#vision is back to being complete shit until the nerve gets pinched again

[bitchfitch]

I got home from the hospital last night. I can't sit upright or really walk anywhere bc of vertigo and the numbness in my legs is worse than it was before but that's suspected to pass within the next few days.

that's not the point of this post tho. when I got home I was out of my skull on the nerve pain medicine and panicking bc I am. unhealthy emotionally dependent on my cat Changuita Prime and couldn't check on her since she can't really get on the bed on her own. (Manx syndrome).

She doesn't like being on the bed either, she knows she can't get down again and doesn't like her movement through the apartment to be that constrained, but I needed her so my father put her in bed with me.

she stayed beside me the entire night. my arms are bruised from her making biscuits. She usually gets bored after a few minutes and stands at the edge of the bed meowing for help getting down.

Its the first time she's done that since she was little, I think she knows on some level that I'm sick and need her right now.

[teamatsumu]

: ̗̀➛ rough.

✎ pairing: murasakibara atsushi x reader

✎ word count: 1,141

✎ nsfw, smut, explicit content

Murasakibara doesn’t get intense in bed often. He doesnt have to. He is already so massive that minimal effort is enough to completely wear you out. The problems start when he does get intense in bed.

After the Seirin game, there was no stopping him. No talking him down or trying to calm him. He was frustrated and irritated and he needed to vent. And there you were, a convenient target.

The headboard creaked and groaned in protest as it banged against the wall. The bed was probably on its last legs. A little more and it would break down. The noise it was making was already alarming in itself. You however, could give less of a shit. Not when you could barely breathe.

“Atsushi!” You wailed, trying everything in your power to squirm away from the relentless pounding your pussy was taking at the hands of your 6’10” boyfriend. Your lungs rushed to catch up and your muscles seized, toes curling. The wet slapping of skin was a positively pornographic sound. In the dim light, your body shone with sweat, tears, drool and your own juices, unable to do anything except cry and take his huge cock. This was a hard enough feat on your good days, but today? Atsushi had thrown you onto the bed and ripped your clothes off, no prep and no warning, before bullying his cock into your tiny pussy and proceeding to fuck you into the mattress.

All he did was grunt in response, hair obscuring his face from you, one hand holding your wrists tight over your head, while the other groped roughly at your breast, pinching and pulling your nipple so hard it made you shriek. His massive frame pressed down on your torso, leaving you with little room to breathe and even less room to move. His fast and trembling breath hit your cheek, the only sign that he was affected by this like you were. Your legs shook, twitching in the air as you took everything you got, feet kicking.

“Atsushi, please, slow-” you weeped. “Slow down.”

A rough hand reached up, gathering your hair and tugging hard enough to make you arch up. His pace quickened even more and you screamed.

“Silly girl,” he groaned, mouthing and licking at your throat before biting down hard. Your eyes rolled up into your head. “No ‘going slow’ today. I’m going to crush you, little bug. And you’re going to take everything I give you. Okay~?”

His singsong drawling voice was throwing you off. No one would guess he was completely wrecking you by the way he spoke. The only sign was the slightly hoarse tone of his voice. And here you were, feeling like your very nerves were being ripped from your body. Your core was singing in bliss, nearly purring when he hit just the right spot, the head of his cock pressing so deliciously inside you with each thrust it made fresh tears leak from your lash line.

You didn’t even register when he pulled out and flipped you over, the room spinning in your vision as he manhandled your hands behind your back. One strong hand gripped your wrists tight while the other wound into your hair, pushing you down until your cheek was squished into the mattress. You gasped when he entered you again and resumed his brutal pace. The new angles had you moaning all over again, your spine tingling. Your pussy burned and your thighs ached. Tears trickled down the bridge of your nose and dripped onto the sheets, mixing with the drool that ran down the corner of your mouth. The filthy squelch of his cock entering you made your face heat up, fueling every dirty desire you had ever dreamed of.

Minutes later you felt the wonderful ball in your stomach tighten, threatening to burst. Eyes squirming shut at the overwhelming feeling. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth.

“Atsu….. I’m gonna,,, I’m-” You babbled nonsensically, but your boyfriend seemed to understand, picking up his pace until you were screaming and clenching around him, stars bursting under your eyelids as your ears rang.

The last thing you heard was the low groan behind you as Atsushi’s hips stuttered, and the last thing you felt was warmth fill your core as he painted your insides white.

…………………

When you came to, you registered how cozy you felt, warm and relaxed, your back pressed into something firm while the sloshing sounds of water filled your ears. All was still and steady around you, eerily so. Your eyes blinked open slowly, as if the tiniest action was enough to fatigue you, and you smiled when you saw the pristine white tiles of your bathroom wall in front of you. You turned your head so your nose pressed into the side of Atsushi’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply.

“You’re awake,” he mumbled through a full mouth, making you pull back to look up at him. His cheeks bulged out, jaw moving as he munched on whatever he was eating. You followed the movement of his hand as he reached out to the small table beside the bathtub, dipping into a transparent bowl that you could see was filled with mini Snickers bars. You sighed and relaxed into him again, feeling him slide his other arm around your waist to steady you. His legs stretched out on either side of you and toes comically peeked out of the water on the other side.

The water around you was letting out gentle wafts of fragrant steam, and you observed that Atsushi had really gone all out this time. Bath salts tickled your skin and a scented candle gently flickered on the shelf above the tub. You felt something poke at your lips and you opened your mouth, allowing your boyfriend to feed you whatever snacks he had laid out on the table. You let the sweet chocolate melt into your mouth.

“How long have we been here?” You asked, eyes already drooping. You felt his muscles shift behind you, indicating that he was shrugging.

“Maybe ten minutes.” He hummed, looping both arms around you and pulling his legs up so he could squeeze you between his hold. You smiled and let him. The press felt nice against your exhausted limbs. You shivered when Atsushi pressed a wet kiss into your bare shoulder, nibbling lightly at the skin.

“You did good today. Sorry I went too far.”

You giggled and turned your head to look into his eyes, wet hand reaching up to thumb affectionately at the little crinkles around them. “Are you kidding? I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

He pressed his face into the side of your head, hair tickling your nose as you laughed, unable to muster the energy to push him away.

[ncitygirls]

dance - jeno x f reader

fluff, smut, 2.1k

jeno knows it’s bad, but he can’t help but reminisce on how this all began. he likes to torture himself by reliving the first night over and over. it always starts with the drunken taunts from his teammates, sullied further by his dismissal. ‘no way,’ he’d said. ‘i can’t go there.’ he remembers seeing your roommates hyping you up, followed closely by your misguided steps. even after his earlier reluctance, he still regrets not beating you to the jump, his friends’ clearing their throats, trying to act natural as you approached their booth.

he hated the setting: a grotty sports bar a town over from his college campus. it sold stale, cheap beer, triple vodka sours and served well past three am. this may not sound like the typical start to a love story, but it was a start all the same.

‘do you wanna dance?’ you asked in a painfully small voice, your emboldened strut paling in complete contrast to your timid yet gleaming gaze. jeno still can’t say where he found the courage to agree, but agree he did, nodding behind his beer before following you up to the sticky floor. somewhere along the way you had taken his hand in yours, in fear of losing him in the sea of sweaty bodies. in the musty wave of noughties hits with tacky modern spins, jeno managed to lose himself anyway. he hadn’t a clue where to put his hands, his eyes searching yours as you giggled up at him, cooing at his bewilderment.

so you led. placing his hand on your exposed waist, your top riding up as it hugged the skin beneath your rib. he felt you shiver under his touch, his fingers clenching minutely at the feeling. ‘is this okay?’ he’d yelled, though it came through as more of a whisper under the music. you didn’t respond, instead reaching for his other hand, squeezing it over the denim on your hip. jeno was spinning. not from dancing, and not from the amount he’d drank. he knew it wasn’t down to that, nor the dizzying motion of the lights, the thickness of the air or the pounding of the music. jeno knew it was you. your chest pressed flush to his, your eyes boring into his. he didn’t know when you’d started swaying, his body leaning, moving in time with the music and the others on the floor. he could hear the songs changing, feel the bass beneath his feet. there wasn’t much he could do but enjoy it.

much like he still does. as he drags you close to him, the rosie organza pleated around your chest pressed right up to his satin lapel. his confidence then pales in comparison to now. it only took a few months to see the change, one you nurtured in all the ways a man like jeno needed. in soft assurances and gentle praise. in delicate touches and the softest embraces. in ardent exchanges and steamy quickies.

but the trouble began this past winter. well, technically well before. as a child, jeno had spent his summers visiting his cousin jaemin in his hometown from before he could remember. there the two had fortified a friendship, a real brotherhood that jeno never would have gotten to experience without being cast away to the country every solstice. it was there he met his cousin’s neighbour, mark lee. mark lee, a kind kid with wide eyes and a wider smile, was the kind of kid everyone looked up to. he embodied what jeno typically thought to be an older brother. and he was. to his step sister and cousins, to kids in his neighbourhood, to jeno’s cousin jaemin and eventually to jeno. it’s why, this christmas just gone, when mark had approached jeno, with giddy eyes and a giddier smile, to ask him to be one of his groomsmen - not just due to the refusal of a painfully introverted jaemin - but because of a genuine brotherhood formed between the two, jeno’s big hearted self could not refuse.. bringing us back to where the trouble began.

‘so, are you bringing her to the wedding?’ mark questioned suddenly, his arm pushing through the sleeve of his tux. ‘you definitely shou- it’s a bit tight at the elbow, can you see?’

jeno still curses jaemin for opting out of being a groomsman, leaving jeno to deal with the trivialities of wedding prep. not that he has a real problem with it all. it’s just a fitting, he thought as he walked in, his eyes landing on the black silk hanging off the changing room door. it wasn’t until he realised it was just he and mark - the rest of the groomsmen opting to come on a later date - that he was regretting the decision. because even though no one would admit it to his face, mark was a bit of a groomzilla. less for the usual reasons. he wasn’t rude, short or angered by little inconveniences. he was just a man of superstition, faith, and insurmountable dubiety. he wanted everything to be perfect. he wanted to do as much of his part as he could for his wedding day. jeno thinks his fiancée had been right to leave him the task of the guest list. mark easily knew more people, so was naturally inundated with acquaintances. it was a great idea, jeno thought.. until mark kept- on- pushing- ‘i’ll even relieve you of your duties early, let you go off with her-’

‘thanks man,’ the younger tried, watching the tailor pinch the jacket at his waist. ‘but really, i don’t think i will. i’ll just bring my mom or something.’

‘your mom’s already invited man, you know that.’ jeno huffed at that. of course she is. mark did take his duties seriously after all. ‘couldn’t have her going off on me like jaemin did-’

‘are you comparing my mom to jaemin?’

‘i’m just saying-’ mark paused to thank the attendant, slipping back out of his jacket as he walked up to jeno, squeezing his shoulder. ‘you’ve got nothing to be nervous about, jen. you’re like a brother to me. you should bring her, i’d love to meet her.’

jeno flinches just thinking about it, his spine straightening as mark turned to him fully. jeno manages a shrug, turning back to the mirror just for a second before deciding that, no. no, it wouldn’t be a good idea to introduce his girl to his best friend on his wedding day.

because the issue wasn’t that he wouldn’t invite you.

‘you met her at college, right?’

the issue was that he couldn’t.

‘maybe y/n knows her?’

the issue is that you’re already going.

‘you know what my sister’s like, she gets on with everyone.’

“jen?” you pant, his name falling off your tongue as he bounces you quickly in his lap. “come back to me.” he smiles at your sweet call, your teeth catching his lip between them before slipping your tongue into his mouth.

the ceremony starts in ten minutes, though guests are still pouring into the church. it’s what actually convinced him. that and you, your manicured hand stuffing your damp panties into the pocket of his fitted tux. it had been his undoing, your sweeping frame gliding into a small side door a few feet from the altar.

the clock is ticking but you pay it no mind, your hips halting their rise and fall as you dig your heels into the masoned floor, grinding your hips back and forth as you ride him. you feel his nails dig painfully into your skin, his tongue wrapping around yours, swallowing your gasps as his other hand gathers your dress, the layers of delicate organza billowing over his knee. when your nails find his nape, careful not to mess up his perfectly styled do, you suck on his ear lobe, forcing him to thrust up into you.

“fuck-”

“shh!” you hiss, rushing to stuff the same panties you gifted him in his mouth. you hear his muffled groans, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks the essence of you onto his waiting tongue. he feels you clench harder around him, his eyes smiling in place of his occupied lips. he lifts a brow when your rocking falters, your eyes darting around his perfect face, incapable of taking in anything but him and how he makes you feel. there’s a question in his gaze, forcing your head to bob. “yeah- i’m close-”

he abandons your dress then, letting the material pool around you two as he presses his palm to your neck, bringing your mouth to his. it’s a quick and steep descent to your release, your thighs burning as he slams you up and down on his cock, your skin clapping against his as he abandons all reason. he’s kept it quiet for so long, at times he thinks it might consume him from the inside out, all this love he has for you. all jeno really wants is to scream it out from the highest mountain top, tattoo it to his forehead, paint it on the fucking moon. hell, he would pay anyone to listen. he didn’t care who. he’d tell anyone who’d listen that he, lee jeno, was in love with y/n y/l/n.

“i love you too,” you almost cry, jaw unhinged as you feel the effects of his thrusts and affection rip through you. it spreads through you like wildfire, setting every nerve in you alight before it finally consumes him. your heat pumps and pushes him past his release, his heavy load pouring out into you. you milk him through it, your temple pressed to the crown of his head.

it’s the church bells that rip you apart, your whole body cringing as realisation hits. you cringe further as his flushed face fills your vision, his hands gathering your dress again before further staining your panties as he wipes between your legs. “don’t look at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like it’s worse for you than it is for me.” you’re about to ask how when he moves away from you, closing his eyes as he wraps it up before shoving it back in his pocket. “i said don’t.”

“fine, i won’t-” your surrender is cut short when knuckles strike the door three times, jaemin’s sign to wrap it up. “shit, let’s go-” you try to leave but can’t. because suddenly he’s stopping you, his warm hand loosely wrapped around your wrist.

“let’s tell him.”

“tell who what-”

“mark.” jeno used to hate acknowledging the striking similarities between you and your step brother. much like the unwon battle of the chicken and the egg: which came first? which of you taught the other that when your eyes enlarge, rounding into porcelain saucers, two full moons nearly eclipsing him, that he’d give you anything?

“today?” when he nods, you want to laugh. but he looks so confident. so sure. “jen, are you sure?”

“i am,” his affirmation makes your heart swell, even before he continues. “i’m sure about you.”

he knows where your uncertainties lie. but you affirm it too. “i’m sure about you too.” you both seem to forget the wedding in that moment, both neglecting the importance of your bridal party roles in favour of basking in one another for even a second longer. “only if you save me a dance?”

“always.” so much so, you don’t register the sound of the confessional door swinging open when jeno leans in to kiss to your forehead, his bitten lips pressing to the skin as his eyes land on a pair not too dissimilar to the ones he’d just poured his heart out to.

mark seems to short circuit for a second that seems to last hours. “mom’s looking for you,” he announces, spluttering around the words as you immediately grab jeno by the hand and drag him out the confessional. you both duck your heads as you shuffle past jaemin, who looks beyond pissed you didn’t heed his earlier warning.

when you both disappear, your brother turns on jaemin, eyes wide as full moons. “you knew!” it only angers him more when jaemin nods, unflinching when mark starts slapping his arm. “he told you and you didn’t tell me?”

“nuh-uh,” the younger defends, straightening out the groom’s lapel as he reverently shuts the confessional door. “i figured it out.” mark looks bewildered at the notion it had been so obvious. jaemin has to remind himself it’s mark’s day and not to be too harsh. “come on, hyung. he wouldn’t tell us her name, wouldn’t let us meet her.” mark still looks stunned. “don’t get me started on how many times they pulled this shit last christmas-”

and to think. it all started with a dance.

[hoe-imaginess]

vanilla | dabi

very alpha!Dabi x fem omega!Reader 

summary: Dabi isn’t aware that the LoV has an omega up for grabs, not until he accidentally comes across you in heat. 

word count: 11.7k

contains: dub-con elements, scent kink, humiliation, masturbation, hella dirty talk, mentions of blood/burns, Dabi being an all around bastard

a/n: commissioned by K to share part of my ABO fic. Most ABO stuff makes me squeamish so I leave out token tropes (aka knots) another private fic that I didn’t plan on posting so it’s kinda uhhhhh bad lmao. will possibly post more but idk. 

DON'T let the title mislead you ok Dabi is anything but vanilla 

⤰

When he found the safehouse, Dabi knocked at the front entrance.

For a long time there was no response, and he tried again, louder this time and with more exasperation.

“Coming,” he heard a shout finally, muffled across the steel door.

Dabi rubbed his eyes to put some pressure behind them, in hopes it might too take that same pressure away from the sting in his nose.

Some heady omega in the area was in heat, and a bad one; the entire neighborhood reeked of the tantalizing aroma.

He groaned, jaw tensing, and with practiced composure put the fire down in his body. He had enough of it running under his skin every second of the day in the form of his quirk. He didn’t need any more. But it was getting worse the longer he waited there with that smell tiding in the air.

He didn’t even know why he was there, doing such a chore, in the first place.

Maybe it was because this League of Villains business was a promising crusade; he’d heard good things and seen for himself some profit in the affiliation, even despite how profusely he disliked the weird hand-guy, or how awkward the black fog in a suit could be. 

The other recruit, Toga—who he found as equally disagreeable as the rest—had all but blindsided him that evening as he exited the dainty bar which they called headquarters.

Could you do me a favor, Dabi? she’d entreated with an attempt at innocent, girl-like charm: a tactic which, as it usually did, failed. The manic grin on her face had only made him want to be away from her company all the sooner.

No, he’d said, and pushed past her.

But she’d skipped after him, steadfast. 

Tomura had asked her to run an errand in one of the more dangerous parts of the city, she’d said, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She was just a girl, after all. Couldn’t Dabi do her this one favor and take the responsibility off her hands? She was too nervous to take a trip like that, and so late in the night.

Bullshit, he’d said, but instead of protesting in defense of herself, she’d just giggled like a lunatic, dropping her pretense.

Still, when she said it was a delivery which needed to be made to you, the only member of the League he had yet to officially meet, curiosity pinched him.

Indifferent as he was to comradery, he was undeniably interested in unearthing the particulars of this would-be villainous syndicate, which included being at least somewhat familiar with his allies. He knew you had been an original member even before he and the psycho schoolgirl came into the fold; but little else. 

You needed a delivery to be made to one of the League’s safehouses? Well, maybe he could oblige, if only to snoop around. Shigaraki was particularly fastidious with the information he willfully shared, and Dabi would take any opportunity to filch information under the boss’s nose in stride.

After all, if Toga, a new—and undoubtedly incompetent—recruit was being tasked with these deliveries, why not Dabi? Why not Kurogiri, who could make the shipment with ease given his quirk?

What was going on behind the scenes that Dabi wasn’t seeing?

Underwhelming as his first task as a newcomer would be, he saw it as an opportunity. He could be a good and useful asset to the League just for the night, he’d decided, when he told Toga he would do it. He was headed to that side of town anyways, he’d said. 

So there he found himself, his foot tapping impatiently on the ground as he waited outside the safehouse. 

That goddamn scent that wafted around the building... Why did he feel as though he’d smelled it before? And why did it smell so… sickeningly sweet?

He tried to distract himself by musing over what might have solicited these late-night deliveries, for example: what was in this suitcase he was meant to give you. 

Toga had handed it to him with such a twisted, giddy smile on her face that he was half-convinced it was a bomb ready to blow and scatter him into pieces for her sick delight. Once he’d found it locked, he’d given up on guessing the contents after he shook the thing and the rattling inside gave no indication of the secrets it held.

More distraction, he entreated himself. 

He thought of the itch of his staples, the uncomfortable tingle on his ridged skin when the air brought heavy wind against it. He thought of anything that might take away from the smell of raw heat in the area, but it was an instinctual pull that left him fidgeting where he stood.

He was about ready to leave the suitcase at the door and hit the road, when there was a commotion from across the threshold.

The aroma that burst from the opening door completely smothered him, made every bone in his body feel like smoldering steel; made lightning shoot down his veins and a low breath catch in his lungs.

You blanked when you saw him there, your pupils blowing wide with shock, then, if he read it correctly, fear.

He sniffed hard, his body scrambling for a source to the scent that begged his alpha inclinations to go wild. The inhalation sent pinpricks of warmth down to his feet. The smell was overwhelming now, almost dizzying.

And it was coming from you.

“Fuck,” he spat, and covered his nose with his arm, backing away from the door.

You slammed it shut, your heart racing.

“What are you doing here?!” you demanded.

“Came to give you this goddamn shit,” he snapped, throwing the suitcase at the door. It landed with a violent thud. His limbs jerked with frayed nerves, like the sun was heating his skin and crawling down to his center. “Are you an idiot!? You know I’m an—”

“I do that’s why I wanted Toga to bring it—”

“She had me do it,” he shouted, and backed himself against the opposite alley wall, a hand clenching and unclenching against his clothed thigh.

Goddamn your smell. Goddamn it. Like vanilla. Horribly sweet. So fucking potent.

He threw his head back against the wall, ignoring the throbbing pain it kneaded into his skull, and breathed hard.

He wanted to bust down the door. His legs twitched at the impulse; fingers tensed and flames licked their tips.

It would be easy. Kick it down. Burn it down. Burn the whole goddamn place down if need be. He wanted to force his way in, wanted to claw at your clothes and shove himself inside you—

Instead he took another deep breath, and loosed it on a shaky sigh.

He’d handled omega heats before, why was he like this now? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was too much.

“You need to leave,” you muttered from the other side of the door, so resolute and aggrieved that he would have never guessed you were keeled over on the floor, legs shut tight and body shivering. His alpha smell was nauseating you; it was strong and dominating and demanding that you open yourself to him. “Now.”

“Yeah I’m goin',” he snapped angrily, storming off down the alley once his legs restored their loyalty to his head, and not what was between his legs. “Fuck."

⤰

Dabi stroked himself hard and fast and rough, nose pressed into his sleeve, breathing in the sweet tang of vanilla that lingered between the fibers.

He growled out his next breath, and it sputtered off into a wobbly sigh as he closed his eyes and thought of you: those perfect tits he was sure you were hiding under your clothes; your ass, which would look like nice, he knew, with his handprints burned onto the skin; and then your cunt—fuck, he could almost imagine how tight it was, how hotly it would grip him and milk every last fucking drop of his cum—the mere vision of it pink and twitching and spread out for him was like an explosive punch to his gut.

He came in thick, hot spurts, some rolling over his knuckles as he quickly twisted his fist over the cockhead, others staining the brick wall in front of him with ropey, white streaks.

“Fuck,” he panted, chest heaving, limbs trembling. A hand shot to the wall and braced himself there for balance, kept him upright while his quivering knees threatened to fail him.

When was the last time he’d even had to rub one out like this? In a dirty fucking alley? And least of all because of some stupid omega?

Goddamn you, he thought.

⤰

“Dabi!” Toga squealed when he returned to the bar later in the morning. She sniffed the air, breathed in his smokey scent, and flashed a hungry smile, tongue dipping out to wet her eager lips. “You smell so strong. Are you worked up?” Then her eyes were bright and thrilled. “Oh? Oh?! Did you see _____-chan? Did you?"

“Yeah, you crazy idiot.” Dabi slammed the bar door shut behind him. "You just forget to mention that she was in heat?”

Shigaraki, who’d been previously uninterested in the debacle, now looked up from his game. “What?”

Toga giggled. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Did you smell her? Oh, it’s so nice, isn’t it?” The girl’s eyes twitched and rolled back loftily in ravenous remembrance. “_____-chan smells so sweet. So sweet—”

“You caught her in heat?” Shigaraki asked, accusative but curious. “Are you stupid?"

Scowling, Dabi jerked a thumb at Toga. “Dipshit over here had me take some stuff over to that safehouse you got. I didn’t fuckin’ know."

“You dumb girl,” Shigaraki snapped, turning on her now. “Are you brain dead? Or do you really not get why omegas hide from alphas during heats? Why do you think we have a beta like you go do deliveries now?”

“I know what happens!” she contended. “I thought she could use some company. She smells so delicious. Was it fun, Dabi? Was it fun and romantic and—”

“Try infuriating,” Dabi spat, then set his anger on Shigaraki. “You’re no better. Either of you.” He nodded his head at Kurogiri behind the bar. “Would’ve been nice to know you had an unmated omega in your group.”

“Thought you’d noticed by now,” Shigaraki replied, now somewhat subdued, and tending to his game again. “What, your nose doesn’t work?”

“It works fuckin’ fine. Just didn’t realize that scent you got around here all the time was hers.”

In recollection, he put his sleeve over his nose. The sweet smell had vanished, but the memory of it still haunted his senses, made every nerve in his body flutter with excitement. It was driving him fucking insane.

“How the hell do you two work with an omega?” Dabi asked. “That gets heats like that, no less.”

“We’re not animals,” the leader replied. “Some of us can handle it.”

“My ass. Guessin’ that’s the reason she’s never around, huh? You don’t seem very disciplined. Bet you catch one whiff of that slick and go completely ape shit.”

Shigaraki scowled, affronted.

“It was our mistake not warning you,” Kurogiri conciliated the blame, clearly nervous, and possibly displeased by the crass talk. “We were under the impression that you knew. We’ve taken steps to lessen the risk in our years together. We are somewhat… desensitized.”

“Good for you,” Dabi muttered. “I ain’t. A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“Now you know,” Shigaraki said, scratching peevishly at his neck. “Stop complaining. You’ll get used to it.”

Dabi tsked. “Yeah, you better hope I do.” Then he stalked off.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Shigaraki asked Toga once the other alpha had departed.

Toga keened happily, still enamored with Dabi’s untamed scent. Alphas were so delicious when worked up.

“I forgot,” she insisted dreamily. “Honest, I did.”

“That was a very risky mistake,” Kurogiri was saying, black vapors flitting nervously about his frame. “As a beta, you may not be aware of the risks that both alphas and omegas face when it comes to positions of power–”

Toga pouted and whined, like a child whose gleeful imagination had been thwarted. “I don’t get it. I was just doing them both a favor. Alphas are supposed to take of omegas in heat, aren’t they? What’s the big deal?” She had a stupid smile on her face again, rapt with thoughts of desire. “It must be so nice as an alpha, getting to take any little omega you want… they’re so needy.”

“The big deal, you damn idiot,” Shigaraki started, “is that a guy like that is too selfish to put our objectives before his prick. There’s a reason we don’t mess with that heat and rutting crap here. Complicates things. Makes everyone go crazy. Like you.”

She tittered like a lunatic, proud of her indignity. “She smells so good, Tomura. It’s not fair. Not fair at all.”

⤰

After your heat, once you’d returned to the bar, you ignored Dabi to the best of your ability.

At first, he seemed content enough to reciprocate the caution. You both treaded carefully: any eye-contact made would be swiftly curtailed with averted gazes; you cleared a room whenever he entered, and vice versa, he acted as though you were invisible to him.

It would be fine, you’d told yourself. You’d dealt with the ugly dynamics your omega lifestyle wrought countless times. You could do it again. Dabi was a new recruit, after all. Promising—albeit coarse—according to Tomura. His contribution to the team far outweighed the plights of your personal struggles. You would be fine. It would be fine.

But those lofty self-reassurances were short-lived.

You were sitting in one of the bar’s empty rooms when he sought you out. You smelled him before he rounded the corner, and fear gripped you when the alpha bouquet invaded your senses. But then something else came to seek your submission: an instinctual calling on the wisps of his scent, bringing an anxious and conflicting nostalgia back to you.

God his smell had followed you for days: a smokey aroma, but something so fresh underneath it, like cold mint. You’d never been so enthralled by a scent before, never been so tempted to give in to carnal desire and offer yourself to a being nature had designated as your superior: an alpha.

He stood in the doorway of the room, just looking at you; you stared back, frozen, and made yourself small in hopes that you might avoid whatever confrontation was to come.

“Your heats always that stupidly strong?” he asked.

You blanched and took a deep breath to quell your unease. You wished to anything that the world would swallow you and take you away from what was undoubtedly going to be one of the worst, most uncomfortable confrontations of your life.

“Yes,” you said. “That’s why I have to go away.”

“Why? I mean, most omegas do it. Usually to work it out themselves, right? Bet that little delivery I made was a bunch of toys, wasn’t it?” 

“No,” you said, feeling embarrassed by the mere speculation. “It was a suppressant. They don’t usually work on me... I’m trying to find the right one.”

The broad smirk that shifted his scarring tissue made you shift uncomfortably. “Suppressants are useless if your heat is too strong. That shit was bad. The smell is ridiculous. You clearly ain't doing somethin' right if it’s always that potent.”

You shivered at the mention of your scent. It was always what they mentioned—the alphas. They always raved about your scent: like sweet candy, some said. Most often, vanilla. The sniff of it on your very nose was nauseating after so long: an inescapable quality that put you in the crosshairs of nearly every alpha you’d met, made you frightfully easy prey to their predator.

“I’ve...” Shit, should you be sharing this with him? Normally you did, with most alphas you were acquainted with. Especially those you trusted. But you didn’t trust him. You barely knew him. “I’ve never... been rutted properly. So, they’re stronger. The heats.”

“Never been rutted through a heat?” he asked, scoffing. “Sounds miserable. You’re all backed up, aren’t ya? That’s why you struggle with your scent so much.”

You were quiet. You met his interrogation more confidently than you previously thought possible, given how successfully he’d intimidated you up until now. But your fear was draining away slowly, giving way to some sense of adeptness.

Memories of his scent had haunted your every bodily cell since the moment you’d first experienced it. Although facing it again now was overwhelming, you’d steeled yourself since then.

It would be okay, you reminded yourself. Conferring with allied alphas was only a necessary tack if you were going to keep the peace.

“I have, obviously,” you answered. “I’ve been rutted through a heat. But, it’s not the same if it’s not with… well—”

“An alpha?” he finished, and couldn’t help the surprise on his face. “You’ve never been with an alpha in your heat?”

You shook your head. And then there it was, the returning frailty so thick that it seized the room. Why were you so humiliated to speak your truths? They were truths, after all, under his harsh gaze or not.

“…I’ve never been with an alpha at all.”

He actually laughed. “Nah. You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Never even fooled around a bit?”

“No."

A wry, callous grin stretched his staples. He tilted his head and hummed curiously. “You afraid? Of alphas?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Omegas are normally dyin’ to get laid when they’re in heat. Especially when they’re surrounded by alphas they actually know, like you are. Would be one thing if you were locking yourself up to hide from strangers, but you’re not. Gross as that hand-guy is, he seems like he’d rut for ya."

“I just don’t... want it.”

“Nah. You’re scared. I can tell. Should’ve seen that look on your face the other day, damn near terrified—like I was gonna jump on you any second.”

You bristled with agitation, frustration invited back in full bloom now that your confidence was weakened. “Sorry if I don’t trust you,” you returned with grim sarcasm. “You’re not very… decent, to put it plainly.”

“Decent? Nah, I’m not. Alphas aren’t supposed to be. But that’s why you’re all nervous, right?”

“I don’t…” You shook your head, thoughts tripping over one another. “My quirk makes it difficult,” you admitted, and bit your tongue shortly afterwards.

”Your quirk?”

You swore it was his pheromones making you talk, clouding your judgment and wringing admissions from you. “Alphas and omegas dealing with ruts or heats… it compromises their quirks sometimes, I’m sure you know. Makes them uncontrollable and disorderly. I don’t want that to happen to me. Heats are bad enough on their own. Actually getting rutted through one…” You shrugged, vulnerable to be sharing your fears. “I don’t know. I heard it can go wrong. It would be too much.”

“Oh.” He snickered. “Afraid you’re gonna get too horny and flip out or something?”

Heat primed your cheeks in a blush. “No. I mean… In a way. But, thats not what I really meant–”

“So you just run away whenever you’re in heat? ‘Cause you don’t know how to handle it? That’s sad. Bet you wouldn’t be such a stuck up mess if you just let someone rut you through it, at least once. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Forget suppressants. Not just that,” he snickered, and smirked slyly, “it’s awfully unfair of you to be such a prude when you’ve got a bunch of alphas around."

You shivered, not simply noticing, but feeling his eyes pore over you. “They’re not interested.”

“Fuck that. Don’t know if you heard sweetheart, but omegas are made for us to fuck and breed.”

“No,” you said, almost indignantly, “they aren’t.” To be reduced to something so primitive and incidental put anger in your veins. It was a sore, but inevitable topic you were unfortunate to suffer so often.

“Yeah. They are. Don’t know how that hand-creep hasn’t tried to jump your bones yet. I sure as shit would have, by now.”

Then, considering his words, he made a curious frown. “Unless you hide to keep away from that guy.” As he thought of these depraved illustrations in his head, put pieces of his own mused puzzle together, the grim smile returned. “Yeah. I can see that. Putting your own sanity on the line because you don’t wanna provoke your boss. You’d rather scurry off than deal with that guy. You really are scared of alphas, huh?”

“No,” you spat. “Tomura is…“ God, you hated this, hated how his smell was driving you crazy, making you pliant. “Tomura doesn’t need distractions. He’s not very… well-equipped to handle these sort of things.”

You wouldn’t mention how the visual of Tomura’s hands gripping you with alpha-driven need, unwittingly cursing your skin with his quirk, obliging your flesh to break away under his clutches and slowly split you open was a terror that kept you awake some nights.

“I stay out of the way for both our sakes,” you said, shaking the fearsome thoughts away. “Everything works out fine the way it is. We want it this way. We know how to focus on our mission and that only."

He shrugged, unconvinced. “Sure, gotta keep the peace or whatever. Don’t wanna turn the League into a rut fest. Puttin’ the greater good over their alpha needs, over what’s in their pants."

You frowned at him, displeased with the vulgarity.

He snickered to see it. “Commendable of them and all that. But…” He pushed from the wall he’d leaned against and came towards you. You inched away, heart beating fast at the sudden approach. “I’m a little more radical about this stuff, I guess you could say. I think you’d be much more useful if you weren’t so pent up.”

When he crouched down in front of you, you backed into the wall that you sat against, but there was no room for escape. He wasn’t smiling now, only perusing you with expressionless intensity. You tried to suppress a shiver when his eyes rolled down your body.

“Never really been all that concerned with this sort of stuff, not gonna lie. I’ll rut when I need to. Otherwise shit starts getting complicated and I can’t think straight.” He shrugged. “But in case you haven’t noticed, my body ain’t all that suited for frantic ruts. I try to take it easy, if possible. But… I always thought it was a little dumb that we’re engineered to think with what’s between our legs, most of the time.”

And so saying, his warm had slid between your partially opened thighs, which shivered at his touch and clamped together quickly to deny him.

But he wasn’t deterred, and shoved against the resistance, slipping the invading hand under your skirt.

“Stop,” you demanded, breath automating into nervous pants. In sudden fear of being happened upon by the others, you glanced around feverishly, your feet shuffling on the ground to push you back against the wall.

“Stop, now.” Your hands were on his arm, trying to push him away. “Dabi,” you insisted, trying to sound firm. But it did little to deter him.

“See? Bet if you weren’t so damn skittish you’d be putting up a real fight.” His hand finally broke through the tight resistance of your thighs, and his fingers pressed against your underwear. They were damp to the touch.

He laughed, and stroked over the wetness with his knuckle, making you keen and try to pull away.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, looking down between your trembling thighs. “Unless you were playing with yourself before I got here, I’m guessin’ this is because of me?”

He took the wet fabric between his two fingers and rubbed together. “And what’d I do for you to get like this? You’re not even in heat. And I’ve barely got a scent on me right now. We’re just talking, ______. You really that hot for me, sweetheart?”

At the sound of your name coming from his mouth, gravelly and low, you shuddered, and put an arm over your mouth to keep in a stammering moan. But his other hand came and pulled the limb away.

“Please,” you stuttered out. “Stop.”

“Am I the first alpha who’s touched you like this?” he asked, ignoring your plea.

Your thighs tightened around him again, and one of your hands went to his collar, squeezing into it in meager resistance.

That too he ignored, and looked at you with plain impatience. “Am I?”

You whimpered and nodded, unable to form words when your lips were stuck harshly bitten between your teeth.

“Yeah, thought so.”

Then his thumb worked its cruel intentions and circled your clit. The pathetic gasp he received in turn made him chuckle.

“Nah. See, this isn’t supposed to happen.” His thumb pressed harder and your head knocked back against the wall. “I’ve seen some pretty slutty omegas, but this is plain stupid.”

“I’m—” You practically hiccuped through a whine, and squeezed your eyes shut, your quirk threatening to reveal itself, answering the calls of your panic and ready to defend against his assault. “I’m not a slut—”

He brushed up on your clit hard and you whimpered, defense all but surmounted.

“Okay, fine. You’re not a slut. You’re just damn sensitive because you’ve never given your body what it needs.” He grinned his wicked grin. “An alpha.”

You shook your head. “No—”

“Yes.”

You shook it vigorously now, and your hands came back to life, pushing at him. “No.”

“Yes, _____,” he breathed, laughing. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. Alpha, omega, whatever—those instincts make your brain all mushy if you don’t get it under control. You’ve got some dissonance going on in your head. You’re really letting yourself go because of it. You wanna be a good ally for your boss, but you can’t, because you’re too scared to—"

“I’m not,” you insisted, eyes wrenching themselves open to look at him. He was amused, depravedly amused, but still remarkably composed for how ruthlessly he was teasing you. “I just don’t want it–”

He snorted loudly, and you were sure the sound would echo and bring someone upon the spectacle. “You don’t want it? Seriously? Now you’re just in denial.”

His fingers coiled around your panties and shoved against your bare skin; your pussy was wet and warm to the touch.

“I can smell your slick, holy fuck,” he muttered. For the first time, though everything up until this point had been cruelly entertaining but not entirely stimulating, he felt his cock twitch, and his mouth water. He hummed. “Bet you taste like vanilla, too, don’t you?”

“St-stop,” you stuttered, face going hot with embarrassment, hiding it against your shoulder as if it would help mitigate the fluster.

He let go of the arm he’d been restraining, put a hand on your knee, and tried to push your legs open. He was surprised when met with resistance; you kept your thighs locked together like a vice, making it substantially more difficult to move his fingers on your clit the way he wanted.

He scoffed.

“Open your legs,” he demanded of you, and felt your body twitch at the command.

He looked at you, and was pleased to find you staring back, wide-eyed and jolted. His blue eyes narrowed autocratically.

He spoke his command slower, but with more authority, “Open them. Now."

And when you did, he let out a breathy laugh of satisfaction, and admired the mess of wetness between your thighs. “See? See how easy that was?”

One hand gripped the soft flesh of your thigh—shit, the skin was practically begging for his teeth to sink in, to make you bleed, to mark you—while the occupied continued its ministrations, fingers jerking quickly over your pink clit.

"What if I were some enemy tryin’ to get some information out of you, huh? You’d probably spill everything about the League to another alpha the second he gave your pussy any attention. Shit,” he laughed, head cocking curiously as he played with the folds of your cunt, “I’m just teasin' you a little and you’re already dripping, for one. For two, following my every command like a good little whore.”

You shook your head, wordless in your denial. You thought you could taste blood in your mouth from your own lips, teeth digging in harshly to give your body any sensation to distract from the burgeoning pleasure. Your nerves were trampling over one another, all of them somehow alight with fire, but numb all the same.

“Imagine what I, or any other alpha, really, could get you to do with a cock inside you. Ever think of that? And if you were in heat?” He scoffed. “Forget it. You’re pretty much a liability at this point. Don’t know why the hell your boss keeps you around. It’s pathetic.”

Bracing both hands on his shoulders, you loosed a strangled moan of frustration, fingers biting into his clothes, pressing against the lean muscle beneath. He didn’t seem to care, too focused on the pink, twitching flesh now turning red from his fingers' abuse. He swiped his pointer and middle across your clit in a dizzying pace, until the tendons in his wrists burned and his knuckles ached. But your scent… fuck, the fucking scent—

He prided himself on his practiced fortitude against alpha instincts; his body, wracked by the toll of his quirk, was vulnerable as it was. Willpower was necessary to stave off the feral hunger that often made him forget his own fragility and indulge the fierceness of ruts and heats. It always ended with loose staples and bloody rivulets along his skin. Self-aware as he was of his own limitations, he so rarely let himself indulge his body’s desires.

But fuck if you weren’t testing him.

You were close, you knew, your body spasming and breath catching in every interval. You panicked, tried to fight it, but it was as though his fingers had caged your volition somewhere in the back of your mind, and instead propagated all senses to pleasure.

“Fucking tease,” he muttered under his breath, but you barely heard him above the frenzied din in your brain.

Just as you felt something in you stirring irrevocably, both his hands left you, and he stood to his feet.

You nearly toppled over, and spilt over yourself awkwardly to try and catch yourself on the ground. The wet slide between your thighs was horribly palpable, and horribly embarrassing.

You panted as you gathered yourself, looking up at him in flustered awe as you shut your thighs and protectively shoved your skirt back into place.

He was admiring his fingers, the wetness coating them, and when he noticed your gaze, waved them at you teasingly. “See this?”

So wet, you thought, humiliated, as a sticky strand started to spill from his finger. You shivered, your face sweltering and flushed.

“This is your body’s way of telling you that it’s beggin’ to be filled.”

You shuddered, and held yourself miserably, trying to fight the unsatisfied heat in your veins with calming breaths. “You’re horrible,” you whispered, your mouth dry.

“Nah. I’m being a nice guy. The only smart one around here, too, looks like.”

He licked at his fingers, a shudder going down his spine when he tasted the sweetness. It was unreal. “This is ridiculous. You wouldn’t have to worry so much about scurrying away from alphas if your smell wasn’t so strong. If you’re heat wasn’t so strong. And none of it would be, if you just did what you were made to do. You’re repressed. Backed up as hell—”

“I wasn’t made to do anything,” you argued, frustration returning.

“You can keep sayin’ it, but it doesn’t make it any less true. You’re more trouble than you’re worth, honestly. Got everyone jumpin’ through hoops for you because you’re so damn sensitive. I ain’t gonna do that.”

You sat there in a heap, fidgeting uncomfortably and fighting for any sense of self-determination you could. He’d said his scent was scant, but you swore it was filling the room, pulping your thoughts and dizzying your nauseous head.

“Clearly you’ve been stuck with some pretty underwhelming alphas until now,” he said. “So I’m gonna do you a favor. Next time you’re in heat, find me, and I’ll do something about it.”

He wiped his dirtied fingers on his shirt, then left you there.

⤰

A month later, Dabi got a call.

“What?” he answered curtly, thinking it was Shigaraki from a burner number. The boss did that sometimes, despite there being little need for throwaways. It was theatrical and annoying.

“It’s me.”

After a pause of non-recognition, you sighed, “It’s ______.”

“Oh?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

In the alley, Dabi admired the burning body he’d just finished off, the corpse kindling his blue flames nicely as it crumbled to ash.

He laughed lowly. “Yeah. Been about a month, hasn’t it. You had some time to think sweetheart?”

From the other end, you bit your lip. “I have rules.”

Something seeped into his blood and swelled within him. Like a breeze carried from somewhere far off, he got a whiff of your sweet scent, just a ghost of it, and licked his lips.

“Seems a little over the top,” he said. “But I’m listening.”

There was a sound in the alley behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder.

You took a deep breath on the other end, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. “I’ll be at a different place tonight. Another safehouse, down by the docks. The first rule is that when you get here, you have to—”

Dabi heard the cocking of a gun. The disdainful comrade of the dead, scorched man had the weapon raised and trained on him, spouting some threatening nonsense of vengeance. The flame-wielder huffed in annoyance.

“Can’t really talk right now,” he spoke into the receiver, his hands brightening with his quirk. “I’ll find the place. Better not get cold feet.”

“Dabi—”

But he hung up before you could say more.

⤰

You waited for the better half of the evening shot to pieces with doubt.

You’d gone over the situation a dozen times, and twice that number decided the uncontrollable confusions weren’t worth second-guessing; dictating right and wrong left you light-headed when your body was already a frenzied playground of sensation thanks to your heat.

You started to text him the address when midnight rolled around, just in case he’d gotten lost—then thought better of it. The uncertain doublet came again: You couldn’t do this. It was dangerous. You hadn’t witnessed Dabi’s brutality firsthand, but the hearsay was worrisome enough. He would break you. It would end horribly. Your quirk, or even his, would lash out—

Then the other half of the fretful analysis: Yes. You could do this. It was natural. It was true what he’d said, about you neglecting your body’s desires, and in turn leaving room only for self-sabotage. The thought of him drove you wild with uncertainty, but so did the notion of not doing this; your body was raging at the absence of touch. One which he was apparently willing to give.

Finally you called him, nerves scattered and patience thinned, deciding that whatever he had to say to you on the other line would determine whether or not you should carry on with your plans.

Almost as soon as you heard the ringing from the other line, so too did a chirpy noise come from right outside the safehouse door: a phone.

You blanched. Before you could make toward the door, the metal lever twisted with a creak and opened. He was there on the other side with his phone in hand, and lifted it teasingly when his eyes found you in the dim room.

“If you’re callin’ to give me directions, waste of time,” he said as he slunk inside. “I can smell you across the damn street.”

You shivered, smelling him, too: he radiated a warm scent, then that icy undertone which always perplexed you in the most enticing way.

He shut the door behind him, locked it, and inspected you. He huffed in amusement to see how nervous you were.

“You said you had some rules,” he started, coming towards you. Your heart started skipping. “Sounds like a lot of bullshit, so I wasn’t gonna remind you. But I guess if it’ll stop you from chickening out halfway…”

His hands were on you in an instant, at your sides, squeezing and kneading the flesh underneath your shirt. You froze. The dumbfounded look on your face had him smirking.

“Not that you’ll be able to once I get started,” he went on. “Or even want to. Probably gonna forget you even had rules once I stick it in you.”

The hands went down, gripped your ass, and brought your bodies together. You braced yourself against his forearms, stuttering when he wasted no time and pressed his face into your jaw, licking, kissing, teasing you with teeth.

Your eyes fluttered closed, mouth hanging open as he traveled down. At his touch, your mind slowed to blind submission. The excitement was stroking a fire in you that you hadn’t even known was there.

Fuck, it was too much. Already, too much.

“You gonna tell me?” he asked between kisses. "Or you already forgot?”

As he moved to your neck, he inhaled sharply through his nose. The sweet scent stirred a frenzy in his gut.

“Fuck.” The hands at your ass squeezed so hard that you gasped. “Goddamn girl,” he laughed breathily, grinding against you. “That shit’s good.”

“I—" You choked on your next words when he spread your thighs apart from behind, fingers curling under your skirt to feel for your panties. “The rules, I—”

“You better spit it out,” he warned, coming up to look at you, eyes fixed with hunger. “I’m not a patient guy. I’m really gonna pounce on you in a second if you don’t get on with it.”

It struck apprehension into you. You breathed out the words hurriedly, “Don’t mate me. Don’t give me a mating mark—”

He laughed in your face, making you blush, then went back to kissing at your neck.

“Didn’t plan on it. Don’t want a mate. Probably never will.” He kissed hard at your neck, breathed in your scent again with a hum. “Besides, even if I did, you’re not bad looking and I know your cunt’s gonna be nice and tight, but you’re not worth mating. You’re high-strung. It’s annoying.”

You bristled with anger, but his warmth was making every other sense dull to you. When his teeth teased the skin at your shoulder, you were wrangled back to focus.

“No marks,” you warned, just as his teeth sank in, and nudged away gently to dissuade him. “Don’t leave any. Kurogiri and Tomura can’t see–”

“I don’t give a fuck who sees,” he replied harshly, coming up to look at you. “Who cares? They were dumb enough to leave you unmated and practically dyin’ for a fuck, so forget them. I’m doing you a favor here, remember that. You can have some rules, but I’m doing whatever the hell I need to do.”

His fingers rubbed hard at your panties; they were wet to the touch. "Not like you’re gonna run out now. You’re fucking soaked.” With a pleased growl he went to your neck again, biting hard.

You squealed, but before he could start sucking at the skin, you reeled back and moved away from him. You pushed at his forehead with a hand, and he smacked it away.

“Then no,” you sighed out shakily once you’d gotten his attention. "We’re done here.”

You spoke it with such confidence that it actually earned you his consideration. He stared at you, half-impressed, but mostly, furious.

“If you can’t listen to me,” you muttered, braving his piercing eyes willingly, "then… then fuck off.”

He was scowling at you now, and without warning his fingers pinched your clit.

You gasped sharply and raggedly at the feeling, melting into his touch with weak legs. He had to hold you upright to prevent you from collapsing, and against your ear, he huffed angrily.

“That’s what I fucking thought, stupid slut.”

He shoved you down onto the mattress at your feet.

You were too dizzy to make a protest when he climbed over you, and had no voice on which to loose it when he ripped—literally ripped—your shirt apart and attacked your chest with harsh bites and licks. Your nipples got the worst of it: he went for them with a growl in his throat, claiming the peaks between his teeth, biting down so hard you squealed and kicked.

“You really don’t have a goddamn clue how this works, do you?” he was breathing out harshly. “What an alpha does to an omega?” He looked up at you. Your eyes were watery and trembling as they gawked down at him. “What I can do to you?”

His lips went down, and he shoved your skirt off of your legs, the panties going too. You had enough sense in you to shut your thighs, which made him scoff, and yank them apart painfully.

“Don’t you fuckin’ try it. This is mine right now. You and your little cunt, mine. Like it’s supposed to be.”

He knew even as the words came from his mouth like venom, that your scent, coupled with his long-unreleased pheromones, were pushing him to a point of brutality. He’d never been so prone to complete and utter dominance like this. And now looking between your thighs at the pink, swollen, shaven pussy twitching for him, he knew there was no chance you’d be getting any mercy.

“Look at this shit,” he muttered, dropping to his knees, and as a protest died on your lips, his own pressed against your wetness, breathing in your scent as he did, growling loud and wildly in his throat.

His hands went to your thighs and pulled, bringing you closer against him, ignoring the fingers in his hair that feebly tugged. A shaky whimper came on every one of your breaths, your mouth sputtering through frail pleas he didn’t understand and didn’t bother trying to.

He indulged one harsh, long, angry suck on your clit, and released with a wet smack. You cried, actually cried when he went back in and dug his tongue harshly against you.

“Dabi, Dabi—no, please–”

Your scent made him light-headed, made him forget for a split second where he was, made him forget the constant and residual pain from his quirk, the itch of his staples—made him forget it all.

You came on his tongue without warning, a loud screech dying in your throat as you arched off the mattress. He was too shocked to lick up the sweet cum that received him. His eyes shot open and he looked up at you; you were an absolute wreck: flushed, sweating, shaking, and seized with pleasure.

He tried to count in his head. How long had it been? A minute? Barely? Fucking ridiculous.

He sucked and sucked until you were writhing. He wanted to punish you, wanted you to see how fucking weak you were, how badly you needed this.

“Dabi—” you sobbed out, tears itching your eyes and rushing down your face.

He pulled off finally with a loud breath, smacking his lips, then went back down to lick up your pussy one more time to clean you with his tongue. You jerked and twisted miserably. Then he was climbing over you again, forcing you to face him.

“You see?” he panted. "See what I just did to you? See how fuckin’ quick you were to cum for me? That’s what you’ve been missing. You’re not in the position to be making demands or rules here, _____. This is what you deserve. This is what you need. You need an alpha, you need me, you need this—”

He took your hand and forced it to rub between his legs. You stuttered a pitiful breath when you felt the bulge there, so hot, so inhumanly hot, waiting for you. Under your touch it twitched, greedy to be inside you.

You shook your head, unable to keep your eyes open; the blinding pleasure made a transit to numbing warmth, and your lids were heavy with drowsiness.

Your lip trembled. “Please, I need a minute, please—"

“No. Fuck no.”

He shred his clothes quickly, pulling his jacket off, kicking his shoes off, clawing at his belt and throwing that off too—but getting no further than shoving his pants down his hips so his eager cock could spring free. He didn’t have the time for anything else. He didn’t have the fucking time.

“I was gonna go easy on you,” he muttered. "Just a little."

Manhandling you to a spread position beneath him, he was almost ready to shove into you—then he had an exhilarating idea, and flipped you over, slapping your ass hard and making you yell in surprise. He wanted to take you like this: dominating, and utterly primal.

He forced your hips up, ass out, pussy spreading for him. He took his cock, flicked the head mercilessly against your clit until you were keening. A firm hand on your hip prevented you from squirming away.

“Please,” you sobbed again, gasping, body trembling. The heat. The heat. It was too much. Your skin crawled with euphoric pinpricks of fire. You needed it. You needed it. “Please, Dabi—”

“Please what?” he snapped, fire in his veins, vanilla flooding his head. “There’s no way in hell you want me to stop, so you’re beggin’ me for more. Use your words then. Say it.”

Your shook your head, mouth dry and gaping. “I can’t—”

He smacked your ass again and you jolted, unable to stop from curling into yourself as you orgasmed; the scent of your slick invaded his nose and he realized what you’d done. A dangerous, slow, ragged laugh bubbled from his throat.

“My god you’re so fucking pathetic. Look at that.” He kneaded his hand hard into your ass, pulling and stretching the skin, keeping your pussy fleshed out for him. “Look at this shit. It’s dripping. I want you to admit how pathetic you are.” He started to jerk himself hard, precum spilling over his fingers in messy streams. “Say it.”

You shook your head, pressing it hard into the mattress below. His hand went for your hair, yanked it backwards, and a tight yell tore out of your throat.

“Say it right now or you’re not getting my dick. I can shove it in your throat and get off just fine.” Oh, but how fucking badly he needed to put it in your cunt... “Say it. Say you’re pathetic, and that you need an alpha cock. Say it.”

“Dabi, please—“ Your hips arched upwards, begging, completely overrun with need. He shoved you back down, dismantling your sanity with every second went without feeling him inside of you.

“Say it now or I swear I’m gonna leave you here, _____.” He yanked your hair tighter, his hand flying on his cock. Everything felt so good. Too good. Too fucking hazy. “I’m gonna use your mouth or these tits to get off, and then I’m gonna leave you here, dripping and fucking pathetic and alone. Alone in your heat like you always are, you stupid whore.”

The thought made you whimper despairingly; in turn, he groaned loudly as he worked precum out in rapid strokes.

“Say it. Now. Now.”

“I’m—” Needy sobs wracked your voice, your hands clutching the mattress. “I’m a—I’m pathetic, I’m pathetic—”

“Fuck,“ he moaned loud and heavy, pinching the base of his cock to hold off release, then going back to stroking again, unable to go without stimulus. “What else? What else, _____?”

“I’m pathetic and I need your cock!” you cried out, too desperate for pride, too desperate for anything else. “I need an alpha cock, I need it—Dabi, damn it, please!—”

You practically screamed when he rammed into you, a loud shout tensing out of him as he let go of your hair. He put both hands at your hips to hold you in place for his violent thrusts.

Your mouth was open in vacant stupor, eyes rolling, feeling another orgasm ripping through you almost instantaneously.

“Fuck… fuck,” he breathed, feeling you tighten around him. He growled angrily, biting his lip until the burnt, abused skin swelled and bled. “You fucking—fuck—” Your slickness was in such abundance that little specks flew with every one of his thrusts, making his cock spear in and out perfectly and without restraint.

Every muscle in his body screamed for release, so soon, so quickly. His balls ached for it, spittle flew from his mouth with every ragged breath he took. Your back arched so nicely underneath him. You were such a perfect fucking omega he almost couldn’t stand it.

He shut his eyes tight, hand going to fist back into your hair and wrench upwards. You didn’t protest, didn’t even let a sound leave your throat despite the pain it brought. It didn’t take away the pleasure; nothing could. Nothing could ever take this away: the stretch of his thick, long cock pounding into you, hitting that spot over and over again until you came once more, then twice, then a third time.

He was breathing so raggedly that it branched pain into his lungs; his fingers dug into your hip so harshly that blood spilled from beneath his nails.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost like a whisper: an angry, desperate, hissing whisper. “Oh fuck, _____...”

Everything was too much: your scent, the sight of you, your perfect cunt gripping mercilessly with every thrust. He bent forward, stuttering his hips into you as his orgasm approached. Copper met his tongue when he bit harshly into your back.

Beyond his control, his quirk joined the fray of pleasure, blue flame flickering faintly along his palms and burning you. But fuck, it didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered but the wet slap of his hips ramming into you, the painful bite of his belt at your thighs, his teeth at your back, sharp alpha canines digging in.

He felt the flames on his face rising; along his jaw, in his hair, they had a mind of their own. He had the sense, just a sliver of it, to back away from you, saving you from the heat that licked parts of his face, even as his hand burned char into your hip.

His rhythm was going; he was close. It hurt. It fucking hurt. He needed to let go. Needed to give you his cum. Needed to pump it in your eager little omega cunt.

“I’m—shit,” he choked, swallowing the dryness in his mouth and moaning long and low. “Tell me you want it baby girl,” he panted. “Tell me you want this cum. Tell me.”

“I—” You coughed miserably, body beyond your muscles’ command. “I want it—”

“What? What do you want? Say it, sweetheart—fuck, tell me—Tell me you want my cum and I’ll fucking give it to you—” You squeezed him tight, too tight, and he keeled over with a grunt. "You feel so damn good. Fuck I’m gonna give it to you, gonna fill this tight pussy come on, come on—”

“I want your cum!” you sobbed, tightening around him as if on instinct. He grabbed your hips with both hands, fucked into you primally now, an angry, seething growl in his throat that was far from human.

Flames on his back, on his arms, on his neck. The skin where his hands held you steamed and you moaned in agony, or maybe pleasure—maybe both. He didn’t care. Neither did you.

“Fuck!” he shouted, just as his hips stuttered and fire shot up his spine. He threw his head back, tendons on his neck flaring, arms and legs shaking as he came inside. “Fucking shit—”

He panted for air, felt staples pulling in places all over him, felt his balls burning with pleasure and heard your mangled cry as he gave you what your body needed, what it had always fucking needed.

He didn’t stop fucking into you until his body couldn’t physically answer his brutal needs, and he bent over you, one last and hard thrust sending you flat against the mattress. His searing body pressed flush against you, met your nipped skin in an overwhelming contrast and forced a whimper from your throat.

He bit into you wherever his mouth could reach, claimed you in any way he could without irrevocably mating you. Lost in the heat of it all, in the pleasure that burned up his spine and gave him vertigo, he wanted nothing else but you: to dominate you, make you submissive, fucking own you until you knew nothing else but him and his cock and his seed inside you—but he couldn’t mate you. Wouldn’t. 

Maybe not yet. 

His flames subsided on their own, leaving smoke to rise all over his skin like overworked geysers; a steaming form on top of yours. The pungency of the expelled fumes would have surely made you nauseous any other time, but your senses were dulled to discomforts and pains alike.

You panted heavily beneath him, quivering under his weight. He lay his head against your back and breathed.

Wanting to push himself upright he twisted a hand into the cushion next to your head, tried to work himself up, but unable to with the debility of his worn muscles.

“Goddamnit,” he rasped, then, forcing strength into his limp limbs, pushed up on a shaky arm and righted himself dizzily. He had to close his eyes, reclaim his vision from the black spots encompassing it, then blinked the room back into focus.

You made some mousy noise beneath him. Then you squirmed, tightening around his oversensitive dick and making him grunt.

He pulled out of you carefully, slowly, every inch dissuaded by the tight squeeze. Wetness made a sleek mess of it all, slick streaks down to your knees, on his own skin, too; splattered against his pelvis, dripping down his balls and his thighs. He shivered. All of this, all of this mess for him, because of him.

His seed spilled out of you when his cockhead, red and twitching, released itself. His cum was hotter than what should have been normal. As it dripped down your thighs it felt like a simmering stream.

The mess, primal though flattering as it was, was quickly something of an agitation on his sweltering skin, and he wanted to be rid of it. A hand was at your back to steady himself, and he pushed at it again to keep his balance—that was when he noticed the full scope of the burns he’d left on you. The burns, the bruises, the blood. He looked upon the violence he’d done with careful regard. He knew from a simple glance, and from experience, that the burns were so severe they would be beyond full healing. You’d have them there forever. A token of his brutality, of his lust.

He closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh to steady himself.

“Oi.”

He pushed at you, and your limp body moved jointlessly beneath him. He wet his mouth to alleviate some of the dryness. His heart raced and his ears felt stuffed by warmth.

“Oi, you bring a towel? Something to wipe this mess up?” Your cum on his skin was cooling uncomfortably. “Oi.” He shook you a little harder when you kept to your silence, and a quiet whine answered him. “C'mon.”

There was a tiny movement: you attempting to push on your arms. But they were utterly useless to the command of your body. A raspy sound came from your throat, like you were trying to speak in murmurs.

He leaned in. “What?”

You tried again, to little betterment. He tsked, impatience entering his body again despite how languid it felt, and smacked your ass lightly, making you jump.

“I can’t hear you dummy, speak up."

You gave up, and trying to muster what little forte you could, moved a shaking arm and pointed to a bag off to your left. He understood, reached for it, his muscles screaming at him in ache, and set about cleaning himself with a towel he found inside.

He thought better of doing the same for you, but was again drawn to the wounds he’d left on you. Provoking an alpha-like possessiveness in him as they did, they were unsightly, and some far away part of him regretted what he’d done. He cleaned you carefully, in the smallest form of apology he was capable of evoking.

When the rough towel wiped over your sensitive clit you shivered miserably, and he huffed a quiet, weak laugh, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Such an omega.”

He tugged his pants back up his waist and sunk down into the mattress at your side. He’d mastered his breathing again, though there was a heat in his lungs, like smoke, which made every breath feel powerful and choking. The smoke had all but gone from his skin, however, extinguished by his mind returning to lucidness.

But there was still a trace of the ferocious alpha in him there, his legs and depleted cock twitching when he breathed in and smelled you, a warmer vanilla now: something changed and unpure now that you’d been rutted. And he knew, possessively, with a shot of primal instinct going down his spine and making fire roll through him, that he’d forever changed you.

He looked over at you, realizing for the first time that you’d been completely inanimate. You barely looked to be breathing; your inhales came in irregular, heavy intervals, as if each breath taken succeeded a reminder that you were still alive, awake.

He knew it was the adrenaline still rushing in his veins that made him do it, but he reached out, pushed at your head gently so you would look his way, and brushed the matted hair from your face.

Your skin was flushed with sweat. A damp spot in the mattress must have been tears, and probably drool. It wasn’t particularly nice to look at, but it stirred something in him nevertheless. You were a mess. An utter mess. His mess.

Your eyes were closed, pupils fluttering beneath the lids like shaking leaves.

“Open your eyes,” he said, for no particular reason.

But they shut tight at the command, and your breathing picked up, as if you were debating between obeying or not.

“Open them,” he told you again, no firmer, but apparently, it was persuasive all the same. Tears slipped from your ducts when you complied, eyes shining and trembling.

He ignored the part of him that ached to fall into his greedy impulses again. It was alluring. Not just because you were an omega, but because you were you. And he’d fucked you. He’d taken you. He was your first alpha.

Without further instruction to do otherwise, your eyes started to close again, and the hand that still held your hair from your forehead tugged lightly, entreating your eyes to stay trained on him.

“Nuh uh, wake up. Talk to me a little, before you pass out.”

You hummed groggily in response, your mouth open but too dry to form around words. You sealed your lips together, swallowed the dryness.

“Can’t move,” you managed raspily, staring at him, looking exhaustedly vulnerable and knowing you did, too.

He watched you, debating leniency, and decided he’d give you some, just for good measure.

You made an uncomfortable whine when he took your forearm and dragged you to him. He didn’t try to hold you, or keep you against him. Instead when you curled into your little ball against his side, moaning as you did at having to stretch your body’s abused muscles, he let you. What he didn’t deny of intimacy, however, was the arm he draped over you leisurely, just to feel you as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

His thumb brushed over the flesh of your hip, and felt the corrugated, slowly cooling flesh there. The sensation made him grimace. It was so like the gnarly, repulsive texture of his own skin. Not as severe by a long shot, but nevertheless, unpleasant to the touch.

“Hurt?” he asked.

You blinked lazily, his voice sounding like a waning echo to your numb ears. “What...?”

“Your hips. Look at them.”

You forced your eyes open; they rolled themselves into nausea when you shifted to look. When you noticed the pinkish, creased wound on your burned skin, you froze, then started to shiver in your dismay.

“You… I…” Your unsteady hand moved, a finger traced over the rough, still raw skin. Clearly, the pain was lost on you, lust granted. But the sight had your stomach twisting, its emptiness sloshing uncomfortably at the sight of your own damaged flesh; you could even smell it, strong and sickening like cooking meat.

“You’re lucky that’s all I did,” he muttered, selfishly flippant. “And you’re lucky I did it there.”

You took a shaky breath, and shut your eyes, resigned to your body’s lethargy. “Asshole.”

He humphed. “It’ll heal,” he lied. “I’ve had worse, clearly. Done worse, too. It won't get infected.”

You were quiet afterwards, volitionally so, barely keeping your hostility in check. He was more than aware of your chagrin, and didn’t particularly care. If you started feeling it later, he’d go get you meds for the pain. But he’d known omegas to be particularly resilient in their heats. There was very little that registered above the natural pleasure of being filled by an alpha.

“I’m…”

He glanced down at you, saw your mouth opening and closing in determined hesitation.

“I’m not a whore,” you managed croakily, and irritably.

He started laughing. “You gonna hold that against me?”

“I’m not a whore.” You scowled, resentful of his carefree ribbing. “And I’m not”—you sputtered, breathing hard through a phlegm-choked cough–“a slut.”

His laugh subsided into a low chuckle in his chest. You didn’t see the wry grin on his face, but heard it.

He shrugged. “I say shit when I’m high on fucking. Don’t take it so personally.” But he couldn’t stop now that the warmth of craftiness was twisting in him. “Besides…” The arm draped over you shifted, found your ass, and gave a generous squeeze. You whimpered in objection. “You basically are my whore, now.”

You shivered with frustration. Despite the wild—incredibly wild and earth-shattering sex, you were conceiving a poorer and poorer image of him the more he gloated. With renewed strength, you rose on your arm and pushed his hand off.

“I’m not,” you insisted testily.

“I get you don’t know how this shit works,” he started, “so guess I’ll explain it to you.”

There it was again: the possessive, ravenous wildfire in his veins that coaxed his arm to reclaim its spot at your back, bring you closer to him. Adjusting his position, he let your head rest on his stomach; your legs curled comfortably around his own for comfort. He watched your head rise and fall as he breathed steadily.

“May not have mated you,” he went on, anticipating your griping, "but I’m your alpha now.”

You tensed at the declaration, he noticed, but no more than that.

“And it’s gonna stay that way unless you let some other one take you in a heat, which I don’t see you doing. Unless you’re just so dick hungry after this that you let any guy fuck you.”

One of your feet dug opposedly into his calf and he snickered. “Didn’t think so. To the last part, I mean. Trust me…” His hand smoothed over your ass again, and he smirked when you moaned quietly. “You’re gonna be hungry for it.”

“I can’t handle anymore,” you muttered, breath puffing against his stomach. Even those giddy times you’d imagined your first alpha taking you, envisioned a night of passion that would end in ardent nurturing, wrapped under your dominant’s embrace, protected and warm and wanted—you now balked the indulgent, cherished ideal of it. This was not what you had expected. Dabi was not what you had expected.

“I can’t,” you started, lacking the confident breath to loose your doubts on. “I don’t even… feel it. It’s gone.”

“You’re still in heat. It’ll pop back up when your body’s ready. I’m hoping you don’t need a biology lesson for this shit, but point of a heat is to get you knocked up. You get that, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he mocked. “And obviously since I’m not tryin’ to make you a mother, I didn’t do that. Your body’s gonna keep beggin’ for it until I give it to you, and I won’t. So you’ll get your heat back once your junk down there realizes it’s empty and wants to try again, except it’s gonna be a lot crazier this time, since you’ve finally had a taste. Told you that you were only hurting yourself by holding out this long."

You started to follow the logic. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before. But to hear it fleshed out like this, by the alpha who had taken you, felt somewhat like a hazardous warning.

“I just… “ You shook your head against him. “We did it. You said that would be enough. That it wouldn’t be so bad, now…”

“You thought one fuck would fix it?” he asked, condescension taking an amusing slope in his tone.

You didn’t answer, and he grinned.

“You got a lot to learn, sweetheart. Gotta get you through the whole heat, first. Life would be easy for you omegas if one fuck could take care of your problems.” He hummed. “No, you’re gonna be dyin’ to get bred up until your heat is over. I’m not gonna do that, but I’ll fill you up for a little relief.” Something about his own words made him twitch in anticipation, and he put a hand on your head, pinched a handful of hair gently in his fist. “Until you need it again. And again.”

You heart was beating fast. He felt it against his side. “We don’t have to,” you said.

“Don’t have to what?”

“I’m too tired,” you insisted, feeling your body lag into the mattress. “I won’t want it anymore. I’m done. This will be fine. I don’t need you.”

He laughed with such smugness that your cheeks went hot.

“Now you’re just being dumb… But fine. Think what you want. Give it a couple hours. You’ll be clawing at my dick before morning.” He picked idly at the drying blood under his nails, frowning to see it, but too amused by the prospect of your ignorance to regret his violence anymore. “And now, I’m gonna make you work for it.”

“I won’t. You got what you wanted. And I… you made your point.” You shoved off of his body, pushed away from him scornfully on limbs that were seconds from giving out, and sat yourself upright.

Your spine curled and straightened enticingly as you arched up; he watched with covetous appreciation, then saw the red blood drying on your back. He tried not to put out a spiteful laugh.

Let you find the mess he’d made later, he decided. For now, a more urgent matter was making sure his dick didn’t get too hard before you were ready to go again. But you stretched so nicely like that, reminding him of how your body had dipped so obediently for him when he’d bent you over and fucked you cross-eyed.

“You need to leave,” you said.

Snorting, he went back to picking at his nails. “I’m stayin’ right here. Even if I didn’t still have a job to do, this is a nice bed. Better than the couches at the bar, ya know. Nice little nest you’ve made for yourself."

“Then… I’m leaving.” You tried to stand, and failed, legs sliding out from under you and giving your body back to the mattress beneath.

“No you ain’t,” he snickered. “Even if you could find another place to wait off the heat before it came back again, you’re gonna run back to me.”

“I don’t need you,” you insisted decisively, angrier now.

“Yeah, you do. I’m your alpha now, remember?” He saw your shoulders rise with a heavy, angry breath. “You said it yourself. You’re pathetic, and you need an alpha cock. And right now, that’s mine."

“…Fuck you.”

He cackled patronizingly, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, giving no stock to your anger at all.

Indignation compelled you to your feet, wobbling, a hand going between your thighs to feel the hot throbbing there.

That was when you noticed the blood, and some of the bruises. You shook your head, infuriated with yourself, and with him.

“You’re… sick,” you muttered. “I can’t believe I let you… You’re a sick bastard."

He chuckled dismissively, and stopped himself from reaching out to grab you like he wanted to—that attitude of yours made you really fuckable.

Instead he rested back into the mattress, forcing his hands to keep busy on his nails, on his staples.

“Keep it up sweetheart,” he muttered. "When you’re wet for me again in a few hours, I’m gonna remember you said that."

“Fuck you,” you said again, too disillusioned to think carefully on the foreboding, and found your clothes.

Then, forgetting he’d torn them, you threw the tattered garb at him.

He ignored you, unfazed, flicking the ineffectual shirt off his chest as you rummaged through your bag for a new one.

You pulled it over your head, then, with a final glare of indignant reproval, walked off.

He didn’t bother asking where you were going. He knew you would be back.

[prideymcprideface]

ARt (F!MCxDiavolo)

Warnings: NSFW!,  very light dubcon, language

Word count: 1777

.....................

As you add the finishing highlights on to your work, heat creeps up your face. You’ve never drawn anything quite SO lewd. 

To be fair, this was the only way you could think of to release some pent up “steam”, so to speak. Diavolo was getting to be too much these days. His eyes that sparkle whenever he laughs, his almost calculatedly messy auburn hair, and, oh my god, when he’s in his demon form, his rippling abs, and toned arms. 

As you admire your newly finished art piece you imagine the same scene happening in real life. Diavolo’s strong hand snaked up the front of your blouse, your skirt hiked up as he positions himself at your ent-.

“Ohhhh, (M/C). This is truly quite a scene.” You freeze in place at the Prince’s voice. Shit. You quickly flip the paper over, concealing the filth. “Is this what you think about when I’m not around... And I promise you, I’m much bigger than that.” You stare at him in shock for a second.

“I dun- I jus- everyt- when- I- yep. Y’know?” You bury your head into your hands. Embarrassment brings tears to your eyes. What the hell was that?! You think to yourself.

You can feel Diavolo move closer, you peer out, for just a moment, from in between your fingers. Huge mistake! You are met face to.... crotch with him. He snatches up your drawing- you futilely attempt to steal it back, but he’s simply too tall. 

“Is this supposed to be me?” Diavolo flashes an amused grin at you. “and even better, (M/C), is the beautiful doll I’m with, you?”

“Noooo?” You mentally pinch yourself, “No. I don’t even see a resemblance to us, honestly.”

“How tragic.” Diavolo feigns sadness, unconvincingly, considering the huge smile that is quick to spread across his lips. “I thought this might mean you may want me, too...” 

Your breath catches in your throat, and you cough, and cough, and cough. Your mind spins trying to think of a response.

“Too?” You voice wavers, exposing your excitement and nerves.

Diavolo beams from ear to ear. You’ve unknowingly quenched any doubts he had about your feelings for him. He crouches down, his amber eyes peering up at you. 

“Too.” He only says that simple word, but his eyes are telling you so much more. They are burning with a desire, a desire you assume your eyes are reciprocating. Diavolo steals a glance at your lips, and licks his own. You reach your breaking point, you summon all the courage you can muster, and gently bring Diavolo’s face to yours. Your lips crash together, the months of tension, the longing for this to happen, melting away by the second. 

Your lips moves in unison with his. His hand snakes up and down your sides, fueling the fire in between your legs. You ache for him.

Diavolo’s tongue dips in between your lips, silently asking permission to explore. You grant him access without hesitation. He pulls you in closer as he delves farther into your mouth, until eventually you’re pulled from your chair and find yourself in Dia’s lap. A very pronounced bulge pushes against your heated crotch. Your mouth forms into a small ‘o’ at this discovery.

“Mmm, you like what you do to me, (M/C)?” He licks from the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, and settling on a sensitive spot on your neck. Your body shudders as he scratches his teeth against your skin.

“Mmhmm,” You breathe out, your mind swimming. You push your hips down grinding across his clothed erection, grinning to yourself when the sucking at your neck pauses in reaction. “We should have been doing this more often.”

“Based off your drawing, you’ve been thinking about me in this way for quite awhile, haven’t you?” When you don’t respond to Diavolo’s question, he digs his nails into your thigh, bringing your attention effectively to him.

“Y-yes, I think about you, like this, a lot...” Your voice trails off in embarrassment. 

“Mm, good,” Diavolo pushes you onto the floor, and he towers over you, “because I think about you, your small, fragile body, underneath me, every night.” You can feel his hot breath on your ear as he whispers to you.

Only a small squeak escapes you.

“Do you want to reenact that beautiful drawing of yours? I can make that happen.”

“Yes, please,” Goosebumps raise on your skin at the thought. Diavolo gives you a toothy grin, he’s already clawing at your panties. They never make it off, the garment is left in shreds still  around your hips, but effectively giving entrance to your dripping core.

“Ah-” You involuntarily cry out, Diavolo swirls his finger, collecting your juices onto his long finger. He brings it up to his waiting lips, eyes closing, he savors your taste.

“Mmm, (M/C), you’re truly intoxicating.”

You say nothing, only opening your legs wider, inviting him in. His eyes darken at your gesture. He lightly runs another finger down your slit, purposefully avoiding all the places that are aching for his touch. Your hole clenches, seeking relief. 

Diavolo smirks down at you, he notices that way your body was already begging for him. Slowly, he enters a single digit into your waiting cunt. Your body visibly stiffens as you wait for what feels like hours, for him to move.

A small whine escapes your clamped mouth. You start fidgeting against him, unable to hold still any longer. His strong hands pins you to the floor, quickly stopping your attempts for more. 

Diavolo’s finger is joined by two more, the size of his hands making is a tight squeeze for all three. The feeling of him filling you up overtakes you. He slowly starts pumping in and out of you, at first just scissoring his fingers spreading you out. When he’s satisfied with his work, he plunges those fingers as deep as he can go. You throw your head back, a long moan spills from you, your hand grabbing both sides of Diavolo’s head, pulling his gaze to your face. A small smile creeps onto his handsome features. 

He continues to fuck you with his fingers, watching your expressions change, watching the way your eyes roll back every time he curls his fingers into you. 

“Harder, please, Dia!” You cry out, wanting more.

Dia stills for a moment, he grabs onto your shoulder for leverage, and slams his fingers back into you. 

“Ah!” Stars flood your vision, the familiar tightness in your core clueing you in to your approaching orgasm. 

Diavolo can feel the tightening of your walls, he runs small circles over your clit with his thumb, encouraging your climax along. With the skillful work of his masterful hands, you come undone around his fingers. 

The demon prince coaxes you through your high, until your left panting underneath him, legs still shaking every once in awhile. Diavolo begins to pump into you more, your body jolts at the overstimulation. You involuntarily try to push away from him. 

“N-no I can’t, i-it’s too much- Ah!” Diavolo’s tongue replaces his thumb, he swirls circles around your throbbing nub, in eager now.

The demon mumbles into your heat, “You can do another for me, baby.” You continue to struggle against him, the pleasure wracking your entire body. 

Without warning, another orgasm, even stronger than the last, courses through you. Your eyes screw shut, back arching off the ground, and hands coming to Diavolo’s hair in between your legs. 

When you come to, Diavolo is inches from your face, hand now in between his own legs, pleasuring himself over his pants.

“Are you ready for me now?” Dia licks his lips, eyeing down your entire, used body. 

“Yes,” You breathe out, still completely spent from your last orgasm. “Please.”

Diavolo unbuttons his pants, letting his dick spring out. He snakes his hand up the front of your blouse, teasing a pert nipple in between his fingers. He aligns himself with your entrance, dick throbbing for you. 

“(M/c)?” You meet his eyes, “This familiar to you?” He’s referencing your drawing.

Without warning he shoves his dick into you, your walls inviting him in. The pain shoots through you, his large cock feels like it’s splitting you in two.

“OH!” You voice your pain, but intstead of stilling Dia pulls out and thrusts back into you with equal force. Your mind blurs as the pain mixes with the pleasure of being so completely full. He continues burying his dick into you, from tip to base over and over with force unmatched by any human you’d been with before. He revels in the way your pussy sucks him in.

Soon, all your senses are replaced with pure pleasure, Dia having adjusted himself to drive right into your g-spot with every thrust. Your body squirms under him, his pace is unrelenting and pushing you towards yet another orgasm. 

You become unbelievably tense, body on the edge of climax. “Cum for me again, (M/C), come all over my dick.” Diavolo speeds up, that and his words push you over the edge, Your head goes blank and you’re consumed again by your climax. You throb over Dia’s dick, coaxing him closer to his own release. He rides you through yours, watching every movement of your body intensely.

As you start to come back to reality, you’re met with Diavolo’s lips. He’s kissing you, hungrily. 

“You want me to fill you up?” You nod against his neck. “Ah, you take me so fucking good.” 

You lick up his neck, tasting the layer of sweat. You give a small nibble, trying to encourage the demon on top of you to give you what you want. He stirs, at the feeling of your teeth on him. 

“Please, Dia, I want your cum!” 

Your words push him to his release, you can feel his dick pulse inside of you. A small grunt and a series of catching breaths are followed by warmth spreading through you as he cums, filling you up. Your legs wrap around his waist holding him deep inside of you, even after he was finished.

Diavolo chuckles, lifting you up and gently placing you onto your bed, following right next to you, his cock still buried inside. You’re eyes droop, you can barely hold them open. 

“Rest,” Diavolo kisses each eye, urging them to close, he wraps two large hands around you, positioning his head right next to yours,  “Round 2 will be even better.” He whispers, causing your eyes to flutter open.

This man will be the death of you, you can already tell.

.........

As always if you would like me to add an additional warning, message me!

[ateezmakemeweep]

365 days.

mafia!yunho

word count: 9k

angst, fluff, smut (warning: stockholm syndrome)

request

he knew it was irrational, the intense longing and fascination with the girl he saw the night his father was murdered. he had been watching you for an hour, your hair blowing in the wind as you stared out at the ocean with a small smile on your face. 

you had been perfectly content and tranquil, your feet sinking into the sand with your white sandals in hand. every time he tried to pull his attention back to the men talking with his dad, you’d make another move. a simple quirk of your lips or head tilt to the side that fully captured his attention. 

he wanted you and he didn’t even know you. he had no idea why the pull toward you was so overwhelming, the possessiveness he knew he always had at an all time high. 

his dad made his way over to him and followed his line of sight, shaking his head as he asked if he knew you. but before yunho could answer, the sound of a gun shot and his father’s pained groan caused him to snap his head toward the man. 

the man who raised him, told him one day he’d have to carry on this business and subject himself to the worst types of criminals, fell into him as blood seeped through his shirt. yunho could only watch the man bleed out in front of him, set him onto the floor and press his large hands into his dad’s bullet wound as chaos erupted around him. 

their men attacked the others, more gun shots and grunts from punching and kicking surrounding him until he saw the exact moment life left his dad’s eyes. tears welling up his vision and his fist punching the ground because he just watched his father die. it’s something he always prepared him for but never thought would actually happen, the hole in yunho’s chest already filling him with so much sadness and devastation. 

and then when he looked up toward the beach, you were gone too.

it took him five years to find you.

and when he did, the empty hole in his chest finally felt like it was healing. he knew it was fucking crazy and that it made no sense. that he could look at a person just once, not even have a conversation with them, and claim them as his. 

but he wanted you and he always got what he wanted. 

that’s why he waltz right into the private party you were in, took a glass of champagne from the waitress’s tray with a wink, and watched. he watched your boyfriend flirt with girls behind your back and the way you were so carefree and alluring. 

your smile effected everyone in the room, men and women, and it’s like you didn’t even know it. you saw your boyfriend’s advances toward anyone but you and slapped him across the face, a smirk appearing on yunho because he’s hoping you’ll be that feisty with him. 

he followed behind when he saw you making your way to the bathroom, an elaborate path of twists and turns that makes a part of him angry and protective over you; it’s dark and dangerous here, what if some psycho decided to stalk you?

his body was itching to follow you into the doorway, take your face in his hand and tell you how long he’s waited for you. how much he’s missed you and is so happy he finally gets the chance to know you. but this plan has to be executed perfectly, not being able to afford fucking this up and losing you again. 

but he also couldn’t not say anything to you, watching you waltz out of the bathroom and look around at the large, gaudy building. he loved the way your eyebrows pinched together, looking around and your lip turning up almost in disgust at how ritzy this place was.

“are you lost, baby girl?” 

you looked up at the sound of his voice and he wanted to smirk at the blank stare you threw his way, narrowing your eyes even further before brushing past him and back down the hallway. there wasn’t a flicker of recognition in your eyes, and he didn’t expect there to be, but he hopes there will be tomorrow, watching your retreating figure until you’re back at the main lobby of the party.

you wake up in an unfamiliar room, in different clothes than the ones you were wearing last night. you quickly try to piece together what happened before you start to panic, desperate to remember if maybe you got a little too drunk and went home with a random man.

but you know that wasn’t the case, remembering walking down the alley to go home and hearing footsteps behind you. turning around and seeing nothing but the gravel and shadows of the buildings. an arm catching you around the waist made you scream out, the last thing you remember feeling before your mind fogs and you can’t think of anything else but falling into a deep slumber. 

you’re thinking, however, that if you were kidnapped, this is unusual treatment. because you’re in a silk nightgown with a comfortable king sized bed under you. the room is beautifully decorated and the outside window looks like something of a villa, a pool and grassland of flowers shining in the sun. 

you lift your head and feel your eyebrows knit because instead of something normal like a tv or dresser at the front of the room, there’s a shower. it’s a beautiful, fancy shower, with neon lights inside and two luxurious rain shower heads. 

you stretch out your bones getting more and more stiff and alert as you look around the unfamiliar room, your feet hitting the floor as you reluctantly make your way to the door; what are the odds it’s even unlocked? you think about knocking or calling out for help but what good would that really do in what appears to be a mansion like this?

you push open the door and hum in surprise when it’s open, making your way down the hall. it’s dark and full of expensive statues and artwork, taking in the columns and high ceilings as your feet start to pick up. there doesn’t appear to be anyone around so you have to hurry up and find the nearest exit, your head snapping side to side as you quietly run down the stairs and through the large house. 

you’re in a room that resembles a living area, couches and chairs sprawled out around the area. pictures cover the walls and you’re frantically searching for another exit or archway when something in particular catches your eye. you shake your head because you almost don’t believe what’s in front of you, your stomach sinking and heart racing because-

“what the fuck,” you mutter out, walking over to the fireplace where a portrait of you is hung up. your face and eyes are staring back at you and the eerie feeling that rips through you makes your heart start to pound even more, to the point where you think you’re about to pass out. 

who the fuck would have a picture of you hanging and why the fuck? were they some sort of creepy stalker? was he watching you now through some cameras, waiting for you to cry out for him and-

“are you lost baby girl?”

you stiffen at the deep voice that sounds like it’s right behind you, the words sounding so familiar but you can’t quite place them. and when you turn around, you see a tall man staring down. his shoulders are broad and his eyes are dark and intense, looking down at you in a way that makes your skin both crawl and warm. 

his hair is slicked back and then it’s finally the way his lips quirk up that you remember him: the man from last night outside of the bathroom. the reminder sends you into a silent panic, the frantic beating of your heart starting to pound in your ears before you feel yourself grow faint. 

you’re only slightly aware of being picked up and carried over to a chair, being plopped down on a cool leather seat that feels nice against your warm skin. the crackling of the fire hits your ears before it’s replaced by the sound of ice clinking around in a glass, the presence of someone kneeling below you causing your eyes to flutter open again. 

and there in front of you is the man, his dark eyes and towering presence even as he’s bent down next to you. you watch as his hand reaches out, littered with tattoos on each knuckle, and you do your best not to flinch away. 

“suck it.” 

his demand leaves no room for objection, the ice cube he’s holding out for you cold and wet on your lips. you refuse to meet his gaze as you open your mouth slightly, his fingers pushing their way through your mouth and making your heart and stomach squeeze; if it’s fear or ill placed arousal, you’re not sure. 

but it quickly turns to anger when he pushes down on your lips. he swirls the wetness over them as you meet his gaze, this bizarre mix of hard warmness as he explains to you that you probably passed out from shock. you can’t even stop yourself from spitting the ice cube at him, watching him with cold eyes as it hits his chin.

the way he tenses and his eyes darken make you think he’s about to hit you but you could give a shit, looking at him with such ferocity as anger courses through your veins; who the hell is this lunatic and why does he have you here? why does he have a picture of you hanging above his fireplace like it’s some sort of family portrait?

his jaw clenches and he rips himself away from the chair, his hand flying up to his hair before you straighten yourself up and shake the remaining nerves away.

“who the fuck are you?” you snap, “why am i here?” 

he doesn’t answer your questions, just looks at you with a challenging look like he almost doesn’t believe you’re talking to him like that. you purse your lips to the side, biting at the inside of your cheek when you jump up from your seat despite your pounding head. 

“are you gonna answer me or not?” you ask, making your way over to him like he doesn’t completely tower over you. “who the fuck are you and where did you-”

“sit down.”

you narrow your eyes at his demand, the way his voice is calm and steady despite the darkness in his eyes only making you more eager to poke at him. he’s completely ignoring your questions and expecting you to listen, making another wave of anger course through you. 

“fuck you and answer me,” you snap. “why do you have that portrait of me?”

“sit down,” he repeats, an edge to his voice though still steady enough. but you couldn’t care less, desperate and getting more and more anxious to know who this psycho is and to know-

“where am i?” you ask, voice high and booming through the living room as you raise your pitch. and that seems to be what makes him crack, makes him step forward and grab you by the arms roughly. he pushes you back down into the chair, words dying in your throat as he manhandles you. 

“sit the fuck down.”

the silence between you is thick as he glares at you, your own eyes wide and fiery as you meet his stare head on. it could be thirty seconds or two minutes but you both don’t say a word, just have a stare off that makes him take your jaw in his hand roughly. 

“you wanna know why you’re here or not?” his voice growls out, the power behind it not even scaring you because “that’s what i’ve been asking, you fucking-” 

his hand squeezes your face and your eyes narrow because you refuse to wince from the pain. 

he lets out a sharp exhale before releasing his hold, giving you a warning look before he takes his drink and makes his way over to the fireplace. he stares dramatically at the flames and if your chest wasn’t heaving from your heavy breaths and fear, you’d yell at him to spit it the fuck out. 

but you have to remember you’re dealing with someone who just kidnapped you, that you’re gonna have to try and control your temper if it means getting the hell out of here.

“i saw you five years ago,” he surprises you by saying, “the night my father died.”

you raise an eyebrow at the his words but don’t have time to dwell on them. can’t try to see if you remember him at all or think about where you might’ve seen this tall, handsome nut job before he starts talking again. 

“i’d been watching you on the beach right before he got shot. i kept trying to look away but i...couldn’t. you just captured my attention and i don’t know what it was about you.”

his words make you swallow as you watch him talk, his tense shoulders and hand gripping the glass as he probably relives the moment of his father’s death. and you feel bad because that’s awful, to see a loved one die before your very eyes, but what the fuck does that have to do with you? 

“but then you were gone,” he continues, “my dad was gone and then so were you. and i became...consumed with this feeling to find you again. i wanted you to be mine then and the feeling never went away.”

you can’t help the small laugh that leaves you, shaking your head in disbelief. how could he have gotten that feeling from just looking at you? he didn’t even know your name or have a conversation with you; if you had to guess, it probably all had to do with physicality. 

because neither of you were blind, both two good looking people and if he wasn’t a kidnapping lunatic, you’d be attracted to him in a second. but you also don’t believe in being owned - you’re your own person and refuse for someone to refer to you as theirs. 

“that sounds pretty fucking crazy to me,” you snap, crossing your legs as you squint your eyes and look at him. “you didn’t even know me and you still don’t. i’m not something to be owned, especially by someone like you who thinks kidnapping me would automatically make me yours.” 

“i know,” he says. and for a second you think maybe you got it all wrong. you don’t know what any other possible scenario could be but if he knows you’re not his and that he can’t just take you, then what the hell is this for? what’s with the freaky portrait and abduction? what’s with that-

“that’s why i’m giving you a chance to fall in love me.” 

your eyes bulge open at his words, looking at him in disbelief and shock because this fucking guy cannot be serious. neither of you say anything until you shake your head, watching him walk toward you when he sees you’re ready to bolt and scream at him. 

“what the fuck are you talking ab-”

“i’m giving you a chance to love me on your own. so you can see that i felt something for a reason. not because i forced you but because you’ll actually have feelings for me, too.”

“i don’t want a fucking chance, i don’t need one,” you snap, sick and tired of the ludicrous nonsense coming from this grown man. “i have a boyfriend and a life to get back to. i don’t know you and you don’t know me and you’ve gotta be really fucking deranged to think i’m gonna stay here and-”

his words cut you off as he plops down in the chair next to you, explaining his men have already “put a hold” on your life as you know it. e-mailed your work and left a note for your boyfriend and family, made it seem as if you wanted a break and took a much needed vacation they had all been begging you to go on.

“and if you don’t love me, i’ll let you go,” his deep voice tells you, like he’s gonna be so gracious toward you and your wishes. “but i’m just asking for you to see what it’d be like. to have a life with me and see if you could love me.”

you don’t know how to process what this man is saying to you, thinking that he has to have some sort of mental illness. using his piecing eyes, towering frame and good looks like that’s gonna somehow be enough for you to fall at his feet. 

but if he thinks it’ll be that easy, he has another thing coming.

because while yes, he’s attractive and yes, you could see yourself being attracted to him if he wasn’t a raging lunatic, you will absolutely not submit to him. so you turn your head to the side and smile at him, a small, sarcastic smile with your eyes narrowed as you look at man staring down at you. 

“go fuck yourself,” you say through gritted teeth, jumping up from your chair and away from him. you only get about three steps before he gets up and grabs you around your waist. his hands are large on your waist as he throws you back down on the chair, pulling you by the hair so your neck is craned up against the back of the cushions. 

you’re only slightly aware of his knee between your legs, more so focused on the way your heart is pounding and breath is strangled from his tight, strong hold on you. how his dark eyes are boring into yours and how his hand is hovering over your chest. 

it feels like he’s got you completely caught and that you can’t do a thing about it. your mind racing to push and fight and get away from him but your body doing it’s own thing. tightening at the way his knee is so close to your pussy, his hand almost grazing your thigh while his other is right next to your head.

“i’m not gonna touch you or do anything you don’t want me to,” you hear him mumble in your ear. you can feel your heat against his knee as his breath fans across your neck, noticing the way you shiver and how it’s the firs time you’ve given in since he brought you here.

but he also sees fear and that unsettles him. makes him feel like you think he’s a monster.

“i’m gonna wait until you come to me on your own. ready for me to touch you and then begging for me to fuck you.”

you sharply inhale as he completely rests his hand on your boob, feeling the sheer size of it in comparison to your chest and not being able to help but swallow nervously. and then he squeezes and a gasp leaves your mouth, his mouth hot and close to your ear. 

“but don’t fucking provoke me,” he warns lowly, his knee pressing against your dress that’s pooling loosely between your legs. “because i won’t be gentle.” 

you don’t even realize you’re shaking until he pulls away, watching him let out a sigh as he walks back over to the fire. his walk is cold and calculating despite the way he’s so hot and unpredictable, a burst of anger in his eyes before you can even blink. 

the crackling of the fire rings in yours ear again as you look over at him, feeling a wet tear on your cheek that you didn’t even feel escape. 

“i’ll give you 365 days. if you don’t love me by then, i’ll set you free.”

another round of panic and anger fills you despite the terror you’re feeling, shaking your head and wiping at the tear before you spring up and start to run. but the man only growls again, snapping his head around before the sound of his feet following you cause you to speed up.

but it’s no use because he wraps his strong arms around your waist and shoves you against the wall, his chest flush against your back. you feel his lower body pressed into your ass and you want nothing more than to kick him right between his legs, knowing that that is probably the reason for all of this. 

“if you just want to fuck me, then get it over with. don’t try to say this is about love, you sicko.”

you hear him chuckle in your ear before he takes your hair in his large hand, wrapping his fingers around it and pulling so you’re looking at him. he can see in your eyes that you’re scared but also ready to fight, the searing determination and anger in them making him all too excited and fond of you. 

“it is, baby girl, what do you take me as? a perverted monster?” he asks with a smirk and you’re so so tempted to spit in his face and continue to curse at him. but you can’t because then his lips brush yours, not enough to classify it as a kiss, but just a little tease. just enough to feel your breath tangle and mouths to part on one another. 

“and i already told you i’m only gonna fuck you once you’re begging.”

you tried to escape again the next night. 

stayed camped out and hidden away in your room all day until it became dark outside your window. he had come in a few times to check on you and you had faked a slumber each and every time, your lip curling when you see he had left food for you. 

what a polite kidnapper, you thought, giving you deadlines to be set free and food like he’s the poster child for psychotic abductors. 

but then what you discovered about him proved that, maybe, he really was psychotic. or at least very much a criminal. because one second, you’re rushing down the hall and through the main room where your picture is creepily hanging and the next you’re outside. 

the cold night air hits your face and you tell yourself not to get too excited yet, you still have an acre of land to maneuver while also avoiding him and the several other men you think must work for him. the other men you see standing in a circle, your tall, broad kidnapper looming over someone curled into a bloody pile on the floor.

and then without a second thought, you watch his arm extend down and a gunshot rings through your ears. it’s the first time you’ve ever heard that sound and you watch with wide eyes and a pounding heart as the bullet hits the man and his shaking, shriveled up body stops. 

dark familiar eyes meet yours as you feel yourself grow faint, a pair of arms wrapping around your waist before you hit the concrete floor underneath you. 

the next time you open your eyes, you’re back in the bedroom. still so shocked by how nice it is, how soft the bed is under you and the view outside the bright, sunny window. you stretch out your body as you try to remember how you got here, remembering the way you crept around the house desperate you find a way out.

“are you okay?”

the deep voice coming from the corner of the room causes you to jump, looking over to see the man’s long body leaned back and sitting in the chair. he’s watching you carefully and shirtless, his board shoulders and toned stomach on complete display. 

it makes you swallow as you try to not allow your eyes to roam, remembering that this is the man who’s forcing you to stay with him for a whole year. a whole year and he hasn’t even told you his name yet. or told you his occupation, but it seems kind of obvious given what you saw last night.

how him and his men hold such a powerful, strong presence. how they have guns and protection at all times and they were able to so callously watch a man die. 

“i’m sorry you had to see that,” he says, his soft voice sounding so foreign to your ears; but then it gets that deep growl back and you find yourself not being able to look away from him. “but he deserved it. he was hurting children and betrayed us. we don’t allow that type of shit.”

you can’t help the smirk that crosses your face at the comment, your tongue poking at your cheek as train your gaze on his face and feel something vengeful and petty course through you.

“but kidnapping women is okay?” 

his eyes narrow at your comment but he only pops his neck to the side, his eyes raking over your exposed legs in the night dress you’ve been wearing since yesterday. you notice his eyes on you and raise an eyebrow, not missing the dark look in them as he takes in the sight of you. 

“what exactly do you do?” you ask him with a raised eyebrow. “since, you know, i don’t even know your fucking name.”

he smirks, bending his head down so he doesn’t laugh because okay, maybe this whole situation is a little absurd. 

“sorry about that. i’m yunho,” he tells you when he looks up, his deep voice a contrast to the glint of amusement in his eyes. “and i’m a... business man. the head of a corporation, we’ll say.”

you let out a scoff as you shake your head, jumping up from the bed and making your way over to him. “if i’m stuck with you for a year, you’re gonna fucking be honest with me. you can’t just keep everything from me and expect me to-”

he’s out of his seat and you’re on your back in a second, the soft bed under you as he looms above you. despite the harsh way he got up and pushed you back, nothing is threatening. he’s just looking at you with his usual hard stare, his long finger tracing down on your neck and over your pulse point.

“listen to me carefully, pretty girl,” yunho breaths out. “i am gonna be honest with you about everything. my intentions with you and anything regarding that. but my work stuff? you’ll know what you need to know about that.”

you let out a shaky exhale as you look up at him, ignoring the way his finger on your neck makes you feel warm and like a piece of prey caught. 

“because that’s what’s gonna keep you safe. the details are dangerous and you need to stay out of it,” he continues, his hand softly running through your hair. his eyes roam over your face again, moving to caress your cheek and you don’t wanna believe it but it’s actually a soft and sweet touch. 

“i know you don’t believe me, now, but your safety has quickly become my number one concern.”

you swallow down the lump in your throat, staying trapped underneath him as looks over every bit of your face. you don’t understand him, how he could go from hot to cold and how he could look at you in such a way that holds care and desire. 

he pulls himself away from you and makes his way over to your door silently.

“you should get showered and dressed, we’re going shopping.”

your eyebrow quirks up as you look at him, sitting up on the bed and turning so you can look at him. “oh?” you quip, “so now you’re trying to buy me?”

his hand comes up to his face, rubbing over it in stress before he meets your eyes. “no,” he grunts out lowly, your eyes running over the long, tattooed fingers you can’t seem to look away from. “but you’re gonna need clothes, are you not?”

“i guess i am,” you bite out in annoyance, rolling your eyes when he leaves the room without another comment.

you felt bad about spending his money for all about five seconds.

but now. now you were almost doing it vengefully, picking up the most expensive pair of shoes you could find just so he could be charged the absurd amount of money.

but by the sixth store, you saw it was no use. because he just handed over his black card without a care in the world, like you weren’t raking up thousands and thousands of dollars on clothes and shoes. and you think about how someone so obviously a criminal attains that kind of wealth, hooking the lace bra that matches your black thong when no other than he himself bursts through the door.

it’s in the same manner in which he took you from your life, abrupt and absurd and like he belongs in that room, deserves to be seeing you standing there half naked like this lingerie is for him. “get out,” you snap, not caring that his eyes are on you but more so at the way he thinks he can just do that. 

he only raises his eyebrow at you, bursting in just because he thought you were in there for far too long and was paranoid you somehow escaped him and his four men. but instead he’s met with the sight of you, lace complimenting your skin so well and it’s taking everything in him not to crumble at your feet. 

especially when, after he doesn’t answer, you advance further with a look in your eye that makes his dick twitch in his pants. “get. out,” you say through clenched teeth, pushing him back until his back hits the door. “or else.”

“or else what?” he challenges, not being able to help the way a smirk spreads across his face or the way his eyes roam your body. you’re just so fucking hot and angry, nothing like the woman he thought you were five years ago but finding this way better.

the way you’re so feisty and don’t back down, the way you act like this but then submit the second his hand is on you. because you’re bound to say something in a second that’s gonna make anger course through his veins and-

“or else this will be the last time you’ll see me like this,” you tell him with a smirk, not thinking twice about palming him through his pants the same way he did your chest. ”it’ll be a long year for you, don’t you think?”

and just like he predicted, his hand reaches around your throat and he backs you up until you hit the cold mirror. you look away so you don’t smirk at the reaction you just knew you were gonna get, hearing the way his breath turns ragged and his vein bulges out of his neck from trying to control himself. 

“i can promise you that won’t be the case, baby girl,” he growls in your ear. the tiny chuckle you release causes him to tighten his hand around your neck even more, your hand reaching down again so you can cover his bulge. 

“are you promising or hoping?” you ask him, your voice breathy and eyes teasing as you look up at him through your lashes. “because those are two very different things.”

you watch his jaw tick and eyes darken even more before he releases his hold on you, staring down at you for a few silent moments until you’re finally alone in the dressing room again. and when you are, you rip the lingerie off and slip on your dress again, annoyed by him and this situation and your ill placed arousal at teasing him. 

“i’m done,” you announce as you walk past him, crumbling up the underwear and bra in your hand before throwing it at his face. you roll your eyes at the familiar sound of feet following you, walking yourself out of the store and back to the car he all but dragged you into hours earlier. 

later that night at dinner, however, his eyes and demeanor take a turn that calm your irritation. it doesn’t halt it or dissipate it by any means but you crazily enough find that you’re...accepting of the conditions. it started when you sat down and saw all your favorite meals cooked, raising an eyebrow when you asked him just how long he’d been stalking you. 

he only rolls his eyes and tells you he watched you carefully at the party you first saw him at, how he noticed you avoided all the red meat and your eyes lit up in particular when it came to the pasta and seafood dishes. 

“what a gracious kidnapper you are,” you tell him, resisting the urge to moan in delight when you pop the ravioli in your mouth; fuck him, it really does taste good. you look over to see a blank look on his face, raising your eyebrow questioningly from across the table. 

it takes a while to get the conversation going, the both of you just commenting on the food or clothes before he finally thinks about how to approach it. 

“i know this is a...hard situation. but for it to work, we both need to try.”

your eyebrows pull together at his comment, putting your fork down as you cock your head to the side. and once he’s sees you’re about to say something, most definitely sassy and anger-inducing, he talks again. 

“we can make this year either really fucking good or really fucking hard. but we both need to try, y/n. you need to see this as an opportunity given to us by fate.”

“by fate?” you question, voice raising as you feel irritation fill you. “you fucking took me, yunho. you planned this all out and kidnapped me. this was completely your doing!” 

his fists clench as drops his gaze away from you, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough until blood is drawn. he knows you’re right and that this instant of meeting wasn’t fate. but him seeing you that night was, him getting that feeling and not being able to stop thinking about it was. 

“but first seeing you wasn’t,” you hear him say, his head snapping up to look at you. “it felt like i was given you before my dad died. that i couldn’t take my attention away from you because...something knew i was gonna need you.” your eyes narrow as you listen to him talk, the honest and brashness in his tone making you keep your mouth shut. 

you still think it’s fucking crazy and it still doesn’t make sense. but you know what trauma can do to the mind also. 

“but then he was gone and so were you. and i can’t find my father again until i die but i found you again. i found you.” the words don’t sound like they should be coming out of his mouth, the deep voice that growls curses at you with eyes that flare just as much darkness. 

but now he gets up from his seat to walk over to you and you don’t find yourself being scared. the way he circles your chair not making you feel like he’s a big bad hunter and you’re a fragile little deer. 

“you keep saying i have to try,” you say, spinning around in your chair and looking up at him. he’s watching you so carefully, like he’s hanging on every word you’re saying tonight because you haven’t cursed at him and tried to run away. “but you’re not much better yourself. you have a temper too.”

“i know,” he says, bending down so his face is at your level and a small smirk on his face looking almost...cute. “but i want you to help me. help me learn to be more...gentle. for you.”

you let out a quiet sigh, nodding your head before you bite down on your lip and look up at him with something darker in your eyes. “and it’s still true what you said the first night? that you won’t...force me to do anything?”

his hand reaches up to caress your cheeks as he shakes his head, the soft look in his brown eyes the nicest you’ve seen since you know this man. “i’m not the monster you think i am,” he says, his eyes falling to your lips before he looks into your eyes again. “and i hope you’ll see that one day.”

the next few weeks with yunho were rather....calm. he ate every meal with you and you guys got to know each other a little more. no snippy comments or reminders that he’s technically holding you hostage, just conversations that were light and let you two see more about each other.

how he’s tough and hard but has a soft side. how even though he’s harsh with his men, you see the fond way he looks at them. he learns that even though you’re naturally bratty and roll your eyes way too much, you also have a sweet smile that could melt away almost any of his qualms. 

but getting you on the plane proved to be a challenge. 

“i’m not a sack of potatoes you can just transport from country to country, yunho,” you snap, “and why do i have to go anyway? you barely tell me what you do for work in the first place.”

he only took your face in his large hand and squeezed, realizing over these past few days just how much your eyes linger over them. his long fingers covered in black ink, usually with sliver and black rings adorning them. 

“you’re going because i’m going,” he answers lowly in your ear. “and i’ll put you over my shoulder if i have to.”

“you wouldn’t fucking dare.”

but oh would he. because now here you sit, with your arms crossed, jet lagged  and a puss on your face as you sit in a ritzy hotel. he’d been making you sit here like some perfect little trophy waiting for him, your eyes following him as he sat down and talked with another tall handsome man.

and maybe because you were pissed or bored or knew by the way they kept glancing your way that they were talking about you but you couldn’t help the way you pranced over there with your vanilla ice cream cone in hand. licking at it slowly as a dollop of white covers your lip, wiping at it with your finger before swirling your tongue around it to lick it off.

“are you talking about me?”

your eyes meet yunho’s who looking at you with a guarded expression, the other man smirking as he introduces himself as mingi. “i was telling him what a...gentle, obliging woman you are.”

you raise you eyebrow as you lick at the ice cream, looking right into yunho’s eyes as you decide to poke the bear just a little bit. because he forced you on that plane and completely rendered you unable to move for the entire flight. he kept his hand on your knee and his cold skin felt nice on your warm leg despite the rage you felt. 

so now, you think, he deserves to be fucked with a little. in a way that he can’t fight you back on because he promised not to touch you. so you make sure to keep your gaze on him the entire time, swirling the ice cream around your mouth and tasting the vanilla on your tongue. 

“is that right?” you hum, looking at mingi as you lick off the white cream that’s covering your lips. 

“stop it,” you hear yunho’s voice growl but you can only smile, walking closer to mingi before you lick at the ice cream again. mingi’s eyes move to your lips for a split second before going to yunho, watching the way his friend is growing enraged and bothered. 

“you want some?” your voice suddenly asks, circling the tip of the ice cream with your tongue before pressing it to mingi’s lips. the man shakes his head and you turns your head to the side, a little hum leaving you just as yunho’s arm wraps around your waist and roughly pulls you into him. 

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

you turn around and meet his gaze, your eyes heated and vengeful and you think you’re probably having a little too much fun with this. 

“i’m bored,” you tell him flatly, reaching down for his hand before bringing it up to hover over your stomach. he sharply exhales but then instead of placing his hand on your skin, you drop the ice cream cone in his hold and walk off toward the elevators without another word. 

the hotel room is laid out eerily similar to your bedroom at...the room at yunho’s, a large bed placed in front of a full length shower with lights and an array of sprayers; you wanna know when this bizarre style of room became the choice for wealthy criminals. 

you strip down out of your clothes and walk toward the shower, turning on the faucet until the water is scorching. you laugh to yourself as you think of the way yunho’s probably downstairs still frustrated and anger at the stunt you pulled. 

you both promised to try with each other but how can you not have a little fun? especially when he forced you on the plane to a new country and already set the tone for the day? you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t hear the door open or yunho take in a sharp breath, your naked body exposed as water drips down the curve of your back. 

you only know he’s here when his naked body is next you, craning your head to see his broad shoulders and erection in the steamy air. you can’t seem to tear your eyes away despite what’s going on in this moment, far too distracted by how big his cock is. not like you’re surprised, though, given the sheer size of him. 

“you just gonna stare or are you gonna try to put on another show?”

his voice is even and low but there’s an underlying tone of frustration that makes you all too amused. you bite down on your lip so you don’t smile, instead choosing to let your eyes roam over his body. 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

a huff leaves his mouth and he shakes his wet hair out, making his way over to you until he’s standing over your body. your eyes travel up his torso and pecks until you’re looking at him, your skin wet and only a few inches from grazing. 

“you wanna touch baby girl?” he asks, his voice deep and strained and you wanna laugh because it’s almost too fucking easy. you place your hands on his chest and turn him until he’s pushed against the wall, his adams apple bobbing at the way you press your naked body on his. 

the sexual tension and attraction has been palpable this entire time but it’s only getting more and more intense as the days go on, your hands sliding slowly down him as you feel him start to shake underneath you. you know he probably wants to throw you against the wall and wrap his hand around your neck, warn you lowly that he’s not gonna touch you but that you better not provoke him. 

but instead he just takes it, his head leant against the wall and his chest heaving as your fingers trace right above his cock. you’re not gonna lie and say you’re not wet and aching between your legs now but you can’t focus on that, far too distracted by the way it seems like you finally have him under control.

and it’s because of that you look at him, pump his wet dick just once in your hand and hear him growl. you smirk in his face as you circle the tip before pulling your hand away, feeling something hot and fiery sear through you at the way he looks so worked up over this; his eyes are dark and hazy and he looks about to ready to fuck you against the wall. 

you flick your hand so the water and his slick precum fall off your hand, rolling your eyes before you turn around and go to exit the shower; but then, just as you predicted, he reaches out and roughly spins you around. his hand is on the back of your neck and your mouths are just inches apart, his lips brushing yours and you can feel how ragged and rough his breaths apart. 

“how many fucking times do i have to tell you not to push me?” he growls against your mouth. “don’t you think your little stunt downstairs was enough?” you only look up and meet his gaze, the teasing look replaced with a hardness that causes him to squeeze you tighter. you just look so unbothered while he’s ready to explode, everything about you and your presence overwhelming him.

“you’re gonna make me do something i don’t wanna fucking do.”

and at the time, you think his words just mean he’s gonna go back on his words and show you that he’s a monster. that he’s gonna take you even though you’re not crying out for him and you can’t say you’d really be surprised at this point. 

so you only shrug your shoulders, quirking an eyebrow challengingly. “yeah? and what’s that? fuck me even though i’m not begging for you?” 

and that’s exactly what you think is gonna happen when he drags you down the hallway of the suite in a robe. you’re fighting against him but his hand is wrapped so tightly around your wrist, walking into another dark room as he throws you down on the bed. 

you rut against it and try to run away but he only pushes you down with a lowly growled “stop it.” you feel yourself start to panic slightly when he cuffs both your hands, black leather around your wrists and sliver chains attached to the high posts of the bed. 

you nearly kick him in the face when he does the same thing to your ankles, your growled out curses and screams telling him to fuck off falling on deaf ears. you’re completely spread out in front of him as he looks at you from the bottom of the bed, his body free of clothes as he peers down at you without a word. 

you don’t know what the fuck he’s about to do but you can’t stop the way you’re shaking. out of fear and arousal and fury and everything you’ve felt for the past month and a half of your life. you two just wordlessly stare at one another, his eyes never leaving your face despite the way your legs are spread, before he breaks it off and takes a seat on the couch. 

you narrow your eyes when his hard cock hits the air, the sound of the door opening making you swallow and tense; you half expect to see mingi walk through the door, some sort of sick twisted idea that yunho had to prove that you’re his.

what you don’t expect, however, is to see a woman you’ve never seen before walk in the room, clad in the black lingerie you threw in his face when you were shopping that day. something about it unnerves a crazy part of you but you don’t say anything, can only watch as she crosses the room and bends down into between his legs.

you bite the inside of your cheek and swallow down, almost not believing it when you watch her take his cock in her mouth. your mouth falls open slightly at the way he throws his head back and letting out a small groan, wondering what kind of sick shit he’s pulling right now.

his head falls back as you watch her head start to bob up and down, her hands laid out on his thick thighs and making something in the pit of your stomach burn.

he watched you flirt with mingi and now he’s making you watch this. watch as he moans and fucks up into this random woman’s mouth. his head rolls back up to watch you, your eyes wide and unable to leave the sight in front of you. 

but then the second you meet his gaze, you look away. 

because it’s too much, to see his glassy eyes full of arousal and lust as someone else sucks him off. as he moans and thrusts his hips frantically while you’re spread out right there and feeling wetness seep between your legs. 

“look at me,” you hear his deep voice growl. you swallow and bite down on your lip, the sound of the chains clattering when you try to move away at the sound of him moaning again sending a satisfied smirk on his face.

“i fucking told you to look at me.”

you can’t help but look up at his words, feeling yourself swallow a whine when his eyes roll back into his head. the girl’s head bobs faster and faster on his dick, his large tattooed hand grabbing the back of her hair as he bites down on his lip.  

the room is full of sounds of his strangled grunts and her slurping, the way you flail and rut against the clanking chains making you more and more angry. why is he doing this and why is it working? why are you so effected by seeing someone else get him off and wishing it could be you?

because the burning ache between your legs is too much and you feel the wetness on your thighs. 

you can’t tear your eyes away from him when you know he’s about to come, the way he bites down on his lip and fucks up into the hot mouth sucking and licking him. he makes sure to look right at you when his mouth falls open, releasing into the girl’s mouth and making a hot pang of desire shoot right through you. 

you’re clenching around nothing and hate that you feel this way, how wet and ready you are for him to push that girl off of him so he can fuck you. fill you up the way you feel the need to to be despite everything so fucking wrong with this situation. 

but when he makes his way over to you, the girl wiping at her mouth as she walks out of the room, he doesn’t look like he plans on doing so. he only leans over your body and can smell the arousal on you, his large hand in between your legs and on the soft, wet sheets. 

“maybe now...you’ll be a good girl for me. and won’t pull the shit you do.”

you look up at him through hooded eyes and feel your mind clouded, his flushed face looking down at you with such a hard stare. you try to touch him but you’re still completely tied up, a whine leaving your mouth as the chains clatter and your restraints just get tighter. 

“yunho,” you whine out and the sound of your name falling from your lips almost makes him crack. but he only takes your face in his hand, his thumb running against your lower lip that you immediately take in your mouth.

you look up at him as you suck his finger, swirling your tongue around him and feeling your pussy throb. he watches for a few seconds before shoving his finger down you throat until you gag, shaking his head as he trails his finger down your chest and circles your hard nipple. 

“do you want to touch me now?” you hear him mumble lowly in your ear. a broken whine leaves your mouth as you whine out a yes, to beg him to fuck you and that you need him his cock and want him now. 

“please,” you whine and you don’t even recognize your own voice. 

because the pounding in your ears and between your legs is completely overpowering you. he leans closer to you and takes your face in his hand, his body overs yours and his hot mouth by your ear making your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“i’m gonna fuck you so hard baby girl,” he grunts lowly and the words fill you with such relief and excitement. your pussy clenches in anticipation and you pull against the restraints so you can touch him and have your hands on him. 

his eyes watch you carefully, the way your robe has fallen off your shoulders and your nipples are hard in the air. how your legs are shaking and he wants nothing more than his bury his face between them.

but you pushed him to this point and now, even though it pains him, he has something to prove. it’s why he bends down to kiss at your inner thighs, his lips and hot mouth so close to your pussy you feel tears in your eyes. 

“i’m gonna fuck you until you scream for me,” you hear his deep, strangled voice says. he can’t help but lick up your pussy just once, toying at your clit just to get a taste of you as you widen your legs and scream out at the feeling.

but then his mouth is away and he brings his face to yours, pressing his lips to your mouth in a kiss. the first real kiss you two have had thus far, where your lips are parted and you can even taste your heavy arousal on him.

“but it won’t be tonight, baby girl,” he hums, kissing down on your neck before pulling away and leaving you panting on the bed. he makes no move to untie you or fuck you or do anything, just leans his head against the bed frame and looks over your body with lust in his eyes. 

“after all, we have a whole year together, don’t we?”

[jangofctts]

Ma’am I’m dying out here. It’s always “Void will wreck you in the fresher” and “Void has the third best stroke game of the squad” but never “Here I wrote a lil blurb of Void wrecking your shit”

Please I need we need it

smH YOURE RIGHT IVE BEEN DENYING YALL KJEKEJH

ct-7775 void // fem!reader

warnings: shower sex 

You’re not quite sure when this became a regular occurrence--a couple months ago you think. Sorta like date night, except in the fresher...naked and undoubtedly against regulations. That’s what makes it fun you suppose--a little late night thrill.   

Not like anyone would find you, you specifically chose time slots around midnight so you’d have the entire fresher block to yourself--an ingenious idea and totally worth waking up with wet hair in the morning. You just--well you didn't expect someone else to have the same idea. Safe to say it was a little jarring to cross paths naked and afraid, soaped up and scrambling for a towel with Sunburst squadron’s finest and only medic. Void. 

To be fair, he hadn't even seen you. It was the end of your shift, tunnel vision on one thing, and one thing only. A nice hot fresher and certainly not a naked you. 

With neither of you willing to budge and shuffle around schedules, you came to the brilliant conclusion that you could both shower at the same times--just so long as you both kept your eyes to yourselves. Funny how that rule barely lasted two weeks.    

Safe to say, it’s been the best sex you’ve ever had. And all done in a fresher for kriff’s sake. 

Once or twice every week you have Void all to yourself--that permanent scowl and grumpy mannerisms washing away with the flow of water and the warmth of your skin. A completely different man--one briefly unburdened with the weight of keeping his brothers alive and well just to send them off to battle the next day. You don’t mind being his distraction--as fleeting as it may be.   

Tonight is no different as the solid line of his body slips in behind you, filling in the limited amount of space left in the tiny space. And you mean tiny. You can move without challenging your flexibility or banging your elbows and knees against the walls.

The touch of Void’s palm over your ribcage pulls a pleased sigh from your lungs. His fingers tickle up your shoulder blade and sweeps your hair, plastered to the nape of your neck, to the side. “Let me see you...”

You turn without hesitation, giggling as Void’s hand cups your cheek, his thumbs jumping up to smooth down your eyebrows and wick away the rivulets of water. Before you have the chance to greet him, Void tugs you forward into a deep, toe-curling kiss, shuddering as the cool durasteel of the wall touches your back. You break away and place your palm over his cheek. leans into your palm and smiles as your thumb lands right over the little blue dot tattooed onto his cheek.

“How was it today?”

“Sweets got a splinter and Fuse burned himself playing with matches again.” Void grumbles, sliding his other hand up to cup one of your breasts. He pinches your nipple and rolls it between his forefinger and thumb, plucking out a gasp from your parted lips. “All I could think about was you--always distractin’ me.”  

You roll your eyes. “Boohoo--baby is distracted by my tits. You’re lucky I like you.”  

Void buries his face into the crook of your neck, nips at your ear and hooks his arm around your waist. “Mhm. If I accidentally kill someone, s’because of you.”  

You slide your fingers through his hair, a bit long once it’s wet and free from his headband--you give the strands a playful jostle. Void tilts his head, skims his lips over the line of jaw and steals another kiss--when he pulls away he hesitates here for a moment--simply drinking in the shape of you, every freckle and little wrinkle, grafting it into his memory for eternity. It’s a two way mirror however--

The bags under his eyes, like two swaths of purpling bruisers, are worse than last week and Maker--do they ever give this man a break? “Void--when’s the last time you slept?”

He blinks rapidly and shoves his head back into the crux of your shoulder to avoid your scrutiny. “Don’t worry about it.”

You frown. You’ll push him about it later, because right now? He’s trailing tiny, addicting kisses from your shoulder up to your ear, your blood already singing even though the chaste pecks border innocent. You gasp as those kisses morph into nips, sucking sure to be bruises into the flesh, marking you just below the line of where the collar of your uniform ends.

The arm around your waist skims further down, grabbing a handful of your ass and roughly squeezing.  You whimper, curling further into his hold as liquid heat races from the pit of your stomach and outward to each and every limb. He worms his muscled thigh between your legs, pinning you further against the wall, the hand on your ass snaking back to massage tiny circles over your thigh. You whimper and thread your fingers into the wet strands of his hair, arching into his chest.

“Fuck--you’re a vision,” Void pants, “So beautiful.”  

He moans low in the back of his throat as your hand gently encompasses his cock, thick and swelling to its full length in your palm. “I could say the same about you, handsome.”

 Void shudders and sags into your hold, huffing out curses and roughly parting your thighs further apart. You whine and press your head into the wall as he hikes your thigh up and around his hip. He then slides two of those thick, calloused fingers pass over your clit, throbbing and aching to be touched. Your own slick mixed with the aide of the water let the two digits glide with ease over your lips, rocking down to circle your clenching entrance then back to lightly trace the little bundle of nerves.

His cock jumps in your grip as you whine his name, needy and desperate as you roll your palm up and down his cock. He curses under his breath, and bites your earlobe. “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

You groan as he pushes a finger into your cunt, the muscles squeezing around him for just a shred of pleasure. “Yes--please, Void--fuck me.”

“Such a filthy mouth.” He chastises with a dark chuckle.

You groan out your frustration as you roll your hips, your nails digging into his bicep to pull him closer. He must take pity on your squirming, pathetic display as he abruptly extracts his finger and drops your thigh. 

Your stomach drops as your bare feet slip off the tiles, yet the heavy muscled weight of Void’s chest pinning you forward saves you from landing ass over heels. He’s stronger than he looks, a fact you’re confronted with as he scoops your knee over his elbow and squishing you further into the wall. “Careful, mesh’la--wouldn’t want a trip to med bay, now would we?”  

You swear and dig you nails into his shoulder, slippery from the water. He grips his cock in one hand and slides the thick head over the wet slit of your cunt, the tip of him catching against your dripping entrance.

You jerk and press your hips back. “V-Void…”

Your breath catches in your throat as the very tip of him, searing hot and harder than tempered steel, pushes into you. It feels the same with each time he fucks you, that pinch and fluttering panic low in your stomach that he’s too big. You squirm and whine as he rocks his hips forward, the little motions seating him deeper into your greedy center. Maker— you think it’ll go on forever, with no room to accommodate him.

“There you go,” he babbles, his breathing a mess of pitchy moans and praise, muffled by the spray of water. “Fuck—such a good girl. Taking it all.”

You shiver despite the temperature of the water, twitching in his hold as the narrow dip of his waist slots against your cunt. Your name flows past his lips, the enamel of his teeth tugging at the fragile skin lining the base of your neck.

Stars— your thoughts are pulverized into dust with the first tentative rolls of his hips. There’s no buildup to the pace he sets or patience as his fingers dig into your ass while the other anchors to the wall. 

It’s a ridiculously short amount of time, you think, as your orgasm creeps down each vertebrae, your cunt clamping down on his cock tighter than a fucking vice. One last roll against your clit and you’re done for. So fucking gone.    

The edges of your entire universe drop off into some unknown mystery--bursts of white light igniting behind your eyelids as you're brought over the edge.

“Shit—get so fucking wet when you cum,” Void snarls. “And tight. S-so fucking tight.”

You’re not allowed to float down from your high, not until he also reaches his end. Until then you’re forced through the rough scrap of the last dregs of your pleasure, his abdomen scraping agains your throbbing clit. The loud, wet slaps of his hips meeting your cunt echoes in the tiny space, accentuates every hitched moan and sharp whimper. Void’s hand slips off the wall and buries it into your hair at the base of your skull, tugging sharply as your core clenches around his cock.

“M’close,” he pants, his breath humid against your skin. “Can I—fuck--can I cum in you?”

You nod with a shuddering whine. 

Your nerves burn as you slip your own hand down to toy with your clit, a simple brush over the nerves and your careening off the edge again. Your cries are a jumble of incomprehensible babbles--the only thing you manage to latch onto is his name. 

With a dangerously loud curse, Void’s bruising pace quickens, frantic as he chases his own release. Void’s hips stutter, the hand in your hair tightening into a fist as his teeth embed themselves over your shoulder. With one—two last thrusts of his hips, he cums. Ropes of his release coats your insides, throbbing and twitching until he’s spent, left with the ambiance of quick panting and the trickle of water.

Stars, you can’t fucking think.  

With a grunt he stumbles back as much as he can in the limited space, the absence of his cock leaving his cum to dribble out and slip down the inside of your thigh. You’re still squeezing your eyes shut, jittery and unable to move from your current spot without the risk of stumbling to your knees.

Void dips his head and steals a kiss, dragging his tongue deep into your mouth. He groans and keeps you here, leading you through soft kisses and a careful dance of something more than just a simple fuck in a fresher. You’re not sure if you’re allowed to breach that gentle space between you—grasp something tangible with uncertain promises and stolen minutes as sunlight fills the space between your heart and lungs.

He kisses your cheek, breaking away before either of you slip and tumble into uncharted territory. Another time maybe—not in the middle of a war and certainly not in a communal shower.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. And it’s enough—it has to be enough.

[babbushka]

Burnt Bridges and Goodnight Kisses

Flip Zimmerman x Reader x Kylo Ren 

5k, cw: ANGST (severe depression, grief, mentions of the war, Flip going away to war, hurt/comfort)

(A/N: This is much more melancholy than my usual sort of writing, so I completely understand if it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. No pressure at all to read, I’ve just been Going Through It, and needed to get the sads out of my system. I won’t be tagging anyone because of the subject matter, but I hope that if you read it, it’s cathartic in some way.)

                                           --------------------------

It’s a sunny day, and Kylo’s at the shop. Elbow deep in the engine of a motorcycle for a customer that doesn’t deserve it, he huffs and puffs around a cigarette to keep the nerves in his skull from going on the fritz. They’ve got the windows open, too good of a day to be completely holed up in the garage, they’ve got the front door open too.

When a shadow falls over the engine, in the shape of a tall man with broad shoulders, Kylo doesn’t bother looking up to greet him. He’s sure it’s the customer, and he wasn’t supposed to be there until three – it’s not even a quarter past noon, who the fuck does this guy think he is?

Against his better judgement, Kylo squints into the backlit silhouette of the man before him, and his brain takes a moment to process what the fuck he’s looking at. The face is familiar, the stature even more so…but this, that couldn’t be…was it really?

“Flip?”

He’s bald, hair shaved down as close to his skull as they were able to get it. His face is bare too. It’s the first time Kylo’s ever seen Flip without his goatee. The man in front of him is Flip, but it’s wrong, it’s not the Flip he knows. Could be a twin brother for all Kylo fuckin’ knows, but that’s not his Flip.

Until this not-Flip sighs, and his shoulders sag in the way that Kylo has seen too many times for it to be refutable, and the not-Flip becomes Flip and Kylo’s stomach clenches, because what the fuck have they done to him?

“Don’t laugh.” Flip says, still standing there in front of Kylo, blocking the sunlight. He’s got his arms at his sides, hands fidgeting. His thumb rubs against the inside of his wedding ring, and it’s only then that Kylo takes in what he’s wearing.

Instead of the flannel and jeans and those cowboy boots of his, Flip’s in a matching green number with black combats on, and he’s bald and clean shaven and that means it’s really happening.

Kylo’s going to be sick.

He doesn’t laugh.

He can barely muster anything at all as he stands up, only able to choke out a pitiful, “Are you…?”

“Yeah.” Flip knows what he asking, knows that he’s asking if Flip’s leaving. There’s a hardness in Flip’s eyes that didn’t used to be there, and the room spins around Kylo.

“I’m sorry.” Is all Kylo can manage, hating himself for not being better at this. He never was good, at this, at the whole talking thing, communication. You had always teased him for that, teased the both of them.

Flip wasn’t very good at it either.

“I uh,” Flip makes an automatic move to scratch at his goatee, but then aborts the mission halfway through when he realizes that there’s nothing to scratch. Kylo wonders when he got that scar on his chin, how it happened. “I came here to say goodbye and...to ask a favor.”

“Anything.” Kylo finds himself breathing around his cigarette. Flip watches the movement, and almost without thinking, Kylo passes Flip the zippo lighter that he keeps in his pocket. Flip accepts it gratefully, lights up a camel and mulls over it in his lungs for a moment or two.

“I need you to take care of her for me.” He says quietly, on the exhale.

“Flip —” Kylo’s eyes widen, his stomach dropping. He has to brace himself, because this can’t be happening, it has to be a dream, some fucked up nightmare. He pinches himself hard on the muscle of his arm, certain that he’ll wake up with your body sandwiched between the two of them but the more he pinches himself the more frantic he starts to get.

“I mean it, Kylo.” Flip steps out of the light, walks around the bike that’s separated their bodies, puts his hands on Kylo’s shoulders and steadies him. Flip’s always been the one to steady the two of you, what the fuck is he going to do without him? “I...I need her to be okay, understand? I need to know she’ll be okay. When I’m gone.”

“You know that she won’t be.” Kylo blinks back tears, furiously denies ever letting them well up in his eyes. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, devastation or red hot anger. He’s not sure it isn’t both, as he clenches his jaw and his hands shake, “Has she seen you like this yet?”

“No.” Flip’s voice is quiet quiet quiet and it freaks Kylo the fuck out, how can a man so quiet go off to fight in such a loud war? Flip sighs, he looks tired already, exhausted. “I said goodbye before getting the cut, I didn’t want her to have this be the last memory she might have of me. Wanted her to remember me the way I always looked.”

“You’re talking like you’re not coming back.” He settles on angry, his voice starting to raise, his cheeks starting to grow hot.

“I don’t know if I will.” Flip responds with a tight pain constricting the back of his voice that has Kylo shouting, has him starting to make a scene.

“Shut the fuck up —!” Kylo throws the wrench he’s holding, throws it hard enough to shatter the one fucking window they left closed, everyone in the garage looking at him.

Flip does the thing he’s always been so good at doing, grounding Kylo. He drags Kylo into a hug, tight and firm and sturdy. Flip’s always been so fucking sturdy, steady. Kylo hates him for going away, he hates him.

“Kylo you have to listen to me. This war is fucked up, and nasty, and some boys don’t come back. Most of us won’t. I’m going to do my goddamn best to come home but there’s a chance I don’t.” Flip tries, but Kylo doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t want any of this.

“No you listen to me!” Wrenching out of Flip’s grip, the tears have starting to sting hotter now, and Kylo almost wants to hit him, wants to knock some sense into him as his vision blurs around wetness on his lashes. “You’re not allowed to fucking die over there, okay? You’re not. You can’t.”

“Will you do it?” Flip closes his own eyes, still not having gotten an answer from Kylo.

Kylo’s heart begins to pound, begins to thud dangerously loud in his chest. He can’t say yes, he doesn’t want to say yes, because the second he says yes then Flip will leave. If Kylo can just keep him here, maybe if Flip misses the bus to the airport, maybe if Flip misses his flight he won’t have to go overseas and can stay.

“She doesn’t love me the way she loves you.” Kylo admits, and it’s an admission that hurts. He’s known it for a long time, he’s known it ever since the day you chose him after that boxing match all those years ago. It still fucking hurts.

“But she loves you.” Flip licks his lips, starting to get desperate in his own right, starting to grow tense when he scowls, “Don’t you love her?”

“Don’t you?” Kylo shoots back, rage coming in full force again, a dangerous and nauseating see-saw. Everyone has cleared out of the garage by now, it’s just the two of them. Somewhere in the back of Kylo’s mind he can hear the door clicking shut, everyone giving them privacy, and so Kylo starts shouting again. “She’s your fucking wife! Don’t you love her enough to not go?”

At the insinuation that Flip could be something other than completely devoted to you, he grabs Kylo by the collar of his black-tshirt, shoves him back against a wall, shoves him hard. Flip’s face is two inches away from Kylo’s, and Kylo wants to kiss him so badly that he could cry. Maybe he is crying. If he is, Flip doesn’t say anything, he only bares his teeth in a snarl.  

“Look! I’m sorry that I’m not the son of a senator who could afford to put me through college so I could sit around and fucking tinker in a garage all day. I got drafted I didn’t sign up for this fucking war, I don’t want to fucking go, and I don’t appreciate you making it sound that way.” Flip snaps, shouting back, face shaking from it.

Kylo sees it then, the terror, the sheer and utter fucking terror in Flip’s eyes. Something about that, something makes him break, and suddenly Kylo’s doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to hold himself up with the force of his own fear; because if Flip – sturdy reliable formidable Flip – is afraid, then who among them wouldn’t be?

“I’m sorry.” Kylo cries, and Flip holds him, even though Flip’s crying now too.

“Will you take care of her for me?” Flip asks again, and Kylo’s still not willing to give him the yes, not yet, just a few more minutes.

“What exactly does that mean?” Kylo demands, vision going spotty as he tries to get a grip on himself. He can feel his sinuses going, and he sniffles and sniffles and sniffles until he just fucking wipes his nose with the sleeve of his tank-top, not giving a shit anymore.

“Just...keep her safe. Make sure she’s okay, happy. Love her.” Flip says it so quietly that Kylo thinks he’s imagined it.

“Love her?” He presses, and the two of them look at each other, really looking. Kylo frowns for a minute, before he catches Flip’s real meaning, and he’s afraid he’s going to be sick all over again, this time with shame – because he’s wished for that before, wished that he could have you all to himself late late at night when he was sure no one was listening.

He never meant like this, he doesn’t want it like this.

“If she wants to.” Flip nods in confirmation, “I’m not going to make her suffer and be starved of touch just because I’m gone fighting for Uncle Sam.”

“And what happens when you come back?” Kylo emphasizes on the when, not an if, because he has to believe that Flip’s coming back. He has to, it’s going to break everyone in this fucking town if Flip doesn’t come back.

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.” Flip decides, as the clock strikes one-o’clock. When Flip looks from the clock, back to Kylo, there’s an urgency in his voice as he asks, “Will you do it?”

That’s it, Kylo thinks, he can’t drag it out any longer.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Kylo whispers. He looks down, watches as one of his tears lands on his reflection in the mirror shine of Flip’s boots. He hates them.

With that, Flip’s done what he’s come here for, and there’s nothing left. There’s nothing left but for him to hand back the zippo lighter that Kylo had handed to him, so he does, and Kylo takes it even though his fingers have gone numb.

Flip’s walking away then, and Kylo watches him go, watches him for a minute or two before he’s sprinting out of the garage and into the sunlight, the dizzying bright yellow golden sunlight. It bathes everything in a glow that it doesn’t deserve, the world doesn’t deserve to be so beautiful when it’s taking Flip away.

Kylo sprints, a desperate last ditch effort, asking for something he doesn’t even know he needs, using a name he’s never called Flip before, shouting out, “Phil?!”

Flip stops walking, turns to face Kylo, only to get tackled by the biker in a hug so fierce and tight that it makes Flip grunt. Flip holds him back, the two men clinging to one another in broad daylight, right there in the driveway in front of the shop, out in the open, sun washing all around them.

“She’s not the only one who loves you.” Kylo whispers, face shaking, eyes flicking down to Flip’s lips for a split second.

Flip grabs Kylo by the face, a hand on his jaw, and crashes his mouth against Kylo’s. Their eyes close, and for a moment, Kylo can pretend they’re back at the big house up in the mountain, or in the little motel a town over, or even on Kylo’s own couch. But they aren’t, because you’re not here with them, and the reason you’re not here is because he’s leaving.

Something cold presses into Kylo’s palm – it’s the zippo. They break the kiss, and now there’s tears in Flip’s eyes too. Kylo can only wonder what the conversation must have been between you and him. If Flip’s crying in front of Kylo, Kylo can only imagine he had a nervous fucking breakdown in front of you.

Kylo pushes the zippo back into Flip’s hand and before he watches Flip walk down the sidewalk, headed towards a bus that will head towards a plane that will head overseas, Kylo tells him to, “Give it back to me when you come home.”

                                                ------------------------- 

That had been a week ago.

He feels shitty about it, about the whole thing. He should have gone to you that same day, right after work. He should have gotten on his motorcycle and driven to your house and held you like he knows you need.

He hadn’t done any of that. Instead, when the work day had ended, and that customer picked up the fucking bike, Kylo went home. Maybe…Kylo didn’t know. Maybe he thought he could pretend everything was alright. That it was normal. Going home after work just like any other day.

When Friday comes around the calendar again, Kylo has almost forgotten that Flip’s gone. He had almost forgotten, until he started getting dressed for Shabbos dinner, and then remembered that there wasn’t going to be a Shabbos dinner with Flip for a long long time. And when he checks the calendar, he realizes it’s been a week since Flip left, and he hadn’t checked on you.

So he’s furiously ripping through the streets, half-dressed and terrified of the state he’ll find you in, blowing red lights and cutting around cars like the asshole he is, hating himself for not even so much as giving you a fucking call. The trip up the mountain is the same as it always is, but it’s different at the same time, different because he keeps expecting to see Flip pass him in that truck of his and it doesn’t happen.

The truck is under a tarp, when he finally makes it to your drive-way, the mailbox is filled with letters that you haven’t brought in. That’s not a good sign, none of this is a good sign.

There’s leaves on the porch, they crunch under Kylo’s heavy footfalls as he makes his way up to the front door. Knocking once, twice, three times in the little pattern that’s all his, Kylo tries not to chew his lip until it bleeds.

“Sweets? it’s me. Can I come in?” Kylo stands outside the front door, tries jiggling the handle. It’s locked, no give.

Kylo knocks again, this time a little harder, even goes so far as to ring the doorbell.

“Y/N?” He calls, this time a little louder.

Still no answer from you, and he begins to panic. Your car is in the driveway so he knows that you should be home, you should be. You didn’t like to go for walks by yourself in the woods, always worried about mountain lions, always teased Flip that one day he was going to get eaten. They used to tease you for your fears. Kylo wonders if Flip getting drafted had ever been one of them.

Kylo breaks into the house, breaks the window on the side of the house that he knows leads into the living room. He doesn’t break the glass, just the latch that keeps it locked, and manages to shove himself through the small square opening, crawling through the space headfirst, toppling onto his chest as he pushes himself into the living room.

“Fuck.” He sucks in a breath when he sees how much of a mess the place has become.

It looks like everything that was once on a bookshelf, table, credenza, desk or counter has been shoved to the floor. There’s boxes all around the living room, stacks and stacks of case files, of clothing. It smells like camels, there’s one smoldering still in a little ashtray on the coffee table. It doesn’t look like it’s been smoked once, just simply left to burn steadily, the ash long and undisturbed.

You’re on the couch, face tucked against the cushions, facing away from him. Despite it being bright outside, the living room is pitch black, all the shades drawn.

“Oh sweetheart.” Kylo sighs softly, as he very gently so as to not scare you, sits down on the floor next to the couch.

He switches on the little lamp on the side table, and you wince against the light, curling in on yourself. Kylo begins to rub soothing circles to your side, and you let out a shuddering sob, something wordless that catches in your throat. Kylo hates himself for not coming to see you sooner, he wonders how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve been on the couch like this.

“I know baby, I know. I’m here.” Kylo whispers, before trying to coax you up. It’s telling that you let yourself be manhandled without much resistance, too out of it to care. It breaks Kylo’s heart, he’s never seen you like this, not even when you were sitting by his bedside in the hospital after the big crash. A stab of guilt rings through him; you had sat by his bedside every night for a month then, and it had been a full week since he had even called you. “Baby we gotta get you put together, okay? C’mon.”

Kylo swallows the guilt, and stands, guiding you up up up with him. The moment you’re on your two feet, your arms cling to Kylo, your face shoving itself into his neck. Kylo just holds you, kisses the top of your head, tries not to wrinkle his nose at how your hair is in desperate need of a wash.

“I — what day is it?” You shiver around a hiccupped sob, red hot sorrow branding his throat.

“Friday.” Kylo responds, wondering what day you think it is.

“Oh, shit.” Is all you say, and that’s all that Kylo needs to hear.

“C’mon, we’re going to shower.” He tells you, but when you try and take a step forward it’s hard for you to stand up without his help. He makes the mistake of not supporting your weight and you go teetering over to the side, stumbling out from under yourself like you’ve forgotten how to use your legs. Kylo catches you, holds you close close close, deciding, “Fuck — okay, bathtub instead.”

You sit in the dark, in the bathroom. Kylo goes to turn the light on but you panic and stop his hand, not wanting him to see you, the state of you. You don’t say it, but Kylo thinks you’re more afraid of you seeing yourself. He doesn’t say it either, but the both of you know it. Kylo keeps the light off.

He sits behind you in the bathtub, your face away from him, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. You brush your teeth, and Kylo doesn’t even care when you spit the toothpaste out.

Carefully, gently, he washes your hair, uses all the products you’re too sad to even think about right now. Carefully, gently, he listens to your sighs as he washes your back, your arms and legs, soapy hands sudsing up the water. Carefully, gently, he cradles your body as you lean back against him, his legs bracketing your sides.

He tries not to scream.

You try too, but you fail.

He’s got his arms wrapped around your chest as your head thunks back against his shoulder and you wail wail wail. Your body shakes and trembles until you have no more tears, until the water’s run cold, until you let out a sigh that sounds like you’re done. Kylo unplugs the drain.

The two of you sit in the tub for a long time still, long after the tub has drained. You’re both too scared to stand, unsure if your knees will hold you up.

Kylo doesn’t know how much later it is when the two of you get up and get dressed. Kylo ties the sash of your robe tight enough but not too tight. He puts himself in a pair of sleep clothes that he’s left at your house for impromptu sleepovers like this, even though this isn’t nearly as happy of an occasion as the sleepovers usually are.

When the two of you are dressed, he takes you by the hand to your bed, tucks you in. It’s bright, in the bedroom, the late afternoon sun dipping behind the mountains. It’s golden hour, Kylo realizes, and once again everything is too bright. In the sunlight your face looks…awful. You look like you’ve been crying for a week straight, and Kylo knows it’s because you have been.

Your stomach rumbles, and you look sheepish about it, which worries Kylo. Everything about this worries Kylo.

“When’s the last time you ate something?” He asks, not accusatory, just concerned.

“I don’t know.” You shake your head, voice just barely above a whisper. Your hair is wet, and in the moonlight, he can see your eyes shining.

Your stomach growls again.

“I’m going to order something from the deli.” Kylo announces, and you nod, a small good sign.

Kylo knows your order like the back of his hand, always brings you over a big hero when he passes the deli, likes to bring you and Flip things. It’s only after he hangs the phone up that he realizes he ordered Flip’s hero too, wonders what the fuck he’s going to do with that.

Flip’s sandwich has extra pickles.

Neither of you like pickles.  

You burst into tears then, because you’ve just realized it too, and your face is buried in your hands now, and Kylo feels like he’s going to scream. Maybe he does, this time. Maybe he takes one of the pillows on Flip’s side of the bed and shoves his face into it and screams. He doesn’t know, he’s so out of his fucking depth.

Not for the first time, shame bubbles up inside Kylo’s chest. He remembers an argument that he had once had with Flip about his late undercover nights, how you had been so worried about the danger he puts himself into when he goes out like that. Kylo remembers shouting red in the face, veins popping out of his neck, that if you had picked Kylo, if you had been Kylo’s girl instead, if you had married Kylo instead, then maybe you wouldn’t be so worried all the time.

He remembers Flip throwing it back in his face that you hadn’t. You hadn’t picked him, and Kylo had to deal with it. Kylo had been bitter for a long time about that, he thinks. He’s not so sure now though, he’s not sure now what would have happened. There isn’t a man alive who loves you more than Flip, and not a woman who loves Flip more than you. Kylo sees that now.

You had picked Flip, and now Flip is gone, and Kylo is filled with shame, and you’re miserable.

“I’m sorry.” You’re crying crying crying, and Kylo doesn’t even know what you could possibly be sorry for, when all of this is his fault.

“Don’t you dare,” Kylo shakes his head, pulls you against his body because you’re shivering, and you’ve always teased Kylo for being so warm. “Hey, hey look at me. Don’t you dare apologize.”  

“I just miss him so much.” There’s a tremor in your voice, and your pitch goes higher and higher that way it does when you’re starting to spiral, as you shake harder and harder, “He’s out there alone, and god knows what he’s doing, if he’s okay, if he’s going to come back — fuck what the fuck do we do if he doesn’t come back? How do we live without him?”

“He’s okay.” Kylo cuts you off, because that’s a line of thinking he hasn’t even let himself go down yet, and he can’t deal with that, not right now. So instead he wills it, he puts it out into the universe, “I promise. You have to breathe, stop holding your breath.”

You shudder out a breath, not realizing you’d been holding it until he said something.

“You can’t know that.” Your chin wobbles, and Kylo envelops you, smothers you with love. He’s not sure it’s the right thing to do, but he hopes that if he just…if he just holds you tight enough, it’ll be okay.

“I do though, I do know. I promise you, he’s going to come back. I’ll go over there and get him myself, if I have to.” Kylo tries to joke, but it falls flat.

You’ve stopped crying, at the very least.

Kylo doesn’t let himself think about how he’s going to keep this up for as long as he might have to. It’s only been a week, but what happens when you’re still sad a year from now? What happens when Flip isn’t back in two? What happens if he really doesn’t come back at all? How do you move on when your entire world is built around the one person you love more than anything?

Kylo doesn’t have you the same way that Flip gets to have you, but at least Kylo gets to have you in some way. At least you weren’t taken from him and put on a plane, taken far away, not knowing if you’ll ever return. How does anyone ever recover from that?

They don’t, he supposes.

But he can’t think about that that, not now. Especially because you’re turned towards him, and for the first time Kylo sees something other than misery in your eyes.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” You ask, voice soft, apprehensive and hopeful.

“I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.” Kylo promises, knowing that at the very least this is one promise he can keep.

“Will you kiss me?” You whisper, and Kylo’s heart breaks. You never used to ask before, would just pucker your pretty lips and smile at him and he’d give you one without thinking.

You pucker your pretty lips now, but there’s no smile, and Kylo’s heart breaks. He presses his lips to yours, and the sigh that pours out from your chest has Kylo guilty all over again – he knows for a fact that Flip kisses you at least a dozen times a day, and because Flip was gone, because Kylo was too terrified to do anything about it, you’d gone a whole week without them.

The kiss isn’t heated in a passionate sense, it’s longing, yearning. Kylo’s mouth opens and his tongue slides against yours, tastes the minty toothpaste that lingers there. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Kylo wraps his arms around your middle, and you kiss and kiss and kiss one another, until your breathing evens out and you’re no longer taking those shuddering shivering gasping breaths.

“He asked me to, you know…” Kylo smears the words against your mouth, smudges them with his lips, making them all fuzzy.

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, knowing what he means.

“Yeah. If you want.” Kylo swallows around a lump in his throat, unsure of whether he wants you to want it or not.

“I don’t think I do.” You say, hushed hushed hushed like he can hear you, like someone is listening, “It doesn’t feel right without him.”

“I know. I just thought I’d mention it.” Kylo finds himself relieved, he doesn’t know why. He does, but he doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to say how much he misses Flip too.  

“I’m sorry.” You say again, and Kylo shakes his head, telling you not to be with another small kiss. This one feels closer to normal, and even though there’s food on the way, you’re starting to fall asleep. Kylo wonders if you’d been awake this whole time, waiting and waiting for a goodnight kiss. Your grip on him begins to loosen as you mumble out, “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.” He promises, and this too is another one he can keep.

He doesn’t know how many others there will be, but he knows that at the very least, this is one that he can keep. You fall asleep in his arms, your hair on the pillow, shining in the last of the sunlight. Kylo lets one of his big scarred tattooed hands rub against your back, and he begins to hum out a little tune. Something soft, gentle under his breath, hoping that wherever you are in dreamland, the music will soothe you.

And if, when the delivery guy leaves the food out on the porch some time later, when Kylo extracts himself from your arms to bring the heroes inside and pay the kid, if he brings Flip’s hero into the kitchen and eats it so he can start getting used to the taste of pickles so that you’ll have someone to give yours to, then that’s his business.

And if, when he strikes up a cigarette and finds that he’s missing his zippo, wishing he had it back again, wishing he had Flip back again, wishing and wishing and wishing, wishing so hard that you must hear it upstairs because you come down to hold his hand and rest your head on his shoulder as he lets big fat tears slip down his cheeks, well.

Kylo decides he’ll burn that bridge when he gets to it.

[kuuderekweenfics]

Dabi is Not a Liar

Hello everyone,

This is it. I’ve fallen off the precipice of...what exactly? Sanity? Or, perhaps, lack of shame? Who knows. But this was a fun little piece I wrote about a month ago. I put it up on AO3, but I thought I’d create a Tumblr for future fics since this is a bit more social.

Please keep in mind that I am shaking the dust off my writing and so it may not be the most polished piece of work. Go easy on me. But I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Explicit Warning: non consent or extremely dubious consent.

Fingernails carve into the the filthy brick of the abandoned building nestled by the sea. The pier moaned, it’s cold breath wrapping around your body and reeking sourly of fish and decay. 

Your head hangs low between your hollow arms. How you got yourself into this position is due to several reasons, of course. One, your brain is swollen twofold in your skull, pounding with the weight of lead. Two, shame caresses every part of your body far more thoroughly than the man who currently has you trapped between him and the wall. Three, and most likely the most crucial reason, Dabi, ‘the Cremator’ as he was so often called, has been railing you senseless for the past hour.

You cried yourself dry after about ten minutes. He came quickly the first time, unabashedly getting off on your whimpers and pleas. Where he dug up the stamina to keep his cock hard for another three rounds was a dull ache for your mind, and pussy, to ponder over. 

The strength in your knees escaped long ago. His fingers gripping your bare ass as he currently pounds himself into you, deeper and deeper each time, is the only support you have against gravity. 

He attempts some foreplay occasionally, killing the space between the two of you as he whispers into your ear threats of what is to come and reaches under you to thrash at your clit rough and carelessly. This is, you figured out, more to his benefit than yours; he had to get you more motivated to continue the little game he set for the both of you somehow. You mewl softly when he does, cursing your needy body for betraying your wants.

Because this isn’t what you want. No, no, no. Not even if his thick, veiny cock fills you to the brim and sometimes hits a spot in your core that makes you see stars and silently beg, much to your humiliation, for more.

What you want is to go pro. You just started working for a small agency start up only a week ago. You’ve dedicated to becoming a top ten hero, even if your quirk isn’t the most convenient. But if a guy who’s power was to do laundry could make it to the top, so can you and your absurdly comical gacha quirk. You are able to generate capsules from your hands, ranging anywhere between the size of a tennis ball to a beach ball, but the contents inside are always random. This little inconvenience made your quirk almost entirely useless. Despite it all, you trained hard and got a once in a lifetime opportunity at this agency. Your task today was to survey the pier for any suspicious activity called in by a concerned citizen. You were strictly told not to engage and call for back up as soon as you surveyed something worthwhile. But you immediately ran in, all too confident in your ability at hand-to-hand combat, as if you had something to prove. You crouched behind stacked crates and fumbled through your creations: a teddy bear, a toaster, a tennis racket. Before you could generate another capsule, you heard his whistle behind you. He was crouched, hands lazily in his pockets and looking over your shoulder with a deadpan expression that plainly said you were in over your head. 

But you knew you were quick. The tennis racket sped toward its target only to be crumbled to ash as his hand stopped it an inch from the side of his head. He smiled at you then, not quite reaching his eyes but eerie and menacing all the same. And before you could even fathom throwing the toaster, he pinned your neck to the wall. Your feet kicked helplessly against the brick, unable to find purchase on the floor a inches below. One of your hands pried at his arm while the other reached for his face or his neck or anything you could grab hold of that could cause enough pain to lot weaken his grip. Your breaths came up short, your lungs screamed for a sip of air. 

“It looks like a little mousy lost her way,” he chuckled. “Now whatever am I going to do with you?”

Drool leaked from your mouth as you fought against your restraint and blurred vision. Your mind clawed for consciousness, your body begged for survival. You had come to terms that one day you could potentially meet your end at the hands of a villain, as does any hero in this field of work, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon. 

You felt the obstruction in your mouth before you saw it. The thumb of his free hand pressed on your dancing tongue, drool pooling where he held it down firm. If the look in his eyes scared you before, now they were wild and carnal and more terrifying. 

He first has his way with you with his hand still around your throat. He let up on his grip and was so gracious enough to let you wrap your legs around him while he impales you without a second thought. 

He grunts. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You are no longer a virgin, but you’re sure you never experienced cock of this size, all the while without some form of foreplay. Granted, he used your drool to lubricate himself before sheathing himself deep in your gummy walls, the friction elicits a gasp of pain while from you as he moans and nips at your neck. Not long after he begins to thrust do you start sobbing, and soon after that he shoots inside of you, his cock twitching to unload what feels like everything he had. You hope it is over then. He would either kill you or leave you there broken physically and mentally. You find out soon enough it is neither.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your voice is gone from screaming my name, little mousy,” He gasps into your shoulder as the twitching finally ebbs and his release oozes down your thigh. “I’m gonna fill you with my cum until I am sure that when I leave you in this shithole, you will have a little part of me with you for the rest of your miserable life.”

And if there is one thing you can call Dabi, among the million curses and names you can conjure, you aren’t sure if you can call him a liar. For true to his word, albeit only partially, he comes into you, hard and relentless, two more times before starting once more. You are absolutely positive this goes against all modern male biology. But you guess, in a world with bizarre quirks, anything is possible.

Halfway through round four, you feels his fingers weave into your hair and, for a moment, you think Dabi just may capable of being passionate. Or, at the very minimum, maybe he thinks more of you than just a bucket for him to shoot his load in. This moment, you find, is fleeting as he yanks your head back and pulls you up until your back lies flat against his chest. He slowly pulls the zipper of your shirt down and grabs your breast callously, pinching your nipple hard until you cry out. 

You can only imagine that he’s grown bored of your silence and complacency because his other hand reaches around until his fingers find your clit, exposed and hungry for some well-deserved stimulation. His fingers rub small circles against it, and you feel nauseated as you let out a moan, your pussy clenching desperately around him in newly kindled desire.

He hisses at your reaction, an obvious stamp of approval and continues flicking your bundle of nerves as he pumps in and out of you. “Say my name.”

Your mind, which, up until this point, had been lost in a sea of fog, finally breaks the surface. And it is pleading with you to not give in. He speeds up, each thrust hitting the right spot and oh no, oh no, it feels so fucking good.

“Say my name, little mouse.”

Your core coils tight with stimulation, the spring on the precipice of release with the pressure of his calloused fingers. The ache you had felt up until then is replaced with an immense pleasure that you haven’t felt in, let’s face it, ever. You stand on your toes to give him a better angle. Your hands searched for something to anchor onto. One mindlessly reaches above to grab onto his hair as he licks you, hot breath warming your already flush neck, the other latches onto your ignored breast.

“Say it.”

You bucked against him, almost there, almost there, so very close....

Until he becomes utterly and completely still. 

“No, no. Please, Dabi! I need it. Fuck me, please Dabi!” You sob. 

And with that, you feel a smirk form against your neck. He pulls out of you and before you can so much as whimper, he shoves you back onto a large crate. He grabs one leg and forces it up and over his shoulder as he penetrates you, holding your waist to keep you steady as he pumps in fast and hard. His hip bumps into your overstimulated clit with each thrusts and it nearly obliterates you. In this new position, his cock kisses your cervix and, if you ever had any semblance of control since being pounded into, it has all but disappeared.

“Dabi! I’m going to...Ah, shit, I’m gonna...”

As you begin convulsing, you hear his name, loud, hot and heavy, escape from your lips. Your release sends him over the edge, and he ruts into you. 

Just as quickly, he slides out of you, places himself back into his pants and walks out with his hands in his pockets without a word before the cum can so much as leak out of you. You lay still and let the world refocus before you get up and go home. You come to realize that he didn’t so much as care if you came or not, and that the fact that you had was a happy coincidence on your part. What he was really aiming for was you to scream his name, just as he said you would. How little regard villains had felt about others left you in awe. Can you really go head to head against him or any other villain again? 

You submit your resignation the next day.

And two months later, as you stand wide-eyed and frozen over the test exposing itself to you on the bathroom sink, you can finally confirm that Dabi is, in no way shape or form, a liar.

[jjpmoans]

painting your galaxy | ijb [M]

w.c : 1.7k+

warnings : soft smut, love-making, really, not heavy smut. It’s a first for me too.

a/n : A continuation from the previous painting the galaxy, the fic for @fairygyeom‘s birthday. I wanted to make part 2 of it which has sexual contents so people can choose not to read this one instead of merging both of it together. Also i am glad that @jj-nyoung​ helped me by beta-reading, i laughed at how much grammatical errors were there. Hope yall enjoy reading this! My first ever soft smut.

Your back hits the cold duvet and you shiver just as Jaebeom places you carefully on the bed. He follows, caging your frame with his own as he drops kisses all over your face and presses his lips onto your skin. How you managed to come home safely is questionable, judging by the way Jaebeom had his mind clouded with sexual thoughts all the way home.

You are surprised that he can still function well.

A kiss on your neck, followed by a tongue lapping at a particular jugular vein had your mind back to the man on top of you. His hand wanders aimlessly, trying to feel every crook of you as though he doesn’t have enough. His calloused hand finds your hip, pressing it down to keep you staying still.

Your hand finds his hair, tugging at the black locks after he mouthed your clothed breast and made your nipple harden under the layer of clothes. The sex tonight feels different, far from your usual adventure. By now Jaebeom is supposed to be ripping you out of your clothes because as much as the man is patient with you, he is not in bed.

“Jaebeom.” You manage to squeak a word when he pops the button of your jeans, slipping his hot hand under the tight material. His touches burn you, more than anything when it slides just across your sex and slips further, cupping your now- probably- drenched core.

Jaebeom is still lapping at your skin, he had your shirt bunched slightly higher than your chest. Your breasts however, are spilling out of your bra, courtesy of the impatient Jaebeom, whose open mouth is devouring your now abused skin. “God, princess.” 

“Your nipples are so hard.” He drags a tongue across your taut bud and hollows his cheeks to suck, the pressure stimulating your bundle of nerves and sending shivers to your spine. The blunt tip of your nail scratches his scalp in return, wanting him to stop foreplaying and enter you instantly.

“Jaebeommie.” You whine, making him stop in his track. “Please, inside me. Please?”

Begging should do it. He should bend his will for you, as this is your birthday. He ought to grant you whatever you want.

“Take off your clothes, princess.” At that you shoot up, tugging the materials off you harshly and throwing it aimlessly to the floor. Where they’ll land, you’ll think about it later.

Jaebeom, however, is amused at how fast you comply, even stripping down to nothing in just a few seconds. He never saw you being so needy, but not that he is complaining. Instead he shreds down his own clothes, leaving it as a heap of bundled clothes on the floor.

“So..needy.” he lets his hand graze your thigh, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You know he’s trying to delay it; he wants to take his time. As much as he is impatient, he can also be the most patient person when it comes to sex. “Aren’t you so needy tonight?”

You nod, not even trying to deny it. You are needy, you’ve been excited since you made out while stargazing. It is still an amusement that he didn’t take you right then and there because honestly, he looks like he can.

“Please Jaebeom. Inside me.”

He hums, the pad of his thumb finally finding your throbbing clitoris. One swipe and you jolt as an immediate reaction to his touch. You have learnt that your body is absolutely sensitive to touch when you’re horny, you seem to buckle every time Jaebeom plays with either your nipples or your clitoris. Either way, you have no complaints.

In no time, Jaebeom has you a moaning mess, only by rubbing the pad of his thumb over and over your clit. He keeps his eyes on you, watching you slowly falling apart under his touch.

“So beautiful.” He switches his hand, one hand rubbing and the other slipping a finger inside you, making you throw your head behind. One is not enough. One is just a child play for Jaebeom. “More?”

One becomes two, two becomes three. Tears are forming at the corner of your eyes because of how full you’re feeling down there. Jaebeom just keeps pumping his fingers in and out, repeatedly pressing the spot that makes you cry louder each time.

Jaebeom has a thing watching you becoming a mess for him. To him it feels like an achievement, watching his girl cumming only from his fingers.

“My beautiful princess.” Head thrown and sweat trickling all over your body, you feel like you’re burning. A particular hard thrust though, sends you into a firework of white vision, your legs cramping and your core throbbing violently, clamping on Jaebeom’s fingers. It’s extremely tight but somehow Jaebeom manages to still pump you through the orgasm while swiftly rubbing your clit to calm you down. “Wanna make you cum like this, every day.”

He stands, shredding one last piece of his clothes, hard on springing up to show how hard it has been for him. Slowly he crawls, effectively caging you again while his length rubs your thigh. You feel it twitch upon bumping into some goose bumps that have been painting your skin for a while now.

Jaebeom, being the lover he is, cradles your head after he positions his bulbous head at your entrance.

“Tonight, princess.” You feel him slowly entering you, inch by inch of his hard length penetrates your core. “I’m going to make you feel good.”

Halfway, probably, you don’t know anymore, you sob at the sensation of fullness brought by his dick. He stills, knowing how incredibly tight you can be after your first orgasm. Then when you nod, he reaches for your fingers and locks them together before pushing more of him inside you.

In return, you lol your head to the side, holding your intertwined hands as a support.

“You’re extremely tight, princess.” He catches his breath, a pained look painting his face when you accidentally squeeze him. “Shit.”

“Move.” You said. “Please.”

Jaebeom wastes no time pulling back and slams into you with the intensity of a mad man, right to your pleasure spot. Your mouth forms an ‘o’, clouded by his delicious thrust. You want every day to be your birthday.

He chuckles, pushing your hands up above your head. “I can make love to you like this every day, princess.”

You blush, realising that you unknowingly voiced your thoughts out.

“Tell me how you feel.” Jaebeom’s length, thick and full inside you, keeps plowing in and out without giving you time to think. You wanted to laugh, as if you needed time to think, really. “Does it feel full, baby?”

You nod hurriedly, afraid that he pulls a stunt if you don’t answer instantly. “So big, Jaebeom.”

He laughs, agreeing with what you’ve muttered. “Harder?”

Again you nod, wanting him to break you. “Make love to me, Jae..”

You get a moan as a response and if you squint really hard, you can feel his member twitching inside you. In return, Jaebeom stills and drops his head to your shoulder, obviously affected by your words.

“Say that again.” He pleads.

You, knowing there is no harm saying it again, thread his hair and press a kiss to his lips. “Make love to me, Jae. Make me feel good.”

At that he picks up his speed, which started as a mere push but is now gradually turning harder. At one point your legs are folded and Jaebeom is practically drilling his length into you in full force.

Jaebeom’s hands are everywhere, all over your body, determined to make you cum again.

“So pretty. So so pretty.” He repeats like a mantra, one hand pinching your taut bud. “Feels good, right princess?”

Your mind is everywhere. Each time your walls clench around Jaebeom’s length, a wave of emotion hits you and you’re sent to the clouds. Each thrust is hard and short but manages to hit that spot repeatedly. 

“Yes.” your voice comes out like croak, thanks to the whimpers you’ve been making every time Jaebeom plunges inside you. “Yes, Jaebeom. Yes.”

“Do you know,” Jaebeom’s pained voice alerts you, though you don’t think he’s in pain but he manages to catch your attention which is now actually everywhere. “You’re so unbelievably tight but your juices, fuck, your juices help me move faster.”

An embarrassing moan escapes you and makes you hide your face, you wanted to die from Jaebeom’s crudeness. “Shut up, Jaebeom.”

Giggles, moans and whimpers fill the love-making alternately, accompanied by Jaebeom’s labored breath and the slapping of his hip with yours. Just as you think you are safe, Jaebeom cradles your head again, reaching for your lips and tasting you. 

“I love you.” despite his softness, his pace is wilding, now every thrust is aimed to make you feel stars. Your vision slowly turns blurry, back arched and hands gripping the sheet intensely. “I love you.”

Jaebeom knows that you’re close, your velvety walls are clamping on him therefore he mouths your neck, licking the jenture between your neck and your shoulder.

“Let it go, baby.” he whispers, triggering the sensation you’ve been seeking from the start. In a split second you struggle to lock your eyes with him, involuntarily tipping your head back and finally, you reach the ecstasy zone, blunt nails digging into Jaebeom’s shoulders for support. “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

You sob, your lower region contracts violently despite Jaebeom still thrusting into you to help you ride out your high and to reach his. Your mind is filled with his praises until you feel another euphoria, the sensation of his cum filling you up completely until you feel bloated. 

Jaebeom rests half of his upper body on you, his hands still caging you while he takes his breath. It was a mind-blowing sex, a different one from all of your adventures. 

“I love you.” he says, dropping a kiss on your forehead before groaning out loud after you squeeze his buried length. You giggle in return when he narrows his eyes on you. “You’re turned on because I said I love you?”

He laughs again, nosing your cheeks and drops another kiss. “Well now I know why you’re always ready for me.”

“Oh my god!” you gasp loudly and whack his arm. Trust Jaebeom to be the crudest. “Jaebeom!”

Copyright © 2020 jjpmoans. All rights reserved

[ Writings ]

[captain-yeet]

Heartbreaker (Felix Volturi x Fem!Reader One-Shot)

Request by Anon; Hi could you do an imagine with Felix just leaving people after he sleeps with them and not caring about hurting their feelings? (I can’t stop thinking about it)

Warnings: NSFW themes, abandonment, Fuckboy!Felix

Word Count: 1.78k

Author Notes: Oh god my heart. I’m like, a super emphatic person so when I say I felt this while writing it I FELT THE PAIN

You’d been warned of a vampire’s charm, but that sure didn’t stop you from finding yourself falling for one particular tall muscular vampire, did it?

Despite the warnings from those who knew of how seductive a vampire could be - and warnings from those who knew Felix - you still got wrapped around his finger. Quite happily so. It began with the two of you shooting flirty comebacks at each other, and then that lead to you two getting even more flirty with each other, which lead to hanging out in secret... and then to last night’s events.

You’d slept with him.

He had slept with you.

And it felt amazing. You enjoyed it a lot.

That would have been the most mind-boggling thing about your relationship with him and sure, you still questioned it, but as you stirred back to the land of the living you awoke to just you in the bed.

Alone.

No Felix, but certainly evidence all around you that he was here.

The bedroom looked like it’d been hit by a hurricane with blankets strewn haphazardly across the bed and the floor. Your clothes you’d worn the night before - you couldn’t even call them clothes anymore as they’d been torn. You moved your head and felt something soft shift in your hair. Reaching to pluck whatever it was, your fingers found the stuffing from your pillow had made it’s way to your hair.

 “Shit,” you sighed, closing your eyes and arching your back as you stretched. Your stretch was short lived as you cried out, a pain shooting up your spine from your hip.

You slowly came to a sitting position, breathing heavily as the pain throbbed away. Now more awake, you carefully slid off the bed and made your way to the mirror in the bathroom.

What you found honestly shocked you.

A deep, dark bruise shaped oddly like a hand print bloomed at your left hip, a matching one on the right. The right-sided bruise wasn’t as sore-looking as the one on the left. Guess he really gripped me hard last night, you concluded, frowning as you scanned the rest of your body. You wouldn’t have minded much if you could properly put weight down on your left leg. It felt like the nerves were being pinched.

As your eyes moved up your reflection, tears came. You did not look good. It was as if someone had beaten you to a pulp, with more bruises lining your forearms, your neck and even down at your thighs. Your lips were swollen too.

Breathing becoming erratic, you turned away from the mirror disgusted. “So much for being gentle by vampire standards,” you huffed, wiping away a tear.

You weren’t expecting to wake up looking like this. Sure, you’d heard about the possibility of getting a few bruises but you expected not to wake up to the aftermath alone. 

Where the hell was he? Was this his plan all along? Get close to the gullible human girl, fuck her and leave her? The thought made a little tiny sob bubble it’s way to the surface. Fueled by the panic of waking up sore, bruised and alone, you tried to get your thoughts together.

First step, find some clothes. Make them comfy.

Padding back into your room you rummaged through your drawers for some loose, comfortable clothing. As you shimmied into your sweatpants, more pain shot up your spine.

 “Fuck,” you hissed, letting your body rag doll onto the half-destroyed bed. “I need to call a doctor.”

But how would I explain this? Oh hi doc, yeah I might be injured after having filthy dirty sex with a vampire. That wasn’t going to fly.

At that moment, your phone started buzzing.

Gritting your teeth through the pain, you wriggled over to the end table while still on the mattress and picked up the call. “Hello?” you answered, part of you hoping it would be Felix.

 “Y/N?” came a light, almost sing-song voice.

Ah, Alice.

 “Hey Alice, what’s up?”

 “I had a vision -”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “Do you know?”

She sighed. “Yes, I do. Are you okay?”

 “I... no, my body hurts like a bitch,” you confessed. “Like, ‘I need to see a doctor’ bad.”

 “I’ve already told Carlisle -”

 “Alice!” you whined, heat flooding your cheeks. “Why would you tell him?”

 “Because, little breakable Y/N,” she quipped at you with her signature sass, however it was laced with concern, “I saw you in pain and you falling over. You can’t really go to a normal doctor about this, so Carlisle is on his way.”

Curse the tiny psychic and her sound logic. Unable to give a counter-argument, you simply sighed and shook your head. You knew she was right. “Fine, you’ve got me. I’ll wait for Carlisle to show up.”

And so you did. About fifteen minutes after your call with Alice, you let the good doctor into your home. In a way, you felt a little grateful for Alice’s vision; the though of having to explain to Carlisle why you were so banged up embarrassed you. It’s not like you were close to the man - a heat flushed your cheeks at the made-up interaction in your mind. “Hey Carlisle! Oh how did this happen? Well you know how everyone warning me about getting close to Felix of the Volturi? Well I ignored all that and we had sex last night, and now he’s gone without a word and everything hurts and I just want to cry!”

It would have been humiliating.

Luckily for you, Carlisle wasn’t one to judge.

 As he examined your bruises, he met your gaze with concerned golden eyes. “How are you feeling, aside from the soreness Y/N?”

 “I’m feeling...” You struggled to find the correct word. “I guess, upset.”

 “That’s understandable,” Carlisle replied softly, nodding to himself as he averted his eyes back to the task at hand. “I have to ask as a doctor and as the grandfather of a hybrid - did you use protection?”

Blushing would be an understatement for how red your face grew. “Yes.”

 “And Felix? Are you expecting him back any time soon?”

Your heart ached. “No he uh,” you paused, eyes glued to the doctor’s hands, “I don’t know where he is. Pretty sure he just kinda left.”

A pause. “I see.”

An uneasy silence fell over the two of you as Carlisle checked over your injuries. You felt like garbage and that was really the only words you could use to describe your predicament; garbage. Complete and utter garbage. 

A soft hand on your shoulder brought you out of your miserable disassociation. You looked up at the doctor, a sad smile making it’s way to your sore swollen lips. “You all warned me, I’m reaping the consequences.”

The kindness to your surprise, left Carlisle eyes. A hard glare fixated onto your face, boring into your eyes and internally you shrunk under his now hardened gaze. “Do not blame yourself for the actions of an uncaring man, Y/N.”

That glare stuck in your mind for a long time, along with his words. You’d known the doctor to be so kind, a warm presence; never had you seen him look so intimidating. 

Months went by and you thought you’d never see the man you shared a night with again. Until one particularly rainy night.

You were nestled in bed watching a show when you heard the faint clink of your bedroom window opening and shutting, and a large shadow moving in the corner of your room. Fumbling for the remote to pause the show, you began to panic until the shadow stepped into the light.

Low and behold, there was Felix.

 “You know it’s politer to knock right?’ you said haughtily. Irritation of being ghosted for months built up and began to pour out into your words as you glared at the immortal who broke your heart (and nearly your body).

He fixed a collected stare on you, tensed up and angry. “I suspect you have questions, but I’m here on business.”

Swiveling into an upright sitting position, you barked out a bitter laugh. “Questions, he says,” you sneered. “you bet your ass I have some.”

Felix’s cool gaze turn cold, frustrated. “Oh please - don’t tell me you’re still upset over that night a while ago?”

 “Of course I am!” you felt your body move on it’s own accord, moving off the bed and towards the tall man in one swift movement. “I wake up bruised and feeling arguably the worst pain I’ve felt in multiple parts of my body, and where are you? Nowhere to be found.”

 “You knew the risks!” he quipped back, lowering his head down to match your glare. “Forgive me if I didn’t want to stick around for some human’s breakdown over a couple of bruises in bed.”

Once again, your heart shattered at his words. You leaned back, away from him, mouth open. Hot angry tears welled up in your eyes. “Then maybe, just maybe, Felix,” you growled his name as you tried to swallow back your emotions, “try keeping it in your pants if you’re just going to be a giant piece of shit.” All of this could have been avoided for you if you’d just not have toyed with me, asshole.

You didn’t realise you said that last part out loud until you saw his eyes widen angrily; you noted he looked shocked, even.

Felix closed his eyes, a low growl being suppressed in his throat. He turned away from you and began to walk toward the window. “Aro had been contacted by the leader of the Cullens... said I should come by here and mend things with you.”

He spoke in a low, barely controlled voice. You had to strain your hearing just to make out what he was saying. 

 “Some things can’t simply be mended that easily,” you replied sadly, wiping away the wetness on your cheek with the back of your hand. “And I don’t forgive easy. Vampire, human... you’re the last man I’ll let break my heart.”

He nodded to himself. As he reopened the window to climb back out, he half-turned his head to you. “I’m not a man to be tied down right now, Y/N. I haven’t met my mate yet so I’ll continue to fool around with whoever I wish. After all, why not? But for what it’s worth, I... I apologise for the physical pain I caused you with my roughness.”

Before you could even respond, he was gone the next time you blinked, leaving you with high emotions and the sadness of a few months ago rearing it’s head once more.

Tag list: @vamp-army​

[a-bugz-life]

Fuckin’ Amphibians || Anita & Nicodemus

TIMING: A few days ago. PARTIES: @professoranieves and @bountybossier SUMMARY: Anita and Nic are both out in the forest when they run across some Ballogbogs. Things get a bit psychedelic. 

Anita had lived in White Crest for almost five years now. When she first arrived, she knew of a handful of supernatural beings, but her worldview expanded exponentially even within the first few months of living here. It didn’t hurt that she spent a lot of her time in the woods, mostly for the bugs partially for the isolation. But even in her years of experience, she apparently still had more to learn. In her exploring, she found herself near a small pond out in the forest. Perfect place for some interesting breeds of bugs. But then she saw them, very large and very gross looking toads. She didn’t think much of it, toads love bugs too. But as she drew closer to the pond she noticed one of the toads puff up, and then shoot something at her. “Shit, shit…” She groaned, as she tried to run before it hit her. But she wasn’t so successful. Initially she didn’t feel much of anything, and thought for a second maybe she was immune to whatever this was. But then the leaves on the trees began turning pink? And the ground began to slowly melt under her feet? No, something wasn’t quite right.

The place farthest away from the lake was the woods on damn near the other side of town. In between trying to figure out any thing that might help deal with the fucking squid, Nicodemus went about business as usual. Took up a job and saw it to completion. Traditionally, he wasn’t picky about jobs that demanded a bounty dead or alive. He took whichever. But lately, he wasn’t in the mind for killing. Just a catch and release to the shadow paying him. The task of catching a handful of fatflitters was just mundane enough that he didn’t expect to be bothered too much. The hunter tapped his fingers against his thumb as he walked, a small perforated cage in his other hand. The things were quick and liked their fatty tissue, so it was just a matter of finding the right tracks of a larger creature and hoping the quick shits were on it. The croak of toads sounded loudly to his left and he briefly looked over in that direction. Over the sound of toads, a voice. A voice that sounded a hell of a lot more bothered than he did. The hunter considered just keeping on the way he was and even as he did, he was already heading over to the noise. As he drew closer and his night vision made out the shape of a person, he looked over at the pond. Oh hell. Fucking ballybogs. They didn’t like when anyone got too close to their little domains. And it looked like the stranger had found that out. He cleared his throat to try and get her attention. “You, uh, you good?”

For a split second Anita thought she saw a person approaching, but it quickly became clear to her that this was no person, but rather a very tall and mobile ice cream cone. Interesting. It was rocky road, which wasn’t her favorite flavor. No pun intended but she really wasn’t a fan of nuts. But then the strangest thing happened, the ice cream spoke to her? No that couldn’t be. She slowly got closer to it, trying to figure out if maybe someone was just standing behind it? But no, just one singular cone of ice. “You can talk?” She asked, the disbelief thick in her voice. She sat down on the ground in front of the ice cream and dropped her head into her hands. “This ice cream cannot talk to me. This ice cream cannot talk to me.” She whispered, then rubbed her eyes and looked back up. “Fuck.” It was still an ice cream cone.

She was looking at him like she wasn’t really seeing him. Nicodemus squinted. Ballybogs made homes out of the swamps he grew up in and he had seen people when they got hit by their shit. Woodstock had nothing on what ballybog crap could do to a person. Once, a few years ago, not even he had escaped it and he was stuck trying to hop into the Mystery Machine that had just been a hollow log. The shame of that still haunted him sometimes. Fucking Scrappy Doo. “Yeah, I can talk,” he answered with a sigh. Damn it. He just wanted to find some damn fatflitters. Not this mess. When she sat down, he stepped back and put a hand on his hip. Oh hell. “This, uh, ice cream is fuckin’ talking to you. That’s me, one big damn waffle cone.” Alright, so she was seeing him as an ice cream cone. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like attacking him. He glanced down at her. “And I might be able to waffle us the fuck outta here.”

Anita was shocked when the guy? Yeah, sounded like a guy, seemed to respond to her delusions … and knew that he was a waffle cone? Anita stood up, eyeing the frosty treat with delicate suspicion. But it was almost as though the moment that he acknowledged that he was in fact a waffle cone, things began to shift. Anita began to hear odd voices coming from all around her in the forest. They weren’t speaking any language she understood, but something told her they were not nice voices. Suddenly, the nice ice cream cone began to melt, causing large puddles of melted chocolate ice cream. “Oh no.. oh my god… here let me help.” Anita tried to scoop up the puddles of ice cream and put it all back into the cone. “We can’t get out of here until I fix you… I can’t just leave you here for them to get you.”

Her eyes, large and confused, were directly on him and Nicodemus couldn’t help but feel a little scrutinized. Waffle cone or not. Jesus, he was starting to refer to himself as a waffle cone. Maybe he had been hit too. When she started to try and put dead leaves, plus bits of grass on him, he decidedly was not feeling like a waffle cone. “Alright, no need to go and do that,” he asserted as he took a step back. “Think you’re the one needin’ help here.” Surely someone else would come along and help. People in town had a habit of running headlong into shit every day. As he waited for a beat, a ballybog croak answered him. Fuck. He was the person that had run headlong into shit. And she had too. “Let’s get the hell on outta here, huh? I think somethin’ nearby is causin’ me to--fuckin’ Christ--melt my ice creamy bits all over the place.” He winced and shook his head. He was a hunter, for fucks sake. With a reserved expression, he offered a weathered hand. “Name’s Nic, alright? Let’s get on away from the fuckin’ acid trip frogs.”

Anita had been ignoring his claim that he didn’t need help getting all of the ice cream back into his cone, largely because that was just insane? Why wouldn’t a giant cone of ice cream want all of it’s contents securely inside of itself before running off? But then he finally offered a real reason. He was melting because of something nearby! Of course! Quickly, she stood up and stopped scooping up the ice cream melted in giant sticky puddles on the ground around them. Anita reached out to take the cone’s hand, finding it a bit odd that he had hands to begin with. “Nic the Ice Cream Man.” She repeated, clearly making up those last three words herself. His comment about frogs threw her for a loop. She had heard stories about supernatural frogs. As she was just about to open her mouth and say something, she saw all of the ice cream quickly melt away from Nic and the cone break off into a million tiny pieces. That’s when she realized that he really wasn’t an ice cream man… he had been a giant toad in disguise all along. She let out a soft scream, then quickly pulled her hand away from him. “You! You’re the acid trip frog!” Without paying much attention to where she was going, she began to slowly back away from him.

Nicodemus breathed in sharply through his nose, thankful as hell that she had stopped trying to help get his ice cream back together. Jesus, he was already in too deep with the ice cream bit. It was too much and he can feel a nerve pulsing somewhere near his temple. He shook her hand a bit stiffly. “Just, uh, Nic works,” he said. “The...Ice Cream Man is my father?” Whoever the hell that was. He had never met the poor bastard. And just when it had all been going so well, she looked at him like he was coming apart at the seams. Hell, he just might have been. Ballybogs spat serious shit and she had been hit with it. His hand clenched by his side before it came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. She was backpedaling towards the ballybogs again and he could see the damn things puffing up. He moved toward her and attempted to act as a buffer between. Like a dumbass would. “No. Nope, I’m not the acid trip fr--Oh fuck.” The ballybogs spat and Nicodemus blocked his hand with his face. He blinked twice, squeezed them shut, then opened his eyes to see his hands melting. His ice creamy hands with weirdly frog-like fingers but hey, he had been born with those. He stared at them for what felt like a century. “I...I think I am the ice cream frog,” he said as he looked at her. “And we gotta get out of my fuckin’ swamp.”

As the giant ice cream began to move towards Anita, she began to panic. How was she going to get out of here? She didn’t even know where here was anymore. Had she hiked here? Was her car nearby? Could she even drive like this? Unlikely. She heard a faint noise from beside her and while it took her a moment to place it, she eventually recognized it. Amphibians. And this ice cream frog was likely their king. Of course the dumb fucking amphibians still had a monarcy system. Reptiles had evolved beyond that need of hierarchy. “If you’re the ice cream frog… can’t you just make them stop! They’ll listen to you. Amphibians are really dumb.”

“Reckon they want us to move away from the party we weren’t invited to,” Nicodemus said as if it were obvious and it was. He could understand them. He splayed his hands out to his side, ice cream and all, in a sign of submission. They could respect that. “Partners. Fellas. We’re just gonna hit the, uh, old dusty trail now as it were. Didn’t mean to bother you fine folks this evenin’.” He made a sound as close to a frog as he could before he turned on his heel and took to walking away. He turned his head toward the stranger and spoke in a stage whisper. “They might not be bright but they like bein’ respected. Let’s just go on elsewhere.”

Anita watched the frog’s leader try to talk them down, finding the level of kindness he was showing them to be more than a bit annoying. In fact she might have rolled her eyes at his big performance, or maybe she just thought about rolling her eyes and actually didn’t move at all? It was really hard to tell. So she tried again, feeling pretty confident that she did this time roll her eyes and not just roll her head around in a circular motion. “Of course they’re not bright,” Anita quickly replied, not bothering to follow suit and speak in a whisper. “Why would I want to go anywhere with you? You’re like their leader or something stupid.” Despite her resistance, Anita followed this strange somewhat suave smooth-speaking ice cream man. At least wherever he was going was away from here, and away from those fucking frogs.

[luciferpens]

Loved You Once || Aurora & Kass ft Zoey

What: Another accidental run in -- except this time... more people get hurt.  Where: Poseidon Beach  When:  March 25, 2021 Who: Aurora, Kass (@kassmeifyoucan), ft Zoey (@icarialex)   TW: Abuse, death, breakups, lies, 

Pacing never seemed to actually help any kind of situation but here she was.... Pacing. She was nervous, and not just because of everything that had been going on as of late. No, it was also due to the fact that she had planned out something special. A date. An actual date where she called it a date and they both knew it was a date and—look. It was a date. Granted, she hadn’t exactly told Zoey that it was a date. She’d just said it was a surprise but... Maybe part of the surprise would be that it was actually a date? To her nerves and utter horror, Zoey wouldn’t be off of work for another half hour, maybe less depending on how long it took her to close up shop. A whole half hour for her to be alone with her thoughts. To worry over every detail. The campfire was lit, the guitar and the food basket and blankets were hidden behind a large piece of driftwood. The blonde would be none-the-wiser! It was perfect! Until it wasn’t. Because there she was. And no, not Zoey. Aurora. What the hell was she doing walking on her beach? ....Okay so it wasn’t her beach. But still. The fuck. Without missing a beat, Kassandra crossed her arms over her chest and called out to the other woman. “Um... Hey?”

—

Aurora was not used to Island life or Island time, everyone here seemed to move at a different speed, a slower one, a less get up and go sort of speed. And when you come from the chaos of LA and the FBI anything other than 100 seemed like a snail's pace. Though…. She was slowly learning to enjoy it. Those she met were slowly convincing her to take things a bit slower and enjoy the view. So she decided to take their advice and enjoy the view of the ocean. She slipped out of her shoes and laced them over her fingers as she started to slowly walk up the coast line, just letting her mind wonder and flutter between all the things going on. Running into Kass and then running into Juliette, she really should just leave. Leave them both to their lives without her showing up and being a bomb. There was so much to be done too… with Jane being taken she needed to keep her safe and then close the file; there were still other files on her desk back home, other people she needed to find; other things she needed to do -- and yet she couldn’t leave Icaria yet. Not until she was 100% sure Jane would be safe and had everything she needed here. So she was stuck. Stuck with these thoughts, this place and the anxiety of knowing every moment here meant so many other things she wasn’t ready to deal with. Lost in thought she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a familiar voice. Her hand, not the one holding the shoes, flew to her chest. “Oh -- hey.” She said with a tiny, tiny smile but as the tone of Kass’ voice registered in her head it faltered and she glanced away, “I uh -- didn’t even see you there, I can go back” she tossed her thumb over her shoulder indicating she could turn back around and walk away, give her space. “I hate to intrude or -- anything.”

—

"Its a beach, Aurora. You're allowed to be on it. I just... Sorry, I guess I find it funny and also kind of like the universe is.." Kassandra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment before she held up her hands in a surrendering motion. "Look. You can be wherever you want. I'm not going to force you to leave. It's just hard seeing you. Logically I know it shouldn't be because you're not even.... Nevermind." Kassandra breathed deeply for a moment, trying to calm herself down. The good part of this whole interaction was that Zoey wasn't here, something she was super incredibly thankful for. That would be a whole can of worms that she didn't think she was ready to explain. Mainly because Zoey, Gods bless her, was the sweetest human bean to ever exist. She'd probably be so nice that her and Aurora would become friends and -- Nope. No. Do not think like that. It was then that she realized she'd been stuck in her own head and that she should probably say something that came off as completely awful. "Enjoying the weather?" No. Not that, you absolute fucking disaster of a human-ish being.

—

"It is." Aurora said with a slow nod, she wiggled her toes into the sand trying to use it to ground herself and not get upset. She was normally so good at keeping her cool and not getting emotional, but apparently that could be thrown out the window when it came to her ex-girlfriend. Clearing her throat she tilted her head to one side. "I'm not even?" she asked eyebrow shooting upward rather curious to know where Kass's mind was taking that sentence. But when no answer came quickly she realized Kass was lost in her mind and just cleared her throat hoping the noise would snap Kass out of her thoughts.

"The weather?" She asked glancing up to the sky, the ocean then to Kassandra again, "It's a nice difference from the places I've been lately. Not having to wear a ton of layers is -- a nice change of pace.”

—

Small talk. She could do small talk. On a beach. With her girlfriend not girlfriend planning on showing up at any minute. While she was talking to her ex girlfriend. Of course, totally fine. This was normal, right? Yeah, super normal. "You're not even gay." She finished her earlier thought, hoping that Aurora would understand. "So it's not like I should be upset about that. I'm not. But that's neither here nor there. Glad you're liking the weather though. It's a lot different from Portland." Kassandra sighed, rubbing the back of her neck before taking a cautious step closer to Aurora. "Look, I'm sorry. About my behavior since you've seen me, I mean. I'm not sorry for past me because honestly... Past me is still hurting which means... Present me is also hurting." She could slap herself. "I don't know what I'm saying. You make me forget how to function and it's annoying the absolute shit out of me." Kassandra put out into the open in probably the most honest thing she's said to Aurora in a long time. "But I'll manage.... So uh. You and Brandon? Still together?" Saying his name left a bitter taste in her mouth but she pressed on, wondering if she'd genuinely felt happy for her ex or not.

—

Aurora slowly tilted her head not understanding why in the world Kass would think she was straight but as Kass continued to talk the pieces fell back into place and she slowly nodded her head letting out a huff of a laugh. "Let me -- first clear up some misconceptions." She said running her free hand through her hair and tossing it to one side. "I am not gay, this is true, but I'm also not straight. I'm demi -- well, pansexual. Have been since we were children." Aurora swung her arms behind her back and looped her fingers together. "Two, you never need to apologize to me about your past or what happened between us. I know I fucked us up and hurt you and I take full ownership of that. Yell at me if you need to, tell me you hate me or slap me if it will make you feel better. I deserve it." She shrugged.  She honestly knew she deserved it, she knew she had broken Kass when she did what she did; and while she would have done it differently knowing what she knew now -- she knew that in the moment young Aurora was doing the best she could to protect herself. "As for Brandon, no. We --" She shook her head, "Weren't ever seriously dating, after we were," she motioned between them with a free hand " he basically -- was a beard and he knew it, I knew it. It was a safety thing." She shrugged. That sounded bad, but Brandon knew something bad was happening in her house and he just -- never questioned and did what he could to give her safe spaces to come to instead of being at home where her mother was.

—

She wasn't meaning to see red, but here she was. Listening to every word that came out of Aurora's mouth and letting it cut her deep, just like her words had when they were sixteen. "You're fucking kidding me." Her arms crossed over her chest, staring incredulously at her ex. "Do you have any fucking idea how much internalized homophobia I felt because of my mom? Because of you? I get that you couldn't have told your mom. I fucking understand. But you could have told me. I spent the next two fucking years of my life hating who I was because of who I loved." Kassandra felt sick to her stomach, taking a few staggering steps away from Aurora as she bent over, hands moving to her knees as she gulped in air.  Before Aurora could potentially make a move towards her, she held up a hand. "Don't you fucking dare come near me. I can't... You.. He was a beard. And you're..." Kassandra swallowed thickly, wishing the bile away. "You're pan. So you..." Green eyes tore upwards, looking at Aurora with such a broken gaze. "What was I to you? Was I some kind of fucking joke to you? An experiment? Because clearly whatever we were didn't fucking matter if you couldn't tell me the truth. You let me believe that I wasn't..." Tears flooded her vision, nausea ramping up in her belly. "Am I worthless to everyone I try to care about?"

—

Aurora felt her heart ripping from her chest. Why she still had it she wasn't sure; her heart had been ripped out -- well now three times. Twice by the same woman. It was a useless item, only seemed to cause her pain. Gods she should just go back to Quantico. Why was she still fucking on this gods forsaken island? Seeing Kass crying, seeing her in such pain made Aurora want to throw up. She never meant to hurt her. "I --" she shook her head, "I don't think you totally understand why couldn't tell my mom, why I had to do what I did." she swallowed, looking away and stopping herself from moving to comfort her ex love. "I'm so, so so, fucking sorry about it all, about hurting you, about -- all of it, Kass, I really am." She sucked in her lips tears welling in her eyes. "You are -- were the one person on this planet I love--d more than anything" She caught herself caught the present tense and while sure, it was still true she didn't need to hurt Kass more.  "I couldn't tell anyone the truth. I didn't even tell my own father until I was already 18 and about to graduate highschool. I didn't tell a SOUL about all the abuse I suffered through until I was 23 and -- honestly since then you're the only other person I've even mentioned it to." she shook her head thrusting her hand down to her side before stepping forward, anger in her movements but determination as well. "Don't you fucking dare Kassandra." She didn't curse often, but here she was, cursing and angry too. "You are not in any way worthless Kass. I didn't -- break up with you because I didn't love you. I loved you so much that I had to to keep my crazy mother from literally killing one of us. You have never -- ever been worthless and I am so sorry I ever made you think you were."

—

All Zoey had to go off of was a cryptic text from Kass telling her to meet the woman at the beach after she got off from work. Typically she’d worry about not having her bathing suit on her that day, but since the brunette didn’t like getting in the water, she didn’t worry so much. Zoey would rather spend her time with Kassandra than swim anyway. She could do the latter anytime. Still, she wasn’t used to being antsy to close shop. The artist loved her work, but she’d be lying if she didn’t love spending time with the mysterious and sometimes juxtaposing woman as well. When five o’clock finally came around, Zoey closed everything up and then began her short walk to the beach. She checked in with Noreen on the way to make sure everything was okay at the Inn, and then followed Kassandra’s directions on which street entrance to take that was closest to her destination. The blonde was so engrossed in her phone that she didn’t notice how close she was to her desired spot until she heard Kass yelling. The pain in her tone caused pain in her heart, but Zoey stood back and waited. It seemed important, and the illustrator didn’t know if she should interfere. 

She had no idea who the other woman was until she heard her mess up between love and loved. Then, Zoey’s heart stopped. Aurora. That’s who it had to be. Not being ready or able to hear what Kass’ reaction to that would be, she turned back around and walked away. Zoey wouldn’t go far because she’d seen the effort Kassandra had put into setting everything up in the background. So, she found a nearby bench, sat down, and did what she always did when she was upset or anxious. Zoey began to sketch.

—

Her brain had turned off as the rage and nausea consumed her, Kassandra staring at Aurora as she looked at her with that unreadable expression. It all shifted in her face when she stumbled over her words, stumbled over that word. Her eyes narrowed, she wanted to challenge that. Because no. No. Aurora didn't fucking get to do that to her. Not after a decade. But before she could even get out a word edgewise, the other woman was rounding on her. Kass visibly flinched, taking a step back as she wrapped her arms around her torso. It was then that she heard footsteps from behind her, causing her to turn around to see Zoey's retreating form. No.... No no no. Fuck. She wanted to go off after Zoey but she knew she had to deal with the woman who was right here, in front of her. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to come back into my life and stumble over that word, Aurora. I loved you. Loved. Past tense. I thought... I thought that a part of me would always love you. But I don't know how I could ever..." Love someone who hid the truth from me. She couldn't even say it, realizing how much of a hypocrite that would make her. "You were my first love. And I want to one day not hate you. But you don't get to insinuate that you still love me. Not after... Not after everything. Not after twelve fucking years." A tear fell down a cheek, Kassandra quickly wiping it away. "I need to go because that woman you saw walk away? Unlike you..." She locked their gazes, taking another step backwards in the direction of where Zoey had gone. "I can't let a good thing slip through my fingers." Kassandra turned to walk towards where she'd seen the blonde head off to, stopping for a moment to turn her head just enough so it was barely looking over her shoulder. "I need time.. Time to process what you've told me. Just please don't... Don't hurt me again." And with that, she walked away.

—

Seeing the flinch made Aurora recoil, to fold in on herself. She never wanted to be scary to people she cared about; those she was hunting for work, sure 100% she'd be fine being seen as threatening. But Kass? No she didn't want to do that. She took a couple stumbling steps backwards as Kassandra spoke. There was a stab of pain in her chest. She knew better than to not calculate her every word, when she let her mouth run she got hurt. This was just more proof of that. More proof she needed to slow down and think before she spoke.  As Kassandra continued, as she laid into her, saying she didn't know how she could ever her stomach dropped. She didn't connect the dots, didn't totally realize there was more to be said and instead took it as a sentence. A statement. Kass, in Aurora's mind, didn't know how she could ever have loved her. Right. This -- this was. She deserved that. She didn't deserve to say the things she did, even if some part of it still felt true to her. Nope. The muscles tightened in her jaw as her fists clenched and tears threatened to spill. Another jab as she mentioned the other woman; some blonde who had walked up looked confused, hurt and then walked away. She just nodded and watched as Kass started to walk off. She was unmovable. Frozen as still as a statue as Kass slowed for a moment to say one last thing. She didn't look up, didn't dare even breathe. She waited a few moments until she could hear Kass's steps fade and she finally let out a breath. With that breath the tears came, the anger flowed and she felt an intense level of fear and hatred towards herself. She turned on a dime, kicked the sand creating a small cloud before she walked off, eyes down.... only to stop ten feet forward and see what Kass had been hiding when she first walked up. Oh. She had messed up a date with -- that blonde girl and now -- she felt even fucking worse. She slipped her shoes on and started to run, exercise  being the only thing to clear her mind.

[withyounct]

What’s wrong kid? (5)

Reader X Single dad!Jaehyun

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Words: 3.3k

Prompt: You notice a child crying at a school playground. You decide to see what’s up and meet an extremely stressed/extremely handsome father.

Prev | Next

A/n: I wrote some sad shit in the middle… Enjoy!

Time went by smoothly. You would pick up Hyunjin and hangout with Jaehyun when he got home at night, all while being a productive college student. Over time you two went on more dates and even brought Hyunjin along for the ride on a few of them. You learned that Hyunjin was a natural at ice skating and Jaehyun signed her up for the children’s class. Everything was pretty mundane for the most part. However, midterms where closing in and Jaehyun’s project was in full swing. Other than a few lunch dates off campus and dinner every now and again, you barely saw each other. There were times that you fell asleep on his couch while studying and found yourself waking up in his room the next morning. He would always leave notes about how cute your sleeping habits were or that he made breakfast and Hyunjin’s lunch before leaving, so you could sleep in if you wanted.

Hyunjin, being the sweetest child ever, would help you in any way she could. She would make you little snacks while you studied, picked dinners that didn’t take much time to make, offer to help you make flash cards, and even going as far as putting herself to bed. You about cried at how much of an angel she was.

After a few agonizing, brain numbing, weeks you were done with midterms and free to actually breathe.

Or so you thought.

It was Friday and you left your friends early to go pick up Hyunjin’s skating gear from her house before picking her up. She had missed several days of class because of how busy you and Jaehyun were. She of course was a saint about it, and you promised that she could skate to her hearts content when exams were done. She was immediately excited when she entered the car and bounced around the whole way there. She spotted her friends the moment she entered the building, taking her stuff, she waved you bye. You smiled at her retreating figure and found your usual spot on the bleachers.

Sighing, you ran your fingers through your hair. You weren’t feeling great, but blamed it on fatigue. One of the mothers sitting in front of you asked if you were alright. Smiling, you lied. You knew you were having the telling signs of a cold creeping up on you, but having just finished exams you convinced yourself you weren’t that unlucky.  An hour and a half later class ended, but Hyunjin wanted to stay a little longer and work on her spins. The coldness of the arena was getting to you more than usual at this point, but since it was kind of your fault she was behind in class, you let her. The next thirty minutes were torture for you and no amount of tugging on your sweater could warm you. You called Hyunjin and told her it was time to go with the promise of bringing her back tomorrow.

“Y/n are you okay?” Hyunjin asked as you were making dinner. She sat on top of the island with your help. You nodded your head and patted hers. As you tried to walk away she held on to the sleeves of your sweater and looked at you unconvinced.

“You look just like your father right now.” You laughed. “I’m okay. Just a little tired, promise.” You pinched her cheeks and went back to making dinner. You were thankful at how chatty Hyunjin was, she went on and on about everything and you zoned out. The rest of the evening went by peacefully and you were putting Hyunjin to sleep. On your way down the hall you heard the front door close. Turning into the living room your vision started to haze and you swayed to the side. In a matter of seconds Jaehyun was at your side.

“Hey are you okay?” He asked. He led you to the couch and felt your head. “Y/n, you’re burning up.” He stated. You leaned into the coolness of his hand and sighed.

“I should get home.” You whispered.

“No, you’re not going anywhere. You can’t walk without swaying let alone drive.” You were about to protest, but the look on his face was final. There was a little voice in the back of your head reminding you of how his wife died and you sat silently. Jaehyun pulled out his phone and pondered for a moment before dialing a number. He looked down at your panting figure while it rang.

“Taeyong I need a favor. Y/n is running a fever. If it’s not too much trouble, can you take Hyunjin for the weekend, so I can nurse her back to health without the risk of Hyunjin getting sick as well?”

“Say less. I'm on my way.” Taeyong replied without hesitation before hanging up. About twenty minutes later he showed up with an obscene about of medicine and other cold essentials. He cooed sadly at your small figure in the blanket burrito Jaehyun wrapped you in. He was busy petting your head while Jaehyun went to pack a few things for Hyunjin and retrieve her. She was very confused, but hugged your burrito form and left with Taeyong.

Jaehyun picked you up and transferred you to his room. There he buried you under more covers and it was getting hard to breathe, but looking at his concerned face, you kept it to yourself. He left to make you soup with the stuff Taeyong had bought and medicine. You stared at the ceiling bored until he came back. He sat by your side while you ate and tried to give you the liquid medicine afterwards. You, being a complete child, squirmed away from him and made a face. After a few seconds of squinting at each other you took it.

“So, a biology major who hates medicine?” He laughed as he laid you back down.

“Shut up, I'm dying.” You pouted. You looked up at him and bit your lip. “You know, my roommates wouldn’t mind picking me up. I don’t want you to get sick.”

Jaehyun looked at you a bit hurt. “No. You do so much for me and Hyunjin, so let me do this one thing, as your boyfriend, for you.” He pleaded, gently moving some strands of hair out of your face. You wiggled your way to him and placed your head on his thigh.

“Fine.” You muttered. He smiled and ran his fingers through your hair.

“Plus, it’s a good thing that I'm a responsible adult and got my flu shot.” He stated and there was a heavy silence from your end.

“Man, I knew I was forgetting something…” You laughed awkwardly. The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was Jaehyun trying to suffocate you with a pillow.

You woke up in the middle of the night feeling ten times worse. Sitting up you felt as if you were trying to cough up your lungs. Jaehyun rushed into the room.

“You okay? Never mind, dumb question.” He sat by you and rubbed your back until you calmed down. He left briefly to make you tea and held your back to his chest while you drank.

“This sucks.” You whined, handing him the empty mug. You turned and buried your face in his chest.

“I'm going to need you to always act this cute.” Jaehyun laughed while wrapping his arms around you.

“Jaehyun, I'm dying.” You whined into his chest; you felt the vibration of his laughter as well as his steady heartbeat.

“But you're so cute.” He kissed the crown of your head. You stayed like this and felt yourself drift away as Jaehyun rocked you back and forth.

The next morning you were surprised with breakfast in bed and a ridiculous amount of cuddles. Jaehyun had woken up pretty early to stop by your place, grab you a few things, and deal with a worried Kun and Ten. As the afternoon approached you got tired of laying down and wanted to walk around for a bit. Jaehyun held your cheeks in his hands to check your temperature. After squishing them, he decide that sitting in the garden and getting fresh air would do you good.

You held your arms out to be picked up and Jaehyun had to take a moment to compose himself at how cute you were. He very happily carried you outside, spinning you around every now and again.

Thankfully it was a pretty day out.  You decide to sit on the grass while Jaehyun sat on one of the benches. You laid back and soaked up the warmth of the sun. Smiling, you began to describe the meaning of the various plants across the large garden. Jaehyun, surprised at your vast knowledge, moved to sit by you.

“Peace Lilly, peace and hope. Usually given after someone has died.” You said the last part quietly. You both stared silently at the large plant. It was alone in the greenhouse at the center of the garden. It was beautiful in a haunting way.

“Lilies were her favorite flower. The irony of that.” Jaehyun said suddenly. “I met her freshman year. We were both at a party neither of us wanted to be at, but had really pushy friends. I had finally escaped them and was hanging out outside when she appeared. She was so beautiful and there was an air of confidence that clung to her. I downed my drink, calmed my nerves, and walked up to her.”

You smiled softly, imagining a nervous fetus Jaehyun. You pulled your knees up and leaned on them.

“We talked for hours about everything. She was an English and education double major and wanted to be a teacher. At the time I was undecided and had no idea what I wanted to do. She hated coffee and I can’t function without it. She loved mornings and signed up only for morning classes, while I picked the latest ones I could. We were so different, but we just clicked. I asked her out on a date right there in then. She thought I was drunk and not in my right mind, but I was adamant, and we went on a café date the next day.” He laughed. “We dated for a few years and she was the one that pushed me to do architecture. I screwed up and got her pregnant; we found out and she wanted to keep it. At first I didn’t and panicked, we were both young and way over our heads to raise a child, but she sat me down and told me that we’ll make it work. She finished up the semester and put college on hold. That was around the time I proposed to her. She said yes of course. We had, in my opinion, one of the greatest weddings two college students could have. Taeil was our DJ and it was awesome. She had Hyunjin with no difficulties and the first thing I remember was how small she was. They placed her in my hands, and I was afraid that I would hurt her if I held to tight. When she got discharged from the hospital I baby proofed the whole apartment to an outrageous extent. Hyunjin couldn’t even hold her head up and I was worried about her bumping into the corner of the table.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Two years later, I finished up school and was interning when I got the call. Some drunk asshole collided with her car on the driver’s side. She died instantly. Hyunjin was in the back seat right behind her; it was a miracle she survived. Hyunjin was in the hospital for a few weeks for broken ribs and trauma. She used to have nightmares about that night, and I would hold her until she fell asleep. She hasn’t had any in almost two years, but she doesn’t talk about her mother much.”

You didn’t know you were crying until Jaehyun wiped one of your tears from your cheek.

“Sorry. Dead wife talk with my girlfriend is inappropriate.” He laughed, but there wasn’t any mirth behind it.

“No, I'm happy you told me.” You tried to smile through the tears, but it slowly faded. “I'm really sorry.” You wept. No matter how hard you tried, the tears didn’t stop. Your heart physically ached for him. He continued to wipe your tears until you calmed down.  

Jaehyun tried his hardest to make you smile and resulted in saying really cringey jokes, which, for some reason, worked.

You sneezed and Jaehyun, laughing, said it was time to go back to quarantine. He picked you up once more and took you back to his room. You spent the rest of the afternoon reading a book off of his bookshelf while he worked on his laptop next to you.

“I used to get sick a lot as a child.” You said having the overwhelming feeling to share something personal. Jaehyun trusted you enough to know about his past, so you thought you would extend the same courtesy. He shut his laptop and turned your way, giving you his undivided attention.

“I was born with a pretty big hole in my heart and not in the cliché way. It’s called atrial septal defect, and it’s not uncommon for infants. It usually closes itself up, but mine was too large for that, so I had surgery. Along with that I was a pretty unhealthy child. Low iron deficiency, prone to anemia, asthma. Colds turned to fevers quick and would leave me bed ridden for days. I remember when I was in elementary school we were going on a field trip to the mountains. I knew I was getting a cold, but I didn’t want to miss it. So, I didn’t say anything.  I had my inhaler, so I thought I would be fine. Like an inhaler was a cure all.” You laughed. “We were walking about when I started to feel dizzy and breathing was getting harder. I panicked and forgot I had my inhaler and eventually fainted. My friend, Lucas, somehow got me on his back and carried me to one of the teachers. We’re still friends to this day.” You smiled. “I woke up and my parents were there. I remember how mad they were. When I got home I was grounded for being so reckless.”

“You were just a kid. A sick one at that.” He furrowed his brows.

“Yeah well they weren’t great. They divorced when I was in middle school and have since remarried. I barely talk to them. I'm a hundred percent sure me being sick all the time put a strain on their marriage and they just wanted an escape from each other and me.”

“That’s not true. Parents unconditionally love their kids no matter what.” He argued.

“That’s sweet that you think that, but not all parents are as amazing as you. Unfortunately, the world doesn’t work that way.” You smiled. “My father was the first to move away and I haven’t talked to him in years. I lived with my mother. Well kind of. Her now husband moved in and they had a healthly boy, who she loves more than anything. I got a job while I was in high school and met the rest of my friends during that time and would spend more time at their houses than my own. Since moving to college, I haven’t talked to either of them and that’s fine with me.”

“Wow.” Jaehyun said softly.

“Yeah.” You chuckled. “But my friends are like my family and they get a kick out of babying me. Kun and Ten act as if they physically pushed me out their wombs and because of you I got two cool dads. And I have you and Hyunjin. So, all things given, I'm pretty spoiled.” You beamed.

Jaehyun had a pretty tough time separating himself from you, but you were getting hungry and he had to start preparing dinner. You offered to help him, but was told not to move an inch and was tasked with picking a non-horror movie to watch, even though it was technically his turn to pick the movie.

You ended up watching your favorite Ghibli movie.

The next day Jaehyun was working on stuff in his home office and you felt a lot better. You were walking around the garden again and noticed the peace lilly’s leaf tips started to turn brown. Looking around you found a watering can and watered the plant.

Monday morning rolled around and you were restored to full health. Jaehyun had dropped you off at home on his way to work. You had a hard time peeling your roommates off you when you entered the apartment. With many kicks and punches from your end, you got ready and left for class. The rest of the afternoon was a carbon copy of the morning. Your friends were overly worried about your health, and as sweet as it was and as much as you loved the attention and them, you wanted to choke them.

You left early, wanting to pick up a few things before getting Hyunjin. You smiled when you walked into the flower shop.

“Jungwoo?” You called. The said blonde appeared from around the corner and smiled at you.

“Y/n. Guess who passed the calculus mid-term? Me!” He sang happily. “Thanks for the notes.”

“Any time. I need help finding a couple of things.” Jungwoo, being a fairy incarnated, helped you find everything with ease. You paid and picked up Hyunjin. You told her that there was a task to complete after homework and she was more so excited than confused.  

While she did her work, you moved all the things you bought to the garden. You yelled at Hyunjin to meet you there when she was done. About twenty minutes later she walked into the garden and entered the greenhouse in awe. You had bought new soil, plant food, and fertilizer all for the peace lilly as well sunflowers and lavenders to plant around it. You dug out a ladder from one of the back sheds and had lights placed next to it.

You learned over time that Hyunjin spoke with her eyes as well as her mouth and they were both screaming in excitement when you passed her a pair of children’s gardening gloves.

Jaehyun came home way early than usual and was confused when he found you both out back. Hyunjin saw her dad in the distance and ran to him screaming about how amazing everything is. She handed him her gloves, telling him to take over for a minute so she could use the bathroom. Perplexed, Jaehyun walked across the garden and into the greenhouse.

To say he was taken aback would be an understatement. The lilly was surrounded by rows of sunflowers and lavenders and the ceiling of the greenhouse was decorated in fairy lights.

“Okay before you say anything, I was walking by yesterday and the lilly wasn’t looking too hot and I had the spare time and I remember Hyunjin saying her favorite flower was sunflower and the lavenders paired nicely with everything and the lilly just looked really lonely in here and I hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries an-” You were too caught up in pointing at everything, defending yourself that you failed to realize Jaehyun level with you. He placed a chaste kiss on your lips before smiling. The look in his eyes was something that left you winded; it held an underlining message that you couldn’t decipher and before you could comment on it Hyunjin returned and the three of you finished tending to the garden.

Jaehyun spun a pen in between his fingers and stared off into space. He and his friends were in one of the conference rooms not doing anything, mainly just hiding from their secretaries and responsibilities.

“I'm in love with Y/n.” He said simply. The sudden statement caused Yuta to choke on his drink and eyes flew Jaehyun’s way.

“Holy shit.” Johnny smirked.

[doubledeaky]

Man in the Mirror

Joe Mazzello x Reader Smut

A/N: Hi, everyone! Thought I’d treat you all to a lil Joe fic while I’m working on the third part to “See What a Fool I’ve Been.” Had the idea for this a few weeks ago and finally finished it today! This is my first smut so please be nice and feel free to leave constructive feedback! Hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! Much love! -m:)

Summary: Joe has been struggling with some body issues after the enormous success of Bohemian Rhapsody, due in part to the media’s constant prying and criticism. On a particularly hard day, you remind him just how beautiful he is.

Word Count: 3,883 words

Warnings: mentions of a negative body image and insecurities, brief mention of a panic attack, sexual content (18+ only please!), cursing, general angst and fluff

Note: I can’t stop you but, please do not read if you are under the age of eighteen, thank you! Also, keep in mind all scenarios mentioned here are fiction! Thanks!

Joe had always been confident. That’s just how he was, it was a part of his identity. However, this confidence had begun to wane as the success and popularity of the newest movie he was starring in steadily increased. Don’t get him wrong, Joe had absolutely loved the “Bohemian Rhapsody” experience. Traveling the world, meeting new people, making new friends and of course, gaining new fans; it was all great. However, the movie had been Joe’s first big commercial success in a while and he’d forgotten what it was like to be thrust into the public eye. Constant media attention, whether negative or positive, was something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. He enjoyed the praise of his professional equals and the dedicated support of fans but there were drawbacks.

Joe wouldn’t consider himself conventionally attractive, he knew that, but the media constantly reminding him that he isn’t as attractive as his “Bohemian Rhapsody” co-stars or that he doesn’t fit the bill of a Hollywood star was beginning to eat away at him. The dull ache in his chest had been growing steadily more noticeable over the last few weeks. Even after the release of the movie, months of press conferences, and awards season; the press really hadn’t cut him any slack. They criticized nearly every aspect of his being; his looks, his personality, his acting ability—everything. For the most part, he could handle it, but it was becoming an overwhelming presence in his life. He couldn’t escape it and Joe often found himself questioning his worth on a regular basis. Joe welcomed constructive criticism, but the words plastered on tabloid covers were just low and cruel. Seeing the occasional negative article or comment about his acting never really bothered him, but, for some reason, the ones involving his physical appearance struck a nerve in him. Today was especially difficult, he was upset to the point of being inconsolable. He had been sprawled out on his bed with tears blurring his vision occasionally, in and out of his view every few minutes. He made no noise but the tear-soaked sheets behind his head spoke volumes. 

He groaned quietly as he sat up, glancing at the mirror across the room and suddenly felt dread settle in his gut. He’d been avoiding his reflection as of late, but that was pretty difficult considering his career revolved around being constantly gawked at by the judging eyes of others on a fifty-foot screen. Appearance was everything in his line of work and it really was taking a toll on his spirit. Nevertheless, he turned towards the mirror and narrowed his eyes which were still blurry with tears. He pushed himself from the bed and positioned himself at the front of the mirror, right in the middle, in all his glory. He grimaced, feeling beyond vulnerable under his own critical gaze. He ran his right hand over his bare chest, which the magazines thought wasn’t muscular enough and now, he did too. He felt his racing heartbeat under his palm and his hand fell limply to his side. His left hand came up to pinch the small amount of fat around his middle. “Disgusting,” the word printed in a soot black on those magazine covers taunted him mercilessly. He sighed deeply, his chest rattling under the threat of growing sobs. He pressed hard against his lower abdomen with two fingers, feeling for muscle underneath the very thin layer of fat enveloping his lower stomach. They were there, and they felt strong and lean, but it wasn’t good enough for the judging eyes of the press; nothing he did ever was. His hands came up to his face as his eyes carefully scanned over his features. Joe had never disliked his face until his fame began to grow. People were always quick to poke fun at his aquiline nose and fire-red hair, his freckles and, he’d be the first one to admit, large forehead. Those were once things he liked; they made him feel different among a sea of similar faces. Now he felt like an outsider; these things he once appreciated were now holding him back and he felt angry, he felt cheated. His arm fell to his side and he toyed with the waistband of the sweats he wore. With each passing moment, he was reminded of every way in which he was inadequate. He wasn’t tall enough, wasn’t attractive enough, wasn’t muscular enough; he wasn’t good enough. The thoughts were overwhelming, and his head ached; a sharp sting in his temples reminding him of an impending migraine. His breathing picked up and the pressure in his chest was suffocating him. There it is, a panic attack. 

His breaths were swallow and he walked backwards slowly until the backs of his knees hit the end of his bed. He fell back and gripped his head in both hands, suddenly feeling faint. He could no longer hold back. A violent sob ripped from his throat, almost coming out as a scream. He clenched his jaw, his teeth clamping harshly against one another. His entire body shook, ribs sore from heaving so aggressively. His mind begged his lungs to breath and somehow, they listened, taking in a big gulp of air then releasing it slowing. His breathing eventually evened out and the crushing pressure in his chest was reduced to a slight tautness. He unclenched his jaw and fists, letting them fall from their previous position in his hair. His scalp felt sore from the force at which he was pulling his locks. He straightened out his posture and resumed his gaze in the mirror. He just had a panic attack and by the looks of it, he was hunting for another by repeating the very action that had triggered said episode.

Joe stared blankly at his reflection. An array of emotions still bounced between the walls of his mind. Anger, disgust, sadness, numbness; he couldn’t exactly pinpoint the particular sentiment he was experiencing. What was completely clear in the mess of thoughts swirling in his subconscious was that he hated the form staring back at him with red-rimmed, cold eyes, endlessly taunting him. Nausea welled up in his throat and he had to swallow hard to prevent the gag present at the back of his throat. Hot tears wet his cheeks again and he finally was able to identify a strong sense of anger billowing in his chest. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he be as successful or attractive as his co-stars? Why?

Joe felt his fist ball up tightly, nails pressing painfully into the skin of his palm. He resisted the urge to destroy any object within his reach and tried to relax on the edge of his bed in an attempt to find peace. He huffed in frustration, bringing his arms around himself and clawing at the skin of his upper arms. Anger dissipated but was replaced with disgust. He hated the way he looked. His body, his face, everything; he was unhappy with the man before him but was doomed to spend his life trapped within the confines of the vessel he hated so much. He felt afraid, he felt helpless. The hands gripping his arms came down to rest upon his thighs, still clenched tightly, then fell to his sides. Hot tears sprung from his amber eyes as he gripped the sheets surrounding him. Disgust disappeared, and sadness took its place. Joe’s entire being was racked with sobs. He felt the hollow feeling of despair. He was alone in this world with only his self-deprecating thoughts as company. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his head on the left one, exhausted from this evening’s “activities.” Tears continued to fall from his tired eyes, soaking the material of his sweats. Sadness evaded him after a few moments and numbness made a home in his chest, reminding him of how fleeting raw emotions can be. He remained this way for about an hour, rocking back and forth softly until the jingle of keys brought him out of the dissociative state he occupied. He began to panic again.

“Shit.” He whispered, wiping his tears and getting up quickly from his position on the bed. He heard your sweet voice call out to him and his heart broke. He rushed to the bathroom and sighed at his current state. His hair was mussed beyond repair, his eyes were clouded in a blood red hue, and his tears gleamed brightly under the vanity light. His panic grew; he knew that the moment you saw him you’d know that things weren’t alright. He turned on the faucet quickly as he heard your chipper footsteps nearing the bedroom, splashing a handful of ice-cold water over his face. He shivered and flinched slightly as he heard the door open.

“Joe, baby? I’m back.” You said, and he could see you scanning the room out of the corner of his eye, your head peering into the closet briefly. He cleared his throat in attempt to dispose any evidence of crying.

“In here, babe.” He said hoarsely, he cursed himself and mumbled self-deprecating statements under his breath. His head shot up as you entered the bathroom and he plastered a saccharine sweet grin on his face, mostly genuine but slightly forced. You returned his seemingly cheery gaze and pulled him into a hug, appreciating the sight of him shirtless with only a pair of sweats hung low on his hips. You softly raked your nails across the expanse of his toned upper back and he sighed contentedly. Despite the ecstasy he was feeling under your soothing touch, he pulled back involuntarily, suddenly feeling insecure. You furrowed your brows and pouted.

“What’s wrong, bub? Did that tickle?” You asked with a honeyed giggle and he grinned but expertly avoided your eyes.

“No, just having an off day.” He said, looking down at his feet. He wasn’t completely lying, it certainly was an off day. You tried to find his gaze, but he maneuvered his eyes discreetly to avoid yours. You felt concern bubble in your chest and you took his hand gingerly, he tensed. You closed your eyes and took in a deep, rather shaky breath.

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, trying to sound sincere and not condescending. You always wanted to know if he was doing alright, always. No matter how much he assured you he was fine, you always asked, and he always seemed pleased to let you know. Now he seemed shy, which was out of character for Joe and his larger than life personality.

“Um, no, I’m fine.” He said through gritted teeth, attempting to seem nonchalant. Now he was lying, right through those pearly whites.

“You’re a great actor, Mazzello. But a shit liar.” You joked, but your statement meant business. You took a step closer to him and he didn’t back away, relief flooded your nerves. You felt bold and laced your arms around his middle, this time he did back away. Your face fell, and a worried frown dressed your features. Joe felt guilt beyond measure; he didn’t care that he felt shit, it was your feelings he was trying to save. Joe sighed, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Joey, what’s wrong? Please.” You whispered, your voice desperate and choked with tears. Joe felt his insides stir uncomfortably and his heart lurched. He cleared his throat, but nothing could stop the flow of tears building in his eyes.

“I-I just...” Joe couldn’t finish his sentence, he felt foolish. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Joe was a confident and outgoing individual, always had been. Now he felt lost and could no longer identify with the man everyone said he was. Things had changed, he had changed. Tears streamed feverously down his face and as your gaze met his, you followed suit. He collapsed into your embrace, crumbling under the weight of societal pressures. You clutched him tightly, afraid you’d lose him if you didn’t. You brought him slowly to the bed and sat him down, soothing him with a gentle hand across his lower back. His head was buried in the dip of your shoulder as he sobbed violently into the material of your shirt. Joe chastised himself as he cried pathetically into your neck. He hated himself for putting you through this, for allowing you to fall in love with him. You quieted your own soft sniffles into his naked shoulder, giving it an occasionally peck as his sobs were reduced to soft cries, then shaky but consistent breaths. Your hands continued to work circles across his back and you felt your eyes begin to flutter shut, feeling relaxed in his strong arms despite the situation. You both remained quiet; when he was ready to talk, you would listen. You weren’t going to pressure him to speak when he couldn’t find the words.

You felt the weight of his head leave your shoulder and you lifted your eyes to meet his, which had an unfamiliar dullness, but they looked calmer. You reached up and rested a hand on his cheek, brushing your thumb over the bone under his honey-colored eye. He sighed, leaning into the warmth of your palm and closed his weary eyes. You grinned fondly, feeling a warmth develop in your chest. Joe suddenly frowned, and his eyes opened, partially hidden under his furrowed brow. You felt worried, but anticipated his words nonetheless.

“What exactly do you see in me?” He asked, sounding almost ashamed that the words had left his mouth. He hung his head, embarrassed, while you were gob smacked, completely blindsided by his query.

“What? Joe I- “You stuttered still in a bit of a daze, but he interrupted you.

“Don’t lie to save my feelings, please.” He hissed, bitterness soaking his words. You were shocked by his sudden change in demeanor and shifted uncomfortably, your hands now resting in your lap.

“Is that what this is all about?” You asked, gesturing to the space around you. He diligently avoided your questioning stare and you sighed, feeling a bit deflated. You took his hand in yours, gripping tightly.

“You know how wonderful I think you are. Why would you let some sleazy columnist allow you to forget that?” You laughed but your words were sincere, and Joe knew you were right.

“No, I mean...what do you like about me...physically?” He whispered the last half of his sentence, his words feeling silly once they left his tongue. You bit your lip and brought your hand up to force his gaze level with yours. You brought your plush lips down on his, the kiss searing hot and full of passion. It was enough of an answer for Joe, but you weren’t finished with your reply.

“Seems you’ve also forgotten how beautiful I think you are.” You whispered, thumb tracing his lower lip as you scooted closer to him. He sucked in a sharp breath, already feeling heat pool in the pit of his stomach at your words. You smirked, enjoying the affect you had on him; it suited him well.

“Need I remind you?” You asked, resting your forehead against his as your hands ran up the length of his torso and linked behind his neck.

“Please.” He whimpered, eyes closed in bliss, only accentuating his plea for your touch. You smiled wide, taking a seat on his lap.

“Your wish is my command, my sweet boy.” You said, sultry and sticky sweet. He groaned at the pet name you’d assigned him, enjoying the way it fell from your parted lips. You promptly sat back, hands coming down to rest atop his thighs. You leant in and kissed him slowly, tenderly; trying to communicate the love you held for him in a single, fleeting action. He felt it, and he hoped the way his lips chased yours desperately when you pulled away acknowledged that. Your delicate fingers toyed at the waistband of his sweats and he whined, desperately craving the sensation of your lips around him.

“What do you want, honey? Tell me what you want, Joey.” You said, desire dripping from your words as your fingers began to dip just below the elastic. He groaned, hips bucking slightly at your touch, but you caught him and stilled his movements with your free hand. You quirked a smug brow, awaiting his response.

“Fuck, I want your pretty mouth. Please.” He whined, shamelessly desperate and his request had a wave of heat flooding the space between your legs. A soft moan escaped your lips and you gingerly pushed him onto his back, your nails raking across his chest.

“So beautiful.” You whispered, and Joe’s face burned red. He attempted to hide his fierce blush but was unsuccessful. You laughed softly at his flustered state and nodded your head “yes” up and down.

“It’s true, my love. You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.” You state as you roll your hips softly against his lap. The broken, needy moan that escapes him is enchanting and your shimmying down the length of his body until your eyes are level with his groin in matter of milliseconds. He sits up slightly, groaning at the sight before him. Your eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide with lust, your hair is falling delicately around your features, and your lips are plush and swollen from feverish kisses. He can’t believe his luck, and he sends up a silent prayer to whoever brought you into his life. Your still focused on the waistband of his pants, teasing him cruelly by placing kisses above and around where he needed you most. Your hands are splayed across his lower stomach and your eyes admire his figure, pure adoration is all that can be read from your gaze. He smiles but it’s cut off by a sharp inhale when you pull down his pants, which he promptly kicks off, with the utmost grace, the rest of the way. You laugh and feel gratitude blossom in your chest, “my boy,” you think to yourself. He looks so eager for your gentle touches, but his eyes read nothing but sin; he wants you, you know it and your taking full advantage of that. Your legs are still planted firmly on either side of his legs and you bring a finger to trace the prominent outline of his cock through his boxers. You feel your mouth water and your ears perk at the sound of Joe’s whimpers. He’s fidgeting now; his body begging for release, for anything, as long as it’s you making him feel this good.

“Please, Y/N” He begs softly, and your body is set aflame with a burning desire for him. You lower your face to his, he can feel your breath fan over his neck and it has his eyes fluttering shut. You press feather-light kisses against the column of his throat as your fingers finally dip below the waistband of his boxers, grasping his cock delicately in your hand. He gasps, the sensation of your lips working hickies into his pale skin and your hand working his shaft agonizingly slow is overwhelming to say the least. He moans softly and it’s such a beautiful sound it has your steady movements faltering. You release the skin of his jaw with a loud pop and kiss your way down his sternum and then his stomach, the hand working his cock pulling down his underwear fully as you go lower. You slowly bring a finger to your mouth, pointing at it, and Joe’s watching you intently, awaiting your next move.

“Is this what you want?” You say, gesturing to your lips. He nods frantically, the locks of hair not slicked down by sweat bouncing with the movements of his head.

“God, yes.” He says, nearly breathless.

You smirk and grab the base of his cock, licking a long stripe up its entirety. Joe almost doubles over in pleasure, finally feeling the relief he so craved. His hand immediately laces through your hair, anchoring you to him. Your lips finally surround his cock, focusing much of your efforts on the tip as you bob your head in a steady rhythm that has Joe gasping for air. You glance at him through your lashes and it’s a scene carved in precious marble. Joe is awash in a layer of sweat and his form is glowing under the ambient light of the orange sunset seeping through the window. A god among men, truly. You pull your mouth off of him briefly, your hand replacing the velvet of your tongue.

“Look how beautiful you are, Joe. So beautiful, and all mine.” You say, your voice needy and silky smooth. You close your lips around his cock again, shutting your eyes softly, savoring the feeling of him pulsing in your mouth. He’s moaning, an arm thrown over his eyes and chest heaving. Your name leaving his parted lips like a prayer.

“Fuck.” He gasps, his hips bucking up into your mouth and you push down a gag, hot tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You know he’s close and you want to relish in every moment leading up to his release. You pull your mouth from him again, your hand working him at a pace that has him seeing stars.

“You gonna cum, baby? Cum for me, sweets.” You coo, applying even more pressure to his shaft and his hips buck violently into your hand. You await his climax, mouth agape, ready. He cums with a sweet, low moan and your mouth is there to catch his seed. Feeling dizzy and unbelievably hot as you taste him. Your hand ceases its movements and you place his now soft member back into his boxers. You smile down at him as you sit up and cross your legs. He’s breathing steadily now, eyes closed in bliss, mouth stretched in a fucked-out grin, and skin gleaming with a post-orgasm haze. “Absolutely divine,” you think as you place a soft kiss to his lips. He kisses back and pulls you down atop of him, giggling. There he is.

“My beautiful boy.” You say quietly, as you rest your head atop his chest which rises and falls evenly with the pattern of his breathing.

“Thank you.” He whispers, fingers brushing delicately over your arm; his other arm wrapped around you in a tight embrace. You look up at his face; his eyes are fighting to stay open and you allow him to enjoy the welcome fatigue. He really needs some rest. Your fingers trace abstract patterns on his chest absentmindedly, your lips pressing chaste kisses to the base of his neck. The room is filled with an ethereal orange light, the both of you bathed in its glow. This is it, this is heaven.

“So beautiful.” You whisper, as you feel your own body give in to sleep. And so, you do. The both of you perched atop a mound of white cotton sheets, beautiful under the welcoming embrace of the setting sun. Love is still fresh in the atmosphere of the room and it’s perfect, because it’s him. It’s familiar, calm, and warm. It’s home and it’s so, so beautiful here.

Thank you all for reading! Feedback is very much appreciated! -m:)

Also, thank you @goodoldfashionrogerboy for proofreading! You’re the best! :)

[thepencilnerd]

Melophile | Part II

– please read part 1 if you haven’t  – (it can be found on my masterlist ^^ )

melo·phile- noun; a person with great love and affluent passion for music

➵ A piano major and a composition major collaborating for a final semester project. It seemed straightforward, right? But what if you were forced to pair up with the school’s most problematic genius, Min Yoongi? Add to that the fact that he absolutely hated your guts and you had the perfect recipe for disaster. How can someone you’ve never even met before despise you like a sworn enemy? Getting to know each other was hard enough, but what happens when the most beautiful, painful, and darkest secrets force the two of you to expose the thing you each guarded the most—your own emotions?

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: AU! enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, smut, slow-ish burn 

➵ word count: 27k (sorry mobile readers)

➵ warnings: swearing, too much fluff, angst, discussions of depression, oral sex (m&f receiving), marking, biting, hair pulling, cumplay/eating, light impreg kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), i’m still screaming while writing these warnings bc i thought it’d pretty tame this chapter i was wrong

a/n: my longest work to date :’) i hope you all enjoyed and thank you so much for staying with me on this emotional rollercoaster <3 

Previously on part one of Melophile...

“Stop calling me that.” Each word came out through pursed lips and clamped teeth. Leaning into you so that he was directly in your line of vision, his lip curled into a smirk and his eyes flaunted a veil of malicious intent.

“Make me,” he snarled. Never in your life had two words made you more furious than at that exact moment.  

“Fuck you, Yoongi,” you spat out, face just centimeters away from his. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, I really am, okay? But you don’t know a single goddamn thing about me, so stop acting like you’re the only one who’s been hurt in the past.”

Moving closer to you in response, you felt his hot breath fan over your lips, making you lean back instinctively.

“I’m not hurt,” he pointed out with venom dripping from his voice. Leaning towards the shell of your ear, his exhaling breath tickled your neck.

“I’m broken, _____…” Yoongi growled.

“Fucking hell...” you muttered silently while pinching the bridge of your nose. Contemplating your reason for existence, you felt an unpleasant stickiness rub the inside of your thighs but ignored it as you found yourself studying the face of the sleeping figure beside you—what a great distraction to start off the day.

Yoongi’s sleeping face was the epitome of serenity. Lying on his side, his face pressed against the pillow like a marshmallow in a way that made his cheek and lips squish to the side lazily. His eyes were shut and his mouth was open the slightest bit, a faint snore emitting from his throat each time his chest rose and fell.

A grin sneakily crept onto your face when you took the time to admire how peaceful he looked. It was probably the first time you’d ever seen him so—exposed. Realizing the mistake of your words, your timing couldn’t have been worse when Yoongi’s eyelids fluttered open.

The corners of his eyes formed into half-moons as he crinkled his nose. Stretching over your body with his free arm, you shuffled away from his reach and rolled off the bed.

You let out a strangled yelp as your body tumbled onto the floor. As if you didn’t have enough bruises from last night already...

Hurrying to peek over the edge of the bed, Yoongi’s face bore a bemused look and you’d bet a million dollars he was about three seconds away from—

“Are you okay?” he chuckled, bursting into a fit of raspy laughter with a lazy smile. 

His upbeat aura made you analyze his face for any indication that he was hungover or on possibly on something, but all you saw was a genuinely cheery boy. 

“Y–Yeah...” you stuttered. “I’m good. Fine. I’m fine.”

Softening his gaze, he sighed and rolled back into bed, staring at the ceiling. What the hell were you supposed to do now? Struggling to find a way to break the ice, you only realized then now dry and scratchy your throat felt.

Clearing your throat, you scratched your head at your surroundings. “Is this your room?” Mumbling something that resembled an ‘mhmph,’ you took his half-ass mumble as a yes.

“How did we, um...” you hiccuped, nerves beginning to take over. You resorted to pointing to random points around the room sheepishly.

Hearing the rustling of sheets, you met his half-lidded gaze. He wasn’t wearing a top, yet you were the one who felt self-conscious and covered your chest with your arms—and you were actually wearing a shirt.

Sniffling slightly, he rested the side of his face on his arm lazily. “I piggybacked you here after you knocked out like a light,” he chuckled to himself, reliving the moment briefly. “Drooled all over my shoulder and everything.”

“I do not drool!” you exclaimed, wiping your mouth subconsciously while blushing furiously at his accusation.

“I beg to differ,” he smiled, flashing a gummy smile that made you hiccup. The conversation was becoming much too casual for your comfort, and you quickly got up on your feet to try and find your clothes. You needed to get out of here. You needed to get out of here now.

Unfortunately, your body betrayed you when your legs trembled and gave under you. Your muscles felt like jelly and you couldn’t even make an attempt at getting up the second time, so you slid down back into a cross-legged position on the floor as smoothly as you could, trying not to look as embarrassed or defeated as you felt. Yoongi hid his snort of amusement with a cough. 

“Where are my clothes?” you questioned, suddenly aware that you were dressed in black boxer shorts and a shirt too large to be your size. Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the realization.

Hands shooting up to cover your chest instinctively, you stared at Yoongi like a deer in headlights. “You undressed me?!” you gawked.

Propping his elbow up, he rested his cheek on his hand as he chuckled. “Technically I redressed you after the undressing part, so it counts as a double negative,” he corrected. Smug bastard...

Wincing at the stretch you felt in your thighs from just sitting in a cross-legged position, you stood up again only to stumble again like a tower made of jello cubes. Yoongi sat up immediately, grabbing your arm to help you stay upright, but you tore yourself away from Yoongi’s warm hands. The soothing sensation of his touch was making you feel too comfortable for your own liking. 

Clothes. Door. Exit. Now. Four words you never expected to dictate your every move thereon afterward. 

He looked at you with a puzzled expression, taken aback by your irrational behavior. Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, but as soon as you spotted your pile of clothes in the corner of the room, you scurried across to pick them up. 

Yanking down the boxers you were wearing and pulling off his shirt, the smell of his cologne sunk through the fabric and made your heartbeat jump for a moment. Flashbacks of last night snapped like a series of camera shutters in your mind; his scent rubbing onto your skin, the texture of his hair between your fingers, the warmth of his lips against your neck, the feeling of his tongue—

“Pull yourself together,” you screamed in your head. Shaking your head to snap yourself out of your sinful thoughts, you jumped up and down into your jeans and threw on your hoodie in record time before he could make a remark about your nude state.   

Picking up your phone from his nightstand and stepping—more like tripping—into your shoes, you turned around and closed your eyes, crinkling your nose to focus and think about whether you needed to gather anything else. Once confirming that you didn’t bring anything other than your phone, you rushed out the door and left Yoongi with his mouth hung open. 

“Well shit...” he thought. 

It had been a full week since the “incident,” as you had labeled it, and you were cooped up in your dorm like a prisoner, only sneaking out to get snacks and coffee from the corner store across the street. The stupid week-long break could not come any sooner, could it? 

Words splattered like stray drops of paint across the walls of your mind as panic occupied every waking thought since that night. 

He knew your secret and you knew his.

You didn’t know why fear was growing on you like a parasite. It’s not like he was going to tell Powell. Even if he did, you’d probably just have to go to a few physical therapy lessons and get prescribed some medication to manage the pain. 

“He’ll restrict your physical participation hours and make you play less...” your subconscious suspected. There it was—that was your greatest fear. Crawling bugs, skyscraper-tall heights, deep dark oceans, and even being trapped in a burning building didn’t compare to the complete and utter dread you would feel if you had lost music. Just thinking about it was enough to make you bite your nails. 

As your silent nights of waking up, showering, eating a few bites of granola bars, and wallowing in your bed until you fell asleep became repetitive, Yoongi was as loud and active as he had ever been—in the form of texts, that is. 

Saturday

Min Salty: You good? [1:41 p.m.]

Sunday 

Min Salty: Earth to _____ ? [ 8:19 a.m.]

Min Salty: Did you get sick? [11:43 a.m.]

Monday

Min Salty: Are you okay? [4:50 p.m.]

Min Salty: Call me [5:01 p.m.]

Tuesday

Min Salty: _____ , talk to me [12:12 a.m.]

Wednesday

Min Salty: At least let me know that you’re alive [10:08 a.m.]

Yesterday

Min Salty: I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you need [9:04 p.m.] 

Re-reading each text was like stabbing yourself with a rusted dagger over and over again as the realization of what you had done loomed over you like a storm cloud. Lying in your bed, you buried your face in the pillow and screamed, thankful that everyone down your dorm block was away for a few more days. It killed you even more inside when you read over the text you had sent five minutes ago.

Today

Min Salty: Practice room 2B at 3? [2:34 p.m.]

You: sure [2:41 p.m.]

Thrashing your arms and legs wildly in an attempt to relieve you of your impulsive and rash decision, you huffed one more time before getting out of bed and changing into a pair of jeans. Rubbing your eyes and triple-checking whether you had just done what you think you had done, you wailed overdramatically, praying that this was all just one big nightmare. 

What the hell were you thinking? 

Blowing your wild baby hairs away from your face, you ignored the state of the bird’s nest of a messy bun that laid atop your head and didn’t bother changing out of your hoodie. You were way too used to wearing those since you started college. Packing your dorm keys and notebook into your backpack, you slung it over your shoulder half-heartedly and prepared for the storm that lied ahead. 

The entire walk across the campus was filled with dread and you didn’t bother cleaning up your disheveled state when you finally knocked on the door. When it swung open, you met his gaze for the first time in what felt like weeks. 

Yoongi was sitting on the piano bench with a cup-holder filled with two hot drinks and a paper bag settled on the guest table. He too was flaunting just as plain of an outfit as your black joggers and school logo-printed hoodie.

With grey sweatpants, matching sweater, and grass-stained sneakers, you both stared at each other with awe at your equal ability to feel so comfortable in your less than dress code friendly attire. You didn’t even notice until your eyes landed on his socks that they were different colors, to which you clamped your hand over your mouth and disguised your snort with a brash cough. 

“Don’t you look gorgeous?” he scoffed, admiring your equally casual half-strewn choice of an outfit. Pulling out two chairs from the side of the room and placing them next to the table, you opened your mouth to protest, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the room.

Starting with the coffee, he handed you the paper cup, tapping under your chin playfully because he found your dazed face amusing. Angling your head down low, you felt a pang of regret. He shouldn’t be this happy...

He tore the bag open to reveal an array of croissants, donuts, and pastries from the café across the street. You’d gone there so many times in the last couple of years, you would be a moron if you hadn’t memorized the menu by now. 

“Why did you—” you sputtered, pointing to the golden loaves of steaming hot fluffiness that made your mouth water. Sitting down, he patted the chair next to him, welcoming you to sit and make yourself comfortable.

“Food first then talk,” he halted. “You look like you haven’t eaten anything other than instant noodles and mix coffee in weeks—and I know better than anyone what that looks like...”

Scowling at his double-edged insult and scold, you sat moved the chair to be across from him rather than beside and sat down slowly like a cat who was exploring their new home. 

Were you dreaming? Why was he being so soft? Was he on something? Perhaps, plotting his revenge? Or worse, your murder? 

 Sensing your hesitant state, Yoongi shoved a mini-donut into your agape mouth. “I didn’t poison anything, you fusspot.” He continued eating his food in silence as if nothing were wrong in the world. Maybe this would be an opportunity for you to get some actual food into your system and not be forced to talk.

And who were you to turn down lunch?

Chewing the mouthful of glazed donut you'd been fed, you chewed slowly and closed your eyes to hold back the moan that nearly came out. Starchy bread and sugary fruit preserves had never tasted so good.

A few minutes passed in total silence. The only sounds came from the crinkling of papers as Yoongi pulled out more napkins and the gulps that came from the two of you idly sipping your drinks. Yoongi had finished eating, but you were purposely taking your sweet time by chewing slower than a turtle and being overly cautious with your now-lukewarm coffee.

Leaning back onto the wall, Yoongi looked up at your room, breaking the silence first. “You’re in a single-dorm?”

Pausing in the middle of chewing, you swallowed and nodded, reaching over for your drink again. 

“By request?”

Another nod.

“Does it get boring?” he continued, clearly seeing that he was getting under your skin with each question. 

God, why did he have to talk so much?

You shook your head a little too vigorously as you took the last bite of your donut before setting it down and then taking a few reasonably long gulps of your coffee, finishing that as well. 

“Why’d you call?” you finally asked. 

Chuckling at how he had broken through your shell with the peace offering of food and coffee no one could resist, he fumbled with the empty cup in his hands. “I just wanted to check up on you,” he replied simply. “Plus, I was bored out of my mind and you’re the only other person on campus so I figured it’d be smart to kill some time with practice.” 

You shifted in your seated position as the comment took you by surprise. “You knew I was fine,” you mumbled, voice coming just short of a shy child’s whisper. 

“I actually,” he cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about last week.” 

“It was a mistake.” That was all it was; a mistake. 

Yoongi’s eyes widened as his eyebrows lifted up, his expression morphing into one of shock at your unexpected answer. “No, I—”

Shaking your head, you gnawed on the inside of your cheek. The sooner you got this cleaned up the easier it’d be on both of you. “We made a mistake and we need to move past it. It wasn’t responsible for us and—”

“Bullshit.” The word came out in the familiar tone that he used with you that night; anger and rage directing itself into the fury of one single word. 

“What?” you scoffed, wide awake now more than ever. You couldn’t tell whether it was because you were shocked at his view on the situation or whether it was the caffeine kicking in and doing its magic. 

Stretching his neck to one side and exhaling through his nose, he couldn’t make direct eye contact with you and opted to stare at your hands wrapped around your cup. “It wasn’t a– you didn’t do anything wrong,” he altered his sentence. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of us did anything wrong because you and I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he began to grow annoyed at himself. 

Why was he stumbling over his words so bad? 

“Yoongi,” you said firmly. It was your turn to take hold of the conversation. “Can we just pretend like none of this happened and go back to being—” Pausing to bury your face into your hands, you shrugged. “Whatever we were before.”

“You really don’t want to talk about it?” he asked bluntly. 

You refused to even give yourself a second to process the question before you responded with a firm no. His tongue prodded the inside of his cheek for a moment before he got up. “Should we work on the piece then?” 

For some reason, regret ate at you like a power-hungry monster that would never be satiated. 

“Yeah,” you responded robotically, sitting yourself down on the cold leather chair. “Let’s practice.”

Never in your life had those words tasted so bitter in your mouth. 

You wanted to say that moving past mortifyingly embarrassing moments in your life was a process in and of itself. You even dared to say that admitting them was the hardest part but of course, to each their own. 

It had been two weeks since you last spoke to Yoongi and timed seemed to move slower than ever. Whenever you found yourself pondering over the option of texting him, your pride got the best of you. 

Between passing periods and free time after school, you had yet to formally speak with him last week. You cringed internally as flashbacks of the week prior set off like landmines in your head.

Scurrying down the hallways like an undercover rat, you went as far as wearing sunglasses along with your hood to try and disguise yourself. Surely, Yoongi wouldn’t recognize you in this state, right? You were even wearing a colored hoodie, for God’s sake—completely unheard of for someone of your tastes. Black and grey hoodies were your wardrobes’ partners in crime.

You earned a couple stares from the crowds of people as you kept your back hunched and weaved through them, but it definitely won over having to run into Yoongi. Or even worse, actually having to talk to him. Chills ran down your spine. You’d have to face him one day, but this was the one things you could afford to procrastinate just a little bit. 

Then came the day when he too learned about your schedule after countless trials of “accompanying” you to your classes—while hiding from your line of sight. 

“_____!” he shouted through the bustling crowd, waving his arm in the hopes that you’d see him, but to aid him in the off chance that you wouldn’t run away from him this time. Somehow, by the laws of the universe and its devious ways, he managed to catch up to you and tug at your sleeve. 

Turning around after muttering a wave of silent swears to yourself, you turned around like a character who was moments away from being murdered by the serial killer. Spoiler alert: this scene actually had a happy ending. 

“I’m late for a class!” you chuckled wryly, cringing at your own forced and awkward tone. “Catch you later!” Waving goodbye, you sped off as quickly as your legs could carry you to your lecture. 

“Catch you later?” Did you jump out of a 70′s sitcom or something? Your pessimist mocked you, poking fun at your awful crack at an excuse. 

There was bound to be someone else who arrived at the lecture 20 minutes early, right?   

Lounging in the tightly nestled corner of the café, you were in the middle of shuffling through the notes from class when a certain someone decided to grace you with the gift of a heart attack.

“Jesus freaking Christ!” Your notes nearly flew into the air as you jumped like an animated cat. Turning around to face the person behind you who had made the ballsy choice to sneak up on you and poke your shoulder, Yoongi’s face greeted you with a cheeky grin.

“Busy?” he asked nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just given you the fright of your life. Looking at him with your eyes open to the size of saucers, you wet your lips and gulped, trying to think of a way to dig out of yet, another hole you had buried yourself in. 

Pointing behind you with your finger to distract him, you raised your shoulders and jutted your neck forward, contorting into an uncomfortable pose that screamed awkwardness. “Text me later!” you spit out, crinkling your nose with a forced chuckle.  

“But—” Yoongi’s sputtering faded into silence as you dashed out of there quicker than a farm dog that was herding a flock of geese. 

Each time you replayed the self-deprecating memories like a slideshow in your head, it was comparable to sticking your hand into ice cold water you’d scooped up from Antarctica. “Dammit.” Your voice came out hushed but dangerously close to being an audible growl and your fist slammed onto the wooden table. 

Studying in the library was a bad choice. Odd stares and hushed whispers scattered across the room like a swarm of bees and caused the people around you to shift in their seats. Murming a silent apology at your sudden outburst, you packed your things and tried to leave as quietly as possible.   

As you felt the satisfying crunch of leaves under your feet with each step, your eyes drifted off into nowhere while your mind was a million miles away. You didn’t know why you felt so strange. It was as if everyone saw the world through black or white lenses and yet, you were the only one who hallucinated color in between the lines. 

Huddling your arms closer to your body, a cold gust of wind blew across your face, making you shiver and prickle with goosebumps. A dull, aching sensation made its way across the tops of your hands as your muscles reacted to the temperature difference, forcing you to tuck them under your armpits. Fashionable isn’t it? The weather of the autumn and winter months always bid the worst for your hands, and yet, your forgetful self always let the errand of buying a pair of stupid mittens slip your mind. 

It had also been a week since you’d gone anywhere near a piano and it stuck like a wine stain on white linen. You were jittery and anxious like a stranded survivor balancing on on the tip of an iceberg. Since you had a natural inclination to let out your emotions through playing, your cognitive acuity also felt at an all-time low. The rare possibility of running into your professor while you were in this state was soul-crushing, and the off-chance that he might see your restricted playing ability was even more so debilitating. 

Even though you hated to admit it, the best thing you could probably do for your hands was to go and play, even if it were for a few minutes. The doctor—even though it was his sincere recommendation for you to stop playing altogether and consider taking up stress ball yoga instead—told you that light activity was actually beneficial in regulating your chronic pain. 

The occasional Advil helped as well, but you’d been popping the tryhard M&M’s like candy on a regular basis since sophomore year, so your built-up tolerance to the orange-coated tablets rendered them useless. 

Debating between taking a hot shower back at the comfort of your room and going to practice for an hour (or three), you settled on the latter. You could use the extra hours anyway—you knew better than anyone how much you needed them. 

You took your usual shortcut around the quad and turned at the corner of the brick building you’d grown too acquainted with throughout the years. Stepping into the corridors, warm air welcomed you like an old friend as the buzz and whirring of the heater indicated that it was on full blast. Thank God. 

Treading down the length of the hallway with tentative steps, you were surprised to see that there were quite a few people occupying the studios. You recognized a few classmates through the glass panes of the doors. 

Judging by the pointless blabbering, incessant arguing, harsh thumping of keys, and scattered frustrated groans, the muted sounds that were still clearly audible through the soundproof rooms made you chuckle. Something told you that these were the master procrastinators who didn’t decide to start on the project until now...

When you reached the end of the hall, you were relieved to find an empty room. Finally. Sighing in relief, you had never found the flick of a light switch and whoosh of a closing door more satisfying than in that moment. 

Sprawling your things out haphazardly onto the floor, the overly-stiff lid of the piano opening made you scrunch up your face. If this piano was the only one out of tune in the building, you were going to—

You didn’t even finish the thought before your finger pressed on a key as if it had a mind of its own. “Thank the tuning gods,” you sighed, bringing your hand to your chest and exhaling out the air you’d held in your lungs. Sure, it was one of the older models the school’s inventory had to offer, but it was still miraculously in tune. 

If anything, you let out a ‘hm’ of intrigue as you sat down. You’d never played in this particular studio or on this piano before, but the different weight of the keys and peculiar texture of sound that emanated from them piqued your interest. 

Playing on a different piano than your usual model could best be described as a painter who had to paint with a completely different base canvas, colors of paint, and a set of brushes. Whereas a painter was familiar with his or her usual painting medium and more than comfortable with the feel of their brushes, the process of adapting to a new set of materials altogether was neither difficult nor easy, because they didn’t know what they were dealing with yet. 

It was just different. 

Pianos were almost grouped in the same theory, except rather than produce a visual piece with brushes and paint, you had to paint a picture with sound; an odd medium considering the less physically pliable nature of it. 

This piano in particular, for example, required more weight on certain keys to produce an equal amount of sound as the others. The texture of the sound was also a different quality, this being more rustic and ragtime sounding than the new models lined up in the front entrance studios. Those sounded much more acoustic, crisper, and sharper, fitting a more classical and structured repertoire. 

Starting easy with a few scales and basic pieces you learned when you were younger, the aching in your hands still lingered, but the pain grew more than bearable since your hands had warmed up. 

What were you going to practice today? Chopin? Beethoven? Lizst? Forming your mouth into an ‘o’ shape at the last name, you quirked your lip into a meek grin. When was the last time you played one of that psycho’s pieces? 

Settling on Liebestraum No. 3, you took a moment to try and remember the piece by heart. Closing your eyes to concentrate on picturing and mapping out the piece in your head, you breathed deeply and grazed your fingertips across the keys. 

The collection of three pieces was also known as Dreams of Love and the third piece’s gentle and melodic hymn was just that. The beginning of the piece was soft like a lullaby, enveloping the listener into a space of warmth and tenderness; like the sparks of a newly blossoming and dreamlike relationship. Hypnotizing and consuming, the simple unfolding melody drew you in completely.

The second cadenza then transitioned into the harsh reality of love, becoming more weighted and melancholic as the tempo not only sped up and became more frantic, but the tones and harmonics also developed into more complex ones. Desperate, heartbreaking, and filled with the raw reality that love had the ability to take just as much as it had to give, your hands no longer dictated how well you played at that moment; your humanity did. 

The final cadenza was the one that shredded your heartstrings. After the highs and lows of falling in and out of love, the dynamic returned to its former soft and lulling roots, reminding you that the everlasting form of love and eternal happiness was truly unattainable, and only lurked in the distant world that was your dreams. 

The words that constantly lurked in your head sent a pang of guilt into your chest, erupting and manifesting itself physically into the delicate and drawn out keys of the pieces final notes. Would you ever be happy?

Coming down from the euphoria that engulfed every nerve in your body, tears brimmed your eyes. Scoffing at yourself, you sniffled, dabbing away the wetness that dampened your cheeks as self-pitying chuckles left your mouth. This was a definitely a first. 

The sudden sense that someone was watching you made you grow suspicious. Snapping your head around to the door, your body went cold as a figure was visible through the glass pane of the door. 

Yoongi.

You remained frozen in place, unable to move from the wave of anxiety that swallowed you whole. Your throat was dry and your tongue felt like it was cemented to the roof of your mouth. Turning back around to face the piano, you tried to wipe the remaining tears as discreetly as you could, but you realized that your puffy eyes and red nose betrayed you. 

Facing back to the door, you pressed your lips into a thin line and hoped that it would mask any indication that you had just bawled over a stupid piece. God, you felt so pathetic...

Through the reflective pane, you tried to make out his expression but felt your heart hiccup when you zoned in on his face. He sniffled once before looking down at his feet, then back up at you, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his glassy eyes. 

Was he—crying? 

Blinking hard through your still-puffy and damp eyes, you squinted to try and get a clearer view of him through the glass, but in the blink of an eye and almost as soon as he had appeared, he was gone; vanishing like a figment of your imagination in a dream you had rudely woken up from. 

Your feet felt like they were cement blocks weighing down on the pedals. Unable to come to your senses enough to stand up and stop him you could only stare blankly at the door as the illusion of his echoing footsteps deadened into silence.

Today

You: 4A in 20 minutes? [5:22 p.m.]

Min Salty: sure [5:26 p.m.] 

Trying to push past and cross the awkward tightrope of a situation that you had created, you felt your breath hitch in your throat and form a hiccup instead. You weren’t sure what surprised you more, the fact that he had replied quicker than you anticipated or the actuality that he had replied to you at all. 

Biting your cuticles raw, your nerves were stinging you like a swarm of angry bees. You were already in the studio, of course, and had been practicing for an hour or so before the idea popped into your head. After that, the text had been saved as a draft for about ten minutes before you eventually swallowed your ego and placed your finger on the dreaded send icon. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Exactly two-minutes had passed since his response and each tick of the clock was like the ring of a bell, signaling that it was feeding time for the growing monster that was your anxiety. 

You hissed through your teeth when you accidentally bit down too hard on your cuticle too hard and made a pool of bright red blood flood the edge of your nail. Simultaneously, the click and turn of the doorknob made you snap your head up and freeze, halting your pacing steps. 

Smoothing over the top of his hood, Yoongi fashioned a plain black shirt, tattered burgundy jacket, distressed jeans, and scuffed white sneakers. It didn’t take you a second longer to notice the black dust mask he had over his mouth, either. Whether it had become a habit of yours or a natural inclination to study him from afar, you always found yourself staring for a moment too long before you spoke. 

“You’re—” you cleared your throat. “—early.” Glancing at the clock, you made sure that you read it right. “Really early.”

He pulled out a chair and slung his bag onto the floor. “I figured you’d be here already.” His voice sounded rough, but not the abrasive kind of rough—the sick kind. When did he get sick? Did he take any medicine? Why was he here?

“Shut up...” you reminded yourself. “It’s none of your busine—”

“Are you sick?” Repressing your negative subconscious, you cared more about his health, for now, more than your ego could force you not to. He shook his head no rather than give you a formal response, refusing to speak and therefore, confirming your suspicions. 

He hadn’t even taken off his mask yet and you were pretty sure it was about 75 degrees outside; more than toasty enough for him to walk around without a mask to keep his mouth warm. 

“Yoongi, you should go home and rest,” you sighed. Instant guilt began to gnaw at you. 

Another forceful head shake and a few suppressed coughs later, he sat down on the chair and pulled out his notebook. It was bad enough you had your own pride to deal with, and adding Yoongi’s into the mix wasn’t going to lead anywhere. You weren’t putting him through this today. 

Taking his notebook away from his lap, you set it on top of his bag and kneeled down, placing your hand on his forehead. As you expected, it was slick with sweat. 

“Christ, you’re burning up...” you swore, flipping back and forth between the palm and back of your hand to make sure that he was really that hot. Gently grabbing your wrist, he craned his neck away from your reach and pulled your arm away from his vicinity.

He took his mask off agitatedly at your relentless nagging to try and prove his point. “I’m fine.” His voice was stern but still weak, a clear indication that he was anything but that. Frowning with concern written all over your face, he simply stared vacantly into your eyes while still maintaining his hold around your wrist. 

Shaking your head at his hardheaded attitude that mirrored yours, you pried his fingers off of your wrist and pressed the back of your hand to his damp cheek. Yoongi’s eyes went wide as his face instantly heated up and flushed at the contact. 

“You’re running at least a 100 right now, Yoongi,” you scolded. “We can practice anytime, but right now, you need to go home and rest.” Your hand was still resting on his cheek while you spoke while he continued looking at anywhere but your eyes. 

You pulled your hand away from his cheek and let out a near-inaudible gasp when he clutched your wrist again. Bringing your cool hand back to his face, you swallowed tensely when he slid his grip up to your hand and guided it to the side of his face, cupping his large hand over yours so that it was now cupping his cheek. 

He closed his eyes tenderly at the coolness of your hand, relishing the soothing and comforting touch that only you could ever provide. Your eyes fluttered a few times before you gave into his silent plea. Running your thumb over the delicate skin of his cheekbones, a twinge of woe struck your chest at the sight before you. 

“Why do you make me feel this way...” you murmured to yourself. 

“If only I understood the way I felt about you...” Yoongi thought. 

A soothing and not-entirely awkward silence filled the room. Yoongi’s throaty breathing and occasional sniffles were the only other noises that were distinguishable, and your intermittent hiccup decided to grace you with its presence towards the last three minutes of the hour. 

“Yoongi?” you whispered. Had he fallen asleep? Sitting up? Was he secretly a horse? 

“Mhm?” he hummed. Whew—still awake. 

Holding back the tiniest grin, you sighed. “Let’s go back to your dorm.” 

Mumbling something in his enervated state, you helped him up to his feet and slung his arm over your shoulders to keep him upright and on his feet. You could only pray that he was still conscious enough to have control over his legs. 

That day, you learned that dragging a barely conscious man who was twice the size of you into the boys’ dorm block was a sight worthy of earning a couple tentative stares. The childishly logical part of your brain wondered how serial killers did it. 

“Hm, I don’t know _____, maybe the fact that they’re absolutely maniacal psychopaths who possess four times the upper body strength you do helps,” you huffed, verbally exercising your strain as you tried to walk straight while propping Yoongi up. Was he drunk or really that sick?

Where was the RA anyway? Paying that high price of tuition should at least warrant a decent resident advisor for safety reasons. 

Brushing the shoulder of a stranger, the guy stared at you with terribly confused eyes as he stopped brushing his teeth. Panting heavily, Yoongi grumbled another illegible sentence of nonsense as you took a breather to ask the stranger where his room was. Logically, it had to be one of the only single-dorms in the building, so you prayed it mirrored the layout of yours and was at the end of the hall. 

The doe-eyed boy pointed to the end of the long corridor, the minty toothpaste bubbles foaming around the sides of his mouth as it remained parted open in confusion. You quickly thanked him and stumbled slowly but surely down the length of the hallway. Even though it was safe to assume that his door was locked, you turned down the lever and were surprised when the door swung open. Yoongi apparently doesn’t lock his door on the regular...

Thankfully, the layout of the room did, in fact, resemble yours, so you were able to find his bedroom with ease. You convinced yourself that fact that you had woken up there one fateful morning certainly played no part in it. Flinging himself (along with the frustrated force that resulted from your built-up and rushing endorphins) onto the mattress, he landed into the rumpled sheets with a thump. Apparently, he also didn’t have a habit of making his bed before he left his dorm. 

You let out a final harsh exhale. You did it. Stretching out your shoulders as a reward, you were more than positive that they’d be sore tomorrow. When was the last time you worked out? A trick question with a secret option C. You couldn’t be bothered to. 

Pulling off his shoes and peeling his jacket off of his body, you started to question whether he was secretly blackout drunk or truly terribly ill. He was out like a light within the first few steps into his dorm. You splayed his crinkled blanket over his body loosely, careful to keep him insulated but still allow some room for air to circulate and allow breathability. 

When your fingers brushed away the blonde hairs that were stuck on his sweat-dampened forehead, he shifted from his side-lying position, reaching out instinctually to grab your hand again. Yoongi kept his grip on your wrist firm, locking it close against his chest like a child’s teddy bear. He nuzzled his head into your wrist like a puppy, nosing the soft skin between your pulse point and prominent vein. He couldn’t help it that the cool skin of your poorly circulating limbs felt like ice packs on his burning hot skin. 

You blinked a couple times trying to process the options you had. Each tug in an attempt to free your arm from his grip only resulted in him clutching tighter, and he seemed to mumble something as his face contorted into a recognizable expression of discomfort. Nightmare?

Finally realizing that he wasn’t going to let go of you anytime soon, you gave up. It’s not like you had anything better to do today. Kneeling down beside the bed, you placed your free hand underneath your chin and propped your elbow on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position and wait for the situation to pan out for a couple minutes. He’d have to let go of you eventually. 

You couldn’t hold back the burning desire to admire his sleeping features. He looked so at peace compared to his day-to-day mood, almost like an entirely different person. Rubbing over his knuckles involuntarily, you didn’t even realize you were doing it until you felt his grip relax with your touch. Judging from how he had his mouth slightly parted and the steady rhythm of the rising and falling of his chest, you concluded that he had fallen asleep. 

Not wasting another second, you stealthily slid your hand out of his caging hold and folded the remaining edge of the blanket over his arms. You stood up and brushed off your red kneecaps and tip-toed to the door, closing it as softly as you could. Yoongi needed to sleep his heart out. 

Was it wrong to just leave? You stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that by the time he’d wake up, he would be starving. It wasn’t easy eating when you were sick, and Yoongi’s comment last week about him knowing what a month’s long diet of instant noodles and coffee looked like made you shudder in guilt. Gathering every single bit of patience and empathy you had left in the degrading bones of yours, you diverted yourself away from the exit and to the kitchen. 

Single-dorms on the university campus were like miniature studio apartments. Usually reserved for students on an as-needed basis, there were only six or seven in total. So far, Yoongi was the only other person you had met who occupied one. You hated to admit it, but he was probably the only other person you had talked to and gotten to know this much in all your years of attending the school. Would you dare go as far as to say he was your only friend? 

You quickly shook off the thought and went back to digging around his kitchen. His fridge and cupboard inventory didn’t come as much of a shock to you. It was, for lack of a better word, horrendous. 

The small refrigerator was practically empty, and the only things occupying the near-empty shelves were a couple apples, a half-dozen pack of eggs, a measly portion of fruit salad (probably from the mini-mart down the street), a package of mixed and chopped vegetables for soups and stews, one styrofoam takeout box, and a suspicious looking tin-foil boat. 

Don’t even mention the side compartments. Those were reserved for a few energy drinks, half-opened caffeine shots, packets of takeout condiments, a full-sized bottle of ketchup, a block of cheddar cheese, and a torn open foil pack of butter. Quirking the edge of your lip into a dumbfounded pucker, your face relaxed into one of comedic amusement. How could anyone live off of this—garbage? You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word “food.” That would be offensive to the existence of food itself. 

His freezer was completely empty, so moving onto the cupboards was either going to be a big mistake or a happy accident. You prayed deep down it was the latter. Then again, you also could not have been more wrong. 

The cupboards weren’t any better. If anything, they were worse. The grey-painted plastic backboards were the only things visible, usually a sign that a student had just moved in days ago. In one corner of the lowest shelf was an almost-empty box of granola bars; the shitty 99 cent ones every seasoned uni student stocked up on in bulk before the semester started. Beside it was a newly opened bag of rice. At least that was the one food item in this crapshoot that seemed remotely new. 

The rest of the shelves held two worn-out, rusty frying pans, and chipped glass china. Those were probably hand-me-downs from senior students who couldn’t be bothered to throw their old belongings away after graduation. There was a whole recycling bin full of them in the storage shed by the cafeteria 

You bit your lip, trying to think of what to make with what little you were given. Omelet? Boring. Soup? Painfully more boring. Curious, you unwrapped the mysterious bundle of tin-foil and discovered a very fresh marbled flank of beef. Cheering internally, you set to work on your favorite childhood dish that you were most confident in cooking: fried rice.  

You were more than willing to buy him another pack of meat. Hell, after the shock of seeing his fridge? You were more than willing to buy his groceries for a whole damn month if it meant he would take care of himself. Your grandparents always sent you too much money at once anyway. It wasn’t as if you had friends to go out and drink with, so paying for dinners wasn’t a usual activity you took part in. 

You started off by washing the rice and setting it up on the stovetop to boil. It would take the longest to prepare, so it was only natural to get that out of the way first. Next came the simple process of chopping up the meat, cooking it thoroughly, combining the packet of pre-cut vegetables, and then mixing in the rice last. On any other given day, you would have seasoned the meat with at least a pinch of pepper, but you didn’t exactly have that option considering the given circumstances.

It didn’t take long since the limited and pre-measured ingredients boxed you in along the way. Plating the rice onto the only dish deep enough that Yoongi had available, you used the same pan to quickly fry up two eggs. The smell of steaming hot food made your stomach grumble in response. 

Not to stroke your ego or anything, but you enjoyed patting yourself on the back for your accomplishments every now and then, no matter how small. Self-assurance was good for the old pessimistic soul. 

You tried to think of any other thing you could add to the meal and ogled the table when you nearly forgot. Shuffling back to the fridge, you cut up half an apple and arranged the slices into the plastic mini-mart bowl of fruit salad. Then, you eagerly jumped towards the bottle of ketchup and shook it vigorously with arms that were already starting to feel sore from lugging around Yoongi earlier. 

Drizzling the condiment over the golden heap of steaming rice, the red zig-zag streams finished off the orange and green vegetables quite nicely. You covered it with the only other dish Yoongi had in his cupboard and hoped it would still be warm by the time he woke up. Sighing in satisfaction as well as exhaustion, you didn’t pause to check the time. 

“Shit...” you muttered. The sky was already pitch black, meaning that it was well past 9. You facepalmed. How long had you been here? Mind you, you also completely forgot that you still had an essay due next week. Do you know how much easier life would be if your laptop grew its own set of hands and just wrote it for you? 

If you checked up on Yoongi before leaving, you had a feeling he would wake up the minute the doorknob clicked, so you thought it was best just to let him rest. Sneaking out of a dorm for the first time in your life, the door creaked ever-so-slightly before latching shut as Yoongi and his dorm returned to their all-too-familiar state of vacancy. 

Getting up the next morning was certainly an interesting process, to say the least. You sat in your tangled mess of bedsheets for about ten minutes before coming to the realization that yesterday was everything but a dream. It hit you like a bucket of cold water that had just been dumped over your head.

Throughout the entire day, you hobbled through your classes with hunched shoulders and a rounded back, feeling a constant strain in your upper body each time you tried to straighten out. “Working out” was a mistake. 

As the deadline for the performance was almost at the two-month mark, you grew more and more anxious with each passing day. It wasn’t anything special. You always had a healthy amount of anxiety revolving around academia but your performance nerves were on a completely different level. 

Humming to piece to yourself, your phone buzzed from your pocket as the blaring of your ringtone sounded. Your parents didn’t call you during the weekdays and you couldn’t think of anyone else who had your phone number. “Perks of having no friends,” you thought. Fishing it out of your coat pocket, your eyes widened when Yoongi’s name flashed across the screen. 

Your fingers swiped across the green icon absentmindedly, accepting the call with little hesitation. “Hello?” Didn’t he usually prefer to text you rather than call?

“Hey,” he replied. He sounded a lot better than yesterday but his throaty tone made it clear that traces of his cold still remained. “Are you free?”

You hiccuped. “Wh–yeah. Yeah, I’m free.” Of course, he knew you were free. It was a trick question. After following you around and trying to catch your tail, he had familiarized himself with your schedule, just as you had done a few weeks prior. “Do you want to book a practice room?”

A sniffle suddenly sounded from behind you and echoed in the receiver, making goosebumps sprawl across your neck. Not a millisecond after, the line clicked dead. Rip it off like a band-aid or peel it off slowly and painstakingly? Opting for the former, you closed your eyes tightly and mouthed a silent swear, turning around in slow motion like something out of an action film. 

Low and behold, there was Yoongi shifting his weight back and forth on his heels. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to go on a—” he paused to rub the back of his neck; he only did that when he was nervous. “On a hike?” 

“A hike?” The word felt foreign in your mouth. As far as you were concerned, yesterday’s fiasco was enough physical activity to last you for the rest of the year, but Yoongi wanted to go on a hike? “Aren’t you still sick?”

He shrugged. “A little cardio might help me burn it off and do me some good.” 

“You’re not plotting my murder, are you?” you gulped. Why was that always the first logical explanation that presented itself in your head?

Blinking at you for a moment, he chuckled and shook his head at your comment. “Not unless it's by physical activity. And it’s only up to the viewpoint. You’ve sprinted to classes farther than that.”

He had a point. The school was built atop a hillside and the viewpoint was, as its name entailed, a spot where you could look over the entire campus. It was about a five-minute walk outside of the gates and the climb wasn’t too steep. It certainly beat running a whole campus-length to each of your classes. 

“What about practice?” you sputtered, tongue weighing down your mouth like an ankle weight. “We haven’t gone over the piece in weeks.” 

Throwing his arm over your sore shoulders and bringing you close to him, he sighed. “Learn to live a little, _____. We still have two more months. A walk might clear your head.” Since when was Yoongi the voice of reason? 

You allowed him to walk a few steps ahead of you and ducked under his arm swiftly when you got the chance, freeing yourself from his hold. The concept of space bubbles around Yoongi had grown dangerously close to popping now. 

“Okay,” you cleared your throat. “Fine, fine, let’s go.” Picking up your pace, he trailed behind you with an amused smirk. 

Was it the cough medicine making him loopy or was he just particularly charming today?

“Min Yoongi, yo–I swear to God—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before collapsing onto the grass like a sack of potatoes. “If I ever get the strength back in my legs, I am going to smother you with a pillow,” panting between each word. 

By the time you made it up to the top of the hill, the sun was already set, making vivid orange and dusty pink colors streak across the darkened sky. The air was colder up here than back down on the campus level but you tried your best to hide your discomfort whenever your hands throbbed from the cold. 

Yoongi laughed as his eyes crinkled and his pearly white teeth showed in a gummy smile. “Good luck with that,” he chuckled. Making himself comfortable and sitting down beside your limp body, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, breathing in deeply. The walk actually did in fact, miraculously clear up his stuffy sinuses. Wonderful. 

Sitting up, you tried to rub your hands as discreetly as possible so as to not make him worry but failed when cracking of a few knuckles caused him to snap his gaze to you. He unzipped his jacket and flung off his hood and you immediately stopped him. 

“Nope,” you retaliated quickly. “No. Put it back on. Don’t even think about doing anything textbook cliché or I’ll roll you down the hill like a Lincoln log.”

Raising his eyebrows slightly at your distaste and choice of a non-threatening threat, he shrugged his jacket back on with a quizzical pout. “Don’t you have a pair of mittens or something?”

You grumbled a no in response, embarrassed that even he was aware of how ridiculous it was. A calming silence cast over both of you, the only sound coming from a few crickets chirping and the murmuring city far below. Your teeth started to chatter a couple minutes in, making genuine concern spread across Yoongi’s face. 

“Come here,” he sighed, gesturing to his open arms. Widening your eyes, you raised your hands assuringly.

“I’m fine,” you chuckled nervously. “I just have really bad circulation, that’s all.” It wasn’t a total lie. You really did have awful circulation and it constantly made your hands and feet cold. Not a day went by when you didn’t wear socks and a thick wooly sweater around your room. 

“Do you want to get sick too?” he asked with a bite in his voice, almost as if your stubbornness was beginning to get the best of him as well. “We’ve done worse things with fewer clothes on anyway...”

“Hey!” You jabbed his side. Narrowing your eyes at him in a silent message that he had won this round, you scooted over beside him as he wrapped his arms around your frame. It never ceased to amaze you how no matter the situation, whether it was his hands around yours or his arms around your body, you seemed to fit perfectly in his hold like a matching puzzle piece. 

Nestling yourself into his warm figure, you felt yourself relax into his touch. It would be a sin to deny that he had an unexplainable effect on you. The softness of his jacket, the heat radiating from his body, and his natural scent lulled you into a dazed state, too relaxed to even care about boundaries anymore. 

“Can we talk about it now?” he whispered, voice coming out muffled because his cheek was squished on the top of your head like a child’s. 

Fluttering your eyelashes open at his sudden request, you swallowed tensely. How did you not see this coming? You pulled away to get a proper glimpse of his face. “What is there to talk about, Yoongi?” 

“Don’t say my name like that,” he cut off abruptly. Had you already ticked him off? Giving him a look of confusion, he shook his head and looked down. “Don’t say my name like you pity knowing me...”

“Yoongi,” you exhaled faintly. He didn’t interrupt you this time. “I don’t understand what you want to talk about. We got angry at each other, we fought, and we made a mistake. That’s all.” Forcing out the last phrase felt like swallowing a jagged blade. You hated admitting it because of how untrue it was. 

“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me, _____.” His face remained firm as he used your name, speaking with an unflinching air of confidence and assuredness that only he could muster. 

It was your turn to shake your head and scoff. “What do you want me to say? That it was amazing? Because it was. It was amazing, okay? Everything felt so fucking perfect and I hate admitting it—” Pausing to breathe, you groaned and tangled your fingers through your hair at the sudden outpour of emotions you’d kept bottled inside of you for weeks. 

"Because feeling that good and happy for once scared the shit out of you, didn’t it?” he finished for you. Looking up at him, his gaze remained glued onto you, completely unfazed at your expected outburst. 

The question that made your heart race like the beating of a butterfly’s wings suddenly presented itself on a silver platter. 

“How did you know about my RA?” Your throat went dry as the words felt like chalk on your tongue. Had he told Powell yet? 

Leaning his head to one side, his jaw muscles tensed. “It doesn’t take a doctor to see that you're in pain outside of class.” He said it with a tone of dripping bluntness. “Not to mention how sensitive you are to the temperature changes; how you always rub your hands when it’s cloudy outside because it’s cold; even after playing a long piece because your fingers start to ache, and how abnormally swollen your joints get after a long day.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed into a dumbfounded frown. How did he know all of that? You weren’t even remotely aware of the fact that he was cognizant of your existence, much less your usual habits and mannerisms. “How do you notice all of that?”

Yoongi's jaw muscle tensed but he didn’t respond. 

Licking your lips nervously, another equally anxiety-inducing question made its way to the tip of your tongue. Moving your hands down to his sleeved arm, Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat when you looked at him softly, silently asking for his permission. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, hesitant for a brief second, before tipping his chin down once.  

Your fingertips lightly brushed across the smooth skin of the top of his hand before grasping the edge of the sleeve cuff. Sliding it up slowly, the scars that were hidden became exposed, the milky tone of his skin contrasting with the rough and darkened scratches that were scattered across the entire length of his arm. 

“Gnarly, isn’t it?” He let out a nasal scoff. These were the only battle scars he was sure he would never flaunt in all their glory. The pads of your fingers carefully brushed over the delicate skin, studying the textured pattern like an ancient relic; one that would leave an impression in the mind for all the wrong reasons. 

“What happened afterward?” Your voice was cautious, coming out just shy of a whisper. Would he trust you enough with this? 

Yoongi’s jaw clenched again. Before he could say anything, you slid his sleeve back down over his arm and instinctively held his hand for support. Gripping yours back in response, he took a deep breath to compose his thoughts before speaking. It was now or never. 

“Powell found me. Whether it was because of fate or some bullshit theory of the universe, I don’t know, but he rushed me to the hospital and stayed with me for the entire week in the recovery unit.” A cold gust of wind blew and he was the one who held your hand tighter. “I didn’t tell my parents of course,” he chuckled dryly. 

“They never supported me in music until the day I got my scholarship here. Before that, they practically forced me away from anything having to do with music. ‘You’ll die starving and poor; you won’t have a proper job; and when you’re on the streets, homeless and begging for money, we won’t be here to help you. Just to tell you, We told you so.’ If I told them, I knew they’d force me to move back in with them and take on the family trade; scrubbing pots and serving drinks for drunkard business mongrels until 3 a.m.”

Yoongi’s Adam’s apple bobbed at the memory but his eyes remained centered. “I took a semester off to recover and decided that it was probably best for me to just drop out since I couldn’t play anymore. PT was a crapshoot. There was nothing left here for me.” His eyes glazed over momentarily but returned in a split second. Did physical therapy really not work? Had he even tried a single session? 

“Then Powell spent the entire semester practically begging on his knees to try and convince me to switch majors to composition and theory instead,” he grinned faintly, even letting out a ghost of a chuckle. “It took a month or two, but I figured I owed him that much. The old man practically raised me like his own son ever since freshman year.”  

He turned to face you, gaze landing on your intense ones with a soft smile as his thumb rubbed over your hand. “Everyone thought I got sucked into the party scene, failed all of my classes. I think some of those idiots assumed I got hazed into a gang or a cult. Like those morons knew anything about me...” 

You bit your lip. People were truly the worst. Not to mention immature, gossip-mongering, feeble-minded pre-burnout college pricks. 

“The hospital seemed like heaven compared to the hell I stepped into when I got back. I was like an animated corpse. I rarely ate, couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t even bother going to classes. I’d just sit my bed all day and stare at the ceiling like a rock. I was too afraid to sleep because every time I did, I’d have nightmares about it.” 

He frowned at the pang of contrition that struck him. “The headlights centimeters away from my face and blinding my eyes, the sirens ringing in my ears, the creaking metal wheels on the gurney...” Shaking his head, tears flung off his face and a droplet landed on the top of your hand. 

Your eyes fell to the grass at you held back your own budding tears. No matter how badly you wanted to scream that it was all over and in the past and that you were there for him, all you could do was sit and listen.

“Everything just felt so fucking empty…” he whispered, tugging hard at the edge of his lower lip between his teeth. “That night with you in the practice room was the first good night’s sleep I’ve gotten in two years.” The confession took you by surprise, your eyes lighting up like a spark from a firework. 

His eyes softened at your reaction. “When I got rolled into the ER, a nurse was rushing down the hall with me, holding my hand the entire way. I was busy blacking in and out of consciousness.” He stopped to grab your hand and bring it to cup his cheek, closing his eyes instantly at the contact-comfort. “But she had her hand by me the entire time until I completely knocked out in the operating room.”

Stroking your thumb over the sleep-deprived hollow that sunk in under his eye, his eyebrows knitted together and he clutched your hand tighter, afraid that if he let go, you’d dissipate like a figment of his imagination that was too good to be true. That’s why he wouldn’t fall asleep yesterday...

“It was dangling there like bait in right in front of me; taunting me, insulting me, mocking me like I was nothing—like the universe was reminding me that I was never going to be able to love anything else ever again and that I’d just have to live with it,” he continued with his face strained, expression taut as he tried to focus despite reliving the painful set of memories. 

He hadn’t bothered touching a piano since that night, refusing to accept the fate he’d have to gamble in anticipation of finding out whether he still had the ability to play or not. In reality, he didn’t know whether he could still coordinate his muscles—and he had absolutely no desire to find out any time soon. 

Yoongi let out a huff through his parted mouth. “Do you know how easy it is for people—things—to come into your life, give you everything that you would ever want and could possibly ask for, and then have them take it away just like that?” Seeing his breath through the frigid air, you had a feeling it wasn’t the weather making his words sound cold, but the emptiness and distance he had created within himself.

Gnawing on the corner of your lower lip, you kept your gaze focused down at your hands. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. Somehow, you finally found the courage to speak. “Is that why you hated me?” you asked in the barest of a whisper, your voice quieter than the rustling of the leaves on the trees. “Because you felt like I took that away from you?”

“No,” he replied instantly. Fluttering your eyelids at his unexpected and confident response, you frowned at him, confused. 

“I never hated you—didn’t—hate you because you played the piano,” he shook his head, eyes directed to the ground wistfully. “I was jealous.”

Your gaze softened at the confession as you swallowed nervously, awaiting his next words. “You looked so happy,” he smiled, letting out a chuckle that was too full of melancholy. “I knew from the first moment I saw you playing by yourself in the studio...” Yoongi’s voice trailed off, face melting into an expression you couldn’t read. 

Staring into his eyes, you silently pleaded him to continue. The corners of his mouth lifted into a gentle smile as his pearly white teeth barely peeked through his lips. “From the moment I saw you on my first day back, I knew I was screwed,” he grinned. “I wanted to hate you so badly but you were so perfect, how could I?”

A rosy flush crept onto your face at his heartfelt words. “You were alone in the studio two hours before any classes started and you were just playing your heart out,” Yoongi remembered the day clearly, the vivid details of the first time he encountered resurfacing like the fresh morning air after a rainstorm. The way his heart raced in his chest made it seem like it had just happened yesterday. 

“I thought you were some competition kid who got a free pass into school because of personal connections or an arranged acceptance, but I just heard you playing and—” he chuckled, shaking his head again. 

“You weren’t just reading notes and playing the piece like a robot; you were breathing the music and I could feel it.” Yoongi’s fingers stroked the palm of your hand. “I could feel you. In every single piece I’ve ever heard you play: Campanella, Liebestraum, Fantaisie, Moonlight Sonata...”

Your pulse was racing like the engine of a sports car. Judging by how confidently he listed down the pieces, he knew each of those pieces by heart, recalling each exact moment when you had played the melodies like a page out of the book of his recollections. Campanella was the piece you’d chosen for your junior year exam, Liebestraum your senior, Fantaisie was simply one you practiced for fun, and Moonlight Sonata was the piece Powell had asked you to play for an exhibition recently. 

“I tried so hard to avoid you and hate you and completely despise your existence,” he scoffed at himself. “You glowed brighter than the stars when you played. Seeing it from you made it hurt so much more because I missed that feeling more than anything,” he paused. “But I couldn’t. I was already in too deep, so I just ignored you.”

For the first time, a lengthy and comfortable silence befell the two of you.

“I didn’t know what who I wanted to be until I started college,” you admitted suddenly, confidence stemming from the seed Yoongi had planted with his truth. 

“My mom taught me how to play the piano when I was four. She’d put me in her lap while she played and let me press the keys.” You chuckled at the flashback. “I didn’t think much of it until I fell entirely in love with it in middle school. It was this weird need, this urge to play whenever I was happy, angry, sad, annoyed, and frustrated. I felt like it was the only friend who understood me better than the actual people I knew.”

Yoongi gave you an understanding smile, sympathizing with your logic by the nature of personal experience. 

“In high school, everyone thought I was the one who had my whole life plotted out like a map: a loving family, supportive parents, good grades.” A ghost of a smile grazed your face at the distant memory. It felt so close and yet so far like you could reach out and touch it, yet it was a fingertip’s length from being torn away from you.  

“During senior year, I found out that I really didn’t have a passion for anything. Not even for music—at the time,” you filled in. “I shut everyone out with these gates I built. I hated how lonely I was, but who else could I blame? I didn’t want people to see me for who I thought I was: a passionless, unmotivated, lazy, worthless failure who would never amount to anything.” 

Shaking your head, tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision, yet refused to cry over something as stupid and insignificant as this. Seeing this, Yoongi simply laced his fingers through yours firmly, wordlessly showing his support for your endurance. 

“I auditioned for fun one day after seeing the posters stapled across our school’s bulletin board. Didn’t expect much at the time since I didn’t think you could do anything with a degree in music, and in the beginning, I actually thought I was right,” you laughed wryly at yourself. 

“Undergrad was pretty awful. Playing as a student with a major was so much different than playing for fun. I was so stressed with deadlines and projects and practice hours, I almost forgot why I started playing in the first place.” Your mind wandered back to the long, sleepless nights you spent in the studios trying to perfect what would never even come close to the synonym of perfection.

“Then in my sophomore year, I got to take more classes with Powell and he completely changed my life. I wish I was exaggerating, but he really did change who I was as a person, not just a dazed university student. I don’t think I’d still be here without him.”

Your lips formed into a tender smile. “I started getting my passion for playing back and I learned to appreciate the value of my scholarship. I guess now, I’m just hanging in the middle.” Yoongi’s eyes studied your features intently, concentration remaining unswayed for the entirety of your release of emotions. 

A couple moments skimmed by before you resumed speaking. 

“I like spending time at coffee shops, taking the bus to the bookstore when I have free time, and sometimes I even make an effort to actually greet some of the people there—but I like being alone,” you admitted. Yoongi’s ears perked up at your last phrase.

“I like doing things by myself and being able to have control over everything in my life so that I don’t have anyone to blame other than me when shit goes downhill,” you rambled, swallowing your words while you spoke like bitter medicine. Yoongi’s smoldering gaze, as it lay on you, was intense enough to start forest fires.

You sighed heavily. “But frankly, I don’t like being lonely.” The confession bled past your lips like spilled ink from a bottle, leaving a splattered and stained trail as it seeped through your mind. 

“No one does,” he responded honestly. Directing your watery eyes to his softened gaze, you looked down at the pair of your hands entwined together.

What was this in his eyes? 

Who were you to him?

Yoongi, on the other hand, didn’t waste a single second before cupping the sides of your face and bringing you into a kiss. The force took you by surprise and made you land on your back with a soft thud, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter against his lips.

It didn’t take you longer than a couple of flashes in your brain synapses to give into his magnetizing touch. Making out on a hilltop in front of the city lights never crossed the line of sounding appealing other than outside of a cheesy rom-com, but Yoongi’s warm lips preoccupied every train of logical thought that ran cross your mind. God, what was he doing to you? 

You’d slept with him once and you still managed to get butterflies like a giddy teenager who was in their first relationship; immature and blind with infatuation. You tangled your hands through his hair like second nature as his weight pressed on top of you, making you feel secure under him. The kiss was tender and patient—a stark contrast to the last time you had locked lips with him. 

“Can I be alone with you?” he asked suddenly, breath fanning across your lips because he refused to pull away farther than three centimeters from you. 

You laughed heartily, making him flash his pearly whites and peeking pink gums again. “Is this your dumb way of asking me out?” Smiling widely in response, his lips connected with yours again, effectively shutting you up. 

“I don’t want to pretend like I don’t have feelings for you anymore, _____,” he murmured into your ear. “Do you know how hard it’s been having to act like I hate your guts for the past three years when I can’t stop thinking about you on a regular basis?” 

Another awfully timed blush graced the tops of your cheeks. You shoved his shoulder playfully at his seemingly sarcastic yet sincere compliment. “Stop being such a softie, it’s gross.” Yoongi pouted, feigning hurt at your teasing comment. His childish face made you burst into laughter, vibrant and full of life. You’d swear on your life that he had a million personalities buried deep underneath that facade of a stone-cold gargoyle. 

Biting your lip, you shook your head, picking at the grass to distract yourself. “What if I’m sleeping and this is all some dream that’s way too good to be true?” you mumbled. How did you go from avoiding each other like water and oil to melding perfectly like paper and ink? 

“Then it’d be your dream and my nightmare...” he murmured, keeping his forehead pressed against yours as his lips remained centimeters away from contact.

You laughed shyly, shoving him away teasingly at his admirably honest nature. “So three years, huh?” 

Again, Yoongi chose not to respond, allowing you to take note of yet another one of his habits: refusing to answer a question he knew he was guilty of.  

You only had one shitty, wonderful, stressful, joyous, short life. Might as well make it worth living with what you were given. 

As you gazed deeply into the dark eyes that belonged to the person who you once thought hated your very being, you realized that you were entirely and utterly screwed—because you were completely captivated by each other. 

The best part? You had a million more reasons to discover exactly why. 

Relationships were never you or Yoongi’s thing. Whereas the typical couple would spend hours at a time arguing over stupid things, trying to work it out but only tearing their hair out in clumps and eventually breaking up, you never saw the point in arguing in general. If you argued with your partner, you would request to break up. Simple. Clean. Painless. Well, at least for one.

It was a really black and white way of seeing the complex web that composed a relationship, but to you, it was just blatantly obvious. Some called you cold but that was just another opinion. 

Why argue if you’re “in love” with each other? Why fight if you’re “in love��� with each other? Why hurt the person you love if you can choose not to be with them and let them be happy? Holding onto people for the sake of a quote on quote, “relationship” despite hurting each other was selfish and pointless. 

To you, that wasn’t love. It was self-sabotage. 

“You okay?” Yoongi’s voice peeped from above you, mumbling into your hair. 

“Hm?” you hummed, snapping out of your daze. He chuckled deeply at your deeply unwavering expression, pressing a kiss to the top of your head tenderly. You were currently tangled in the sheets of his bed after waking up from a nap. Today marked the first week of your official relationship and you had to admit, it was pretty nice. 

Okay, nice was an understatement. It was perfect. 

You had yet to get into an argument, as both of you had quite passive and anti-argumentative personalities. Then again, you were still technically in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, so it was bound to pop up at some point. 

Your days together were few and far between spending time in the studio practicing, sleeping over at his dorm (courtesy of his ever-so diligently working resident advisor), walking each other to class, texting and video calling for hours until one of you fell asleep, and occasionally going up to the viewpoint when the weather conditions proved to be favorable—and you had chugged four cups of coffee. 

It was like something of a fairytale, and you were always worried that you’d wake up one day to find out that it was just that: a false reality you had conjured up in your own head. But if it was a dream, it was one you never wanted to wake up from.

“Hold still,” you scolded for the tenth time. 

Yoongi grumbled. “I’m trying, but it’s hard when you’re tickling my neck.”  

Huffing at his fidgety muscles, you blew a hair out of your face and kept your hands busy. “It wasn’t my idea to dye your hair, dummy.” He hummed an off-beat tune in response to your incessant scolds. 

In the early hours of the morning, you had gotten a text from your loving and selfless boyfriend that he needed to save a few bucks and needed to touch up his hair. You, being the only other person he spoke in the whole universe (practically), so graciously agreed. It was about five minutes into the hands-on activity that you were beginning to regret your generous and giving disposition. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to deal with the fumes of bleach as Yoongi had opted to dye his hair back to his natural dark brown color. He mentioned something about his growing lazy temperament and it becoming too time-consuming to continuously touch up the dark roots every few weeks. It wasn’t exactly the best for his hair either, the blonde ends breaking off due to the harsh chemicals and his inability to spare the extra five minutes to use conditioner. 

“Then why did you dye it in the first place?” you laughed, dumbfounded at his odd reasoning. 

Mumbling something in an inaudible hush, you shot him a confused glance. "I was going through a phase...” he said clearer this time, tucking his chin down in shame. 

Lifting your eyebrows, you nodded, accepting his answer and sensing that he wasn’t going to elaborate any time soon. “You know, you could just let it grow out and style it like that, grown out roots and everything” you offered. “I’ve seen a few celebrities who pull it off pretty well.” 

“Eh,” he let out a disgruntled sound, crinkling one of his eyes.

You snorted through your nose from holding in your laugh, making him flinch as your breath tickled his sensitive neck again. “Sorry,” you giggled. Continuing brushing the pitch-black gel over his roots, you were trying to be careful and not let it get on his skin. As far as your experience in hair dye went, the stains would wash out easily with some warm water and soap, but you didn’t enjoy the extensive process of cleanup it would lead to. 

“Does it bother you?” you asked, referring to the color differentiation of dark roots to beige blonde hair during the grow-out process. 

Thinking over it for a minute, Yoongi pouted and gave into his perfectionist attitude as he clicked his tongue with a “yup.” Holding back a grin at his undeniably soft personality, you couldn’t believe that you still hadn’t woken up yet. You intentionally blew a puff of air in his ear, causing him to jolt from his seat. 

“Hey!” he was the one to scold this time. 

“My advisor is going to kill me.” 

“If you die, I’ll kill you.” 

Scrunching your nose at his menacing threat that made absolutely no sense, he let out a sleepy grumble, nestling his head into your hair and inhaling your scent. 

“Just because your advisor is shit at his job, doesn’t mean that mine doesn't notice when I’m gone,” you pointed out. 

Yoongi mumbled lazily into your hair in the hopes that you’d drop the topic and go to sleep. It was an idle Friday night and the two of you had spent the entire day at the studio practicing the piece. Since you only had classes from Mondays to Thursdays, you got into a routine of meeting up and spending the whole free day in the studios. 

The last day of the week was what Yoongi looked forward to more than anything because it usually ended with you burying yourselves in his bed sheets with a random episode of The Office playing on your laptop and falling asleep tangled in each other. 

“Yoongi,” you groaned. “What if I get in trouble?” 

He hummed something inaudible into your chest once again, tickling your collarbone with his whispers. No way were you letting him fall asleep that easily. It was only fifteen minutes past 8. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Poking his shoulder playfully, his mouth was still closed, indicating that he was indeed fully awake. He always parted his mouth slightly when he was asleep, another habit you picked up early on the way before your relationship started.  

Then an idea struck you. There was that favor you needed to repay him for...

Prying your body away from his arms gently, you bit your lip coyly, smirking at his clueless sleeping body. Your hand trailed down to the band of his sweatpants slowly, making him gulp. Running your fingers along the bundle of fabric near his hipbone, you were surprised when your hand met his already-hard length. 

Yoongi’s eyes were now fully open as you shot him a questioning gaze. “Your fault for being so goddamn attractive all the time...” he defended, jutting his lower lip into a pout and not bothering to hide his blatantly obvious hard-on. 

Dropping your mouth in a mock offended gape, you raised your eyebrows as a chuckle of disbelief came out. “I haven’t even touched you yet!” 

“I get hard just thinking about you,” he admitted all-too casually. Smacking him on the shoulder from embarrassment, you shook your head and couldn’t help but bury your face in his chest. 

“It amazes me the same Min Yoongi who despised me a few months ago would turn out to be the softest cheeseball I know,” you scoffed. 

Kissing your nose, he wrapped his arms around you and turned onto his back, rolling you on top of him. The change of angle made you immediately feel his hardness pressing under you. You rested your chin on his chest innocently, rolling the piling lint on his shirt between your fingers. 

Yoongi’s eyes started drifting off again, too tired to keep the ball rolling, but not before giving you another idea. Keeping your chin resting atop his chest, you began rolling your hips slowly against his, making him suddenly choke while exhaling. 

Lifting his head to look down at your seductive grin, you batted your eyelashes sweetly, feigning innocence as you continued grinding your hips over the growing tent in his pants. 

“_____,” he whined, rubbing his tired eyes. “You know there’s nothing or anyone I’d rather be doing right now, but I’m a little sleepy.” Pressing a swift kiss to his lips, you ignored his excuses and slid down to pull down his sweats. 

“Who said you had to do anything?” Your voice was too cocky for your own good and Yoongi was, as he had mentioned, too tired to even sit up and watch what you were doing. You had all of him to yourself and at your mercy. 

Snapping the band of his boxers against his skin, Yoongi let out another soft whine as he started growing more impatient and harder with your teasing pace. His clothed member was straining against the tight cotton of his briefs and made you lick your lips in anticipation. 

You palmed him through the thin fabric, drawing out teasing him for as long as possible to make his pleasure greater in the long run, but it forced another throaty growl out of his mouth. His gruff tone made wetness pool immediately between the junction of your thighs. 

Unable to handle your own slow pace for much longer, you yanked down his briefs in one swift tug as his length immediately sprung out against his toned stomach. It was just as perfect as you had remembered. 

You were seconds away from biting your lip to the point of breaking the skin. Wrapping your hand around his hardness like a magnet, it throbbed underneath your fingers, already oozing precum from the red and swollen tip. Each time you pumped up and down his length, it caused a bead to well up and pool around his slit. Fuck—how was he was so perfect?

“_____,” he moaned through a strangled whine. Watching his face with every precise stroke, Yoongi’s face flushed bright pink as he clenched his jaw and rubbed his forehead in frustration. Words of encouragement weren’t needed to put an end to your teasing; your own blooming arousal took care of that. 

Gnawing on your lower lip, you couldn’t hold back your desire anymore as your tongue darted out to lick a slow line along his tip, grazing the dimple of his sensitive slit with the flat edge of your tongue. He arched his back off of the bed instantly and almost came with a single touch. 

Unable to talk and already breathless from the contact he had been waiting for since that night, you peppered kisses down his thick member and licked a stripe on the prominent vein beside his tip, causing him to jolt again. Your core throbbed seeing him in such a vulnerable state, while Yoongi knew that at that exact moment, he belonged to you, and only you.  

Finally wrapping your lips around his head, your tongue smoothed over his cock, sucking with just the right amount of pressure to keep his nails digging into the mattress. Swirling your tongue around the tip tantalizingly slowly, you guided his hands into your hair, directing him silently to tug your tresses. 

Obeying instantly with a moan, lewd sounds began filling the room as you began bobbing up and down mercilessly, varying your speed and pressure occasionally to keep him on edge. You even went as far as to grasp him with your hand and drag his tip across your slick and swollen lips which earned you another deep moan from him.  

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, throat raspy and rough from holding back his cries of pleasure. Pausing your unholy administrations, you gave your jaw a break by gripping his base tightly with one hand and swirling your tongue around the index finger of your free hand. He craned his head back in an overload of pleasure as you used it to rub over his slit, toying with his red tip. 

Everyone had a different piece of advice regarding giving head. Some said you needed to focus on the tip; others said that the balls were highly disregarded; a few said that the spot where the head met the length was the most sensitive. All in all, it really depended on the person, and to be quite honest, you weren’t that experienced. 

Yoongi was an exception, as both of you had learned your respective kinks out of genuine interest and desire for mutual pleasure, not as a nagging chore or contract payback. 

Not to mention the first time you’d slept with each other was—enlightening. 

“Fuck, _____,” he growled, moving your hair out of your face to gaze into your eyes. “How are you so fucking perfect?” Huh—even when he was blissed out, he was still the romantic type. 

You broke your character of confidence as a shy grin escaped. Wrapping your mouth around him again, he let out a grunt and threw his head back onto the bed. The sloppy, obscene sounds returned once you repeated your actions, his knuckles moving out of your hair to grip the bed sheets for fear of hurting you. His fists were clenched so hard, his knuckles were white. 

Yoongi’s body grew warm, a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, and he began pulsating in your mouth more frequently; he was close. Closing your hand around his throbbing length, you gripped him firmly and coordinated your pumps with your mouth, making him throw his head back in pure ecstasy. 

His hands found their way back to your hair, trying to pull you away as a warning that he would cum soon, but you swatted them away. Grabbing your hands instead, he laced his fingers through yours in a death grip, heart pounding so hard that it nearly burst through his ribcage. 

His pants grew increasingly urgent and his moans were primal. He found his release with the cry of your name as his cock shot hot spurts of cum into your throat and on your readily cupped tongue. The sensation of him throbbing in your mouth as his breathing calmed down was such a powerful feeling, and add to it the pleasure of seeing him writhe in pleasure beneath your fingertips? 

It sounded like a recipe for a perfect Friday night in both you and Yoongi’s books. 

Sucking his remaining release off of his softening length, you savored the satisfying, salty taste like fine wine as it coated your tongue and throat. It felt so wrong but too right. You wiped off whatever you could from his spent cock, hating to waste anything. Once you were done, you tugged his boxers back on as Yoongi brought you into his hold and wasted no time kissing you deeply, exploring your mouth with his tongue. 

Parting your mouth to calm your breathing, Yoongi’s eyes bore into yours with blown out pupils, still coming down from his high. “I didn’t know that’s what you meant by sleepyhead.” His euphoric chuckle reverberated like the baritone of a bass. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” you moaned softly under your breath, licking the remnants of his release off of your index finger as you nestled into his side.

He gazed at you warmly as his mouth broke into a gummy smile and eyes into half-moons. “That’s supposed to be my line.” 

Suddenly, a mischievous expression glassed over his features. You narrowed your eyes. “What is that face?” Smirking with a sinister gaze, Yoongi was now wide awake, giving you no time before flipping you onto your back and tickling your sides. 

“Hey!” you giggled, trying to swat away his arms like flies. Without giving you a formal warning, he tugged down your shorts making you yelp in surprise when the cold air hit your dripping core. 

Licking his lips in excitement and carnal instinct, he flashed a far too innocent grin at you before he delved in, unable to hold back his mundane hunger for another second. 

It was going to be a long weekend.

Digging around the fridge, a bundle of asparagus landed in Yoongi’s hand as he caught it mid-air from falling. You were already crouched down and braced for impact, but unfurled your wound arms, taking a peek at the grinning figure above you. 

“You okay there?” Yoongi’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, helping you up from your hunched position. Taking the bag from his hands, you beamed at him in response, turning back to the stovetop. 

He sighed. “You really didn’t have to stock up my fridge, you know.” Sneaking a carrot off of your cutting board, he popped it into his mouth like a 12-year old badgering their mother in the kitchen. “The apocalypse isn’t until—” he snuck a glance at his imaginary watch, filling his cheeks with air and pursing his lips into a puffer-fish face pout. “—400 years from now.”

You rolled your eyes at his ever sarcastic jokes. “If the apocalypse doesn’t kill you, your diet of energy drinks and expired caffeine shots will,” you lectured. 

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile warmheartedly. Not at your nurturing actions, but at you. He still felt like this was all a dream, too good to be true. Wrapping his arms around your waist, you fit into his larger frame like a lock and key as he nestled his head into the crook of your neck. 

“What’s on the menu today?” he asked, voice producing ticklish vibrations just under the shell of your ear. 

Turning to face him, you scrunched your nose. He wasn’t just a cheeseball—he was officially the biggest, softest, sweetest, weirdest, and most amazing person you had ever met. You never thought you’d say anything even remotely close to that in your entire life.

“Your favorite,” you answered in a sing-song voice. 

The corners of his mouth turned up into a cheeky smirk you knew too well. His hands trailed down slowly to your hipbones, rubbing soothing circles into them out of habit. He licked over his bottom lip teasingly, all while keeping his eyes glued on you. Yours were focused on washing the rice. 

“Yoongi,” you warned playfully, knowing his expressions like the back of your hand. You could feel his eyes drinking in your features, your very existence an oasis for him, a once deserted and desperate man. “Don’t even think about it.” 

He pouted, jutting his lip out as his eyebrows furrowed into a dramatic scowl. “But I’m hungry!” he whined impishly into your hair. 

“I’m making lunch,” you giggled. “Just wait.” Your eyes widened at the last word, emphasizing your point. 

Trailing gentle pecks long your neck, he murmured softly into your ear.  “Not for fried rice...”

Your hands froze in the midst of opening the bag of spinach.

“Yoongi!” you groaned. 

Another Wednesday, another solitary four hours spent in the studio alone. After your classes were over, you texted Yoongi saying you needed a few hours alone to practice freely. Just because you were in a relationship didn’t mean you had to spend every waking moment with each other. 

Besides, he and you were both aware of your respective personal space and private time you needed to spend doing your own things. Yoongi also mentioned that he needed to finish up a beat he was making for a friend, so it worked out well. 

You walked out of the studio with a scarf wrapped around your neck, sheltering you from the biting wind that graced the campus grounds. Skipping down the stairs, you were greeted by the back of a person whom you had become very well-acquainted with. 

Hearing the sound of your gleeful steps he had memorized down to the last click, he turned around—with a pair of to-go cups in his hands. 

Your eyebrows raised up as your mouth broke into a mixture of an endeared laugh and astonished chuckle. Leaning down, he pecked you on the cheek, feeling his heart flutter at your effortless beauty. 

“Was she even real?” he wondered.

“You didn’t have to,” you awed. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to get dinner anyway.” 

Yoongi handed you the cup marked with the symbols you knew by heart: double-shot of espresso, a pump of mocha, a single packet of hazelnut creamer, and two packets of sugar. 

“Your hands need to stay warm,” he insisted, rubbing over your hands that were now wrapped tightly around the cup. 

Biting your lip, your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much at the simple but meaningful gesture. “Thank you,” you blushed sincerely, not just from the wave of emotions that washed over you but also from the cold. 

Was he even real? 

You nearly twisted your ankle trying to catch up to his speed-walking figure. 

“Hey!” you shouted, panting heavily at how quick he was on his feet. Was he training for a marathon behind your back? “Yoongi! Hold–wait up! Slow down!”

No matter what you said, it didn’t seem to faze him as he continued walking. Hunching over and putting your hands on your bent knees to hold yourself up, you took a couple deep breaths before sprinting as fast as your burning legs could carry you. 

“Min fucking Yoongi, if you don’t stop right now, I will—” You didn’t manage to finish your sentence before stumbling over a jagged crack in the pavement and falling with a gasp. The impact was abrupt, the shock not giving you a chance to let out a proper scream. Silent accidents were the ones that hurt the most. 

Yoongi was by your side in the blink of an eye, almost tripping over the ditch himself when he ran back to you. “_____!” he shouted in pure panic. Well, that certainly broke his vow of silence...

Helping you get off of your stomach and sit up straight, he winced when he saw your forearm. The injury was nothing more than a wide scrape on the damp cement, but the rocky debris and dripping crimson trail made it appear all the more appealing for a Stephen King movie. 

You cringed at the wound yourself, but more so at the stinging pain that began to spread over your elbow. Minor cuts and scratches were gifts sent from Satan himself. The thought of it getting infected made Yoongi pull out a pack of tissues from his bag as he pressed the bundle firmly over your wound. His face was still locked in an uncomfortable grimace. 

“Let’s go back to my dorm. I have a first-aid kit,” he mumbled, helping you onto your feet and bending down on one knee. You raised your eyebrow at his odd position, only realizing a few seconds afterward that he was offering you a piggyback ride. 

You let out a nasal scoff. “Yoongi, my legs are still perfectly mobile. Get up before you get your clothes wet.” You had enough to deal with his bitchy mood today and it certainly didn’t help that it had been raining a few hours prior to his temper tantrum. 

He pressed his lips into a firm line, refusing to respond or get up from his crouched position. Was he messing around? After a minute of complete silence, you huffed, annoyed at his ridiculous and adamant form of an apology, and saddled onto his back. 

Hooking his arms beneath your knees as you looped yours around his neck, you realized how much of a cheeky shit he truly was. Yes, he hated acknowledging it, but even he knew how ridiculous this argument and wanted to use the close proximity a piggyback would give to his advantage—even though the two of you were as stubborn as garden weeds. 

“Are you going to talk to me now?” you asked, propping your chin comfortably on his shoulder like a perched bird as he began walking the two of you back to his dorm. 

Sniffling once, he prodded the inside of his cheek in an effort to distract himself, too prideful to answer you right away. 

“Yoongi...” you sighed faintly, saying his name the way you did whenever he tugged at your heartstrings. He exhaled harshly through his nose once before finally speaking. 

“I don’t like how nice you are,” he said bluntly with an obviously sheepish tone of shame coating his voice. What?

“What?” you repeated out loud this time, unable to hold back your animated face of utter confusion.  

When he didn’t reply, you tugged on his ears like you were scolding a child who’d just been caught licking dollops of icing straight from the piping bag. “Min Yoongi,” you called out half-threateningly. 

He let out a whiny grumble, a sound that was a combination of a grumpy obese cat and worn out AC motor. 

“I don’t like how nice you are to everyone,” he repeated. “Especially to guys.” 

Your mouth was parted in an ‘o’ shape and your eyes were narrowed like an animated character’s. Was he—no way...

Your eyes widened to the size of the moon when he blushed. Oh my God. “You’re jealous?!” you screeched. He jumped at the volume of your voice. It was the first time he had ever heard you genuinely scream and he imagined it was what you would sound like if you were at a concert. 

Were you a Liszt or Chopin person? Rachmaninoff? Maybe Beethoven? He nibbled on his lips to hide his grin. Why were you so cute? 

“Earth to Yoongi?” you deadpanned, waving your hands in front of his face to get his attention. Snapping his eyes to you and blinking out of his daze, he returned to his stern expression. Tipping your head to one side, you stared at him with half-lidded eyes, tired of his antics. 

No wonder relationships didn’t last long; human beings were naturally and wholeheartedly stubborn as fuck. Flaring your nostrils at his unyielding disposition, you clicked your tongue between your teeth, resorting to blatant, unfiltered honesty. 

“Jungkook was just being helpful—and I was being polite.” Enunciating the word, Yoongi paid no attention to it, as it wasn’t one he had registered in his dictionary. 

There it was. Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat at your ability to lay out your non-implicit thoughts onto the table. “You could’ve told me he was the idiot who told you where my dorm was when you were hauling me into my room that day.” He defended his reasoning, still unconvinced. 

“I didn’t even know who he was until we met him today,” you groaned, repeating what you had said earlier for the fifth time. This was all so torturously textbook newly-blooming relationship bullcrap and was making your head pound in your skull. 

Jungkook, the boy you’d seen that day when you dragged Yoongi down his dorm corridor and who had directed you to where his room was, recognized you during lunch today. Being the social butterfly and sweetheart he was, he found it in his best interest to introduce himself to you formally.

During the conversation, which lasted just short of a minute and a half, Yoongi’s glare was practically burning crater-sized holes into Jungkook’s face the entire time, imagining his face as target objects ranging from a checkered dartboard to a chipped wooden knife block. 

He jutted his lower lip into his signature pout. “Well I didn’t exactly enjoy seeing the little prick recognize you and shout like he’d just won the damn lottery...” he remarked bitterly, irritation directed purely towards Jungkook and not you. 

“Did he really not have a better way to grab your attention? I was this close to filing a lawsuit for hearing damage.” Unable to bring his fingers up to mimic a pinch, he narrowed his eyes tightly instead. “Nearly burst my damn eardrum running over to you and calling you 'superwoman lady...’”

“Yoongi,” you hummed, a chuckle escaping your lips like a song. “You’re jealous because of some sophomore who happened to recognize me from carrying her boyfriend—” you emphasized. “—to his dorm room because he was sick?” 

Coming to terms with your lawful point, he mumbled something under his breath that you could’ve sworn was, “Not back then I wasn't.” 

“I’m in love with you, you idiot.” Poking fun at his jealous side, it was quite endearing to know that he cared about you to the extent of fuming like a kettle in the presence of other guys. Grabbing one side of his face with one hand, you gave him an affectionate peck on his cheek, causing him to blush like a middle-schooler. God, he was so innocent. 

After a couple more leisure paces in the direction of the boys' dorm, you stopped for a moment to look at you properly. 

“I still think you’re too nice,” he closed with a ‘hmph,’ continuing his way back to his room. You could only hold back your hearty smile for so long before it burst. 

“No freaking way, buddy,” you scoffed. Tossing another kernel of popcorn into your mouth, Yoongi pointed to his open mouth. Popping one into his, respectively, you returned to your bantering debate. 

“Liszt is obviously far superior to Chopin,” Yoongi remarked snarkily. You’d gone over this for the past hour, killing time while the pre-packaged cookie dough you bough baked in the oven. 

Another sarcastic puff of air left your lips. “Are you kidding me? Other than the fact that he had freakishly large hands and made a pact with Paganini and sacrificed both of their souls to the Devil, I don’t think this is even a real topic up for grabs.” 

Snatching the kernel from your fingers in the midst of bringing it to your mouth, Yoongi chortled at your gaping jaw. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” His straightforward and genuine eyebrow raise made you shrug. 

“I don’t know. You listen to La Campanella and tell me.” Mirroring his inquisitive expression and raising your eyebrow, his voice vibrated in a lengthy hum. 

“Hm... Well played, _____. Well played...” Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, trying his best to seem intimidating like a dollar store Sherlock Holmes. “But you mastered Campanella in your junior year, so who’s the real soul-sacrificing Devil here?” 

You poked your tongue out, launching another piece of popcorn into his readily awaiting mouth to shut him up. However, your aim was a little too northbound and it ended up hitting his forehead. You laughed to the point where your stomach was cramping. You assumed it was karma taking your side. 

Days blurred into weeks and before you knew it, it was the night before the performance exam. No matter how many times you’d been forced by your school assignments to play for an audience, it never ceased to get your heart pumping—for the wrong reasons.

Sighing, you flung your body into your freshly washed bed sheets. It was only 10, but you figured since it would take you a few hours to fall asleep from the nerves, it’d probably be best to knock out early. 

“Not too late to sneak over and cuddle with me, you know,” a voice reverberated from your phone speaker. 

You chuckled at Yoongi’s determined and unwavering stubbornness that stemmed from his giddy fondness for you. Your advisor had eventually caught you sneaking into your dorm room a few days ago and if you had, oddly enough, listened to Yoongi’s pestering and stayed in his room for the night, you wouldn’t be on room lockdown right about now. You felt like a prisoner in your own dorm. 

Wrapping the blanket around yourself like a swaddle, you hid your gleeful smile with the bundle of sheets as his equally gummy grin displayed on the bright screen of your phone. Both of your room lights were all off so his cheeky face was all the more visible. 

“She let me off easy and didn’t give me a suspension and that was because I’m one of the good students on this block,” you reminded. “I don’t think I want to push my luck.” 

Yoongi huffed exasperatedly, irked that he wouldn’t be able to hold you tonight. “Are you ungrounded tomorrow?” He spoke in pout. That damn pout...

Burying your face in your blankets and clamping your hand over your mouth to hide your squeal, your mind couldn’t help but wander to the crude beginnings of your relationship. Was this real? 

“Yup,” you mumbled sluggishly through the fabric. “You’re buying dinner after the performance is over.”

Letting out a sigh, he lied down on his bed and rested his hand comfortably beneath his head, allowing you to get a full glimpse of his body, only now realizing that he was shirtless. Despite the darkness that cascaded both of your rooms, you could clearly see the definition of his lean but built muscles, the veins on his forearm rippling with each time he shifted on his mattress. 

“Who gave you permission to be so hot?” you yawned out, accidentally letting the lewd thought slip past your lips as you grew increasingly sleepy with each sentence. He laughed huskily in a low voice, admiring your state of sleep-drunkenness, as you liked to call it. 

His raspy voice wasn’t just the thing you’re ears were blessed with in the mornings, but also at night when he was equally as exhausted as you. It was like a second piano to your ears, lulling you to sleep each time whether it was through video calls or cradled by his side.  

Bundling the sheets around his body, you whined faintly at the loss of your favorite sight. “I don’t know, my girlfriend. She’s cool or whatever,” he whispered, eyes beginning to droop shut like yours. “But don’t tell her I said that.” 

The word still felt like a new muscle stitched his tongue, every sentence that contained it sounding a million times better with the coined phrase. Yoongi continued cherishing his new reality: he had a girlfriend and it was you. 

You couldn’t respond with words, just a fuzzy, softhearted grin. “Love you, dummy,” you yawned again. 

Yoongi yawned in tandem with you, lips curling into the gummy smile you loved.  “I love you, _____...” he managed to say before allowing sleep to consume him.  

Neither of you even bothered to end the call, a habit you had developed from the hundreds of times you had rung each other and fallen asleep to each other’s voices. The first few times resulted in you both waking up with absolutely no battery and having to forgo your phones for the whole day, however, you quickly learned that splurging $30 on a portable charger just for these occasions was well worth it. 

What if you mess up? Are your hands warm enough? 

What if you forget a section? You should’ve fit in a few extra hours in the studio yesterday. 

What if your fingers cramp up? 

Did you remember to take an Advil? Should you have taken two? 

A million questions pestered your mind like a plague, buzzing and ringing in your ears loud enough to make a swarm of steroid-filled bees jealous. Pacing around backstage as the muffled sounds from the auditorium filled the space, you were a few paces away from boring holes into the ground. Performance jitters were the worst and your anxiety made them all the more unbearable. 

“Hey,” Yoongi interrupted, placing his hands on your shoulders to snap you out of your pool of overwhelming thoughts. “Calm down. Breathe. You’re starting to make me nervous.” 

Running your hands through your hair, you groaned and uttered out another apology. Why were you so stressed out? It wasn’t a full audience. Just your entire class plus the comp majors and table of judgmental executioners, more commonly known as the board of music teachers. The entirety of their presence was the icing on top of your cake of nightmares. God, what you would do for a slice of double-chocolate cake right about now...

“What—” you started but Yoongi knew better to cut you off early and derail your train of thought before it arrived at the station. 

He cupped his hands around your flustered cheeks, his cooling touch bringing relief to the blistering hot skin that began to rise with your heartbeat. 

“Do you know how absolutely phenomenal these past few months have been?” Articulating his words in unison with his heartfelt gaze, his thumbs stroked over your cheeks softly, assuring you wholeheartedly with the fewest words he could. 

“I know how much pressure you put on yourself, but I also know how much more you love playing the piano,” he spoke soothingly. “Don’t think about them or messing up. Hell, don’t even think about sticking to what we fixed and picked on during practice.”

He brought you into his arms, making you lean onto his chest and listen to his steady heartbeat that thumped through his shirt. “Think about enjoying it to the point of not having any regrets. Of what it feels like while you play. Think about how you love it unconditionally through thick and thin, and how you wouldn’t give up anything in the world to let it go.” 

His words flowed like a stream in your head, smoothing over the rocky slopes of your worries and fears and replacing them with ripples of passion and confidence. Just as you pressed a kiss to his lips, the stage coordinator signaled to you with a frantic wave. It was your turn. 

Yoongi held onto your hands tightly for just a moment before giving you a small grin and going to find a seat in the audience. You took a deep breath. You only had one chance at this; you were going to make it count. 

Taking even-paced steps onto the stage, you closed your eyes and murmured a  wordless prayer to whoever might be listening. Whether that’d be the piano gods themselves or the ibuprofen coursing through your bloodstream and numbing your nerves, it didn’t matter. You needed to play for you. 

Not hesitating or wasting any more valuable seconds, your fingers brushed the cold keys, a sudden rush of eagerness filling your previously buzzing nerves. Your muscle memory activated like the flick of a light switch, the soft melody of the beginning exposition filling the echoey stage all the way to the back of the concert hall. 

Your fingers stroked the keys with such accuracy and precision, nailing each of the complex chords with ease. The development was coming up next. Changing your tempo from the quick-paced and exciting beginning to a mellow and even-toned pace, a pre-recorded track suddenly flooded through the onstage speakers but you didn’t have time to react.

You could recognize that beat from a million miles away. 

It was the same solemn tune that Yoongi was playing in the studio that night alone; same melodic chorus, orchestral strings, deep bass, and right down to the synth pad that started towards the end of the section. The flowing melody and tempo blended with your playing harmoniously, producing a euphonious sound that pushed you to play with more urgency and passion. 

The unexpected harmony made you smile, on the verge of tears as you could only comprehend one message that rang as clear as a bell: he wrote this for you. 

Before you knew it, you were already finished with the last recapitulation, the final remaining notes trailing off gently into what you assumed would be the end of the track, like that night, but it didn’t stop. It continued into another excerpt that melded perfectly with the coda you’d composed; vibrant, fuller, lively, vivid, and colorful—happy. 

The full-bodied and adagio resonance of Yoongi’s composed track with what sounded like a philharmonic orchestra and synth board contrasted like day and night from your constantly moving fingers. High off of the adrenaline of playing and euphoria of music, you paid no attention to the burning that had spread in your fingers during the first two minutes of the piece, instead choosing to bask in the utter state of bliss you were in.  

The track slowed down in sync with your playing, toning down the fast-paced and riveting chorus that had reverberated through the room seconds ago and replacing with it with the delicate and gentle closing notes that finished the piece.

It was over. You did it.

A momentary pause enveloped the auditorium, silence washing over the audience like a crashing tide. Your fingers were resting on the keys for a second before a roar of applause replaced the dead silent concert hall. 

You did it.

The panel of teachers were all standing on their feet, their warm smiles and nods of approval and continuous claps almost making tears trail down your cheeks. Looking around the crowd of people to try and find Yoongi, a finger gently tapped your shoulder, making you turn around with glassy eyes.

There he stood in all his gummy cheesiness, smiling his heart out. You sniffled, unable to hold back the tidal wave of tears that overwhelmed you as you burst into sobs and threw yourself into the safety of his arms. Enveloping you into his ever-warm and comforting embrace, he pressed soft kisses on the crown of your head, keeping you secure in his hold. Refusing to pull away even for a brief moment, he stroked your hair soothingly, urging you to take your time to breathe.

Sniffling once more, you managed to croak out a word or two. “When? How? Why—” you couldn’t finish before breaking into tears. You were a mess.

Even though the entire auditorium was still filled with the continuous applause and praise from the audience, Yoongi leaned down and chose to whisper into your ear. “I told you. Ever since that night when I saw you in the studio alone…” You could practically feel the happy smile that danced across his voice.

It was the first dream you didn’t have to wake up from.

It was real.

All of this was real.

The first thing you did after finishing your presentation was sprint like a marathon runner to the dressing rooms and change out of your quote on quote, “formal” attire. Consisting of a pair of black dress pants and frilly blouse with heels, your feet screamed in relief when you changed to your usual outfit of straight-cut jeans, oversized sweater, and frayed sneakers. 

Yoongi handed you a bouquet of flowers as you strode victoriously out of the concert hall to the stairwell at which he was waiting. You widened your eyes and had to blink a few times to make sure that this was still real life.

“Is this a practical joke or rom-com gesture?” you giggled, accepting the arrangement of dark red roses, lemon leaves, white snapdragons, and baby’s breath buds. He went the extra mile by personally requesting a gold ribbon to be weaved through each of the rose buds, making a sentimental warmth spread throughout your chest. Breathing in the fresh scent of the flora, the earthy and undeniably pleasant scent filled your airways.

Yoongi’s lips quirked in a shy grin and hid his gummy smile, rubbing the back of his head like he always did when he was apprehensive about something. 

“I figured I missed out on doing this on our first official date,” he shrugged as his tongue caught on the unused word. “So, I felt like surprising you on our twenty-something official one. And I might have snuck in a slice or few of cake in your fridge... ” 

Your jaw dropped to the floor. His face shifted back into the cheesy Chesire Cat grin you adored before humming a soft ‘ah’ and pausing his steps to reach for something in his bag. Was there anything that could make this day any better? 

Fishing through his disarray of loose papers and crumpled notes that decorated his bag, he pulled out a box that had miraculously not gotten squished or dented inside. It was wrapped in rose gold colored polka-dot wrapping paper and adorned with yet, another glittery gold ribbon tied into a neat bow. 

Making a shy face at the extensive detail, you carefully tugged on the end of the ribbon as flecks of glitter flew up in the air, the knot coming undone with ease. Yoongi offered his hand out to hold it.

Smiling, you moved onto the wrapping paper. Trying your best to peel it by the tape because you hated to tear it and make a mess, you finally got to the box. You pulled to top off to reveal another layer of tissue paper. A fluffy bundle of fabric was folded neatly underneath, making you take on a puzzled frown. When you took them out and unfolded them, you couldn’t muffle the gasp that escaped.

A pair of fuzzy mittens with a matching beanie.

“Yoongi...” you gawked. Rubbing over the feathery light, cozy fabric, he was still smiling widely at you, feeling pure happiness at seeing you so overjoyed from a pair of mittens.

Taking the bouquet, crumpled wrapping paper, and empty box from your hands, he set them down on the ledge beside the stairs. He first put the fluffy tasseled beanie on your head and smoothed out your baby hairs. Then, he rubbed your already-cold hands for a couple seconds to warm them up before sliding the plush gloves on.

“I don’t like it when you’re cold…” he said softly, rubbing circles over the tops of your hands through the wooly fabric. Cupping his cheeks with your warm and well-circulating hands, you pressed a single deep kiss onto his readily puckered lips. 

“Your room or mine?” His breath grazed your pink lips, a distinct warmth emanating from his body compared to the crisp winds that blew against the pair of you.

Biting your lip at his query, you shoved his shoulder teasingly. He already knew the answer.

Making out and walking backward was anything but a non-hazardous concoction. You practically topped over the door ledge while walking into Yoongi’s dorm, continuing to stumble over the bumps and dents in the poorly boarded floor. He managed to pull off his shirt and unbuckle his belt before shoving you onto the bed, and you only made it to the zipper of your jeans before landing on your back with a soft thud.

Caging you in between his forearms, he reunited his mouth with yours in a heated and feverish kiss. You captured the delicate of his lower lip between your teeth, nipping, tugging, and sucking on it to tease and satiate him for the time being. You had the whole weekend for yourselves.

His eyebrows furrowed as he couldn’t resist anymore and gave into his body’s demands. Grinding his clothed member into your aching center, you moaned at how hard he was beneath the fabric of his jeans. Satisfaction and adrenaline surged through you and you couldn’t help but be the least bit proud at the fact that only you had this effect on each other. Undeniable lust triggered by unconditional love, aided with consistent support and mutual understanding; a thing so many people craved but so few had the ability to cultivate.

Yoongi let out a husky growl when your hands tangled into his dark hair, gripping firmly at his scalp and trailing down his bare back. Although your nails were trimmed short, they still left red lines down the defined ridges of his shoulders and back as he moaned into your mouth at the sensation.

Grasping you by the roots of your hair, he maneuvered your head to bare your neck to him, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses at the exposed and delicate skin. Nipping teasingly at the junction of your ear and pulse point, he bared his teeth in a grin before sucking a deep purple bruise into the skin, causing a rush of arousal to flow down your thighs.

“Yoongi,” you moaned out hoarsely. His pouty lips continued trailing down your neck before stopping, giving you to a moment to hastily take off your sweater and throw it mindlessly onto the floor. You’ll pick it up later. He licked his lips at the sight of you in all your beauty, pressing a soft kiss to the dip of your collarbone. He couldn’t help it when his lips instantly attached to your breast, massaging the other with his hand and lapping at your nipple skillfully. Moving onto the neglected side, you arched your back into his firm erection when he grazed his teeth over the sensitive nub.

Another gush of wetness flooded your thighs as you rubbed your legs together instinctually at the dampness. Yoongi noticed this like a hawk, eyeing your every movement keenly. Smirking, he slid down your unbuttoned jeans with one firm tug, swiftly yanking the loose-fitting pants down like a candy wrapper, except this sweet treat was one he could never get enough of. The best part? He didn’t have to worry about cavities.

Taking a moment to admire the string of arousal that trailed from your core to the string of your thong as he pulled them off, he gulped, saliva pooling in his mouth at the mere thought of lapping up all of your juices. His sculpted fingers rubbed small circles over your drenched folds, bringing the arousal coated digits to his mouth for a taste. He couldn’t wait another second.

Yoongi delved face first into your center, not caring to clean up the trail of wetness that painted your thighs beforehand. His cheeks were coated with your essence and he licked up as much as he could, his entire mouth cupping over your core in a desperate attempt to hear your delectable moans that spurred him on. Hearing your vocal sobs and whines of pleasure made him moan as you gripped his hair, the vibrations of his gruff voice making your body tingle with even more pleasure. It was a never-ending cycle of mutual pleasure.

You were in absolute heaven. Alternating the use of tender flat-edge of his warm tongue with the firm tip, you could’ve pulled a muscle in your back from how much you were contorting into the bed. Each time he sucked harshly at your swollen clit, it forced out a euphoric cry from you, teetering amidst the peak of your pleasure and the brink of startling ecstasy.

You tried to be gentle with his hair, but when you pulled your hands away from his tangled mess of locks, he growled in disapproval, immediately demanding that you return your hands to where they were by moving away from your aching core and biting at your thighs.

You wanted so badly to take his throbbing and dripping cock into your mouth. You salivated at the utter thought of it and it sent another stream of arousal down your thighs and into Yoongi’s mouth. Two fingers slowly stretched you out, pumping deliciously into your tight heat in sync with the flick and suckle of his tongue as it produced a high-pitched gasp from you.

His free hand came up to knead your breast, pinching and twisting your sensitive nipple agonizingly slow. He gazed into you with jet black pupils, a carnal aura surrounding his every breath, leaving you with no choice but to surrender to him willingly. He continued sucking at your clit while curling and pumping his long fingers into your heat at the perfect pace, earning a drawled-out moan from you each time. His dick twitched against the straining fabric of his boxers, begging for some kind of attention, but Yoongi ignored it.

Tonight, it was all about you and he was going to make sure you knew that.

The obscene sounds of his tongue working relentlessly against your drenched and throbbing pussy made you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood in a feeble attempt to drown out your moans. As he pinned your hips down with his forearm, his fingers suddenly changed pace, moving faster and curling deliciously against your tight walls. His mouth wrapped over your clit and fingers began pumping furiously, the bursting pressure of your peak shattering like glass with one last suck.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you exclaimed, grinding into his mouth during the first few moments of your high to ride it out as long as possible. Feeling like a boneless pile of jelly from your staggering orgasm, you felt him smile against your dripping center, lapping up your flowing juices like an oasis in a desert. Your clit throbbed from the remnants of the overwhelming pleasure gifted to you by his talented tongue. By the time he was done, the only evidence that you had just had the best orgasm of your life was only visible on his face, his chin completely drenched in your essence.

Yoongi licked over his lips and swiped over his chin with his thumb to collect the remnants, popping his finger into his mouth to savor the taste he could never get enough of. His forehead glistened with a light sheen of sweat, chest rising and falling visibly from the effort he had just spent. How did he still have the stamina for more?

Lost in the blissed-out haze that came from your high, you chuckled lazily, still swimming an orgasm-induced trance. You’d never came like that before and you were more than sure you’d never be able to without the help of Yoongi. Smiling drunkenly as your post-orgasm blush dispersed along your face, a soft giggle left your lips when Yoongi hovered over you before flipping you over.

Lying on top of him, your hands ran down the svelte muscles of his chest and abs as you tasted yourself on his lips, the remaining wetness that spread over his chin coating yours in an act that was too sinful for you not to relive in the years to come. Literally.

Your mouths tangled in a fervent kiss full of desperation and need, running your hands over his toned body without any logical thought. The faintly metallic but not too bitter taste of yourself on his tongue made another pool of arousal stream down your folds. The pleasure was all yours now.

Before you scooted down to his desperately throbbing member, you made sure to appreciate the beauty that was Yoongi. You captured the delicate flesh of his vascular neck between your teeth and sucked blooming marks into the delicate skin, grinning in satisfaction when they mirrored yours but were half the size.

Nosing at the skin beneath his ear where his pulse pounded like the delicate wings of a hummingbird, your exhaling breath tickled the shell of his ear, making him let out the barest hint of a giggle. Tugging on the small hoop earring that decorated his ear lobe with your teeth for a sweet moment, you moved back to his torso.

Tracing across the picturesque sketch of his abs and the V-line that led down his pelvis, his skin felt hot beneath your lips, evidence that his blood was rushing just as much as yours had been not too long ago.

You forced out a grunt from him when you palmed his hard length through his unbuckled jeans, wasting no time and pulling the thick fabric down along with this cotton briefs. His immaculate length sprung up against his stomach with a soft slap, the head of his cock red and oozing precum. Rubbing over the dripping slit with your fingertip, his knuckles turned white from gripping the sheets so hard. He couldn’t think straight.

“_____,” he begged, Adam’s apple bobbing to expose his dewy neck. The glossy sheen that glossed over his entire upper body made your body hum with pure desire. He was so perfect…

You rubbed over the head of his cock a few more times just for the sheer satisfaction of watching a bead of precum form at his tip and pool around your index finger. Placing your now-glistening fingertip in your mouth, you hummed at the musky taste that coated your tongue. Without teasing any longer, you finally pumped his throbbing cock, licking down the length for more lubrication while trying to focus on his head.

“Fucking–God, _____,” he choked out through a guttural moan. With clenched teeth and hands now tangled in your hair, he didn’t have to guide you as you went to work pleasuring him. “Fuck.” He was like putty in your hands, melting into a pool of boiling hot magma with one single touch.

Stroking the base of his cock while you bobbed up and down the upper half, he jolted with the pace at which you were going. Your tongue swirled around his sensitive head and into his slit every few seconds, making him writhe in absolute ecstasy.

Yoongi let out a carnal growl, pulling you up by your arms up and up to his body. He cupped his hands your ass while his mouth locked onto yours in another deep kiss, exploring your mouth with a hunger he only possessed when he was with you; one that no matter how much time passed, would never be satiated.

Massaging your pillow-like cheeks with his firm grasp, you both moaned into each other’s mouths when your dripping wet slit found his dick. With the feeling of your slick pussy grinding over his bare length and your hands raking through his disheveled head of hair, Yoongi almost came right there.

This was completely different than the first night you two had spent together. The first time was entirely filled with sinful lust, primal hunger, and frantic passion. It resulted in a battle of teeth clashing against tongues, bruising grips, and hasty eagerness, allowing neither of you to feel the full extent of your deepest desires. 

However, the deeper you fell in love with each other and the greater time you spent in each other’s company, sex became less about the physically pleasurable aspect and more about the raw emotional and near-spiritual bond you felt while connected.

Legs and arms entwined in a mess of tangled limbs; sticky bodies glistening with sweat; his hair sticking to his forehead and yours strung across his damp chest; the soft puffs of faint panting and the warmth of your bodies wound tightly against each other that lulled you into the best slumber you could possibly ask for. That was what you loved more than anything. The total submission of your barest state exposed in all its vulnerability and your mutual ability to look after one other unconditionally was more than you could ever ask for. He was yours, and you were his.

Yoongi’s hands ran over your shoulders and the small of your back, reuniting them with the plush pillows of your ass, admiring your rosy flushed face with awe.

“You’re so beautiful…” he said in a quiet voice, afraid that if he spoke with valor that you’d vanish like an illusion conjured by his deepest desires.

Calming down your heavy breathing, you placed a hand against his beating heart, the pronounced thumping of it underneath your fingertips causing goosebumps to scatter down the back of your neck. He placed one of his hands over yours while the other found your free one, cupping it against one of his cheeks tenderly. Nosing the delicate skin where your wrist met its socket, he inhaled gently, drinking in the feel of your soft skin against his.

Your fingers traced over the hollows of his cheekbones, marveling at how he appeared more beautiful than a millennium-old sculpture. You always took the time to admire and cherish every part of his body and his eyes were no exception. The deep-set and piercing gaze you had first feared was now a sight you hated to part with. Running alongside the hairs that stuck to his forehead, your focus settled on his lips, smiling heartily before pressing a slow and patient kiss to them.

“I love you so much, Yoongi,” you whispered against his mouth, earning you a smile back.

He clasped your hands tightly, pressing fluttery kisses to the tops of your knuckles before locking his gaze onto you. “I love you, _____...” He spoke in a hush like he was keeping a secret, you name rolling off of his tongue like a sacred hymn he held closest to his heart. 

Studying the darkened gaze that cast over his eyes, your instincts clawed at you. “I need you inside me now, Yoongi.” Your voice came out in a whining sob, begging him to take you. 

Slowly sitting down to guide his member into your aching heat, he kissed you with even more urgency and passion than you thought was possible, basking in the feeling of you consuming each other through the linking of your bodies as he buried himself hilt deep. 

“Fuck, you’re always so tight for me,” he hissed. Dirty talk wasn’t really something you two prided yourselves in, preferring to voice your desires through physical actions alone, but you sure as hell didn’t have any complaints about it. It always seemed to come naturally for both of you and ended up sounding like praise rather than command. 

Your velvety walls wrapped around his thick length and made him twitch inside of you. Grinding into his hips from your dominant position, Yoongi nestled his head into your chest as he began pounding into you mercilessly, all while paying equal attention to your sensitive bundles of nerves on your breasts. 

Words weren’t needed to direct each other when you knew one other like clockwork; every kink, erogenous zones, sensitive spots—especially pace. 

He leaned back onto the wall and lifted you by your hips, allowing you to hover over him at an angle that made him drive into a spot deep inside of you and gasp. “Oh my God, Yoongi, right there!” Your moans turned into pants and sobs of overwhelming delight at the deeper angle at which he was filling you.

A drop of sweat beaded at Yoongi’s furrowed brows, his tense expression a result of him also feeling the torturously delicious feeling of you encasing him. He couldn’t hold back for much longer and neither could you.

“Yoongi,” you warned, feeling your walls tense with each additional thrust he managed to power through his growing exhaustion, not from the physical act of relentless thrusting, but from the pure willpower he was exerting from holding his orgasm back. Your nails dug deep crescent half-moons into the ridges of his shoulders while his fingers pressed blossoming bruises into your hips, reminding you to gawk at them later.

Feeling your tense body, Yoongi used up the last remaining bits of his energy to pound into you furiously, exerting as much force as he had left. A sharp intake of breath came from deep inside his chest when you came around him without further warning, your unbelievably tight and utterly drenched cunt clenching around his cock and making him finish not a second later. 

Bottoming out completely before sliding out and back in, it was almost too much when he continued hammering into you at a slower pace, his pulsating member shooting continuous spurts of hot cum deep into your heat. With his teeth bared in a silent snarl and your mouth parted in euphoria, you rolled your hips over his a few more times before collapsing on top of him, his spent cock still somehow twitching and filling your heat with thick spurts.

Yoongi’s eyes were half-lidded and dazed from his equally powerful orgasm. Staying inside of you for a few more seconds to ensure that as much of his cum remained inside of you as possible, you yelped when he slid out and replaced his cock with his hand, cupping your cunt to prevent any from seeping out. You giggled lightly at his concentrated face when he flipped you onto your back.

He also took great pleasure in scissoring your mixed fluids together between his fingers and bringing them up to his lips for a taste; another one of his post-sex habits. Curling into your drenched lips to scoop out more of the unholy mixture, you didn’t need to ask as he slid his coated fingers into your mouth, swiping over your readily cupped tongue as the evidence of your releases slicked down your throat.

“Kinky...” you giggled, running his fingertips along your lips before pecking them.

Yoongi gave you a half-parted gummy grin and chuckled. “You love me more for it.”

Completely spent, he kissed you deeply before he climbed into the covers, comfortably nestling his head into the valley of your breasts and nosing the soft skin. You cradled his head and pressed a delicate kiss to the top of his frizzy hair, raking through the messy knots with your fingertips. His exhaling breaths grew soft, indicating that he was on the verge of falling asleep.

Even though he mumbled the words into your chest, you broke into a heartwarming smile at his entirely too pure personality and held him in the security of your embrace. “I love you, _____.” 

There it was again: your name. 

It never sounded as good as it did unless it flowed from his lips. 

“I love you too, Yoongi,” you whispered, your soft whisper lulling him into a deep slumber as his eyes drooped shut while his steady breaths coaxed you into the darkness of sleep as well.

It was real. 

Some time in the near future...

You woke up to an empty bed, frowning in confusion instantly at the cold sheets that greeted you. Where was Yoongi? Almost as soon as you had asked the question, the smell of bacon and fried eggs filled your nostrils, making your mouth water.

Throwing your legs over the bed and climbing out of the disheveled bundle of sheets, you threw on one of Yoongi’s wrinkled shirts over your bare body, smiling sheepishly at how it draped over your thighs and stopped right above your knees. Brushing your teeth and rinsing your face in a record amount of time, you made your way to the kitchen and were greeted by the amusing sight of Yoongi dancing to the playlist you used when cleaning your room.

Jumping around like a maniac, he was too absorbed in his dancing and oil-spattering bacon to notice you leaning on the counter. With a cheeky grin gracing your face, Yoongi’s eyes bulged out of their sockets when he saw you. Clearing his throat harshly, you broke into a bright fit of laughter at how bashful he was. Was that what you looked like when he caught you dancing in your room?

“Good morning,” you giggled, nibbling the corner of your lip to hold back a snort.

Yoongi turned off the stovetop with the click of a knob, plating the hot food onto your dishes. “Good morning,” he played off cooly. Carrying the two plates to the small dining table, he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before setting them down.

“Happy Anniversary,” he exclaimed, returning to you to give you a proper kiss. Smiling onto his lips, you laced your arms around him as he wrapped his around your waist.

You scowled playfully but broke into a smile. “A little birdy told me a while ago that anniversaries were stupid…” you hummed jokingly, referring to the surprise you gifted him a year after you started dating. It was just a handwritten card and matching set of hoodies, but Yoongi let it slip that he thought regular anniversaries were cheesy and a little cringeworthy. 

But he wholeheartedly appreciated your gift though, refusing to wear anything other than that exact hoodie for the majority of his classes. Often times, he asked you with puppy eyes and a pout to wear yours—even on some days when it was 80 degrees outside.

“Must have been a really drunk bird then,” he shrugged. You weren’t terribly hurt by his statement that night because you truly did understanding where he was coming from. Those couples who had hebdomadal anniversaries did, in fact, make you want to gag. Anniversaries in your mind were supposed to be reserved for monumental occasions and milestones, not as petty excuses to receive stupidly expensive gifts from each other.

You beamed, pecking his lips once more. “Mhm, not a very cute peeper either.” Your comment made Yoongi raise an eyebrow, nuzzling his mouth into your neck and blowing raspberries against your skin until you surrendered.

“Okay, okay, okay!” you gave up, choking your submission through joyous laughter. “Let’s eat, Yoongi!” Eyes lighting up in victory, he pulled out your chair for you before sitting down himself.

“Happy Anniversary, Yoongi,” you chuckled, lips forming into a loving grin at the gummy smile that blessed his sparkling eyes.

Reaching over the table to hold your hands and rub comforting circles into them, he blinked slowly, imprinting a picture-perfect snapshot of this moment in his long-term memory for years to come. “Happy Anniversary, _____,” he beamed.

“Are you sure about this, Yoongi?” you asked cautiously, rubbing his hands in the hopes of soothing his buzzing nerves. “We don’t have to do this today…”

He pressed his lips into a firm line and nodded, keeping his eyes glued on the black and white keys that lie before him. “I’m ready.”

Releasing his hands from your grasp, you patted them softly before letting them hover over the keys. Not having touched a piano since before the accident, the unfamiliar cold feeling of the wood made Yoongi’s breath hitch in his throat.

His fingers suddenly started to shake as bile rose in his throat and his face went pale, turning colorless enough to make the piano keys look off-white in comparison. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like epoxy glue and felt heavier than a cement block. With his pupils dilated dangerously wide and beads of sweat forming along his hairline, his throat closed up, restricting his airflow.

Your eyes widened immediately, alarmed at his visceral reaction as he snatched his hands away from the keys and couldn’t bear to face the instrument for another second.

“I ca—I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it,” he choked, shaking his head vigorously while hiccuping, trying to take in breaths of air as he began drowning in the memories that suddenly poured in.

You cupped the sides of his face and smoothed your fingers over his tear-stained cheeks gently. “Yoongi—look at me.” Shutting his eyes tightly, more droplets of his painful memories trailed down as his hands shook, the pads of his fingers squeezing coin-sized bruises into your forearms.

“Look at me,” you said more firmly the second time. Opening his eyes slowly with shaky eyelids, he swallowed the lump in his throat before making direct eye contact with you. “I’m here, okay? I’m right here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’m right here with you, Yoongi.”

Relaxing his grip, his fingers that were pressing into your skin moments ago slowly began rubbing small circles into your forearms, soothing the numbing pressure as your blood began to circulate again.

“I’m so—,” he sobs choking on his tears, your lulling shushes helping his breathing calm down and slow. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—” His repetitive please continued into mumbled whispers. 

As he continued to mutter his robotic sayings, you soon realized that he wasn’t apologizing only to you—he was apologizing to himself.

“Yoongi, it’s okay,” you whispered, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your neck as his tears left trailed down your chest, leaving a glistening trail of wetness that made your eyes sting with your own tears. Your heart shattered seeing him in such a state of distress, but all you could do was murmur softly into his hair while his shoulders continued to shake. 

This too was real. 

“Bach Invention No. 8 already?” you gawked. “Yoongi, how?”

He shrugged, shoulders rising up to his ears in humble yet clearly visible accomplishment.

“You were playing Hanon a few weeks ago, what are you putting in your cereal?” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief and awe at his consistently growing skills.

“I had a pretty great teacher,” he smiled warmly, patting the seat beside him and inviting you to sit down. Shaking your head at his lively and glowing image, you set down your two cups and made yourself comfortable.

It had been nine steady months since Yoongi had composed himself to start playing again and it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t been a time-consuming process. Slowly but surely through tears, overwhelming breakdowns, neverending hours, long nights, and emotional outpours, Yoongi’s natural instinct and eagle-eye muscle memory kicked in, aiding his subconscious breaking down the mental barrier he had formed since the accident.

The first few months were a struggle as he was stuck in his own head and high expectations. He stayed up constantly trying to master the most basic warm-up exercises, refusing to give up until he knew it by heart. Even during the deepest pitfalls of exhaustion, you stuck by him, likewise refusing to leave his side until he was half-asleep and drooling on the keys.

You, on the other hand, had finally gotten around to accepting physical therapy, regular check-ups, and after four years of putting it off, had your prescription officially signed off by your doctor. 

The short-span of your potential professional career was inevitable, but you processed and accepted the outlook better than you did when you were first diagnosed. You had grown up since then. You weren’t a young, naïve, immature, want-it-all child anymore; you were just you, and that was more than enough. Life wasn’t about doing as much as you could for the quantity in hopes of happiness, but rather for the quality of happiness that you were living with what you could accomplish to your heart’s extent. 

“Why not 13?” you asked curiously, referring to the piece that was in the solemn and dark minor key. Yoongi’s lips curled into a sheepish grin, sensing where you were going with your question.

“Major keys are nicer to listen to,” he mumbled. Fumbling with your fingers in his lap as he usually did when he felt the need for a distraction. “Minor scales are too depressing.”

Nodding your head in agreeance with his response, a soft chuckle reverberated from deep inside his chest. You gave him a comical eyebrow raise. He brought your hands to his cheek for what felt like the millionth time in the span of your relationship, leaning into your easing and tranquilizing touch as he melted in your hands. 

After years of ignoring the adverse effect of your struggling circulation, the effort you dedicated last year in looking after your health had paid off; your hands were finally warm. All the more inviting for Yoongi to cup them around his plush cheeks. A healthy diet, consistent sleeping schedule, and regular hikes up to the viewpoint with Yoongi really went a long way in terms of lifestyle. 

Thinking over his words, he shook his head rightfully so. “There are too many good things in life to do instead of drowning in that kind of ocean…” His kissed the top of your hand as his eyes met yours in a stare that radiated unconditional affection, complete fondness, and total selfless love.

Life was, in fact, too good to spend it wasting away in the shadows.

Some time further in the future...

Shuffling through the array of papers that littered the desk, you were seconds away from ripping your hair out. How were you going to do this? You started with the syllabus. That was probably the first step in starting a lecture, right? Then the expectations for the class? Goals? Learning outcomes?

God, were you even speaking English at this point? The abrupt buzz of your phone alarm snapped you out of your thoughts instantly. As crowds of students in what seemed like the hundreds flooded the lecture hall within seconds, you started to panic. Anxiety flooded your throat like thick smoke, forcing you to gulp a hiccup down. A gentle nudge on your shoulder caused you to turn around, coming into the view of none other than Yoongi.

“You okay?” His eyes voiced concern, eyebrows turned downwards as he studied your face with flowing sympathy.

You nodded, pressing your lips into a tight line. “Fine. Fine. All fine. Everything’s great.” Your speech flowed out like dreaded word vomit.

Yoongi rubbed your shoulder to ease your rippling waves of uneasiness, trying to relieve your bubbling apprehension. “Powell asked us to sub his class for a reason, _____. “Don’t doubt yourself. You’ll be amazing and I’ll be right by your side to help,” he convinced. “Okay?”

Swallowing down the sheet of sandpaper that lined your throat, you nodded.

The students were now fully seated and quiet, the soft hums of a few sorting through their bags and pulling out their laptops. The sea of L.E.D. apples and brightly lit block print logos made you nauseous. Once they were all settled, you cleared your throat.

“Thank you all for coming to today’s class,” you greeted with as much authority in your voice you could muster. “My name is _____, and this is Yoongi.” Pausing to direct your attention to him, he tipped his chin up lazily, reminding you of the first day you’d encountered him in a setting much like this one. Your eyes softened at the reminiscent memories. Time flies... 

“We will be substituting for Professor Powell, as he is out sick for the week,” you explained. 

A few scattered hollers and applause were heard from parts of the hall, making Yoongi shoot you a smug grin. You frowned quizzically for a brief moment before shrugging it off. “As former graduates ourselves, we are very aware of the immense pressure Professor Powell puts on you as first years in the graduate division. Trust me.” You turned your body to Yoongi, signaling him with a small nod. “We’ve both been there.”

He chuckled, taking the reins of the conversation smoothly while you began handing out the syllabus for the final project. “Powell might have discussed this project with you last semester or you might have heard legends about it from your upper classmates while you were freshmen.”

Yoongi didn’t bother using the title of “Professor” before he spoke, making some students gasp audibly. His voice was the epitome of confidence, self-assurance and clarity coating his voice like velvet as he articulated his words with consistency.

“The syllabus that is being handed out to you explains the details of your final project. Your partners have been chosen for you and will not, under any circumstance, be altered to fit your personal preference.”

Whispers spread across the entire room like a swarm of bees, students gasping and mumbling, appalled as they analyzed each detail written on the page. Your echoing clap silenced into their incessant grumbles. That seemed to grab their attention.  

“As Professor Powell has said multiple times prior to the start of this semester and I’m sure as far back as your undergraduate days.” A grin formed on your lips and you glanced over at Yoongi, who was already smirking and staring back at you with his lip in between his teeth. “The audience needs to see who you are through the music; experience your deepest memories, feel your deepest pain, and live through your life up until this point.”

“You’ll laugh, cry, scream, and want to rip each other apart with your bare hands,” Yoongi added on with conviction in his voice, standing up straight and no longer leaning against the wall. “But above all the setbacks and obstacles, you’ll come out as stronger musicians and even better artists.”

“Complain and fail. Choose to work independently from each other and that implies that you are working against one other,” you noted. “You are there to help each other through difficult times, not leave the other person hanging when things get tough.”

Yoongi sighed. “It sucks, we know.” He glanced at you thoughtfully, a ghost of a smile dancing across his lips. “But we promise it’ll be worth it.”

At this, a student in the front row raised her hand, a wide-eyed curiosity glinting from her eyes. You smiled and gave her the cue to speak. “By chance, you guys aren’t the seniors who passed this same assignment with a full grade four years ago, are you?” Her naïve and self-answering question made you and Yoongi look to each other knowingly, embarrassed and honored that the rumor was still flying about, alive and well as ever. “You two are like living legends!”

The class erupted into another wave of applause and gasps, sounding like a sound effect out of a comedy club’s built-in soundboard. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled, leaning his head to one side and side-eyeing you lightheartedly. You also found yourself blushing and chuckling awkwardly, sighing as you avert your eyes to anywhere but the crowd of eyes glued onto you and him.

“It’s kind of a funny story…” you hummed. 

“Why did you start liking me?” you asked. Lying down on the blanket that was strewn on top of the grass, Yoongi shifted beside you, admiring the spot on the viewpoint he picked out. The view of the campus never ceased to take your breath away. 

The longest three seconds of your life passed before you turned on your side and he peeled his eyes away from the dim sky, redirecting his gaze to you. Taking your hands into his, the edges of his lips curled into the tiniest smile, staring thoughtfully at the sight he had never imagined in his wildest dreams would be here right in front of him. 

“Because you gave me everything I could ever ask for without wanting anything in return, and I don’t deserve it.” His words flowed like ink from a fountain pen, soaking through the pages that bound your love for him. 

Pausing before continuing, you couldn’t prepare yourself for what he had to say next.

“It’s like you’re too good to be real. Here. In front of me.” he clasped your hands tighter. “I still feel like don’t deserve you.” At this sudden confession, his tense expression softened. “Like I’m not enough for you...”

The dark and piercing stare you used to cower in fear at had now revealed itself to be the only one you knew that was full of vulnerability and as delicate as a glass menagerie. They were eyes you had grown fond of, admired, and more than anything—wholeheartedly and unequivocally loved.

Running his thumb over your cheek, you cupped over his hand in response, making your heart flutter at the delicate flush that spread across his face. 

“Min Yoongi...” you sighed as your eyes began to form budding tears. Shaking your head while trying to hold back the painful smile that threatened to escape, you took a deep breath. 

The lump in your throat returned tenfold when you looked up and saw that his eyes were glued onto yours, his deep brown orbs watering with glassy tears and lip quivering with the infinite ocean of amour he felt for you. You had already fallen in too deep to drown.

All these years later and you still made each other’s hearts race like a soaring kite. 

Whether it was from the cold or the bursting dam of repressed emotions, it didn’t matter. You cupped both sides of his face and brought his forehead to yours, pressing lightly and maintaining contact so that you were trapped directly in-line of each other’s eyes. You couldn’t help but smile and allow a tear to trail down your cheek when his hands cupped over yours.

“You’re right. You aren’t just anything to me,” you whispered, your voice near barely audible to anyone except Yoongi. “You are absolutely everything I could ever ask for and more. 

Yoongi swallowed the rush of nostalgia that flooded his mind and closed up his throat. “I have never in my entire life met someone who comes close to how you understand me, wait for me, and push me through my bad days,” he croaked through blurry eyes. 

You sniffled, brimming tears finally spilling like the puddles of your youth you once basked in. “You make me the happiest and the best person I can be, and I love you more than anything else in this entire world...”

“And I promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way.” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he finally spoke, completing your words like the last piece of a puzzle fitting perfectly in its place. 

His words and soft lips sealed a kiss on your forehead, your eyes fluttering softly at the ardor you felt only while in his warmth. You kissed him back, the saltiness of your mingled tears leaving watercolor thin streaks down both of your cheeks.

Words would never be enough to express the bond you and him shared. He could only pray to whoever was listening that you felt it as strongly as he did, and you for him. 

A song composed with no more than the painful memories of your past, tender youth of the present, and limitlessly unbound fate of your future, your paths entwined with the string of fate and aria had brought you together to this exact moment in time.

Passionless pursuit in the chase for perfection; a journey filled with sorrows in the hopes of leading to the smallest sliver of happiness; an outcome neither of you had expected to come to fruition in your wildest and most distant dreams.

Everything else is arbitrary. Happiness through the darkest of times stemming from the willingness to fight and determination to be happy—that is what you made your lives out to be. 

The faint glint of the rings you both bore reflected against the lamp post bulbs, an even brighter light emitting from both of your smiles. Had it already been a year since he’d asked for your hand? Yoongi’s fingers ran over the engraved metal, tracing the near-microscopic words that were etched into the band. You did the same with his, the loop of silver feeling cool against your fingertips.

It was real.

This was real.