseases-”

“Okay, Eddie, stop. First of all, how do you know what genetalia the people I’m fucking have?”

That shuts him up. “Yeah. Also, if you must know, I have made all the people with penises wear a rubber. Feel better?”

Eddie is silent, and you let your brain run with your panic again. The mood is dead, Eddie is over the spontaneous, passionate confession and he’s never going to speak to you again.

“Okay.” He shrugs, and before you can respond he grips your hips, guiding you down onto his cock as you roll your hips forward, taking him deeper. Without much effort, you take his entire length, reveling in the familiar stretch of your walls. He lets you set the pace at first, a vice grip on your hips as you gain your strength, bouncing on his cock as he bucks his hips into you. You feel him growing impatient though, his thrusts growing eager, hands migrating up to grab your tits. Though you would love to draw this out, make him beg you for it, you find you’re just as desperate, watching him beneath you, mouth slack and eyes glossy, a picture you’ve missed for so long.

He finally sits up, and you let him wrap an arm around your waist, flipping you onto the mattress. Effortlessly, Eddie gains control, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing him even deeper inside of you. The new sensation draws a guttural moan from you, unabashed and absolutely filthy.

“Fuck, I missed that sound,” Eddie speaks between grunts, seemingly hypnotized by the way his movements cause your boobs to bounce. He continues snapping his hips, prodding that spot deep inside, that only he’s ever been able to reach. “Thought about ‘em all the time. Couldn’t let myself forget those pretty noises.” All the while, you can’t form a single coherent thought, brain foggy from the heat, coil in your stomach tightening again. He looks so beautiful above you, curly bangs stuck to his face with perspiration, eyes blown out with desire.

Eddie babbles on, ever the talker. “Missed these beauties,” He holds himself up with one hand, the other squeezing your tit again teasingly, and you giggle. “And this pussy too, so much.” the same hand travels down, ghosting over your skin until he reaches between your bodies, rubbing sweet circles on your clit. “Best I ever had, only one I ever wanted. Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good.”

“I missed you too, Eddie. You make me feel so good.” It’s a whisper, all you really have the strength for. He’s panting, resting his sweaty forehead against your own as you breathe into each other’s mouths, and his smile widens with your admission. His rhythm stutters slightly, but he doesn’t relent. “Need you to say it again, baby. Wanna hear you tell me again.”

You don’t have to ask what he means. Through your haze, you can barely get the words out, but you muster enough from the way he’s looking at you. “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie groans at your words, throwing his head into the crook of your neck, like he’s embarrassed by his sensitivity “Fuck, I love you too. I love you so much, y/n. So. Fucking. Much.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, bringing you to peak.

And he’s right behind you. “Where should I-” He lifts his head up, and he looks at you with wide, frightened eyes.

“Inside, Eddie, please come inside me.” Your breathing is ragged, legs twitching rapidly as you cry out, white knuckles gripping the mattress.

“Shit, baby, fuck!” Eddie keeps his pace until you can’t hold on, the tether finally snapping as your walls tighten around him. You throw your arms around Eddie’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin as his cock twitches. He comes with you, spilling inside of you as a shiver runs through his body. You bring your mouth to his, swallowing his whines as you both ride out your orgasms, skin sticking to skin with sweat and spit.

Reluctantly, Eddie slips himself out of you, causing you to whine at the loss. Before you can say anything, he’s rolling out of bed and into the bathroom.

—

Eddie’s POV

He needs a minute. Maybe an hour. Realistically he’s gonna need a month. Shit. Regret isn’t the right word. Ashamed, maybe, of his lack of resolve when the subject comes to you. He’s vulnerable, exposed. He tries to shake the intrusive voice from his brain yelling in his ear that he doesn’t deserve to be loved, especially not by you.

“Eds?” Your voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he takes a deep, heavy breath before returning to you with a wet cloth.

“Sorry, got a little lost.” He chuckles, suddenly unsure how to approach this. Post sex for Eddie lately had consisted of a brief wave and a paid cab at most. Something tells him that isn’t the correct approach this time.

“Where’d you go?” You tilt your head, lending your ear like nothing’s changed since yesterday.

Eddie shakes his head. He won’t let himself ruin this again. “Nowhere more important than here.” He slips the cloth between your legs, gently wiping your inner thighs as he speaks. “Just had to pinch myself a few times.”

When you smile at him, he forgets everything he’s supposed to be worried about. He can only smile back, briefly before he kisses you again. He makes a point to be gentle, to show you he means it. Nothing is more important than here, now, with you. When your hands lace into his hair again he can’t help but sigh, as if relieved to be in your arms again.

He can’t fully shake the tension, though, and you seem to sense that. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We can talk after dinner. Just float here with me a little longer.” Your soft hand caresses his stubbled cheek, tickling him slightly as he reads your features. There is so much love in your eyes, it causes his heart to race.

Eddie nods, leaning his cheek further into your palm. You lean in again, kissing him gently as if sealing your word. He pulls you into his lap, holding you as closely as he physically can. You stay like that for awhile, before migrating to the balcony, lazily draped in t shirts as you smoke your cigarettes, enjoying each other’s presence. For now, Eddie can relax. Even for a few minutes, he is grateful for the silence.

—

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @potatobeanpies @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc @veemoon | send a message to be added🫶

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lunabug2004 · 2 months

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I watched The Eclipse (the series) and OMG I'm in Love?!?! ⚠️ SPOILERS ⚠️

Ya'll I watched The Eclipse the series over the last few days and... omg. I have so much to say so buckle up. Obv there will be spoilers! I also wanna mention that this will be full of very biased takes because I absolutely fell in love with Akk soooo imma be defending him.

Now that that's out of the way, first, can we talk about the couples? FirstKhao's chemistry?! I know I'm late to the game but man they blew me out of the water!!! They were so cute and wholesome (dw I've seen the OF edits, ik they're not always this way lol) and Akk and Ayan just pulled me all the way in! They both deserve the world and I will not hear otherwise! Now, the side couple, KanThua, were not my cuppa tea. I love Neo, I haven't seen anything with Louis in it but he's a good actor from what I've seen, and they look cute together, but they just didn't snatch me up unfortunately.

That leads me into the second topic, the plot (this is where it gets long, strap in). I believe this is the main reason the side didn't snatch me. They were definitely given the short end of the stick (this is before I found out that I hate Thua with a passion but we'll get to that). I would've loved so much more buildup than what we got from them. Thua's storyline just felt kinda off to me. We saw his stepdad say one or two messed up things to him, which ya eff him for that, but every other time he was pretty nice??? Maybe I'm just missing something but idk. Also the whole "Bruce Wayne" thing was eh to me. Kinda cute, kinda weird.

Now, Akk and Ayan's storyline???? Sign me uppppp! I love everything about it! I love that they are so there for eachother and literally picked eachother up off the ground mentally so many times. They need eachother and you can absolutely feel it. Then, also their individual storylines are just amazing. My poor babies. Ayan and dealing with his uncle's death and witnessing the terrible things at the school and getting bullied by the teachers and his declining mental health. Akk dealing with the manipulation of the teachers and his need to prove himself and his need to put everyone above himself and his declining mental health and ugh... sorry I could talk about Akk for ages, ya'll know how I get with my babies lol. All this to say I definitely came not knowing what to expect but stayed for Akk & Ayan.

The general storyline is... a doozy. The whole curse thing was so interesting and then it just... wasn't. But at the same time it was??? Idk it's so hard to place how I feel about this part of the plot. I don't understand the whole thing with Teacher Chadock's confession and that somehow affecting what was going on? Like sir, you still manipulated kids (specifically Akk) into doing awful things, I don't think all that happened is an excuse for that at all? Yes, it sucks and never shoulda happened but like... why act like that towards the students this whole time? And he didn't seem to show much, if any, remorse for his behavior either so... idk.

Now... let's get into ep 11 and Thua's whole thing. I will never ever ever forgive the character of Thua for what he did. I don't care how right he was (which he mostly wasn't), I don't care if he was speaking some facts, you don't ever out somebody like that!!! Esp as a character who we know has faced such bad discrimination and bullying for the same effing thing!!! It makes absolutely no sense and there are no excuses! The fear in Akk's eyes... ugh I wanted to punch Thua so bad ngl. The way that he also isn't even right about Akk 'creating the curse' and doesn't mention that he himself continued it after Akk saw the error of his ways and stopped. He made himself out to be squeaky clean when he honestly had the most blood on his hands after this whole thing. When he was cheering the episode before about finding the "one responsible for the curse" IT WAS HIM! AKK HAD STOPPED AT THAT POINT SO IT WAS ALL HIM! He also wasn't telling the truth when he said Aye was covering for Akk using their love as a cover! At first Ayan wanted Akk to tell everyone what he did... but then he saw what a fragile state of mind Akk was in and decided to try a different approach. Thua should've gone to Akk and Aye himself, he had no right to say anything he said without knowing the full story!!! THEN HE JUST IS FORGIVEN!!! NOO! I know that it's because of the cuts they had to make that we don't get to see the characters forgive him and whatnot but I don't care. He. did. not. deserve. to. be. forgiven. No one is changing my mind!

I could go on forever tbh so let's move onto the third topic... the pacing. I know this is the main complaint for this show and rightfully so. I really really wish they would've gotten the 14 episodes they were hoping for instead of the 12 they got. The pacing is just out of wack. The first half-ish is beautiful.... then it drags (slightly).... then it's rushed. Just disappointing, but not anyone's fault. The crew apparently thought they were working with 14 eps, we can't blame them, and we definitely cannot blame the actors.

Fourth, and final, topic: the acting!!! Uuuugh, ya'll! I'd seen Khao in a couple things and First in Not Me, but this is by far the best I've seen of them! They showed all the emotions and omg these dudes are professional criers, how are they both so good at it?! Btw, I see people talk about Khao's acting more than First's I feel like (could just be what I see idk), but First snatched me up! He killed every single scene, give me chills multiple times (Khao too obv) and showed Akk's character development flawlessly! All the supporting actors were obviously amazing too (special shoutout to my boy AJ cuz I love the twins)!

Anyways, if you sat through this half-rant, half-review, congrats! I honestly love this show and it's for sure going to be one I rewatch all the time and try to dig deeper into Akk's mind every time lol. Also if you read all of this and I didn't touch on something you wanted or you're just curious about my thoughts on anything (seriously anything at all), feel free to comment or repost or send me an ask, I don't mind!

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yourneighborhoodporg · 6 months

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The Guardian

Chapter 9: Ancient Implements

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, banter, medical scans/lingo, reference to injuries, exhausted Reader, descriptions of violence, anxious/concerned Obi :(

Summary: Following a rainy conversation, Obi-Wan accompanies you to the Jedi Infirmary in hopes of finding some answers about your condition from Healer Rig Nema. Consequentially, in the face of new discoveries and futile coping mechanisms, the Master Jedi is driven to finally intervene. Through an unconventional strategy, nonetheless.

Song Inspo: Broad-Shouldered Beasts — Mumford & Sons

Words: 9.4k

A/n: Hope everyone celebrating enjoyed New Year’s! Some references to events/thoughts in Star Wars: Wild Space here. No context needed, just some short moments not covered in the Prequels/TCW. So, this chapter very much sets us up for the absolute DOOZY that is the next one, so best to buckle up LOL. My bad about the delay in this one. I had to teach myself brain chemistry 🤪 (sorry to any med students reading in advance). Made up for it in length 💀

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Series Masterlist

The earth laughs in flowers — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Obi-Wan reclined, allowing his back to press against the inner glass of one of the Infirmary’s privacy dividers as he folded his arms snugly across his chest.

Internally, the Master Jedi was hoping to disguise the slight unease that crawled up and down his spine for deep concentration, furrowing his brows as if he’d entered a profound state of thought or meditation.

But no matter how carefully he postured impressions of levelheadedness in the face of your paled features, Obi-Wan couldn’t ignore the low thrum of concern that occasionally tugged on his sternum. He couldn’t help but feel the air around him thicken from newly discovering a weeks-long affliction impacting The Guardian.

Impacting you.

A being, that if ever unwell, could place a critical prophecy in jeopardy.

A being, on account of those responsibilities, he promised to protect.

It was to the point where his steadily swelling desire for some answers had languished passing minutes into what seemed like hours. All while he waited across from you for your examination to be completed.

However, once Kenobi glanced at the chronometer’s green glow on the opposite side of the observation room, he soon realized the actuality of how much time had elapsed. Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it’d only been twenty minutes since he escorted you to the Infirmary. Twenty minutes since you were both welcomed with open arms by one of the Temple’s prime physicians, Master Rig Nema, at the facility’s main entrance.

As a Healer known not to waste time, she immediately submitted an inquiry into why you were visiting. But it wasn’t until Master Nema took in your slightly sluggish form, that the doctor was quick to usher you both into a private cubicle, barely enabling the bearded Jedi to finish his symptomologicol report as he was whisked away alongside you.

Clearly, the presence of painful headaches pervading for weeks on end had stoked the Master Healer’s intrigue just as equally as it steamed Obi-Wan’s smoldering wariness. A fascination so zealous, that she pointed to and instructed the infirmary’s only two available medical droids to carry out a number of cranial scans as you all walked down the hall. Their wheeling bodies materializing by your side once the three of you entered one of the far observation rooms. Whirling and weaving to gather that first set of images before you even had the chance to sit down.

Master Kenobi couldn’t argue with the efficiency with which Master Nema accomplished her work. Nearly all of the ordered scans had been completed in a relatively short time.

But the urgency with which the doctor questioned you, while a whirlwind of droids circled your head like a pack of strike-Vultures, still had the repercussion of stoking Kenobi’s apprehension to the point of slowing down time itself. The longer Master Nema professionally fired query after query while dissonantly beeping droids traveled to and fro, the more Obi-Wan’s mind drifted to the idea that something really was wrong. And his anticipation of that theory swelled enough to knock each minute beyond his reach. As if shore waves towed sequential seconds farther out to sea.

Of course, as a broader consequence, Master Kenobi could already feel the delicate kindling of a faraway guilt emerge in his gut. Especially once he considered his delay in approaching you.

Had he spoken to you sooner, would the doctor have found her concerns to be less pressing? Would the results you were both still awaiting have proven to be more favorable?

But these thoughts only had the effect of stimulating a dull ache throughout Kenobi’s already tensed back, tightening around his spine like sentient vines as your short conversation with Master Nema reached its end.

Even as the Healer excused herself, his constant mix of disquiet and curiosity about your condition drove his eyes to follow the doctor, all the way up until her marbled head crest disappeared around the corner framing the narrowed doorway. As if her vanishing figure held the answers he sought.

Still, your mysterious affliction was not the only item that’d stoked an air of unease in the resting Jedi. Returning to the inside of the Infirmary’s borders had yanked back memories of his last dalliance with its muted decor and antiseptic aroma. The wounds he’d earned from the Battle of Geonosis were tended to by a similar set of droids in the chamber parallel to this one. A sliver of glass scarcely separated him from recollections of bruised ribs, broken bones, and an exceptionally disorienting concussion.

And, transparently, with reminders of discomfort came booming echoes of the harrowing days that bookended that medically invasive afternoon.

Memories he didn’t want to explore again.

Admittedly, in addition to masking this compounding unease, Master Kenobi had other motivations for his steadily declining posture, amplified as he leaned further back into the sturdy, sleek dividers that bordered you both. It happened to also be the only way Master Kenobi could offer you any semblance of space in such a cramped compartment. One that was so obviously designed for a single patient and no visitors.

You were tiredly perched on the infirmary bed’s side, legs dangling loosely. All while the last stubby medical droid completed a few final, even waves around your head with its hand’s built-in scanner. Yet, despite being planted in the opposite corner from the Master Jedi, the two of you still stood mere feet away from each other. A fact that was further highlighted by that same, pesky droid bumbling into Obi-Wan’s resting elbow for the fourth time as it maneuvered between you and the short wall of green luminescent data screens installed to his right.

Indisputably, it would’ve been easier to vacate these tight quarters to solve such a matter.

But Obi-Wan decided against it. He was still reticent to leave you completely alone.

Both of you knew Master Nema would be returning soon. The Healer had assured you that she’d only be gone down the hall for a few minutes to scan your results from the datapad in her private office. Yet, despite this mutual understanding, Obi-Wan immediately clocked from your shifting eyes toward the empty doorway that her brief withdrawal had fueled second thoughts about your decision to come here. This, in combination with the subtly doubting expression that stuck to your face the whole journey here, had easily convinced the Jedi Master that stepping out would’ve electrified that arch as a beacon of escape, driving you to follow those faintly perceptible impulses.

So, hence this observation, Master Kenobi decided it best to instead act as a tenuous deterrent, marking his territory between you and that sweet exit with an additional cross of his legs as he settled further into the glass wall.

The quiet beeps of scanning droids and ding of pinging monitors faded into a duller tone as Obi-Wan released his mind to wander through the events that led up to this point. It was true, that the Master Jedi had long been pondering what exactly was plaguing you in the time since you’d arrived at the Temple.

The bearded man was quite observant, first catching signs of sleeplessness during those few days on the shuttle back. And in those instances, the occasional flicker of despondency that cursorily contorted your features at the mention of his former Master’s name.

But those rare moments had never succeeded in dulling that reassuring spirit and attuned presence he’d become so accustomed to these past few weeks. It’d never challenged the composed strength that saturated your being so absolutely that it leaked from every inch of exposed skin like water from a wringing towel.

At least, not until the last week or so.

It was around then, Obi-Wan soon realized, that something had changed. And while he didn’t quite understand what exactly was occurring, he did know that some undisclosed element was uniformly snatching away threads of light from those two bright, silver eyes of yours. A physical feature that he’d recently registered as having one unintended effect:

They refreshed his senses from a mere glance alone.

Master Kenobi couldn’t deny to himself that after only a month or so of war, he’d become exhausted by not only the newly amplified duties placed upon him, but also by their militaristic, warlike nature. Missions of peace and humanitarianism had quickly devolved into defending free territories from heavily encroaching enemy lines.

The Council meetings that followed only stoked more of the same. Strategizing troop movements, assigning interplanetary campaigns, addressing casualties…

Had Obi-Wan had the ability to expose his former Padawan self to this future, he knew that young Kenobi would’ve never believed that the Jedi could ever be so entrenched in the politics and military responsibilities of a conflict at this scale.

But when he caught a flash of silver reflection from down a hall? At the corner of the refractory closest to his quarters? Near the edge of his vision in the Temple Gardens?

That weight suddenly felt just a little bit lighter.

The General wasn’t entirely sure why he became so overwhelmed with this sensation just at the mere sight of you. A sudden ease, a calmness that permeated his being in a way he’d never been able to summon on the battlefield.

Though he did have a few guesses.

You had always carried an air of serene confidence, of compassionate power, that struck at Obi-Wan’s core. Yes, these were all attributes expected of a Jedi. But your being didn’t simply carry these characteristics, Kenobi maintained. It was as if you had the artistry to will these qualities into existence from deep within your being. Like the vivid, lapping flames that encompass the entire mass of any radiant star.

And, to him, you wielded such strengths with absolute grace.

It was one such instance that Obi-Wan was still trying to wrap his head around. During your first duel with Anakin, the inclusion of one, brief conversation about his emotionally-charged behavior seemed to have knocked more sense into his impatient former Padawan than Kenobi had ever personally precipitated.

When he later inquired about the dialogue, The General readily respected your decision to keep the specifics of the exchange private. But it was when you relayed to him the vague takeaway of the power of compassion that Obi-Wan realized the reality of your statement.

That had he been in your same boots, applying that same dogma, Master Kenobi still wouldn’t have had much success.

The blue-eyed Jedi had always tried to be considerate with his former Padawan. He was hard on him at times, sure. And the two of them certainly had their many rows. But in the end, Obi-Wan always aimed to keep Anakin’s past in perspective.

He’d tried to protect him by teaching him of the importance of letting attachments go. Dispelling his fiery emotions, his ruffled history, and the people that were now a part of his past.

He tried to be a friend to him. A gentle reminder here. A reference to the Code’s importance in the life of any Jedi there. Yet still, the results were never so transformative.

And it was hard for the Master Jedi not to blame himself for that.

Though that load was slightly lifted by the hope your presence imbued.

Truly, Kenobi was thankful that one of Qui-Gon’s previous Padawans had emerged to partially aid him in fulfilling that deathbed promise he’d made to his former Master so long ago. Even if it was during a time following Anakin’s Knighthood.

Training the boy encompassed not only combat, but also the mastery of softer elements pertaining to becoming a wise Jedi capable of realizing The Chosen One prophecy. It was those latter skills that Obi-Wan never found complete success in communicating as Master to Padawan, having himself become an instructor the very same day he’d completed the Knighthood trials.

Yet, it seemed that addressing those weaknesses in his teachings came to you with relative ease. Something that made him wonder how things may have differed on the day of Geonosis had he discovered your existence earlier.

It was his inability to properly drill the importance of patience in the young boy that later led to the loss of his arm. Obi-Wan was convinced deep down, despite Anakin’s self-punishments, that in the end, it was his own fault. Kenobi’s fault for not equaling your effectiveness in addressing these matters.

Kenobi’s fault for the loss of Anakin’s arm.

Had he found you sooner, could it have all been avoided? Would you have made a connection with little Ani and trained him out of that nearly fatal mistake before he made it?

And what of the days that followed? When Anakin was recovering from that calamitous wound in this very Infirmary.

Obi-Wan vividly recalled the striking images from when he first visited his former Padawan after the battle’s devastation. He could never forget the complete agony that radiated off Anakin’s gnarled face as he stirred from a nightmare. He could never shut out from his mind those words that chestnut-haired Jedi screamed at him, red-veined eyes pulsing as he let slip his mother’s passing.

“And it’s all your fault!”

His heart clenched at the memory.

He didn’t know the details of her death, but he understood vaguely the visions which plagued Anakin in the leading days. Specters that he didn’t realize pointed to a surmounting danger.

And Anakin blamed him for it.

Would you have figured it out faster than him?

If so, then maybe, things could’ve been different.

The possibilities dashed by the delay in rescuing you from that desolate ice planet only lengthened the Jedi Master’s perceptible regret. Possibilities that would’ve become attainable through some mastery of connecting with Anakin’s being. Some familiarity so remarkable that it must’ve been willed by the prophetic elements of the Force itself long ago, Obi-Wan convinced himself.

A conclusion that left him to wonder why you were having an oddly similar effect on him.

Perhaps it was due to your separation from the war. Your lack of experience on a real battlefield freed your being from the weights chained to every Jedi who’d experienced its turmoil. Because even when news of ongoing skirmishes trickled in through visiting clones— tempering moods and gradually effervescing the bubbling anxieties among him, Anakin, and Ahsoka— you still appeared to ignite the surrounding air with sparks of anti-gravity the moment you entered the room.

When any one of them expressed concerns about the front, your soothing smile, teasing jabs, and intelligent reassurances had soon acclimatized the bearded Jedi to associate those hopeful eyes with your comforting existence, and the relaxation it imbued in him.

It was probably also why now, much like the last week in a half, Obi-Wan felt particularly disconcerted.

Without fail, he would be the first to catch on to those subtle dips in your lips in the refractory. The uncomfortable quirk of your brow in the Archives. Sometimes, even, an unexpected twitch of the nose while strolling down a Temple walkway. Always to be followed by a quiet farewell and your quick yet controlled retreat, leaving him without the opportunity to inquire about your condition without necessitating chase.

So it goes without saying that the Master Jedi was particularly relieved when Anakin approached him. Of course, not by the story of your incident in the Starfighter. But by the fact that he finally had a valid excuse to seek you out and investigate this ongoing issue. A trouble that he’d originally surmised as related to Qui-Gon before he was proven to be severely wrong.

Your reality was quite more bothersome.

Honestly, had you not been a force-sensitive being, Obi-Wan would’ve been less concerned. Headaches can be quite normal for the average individual.

But for a Jedi?

It had far more serious possibilities.

Pain in the mind could’ve pointed to an imbalance in the Force. And considering your true identity, and Qui-Gon and the Council’s reasons for hiding it, Kenobi had reason to take note.

Still though, you‘d been through a lot these past few weeks. The death of a Master. Leaving a home you’d known all your life only to be thrust into a far busier and more complicated environment. Finally facing down a dangerous legacy with galactic implications. It was an existence far more demanding than was expected of the average Jedi. Perhaps these migraines were simply a reflection of that fact, he considered.

Nevertheless, Obi-Wan wanted to make sure. He was no specialist in the medicinal aspects of the Force nor in how its energies physically manifested. And that meant the only other option was to consult someone with more expertise. Someone he equivocally trusted to make the right determination.

Qui-Gon was right. Kenobi did think about the future a little bit too much.

“Obi-Wan, if you keep staring at me like I’m about to drop dead, I’m gonna kick you out.”

Master Kenobi’s vision instantly refocused, lips parting slightly as he realized his gaze had accidentally wandered and stuck to your subtly dulled, silver orbs.

Immediately, he used his back to push off the screen, summoning a hand to check his beard’s placement in hopes of hiding the chilly embarrassment that ever so slightly crimsoned his cheeks. No matter, he doubled down, approaching you in a few steps with broad shoulders declaring self-assurance.

“You’re not getting rid of me quite that easily,” he casually quipped, dropping his arm loosely to the side once certain that brief flush drained from his ears.

At the same time, the pine-green medical droid stationed before you embraced this sudden split in the previously long-held silence as his cue. The machine wheeled around Obi-Wan, this time rudely knocking into the back of his leg in its scurry toward the screens spread out on the far wall. All the while releasing a flurry of affirmative beeps to signal the examination’s completion.

Of course, Obi-Wan’s eyes were careful not to reflect his mild agitation at the droid’s lack of spatial awareness while his gaze followed it.

Continuing to observe the green machine, Kenobi spoke, paying careful attention to its arm’s mechanical tendrils that extended into the wall’s receiver.

“I was taking the time to consider your situation.”

“What situation?” You emphasized rhetorically.

Obi-Wan’s features sobered in an effort to remind you of the potential gravity of your symptoms.

But you brushed aside his hardened brows, instead bouncing your gaze toward the uncoordinated droid as it finished retracting its arm from the console. Your vision remained locked, following its triangular head while the machine spun toward the room’s doorway, clipping the frame with an unfortunate clunk and shocked beep before reorienting itself to swerve down the parallel hall.

Even then, you extended the interval, allowing its buzzing gears and occasional clicks to grow more distant before continuing with a lowered voice.

“I went from living my life on an ice planet to now spending weeks in a much warmer climate. I’m probably not used to this environment yet. That’s all.”

The unconvinced man spied your eyes soften.

“I’d rather not be wasting medical resources for something that’s probably nothing. Especially in the middle of a war.”

Master Kenobi’s mouth twitched into a frown. “It’s not a waste if it provides the answers you’re looking for.”

“I’d agree if I believed the answers were medical,” you argued.

“This is a Jedi Infirmary,” he spotlighted. “Master Nema will be considering all phenomena that may affect a force-sensitive. Even an imbalance.”

Your brows fluttered inquisitively at this. “Is that what you think is happening? Some sort of imbalance?”

He hummed, hand reaching for his chin as his eyes drifted in thought. “I’m not quite sure. The mind of a Jedi is a complicated thing. The way in which it realizes our connection to the Force is often unpredictable. But headaches resulting from an imbalance are not unheard of,” he exhaled. “Although, I don’t feel anything strange in the space in or around you.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head, stretching out to the swirling energies around you both to confirm his observations from the last few weeks before meeting a familiar wall in the connecting strands.

“But I must admit, I do have trouble sensing your mind within the Force. So, I may be wrong.”

The nearly imperceptible sigh that escaped your nostrils drew his searching orbs back toward your lowered gaze in an instant.

“However,” he readily subsisted. “These are no ordinary scans. If these headaches are related to an imbalance, Master Nema would be the first Healer I trust to make that determination.”

But the one-sided stillness continued. The General spied your eyelids fold shut while you breathed deeply into the emptiness, kindling your despondency in such a way that it intensified Kenobi’s own discomfort. Mostly because he was growing more and more convinced that his reassurances were clearly making things worse.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear—“

“That’s ok, Obi-Wan,” you smiled at him tiredly, legs stretching as your gaze drifted toward your knees. “I heard something similar from Master Windu. If these scans don’t reveal anything, I’ll just return to those meditation sessions he suggested. They’ll have to reveal something eventually, medical or otherwise.”

Once again, Obi-Wan crossed his arms, a silent protest to the security you placed in that impractical solution. Assuming he’d properly understood your version of events from that earlier, rainy conversation, meditation had only made your migraines more unbearable.

A notion that certainly disturbed the seasoned Jedi.

Throughout his life, Master Kenobi took great comfort in connecting with the everlasting serenity that was the Force. Even as a youngling, when his imagination wandered less and less into daydreaming realms, he’d cherished these moments of silent outreach as a way to center his mind and hone his presence in the Galaxy.

But for you, in the last few days, it had only caused you pain. For you, these headaches actualized a blockade, sequestering your being from one of the most sacred acts known to any Jedi. Isolating you from peace.

And he refused to allow that to continue

Obi-Wan was dragged from his thoughts as your straightened legs limply fell back against the bedside, drawing his blue eyes toward spots of perspiration on your now stretching neck and sinking eyelids.

Seeing you like this, pushing yourself to the physical brink as a last-ditch attempt to tame these incidents, heaved upon him a draining atmosphere similar to those that weighed him down more heavily in these months of war.

Sensations he was still trying to put a name to.

But Obi-Wan didn’t need a title to know that his being was firm in at least one judgment— he didn’t want this affliction to torment you any longer.

Those words…

Name. Title.

It drudged up an abrupt thought in the ruminating Jedi. It was something you’d said. Or more, he soon realized, something Mace Windu had instructed you to do.

“Remind me,” he began with a punch, drawing your sparkling eyes toward his as he unstitched his shoulders. “Master Windu advised you to give a name to these incidents, yes?”

You nodded, eyes wandering toward the doorway as Obi-Wan continued steadfastly in his speech

“Silvey,” he called softly, drawing your attention back to him.

“What was the name—?”

“I’ve had a chance to review your scans, Silvey.”

Master Nema spoke resonantly as she materialized, carrying a polished bearing while pivoting through the open-aired doorway and toward your seated figure. Her cerulean-tinted eyelids and lips stood in stark contrast against lime-green shoulders, a distinction emphasized by bowed eyes that held affixed to the blue glow of the datapad in her dominant hand.

Regardless of the thickly sliced air, the Healer continued to evenly scroll through the device, having unknowingly cut off the previous exchange before you’d even had the chance to absorb Kenobi’s inquiry.

“And I don’t see anything of note. Just some heightened activity here.”

Obi-Wan watched as the gray-robbed Halaisi finally raised her gaze, extending the datapad toward your now curious form.

Taking the device, you scanned it quickly, eyes squinting while you mulled over some image stamped at the screen’s center beyond Kenobi’s view. Though you only mulled over the datapad for a few seconds before glancing up at the Healer candidly, a somewhat sheepish expression attempting to push through your unbending forehead.

“I’m not very familiar with the anatomy of the brain,” you admitted.

Shimming to your side without bumping into the bedside, Master Nema pointed a long, viridescent finger at the datapad. “This brighter, center portion here consists of your amygdala and hippocampus. They are responsible for several functions related to memories and emotional processing.”

She glanced at you.

“May I ask you to describe the weeks leading up to these migraines? Primarily, I’d like to know which locations you’ve visited and the activities you were engaged in.”

Obi-Wan sighed internally, biting his tongue. Even before Master Nema had finished her inquiry, the bearded Jedi was swift to realize a new issue— that your inevitable yet necessary response may undermine the accuracy of the Healer’s determinations.

And for an instant, Kenobi nearly imagined that you’d read his mind.

Not a second later, you subtly glimpsed at The General’s now very watchful stare, only to confirm with determined eyes that you knew what you needed to do.

And that he had no chance of changing your mind.

Because Master Yoda and Master Windu advised that such truths must remain hidden. As revealing your real identity could amplify the very real threat to your life. So, without their permission, your predetermined fabrication needed to become the truth to Master Nema as well.

“I’ve recently returned from a years-long mission for the Council,” you dispassionately parroted. “However, I’m unable to discuss it in detail.”

Master Nema nodded unflinchingly, having become long accustomed to the importance of discretion in most Jedi matters.

“I understand,” she relayed, retrieving the datapad from your outstretched hand. “Can you share if you’ve had any occurrences similar to these during your assignment?”

Unblinkingly, you confidently answered.

“I did not.”

“Good,” she expressed, satisfied. “Further details will not be needed.”

Lowering her arm to rest the datapad by her side, the doctor angled herself more fully toward both you and Obi-Wan as she delivered her diagnosis.

“From these symptoms and affected regions, and with no other indications of illness on your scans, I understand that you are experiencing a side effect of prolonged stress.”

Obi-Wan covertly peered at your reaction, curiously taking in the unexpected neutrality that characterized your countenance.

“Stress?” You repeated, asking for confirmation.

“Yes,” Master Nema established, unbothered by your unconvinced manner as she turned away and strolled toward the gentle green glow of busily flashing screens plastered by Obi-Wan’s side.

“It’s quite common,” she maintained, her exposed upper back greeting you both as the displays’ ceaseless stream of looping data commandeered her sight.

“But I must admit,” she noted. “I’ve only seen these cases more recently, since the war began.”

Cunningly rearranging several charts of what Kenobi saw as an assortment of disparate numbers and calculations, the Jedi Healer soon centered on a corner window before beginning the long trial of analyses inputs, gathered from the occasional glance toward her purposefully angled datapad as she expounded.

“The Jedi are involved in prolonged duties of war that they were never meant for. And without time for meditation, it has caused many to internalize these experiences. This is why the symptoms of these strains usually begin after returning to the Temple. When their bodies are given a chance to rest and connect with the Force, the effects of prolonged stress are then allowed space to materialize.”

“Materialize as headaches?” Obi-Wan questioned from his once quiet perch.

Master Nema broke away from the left screen mid-data entry, angling to face the bearded Jedi with golden-rimmed eyes and a forthright manner.

“This is the first time I’ve heard of headaches as a symptom,” she admitted. “But from the general history described, the causes appear to be the same. Also, the hippocampus and amygdala are known to respond to stress-inducing environments. And headaches are not a far stretch from the primary indicators. Lack of focus, exhaustion…”

Master Nema stretched to eye your figure thoughtfully.

“I believe you’re showing the latter.”

At that remark, Kenobi immediately noticed a chink in your impartiality as a flake of disappointment slipped past the corners of gently pursed lips.

His forehead crinkled at the trickle of confusion dripping down his hairline. Obi-Wan thought you’d be relieved to hear that this affliction was not as dire as it had the potential to be.

It appeared that the Jedi Healer must’ve noticed the same shift in expression as she offered you a diplomatic smile. Those that are often reserved by doctors for their more unfamiliar patients.

“Rest, Silvey. Meditate. Do something to take your mind off of the stresses of your mission. It’s over now.”

And, in response, you offered a simple nod.

“Thank you, Master,” you relayed sincerely, offering a flash of amicability. “I’ll try to do that.”

You pushed off the medical bed with sudden haste, toes landing on the floor gingerly as your legs briskly steered through and out the doorway. The skilled maneuverings easily drew Obi-Wan’s attention, compelling him to detect a precise shift in your most noticeable features as you passed by.

How your eyes submerged into a subtle, gray glaze, and how your jaw inappreciably tightened.

It was enough to provoke him to launch a pursuit of his own, hoping to make up for the past few weeks of mistakes in not doing exactly this. All with the intent to close the distance with your quickly departing being after exchanging a parting nod with Master Nema.

“Silvey,” he projected, pacing toward your weaving form beyond the last few cubicles that pointed to the Infirmary’s exit like an arrow.

He caught your gate slacken as you entered the connecting Temple walkway, casually pivoting toward his quick steps while you waited for him to catch up. Still, you didn’t give Kenobi a chance to finish his approach before beginning to speak unapologetically, offering a straight face and a hand on each hip as you made a particularly bold statement

“It’s not stress.”

Had he not been present in the observation room, Master Kenobi would’ve unequivocally believed your statement right then and there. From three, fearless words alone. Spoken with such sheer simplicity that it was as if you were reminding him that Coruscant’s sky was, in fact, blue.

Still, disregarding the momentary speculation your confidence imbued, Obi-Wan held onto the reality of your situation. Or, more accurately, the relative soundness of Master Nema’s diagnosis while his pace effortlessly eased by your side.

“You don’t know that,” he contested as you pivoted, carrying on your trek down the pillared and lilac-carpeted walkway while his legs seamlessly moved in sync with yours. “The history you provided may not be accurate, but that doesn’t mean stress isn’t the source. Master Nema said the scans support her diagnosis.”

“It’s not stress,” you reflexively repeated, the same, unshakable conviction as pulsing as before that locked Kenobi’s gaze onto you while you continued.

“Stress is natural. It’s our being’s way of telling us something. Reminding us to take a break. To take time for ourselves. But whatever this is,” you gesticulated into the air, hand twirling as if it was conjuring the very affliction from the surrounding pillars’ essence. “It isn’t natural. It’s different. Deep inside me, but not. Disconnected—“

From a lightning flash of sliver, Obi-Wan was temporarily taken aback as he was forced to absorb your stilled yet rich perseverance. Bleeding through eyes that whipped over to challenge his stare, drawing you both to a sudden halt.

While emphasizing each consonant, you calmly declared once more your obstinate verdict.

“It is not stress.”

For a few seconds, the Master Jedi searched your face, keeping an eye out for any inkling of a quiver in your fortitude. Any sign of withheld doubts. Any indication that there was something you weren’t comfortable sharing.

But quite immediately, The General realized that even if he’d stood there for days, all would’ve remained the same. There were no hints that you could’ve been convinced otherwise. No way for him to persuade you that stress affected the body just as mysteriously as the Force.

So, he acquiesced.

“Alright,” he acknowledged, a gentleness enveloping his tone. “For now, let’s agree that it may not be stress. You’ve been managing them with the same approaches Master Nema suggested, no?”

“I have…” you skeptically concurred. “But it’s not sustainable.”

The sound of your exhale roped Obi-Wan’s attention as you reached up to rest a palm on your eye. Your cheeks sagged in resignation, subduing your voice while you spoke.

“I guess I’ll just try to get some rest.”

Obi-Wan’s brows creased in an unpleasant recognition.

Those disjointed eyes? The carefully constructed monotonousness you’ve held since making your escape from the Infirmary?

Unfortunately, Obi-Wan was quickly becoming a master at pinpointing the signs.

“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” He delicately inquired.

You shook your head incredulously, a small smile inching out of the corner of your mouth as you peeked at him.

“Is it that obvious?”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure exactly why he did it. Why his arms reached for your shoulders, grasping their cold frames with a pleasant squeeze. As if some foreign entity now controlled and commanded both limbs with a set of knotted strings. A mind other than his own that believed the only way you’d hear his words was through physical and visual touch alone.

For a split second, at the base of his subconscious, with eyes locked onto yours, Kenobi speculated that perhaps it was a piece of Qui-Gon left behind that commandeered his actions. You’d mentioned to Obi-Wan that your former Master believed your stubbornness to be a considerable strength, yet a ramifying weakness. Something the bearded Jedi certainly recognized as he spent more time with you in the past few weeks.

Knowing the dearly departed, your at times cloaked stubbornness on such affairs plausibly necessitated Master Quinn to rely on similar measures to finally break through.

So why not do the same?

“Let me help you. You’re not on Hoth anymore. There are beings that can assist you here,” he frustratingly exhaled. “You told me yourself that rest has done nothing. I can provide a suitable distraction, if you’d allow me.”

Kenobi’s careful gaze caught the minute disorientation that blinked from reactive brows. You clasped your hands and, for the first time since he’d known you, an air of timidness encircled your ears.

“I appreciate the offer,” you began conscientiously, displaying a thankful smile “But that wouldn’t be fair to you. I know that there are probably a number of Council tasks you’ve sacrificed to check on me, which I appreciate. But I shouldn’t keep you away from those responsibilities any longer.”

“You and I both know that the Council’s activities have laxed since the incident with the communications system,” he securely reminded you as the bud of a perfect excuse blossomed into the puff of levity that captured his voice.

“Besides, this would be more of an exchange than a sacrifice.”

“Oh?” You uttered.

Your demure smile stretched into an infectious smirk, which only amplified Obi-Wan’s gaiety through brightened cheeks.

“You seem to have forgotten your promise,” he bantered.

Your head tilted.

“My promise?”

“The Muntuur?”

The bottom half of your face instantly transformed into a broad grin.

“Ah, yes,” you exaggerated teasingly. “How could I’ve forgotten a promise as dire as that.”

“Then you agree?” He quickly inquired. “You instruct me on how to use the device, and you can be confident that I will ask enough questions to keep your mind occupied.”

“I believe you may be on the better side of this deal,” you poked.

Kenobi watched as your eyes wafted toward the far-reaching Temple ceilings in thought. And in pondering his request amidst the absurdity of this exchange, Obi-Wan was fortunate enough to just barely catch your attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Alright,” you feigned defeat, silver orbs flickering as you glanced at him.

“I agree.”

—

Kenobi drifted deeper into his settled posture, legs folded in angled balance as he extended his deliverance into the swirling energies of the Force. Straightening his back, his focused mind welcomed the omnipresent stream to encircle him in the empty training dojo, never to be hindered by its milky white walls nor wood-bordered panels.

Wherever he was, The General sensed this to be true. That the Force would always be with him.

Rationally, Obi-Wan knew that any second, you’d be strolling through those two gray sliding doors to join him, Muntuur in hand after retrieving it from your quarters per his request. Yet still, Kenobi found that even in the most cursory of moments, meditation proved to always be a feasible endeavor. Despite sometimes having only a few seconds to fully connect with his surroundings, Obi-Wan found that stretching into the constant flow would still center his mind in a manner that could last for hours. Perhaps days, if he’d found particular focus.

But he hadn’t always had the aptitude to enter those cavernous reflective states so rapidly. Especially as a Padawan, when his mind took a little bit more tugging to wrench it away from concerns of the future so to focus on the here and now. It was a realm he always had to strive toward. A speedy existence he’d been further compelled to master had he any hope of engaging in such comforts during the ceaseless activities of war.

A lifestyle he knew he’d be returning to soon.

From the final review of the Temple’s security system this morning, it was ultimately discovered that there had, in fact, been a leak in the communications system. Specifically, an exposed transceiver code. And, of course, of the many technical specialists and machines tasked with rooting out the issue, Artoo, Anakin’s prized blue-and-white droid, was the one to discover it.

Due to Count Dooku’s formerly wide access to sensitive Temple data, Master Yoda had decided to alter all related security measures so to ensure that the Separatists were not given a tactical advantage after The Battle of Geonosis. That included identifying and deactivating the extensive array of transceiver codes that Dooku was aware of.

But, unfortunately, it seemed that one was missed. A single line of digits once only privy to Council transmissions during Dooku’s short stint as a member, long before Obi-Wan’s time. An easy mistake that proved to have significant consequences, setting back the Republic’s stance by forcing the Jedi off the battlefield as clone battalions temporarily took command.

And just after they’d finally gotten one step ahead of the Separatists following the Republic victory on Christophsis, no less.

Either way, The General understood that he’d soon see the damage himself once given his first return assignment. A mission that would include you, considering Master Yoda’s decision to separate you from Anakin on the battlefield for the time being.

But there wasn’t time for such considerations any longer. No more musings about what the future held. Not in a time when he should’ve been blending his mind with the rippling stream.

A time cut short.

The whoosh of an automatic door releasing tickled his ears, followed by a cool gust of creeping air that further drew Obi-Wan out of his concentrative state. A quick wrench akin to similar interruptions by Commander Cody during those off-world campaigns in the months prior.

His eyelids peeled open at the new, subtle presence before him. And in the moments that followed, it didn’t take long for Kenobi to take note of your more upbeat figure, revitalized by the prospect of the coming distraction in the form of teaching a lesson on ancient implements, Obi-Wan hoped. A divertissement to be governed by The Muntuur whose glint caught the bearded Jedi’s eye.

“Excellent,” Master Kenobi expressed, raking his gaze over the half-circle metal headpiece that hung loosely from your fingertips while he untangled, placing a hand on his knee to help him stand. “Now tell me how it works.”

Obi-Wan spotted a quirk in your brows as you steadily approached, a token of entertainment at his eagerness, no doubt.

You hummed flippantly. “It would be easier to just show you, you know.”

And Master Kenobi wholeheartedly agreed, but that wasn’t why he was doing this. He couldn’t deny that he’d been ardently waiting since you told him about The Muntuur to put the apparatus to the test. But, right now, he had more important matters to address than his budding curiosity.

To focus your mind on easier topics. On the intricacies of a long-lost Jedi device. And on the concentration required to explain it to him.

And that meant putting some skin in the game.

“I’d much rather hear it from your own voice,” he contended, nonchalant gaze somewhat lowering to meet yours as your shorter, slightly amused figure stalled within arms reach of his chest.

And with your quick-beat response, it was clear to Obi-Wan that you’d in some measure caught on to his ruse.

“Well, how could I deny such a charmed request?”

A tickled smile crawled across Kenobi’s features at your faintly sarcastic tone. An expression that persisted fervently despite noticing a sincerity wash away your brief masquerade.

“I must warn you, Obi-Wan. What I’ve learned about this device was through significant trial and error. Not even Qui-Gon really understood it.”

Still, the Jedi Master’s encouraging regard never quivered. A long-held desire to grasp and digest your knowledge radiated from his being. Strong enough, it seemed, to persuade you to continue as you held up The Muntuur for easy viewing.

“If you have the imagination, and the specifications, you can program it to simulate virtually anything. Any drill or duel you can imagine. Any environment. Any foe. As long as you know the strengths, behaviors, and appearances involved in your desired program, then it can be created by inputting them here.”

Obi-Wan adjusted as you turned your back toward him to display the device’s rear. Specifically, the small, anciently designed input panel whose miniature screen emitted an amber gleam between your secured fingers.

He craned his neck farther over your shoulder, the fragrance of star jasmines wafting from your loose hair and into his nostrils as he strived to take a closer look.

“My holobooks often provided enough information for me to recreate their contents for training purposes,” you continued to explain. “Honestly, I’ve used The Muntuur so much that I still have a number of designations memorized. Including…”

Master Kenobi scrutinized the tiny display as your fluttering fingers tapped away, making selections and adjusting parameters so expeditiously that it was as if an invisible memory bank of numbers and terms were stored in your wrist. You readied the device so expertly, in fact, that the brief trailing off of your voice was smoothly picked up following the short, concentrative pinch.

“…this little guy.”

He watched while your thumb danced to the small, circular black button resting in the panel’s corner, pressing and holding it down until a startling beep cheered from the device. An unexpected noise that swiveled your figure back toward the Master Jedi, arm outstretched in offering as a barely hampered enthusiasm elevated your features.

However, with an undetermined inspection narrowing on the instrument, Obi-Wan suddenly felt hesitant to accept.

He often found comfort in understanding the more nuanced aspects of unknown technologies before diving right in, unlike his former Padawan. Consequently, The Master Jedi had honestly been anticipating a more detailed explanation. But from the rapid fire of input codes and language specifications that manifested from your exceptional proficiency, Obi-Wan now realized that, even with your guidance, such in-depth adroitness was sure to take weeks if not months.

Time he, unfortunately, did not have.

“Don’t worry,” you brightly assured, arm still extended with the gleaming metal headpiece. “The safety protocols are engaged. It won’t bite.”

Kenobi’s stare snapped toward yours as he cautiously took the device.

“Safety protocols?” He inquired, turning over the cold metal in his palms as he observed its ornate craftsmanship. “I’ve never heard of a simulation creating a safety issue.”

“It’s more than a simulation,” you elucidated, jutting a thumb toward his grasp. “Notice how there’s no visor?”

Obi-Wan flipped the device, realizing the accuracy of your statement as his befuddled eyes met its rather barren fore.

“It functions by triggering the electrical impulses in your neurons. Because it creates the simulation with your mind, certain programs need to be active to prevent the more subconscious parts of your brain from confusing artificial injuries with reality.”

“That is…quite fascinating…” Obi-Wan uttered, taking one last scan of the unique instrument before glancing at your intrigued features, captivated by a typhoon of ruminations on the device’s remarkable functions, he assumed.

“So I won’t feel pain?”

You shook your head heartily, emphasizing each word that followed. “No, you’ll certainly feel pain. But you won’t receive any grievous injuries.”

And the General’s spine stiffened from shock at this. Eyes wide as he searched your matter-of-fact countenance for clarification.

“Silvey, are you saying this device can cause real-world harm?”

“Only if the safety protocols are off,” you undauntedly reminded before your voice relaxed into a fonder, more reminiscent timbre.

“I learned that piece of programming the hard way,” you chuckled. “Qui-Gon almost threw the whole thing away after I nearly bled to death from a stab to the shoulder. A fairly treatable wound in the likes of Coruscant, I’m sure. But when you have no choice but to work with a few, expired bacta pads, it can become a little dicey.”

Master Kenobi’s once intrigued disposition had slowly devolved into a frown.

He knew this implement was old. Likely used by ancient Jedi who followed a widely contrasting set of rules in a lawless world of dark adversaries. But he never predicted that their training equipment would allow for such risk in the name of growth. There was a reason younglings learned on training sabers. So that they need not face the same life-threatening dangers that you seem to have faced every day at their age. Whether through an unpredictable apparatus or the nature of your icy asylum.

Obi-Wan barely noticed the thickening of a faintly simmering temper, mixed with frustration and confusion as he finally considered the reality of your upbringing. The bearded Jedi cared for his former Master deeply, and he clearly understood that Qui-Gon had done his best to protect you under severe circumstances. But the auburn-haired man couldn’t get over the sheer recklessness that characterized his decision-making as your custodian.

Had he not checked this device thoroughly before handing it off to a child? That didn’t sound like the wise man he’d known for all his life. Though Qui-Gon did have many responsibilities on top of your secret existence. Most of which likely prevented him from imparting the same thoroughness and circumspect to which he gifted Obi-Wan.

Still, it was no excuse.

And the longer he sat with that realization, the more your recollection ruffled Obi-Wan. Especially when your cavalier attitude proved your innocence to the underlying issue that Kenobi was so peeved by.

A reaction that you just seemed to notice, but failed to correctly attribute.

“Obi-Wan.”

You spoke gently, reaching out a cold, comforting hand to rest beneath his, providing a little extra lift in supporting the gadget’s portable weight. His eyes followed your arm, naturally landing on the two, strikingly silver orbs that relaxed his tensed muscles and unsettled thoughts with mollifying memories of uncomplicated talks and silent company.

“I promise you, you’re not gonna get hurt. I would never have agreed to share The Muntuur with you had I believed for a second it would cause serious harm.”

And there it was again. Those gentle, sparkling features that cozily blanketed Obi-Wan’s line of vision with honest poise. Accompanied by relieving words that freshly astounded him in every instant they fell from your lips.

Your life. Your upbringing. Devoid of connection and saturated with harsh dangers in an inhospitable habitat. Yes, a Jedi was expected to forgo all attachments, but this isolation had been to an extreme.

Yet every day. In every moment he had the chance to grace your presence. To get to know you. You’d shimmer like a being who’d known unconditional love from the galaxy, and was simply acting as a conduit to relay that benevolence onto others.

But that wasn’t your reality, Obi-Wan reminded himself. Besides Qui-Gon’s disbanded guidance, you had only known the cold.

Still, even that jarring refuge was likely more enticing than the prospect of facing a dark nemesis too soon.

You’d only known struggle, yet diffused compassion.

You really were something.

“I trust you,” Master Kenobi finally spoke, raising The Muntuur to secure its chilly, rigid form atop his head.

While his hands lowered, Obi-Wan felt a slight dig as the device morphed to fit his skull’s dimensions. A low, mechanical purr was followed by strange tingling sensations that danced across his temples like docile Endorian ants.

But after a few, stagnant seconds, in which a stillness recouped the air, nothing else occurred.

The Jedi Master knew that you’d intended for some program to run, yet he saw nothing. Just the dojo’s durable, cream-tinted walls supported by pillars of hickory brown wood.

“How do I know if the simulation has begun?” Obi-Wan questioned, eyes glancing toward your figure as you purposefully ambled backward to grant more clearance to the focused Jedi.

A delighted smirk tugged up at your countenance from chin to ears as you slowed to a halt about twelve meters away.

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know.”

A deep, guttural roar bellowed from behind, provoking a somewhat startled Master Kenobi to detach his lightsaber mid-whirl as he faced the blare with the blade’s instantly ignited, blue glow.

Coiled into a stalking pose at the opposite wall was the brown-gold body of a particularly irate Nexu. Its four, beady red eyes pierced Kenobi’s senses, drawing considerable attention to the broad set of dagger-like teeth that stretched across half its face as the beast soon began to circularly prowl. The inchmeal movements of its sharp claws and flicking tails quickly compelled Kenobi to step into a cautious counter, sidestep after sidestep so to avoid closing that precarious gap.

“I believe we have different definitions of what qualifies as a ‘little guy!’” Obi-Wan sarcastically called out, his readily extended saber maintaining the standoff while he kept a slow, methodical distance.

“I think he’s kinda cute!” You gushed.

Obi-Wan’s head whipped to stare at you in utter disbelief, hoping to communicate his complete disagreement with such a statement. In fact, he manifested with his eyes alone the question of whether you were truly seeing the same ghastly brute as him.

But any answer he sought would have to wait, it appeared. The momentary glance at your chuckling figure was cut short by the beast’s consciousness of Kenobi’s brief distraction.

Its paws struck the ground with a sharp crack, signaling the Nexu’s powerful charge toward Obi-Wan as the latter’s attention snapped back toward the rapidly closing-in creature. One, he now noticed, whose approach could be viscerally sensed, further persuading the Master Jedi to poise himself for the coming strike that he felt through the surrounding flow.

“I can feel its movement within the force!” He called out while dodging a quick slash of the right set of claws. “How is that possible?!”

“It’s part of the programming,” you leveled candidly while Obi-Wan sprinted for a better vantage point toward the far wall, slithering beast on his tail.

“I think that’s why Qui-Gon assumed it was built for the Jedi,” you continued. “Never could figure out how that part worked.”

Drawing on the stream around him as he reached the dead end, Kenobi leapt onto the wall, maintaining his momentum while he followed its architecture around the training room.

Still, the slobbering huffs of the Nexu stayed close behind, especially once the creature’s biting claws lodged into the same partition, empowering it to launch into a rather slippery chase while its talons fought against the smoother sectionals.

However, the agile Jedi persisted, formulating a plan as his eyes locked onto an abruptly nearing corner.

With the blustering beast just a few steps behind, Kenobi broke away toward the opposite intersecting wall. Then, with cold air resisting against his face, Obi-Wan exercised the boost to reach and thrust against this new push-off point, barreling into a flip back toward the growling beast that still struggled to skitter across this raised vantage point.

Swiftly, while the Master Jedi glided midair, Kenobi brought down his blue luminescence to slash at the Nexu’s back. It was in that instant, that he successfully severed several of its sharp quills, a pink ooze soaking the creature’s fur while it wailed out in agony.

Embracing the Force to cushion his descent, Obi-Wan partially floated to the stone floor, toes centering his landing as the beast once clawing across the dojo wall writhed into a short plummet, striking the floor with a boom just meters beyond his feet.

Kenobi watched on while the Nexu pitifully rolled to its side, emitting a flurry of pained squeaks and whimpers in its parade to expose its underside, a symbol of surrender.

But that white flag wasn’t what prompted Obi-Wan to abruptly unfasten The Muntuur from his skull and end the program, leading the now docile Nexu to fade into nothingness as the device hummed through its deactivation.

No.

Instead, the slightly panting Jedi’s attention was seized by a sudden burst of laughter from the far corner, flinging his bewildered yet slightly curious gaze toward your bent-over form leaned against the dojo’s gray doors.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just, this is the first time I’ve seen someone use The Muntuur from an outside perspective and I’m—” Another fit of giggles poured out of your gut, squeezing Obi-Wan’s brows to raise in delight at the sound.

“I’m just now wondering how Qui-Gon kept a straight face! With nothing there for me, it just looks like you’re running around in circles, and—“

Another howl of laughter colored the air, touching his chest with a strangely familiar sensation. One that he couldn’t quite clearly recall, but knew still that it had been something he’d experienced a couple times a year as a young Padawan.

On those few evenings in the fall when his training had ended early for the day, young Kenobi would run off to the Glitannai Eslpanade to experience the Festival of Stars. And while he appreciated the joy of dancing beings and the artistry of performative acrobatics, he’d only really had one motive for sneaking off with a nut brown robe tightly concealing his Jedi identity amongst the bustling crowds.

It was to gawk at the falling Ithorian rose petals, flung from the sky like euphoric tears at each year’s parade on Coruscant.

A sight he could never drag his eyes away from, no matter how hard he tried.

This wasn’t exactly what Obi-Wan had planned when he decided to focus your mind on matters separate from those stress-induced headaches. But he certainly wasn’t going to complain about finding success through other means. The undeniably beaming expression on your face meant that something he did had lessened the headache that’d emerged following your infirmary visit, at least.

Perhaps that was what gave rise to his inner appreciation for your enlivened state. Because when he heard your laughter spring throughout the room, it confirmed for him that he’d finally taken a little bit of your pain away.

And that idea alone tugged fiercely at his facial muscles, coaxing him to give rise to a smile.

But Obi-Wan shoved that down, instead adopting a rather unimpressed gaze as his voice oozed with sarcasm.

“I’m pleased you find my defensive techniques so amusing.”

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