#will happen again and again cause you and i will always be back then)

[wwooyology]

Prove It To You | J.YH

「pairing」 : yunho x fem!reader 「word count」 : 3.5k

「synopsis」 : you could feel the end of your relationship coming, and yunho saw his opportunity to finally take his chances to show you just how much better he was than that asshole you called your boyfriend.

「genre」 : frat boy!yunho, uni au, angst, a small bit of fluff, smut

「warning」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, infidelity, unprotected sex, dom!yunho x sub!reader, slight size kink, big dick!yunho, biting/marking, fingering, clit play, breast play, teasing, begging, yunho is just a little bit possessive, petnames (baby, darling, sweetheart, my love), semi-rough sex, multiple orgasms, praising, creampie, readers bf hears from the other room, sloppy makeout, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : tbh this idea stemmed from a memory of something similar that happened to me, except it wasn't a guy I was dating. it was a guy that I was crushing on, but sadly I didn't have a yunho back then </3

It was maybe close to three in the morning, and you were still awake as your so-called boyfriend slept peacefully on his bed. You had tagged along with him and your other friends who lived in the frat house to hang out; however, as soon as the others excused themselves to either leave or go to bed, you were left alone with him. At first, you thought you two could watch a movie before going to bed, but he just hummed while scrolling through his phone. He lay in bed while you sat on the ground.

“Just put on whatever you want.” His tone was uninterested as you turned to look at him and he didn’t even take a moment to look at you.

Defeated, you just put on a random show to watch, knowing that he wouldn’t pay attention to anything. You had planned a whole night for the two of you after everyone had left, seeing as he had been out of town with his family for the past two weeks. Yet now he acted as if you were the least important thing to him.

The movie hadn’t even played halfway through when you heard his soft snores behind you; looking over your shoulder, you saw that he was sprawled out all over the queen-sized bed. Letting out a huff, you rolled your eyes before going back to the movie.

Until you started to get tired, but you didn’t really feel like sleeping in the same bed as your boyfriend right now. However, you also couldn’t just leave because you had ridden in with your boyfriend, and everyone was already asleep.

You stood to your feet before bending down and grabbing your phone off of the ground, then walking out of the room, not bothering to turn anything off. The house was quiet, which was a strange thing to you because the frat house was always lively, but you just shrugged it off before carefully making your way down the stairs. Getting to the first floor, you looked around the dark room with the small light of your phone’s lock screen and made your way to the front door.

Unlocking the door, you pulled it open and slipped out of the house. As soon as you stepped outside, you were met with the harsh, cold winter winds, causing you to shiver. Shutting the door, you walked over to the step, sat down, and pulled your phone out again.

Opening the screen, you thought about using the rideshare app to get a ride back to the dorms, but it was a Friday night, and it was late at night, so you quickly closed the app once more. You debated walking back, but you were all the way across campus, and once again, it was late.

“Fucking hell.” You cursed quietly as you shoved your hands into the pockets of your coat along with your phone as the cold started to settle into your bones.

Leaning against the railings, you just watched as a few cars drove by, and you could feel yourself starting to drift off. Your eyes fluttered closed once more, and you hadn’t even heard the front door open behind you.

“Why are you trying to sleep outside?” His voice startled you right awake, and your whole body twisted as you looked up at Yunho. He stood just a few feet behind you with his arms crossed over his chest, his hair a mess, making you believe that he had just woken up. Your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage as you looked at him. Ever since you had been introduced to him, there has been an unspoken attraction, but you never act on it because of your boyfriend.

Swallowing thickly, you turned away, “I’d rather sleep out here than in there.” Your voice was soft as you pulled your knees to your chest, your skirt riding up your hips.

Yunho eyed you carefully before stepping forward and taking a seat next to you, leaving a comfortable space between your bodies. You looked over at him for a moment before turning back to look at the empty street.

“I figured you would be cozy in bed with fuckface.” You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his choice words knowing very well that Yunho and your boyfriend never got along, but you had no idea why.

After a few moments, you inhaled deeply before breathing out, watching your breath fog in the air. “I would be, but he seemed to be more interested in whatever was on his phone than me.” You let out a short laugh before looking over at Yunho, who was staring at you with an unreadable expression.

Yunho’s jaw tightened as he looked at you. He wasn’t sure how anyone could treat you so harshly. If your boyfriend wasn’t just bluntly ignoring you, he was short and seemed uninterested in doing anything that involved you unless it was with your group of friends. Yunho hated it and had believed that he could treat you so much better, but you never left that asshole; far too kind to end things.

But tonight, Yunho had enough, and he was determined to show you that you deserved so much more.

“Yunho?” You called out to the tall male, waving a hand in front of his face, trying to snap him out of whatever daze he had fallen into.

A gasp fell from your lips when he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into him. Your other hand flew out to catch yourself, landing right on his thigh. With wide eyes, you looked up to ask him what he was doing, but he cut you off as his lips smashed into yours. His tongue swiped over your lips, the sweet taste of your lipgloss invading his taste buds. It wasn’t until his hand wrapped around the back of your neck that you pushed away from him with wide eyes.

“We can’t.” Your voice was quiet, eyes glued to your lap, and Yunho let out a deep sigh. He leaned forward, laying his forehead against yours.

“Forget about that jerk, y/n; he doesn’t deserve you.” He told you, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and you looked up at him with misty eyes. “Let me take care of you. Let me show you how you deserve to be treated. Please.”

Your brain turned into a warzone as you stared into his eyes, contemplating the repercussions of your action. There was no love in your relationship with your boyfriend anymore, and you were sure that he would take the first chance he could to leave you.

Yunho was so much more than he was, and deep down, you knew that; he was always attentive to your needs and cared more than your boyfriend has ever in the entirety of your relationship. The only thing that held you back was you were too scared to leave your boyfriend, but now you couldn't care less. If he wasn’t going to care for you correctly, Yunho would.

And that’s all it took for you to lean forward to seal your lips over Yunho’s once more.

Yunho’s grip on your neck tightened, pulling you closer to his body, wanting you as close as physically possible. Your lips were soft against his and tasted like sweet cherries; it was driving him nuts. Once the both of you were out of air, you pulled apart, a small string of saliva still connecting your lips.

“Let’s go inside.” Yunho rasped, and you quickly nodded before standing up with him and following him back into the house.

As soon as you were inside his bedroom, Yunho’s lips were back on yours, stealing all the air from your lungs. His hands cupped your face as he stepped back, leading you to his bed. You let out a gasp when the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed, and you fell back.

Yunho chuckled before crawling over your body, trapping you with his and bringing his lips back down to yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring every inch, trying to memorize every part. Your hands moved up to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him even closer to you.

“God, I can’t even tell you how long I’ve waited for this.” He groaned against your lips as your hips rolled up, brushing against his growing erection. Heat pooled in your core, and the pressure was almost unbearable as he moved away to look down at you.

“Yunho.” You whined softly, hands tugging at his shirt, causing him to smirk, his hand moving to grab your chin.

“What do you want, baby?” He asked, pulling your attention back to him, and he felt his dick twitch in his sweat at the needy and lustful look in your eyes.

“You. I just want you.” You breathed out, wrapping your hand around his wrist as you looked up at him.

“How could I tell you no when you look so desperate.” He teased, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips before moving his hands down to your skirt. “But I gotta prep you first, darling.”

You opened your mouth to protest but the sharp look he gave you instantly had you closing your lips once more. Yunho then unzipped your skirt before pulling it down your legs and throwing it somewhere in his room. Not even seconds after the cloth left his hand he grabbed your shirt, telling you to sit up and pulling it off.

Yunho felt like his body was about to combust at the sight of your pretty lace lilac lingerie, the cloth hugging your curves in all of the right places. You felt small under his gaze as he continued to stare at you, his fingers tracing along the seams. A soft moan fell from your lips when he brushed over your erect nipple.

“Did you wear this for him?” His voice was low as he leaned over your body again, face inches away from yours, and you just looked up at him with hooded eyes.

“It’s for you now.” You cooed, cupping his face as you looked up at him, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip.

Yunho smirks, his large hand grabbing your waist, causing your back to arch up, giving him just enough room to unclasp your bra. Once the piece of clothing was off of your body and off somewhere in the room, Yunho’s lips latched onto your collarbone.

He left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest until he got to your soft mounds. A sharp moan fell from your lips when he took one of your buds into his mouth. Yunho took his time with your chest, marking almost every inch of skin he possibly could, relishing in the sounds that left your pretty lips.

“Yunho…” You whined, back arching against him as his hand slipped under your underwear, cupping your wet heat. The feeling of his hands on your body was electrifying, like nothing that you’ve felt before.

“Already so wet for me,” He groaned against your skin, moving up to your neck as his slender fingers pressed against your clit.

A choked moan fell from your lips as he started to circle your sensitive bud, his lips pressing wet kisses along your jugular. He soaked in all of the noises you made as your fingers tugged at his shirt; he was determined to make sure that you only knew his name.

“Yu–” You were cut off when he slipped a finger into your tight cunt, brushing over spots that you’ve never been able to reach. Tears pricked at your eyes as he kept a steady pace, watching you closely and studying all of the expressions you made.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart. I’m not sure you’ll be able to take me.” He pouted as he added a second finger, stretching you out and pulling another moan from your swollen lips.

“I-I can take it, I promise!” You choked out, looking up at him with so much need, and your hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

“You’re such a good little thing, aren’t you?” He hummed, picking up his pace after adding a third finger. 

You’ve never felt this full before, and your high was right on the tip of your tongue; you just needed a little bit more. Noticing, Yunho pressed his thumb against your clit, circling the nub in time with his thrusts causing your eyes to roll back as you came undone.

“Yunho!”  You cried out his name as he worked you through your orgasm, his lips pressing against your temple.

“I’ve got you, baby. Let it all go.” He spoke softly, his pace slowing to a stop, and you lay there breathing heavily. Yunho pulled his fingers from your soaping cunt, and wrapped them around the flimsy fabric before pulling them down your legs.

Your body still felt like it was on fire, the burning need for more almost suffocating as you sat up. A chuckle left Yunho’s mouth as you tugged at his shirt, begging him to take it off.

“You’re so cute when you’re all needy.” He cooed as he pulled his shirt over his head and pulled his sweats down his hips, letting them pool on the ground.

Your eyes went wide, seeing the outline of his cock under his boxers; he was big. Noticing your expression, Yunho grabbed your chin and pulled your eyes back to his. Leaning forward before he sealed your lips in another kiss as he laid you back down, hands traveling down to your hips.

He pulled away for a moment, but you tried to pull him back, not getting enough of his taste, and he pressed a kiss on the corner of your lips, “Hold on, I need to grab a condom.” He then moved to make a grab at his nightstand, but you quickly sat up, grabbing his arm.

“No! I want to feel all of you, Yun, please.” You pleaded with him, your bottom lip jutting out as you looked at him. He looked back at you in shock, wondering if he had heard you correctly. “I’m on the pill, please.”

Yunho felt like he could cum right then and there at the thought of fucking you raw, but then he started to wonder if you let your boyfriend fuck you raw too. Noticing the conflict in his eyes, you reached up, cupping his face.

“He’s never fucked me without a condom, just you.” Your voice was soft, and Yunho looked at you for a long moment before his lips crashed into yours once more.

“I love you, fuck. I love you so much.” He told you, and he tugged his boxers down, letting his aching cock spring free. He pulled your hips closer to his, not once leaving your lips in the process, even swallowing all of your moans as he teased your entrance with his tip.

“Fuck! Yunho, please!” You whined, rolling your hips, trying to get him to push in already, and he smirked.

He watched your face contort in pleasure as he started to push into your wet cunt, splitting you open, and you gasped out. You started to question whether or not you would actually be able to take him as tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you said you could take it.” Yunho teased as he continued to push into you, and you choked out his name.

“I can– fuck!” You cried, wanting to be good and take all of him, and Yunho watched in amusement as you brought your hand up to cover your mouth as your moans got louder.

Yunho was almost fully in when you grabbed his wrist that was beside you, your brain going hazy at the sudden fullness. Incoherent babbles fell from your lips, and Yunho chuckled as he took in your already fucked out state.

“I’m not even fully in you yet, and I’ve already fucked you stupid.” He sat up a bit to grab your hips, using the leverage to push the rest of the way in. A choked moan fell from your lips at the sudden movement, your eyes rolling back. “God, you feel so fucking good, sweetheart.” He groaned, fighting off the urge to move, wanting you to get adjusted first.

“Y-Yunho…” You breathed out; all of your nerves felt like they were on fire, but it still wasn’t enough. “Fuck me, please!” Your eyes cracked open, gazing up at him with a teary gaze and Yunho felt the last bit of his composure crumble away.

“My pleasure, baby.” He growled before pulling out and slamming back into you, eliciting a loud moan.

Yunho’s pace was relentless, allowing no room for you to breathe, and stars danced across your vision. Your moans were bouncing off the walls, and Yunho was sure that the neighbors could hear how good he was fucking you. Then he suddenly remembered that your boyfriend was still asleep in the next room, and a sinister smirk spread across his face.

“You’re mine now, sweetheart.” He told you, leaning down to press a kiss against your jaw, and you nodded your head, all words lost to you. Kissing his way up to your ear, he nipped at your earlobe, causing your body to shiver, and another broken moan fell from your lips. “Tell me who you belong to, baby.”

“You,”

“Say my name,” Yunho growled, pulling away to pick up his pace once more, and you let out a pitiful squeak.

“Yunho.” You cried out, fingers wrapping around his wrist as your head fell back when he brushed over your sweet spot.

However, that wasn’t good enough for Yunho, “louder.”

“Yunho!” His name fell from your lips even louder than last time, but again, it wasn’t quite enough for the male.

“Louder!”

“YUNHO!” You screamed his name when he pressed down on your clit, causing stars to cloud your vision, your high right around the corner.

A triumphant smile spread across Yunho’s face when he heard movement on the other side of the wall, knowing full well that your boyfriend had heard you. The smile was soon wiped away, replaced with a groan as you tightened around his swollen cock.

“Fuck!” He cursed as he felt his own high creep up on him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, especially if you kept squeezing him like that.

“Yun, ‘m close!” You cried out, back arching off of the bed as the knot in the pit of your stomach tightened.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, cum for me. Make a mess all over my cock.” His words were the last push you needed before you came all over his cock. He groaned as he looked down to see the milky white ring forming around the base of his cock.

“Yunho!” You cried out as he continued to fuck into you at his merciless pace, white spots littering your vision as he abused your sweet spot.

“I’m almost there, baby, just a little bit more.” He cooed, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a sweet kiss as his thrusts became sloppy before he shook in your hold as he came, painting your velvet walls white. “F-Fucking hell.”

Coming down from your highs, Yunho laid on your chest after he pulled out. Both of you just lay there as you tried to catch your breath, your fingers running through Yunho’s hair as he held you close.

You were then snapped out of your trance when you heard movement in the next room, realizing that your boyfriend’s room was right next to Yunho’s, and your heart dropped. Noticing the change in your mood, Yunho lifted his head, resting his chin on your chest.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He asked, and your heart swelled at the endearing pet name.

“I think he heard everything,” You whispered as you glanced down at him, worry written all over your features and Yunho let out a sigh before pushing himself up until he was hovering over you once again.

“He definitely heard something, but it’s his loss. You’re mine now.” He told you before leaning down and kissing you once again, his kiss filled with so much love and need it pushed all other thoughts away.

After a few moments he pulled away, cupping your face in his hand, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You wrapped your hand around his wrist as you looked up at him with a soft smile, soaking in all of the affection he was giving you. Pulling him back down, your eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed over yours.

“I’m all yours.” You confirmed his statement before sealing the kiss, all thoughts of your ex-boyfriend no longer clouding your mind. It was all replaced with Yunho and the feeling of his lips and body on yours, showering you with all of the love and appreciation that you deserved.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[faesdreaming]

cardinal concept

yandere platonic batfam with a resurrected reader

a/n: because as much as i love neglected reader, dead (then alive again) reader just has so much potential

the dynamic duo, batman and robin. bruce wayne and dick grayson. then, you came along; a result of bruce’s irresponsible coupling with a young woman he’d long since forgotten about. you grow up in the nastier parts of gotham with your mother, where you’re forces to grow up faster and become more mature, until she has an accident.

after you’re mother’s untimely death, you find yourself under his care. bruce is hesitant and unsure, he’s already struggled with raising dick. he doesn’t want to fail you too. he dances around telling about batman until you happen upon the batcave, at your insistence and a few instances of you following them, he relents and lets you join.

suddenly, it’s batman, robin, and cardinal.

bruce is initially unsure what to do with you, even after you become cardinal. unlike with dick, who needed to become robin lest he go down a darker road, you’re only cardinal because of him. it draws out an agonizing guilt, causing bruce to practically coddle you. but you’re emotionally intelligent, in a way bruce isn’t, you’re able to communicate with soft words and gentle reasoning instead of shouting matches and tearful pouting like your brother. you’re his angel, his sweet, understanding angel. it reminds him of his own mother. you’re kind, empathetic disposition is everything bruce needs in his life. because yes, to him, your brother needs his guidance. but bruce needs yours.

as for dick his relationship is with you as simple as this: he’s the big brother and you’re the little sibling. you can fight and argue, but you two always make up and head off to snuggle or play. you’re bond grows stronger the more time you spend on patrol— having each other’s back, getting into trouble with batman— or at school— although you’re in a younger grade, you still see your big brother at school and go to him when you have problems— or at home— snuggled up, watching a movie and eating snacks provided by alfred— you two are extremely close.

you’re little of family of four— including alfred, of course— is tight-knit. you fight and argue but always make up and you’re always there for each other.

until dick becomes nightwing and a scruffy teen named jason todd joins you. as close as you are with your older brother and father, you bond with him far quicker. maybe it’s because of how close you are in age, or maybe it’s because of your shared past experiences.

the family dynamics shift and change, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. dick grows more distant, going off with the titans. but that’s to be expected, he’s grown up now. you still visit him, of course. and he still pops by to see you. bruce, you notice, softens, almost. he’s grown accustomed to parenthood. jason is your favourite change, though. a sibling close in age, but still younger, so can justify (playfully) bossing him around. your family isn’t perfect, but it’s yours and you love it.

then, jason and bruce start fighting. dick goes off world. a fight with bane leaves you injured and out of commission. it’s just a rough patch, you tell yourself. until, suddenly, jason’s birth mother contacts him. something’s off about it. you want to tell your dad, however, jason is adamant you shouldn’t. reluctantly, you don’t, opting to go along with him just in case.

your gut, as it turns out, was right. you’re injured and unable to do much as the joker captures you and jason. you’re helpless to watch as your brother, your sweet baby brother, is beaten mercilessly with a crowbar. your voice is hoarse from screaming during your own beating and your body is sore, but despite it all, you still rasp out pleas to let your brother go. one child will be effective enough. the joker can spare one. of course, in his cruelty, he doesn’t.

you’re left aching, battered, and bruised. the ticking of the bomb serves as the count to your death. jason, brave jason, tries to gather enough strength to get up. and maybe, just maybe, he could escape if he weren’t focused on trying to save you. he won’t listen to your pleas for him to go, to leave you behind. he’s adamant upon accompanying you to your doom.

you hear the final ticks. with all the strength you have left, you move towards him. you cannot save yourself. you cannot save him. all you can do is die beside him. pressing your forehead to his, the last thing you see is your little brother’s face before the final tick sounds and the ensuing explosion consumes you.

and that’s the end of it, your journey, your life. you’re buried alongside your brother in a sombre ceremony, your uniform cased in glass as a memorial to bruce’s failures. he becomes angrier, loses himself. he’s lost two of his children and is fighting with his only remaining one. dick, is utterly furious, with himself and bruce. he blames bruce. for letting his precious siblings die, for starting them all of this heroic crusade. he blames himself for not being there, for being distant with you and jason.

alas, time marches forwards and batman needs a new robin, in the form of one tim drake. he’s a clever kid, one way too smart for his own good. one you used to babysit while his rich parents were away to earn some extra cash. it wasn’t right, leaving him with no one his age to play with. so, when you could, you’d come over. you’d soothe his loneliness. and for that, he’s forever grateful.

your influence continues beyond your death. for you life has impacted so many. barbara gordan, for example, who viewed you akin to a little sister. who fought alongside you as batgirl. you were loved by many as (Y/N) Wayne. your friends and family still hold candles for you. even as they accept your lose, they never stop fully grieving for you and the lost potential brimming inside you. then, there are those who you impacted as cardinal. as a hero, you saved numerous lives, including that of one stephanie brown, who will forever feel indebted to you and strives to become just like you.

the justice league, who knew you as one of the first sidekicks, who functioned like extended family, mourn deeply for your loss and offer sympathies to your father and brother. they will remember you and your tenacity, carrying on their pursuit of justice with you in mind. certainly villains, such as poison ivy and even harley quinn, are enraged with the joker. while you could occasionally be a pain, you were their favourite kiddie hero. and of course the likes of selina kyle and talia al ghul, your father’s paramours, women who became like family to you.

cardinal will be forever immortalized in the hearts of heroes and villains alike, your legacy of compassion and kindness living on in memories transformed into stories, your death a testament to sacrifice and love and heroism— except, that isn’t how it ends, is it? no. your story doesn’t end with your death, it’s how it begins.

and your real story begins by waking in the constricting confined of your casket, bursting out with inhuman strength, fueled by the adrenaline boost, and digging your way out of your grave, the cool mud giving way to harsh ground until you break through the service. that night, that stormy gotham eve, is the day you are reborn.

you flee then wander the streets of gotham until you regain your mind. you remember, you remember everything and you, you don’t want to go back. not to your family, not to your friends, not the life you once knew. you were given a new life. and this life, you would live for yourself.

sans your old attachments, you live encumbered, untroubled by past woes. yet, you seem to forget your festering memory, the mark you’ve left on people. you forget that while you may be willing to leave your old life behind, they aren’t as willing to let you go. especially when they learn you’re within reach.

[dollyichi]

IN-STORE EXCLUSIVE

katsuki bakugou x f ! reader ᯓ★ 1.7k words. fluff / both are pro-heroes / maybe a little ooc but idc / no established relationship, he likes you though / hints on mutual feelings / not proofread

you catch him buying your merch during a morning patrol.

katsuki’s currently getting ready for the day. it’s his day off and could’ve chosen stayed in as usual, but he had an agenda. he’s already thinking of it while he’s tying his shoes, how he could approach it the best he can. well, maybe a bit too seriously.

he thinks it’s stupid but he’s been wanting to visit this new merch store in the city that opened the other day. he missed the big opening, which was fine—better not to get ‘caught’ and bring any attention to him, especially not when midoriya’s the main guest for the opening promotions. he doesn’t want midoriya to run his mouth in front of everybody.

it’s still early morning, and he hopes not a lot of people were in the area, assuming most of them are busy or on the way to work, so their routes should be different from the one he’ll take. he even made sure to check who’s patrolling. it’s just todoroki today, so he didn’t mind. it’s a secluded area, having to pass an alley to enter the store’s street no one should be there anymore since most exclusives for the grand opening should be sold out.

with a huff, he locks the front door and makes his way to the shop. pushing down his cap further. kids were able to recognize him though, giving him a wave while their parents apologized. “i’m on a secret mission kid.” he says as a joke and they nod in enthusiasm, happy to see a hero at work. “pfft.” he laughs to himself when the kid salutes him and goes back to his mother.

once he gets to the store, he’s scanning the area, only a few people were inside. it’s pretty big, seeing how there were also other merch aside from the heroes section.

the staff greets him a good morning from the counter and he gives him a nod. he checks his face if he remembered to put his face mask on. he sighs in relief feeling the cloth on his mouth and goes to the heroes aisle—he looks like a creep the staff doing rounds almost wanted to kick him out.

“lots of me in here.” he mumbles to himself.

he thinks it’s crazy how high the prices were for a figurine of him (the manufacturers usually gives it to him for free). he looks around, cringing when he sees midoriya and todoroki’s section. “shit’s not even worth the damn thing.” he thinks, but then again, he’s a dumb hypocrite.

it’s already a pain to even get to the store. he could’ve ordered anything he wanted to online but this line of collectibles were in-store exclusive and it just happened to be in this store which was a relief. he really would’ve drove to a different city just for it—though, it was also dangerous if someone catches him. he could’ve asked anyone to buy for him too, even thought of todoroki to purchase for him but that man doesn’t have the same shame he would have if he gets seen. plus he didn’t like the idea of a dating rumor of you and todoroki if he’s seen with the merchandise.

he was only supposed to buy one figurine, but ends up buying a few more, pin buttons and one big plushie that he finds really cute of you. he chuckles to himself when it got that ‘same dumb smile’ you always have on your face—the one that causes his heart to skip a beat, even when he didn’t want it to.

this all started when midoriya found out about his little crush when katsuki got into an accident with a victim they saved. it was a big mission where several individuals in the area went missing, turns out a whole gang was using them for blackmail and ransom. every hero in the area, including you, were tracking every villain involved in this case.

a little girl in hostage activated her ‘truth quirk’ when she clung onto the blonde. midoriya was asking him what he’s thinking of—he meant what to do with the villains—instead, katsuki said, “i think y/n’s really pretty tonight.” and he slaps his mouth, he didn’t mean to say that.

apparently the kid’s quirk manages to bring out the deep inner thoughts of the person they used their ability on. “t-that’s n-nice kac- dynamight but i’m asking about the villain… hehe.”

the quirk lasted the whole night and he made sure to keep him mouth shut, having midoriya talk for him instead for their initial report. because when he answered another question from the green haired hero the only thing that ever left his mouth was about you. how he wished he was doing this mission with you instead, or about how many people you saved that night.

eventually midoriya gives him a TCG of you and while he wanted to act like he didn’t want it, it sent shivers down his spine thinking midoriya would have a photo of you, so he takes it (keeps it in his wallet too).

then he got even more invested when he saw collectors online, showing off their ‘rare y/n merchandise’ which got him seething too. he’s not gonna lose, not at all.

which brings him here.

he heads over to the counter with his head down. the staff notices the pink hue on the tips of his fingers and laughs (pissed katsuki real bad). “you like her too huh? i think she could definitely be a top 5 hero soon.” they say. katsuki doesn’t respond instead waits for his total and pays with his card. “fucking nerd shouldn’t talk about her at all.” he thinks. in fact, he thinks your ‘weird fans’ shouldn’t even breathe the same air as you. treating you like some idol, it’s fucking gross.

“have a great day sir!” he takes a breather when he gets out the store. a paper bag in one hand, and the plushie around his arm. he thinks he looks pathetic right now but it’s not like anyone would notice him if he gets home quick, right?

he walks fast but not too much to get him any unwanted attention. taking the same route home quietly and fast.

though he stops in his tracks before even exiting the alley, seeing todoroki waving to him. “you have y/n’s merch?”

katsuki takes off his mask, “mind your business half n’ half bastard.” and walks away flipping him off. it’s fine, it didn’t bother him too much if todoroki were to see anyway.

however, the icy-hot hero was just about to warn him what’s up ahead but it was too late, katsuki’s already gone.

he could’ve hit a perfect home run until he’s stopped on the sidewalk by someone he definitely didn’t want to see right now.

“katsuki?” he internally panics when he hears you. too in shock he looks up from the ground, flashing you his eyes. he blinks and immediately ignores you by walking away, tucking the plushie in his jacket. yet you follow him, already floating to his side with a curious smile. “just what is it with this area suddenly?” he’s mentally screaming right now.

you knew those pair of eyes anywhere no matter how much he tried to cover it. “you’re on patrol right now, huh?” he says with a low voice.

“yup with shou! did you see him? he went first before i did.” you chirp, “didn’t think i’d see you today with…” you look down to see a bag full of your own merch and your newest plushie’s head peeking out of his jacket, “me?”

katsuki’s face turns red. if it was even possible, smoke would be coming out of his ears since he’s been caught by the worst person—fate is really messing with him today. “i’m buying this for that dumb izuku!” he lies, hoping you’d buy it, but you could only giggle. “really? i don’t think you’d do that for him though?” katsuki curses under his breath.

“look kats i’m real flattered. could i take a picture of you like this?” you clap, floating around him.

“fuck off! don’t push your luck. besides, shouldn’t you be on fucking patrol?” he shakes his head and tries to loose you again, unfortunately for him, you’re quicker.

“mhm! you’re right.” you say, “but i only have a few minutes left before i switch shifts.” he’s not even looking at you. “besides i went extra early for today.” you take a quick glance at what’s inside the bag. “it’s a really good thing i did! real great!” you giggle. katsuki’s really flustered, hoping you’d just go away soon and you’d forget about this in an hour. to add more to his rapidly beating heart, you look so good in your hero costume. the fan in him wanted you to sign the toys he just got—well, as if he’d do that at all, he really planned to take this ‘secret’ to the grave (it’s okay to shoot your shot katsuki!)

he seemed lost in thought, and it was the perfect opportunity for you take your phone out and get a quick picture of him before you fly off. katsuki flinches when he hears the ‘click’ but you’re already so up high, laughing away and he’s screaming a string of curses at you.

he didn’t know who to blame, but he knew he fucked up even more when he gave you that stupid excuse. “what the fuck…” he says through his teeth, rubbing his temples with one hand as he walks back home.

katsuki never feels shame, but there’s always that stupid thing you do to him to feel things he’s never bothered to before—right now it’s embarrassment.

tomorrow was supposed to be his shift to patrol with you. he doesn’t even know how to face you after that. when he gets home he immediately sets it up and lays down on his couch.

after a few hours he gets a text from you. ‘i got one of yours after my shift!’ is what it read and it was a small chibi doll of him. you’re so adorable holding the mini version of him close to your face while you’re in your costume, he couldn’t help but save it.

he thinks, “wait, what does that mean?” does it mean you like him too? what’s even the point of you doing all that for his sake?

he then gets another message from you. a picture of him walking out the alley with a smile, clutching the plushie while todoroki’s looking from behind him. sometimes he really hates your flying abilities even when he thinks it’s the coolest.

“ha… you knew all this. well two can play that game.” as if he could even try to embarrass you after that.

oh whatever. he never loses, right?

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i feel like i keep embarrassing reader in front of kats so it’s payback time :p i didn’t mean for this to be so long omg. MINORS AND AGLESS BLOGS DO NOT FOLLOW ME!

[sturnslutz]

INTRODUCING... hockeyplayer!chris and shy!reader

chris had just received his fourth "F" this semester in economics. he was also the star hockey player in the school even as a freshman. everyone knew the infamous christopher sturniolo. some reasons good, some bad.

you knew chris because obviously, the star hockey player, and the well known player, but also because he was in your econ class. you had sat behind him the whole year. not from your own personal choice, but because your row was the very last one and no one sat there.

the clock just went off and chris had just got back to his seat, looking down at his paper in disbelief at the big red "F" on his paper. he grabbed his bag with a huff as you remained in your seat, watching as he walks down the stairs, speed walking to the professor. you have your headphones in so you cant hear what they're saying but you see the professor pointing up at you and both pairs of eyes staring directly up at you.

you take out one headphone, watching chris as he runs back up the stairs and slams his paper down on your desk infront of you. "you need to tutor me." "w-what?" you say as your voice comes out scratchy due to how long you haven't talked.

"please. you're the smartest 'n the class. 'm not gonna be able to play in next week's match if i don' get a C or higher on the next test." "um alright." you nod softly looking down at his hand infront of you that was gripping the desk so tightly and caused his knuckles to turn white.

"can i get your number? jus' so we can talk about where we can meet." he says as he takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. you nod and take the phone, your glasses falling slightly down your nose in the process. he notices this and lifts them back up gently. "there ya' go, honey." he says, much gentler than before as your face flushes and you type your number into his phone.

he notices your shyness, but decides to not say anything about it. you hand back his phone, your fingers grazing over each others. "ill text you soon, yeah?" he says as he steps back and takes his paper as he looks down at you waiting for your response. you nod and let out a simple hum. he smiles and mutters a "thank you" before walking down the stairs once again, out of the room.

your gaze follows him out of the room before you and the professor are the last ones in the room, and you stand up, storming down the steps. "jack, seriously? you just had to make the chris sturniolo talk to me and force me to be his tutor? cmon. thought you were better than that." he just simply shrugs. "relax, kid. chris is nice when he wants to be. he was the one who asked me first if you're a good tutor, and i just recommended you. that's all. its also a good experience to help put yourself out there. your mom asked me to help put more opportunities in front of you. now, pack up your stuff. you staying here for lunch or you going out? i have a couple more things i need you to help grade on."

mr.smith, or known as jack to you, is your uncle on your mom's side. hes you helped you decide your major in business, and hes always trying to get you out of your shell. no one besides the two of you know that you guys are related, and he grades you like everyone else. you just happen to get all A's. you also stayed in his class during lunch and talk like never before, and help him grade assignments.

later on, you're in your dorm, thankfully by yourself as you didnt get assigned a roommate and huddled in bed, reading. chris hasnt left your mind all day, and he still hasnt texted. right when you decided to call it a night and in the process of turning off your bedside light, your phone dings. "fuck." you mutter as you sigh and pick up your phone. a random number pops up and below is a text.

"hey honey, its chris. can i come over now???"

you roll your eyes, typing away.

"chris its 11 already, i was about to go to sleep.."

"please. i know its late but this is one of the only times im free. we'll be quick, promise."

"fine. im in dorm 11 in building 453. code to get in is 5678."

"ill be there soon. :)"

you sigh, standing up and putting your glasses back on. you had no urge to impress chris, but felt it was more than polite to just tidy up. you put on a pair of shorts and sat in your bed with your computer infront of you, as you sit in a tanktop and silk pajama shorts, patiently waiting for him.

your thoughts are interrupted at a knock as you let out a soft, "come in." he lets himself in, smiling softly at you, and you didnt miss the way his eyes raked over your body. "hey." he says as he shuts the door, setting his stuff down on your desk. you smile softly, looking down at your computer.

"you wanna work on your bed or at the desk?" he says as he sits down on your fluffy desk chair. you shrug. he sighs, grabbing his stuff and walking over to sit next to you on your bed, sliding his shoes off on the side. your knees bump against each other and he makes no move to move his.

"so, mr. smith said you were the smartest in the class and could really help me. 's that right now?" he says as he smirks and leans on his arm that was against his leg. you shrug once again, mentally cursing out your uncle. "um, i guess." you say, not louder than a whisper, even though you were in the comfort of your own room.

"'s okay, honey. no need to be scared of me. im jus' complimenting you 'n acknowledging your smartness or whateva' 's called." you laugh softly at this and he smirks once again. "im not scared." you say softly, looking up at him through your glasses. "no? then why cant you talk to me, hon?" you shrug once again.

"i don' really talk to anyone." you embarrassingly admit. "you should. 'm sure all the boys would be after you if you did. you're beautiful, y'know that right?" he says as he sits up again, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

you were aware this was most definitely a tactic of his to get into girls' beds, but you couldn't pull away. you shrug once again. "hm. wan' me to prove to you how pretty ya' are?" you nod without hesitation and he smirks as he leans in and kisses your lips softly, humming against them. his hand falls to your hip as you lean back, gripping your soft comforter under you.

he pulls away and sets your computer and his papers on the floor next to you and he turns back to you, reaching under your shirt, rubbing his hands around your hips and stomach as he kisses you again. you shudder from his cold hands but quickly lean back into the kiss. you pull away as you feel his hands, go further up. "'m a virgin." you quickly admit as he smiles again, reaching for your glasses, taking them off and putting them to the side.

"thats alright, baby. dont worry about it. ill take real good care of you." he says as he rubs your cheek. "do you trus' me?" you nod and he reaches for your shirt, lifting it over your body. his eyes rake over your bare chest as he smirks and leans down and kisses all over your chest.

you gasp as your head falls back, your hair falling down your back as he kisses around your soft tits, and licks the bud of one before sucking on it as you moan softly and he hums against it at your reaction.

as time goes on, your mind cant even process how you got in this position. you were under chris as the both of you were naked and he's been teasing you with his tip against your folds for the past 10 minutes.

"cmon baby. i know you can use your words. say what you wan', 'n ill give it to you." he says as he smiles at your stubbornness despite you being crazy shy. you shake your head no as you cant even imagine yourself asking chris for his dick.

he sighs, shaking his head as he grabs his length tapping it against your clit, and sliding it through your folds which was practically dripping now. "then you aren't gettin' it." he shrugs as he looks down at your already tired face despite barely doing anything.

"f-fine. please put it in me, chris." you practically whisper. he tuts as he shakes his head again. "needa be louder than that. i know you can." you let out a choked sob at his words. "shh dont cry, baby." he coos as he leans over, wiping your tears, still not letting his smirk off his face. "jus' needa hear you say it a bit louder, that's all." "chris please put it in me!" you yell as he nods, smiling. "thereee we go." he says he starts stretching you out, inch by inch, shushing your whines and hisses while whispering sweet praises to you.

he finally bottoms out, and stays still until you give him permission to move. he notices the bulge in your belly and almost cums on the spot. he accidentally thrusts slightly into you as you let out a hiss. "sh-shit. sorry baby." you disregard his sorry as you shake your head. "you can move." you let out with a breath. he nods. "let me know if you wan' me to stop." you nod as he starts moving in and out of you at an unbelievably slow pace.

after a bit, you allow your pain to turn into pleasure. "go faster." "yeah? you sure?" you nod as he begins moving in and out of your soft hole faster than before, grabbing your hips for stability. you moan as you grab the sheets next to you as he continues going faster.

"f-fuck. squeezing me so damn tight, baby. 'm not gonna last much longer." "me either!" you say as you let out a almost pornographic moan as his hips slam into yours, and your bedframe repeatedly hits the wall. you know for sure your poor neighbors could obviously tell what was happening, but you nor chris paid any attention, purely focused on the pleasure created within each other.

"'m gonna cum, chris." you say as you clench around him. "me too. wan' me inside you?" you nod rapidly as he nods letting out a breathy laugh at your eagerness. with a final moan, you come done all over him as your thighs shake. chris thrusts a couple more times before groaning and stopping his movements, burying himself inside you as white spurts fill you.

as he finishes, he pulls out and notices cum sliding out of you, and he lets his finger collect it all and push it back into you, causing a wince to come out of your mouth. "sorry, didnt want any goin' to waste." he says as he chuckles.

his body falls down next to you as the two of you catch your breath. "y'alright?" he says softly as he traces shapes over your stomach and kisses your shoulder softly. you can only let out a hum and a nod and he nods back. "we gotta figure out another time to study, but cant promise i actually will after this." he chuckles again as you roll your eyes. you look down at your body, and embarrassment flows through you at the sight of your naked body being completely in the open, and open for chris to see.

"chris y'gotta go, its late." you say softly. "wan' me to leave already? damn was i that bad?" he says with a chuckle as he sits up on his elbow. you shake your head no immediately. "n-no. not at all. its just getting late and i need to be up for work early tomorrow." he nods, understanding. "alright." he lets his feet fall to the ground as he puts his clothes back on and you let your blanket fall over your body. "ill see you later, yeah?" he states as he collects his papers off the floor and stands up, brushing a hand through his hair.

you nod, humming. "y-yeah. we'll figure out a time you can actually study." he laughs at this, nodding. "sure, baby. see you." and with that, he walks out, leaving you only with your thoughts, but not with chris, but with how you lost your fucking virginity.

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @angeliijay12-blog @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 comment to be added or removed.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws.

[namism]

Zoro x reader, nsfw

Where Zoro notices reader zones out a lot, and when asked, reader says the most downbad stuff that has even him blushing.

Zoro: what's wrong with you?

Reader: Oh nothing, just wondering what it'd be like to be pressed through the mattress.

Zoro: 👁����

Reader: oh....I said that out loud, didn't I?

pay attention | roronoa zoro (1)

➳ categories: canonverse, female reader from the heart pirates

➳ warnings: nsfw (top zoro, bottom reader, afab reader)

➳ word count: 3.6k

➳ summary: Zoro often catches you staring into nothingness the moment the Straw Hats allied with the Heart Pirates, but lately he realizes that you've been zoning out as you look at him. Eyes trained, dumbfounded. What could be the reason behind your constant staring, if not a silent request for something in particular?

➳ notes: you absolutely COOKED with this request. anyway, the exposition is rather long and the zoning out part was kinda exaggerated, but the good news is that i have plans on writing part 2. here's to my first full-length one piece nsfw fic 🥂

➳ cross-posted on ao3

"Oi. What are you looking at?"

A man's voice echoes from a distance, lower-pitched with a distinct timbre that sounds a bit familiar. He repeats the question, but it registers remotely in your brain as you keep your eyes trained on the dirt and moss on the ground.

"Strange," he mutters to himself as he watches you sit still on the forest floor, cross-legged and unresponsive to his question. Even as he stands in front of you, he can't seem to elicit a response.

"Zoro, you got lost again! Come back here!"

Zoro looks toward the direction where he came from. He grumbles to himself upon seeing Usopp running at top speed. "I did not get lost!"

"Explain why you ran into the— oh, is that (Y/N)?"

Usopp slows down in his tracks as he nears the both of you. With your head down on the ground, he suspects that something is wrong.

"Is she okay?"

Zoro shrugs. He tells Usopp that you've been sitting alone in the forest for the past 10 minutes, and that he just so happened to see you in the middle of a stroll. Usopp called bullshit, knowing damn well that Zoro wandered off on his own and got lost in the forest, but all jokes aside, he figured that they should lend you a hand and take you back to base, else your Captain gets mad at their discourtesy. Usopp snaps his fingers in front of you, waving a hand after the other to catch your attention, but you remain quiet.

When Zoro picks you up, however, that's when you respond in panic.

"Ahhh!" you scream as you're lifted into the air, Zoro's muscled arms supporting the back of your knees and neck as he holds your body. You stiffen in his arms, realizing the events that just unfolded. "What's happening?!"

"Idiot. You were sulking in the forest, long face and everything." Zoro clicks his tongue as he shakes his head in the process. You slap your cheeks with your two hands, mortified.

"Well, put me down!" You wiggle your feet in protest as the embarrassment sinks in. Zoro is alarmed by your antics, causing him to put you back on the ground. When you regain your balance, you run out of the forest and leave the man and his crewmate alone.

Usopp sighs at the turn of events and suggests that they return to the base where the alliance has gathered. As Zoro follows him from behind, he wonders to himself what you were doing, what trance you had just put yourself into, and why you decided to space out in the middle of a forest, out of all places.

The moment the Straw Hats met the rest of the Heart Pirates in Wano, Zoro realized that you zone out a lot for reasons that he couldn't (and still can't) explain. Always withdrawn from the crowd, seated at the back of gatherings unless you were needed, he noticed that you had a strange habit of spacing out regardless of where you were. He initially assumed you just had a lot in your mind, so he never bothered to find out what made you stare into nothingness as often as you did (since it wasn't even his business to begin with). However, he still questions it from time to time, therefore making him more observant of your peculiar behavior.

A few days later, Zoro can't believe his eyes when he encounters you zoning out for the nth time that month. You sit alone at the foot of a cottage, the outer garment of your kimono falling down the front steps gracefully. As you look into the distance, Zoro wonders why, out of all things you could stare at in this abandoned village that the alliance calls their base, you choose to gape at his laidback form under the awning of a rundown shed.

With narrowed eyes, he looks back at you with a firm stare, yet you show no sign of response or discomfort. That's his cue to think. You're spacing out again, and of that, he's certain, but Zoro still has no clue what's gotten into you and what exactly is running through that little brain of yours. Are you thinking of the alliance's plans? No, he saw you listening to Kin'emon's instructions earlier (and he's surprised that he knows that, because why did he bother observing you outside of your strange encounters?). Are you thinking of your crew? No, you couldn't be, because Captain Law is handling things on his own, and the situation is assumed to be under control. Are you thinking of your friends and their safety? Possibly, but Zoro can't imagine you looking this stupefied if you are concerned for your friends.

Your expression tells a lot but so little at the same time. Your tilted head, your wide eyes and blown irises, your mouth slightly agape, your fallen shoulders—Zoro can deduce a bountiful of scenarios that would draw out this expression from you, but each one doesn't seem so right. He can't put a finger on it. Every guess feels confident until it suddenly feels so wrong.

As he lays under the awning with his three swords to his right and his arms folded to support the back of his head, Zoro decides to maintain his staring, a way to evoke a reaction from you. Although you endure, your eyes not leaving his as his don't leave yours. At this point, he wants to find out the cause of your gawking because it's disturbing him more than he expected it to, especially since your subject of focus—or rather, the lack of it—is him.

As his brain runs dry of ideas, he decides to go up to you and ask. But even when he crosses the dirt path that traverses the shed and your cottage, you don't budge.

"Give it up. What's wrong with you, huh?" he asks once he's at the foot of the steps of your cottage, his hands coming to cross over his chest while he confronts you. No response. "Oi! You're worrying the guy. What's troubling you?"

Zoro is surprised when you slowly lift your head and meet his eyes with your blown ones. You mumble something under your breath, but he doesn't hear.

"Huh?" he asks.

"Nothing," you mumble again, but this time a little louder. "Just wondering how it feels to..."

Muttering follows.

"What?" he asks again, annoyed.

You, however, don't notice the annoyance on his face, instead noticing everything but it. Zoro has a handsome face that even annoyance, a disgusted expression, or the scar on his left eye can't erase his objectively good-looking features.

He has a muscular body, bulky, better than the ones you've seen on the different islands that your crew have been to, and you imagine them looking even better without his kimono obstructing the view. You can see a bit of his chest peeking through the garment, an evident scar running from his left shoulder to his right hip. His build surprises you, further sending you into a trance yet again as you focus on the side of his neck.

"Just... just wondering..." you mumble, hypnotized.

Zoro awaits your words.

"Wondering how... how it feels to be pinned down by you on a bed..."

He freezes up.

His face twists into different emotions, but most importantly, it erupts into flames.

"Wha— what the hell did you just say?!"

It's your turn to freeze up. At long last, you snap out of your thoughts and you return to reality. Zoro stands in front of you with raised shoulders and a harsh blush spreading across his cheeks. His eyebrows are downturned, his eyes are narrowed. He grits his teeth and holds back his tongue at your strange remark.

"Oh no..."

Irises quivering, you slowly look to the side, your very own cheeks hot upon realization.

"I... I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"You couldn't have been any quieter!" Zoro sarcastically replies, avoiding your gaze as well. "I can't believe it. Unbelievable. That's what you've been thinking the entire time you were staring at me?"

You cover your face with your hands. "It wasn't!"

"Tsk. Idiot. How about the many other times you weren't paying attention?" he asks. "Was I on your mind in that forest, too?"

"I was with Ikkaku!" you exclaim defensively as you face him. Zoro lifts an eyebrow, doubting the truthfulness of your answer. "We were hunting for ordeal beans to make medicine out of them— hey, what the hell is up with that face? I'm telling the truth!"

"Like I would believe that!" Zoro yells back. You whimper into your hands as he reads through you. Whether or not you were picking out medicinal plants in the forest with Ikkaku, he knows for a fact that you have been thinking of him. To think that you dodged his second question confirms it.

"I'm sorry!" you apologize breathlessly. Standing up, you rush inside the cottage where you hide yourself from Zoro in shame.

"Don't just leave!"

Zoro runs after you and enters the cottage. A one-room building, the space is enough to shelter two people. A dusty counter and a complementary sink take the space on one wall, while a used mattress is positioned across it on the ground. You face the corner wall where your mattress is located in a kneeled position, sobbing to yourself as you quiver in fright.

Zoro leans on the doorway, watching you shake silently.

He thinks to himself deeply.

After a few moments, he sighs and proceeds to remove his swords from the haramaki on his hip, leaving them by the wall next to the door.

"Lay down."

You stop shaking.

"What?" you ask.

Zoro grunts. "Well, if you were curious..."

You look over your shoulder. He stands by the foot of the mattress, his sandals discarded by the front door that is now closed. Is this reality or is this a figment of your imagination?

Your brain betrays you when you feel the aching need at the pit of your stomach. With the front door now closed, it's harder to see the interior, the remaining source of light coming from the setting sun that shines through the spaces of straw and bamboo of the cottage's walls. Even then, you can make out Zoro's figure, the outline of his muscled body coming closer.

You turn around on your knees and crawl toward the edge of the mattress, stopping when you feel the texture of the tatami mat on your fingertips. As you look up, you throb at the sight of the man in front of you.

Zoro clicks his tongue before diving into you, swiftly grabbing both your hands mid-air and trapping you against the mattress as he hovers over your frame. He holds your hands by the side of your head, and leans down closer to your face.

You gasp at the position you're in, your legs spread out under him as his legs hold up his weight on either side of you. Zoro is mere inches away from your face, perhaps trying to see a reaction to gauge whether or not he's doing things right, but all he could tell from your strained expression and glossed eyes is an ambiguous desire for... something else.

He comes even closer, and the need for something more travels from the pit of your stomach to your lower regions. Just a few more inches, and you can finally come close enough to—

"There. You got what you wanted."

Suddenly, Zoro retracts his head and lets go of your hands. He sits on the heels of his feet as he reaches for his sandals and prepares to leave like nothing happened.

Before he could do that, however, you quickly grab the material of his kimono and direct his face toward yours, kissing him.

Zoro freezes for a good second before he tries to kiss back to the best of his abilities. He lets you do whatever in his mouth as he supposes it would dissipate the need in your eyes and satisfy your unusual desires. Unskilled, he follows your lead in a confusingly hungry kiss, something new to him but enough to his liking.

You initiate the rush in your hunger to taste him. You play with the exposed skin on his chest, your hands feeling the muscles you always dreamed of touching. You swipe your hands underneath his kimono and touch him as far as you could reach until you undress his sleeves and let them fall to the side.

Crawling closer, you sit yourself on his thighs and hold yourself up by throwing an arm around his neck. You moan softly when Zoro tugs on your lips, but you push him away at the lack of air.

"Sorry," you mutter. "Too much?"

He shakes his head.

"Whatever."

It's him who initiates next. Zoro places his hands on your back and kisses you with the same intensity, if not more. As you feel the muscles of his chest, you decide to pry his other hand away from the small of your back and guide it to the front of your kimono.

You pull away momentarily.

"Feel me... right here."

You lead his hand to the small opening of your garment. Zoro slips his hand and feels your breasts. He runs his calloused fingers across them, feeling the curve of each one and pressing down on the mounds to fondle them better. You moan in his mouth when he swipes a finger across your nipple, followed by a sigh of relief as he tugs and plays on it between his fingers.

You soon untie the ribbon on your kimono and open the garment to reveal your body. Zoro groans at the stretch of exposed skin and allows his hands to wander around. Drawing away from his lips, you pull one side of his garment's knot and open his kimono to uncover the rest of his torso, as well as his hard-on further down.

Amid his hot touches on your tits, you push Zoro down on the mattress with forceful hands on his shoulders, to which he allows without resistance. Straddling him, you place yourself on his abdomen and subtly feel the tip of his hard dick from behind. You fall forward, kissing his lips again hungrily as you grow wetter by the second.

"I want you," you moan in his mouth, "fuck, I want to taste you. Can I?"

Zoro groans when you ask. While unexpected, he isn't opposed to it; if anything, he's glad that you brought it up. He pushes down on your shoulders as a wordless acceptance to your sinful request, and you follow in agreement. You crawl down his large body until you're resting on your heels and leaning forward, face-to-face with his dick.

You cuss at the sight. A guy like Zoro would of course be huge, a fact that isn't surprising to you anymore. You trace his dick with your finger, measuring him with your eyes and figuring out how you want to take him later on. You give into your thoughts eventually, taking his stiff cock in your hand and pressing your lips to his tip.

Feeling him in your mouth sends excitement in your pussy, so you take him in, inch by inch as you hollow your cheeks and do it slowly. Drool slides down the side of his cock the further down you go. When you hit the base of his dick, you rhythmically swirl your tongue back and forth on his underside, earning yourself a soft grunt from his parted lips.

You retract your head, pulling his cock out of your mouth seductively as you breathe out. You take in his tip again and suck on it several times as you look up at Zoro and discern the expression on his face. As he remains quiet, you go deeper on his dick and work your hand on his base, expertly moving up and down in a rhythm that has him moaning lowly. You continue your flow as you bob your head on his first few inches, oftentimes playing with his balls which he's seemingly pleased by, until he places a hand at the back of your head at his arriving release.

Zoro didn't mean to guide you on his dick, but the tightening knot in his gut and balls tells him to direct your head to where he wants you. So he does, his hand holding locks of your hair and maneuvering your head with his cock still inches deep in your mouth. He pulls your lips away from his dick and decides that he wants your tongue on his underside again, holding himself up with one hand and guiding your tongue to the spot with the other. Zoro grunts sharply as soon as you direct your ministrations on the bottom of his dick, where a large vein runs up from the base. Beads of cum spill from his tip until he's spilling entirely that has him groaning aloud, but your hand and tongue don't stop until he's fully done.

You run your lips across his dripping cock and moan at the taste of him, then you climb back up on his body and kiss him. Zoro doesn't mind the cum that glazes your lips, more concerned of feeling you up again as he misses the touch and feel of your tits. He gropes your chest like a man starved while you kiss him hotly.

"Mmm, I wanna ride you," you mutter in between kisses. You don't wait for Zoro's reply as you grip his cock from behind, in the process of stiffening yet again for you, and pump it a couple of times before raising yourself to your knees and sinking onto his dick. Zoro's hands fall to your waist as you do so, liking the wetness and warmth of your pussy on his tip.

"Put it in," he says, and that's your cue to do as told. You sink into him easily, wet slick coating him and slowly feeling the ridges of his cock in your pussy the more of him you take. You love his size, his girth so perfect for you as he gives you that stretch that you like best. Once you take all of him, you ride his cock slowly before finding a nice pace that you can maintain. "Fuck. That feels good."

You ride Zoro until he comes undone by the second, finding joy in hearing his vocal remarks with every bounce on his dick. Eventually you lean forward, your head thrown to the side of his neck as you lazily ride him, exhausted. Zoro takes the liberty of wrapping his arms around your waist before his hands slither down to your ass and play with them, squeezing and slapping like he just did with your tits.

When you tiredly slow down, his stamina fires up and he thrusts upward into your pussy so rapidly that he has you screaming. He continues the lead—your wet pussy so good that he slips out a couple of times, the leftover cum on his dick turning out to be unhelpful.

Once you're spent, Zoro takes the upper hand and flips you on your back. He now towers over you, his hands finding yours and pinning you again on the mattress like he did earlier. You shudder as he exits you, the absence of his dick inside your pussy leaving an empty miserable feeling—but Zoro doesn't plan on leaving you anytime soon as he comes back in quickly, this time with more energized thrusts pulled from his deep desire to fuck you and your pussy until you're completely done.

"Spread your legs wider," he orders hurriedly and you comply before he starts plunging into you deeply with every thrust of his hips. Legs pressed to your chest, he has better access to your little pussy now. He groans at your messy slick dripping on the mattress and at the white creamy cum on his dick that's pushed to his base every time he disappears inside you.

Zoro is turned on by the desperate way you moan his name. His stamina increases, but he grows tired of his pace and repositions himself on top of you eventually. Holding onto your tits, he rams faster into you than before, eliciting another pleasured scream from the back of your throat.

Your hands grip his strong ones that play with your chest. You want to cum, but you hold back a little longer as Zoro pushes himself deeper. You tap his hand with your finger and guide it to your clit, moaning in relief when he hits the right spot.

"Hah— like this? Fuck." He fiddles with your clit before he finds a nice rhythm with his thumb that you seem to enjoy. You nod your head rapidly.

"Yes," you moan, "yes, yes, yes— fuck! Oh my god, Zoro, keep it like that, keep it like that. Please keep it that way—"

Zoro listens to your pleas and maintains his pace on your clit. You snap a few moments later, coming undone with shaky legs as you cry out his name. Zoro keeps himself steady until he's cumming himself, pulling out and spilling on your belly with low delicious grunts.

As he calms down, he pumps himself slowly and watches you clean your painted stomach by eating much of his cum. His dick stirs at your act, but the cloud of lust eventually dissipates and he's looking away from you in shame.

He pulls himself together and reaches for his kimono. You follow, but you spontaneously decide to kiss him first before doing so.

"Thank you," you say softly. He looks at you, finding the right words to say.

"Just ask next time," he mumbles before dressing himself.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 8: Magma and Sky]

A/N: Only 2 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), grief and torment, a fun field trip to a volcanic rock, Red and Aemond have a very honest conversation, enjoy our special guest stars!!! 😉🔮🐍

Word count: 5.1k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

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“I was with somebody else.”

You startle and look up to see Aemond standing under the arch of the arbor grown over with a quilt of red roses, twisted and thorny and thick enough to drape you in shadows. You are sitting cross-legged on the stone bench and reading a book about all the known varieties of bats; Helaena found it for you in some dusty, ill-lit corner of the library when she was searching for texts concerning insects. It is still the waning days of summer in King’s Landing, and Viserys is the king, and thin threads of sunlight like golden strands of a spider’s web fall down through gaps in the arbor. Last night was the first time Aemond touched you like more than a brother, claimed you, transfixed you, and you are already alight with the lust-red craving to do it again.

Here, now, in the garden of the Red Keep, Aemond won’t meet your eyes. Instead, he stares fixedly into the contorted nest of roses, wild green punctuated with blooms of crimson like blood or rubies or glowing embers. You have no idea what he means. You reply after a moment, closing your book: “With somebody…?”

“Before,” Aemond says, like it takes great effort. He is still not looking at you. “Years ago. It wasn’t my intention for that to happen, I didn’t plan it, I didn’t ask for it…but I didn’t stop it either.” His reticent blue gaze drops to the cobblestones. His voice is very soft, barely audible. “In a brothel…there was…”

Now you understand. “I know, Aemond.”

His attention jolts back to you, a fracture set, a lightning strike. “You do?”

“Aegon told me. He felt badly about it afterwards, he thought he shouldn’t have done it, but he…” You gesture as if you holding a goblet of wine, and Aemond nods. He was drunk, he was reckless, he mistook it for a favor. But he was wrong.

“You will benefit from what I’ve learned,” Aemond says, as if still trying to convince you not to be appalled or angry. In truth, you are neither. “I hope that is some comfort to you.”

“I don’t find comfort in anything that causes you pain,” you reply honestly, tenderly. A warm breeze blows in off the sea, tasting like salt and rustling the roses and the leaves. This morning you tucked a single flower into your braid, a blue forget-me-not. Now you touch it self-consciously. “Do you mind that I’m so unpracticed?”

Aemond seems to find the notion ludicrous. “No. No, of course not.”

“But you’ll have to teach me everything.”

“That’s how I want it to be. I’m of the belief that if two people wish to be together, there should be no other parties involved. I had meant to be pure for you. I’m sorry I’m not. It is a regret of mine that I carry always. It is a failing.”

You shake your head, sensing his distress as if it is your own: a gnawing anxiety, a sickening drop in your belly. “It wasn’t your fault, Aemond.”

“So I am forgiven?”

“I never considered it to be a transgression.”

“Oh. Good.” His mood lifts; there is a phantom of a smile on his lips and a lightness in his stride as he takes a taunting step towards the stone bench where you sit. “And how do you feel? After what happened last night before dinner?”

And you grin with glinting eyes as you answer, setting your book aside: “Still hungry.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Seven days on a ship, and you don’t speak to Aemond once.

The weather is bad, grey and windy, sometimes snow, sometimes sleet, sometimes hail that pelts the wooden deck, and the vessel rocks in bleak violent waves. Aemond had arranged for the ship to meet him near Heart’s Home, where the glacial mountain river flows into the Narrow Sea, where you used to collect seashells to shatter and rearrange into the faces of the people you left in your old life. He had known you would not be able to travel by dragon. And so now Vhagar flies somewhere out there in the cold iron-colored sky and Aemond stalks below deck, haunting your doorway, painting the walls with his shadow.

A maester prods your ribs and says some are fractured but they will heal with rest and time. He gives you tastes of milk of the poppy—just enough to sand the edges off the pain so you can sleep—and compliments the cleanness of your scar. Two maids bring you meals and help you dress, wash the soot and blood from your skin, comb your hair. But Aemond does not touch you. He tries once as the maester is examining you, and you look at him with hatred that is primal and infernal and black like volcanic glass, and he snatches his hands away and makes no further attempts. But he watches you, and he waits, and he tries to piece the truth together. You can feel the bewildered turmoil in him. The ricochets of it echo in the mausoleum of your skull.

When you are awake, you stare at the ceiling or at the floor. When you are asleep, you dream of Jace and Luca. They turn to torrents of blood in your arms, or crumble into ash, or are buried in the earth and you are digging for them with your bare hands. You dream that you are locked in a closet or a trunk and no one ever comes to let you out. You dream that you are at the bottom of the ocean in cages of leviathan skeletons, dragons that lived and died before Vermax or Dreamfyre, before Meraxes, before Balerion the Black Dread, before any of the beasts that perished in the Doom of Valyria. You dream that Helaena is falling from the sky and you cannot catch her, cannot save her. You dream that Mother is telling you that you’ve failed.

Then you wake one dreary morning and hear the sailors shouting that land is in sight, and you climb up out of the depths of the ship and stagger to the bow, hooking your fingers into the rigging to steady yourself as the ship pitches and reels in rough surf. Aemond is standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, his black coat drenched with rain and sea spray, his scarred face far away, miles away, years away. Out of the mist rise the dark jagged walls of the castle that sits atop the island of Dragonstone, where Aegon the Conqueror once plotted his invasion of Westeros.

You ask: “What did you do with him?”

Aemond whirls, stunned that you have spoken at last. His silver hair, half-tied back, hangs in long dripping waves. Your own blows wildly around you. “What did you say?”

“The baby. His body. You took him away from me. What did you do with him?”

“He was burned as a Targaryen.” Aemond’s voice goes quiet, gentle. “Not because Jace was one, but because you are. His ashes were cast into the sea.”

Aemond waits for you to respond. You don’t, you can’t. You close your eyes and see Luca swaddled in one of his blankets; you feel Jace’s dark curls threading through your fingers.

Aemond reaches tentatively for your arm. “Red, I…I didn’t…I never would have…”

You turn away from him and walk from the bow to the stern—your cracked ribs aching, the maids fluttering around you and chastising your sodden ink-colored dress, saying you will catch a chill and die, and if you did you wouldn’t care—and you wait there for the ship to dock.

When you step onto Dragonstone, it’s the first time you’ve returned to the island since you were a child and you tried to claim Vermithor. You don’t understand why Aemond has brought you here, and you don’t ask. You follow the pathway up towards the castle as Aemond trails silently after you like a shadow. Behind him, the maester and your new maids trudge begrudgingly up the countless stone steps and shudder when they hear the distant snarls of the beasts that have lairs here. Cold frothing waves thrash against the shoreline. Gulls circle high overhead, squawking mournfully. Magma flows beneath the black-glass rock; you can feel the radiating heat of it, scorching blood in the arteries of the earth.

Just inside the castle, someone is waiting for you. And it is the first time you’ve truly been roused since Aemond and Vhagar descended upon Heart’s Home.

“Aegon!” you shout, and he rushes to you as swiftly as he can, his walking stick tapping against the floor, his muscles straining beneath knots of scar tissue, his chipped teeth flashing white when he beams. He embraces you like a drowning man grappling for a piece of driftwood in the currents, almost knocking you off-balance. He is laughing, he is smacking graceless kisses onto your cheeks, he is marveling at your face to make sure you’re real.

“You’re alive!” he says, cackling triumphantly. “All this time we had no idea where they’d hidden you, we thought we’d never see you again, but here you are and you’re alive—”

“She’s hurt,” Aemond tells him severely. “Stop yanking her around.”

Aegon furrows his scarred forehead as he checks you for injuries. “Are you really?”

“A few broken ribs. They’ll heal.” Your fingertips go to his mangled cheeks and scalp, to what you can see of his chest. You’ve never witnessed wounds this bad on someone who lived. “Your burns…”

“They felt even worse than they look, if you can believe it. But I’m still here.”

Not all of us are. “Helaena…”

“We heard,” he says, tears glistening in his large ocean-blue eyes. He holds you one more time, more gingerly now. “And those butchers will die for it. All of them. The Bitch Queen and her aged uncle-husband and her idiot children too.” He steps back from you and looks to Aemond. “Our spies have brought word from the mainland. The people of King’s Landing are in open rebellion, they blame Rhaenyra for Helaena’s death. If they can get into the Red Keep, they’ll murder her and free Mother. The Hightower army will soon cross the Blackwater Rush.”

“Daeron knows to wait?” Aemond replies.

“A raven has been sent. I can’t say if he’ll listen.”

“He’d better. Tessarion may have proven herself quick and ferocious, but she is small. She must not fly against Silverwing and Syrax alone.”

“I told him!” Aegon says, exasperated. He means: What else can I do about it? He is still clutching his stick and leaning heavily upon it. He can’t fight as a soldier; he can barely even walk. “So what happened at Heart’s Home? Were the bastard and Vermax there? Did you kill him? Did he beg for you to spare his life, did he weep for the memory of poor pathetic little Luke Strong?”

Aemond doesn’t respond. He winces instead, then shakes his head like he’s telling Aegon to stop talking. You look down at the stone floor, and in the relentless grey gloom of the castle, the island, you feel the white-hot searing of grief and fury in your throat, and if you were a dragon it would not be invisible but a fire that consumes flesh all the way down to its bones.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon asks Aemond, alarmed. “What did you do?”

There are echoing footsteps on the stone staircase, and you are startled to see a woman descending. You’ve never met her before, and you would know if you had; her skin is like moonlight and her pale eyes wide and staring. Black hair hangs to her waist, and it makes you think of swaying branches of a willow tree, or strands of seaweed washing up on the beach outside the Red Keep, or feathers of ravens. She wears a velvet gown the color of moss. Her belly is rounded, just beginning to show. She rests a little white paw of a hand on it and studies you curiously, tilting her head. She is four or five months pregnant.

You gape at her, then turn to Aemond and Aegon, both of whom have averted their eyes. “Whose child is that?”

No one answers you. Instead, Aemond says to the woman briskly: “Your insights were accurate. You will be rewarded accordingly. At the conclusion of the war, you will take up residence at Harrenhal. Until then, you will make yourself scarce here.”

She curtseys; it is a strange, awkward motion, angles in all the wrong places. “Yes, my prince.” But she hesitates before leaving, still watching you. As she strokes the arc of her belly, things kindle in her coin-silver eyes like embers exposed to air: fascination, envy, a vague vicarious fondness. You stare back, thunderstruck. Her long fingernails are filthy with soil or ash.

Whose child? Aemond’s?

You cannot ignore a sharp, nauseous lurch in your own belly, a place where no life grows. Beside you, Aemond is palpably uneasy. You can feel it sweating out of his pores, you can hear it in the sick thudding pulse of his bloodstream. You are reminded of a confession he once brought to you in the garden of the Red Keep as you sat under the shadow of an arbor of scarlet roses.

“Back to the kitchen, witch,” Aegon flings at the woman. “Or the garden, or the cliffsides, or wherever you were haunting before your intrusion.”

She points a talon-like fingernail at you as she begins to ascend the steps. “She is here, but is she yours again?”

“Out!” Aegon barks, and when she has vanished he sighs wearily, as if this is a recurring inconvenience.

You look at Aemond, repulsed, bewildered, betrayed. He says: “Come with me and I’ll explain.”

For a moment, you do not acquiesce. You only glare savagely at him, and if this was before he left King’s Landing a year ago—before Rook’s Rest, before Rhaenyra seized the city and imprisoned you, before Heart’s Home, before your marriage to Jace, before Luca—Aemond would grab you and drag you to wherever he wanted you to be, and he would know that when you fought him you didn’t mean it. But he doesn’t touch you now.

Instead he implores you in a hushed voice: “Please.” And you follow him out of the grey and into the flickering amber light of the Chamber of the Painted Table, where a sweltering hearth crackles and candles burn down into pools of white wax. Westeros is illuminated by fire, like all the places Aemond has burned over the past year. There are chairs positioned around the table. You sit by the Vale; Aemond takes his place across from you near the Reach, where the Hightowers hail from, where your youngest brother Daeron has spent the war waging his battles and torching his enemies. A maid brings two goblets of red wine. You can’t drink it, just like Helaena couldn’t eat blackberry jam after Jaehaerys was beheaded in front of her. Aemond watches you push the cup away and then tells the maid to bring cider instead. You wait without speaking, the only sounds the splitting of wood in the fire and the rumble of the ocean outside and the distant growls of dragons. When the maid reappears with cider, it is a cloudy goldish color and hot and tastes of fermented apples. You sip it listlessly. The maid departs and closes the door behind her.

“It was an exchange,” Aemond says.

“An exchange?”

“Her name is Alys Rivers, she is a bastard of House Strong. I found her working in the kitchen when I took Harrenhal. She is an enchantress, she has some magic to her, just like we do. She said she might be able to help me find you. But she needed something in return. A son, a child built of our ancient Valyrian blood. An heir, a castle, a future. And since Aegon has been rendered impotent by his injuries, and Daeron is far away in the Reach and still a boy himself…”

“You lied with her?”

“Well, I’ve done it before,” Aemond says. And then, when you don’t immediately grasp what he means: “Been with a woman who wasn’t of my choosing.” He draws invisible paths on the Painted Table with his fingerprints. Firelight ripples across his face: a downcast eye, a scar to match the one that cuts down from your left collarbone. “She scoured the woods surrounding the Gods Eye for herbs, and feathers and bones, and all manner of strange talismans. She tried for months to conjure a vision. Then one day she saw it in the flames of the hearth: three black ravens, three red hearts. The sigil of House Corbray of Heart’s Home.”

“And for her services you promised her Harrenhal.”

Aemond nods. “She and her descendants will rule it as House Whent.”

“A new noble house?” you mock bitterly. “And what will its banners be? A burning castle? The charred skeletons of its murdered inhabitants?”

“No,” Aemond says quietly. “Bats.”

You look at him. His blue eye flicks up to your face again, to your black mourning gown—you will wear no other colors—and your unbraided silver hair that drips with rain and seawater.

Aemond asks after a while: “Do you like wearing your hair that way now?”

Distractedly, you touch the damp silver tresses that are unbound, soft and feminine and weak. “Jace told me I wasn’t a warrior. He wanted me to look like a lady.”

“You were wed to him,” Aemond says as if he still cannot comprehend it.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon after Rhaenyra took King’s Landing. It was Mother’s proposal. She convinced Rhaenyra to agree to it.”

Aemond is lost. “Why? He was a bastard, a traitor.”

You flinch. “Mother thought it would encourage the Blacks to spare us if they won the war. Rhaenyra thought it would give her heir legitimacy. Neither Jace nor I wanted the match.”

“But now you…you miss him? You mourn for him?”

“We grew accustomed to each other. There was true affection, there was warmth.”

“Did he…were you…?” Aemond cannot decide how to say it, or perhaps he just can’t bring himself to. You can tell—from the way his gaze drops from your face to your body, a mystery cloaked in soaked black velvet—that he is thinking of your wedding night, something you were supposed to share, something you spoke of often with desperate, willful, blazing yearning. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not purposefully.”

There is a flare of wrath. “It needn’t have hurt at all.”

“Why did you come after me?” you ask, and your voice breaks and tears spill down your cheeks, and your ribs throb and your throat is full of fire like a dragon’s. “Why did you kill all those people in the Riverlands, why did you burn Heart’s Home, why couldn’t you just…just…just leave me there?” Luca and Jace would still be alive. Lady Caro would still be alive. Tens of thousands of people wouldn’t have burned or starved.

Aemond is incredulous. His voice grows louder; firelight engulfs him like he is drowning in a lake of it. “I swore I would find you if you were ever taken away.”

“I waited for you. I wondered where you were. I stood in the rookery and stared out into the Mountains of the Moon and agonized over why you couldn’t hear me or see me, why you didn’t arrive on Vhagar to save me, but you never came, and so I tried to forget the promises we made to each other because I believed you’d forgotten me—”

“I never forgot you.”

“But I was different!” you sob, bolting to your feet, pressing a palm to the glow of the Painted Table. “With Jace, I was different! I learned to be his wife, I learned to be a mother, and I was fine there, I was safe and I was happy and you destroyed my life!”

“I could feel that you were in pain,” Aemond is saying as he stands and rounds the table to meet you. “It was months ago, it must have been when you…when you were in labor…physically, I could feel it, I thought they were torturing you, I thought you were dying, and how would I know anything else if all I’d been told was that you were stolen by the enemy? You think Daemon is above depravity? You think it’s so unreasonable that I believed you to be in peril?!”

“You were reckless and cruel,” you seethe, shoving him away. “You always are. You’re always killing people.”

“When I flew over Heart’s Home, I knew you were in the forest. I saw the trees through your eyes. I thought I was freeing you, I never anticipated that you would return to the castle. I didn’t know you cared for the lives of anyone inside.”

“You should have left me there,” you choke out through tears.

Aemond tries to take your hands, and again you strike him hard, meaning it, hating him. “I would never have abandoned you,” he says.

“Why not?!” you scream at him. “Because you believe you possess me like a sword or a jewel, because it is sacrilege to let another man touch me?!”

Aemond is shaking his head. “It’s more than that. You know it is.”

You scoff at him, vengeful cynical disbelief. “In eighteen years, you never once told me you loved me—”

He seizes your wrist, drags you to him, cradles your face with his left hand and skates his thumbprint over the crest of your cheekbone. “I have loved you forever,” he says. “And if I didn’t express that in a way you understood then it was my mistake, and I’m sorry, and I’d do anything to change it. I thought you knew. I thought we both knew that…that…” Aemond’s lone eye gleams desperately; he is pleading for you to hear him. “Do you have any idea what this past year has been like for me? It was hell. Aegon almost died at Rook’s Rest and I brought him back but I was alone, I had Criston and maesters and soldiers but I was still alone because Aegon was unconscious and you weren’t there, and neither were Helaena or Daeron. Then King’s Landing fell to Rhaenyra and there was nothing I could do about it until I was sure Aegon would live, and when I learned you’d been taken away…I set the realm ablaze, I waded through an ocean of blood, and I did it because I swore that I would find you and bring you home. And now I have but you…you…you don’t even recognize me. It’s like you don’t remember what we were. Only I carry it now, I’m cursed by it, I’m consumed by it.”

You break away from him and Aemond lets you go, but he follows you around the Painted Table, shadowing you, chasing you. You pitch at him: “You were always so rough with me.”

“Because you wanted it that way and I did too, we craved it, we needed it, we’re the same.”

“You liked that I didn’t have a dragon of my own, you aspired for me to be helpless—”

“No I didn’t,” Aemond insists. “I tried to help you claim Vermithor, right here on this fucking island I risked my life when we were children to pursue him with you. And he did not yield but I wasn’t to blame for it. I cannot give you a dragon. You have to bond with one yourself.”

You glower at him, swiping tears from your streaming eyes. “You hardly ever spoke of dragons to me.”

“Because I knew it pained you! Because I have felt the agony of being a Targaryen without a dragon and I didn’t want to remind you of it!”

“You should have left me with Jace at Heart’s Home,” you moan, collapsing into a chair and weeping into your open palms. “I would still have my son. I would still have my family.”

Across the table, Aemond slams his fists against the wood. “Jace could never fathom who you really are. It’s impossible. He wasn’t like us, he’s wasn’t one of us. We are Aegon and Visenya, we are Baelon and Alyssa. Jace wasn’t a Valyrian. He was a Strong, and part of you would have needed to die to live with him.”

You stare desolately down at the Painted Table, glowing golden lines in the shape of the Vale. “Jace hated that I loved you. You hate that I loved him. I’m always at fault, and yet my crimes are so harmless.”

Aemond is staggered; he is heartbroken. “You loved him?”

I told him I did. “I felt something for him. I grew to miss him in his absence. I desired him when he returned.”

Aemond goes to the hearth, rests one hand on the stone mantle, and gazes into the flames. You can feel it like an echo, like a reverberating tremor in the earth: he is broken. You cannot summon compassion for him. Each time you begin to, you feel the still lifeless weight of Luca in your arms. After a long time, Aemond speaks. “I have to return to the Riverlands. I can’t leave Criston unprotected. Daemon and the Northmen will meet our armies in battle soon. Vhagar and I have to be there. If I can kill Caraxes, I think this will be over.”

You turn to him, dimly startled. “You’re going now?”

“I have to make the world safe for us and our family. Even if I’m not here anymore.” Aemond studies you, afraid to ask the question that burns in his throat. “Do you…” He breathes deeply, salt and misery and smoke from the fire. “Do you still want our side to win?”

“I hate what we’ve done to each other. All of us.” The dead innocents, the destruction of our house, the extinction of our dragons. “And you murdering Luke started it.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees softly. He crosses the room and stalls in the doorway, looking back at you. He waits for you to say that you will miss him, or that if he returns there might yet be a future for the two of you, or that you will be distraught if he is killed in combat, or that you love him.

As the fire pops and crackles, you shrink into your wet black mourning clothes and say nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sprawled across the volcanic-rock throne in the nightscape gloom of the Great Hall of Dragonstone, Aegon gulps cider until his pain vanishes and his mind is a dull sloshing sea. You are slumped on the steps beside the throne and drinking with him. Neither of you speak it aloud, but it stands in the room like a ghost: you have both held a dead son in your arms, you have both lost a husband or a wife to this war. Torches burn along the walls. Outside, rain pours and the dragons creep and snarl. Sunfyre is here too, Aegon has told you. He can’t fly yet—perhaps he never will again—but he is alive and hostilely defends the cave where he dwells from the other creatures of the island: Grey Ghost, Vermithor, the Cannibal.

The Blacks believe Dragonstone to be abandoned, and in any event they are too preoccupied with their myriad of troubles in the Riverlands and King’s Landing to take it upon themselves to investigate, and so you are safe for the time being. You get drunk in the home of your ancestors, the Valyrians who carved out a stark, grim existence here, who dreamed of greatness, who despite all their magic failed to foretell their ruin.

“Do you know what he asked Sylvi?” Aegon slurs. “The woman from the brothel. Not the very first time, the first time…” Aegon smiles nostalgically. “Well, it’s like your first time riding a dragon. It takes you away and you’re just…” His hand flows in the shape of a wave. “Holding on. Mesmerized by it.”

“Sure,” you say, remembering not your wedding night with Jace but the evening when Aemond dragged you halfway out of the chair by your vanity and licked you, swallowed you, devoured you until you could not help but cry out, and you sank to the floor with your heartbeat thudding in your ears and Aemond lying beside you, smoothing back your hair from your burning face.

“Aemond only went to Sylvi a few more times after that. But she told me what his requests were when I inquired.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “He wanted to know how to make it good for a maiden. And who do you imagine he was thinking of?”

You don’t reply. You guzzle your cider instead. You want all of your bones to stop aching: your ribs, your skull, every place that Aemond ever touched you. You feel a strange smoldering inside, like all your bone marrow has been quarried and replaced with embers, pulsing, glowing. You feel something dangerous and primordial drawing closer.

“He never would have hurt you intentionally,” Aegon says gently, clumsily petting your loose silver hair as if you are one of the hundred cats Grandsire brought to the Red Keep after Jaehaerys was slain. “He worships you. He always has.”

“I can’t forget what he did.”

“Can you forgive yourself for letting him leave that way? If he dies thinking that you hate him?”

You swallow a mouthful of cider, hot and intoxicating. The room spins. Lightning flashes outside. “Maybe I do.”

“No, you don’t hate him,” Aegon says rather wistfully, with the solemn surety of drunks.

Alys Rivers wanders into the Great Hall, the train of her dark green gown whispering over the stone floor. Aegon scowls at her. She stops at one of the misted glass windows and gazes out into the storm.

“He flies to his death,” Alys murmurs sorrowfully, as if she wishes she could change it.

Aegon groans. “Shut up, witch.”

“Above the Gods Eye, the red and the blue, tangled threads cut by fate—”

“Be gone!” Aegon shouts and hurls his goblet of cider at her. It misses, strikes the wall, clatters to the floor and spills its contents in a puddle. Alys does not seem to notice. You sit upright on the steps by Aegon’s throne, watching her.

“He flies to his death,” she repeats, melodically like a chant or a spell. “Unless, unless…”

Alys looks at you, then turns to peer through the window again. Outside in the darkness, a monstrous beast growls, not Sunfyre or Grey Ghost or Vermithor.

[butuhaventseenmyman]

Girl dad Curly but like you were on the original crew but you had to go on maternity leave so u got replaced by Daisuke and then when they all get back (everythings fine alright the crash never happened) and he gets to see his baby girl and it's just cute fluffy yk? It's been on my brain for the past like 5 days dude

ohhh i LOVE Curly being a girl dadddd

my first sfw writing lmao

(btw i always envision Grant & reader + babies living in Montana- his birth state- since he loves winter sports and winter is his fav season canonically)

Curly missed you. So, so bad.

he was so happy that he could have you on the ship for most of your pregnancy, but the two of you knew it would be best for you if you left right before giving birth. as much as Curly wanted to be there, he knew it would be the safest at home, where you felt comfortable. the Tulpar was no place for giving birth.

so, another person was brought in to replace you- Daisuke. you'd met him before the crew left, let him feel your bump. he was really sweet, and you were glad your captain was in good hands.

Curly, unfortunately, couldn't make it to the birth because he was stuck at work for the next 3-month haul (he was lucky it was short).

you, of course, gave birth in the hospital to a healthy, beautiful baby girl. Curly was so sad he couldn't be with you, and he also had no idea how you were doing or if the birth even went well.

he tried to distract himself by being busy on the ship. you were also grateful that the baby was so needy, because it helped you forget about your postpartum depression and missing your husband- at least, for a little bit.

you rocked her and showed her pictures of her daddy, played pre-recorded videos of him singing and playing guitar as she fell asleep. he would cry in his quarters every few nights when the homesickness got too much, and Anya, Daisuke, and Swansea would take turns talking to him and making him feel better.

in this case, 3 months was a really long time.

but finally, that day came where the crew completed their delivery and were able to come home. you bundled your baby girl up and put her in her car seat, making sure her stroller was secure in the trunk before making the drive to the landing site.

Curly's mom came with you, just to make sure you were okay. you took turns driving, and she did most of it to let you rest.

thankfully, it was only a few hours away, so you weren't too tired by the time you got there. you buttoned up your jacket and the two of you made the walk to the waiting area a safe distance away.

that was where you met Daisuke's parents and Swansea's wife and one of his sons. you showed them your baby and introduced yourself as the captain's wife and, fuck if that didn't turn you on just saying it.

the seven of you watched the ship land together. actually, you didn't watch much of it- you were more focused on the look of pure wonder in your baby's eyes. even if she didn't remember it when she was older, she was about to meet her father for the first time.

people helped the tired crew adjust as they exited the ship. Curly always let his crew go first- you bit your lip at the suspense that caused the three of you.

and when he finally emerged...you remembered what you had been waiting for all your life.

he didn't even glance at the assistants as he ran towards you, his eyes on his beautiful baby. he embraced you first, kissing you passionately and wrapping his arms around you. you were both teary as he assessed you and your body. "how was the birth? no complications? she's alright?"

he kissed you again before hugging his mother, sobbing like the child he used to be in her presence. he broke down and she comforted him like only his mother could.

once he had calmed down a little, Grant took a look at the pride and joy he had helped to create with you. she had your eyes with a few tiny wisps of curly hair. he fell to his knees and pressed his lips to her delicate, tiny little forehead.

he went around and showed her to everyone- his crew and his crew's family. Anya, Daisuke, and Swansea loved her almost as much as you two did. you all talked about her and your lives for a while before it started to get closer to sunset.

everyone said goodbye, a farewell until the next haul, and headed home. Grant's mom offered to get the car started and allow you two a moment alone.

he bounced the new love of his life and tickled her, watching her toothless giggle.

and as he embraced you and his beautiful new daughter, he knew he'd always strive to protect the two things in his life most worth fighting for- and you also knew that you'd be your strongest when you had the man that was the most worth waiting for.

a/n: so sorry chat (and especially you Sage my love <3) i had this in the drafts for a while and just finished it up tonight- hope you like it!!!

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

it's the next best thing - part two

part one || part three

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson || ~22k, complete || phone sex || accidental love confessions || there was only one bed || getting together || mutual pining || porn with plot || smut || wet & messy || friends with benefits || oral sex || rimming

This is part two of three of my gift for @eyesofshinigami for @steddieexchange!

Eddie gasps for breath, collapsed on the linoleum of the kitchen, hand still stuck in his pants and phone dangling off the line cord tickling his face as his ragged breathing makes it sway back and forth.

“What the fuck was that?” he says to the quiet of his trailer.

He knows what that was, still has the jizz cooling in his underwear and cock softening in his hand to prove it. He’d just never imagined that his not-so-innocent question would ever lead him to this. Even now, he’s not sure how it’d happened, doesn’t know what had caused Steve to use that tone of voice and hiss sinful things down the line.

He’d just been along for the ride, and now he’s here, shaking with aftershocks and chilled on the kitchen floor. Steve’s little, “same time tomorrow,” ringing through his head.

He gets up to shuffle into his bedroom, too wrung out to do more than wipe himself down with a dirty t-shirt and collapse into bed. They’ve talked five nights in a row by now, but Eddie’s always the one that calls, Steve on the other side of the line sounding begrudgingly entertained, but this? Steve had practically asked Eddie to call, right after talking him through one of the hottest orgasms of his life.

Does he want to do it again?

Sleep is a long time coming that night, leaving Eddie cranky and sulking into his mug of coffee as Wayne shuffles into the trailer after his graveyard shift.

“You’re up early,” Wayne says, collapsing onto the empty chair at the dining room table to remove his shoes with his usual bitching and grunting.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Eddie mumbles grumpily even as he gets up to pour Wayne his own mug.

Wayne takes a sip, humming in satisfaction after he swallows. Only once he’s put his mug down on the table does he pin Eddie with his piercing gaze. “D’ you want to talk ‘bout whatever’s goin’ on?” he asks, not even blinking as he waits for Eddie to answer.

Eddie’s never kept a secret from Wayne, even government-enforced NDA’s couldn’t shut him up. He’s not about to start now. “I had phone sex with Steve Harrington,” he blurts. He feels crazy, eyes wide and manic as he waits for Wayne to spout his wisdom and do what he always does when Eddie has a problem: fix it.

Instead, Wayne picks up his mug and takes another long sip, leaving Eddie to wait on tenterhooks as he savors his shitty cup of Folgers like the pope himself had made it. “Steve’s a good kid.”

Eddie stares, unblinking, long enough that his eyes start to dry out. “That’s it?” he demands, smacking his hand down on the table for emphasis, rattling both of their mugs, Eddie’s coffee sloshing off the edge.

“What d’ya want me to say?” Wayne replies, picking up his coffee, probably to save it from any more of Eddie’s antics. “You like this boy? Talk to him.”

He shouldn’t have expected anything else, really. Wayne’s been team Steve Harrington since he’d found out he’d single-handedly carried him out of a hellscape and put pressure on his wounds until Nancy had hauled ass all the way into the hospital bay.

Keep a guy’s guts inside his body one time, and apparently that’s all it takes to win the parental figure over.

“Wayne,” Eddie whines.

“It’d be one thing if he wasn’t your sort,” Wayne continues, standing up, coffee still in hand as he makes his way toward the bathroom. “But phone sex, Ed? Sounds pretty gay.”

Eddie splutters, mouth hanging open and face heating up as Wayne closes the bathroom door, the sound of the shower starting a moment later.

He should’ve never talked to Wayne.

Still, despite his ratcheting anxiety and sleep deprivation, once eight p.m. rolls around, Eddie calls.

“Thank you for calling Family Video,” Steve answers, but he must know it’s Eddie because his voice hits a lower register than usual. It’s almost…suggestive. “How can I help you?”

“Um!” Eddie squeaks out, face already aflame. “You said tomorrow, so…?”

Steve huffs but doesn’t answer, silence deafening across the line. Eddie stews, socked feet tapping silently against the floor as he waits. “And?” Steve finally asks.

Eddie mentally scrambles, trying to force a coherent thought into his brain. “And?” he asks, voice reedy. “And I—what? Oh!”

He clears his throat, and Steve huffs again. This time it sounds more like a laugh than like he’s exasperated with Eddie. “What are you wearing?” Eddie asks, holding his breath, hoping against hope that it was the right answer.

“Jeans, green sweater, vest, sneakers,” Steve lists out just like he usually does. Eddie lets his breath out, settling into his skin as they continue to wear in the grooves of their usual conversation. But then Steve’s voice drops low and he finishes with a pointed, “no underwear,” and Eddie’s left floating again.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, clutching the phone tightly as he sinks down to the floor, dick already hardening, only getting worse as Steve laughs. He slides his hand into his pants and grips himself. “At work?”

“No one’s here, baby,” Steve replies, still using that stupid fucking sultry tone that makes warmth pool in Eddie’s gut. “No one will know that just the thought of my dick has you touching yourself.”

“I’m—” I’m not, he wants to say. But he is, grip vice-like around his shaft as he listens to Steve laugh at him.

“You think I don’t know what it sounds like when you push your hand into your pants, Munson?” He asks, sharp, and mean, and so fucking hot that Eddie’s going to combust right here and now. “Your stupid belt’s loud, baby.”

Eddie can’t help the way he whines, hand stroking quickly, just once, like that’ll keep Steve from knowing what he’s doing. But his belt clinks, cuffs tinkling tellingly together, and Steve laughs again. Fuck, Steve’s right: his belt is loud.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, and he sounds soothing now, like Eddie’s a feral cat he’s trying to coax out from behind a dumpster. Eddie feels like one, like he’s one second away from snapping and scratching out someone’s throat. God, this is all such a bad idea. “You can touch yourself, Eddie.”

Eddie in Steve’s voice is worse than baby. It’s soft, sibilant, intimate. Eddie’s hand moves on his shaft, grip light as he closes his eyes and pictures Steve at the front counter of Family Video, big hand wrapped around the phone.

“What about you?” he asks, voice breathy as he continues to move his hand.

“I’m at work.” Steve sounds admonishing, like he thinks Eddie should’ve known better than to even ask. “You want me to get fired? Rather call Keith every night, have him tell you exactly how to fuck yourself?”

Eddie shudders again, grip tightening even as disgust fills him. “No,” Eddie says, and even to himself he sounds bratty. Petulant. Whiny.

“Besides, playing with you is more fun,” Steve whispers, like it’s a secret just between them.

Eddie’s grip tightens, hips jerking as he tries to get more leverage in the confines of his jeans, belt twanging with every minute shift. 

“So fucking loud,” Steve says again.

Shame hits him, pools in his gut. It’s like getting picked last in gym before he just stopped showing up, like being pushed into lockers before he hit his growth spurt and made himself the loudest predator in the school, like not graduating for the first time. 

“Sorry,” he gasps, cheeks hot as he lets go of his cock, desperate to get the belt off to stop the stupid fucking noise its making and get back to it. “I can take it off, let me just–”

“Stop,” Steve orders, and Eddie freezes, the flap of his belt out of the loops, metal clasp clutched between both his hands. “Leave it on.”

Eddie drops the clasp, it clasps noisily against itself, loud in the quiet of the trailer. He closes his eyes, still frozen, afraid to make another move, lest the sound of his fumbling travel down the line.  

“But, you said…” he starts before trailing off, unable to find the words.

“It’s loud,” Steve reaffirms, sending that same spike of shame in his gut. “But I want to hear you.” 

Eddie’s breath hitches, and his hand moves on instinct, wriggling back into his pants before going rigid when that same metallic clack twangs as his belt shifts. 

“That’s it,” Steve encourages, and his shame turns sharp and hot in his stomach, urging Eddie’s hand further into his pants until he’s got a hold of his cock again. “Let me hear you.”

Eddie moans, eyes closed, head tipped back against the cupboard as he listens to Steve breathe over the line. He’s moving his hand slowly, but his belt still rattles with every upward stroke.

“That’s it,” Steve says again, something dangerously close to awe in his voice. “Little faster now.”

Eddie does, following Steve’s directions without thought as he strokes himself faster, that stupid fucking metallic clanking speeding up right along with him. He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, focusing on the feeling on his cock as he fucks his hand, trying to drown out his own sound with Steve’s heavy breathing.

“Faster,” Steve demands, and Eddie does it, the sound of his jingling belt growing quicker right along with him. “Fuck, listen to that.”

Eddie whines, speeding up again without Steve’s command, hips rising up off the floor with little aborted thrusts, his hand coming down to meet each thrust with a meaty thwack that does nothing to drown out the sound of his belt or the sound of his own panting. 

He gets lost in it, the feel of his own length in his hand, Steve’s words urging him on, heating him up from the inside out. He’s getting close, can feel that familiar warmth pooling in his gut, so close he can almost taste it in the back of his throat. 

Eddie can hear the familiar bell on Family Video’s front door jingle through the line, announcing someone’s entry. His hand freezes on his dick, breath stuck in his throat, like the customer will somehow be able to see him if he doesn’t stay still.

“Be right with you!” Steve calls, sounding cheerful and helpful, like he didn’t have Eddie on the knife’s edge of coming in his pants for the second time in just as many days. He’s quiet when he speaks again, words just for Eddie. “I want you to come for me, okay?”

“Steve,” Eddie gasps, but his hand’s already moving, stripping his cock with hard strokes. “Customer?”

He’s turned into a caveman, all one word questions and monosyllabic grunts, Steve’s words and Eddie’s own hand having done away with any higher brain function

“Fuck the customer,” Steve hisses, words so quiet Eddie can barely hear them. “Come on, baby, I want to hear it.”

Steve’s begging now, like all he wants is to listen to Eddie lose his mind, his own pleasure secondary to Eddie’s. Does he know Eddie’s collapsed on the kitchen floor, or does he think Eddie’s in bed, writhing between the sheets, as if he’d ever be able to afford his own line. 

He wants to reach into Steve’s brain and scoop out his thoughts, see himself through Steve’s imaginings. Eddie wants to know everything. 

And just like that, he’s close again, wishes Steve would live up to the promises he made last time and fill his mouth up with something else.

He’s almost there. He just needs, just—

“Come for me.”

Eddie shouts, loud enough to bother the neighbors as his dick spurts, tip peeking out of his jeans just enough to make a mess of his shirt, come painting white stripes against the black fabric. He strokes himself through it, keeping his grip firm until the overstimulation has him writhing, smacking his head painfully into the cupboard as he falls over, landing fully on the hard floor. 

He lost the phone in the race to the finish line, so once he has the wherewithal to remember it, he reaches out blindly, eyes too hazy to be at all helpful, until he finds it and drags it back to his ear.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, voice slurring. The line’s still active, but there’s no response, so he asks again, “Steve?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but he hears the sound of a woman’s voice, unintelligible and tinny, then Steve’s own laugh, louder, but still too far away from the receiver for him to be holding the phone. Eddie catches his breath, listening to bits of an indecipherable conversation happening all the way across town, hoping desperately that Steve hasn’t forgotten about him.

He hears Steve call, “have a good night!” loud enough for Eddie to make out, and then the distinct sound of the bell ringing, announcing the customer's departure. Then, Steve’s voice directly in his ear whispering, “holy shit, Eddie. That was so fucking hot.”

Eddie laughs, breathless and buzzed on Steve Harrington’s attention. God, he wasn’t going to survive this, no matter what Wayne said. But, what a fucking way to go.

He can’t wait.

***

Steve’s whole body is buzzing, dick hard in his jeans. At fucking work. Because Eddie Munson sounds like a porn star when he comes. He wants nothing more than to hustle into the bathroom and take care of himself, but he’s alone, and besides, Robin would kill him if she found out he’d jacked off in the bathroom while on shift.

He adjusts his dick in his pants, tucking it up unobtrusively in case someone else comes in, and he tries to think of anything besides what Eddie’s face must have looked like when he made that sound.

It doesn’t work.

There’s a steady stream of customers throughout the rest of the night, and Steve helps each and every one with a dick hard enough to hammer a nail in with. When he finally gets home, he’s barely through the front door before he’s shoving his hand into his pants and getting himself off, Eddie’s sinful sounds ringing through his ears.

He needs to talk to Robin.

Sunday is one of their rare remaining shared shifts. Keith takes the morning, but the nights are busy with people returning the weekend’s rental before the work week hits them where it hurts. He holds it in his mouth for the first few hours, Robin shooting him squinty-eyed looks between each customer interaction.

He’s waiting for the rush to die down, wants enough time to talk it all through, but as the bell jingles with another customer leaving, the store blessedly empty for the first time all night, it just comes out of his mouth.

“I had sex with Eddie,” Steve blurts.

Robin whips her head toward him so fast that he hears her neck crack. Her eyes are wide and a manic smile is creeping across her face, all her shiny white teeth on display. She looks like a shark and Steve, very suddenly, feels like a raw, bloody steak dropped into the water.

“No, I didn’t,” he says, wincing when that just makes Robin’s smile widen. Is she going to eat him? “I don’t know why I said that.”

There must be something in his voice because her smile droops as all that intensity goes into her eyes instead. She stares him down like she’s trying to find all the secrets of the universe in his eyes. Because it’s Robin, Steve stares right back, wondering what she’s picking up from his face.

“Is this a bathroom floor conversation?” Robin asks, already grimacing. She’s surprisingly squeamish when she’s not high out of her gourd and already covered in piss, vomit, and Steve’s blood.

Neither of them have ever mopped the bathroom floor, and there’s no way Keith has either.

Steve drops to the carpet behind the counter, pulling his knees up to his chest. They’ve never cleaned this floor either, but at least the chances of sitting on piss are lower out here. Robin’s still grimacing, but she drops down with him. Their knees knock together as Robin scoots forward, reaching out to interlace their fingers and piling all their hands atop Steve’s own knees.

“What’s going on, babe?” Robin asks in that sweet voice she only uses when she thinks Steve’s fragile. It always kind of makes him want to cry.

Steve looks down at their hands, attention caught by Robin’s thumb rubbing soothingly against his own, fingertip getting caught with each pass against the wrinkles of his knuckle. He keeps his gaze on her hands as he thinks of what to say. It feels safer, somehow, when he can see how soft she’s being with him.

“We had phone sex?” Steve says and it comes out like a question. Robin squeezes both his hands, biting her lip to keep her chatterbox tendencies contained. “Uh, twice. And it was—it was really good, Robin.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and when he looks up at her, she’s smiling again, a small, private thing that prompts him to finally open up his mouth and say what he really means.

“I really like him, Bobby.”

She squeezes his hand and scooches impossibly closer, like she wants to merge together and they can finally become one person like the kids are always joking. He moves right along with her, one mind in this, until their legs are locked, one wrong move away from one of them sitting in the other’s lap.

Steve doesn’t mind, can never quite get as close as he wants to with Robin. He’d climb into her skin if he could, and knows without having to ask that she’d let him.

“Does he like you?” she asks, quiet enough to be a secret shared between them in the empty store.

Steve looks back down at their hands and thinks about it. Eddie’s stuttering and shy on the phone, stammering over um’s and uh’s just as much as words. Does that mean anything besides him being shy? He sounds eager, too, every time Steve answers the phone. He always has, even before Steve had flipped the script from a joke to overtly sexual. But, he sounds just the same when he talks to Robin—Steve’s seen him walk into Family Video and light up at just the sight of her.

The bell on the door jingles, and because she’s the best, Robin lets go of his hands, pats his knee once, and jumps up to greet them, letting Steve stay out of sight beneath the counter as she assists them.

Does Eddie like him? As a friend, sure, and sexually, yeah, but the way Robin’s implying?

It spins around and around in his head, never quite reaching a coherent conclusion.

When the phone rings at eight, Steve dashes to it, picking it up, and giving his usual spiel, made shy with Robin’s twinkling eyes trained on him.

“Thank you for calling Family Video,” he says, unsurprised when it comes out breathy. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways you could help me,” Eddie says, voice suggestive right from the start.

Steve grins, all his worries melting away at the sound of Eddie’s voice. “Robin’s here,” he cautions.

“Ohh!” If anything, Eddie sounds excited, like Robin being here is a good thing, no matter what it means for his virtual sex life. “Put her on, Stevie.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but dutifully holds the phone away from his ear and drolly says, “phone for you.”

Robin speeds over, tripping over the computer’s cord, Steve’s outstretched arm the only thing stopping her from braining herself against the counter.

“Family Video,” she says, even though she, too, must know who it is by now.

Steve’s standing close enough that he can hear Eddie’s cheerful call of, “Birdie!” The rest of his words are lost to Steve, but they make Robin laugh, a quick burst of a thing, like what he said had shocked her.

“At work?” she says, looking at Steve with the put-upon air of scandal. “For shame, Steven.”

He scrambles for the phone, trying to wrench it from her hand until they’re in an all-out brawl that ends with the cord tangled around their bodies, trapping them so they’re pressed together chest to chest. “Give it,” Steve pleads, finally snatching the receiver from her hand and pressing it to his ear, hissing as she grabs a hunk of his hair and yanks.

“You told her,” Steve demands down the line.

Eddie sputters, “I—you—she—“ he stumbles over each word, sputtering in a way that’s almost as fun as it was last night. “I just said I’d hoped to talk to you alone!”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking down at Robin’s beat up converse, eyes glazing over as he realizes—“I told her.”

“Steven,” Eddie says, voice so close to Robin’s own irate tone that Steve can’t help but laugh, heart full. “Why would you do that?”

He’s whining  now, and Steve’s grinning about it, can’t help it. He leans toward Robin, hunching down the tiniest bit to hook his chin over her shoulder, safely ensconced in their phone cord cocoon. “It’s Robin,” Steve replies like that answers everything.

Eddie’s quiet on the other side of the line for a moment before he huffs and mutters a quiet, “fair enough.”

Steve smiles, digging his chin into her shoulder just to make her squeal and try to get away. But, they’re still tied together, so she’s bungee-corded right back into him and they both go down in a tangle of limbs and phone cord, knees rammed in places they should never go.

The phone’s been flung a few feet away, Eddie’s tinny voice coming through the speaker asking, “Steve? Did you guys die? Steeeeeevie?”

He’s in the middle of crawling toward it when the front door jingles and he freezes, abdominals working to keep him upright with one arm and one leg stalled out mid-crawl. Behind him, Robin’s also gone deadly silent and Steve knows they’re both thinking the same thing: if they stay absolutely still, maybe whoever has entered the store won’t even see them.

But, then Eddie’s voice calls out “Robin? Anyone?” And if they can hear it this clearly, he must have shouted loud enough to wake up the entire trailer park. Steve turns his head slowly enough that he can feel the stretch of each vertebrate as he finally faces the front door.

There, Mrs. Carruthers stands, staring down at him, nose upturned and wrinkled like she smells something bad. Steve meets her eyes and she sniffs audibly with disdain before disappearing into the shelves.

Steve drops his raised arm and leg and crawls the three quick strides to the discarded phone, dragging a tangled Robin behind him.

When he picks it up, Eddie’s humming loudly, like his new plan is to annoy them into speaking. Steve hates himself a little for finding it endearing. “Uh, Eddie?” he whispers, and the humming cuts out entirely. Steve keeps his eyes peeled for Mrs. Carruthers, unwilling to be caught in a compromising position by her again. “We’ll have to talk to you later, okay?”

“Uh, okay?” Eddie replies, more question than affirmative response, but at this point, he’ll take it.

He drops the phone, and as one, Steve and Robin jump up, hopping around each other to disentangle themselves from the cord as fast as possible. She trips and goes down on her knees, but she’s freed herself from the cord by now, so Steve spins himself free and dashes for the front desk, slamming the phone into the cradle right as Mrs. Carruthers rounds the shelves once more, tape secured in her hand.

Steve smiles his best customer service smile and asks, “Will that be all?”

From where she’s still on the dirty carpet, hidden from view beneath the desk, Robin snorts.

***

Before the phone line disconnects, Eddie listens to the weirdest set of sounds he’s ever heard. There’s a crash that he can only guess is Steve dropping the phone, then there’s some contextless rustling and grunting that goes on for an alarmingly long time. When the dial tone finally rings down the line, Eddie pulls the phone back to stare at it, perplexed.

“What the fuck?” he mutters before finally hanging it up.

The trailer’s quiet—he’d been happy when he thought there was something risqué on the menu, but now that it’s just him, he wishes Wayne was here. Or Robin, or Steve, anyone to fill the silence. Eddie pats his own crotch, mutters a quiet, “sorry, buddy,” to his disappointed dick, and goes to find something else to do.

He fills his night with campaign planning and the devil’s lettuce, the next day with breakfast with Wayne and fucking off so the old man can get some sleep. But that night, he calls Family Video and gets Steve all to himself.

He calls again the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. He just keeps calling, and Steve always sounds excited to talk to him. Even when he’s at work giving himself his very own pair of blue balls. Or when Robin’s loitering around and all they can do is shoot the shit until the next customer walks in.

It’s enough to give him a complex.

But, they don’t hang out. Steve drives Dustin to Hellfire, held in the Wheeler’s basement now that Eddie’s finally snatched his diploma with both hands. He waves at Eddie where he’s making his way up the drive, smiling like a PTA mom dropping off their kid for a play date.

He doesn’t come inside.

There’s a movie night at Steve’s house, all the kids in a heap on the floor, Nancy and Jonathan sharing the same space in the Harrington’s only recliner, and Robin, Steve, and Eddie all piled onto the couch, Steve in the middle. The scant inches between his and Eddie’s thighs feel like the Mariana Trench.

They laugh and they joke, and it’s all exactly like it was before, like Eddie isn’t calling Steve every night to fuck his own fist to Steve’s surprisingly salacious words.

Eddie’s unraveling at the seams—something piteous and yawning opening up in his heart. He tries not to look too closely at it, doesn’t want to put a name to the feeling lest he ruin this one, shining thing.

Still, when Wayne asks, “you alright, boy?” one night, Eddie blurts, “I’m going to invite Steve over,” like it was inevitable. Like, somewhere in the recesses of his brain, he’s been plotting this, unbeknownst to himself.

Eddie’s more surprised than Wayne is. The old man just snorts, keeps lacing his shoes, running late for his shift as he replies, “make sure I ain’t here for that one, will you?”

“Wayne,” Eddie gasps. “This is how you support me in my time of need?”

“What need?” Wayne says, pulling his lace tight and double knotting it before standing with a groan. “Y’already like each other, don’t ya? People who like each other usually spend time together.”

Eddie gapes at his retreating back, sputtering on retorts that won’t quite come until he finally asks, “he likes me?” to the already-closed door. When he rushes over to it and peers out into the dark of Forest Hills, Wayne’s already in his truck, high-beams blinding Eddie where he stands. “We like each other?”

Wayne backs out, either having not heard Eddie at all, or deciding to ignore his nephew entirely.

It’s raining—Eddie spends a long time staring at the water dripping erratically off the roof, getting stuck in the leaves clogging the gutters.

When he goes inside, he calls the Buckley residence. Robin’s number is written on its own piece of paper stuck to the fridge, with Steve’s beside it, too sacred to hold any other information on it. Robin’s mom answers, but dutifully calls for her daughter, who picks up the phone, already sounding annoyed as she asks who’s calling.

Eddie ignores her question entirely, instead asking, “When’s Steve’s next day off?”

Robin snorts derisively. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Buckley,” Eddie replies, definitely not whining. She sighs, and he can feel her wearing down already, so he asks, “please?”

It’s silent for long enough on the other line that Eddie worries he’d read her wrong, that she wasn’t going to respond at all, but just as he opens his mouth to continue wheedling her, she says, “tomorrow,” and just as Eddie fist bumps, she continues, “you finally going to make a move?” and Eddie’s back to incoherently sputtering.

She laughs at him, and he reflexively hangs up only to pace erratically back and forth for the next hour, psyching himself up. They’re friends, he can invite Steve over. That’s what friends do, don’t they? Steve can sit on Eddie’s couch, they can watch a movie, or get high, or just chat.

He’d take anything if it meant Steve would be here, smiling at him, no Robin or kids as a buffer.

But when he calls that night, Eddie doesn’t say a word. He just listens to Steve whisper sinful things down the line, fisting his cock, eyes closed so he can pretend it’s not his own hand getting him there. It’s Steve—standing in the kitchen, close enough that his breath sends puffs of air against Eddie’s neck, hand a warm brand on him as he’s tugged to completion.

And when the line disconnects, Eddie stares down at his own spent dick and sighs.

If there’s anything Eddie Munson has always been, it’s a fucking coward.

*** 

The phone rings, and it’s a few hours early, so Steve doesn’t expect Eddie to be on the other line. 

“Do you want to come over?” Eddie asks, leaving off his usual greeting entirely. “I rented Hellraiser, and Wayne didn’t want to watch it with me so…?”

Steve had already watched it with Robin during one of their shifts, pausing it quickly anytime a customer came in and giggling at all the overtly sexual scenes. So, he’s doubtful that Eddie ever planned to watch it with Wayne unless he’d heard absolutely nothing about the movie and failed to even read the synopsis on the back.

“Sure, what time?” Steve asks, not bothering to call him out on his lie. After all, if there’s anything that’ll pop this celibate bubble they’re living in, it’s watching that movie pressed together on the Munson’s couch.

“Uh, now? Whenever you can?” Eddie asks, sounding so much like an eager puppy that Steve grins. “Wayne’s got a double shift so he won’t be back until morning.”

Steve’s heard that same line from enough girls that he’s sure he knows where this night is heading. Excitement bubbles up within him, palms aching to reach out, to finally be able to touch.

“Alright, want me to bring anything?” Steve asks,

“Just yourself!” Eddie tries, all strained cheer. Maybe he’s more nervous than even Steve is. He hangs up before Steve can decide how to respond.

Steve puts the phone in the cradle and turns ideas over in his head. There’s his pair of jeans that even Robin says make his ass look good. Maybe a sweater to soften the effect? But, that’s not really Eddie’s aesthetic, is it? Should he wear black, or would that look like he’s trying too hard.

He stares into his wardrobe, unblinking, brain ticking away at all the options before he turns away, unchanged, and heads to the bathroom to check his hair. Once every hair is perfectly in place, he shoves his socked feet into his sneakers, not even bothering to untie them.

Come as you are is the general expectation for staying in with a friend. And that’s what he and Eddie are—friends. The same thing is expected from a booty call. Either way, he’s dressed perfectly. Putting in extra effort is for dates, and as he has to repeatedly remind himself on the drive over, this isn’t a date.

It’s not.

Steve regrets his decision when he knocks on the Munson’s front door and Eddie stares down at his faded long-sleeved Hawkins High swim t-shirt and old gray sweatpants with a piercing look he can’t read.

“Uh, hey?” Steve says, shuffling uncomfortably on the front step as Eddie shakes himself like a dog and comes back to life.

He’s smiling now, cheeks pink from the cold as he takes a step back, and gestures Steve inside. “Come in, man!” he cries, voice too-loud in the dark of the trailer park.

Steve steps past him, forearm brushing the arm Eddie’s using to prop the door open. As he closes the door behind them, Steve swears he can hear Eddie’s breath catch.

“So, movie?” Steve asks, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, waiting for Eddie to lead him into the living room. Steve dawdles by the couch as Eddie pushes the tape into the player, waiting to see where he’ll sit.

“Have you seen this one yet?” Eddie asks as he settles into his usual seat at the end of the couch.

Robin’s not here, but Steve still plops himself down on the middle cushion, letting his legs spread into Eddie’s space.

“Robin and I had it on when it first hit the shelves.”

Eddie makes a strange, wounded noise, and when Steve glances over at him, he’s staring down at Steve’s knee, wringing his hands. “We can watch something else?”

Steve nudges his knee even farther into Eddie’s space, knocking them together. Eddie’s breath catches and doesn’t start up again until Steve pulls back. “Nah, we watched it at work so I missed some of it.”

Eddie nods jerkily and turns back to the screen. They watch in silence. While Steve’s leaning back into the couch, lounging the way he always does at movie nights, Eddie’s sitting ramrod straight, like someone might come along and grade him on the curvature of his spine.

Steve sits, waiting for Eddie to make a move, but he just—doesn’t. There isn’t even a popcorn bowl they can accidentally brush hands in, or flirty conversation to be had.

Even as Frank and Julia fuck on the screen, Eddie doesn’t reach out. He just blushes and presses himself more firmly into the corner of the couch.

Steve might have misread this situation.

He watches the movie, the space separating their bodies aching like a missing limb, fingers flexing against his own thighs with the desire to reach out. He’s spent so long hearing the sounds Eddie makes that he can’t help wanting to see, wanting to touch.

But, Steve’s used to disappointment; he’s used to making the best out of the unrequited. He can do it again.

The movie ends, and Steve’s ready to make his excuses, get the hell out of here with his remaining shreds of dignity, but Eddie beats him to it.

“Wanna stay the night?” he asks, and when Steve looks back over at him, he’s slouching into the couch now, gaze still trained on the TV as the credits play out on the screen, like Steve’s answer doesn’t matter at all.

Steve’s beginning to suspect he’s misread the situation, again as he watches Eddie literally twiddling his thumbs, unable to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Uh, sure,” Steve replies, and Eddie turns to him, smiling so brightly, like Steve’s continued presence in his home is a gift.

Steve’s heart flops around in his chest, pitter-pattering away as he follows Eddie into his bedroom. There’s something blooming in his chest, bright and hopeful, and dangerous.

It feels alarmingly close to love.

*** 

His bed’s not big, so when Steve climbs in beside him, both settled onto their backs, Steve’s forearm presses against his own. The point of contact burns—Eddie doesn’t know whether he wants to press into it or jerk away, scalded, but Steve doesn’t move, so neither does he.

No one’s ever been in his bed before.

The scant inches between their bodies feel like miles. Eddie wants to reach past them, let their fingers tangle together. He wants to touch so badly that he has to clench his fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt to stop himself from moving.

Eddie’s room is as dark as it ever gets, his flimsy curtains muffling the brightness of his neighbors porch light. If he squints, he can make out the Steve shaped lump beneath the covers.

He feels like he’s suffocating in the oppressive silence of his room, breaths stuttering as he tries to keep them inaudible, heartbeat rabbiting damn-near out of his chest as Steve lays there immobile, making no sound at all.

It’s so quiet that when Steve sighs, long and low as he settles more firmly into the pillows, Eddie jumps at the unexpected sound. Unlike the sweet sighs Steve had let slip over the phone on their nightly calls, Steve sounds frustrated, disappointed even.

It’s that sound that gets Eddie’s hand creeping across the scant inches between them, moving slowly, like if he’s careful, Steve won’t even realize what he’s doing. The first touch is against Steve’s hip, grazing the fabric of Steve’s sweatpants. 

He presses down firmer, feeling the warm body beneath the fabric, and that’s what makes Steve inhale sharply, body jerking. Eddie freezes, fingers trembling as he waits for Steve to say something, to get up and leave, to do anything.

He stays right where he is, slumping further into Eddie’s mattress, springs squeaking as his weight shifts.

Holding his breath, Eddie lets his shaking hand press more fully into Steve’s hip, moving slowly across Steve’s body until it’s tucked beneath his shirt, fingers just barely brushing against bare, heated skin.

Steve jolts again, and Eddie snatches his hand back and cradles it against his own chest like it's a wounded bird, sure that Steve will get up and leave. He’d been fine talking Eddie through orgasms over the phone, but this is one step too far. This is real—Eddie’s hands touching Steve’s skin, meaningless words given weight.

Eddie closes his eyes, unwilling to watch Steve’s shadow detach itself from the bed and slink out of his room like a dirty secret.

It’s a surprise when instead, Steve’s weight shifts, springs squeaking as he rolls over until he’s pushing Eddie into the mattress. Eddie’s eyes fly open, legs falling open on instinct as Steve settles between them, pressing down with enough force that there’s no way he’ll miss how hard Eddie already is. 

But then he grinds down with intent and Eddie can feel Steve’s own erection pressing into his hip. He adjusts, lining their bodies up until all that’s separating them is two thin pairs of sweatpants.

The whine that escapes Eddie’s throat is embarrassing. He tries to cover his own mouth to keep it in, but Steve grabs his wrist and pulls it off his face, linking their fingers as he traps Eddie’s hand against the mattress.

“Wanna hear you,” he says, breaking the seal of silence that had shrouded his bedroom.

Eddie bites his lip against the next noise, at Steve’s mercy as he continues moving against him, grinding hard enough that Eddie’s sweatpants start to chafe. He doesn’t care, never wants Steve to stop no matter how much it hurts.

“Come on, baby,” Steve says, bending over him to bite into the meat of Eddie’s shoulder as he ruts down. Eddie’s lip jumps free from between his teeth as he groans, low and almost painful with the force of its vibration. “Yeah, just like that.”

Steve lets go of Eddie’s hand, leaving him bereft until his arms snake around Eddie’s shoulders pulling him closer as Steve buries his face in the crook of his neck. On impulse, Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s hips, pulling him down faster and harder. The bed’s shaking enough that Eddie’s worried his headboard smacking into the wall will break right through the shitty plaster.

They’re loud—his bedroom full of enough lewd sounds that he wishes he’d had a tape recording it so he could play it again and again. The sound of his own embarrassing moans, the way Steve’s breathing has gone erratic, the squeaking of Eddie’s old mattress. He feels drunk off it, mouth hanging open and drooling as he loses himself in it.

This is nothing like the few rushed hand jobs he’s had in Indy. The way Steve’s breaths hit Eddie’s bare skin feels intimate, the way his hands hold onto Eddie like he’s trying to merge them together.

He can feel himself unraveling thrust by thrust, entire body tingling from the tip of his dick to the molars in the back of his mouth.

“Steve,” Eddie gasps out, on the precipice of something he’s not sure he’ll survive, smothered by Steve’s weight and still needing more.

Like that’d been all he was waiting for, Steve leans back, untangling one of his arms from around Eddie to slide his hand into Eddie’s tacky sweatpants, fingers barely closing around Eddie’s cock before he’s gone, lost to the best orgasm of his entire life.

***

Eddie’s quiet when he comes—Steve’s not even sure he’s breathing as he writhes. Steve keeps his grip firm as he strokes him through it, enraptured by the view of the other boy beneath him. His curly hair is pillowed around him, blending into the shadows of Eddie’s sheets. His mouths open and a silent shout as Steve milks him for everything he’s worth, not stopping until the last spurt of hot come has landed on the back of Steve’s hand, and the look of ecstasy on Eddie’s face begins transforming into pain.

Half of Eddie’s come rubs off on the inside of Steve’s sweats as he shoves the now-free hand into his own pants and wraps it around his cock. He doesn’t ease himself into it, fist moving furiously on his dick as he watches Eddie’s eyes squint open beneath him before they pop wide as he realizes what Steve’s doing.

“Holy shit, Steve,” he says, reaching trembling hands out and clutching onto Steve’s hips to pull him even closer, fingers slipping beneath his rucked-up shirt until his fingernails dig into bare skin. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so hot.”

He says it all on one whispered breath, like he doesn’t realize he’s speaking at all, too busy staring down at the way Steve’s sweats tent around his dick, moving quickly as he fucks his own fist. Steve moans, the words and the scrutiny making heat pool in his blood.

It’s only a few more strokes before Steve’s groaning, eyes closed against the feeling tearing through him as he makes a mess inside his sweats. Steve pants, free hand pressed against Eddie’s ribs to keep himself upright, clenching into the fabric of his t-shirt as he tries to catch his breath.

When he has the energy to open his eyes again, Eddie’s still staring up at him reverently, clenching so hard against his hipbones that Steve’s pretty sure he’ll need to pry them off.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says again.

Steve throws his head back and laughs, too high on endorphins to regulate anything. Eddie’s fingers clench against his hips, bringing him closer together and inadvertently sending an overstimulated shiver through Steve as his spent dick is pressed against the inside of his pants.

“Yeah,” Steve says, panting from sex, and laughter, and whatever emotion is sending fireworks bursting through his sternum. “Holy shit.”

Even if his reputation has always been overblown, Steve’s had a lot of sex with a lot of people. It’s never felt like this—like if he doesn’t see the look on his partner’s face as they come, he might die. Like his own dick barely matters, just the sounds his partner makes getting him halfway there.

It’s been a long time since he’s wanted to stay after.

He drops down, slumping onto Eddie’s chest before he rolls to the side, staring up at the shadows drifting across Eddie’s bedroom ceiling. With a good orgasm comes the crash—Steve’s is hitting him quick, pulling him down, down, down, no matter how rapidly Steve blinks his eyes.

“Stevie?” Eddie asks, continuing when Steve grunts in return, “you still awake?”

He closes his eyes, whispers a quiet, “mmmhmm,” even as his body slackens, arm slung over Eddie’s waist, head becoming one with the corner of Eddie’s pillow, close enough that Eddie’s breathing is ruffling the hair on Steve’s head.

“Sure you are, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers.

As he falls into a blissfully deep sleep, Steve swears he can feel Eddie’s dry lips pressed to his sweaty forehead.

***

Eddie’s still out of breath from the best sex of his life, and Steve’s inexplicably already passed out. In his bed. In his arms, using half his pillow like that’s where his head has always belonged. Eddie bends down and presses a kiss to his forehead. If anything, Steve’s breath gets deeper, like a reverse sleeping beauty where Eddie’s kiss has only sent Steve into a deeper sleep.

His heart’s beating erratically, lodging itself in his throat; either this is what love feels like, or he’s having a heart attack. Regardless, his next actions are obvious. He paws blindly toward his extra pillow abandoned at the other side of the bed, strips the pillowcase off, and pushes it into his own pants, wiping the tacky come from his skin. His pants are still wet, so he rubs at them as well, getting as much off as he can lest they stick to his skin and rip his pubes out later.

Once that’s done, he stares at Steve’s peaceful face. It’s outlined in shadows in the dark, but even with the dim light, Eddie can see the dark stain on the front of his sweats. Not giving himself enough time to think further, Eddie pushes the still-clean side of the pillowcase into Steve’s pants.

He freezes when Steve’s breath stutters, knuckles barely brushing Steve’s soft skin as he waits for him to settle once more.

He’s gentle, wiping in small circular motions at warm skin. Steve doesn’t wake, pliant and trusting in Eddie’s sheets as he cleans him up. He wants to look, so badly, that his mouth’s watering with it, but he keeps Steve’s sweats at his hips, covering all that tantalizing skin.

Steve groans, a small, barely-there breath leaving him as Eddie pulls his hand out of Steve’s pants, the other boy now as clean as Eddie can make him without crossing any lines. 

The pillowcase is wet, both of their spends mixing in its fabric, heady with sweat and come. Eddie wants to put it in his mouth, suck the fabric until it’s clean, but like looking, that feels like a step too far. The smell hits him though, gets stuck in his nose and makes its home there.

He wants to put it back on the pillow, and sleep on it all night, the tacky fabric sticking to his face, rubbing all over him until it reeks of sex and Steve Harrington.

Little Eddie gives a valiant twitch, but Eddie would rather die than to get up right now to take care of him.

He throws the pillowcase across the room and shares the pillow Steve’s head is already on, the other boy pressed into his side, still sleeping soundly despite all Eddie’s twisting and turning. His skin’s warm and soft curled against Eddie’s own.

He presses another kiss to Steve’s head and resigns himself to a long, futile night of trying to sleep.

It smells like bacon when he wakes up. Eddie opens his eyes, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, eyes hazy with too few hours closed. Still, he zombie-shuffles his way out of his bedroom, eyes half mast as he stumbles into the kitchen.

Wayne’s sitting at the kitchen table, Steve across from him, talking around forkfuls of food.

“Um?” Eddie says, blinking dazedly as they both turn to him, still smiling.

“Ed,” Wayne says, gesturing Eddie forward with his fork. Eddie follows its movement with his eyes and body, reeled in by that delicious smell. “Your boy made breakfast.”

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, half-asleep and unarmored beside the kitchen table.

Steve laughs, and it fizzes through him like a morning coffee, jolting his synapses to life. “I’ll get you a plate.”

Steve jumps up and rushes to get a plate from the correct cupboard before standing in front of the stove and dishing Eddie up like he does this every morning–like he belongs there. Eddie stares at him, the way his strong shoulders flex beneath his wrinkled t-shirt, how his hair’s fucked up in the back, the way he’s wearing a pilfered pair of Eddie’s own sweats because his had been—

“Boy, sit down,” Wayne orders, and Eddie drops into a chair, a marionette that’s lost the plot of its show.

He’s still wearing the pants he’d fucked Steve Harrington in. They’re stuck to his pubes even after his half-assed clean-up attempt last night. Eddie shifts in his seat, not daring to look down and see if there are any visible stains. It’s too late, and that would just draw Wayne’s eyes right down to where he least wants them to be.

Steve turns back around, plate heaping with hash-browns, scrambled eggs, bacon crisped to perfection, and a perfect golden brown piece of toast. It’s still steaming, made recently enough that everything’s still hot. He stares down at the offering before looking back up at Steve.

He’s having another heart attack.

“Eat your breakfast, Eddie,” Steve says, picking up his own fork again and scooping some eggs onto his toast before taking a large bite.

Eddie follows his lead.

The food’s just as delicious as it looks. Eddie loses himself in it, each mouthful tastes like all the mornings with Steve that this moment could lead to. Steve in front of the stove, making whatever he wants, towel over his shoulder to wipe away any runaway butter. Eddie coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist, burying his unshaved face into his neck and burrowing in just to make him laugh and swat him away.

Eddie will learn to make eggs that aren’t rubbery, if that’s what Steve wants. He’ll make a thousand failed eggs until he gets it just right.

“Don’t like your food?”

Eddie jumps, egg speared on his fork jumping right along with him, falling off his utensil and splattering into his coffee. It’s Wayne who spoke, but his eyes go to Steve first. Steve who’s sending furtive looks his way every few seconds, even as he continues sipping on his own egg-free coffee. He doesn’t meet Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie drops his fork with a clatter, grabs his piece of toast, and crams half of it in his mouth. “It’s delicious,” Eddie says, crumbs spraying out of his mouth.

He doesn’t care about the fucking food. He’d eat sawdust if Steve served it to him.

Steve wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling again, and finally looks up, gaze warm as he looks at Eddie.

Eddie swallows the toast in his mouth. It hurts his throat going down, not chewed enough to ease the way, but Steve’s smile ramps up into a grin when Eddie takes another bite, so it’s worth it. He even drinks the fucking egg coffee down to the dregs, swallowing the egg at the bottom whole lest he accidentally taste it.

And when he walks Steve to the front door later that morning, they both linger at the threshold, even though Steve’s already running late for his shift.

The trailer’s duller once the beemer drives off, taking Steve along with it.

Eddie sighs, not at all lovelorn.

“Oh boy,” Wayne mutters.

“What?” Eddie whines, turning to glare at Wayne, hands on his hips.

Wayne snorts, getting up and shuffling off to get ready for bed, leaving Eddie to clean up the mess. “I ain’t getting involved in this, boy,” he calls, turning back to smirk at Eddie. “You’ll figure it out.”

Then he just shuts the bathroom door, leaving Eddie to pine away the hours until he can talk to Steve.

According to Jeff’s mom’s Cosmo, you’re supposed to wait three days to call a girl after a first date. But, Steve’s not a girl, and this wasn’t a date, and Eddie’s never played anything cool in his entire life. So, when eight p.m. strikes, he’s going to call.

He always will, as long as Steve keeps answering. Maybe even if he doesn’t.

part three

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (10)

Originally posted on my old account. Uploading twice weekly :)

The following morning I woke up to a pounding headache, Keira sleeping peacefully next to me. My eyes hurt, a tell tale sign that I’ve been crying. My suspicions were confirmed when I made my way to the bathroom. Red, swollen eyes. The memories were a little fuzzy, I remember dancing with Misa and Alba, Alexia pulling me outside, she was mad? I remember she said she loved me. 

Alexia loved me. I loved Alexia. 

As I paced back and forth in the bedroom, unable to stop because my brain was going so fast, Keira slowly woke up. 

“Milly what are you doing? What time is it?”

“Tell me she didn’t say she loved me outside the club last night?” 

Signing as Keira looked at her phone “it’s only 6am, please come back to bed. It’s too early for this.”

“No no no no. Keira this can not be happening. This is bad. Very very bad. I shouldn’t have come back.” 

“Hey Mil. Stop. You love her. You always have, so what’s the problem?” 

“The problem? The problem is that I can’t love her Keira! It’s not a fucking option. I need to go. “ 

“Milly wait!” keira got up as fast as she could. But it was too late. I was gone, out the door. I couldn’t go home, that was the first place she would go. The gym would be the next, the beach would be the last placed she go, especially considering it was raining now. 

After I had left, Keira rang Lucy panicking. Lucy rang Ona, who rang Claudia, who rang Patri, Patri rang Mapi and Mapi rang Alexia. It’s safe to say everyone started to panic. Thinking I was running away again, the thought was there but I couldn’t do that to the team. 

Surfing was freeing for me. Sitting on the board, pretty far out gave me a chance to think without anyone around. I loved Alexia, but this didn’t feel right. None of this felt right. I had always dreamed about some fairytale ending for us but it never happened. Maybe if I had listened to her and not married Emily, things would be different. We only lasted a month, does that even count as being married? I wasn’t particularly interested in catching the waves, just wanted to think without anyone around to disturb me. As I made my way back to land, I noticed her. Drenched, sitting in the wet sand. 

“Everyone’s looking for you.” 

“Well tell them to stop. I’m not lost.” My tone was harsh, I didn’t mean for it to be. Not really. 

“Mil, we need to talk about it.” 

“Talk about what Alexia? You being jealous last night? You and Olga breaking up? You being in love with me? Me being in love with you? Pick a subject and I’ll talk.” 

“You love me back?” Whispering, She looked at me wide eyed, almost as if I’d take it back. I would. 

“Pick a different one.” 

“No. I want to talk about the fact that you’re in love with me too.” 

“I’m not doing this.” I tried to walk away. I couldn’t do this. 

“Don’t walk away from me Amelia!” I stopped. Not turning around to look at her, I couldn’t. “Please stop running away from me Mil.” The last few words came out broken. She was crying. 

“Why can’t you just let me love you? That’s all I want Mil!” 

“Because every time you say that all I see is her! I could’ve let you love me before Emily! But I didn’t. Instead I’m the reason she’s dead and the reason your heart was broken. All I see when I look at you is the pain and destruction I’ve caused but you look at me like I put the stars in the sky. So full of love and care. I can’t do that Alexia. It’s too much.” 

Suddenly arms wrap around me, not alexia’s because she’s standing in front of me. “Hija, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Eli. The mother I never had. 

“It’s too much Eli please.” 

“Come. I will take you home. Alexia, let’s go please.” 

“Mami no.” 

“Now Alexia.” 

Alba was waiting at my apartment when we arrived. It was all too much. Alexia’s family treated me like their own, despite the pain I’ve caused, the devastation I’ve caused. They were soft, too soft. 

I headed straight for the shower. Ignoring the way Alba looked at me, or the way Eli called out to me. I needed to be alone. This isnt what I wanted to have happened. I hoped that after all this time Alexia wouldn’t love me and I could pretend to not love her. 

The shower was scolding hot. Even through my clothes which I didn’t bother to take off. I thought it would make me feel better, feel something. I didn’t realise how much time had passed until Alba came in. 

“Mil? Are you okay?” Silence. “Milly?” No response. “Amelia I’m coming in.” The alarm in her voice got the attention of Eli and Alexia. 

“Milly can you hear me? Fuck this water is boiling.” Alba tried turning it off but it was too hot. 

“Move Alba. Get me a towel.” Alexia turned off the water, taking the towel from her sister. “Can you get me some clothes for her and give us some space please?” Without even realising it, Ale had picked me up and taken me to the counter. 

“I’m going to undress you now, okay? If you need me to stop tell me and I’ll stop straight away.” All I could muster was a nod. 

There was nothing sexual about it. She moved as quickly and carefully as she could. Removing my shirt and bather top, drying me then putting an old oversized shirt on, carefully lifting me up to remove my skirt and bather bottoms. I flinched when she did that, hoping she didn’t notice but she did. 

“Do you need me to stop?” She pulled away quickly, noticing my eyes screwed shut. Shaking my head, she continued. She quickly pulled my underwear up, then lifted me up and carried me to bed. As she was about to leave I stopped her. 

“Ale please stay. Don’t leave me, please.” I begged. 

“I’ll be right back bebé, I’m just getting some water.” 

She was right back, putting a water bottle on my side, plugging my phone into the charge, then making her way to the other side. Climbing in and pulling me onto her chest. That’s how I fell asleep. The exhaustion of what happened last night and today hitting me. 

[am-i-interrupting]

Across the River | Extra

@night-fall-moon gave me the tiniest push so here we are! Aside, look at this young Sevika art.

Hardheads

Summary: Background into how you got your fighting style. Specifically, some important moments in time where you had a woman of incredible loyalty right beside you.

You held the dart between your fingers. Short and chubby as they were wrapped around the steel. You let out a small grunt as you threw it.

“Good job, my dear,” your uncle praised.

The dart was just a bit below the red center ring, near the middle of the single rings.

He adjusted your position on his shoulder. “You’re getting better,” he said.

You reached for the darts. You collected the four you’d thrown. All of them crammed in your small hands.

“Before you know it, they’ll be beating your streak, Sevika.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your head whipped around to the woman. She’d always been a bit of a mystery to you. You didn’t know really anything about her. Well, other than the fact that she was tall and her voice was nice to listen to and she was really pretty.

A chuckle came from the woman causing you to smile. “I think it’ll be a while but whatever you say, boss man.”

You pulled lightly on the hair that was tied up at the base of your uncle’s head. “Again!” you insisted.

He smiled and walked back to where he had been. You threw one dart. It hit the singles. Your second was in the doubles. Your third was down in the singles again. You grunted to yourself.

“Keep your elbow more leveled,” Sevika told you from her seat where she was shuffling cards.

You looked over at her. Her hands moved fast and dexterous. Practiced motions made the cards slide from hand to hand. She handed out cards with a grace and ease.

Her hand brought her drink up to her mouth. The black of her lipstick rubbed off on her mug. Her eyes ran over the cards in her hands. Then they flickered up and met yours.

She glanced at the board and then back at you.

You breathed out of your mouth, slow and steady. Your teeth pulled at your lip and your brow furrowed. You took a moment and tried to run through your throw. You did it once, twice, three, four times. You continued until you felt like you headed her words.

With your elbow more leveled, you released the dart from your fingers. Time seemed to slow as it sped through the air. Anxiety gripped your heart and held it tight. The breath seemed to be stolen from your lungs.

You screamed and your arms went up in the air. Your uncle nearly dropped you due to your sudden movement and sound so close to his ear. He caught you with your body now pointed towards Sevika.

“Did you see?! Did you see?!” you asked her.

“Yeah, good job, kid,” she said as she reached out and patted your shoulder before she put her attention on her cards again.

You squealed and spun around in your uncle’s arms so he was cradling. Your legs kicked in excitement.

“I got a bullseye, Uncle Sil!” you yelled for the whole bar to hear.

“Yes, you did. I’m proud,” he told you as he adjusted his grip on you to be something more secure.

Several people, your parents and other uncle included, crowded around to see what the four year old’s first bullseye. Barely able to be considered but just inside the red ring enough.

The Last Drop was more empty now than it ever had been. You were one of the four people inside the public area.

You kept throwing darts and missing. You should be doing better than this but your mind was going wild. It was racing and you couldn’t keep up. So many thoughts going through your head and you had no idea where to start.

“Hey, kid,” a familiar, smoked voice said, “can I join you?”

You looked over and saw Sevika. Her hair all down to her shoulders now when it used to go past them. Her face was devoid of any of her usual makeup. Several shallow cuts on her face were likely the reason why.

It’d been only two days since everything that happened. The cuts were already scabbed over how but the few bruises you could see peaking out of her clothing weren’t fairing nearly as well.

You handed a dart off to her. She threw it. It landed in the triple ring. Despite not preforming to her normal standard, she was still doing better than you. Most of yours were in the singe rings

Neither of you said anything for a while. The bar was silent. Not even a song came through on the jutebox. No hushed conversations. Just the sounds of darts being embedded into a board and the occasional clicking of something against glass.

It was an eerie silence that left you uneasy. It did nothing to help your racing thoughts.

“You can do better than that,” Sevika said when one of your darts landed in the white.

“So can you,” you fired back dryly.

She sighed in response. “Listen, kid, I—“

“I don’t want an apology,” a loud thunk, “or any sympathy,” another thunk, “or any of the meaningless words everyone’s been saying for the past two god forsaken fucking days!” a third think. “You can’t do or say anything—“ you walked towards the board and jerked out the darts— “that will make anything better so if you’re not going to say something useful just leave me alone.”

A hand was laid on your shoulder. Your head leaned forward as you slumped. Another thunk against the board.

“Come here, kid,” she said as she wrapped her arms around you.

Your head was guided into her shoulder. She was warm and steady. She smelled like smoke and alcohol. Your hands were limp at your sides but hers pressed you closer.

“Your parents were good people,” she told you. “They died fighting for the cause. You can’t surrender because they can’t fight anymore. You’ve got to stand up and fight harder. Piltover won’t know what hit them when you start fighting.”

“I don’t know how,” you admitted. “Without them I don’t know how to fight. It’s too much.”

“I’ll teach you,” she promised.

Your hands wrapped around her waist. You held onto her like a lifeline.

“Patience is one of the most important things in a fight,” Sevika said as the two of you circled each other. “If you move too fast you risk opening yourself up to vulnerabilities but if you move too slow you lose your opponent’s. Make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Let’s go again.”

The two of you circled around each other, hands at the defense. Neither of you moved for a long couple of moments. You simply watched one another.

Sevika took a step forward. You mimicked her. It didn’t take long for the two of you to go from several feet away to several inches.

She swung at you. You dunked down. You took the opening to punch at her torso, just below her ribs. She went back. You moved forward. She reached again. This time her hit got you upside the head.

You winced as you stumbled. The world was blurry for several seconds.

Sevika’s hands gripped your shirt and pulled you toward her. Her head reared back and then banged against yours. Your head pounded in agony as the world went back to nonsense.

She pushed you. You fell backwards.

“We’re gonna have to work on that too,” she said. “Make you a bit more hardheaded.”

You blinked several times before you were able to make out the dark figure of your mentor. Her hand was extended to you as she leaned down. Her hair blew ever so slightly in her face.

You grabbed her hand and allowed yourself to be hauled up.

“Or maybe you should let me do brain surgery on you and get out that metal in your skull,” you said.

She laughed as she threw her arm around you. “You’re funny, kid.”

[profeyandere]

𝐅𝐈𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐓. ─── ☾ 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ ʙᴀɪʟᴇʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.4ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜰɪʏᴇʀᴏ ᴛɪɢᴇʟᴀᴀʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: "ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ" ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ, ꜰɪʏᴇʀᴏ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴄʀᴏᴡ, ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ.

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

The Scarecrow felt too lost since your arrival in the group. You were like a light of hope for Dorothy, like an older sister she would follow to the end of the world with your loving and sweet attitude that helped her understand that new world a little better; you were the heart the Tin Man needed to understand the feelings of others, perhaps in a somewhat questionable way because you gave him little taps where the feeling was supposed to reside; you were the bravery the Lion needed to face the Wicked Witch every time it was necessary, also showing with her the kindness you always offered Dorothy; and you were the brain he needed to act according to the situation. You were what each of them was missing, but above all, you were the reason he felt a great warmth in his chest when he was not really burning; he had already suffered that situation with the witch, so it wasn’t a truly new sensation, but deep down it was because he wasn’t burning at those moments. When his bluish eyes stopped on your friendly face, always smiling even in the most difficult or intense moments, he could feel that deep warmth that seemed to spread all over his body and caused a strange tingling in his stomach; as mentioned, that was strange and new to him, so he preferred not to question these sensations.

"Are you alright?"

Your sweet voice made his thoughts shift, making him turn his neck to see your figure slowly emerging from the shadows, joining him where the yellow brick road lay, which would guide you to the Emerald City, where you hoped to find answers and get the wishes that the wizard was supposed to fulfil. But as soon as he saw you, he again felt that burning in his chest.

"Of course, I’m fine," he affirmed quickly, although his head turned back to the front, to the road, leaving you again with that feeling of distress that reflected your concern and had appeared the very instant you met him for the first time with Dorothy. "Do you need some stuffing for the fire?"

His question caught you by surprise, but you simply shook your head and approached him until you were standing by his side. Somehow, his presence calmed you and made you smile in ways you didn’t expect, because of how familiar he was, how close he seemed, and how warm he appeared.

"No, you know we manage just fine with some twigs and the stones from the road," you said, wanting to calm whatever fear he might have had about seeing his straw stuffing burned in the fire to keep them warm during the nights as they headed toward their destination. "I don’t know how close you are to the others, but I’ve noticed that you avoid my company more than I would’ve thought."

Your statement hit him hard. It was true, he had kept his distance from you in an attempt to make that feeling of warmth fade at some point while you were out of reach, but whenever he saw you or you were closer to him, it came back stronger, to the point of making him think that only putting distance between you would make that feeling fade. But what he didn’t know was that you had felt something similar, not exactly the same, but similar, and you had chosen not to create that distance in an attempt to stay close to something so familiar in him.

And he knew you didn’t deserve such bad treatment from him, so unpleasant or rude, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to understand what was happening to him before acting without reasoning.

"I’m missing a brain, I don’t have one, but sometimes I think I don’t have a heart either because I don’t understand what I feel," he explained, placing his fabric hand over his chest, where his heart was beating strongly and quickly, the only truly human part in his being. "There’s something in my heart that warms with your presence, with your closeness, and I feel like I’m burning. And you know that a scarecrow when it burns… Well, it burns."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the end of his explanation, nodding your head slightly before looking at his chest, his jacket more specifically. That emerald green colour you had seen before, and those golden ornaments that decorated the chest, back, and shoulders, you had seen them too, specifically in the same pattern, on another person, in the wardrobe of a student’s room at Shiz; that garment made you sigh for the memories that came to your mind because of it, and maybe that was why you wished to be so close to the Scarecrow.

"Of course, you’d burn," you agreed with him, lifting your gaze to see his bluish eyes still fixed on his chest as one of your hands, unconsciously, was already on his hand, feeling the rough fabric that could have been a potato sack, so different from what Fiyero’s skin was like. "You remind me a lot of him."

The Scarecrow looked at you with confusion, slightly furrowing his brow, and as soon as he saw your eyes slightly teary, he knew something had been troubling you for a long time; the pain you showed was unusual, and he was deeply worried about those feelings you had. Your smile still remained, but it was trembling, while your hand seemed to want to grab his as if searching for some sort of comfort in his presence, a comfort that perhaps no one else in the group could give you except him because it seemed that in him you were looking for your love.

"Who do I remind you of?" He dared to ask, making you take all the air you could before slowly letting it out as you spoke.

— Fiyero, my Fiyero.

What he hadn’t thought about was that you were suffering from the loss of someone for whom you had felt something similar to what he felt for you, but whose feelings you already knew and could identify, not like him. You weren’t scared of that, but the truth was that you had to focus on your duty, on the only task you had set for yourself, before doing anything stupid or getting your hopes up for something that wasn’t real. That was why you had avoided being close to him in some way when you first met. Fiyero left without saying anything the next morning after Elphaba was declared a public enemy across all of Oz. You saw huge posters, banners, and statues of her figure burning in just the span of a night, and Fiyero wanted to go after her, rescue her, and maybe help her escape to a place where she wouldn’t suffer any harm, and he could return to you. But you had to be stubborn and ask him to take you with him. You asked him to call you before he left so you could accompany him and help him, to protect and care for him while you searched for Elphaba, and that didn’t fit into his plans; Fiyero didn’t want you to be in danger. You woke up completely alone, in a university where all the students were terrified, and your boyfriend had gone off to find the one person who could explain what had happened and possibly fix all the turmoil that had been caused in Oz.

"It must’ve been someone very important to you," murmured the Scarecrow, without pulling away from him, without distancing himself from you either, even if his chest was on fire.

You nodded slowly and watched as he slid his fabric hand so your hand could rest on his chest, where you could feel that very particular heartbeat that made your tears fall. Anyone could have called you exaggerated or could have said you were crazy for recognizing the heartbeat of a person when they were supposed to all beat the same, but only one beat with such strength and speed when you were near.

"Tell me it’s you, please…"

Your voice, pleading and soft, touched a sensitive chord in the Scarecrow, one of many he had. You had hope that he was Fiyero, that he was the person you had been looking for, the one you would have hugged during the nights as you headed to the Emerald City, the one you would have kissed like in fairy tales to see if the spell would break with a true love’s kiss, the one you had been loving for so long. You had assumed it. No one danced and sang like that if it wasn’t him, no one did that leg play in such a funny way if it wasn’t him, no one was as fun as he was, and definitely, no one could match his way of being or resemble him in the slightest if it wasn’t him; you had your hopes based on the Scarecrow’s actions, and you just prayed that it was him.

"What if you’re wrong?"

His question didn’t go unnoticed, and you knew perfectly well that was an option. But you knew it, you felt it in your heart, in his presence, in everything; it was him, only him, just with a different body and with his mind a little altered. Literally.

"Let’s find out, together," you proposed, standing on your tiptoes to gently kiss his lips, or at least where they should’ve been.

Of course, it wasn’t a kiss like the ones you had shared with Fiyero. The Scarecrow was rough and dry, and Fiyero was soft, warm, and tender, but that didn’t stop your hope from flaring up with more strength, and you from feeling like you were burning when he gently brushed your waist with one of his hands in an attempt to hold you, just as he felt himself burning while the reflection of different flashes seemed to pass before his eyes, where you were always there. Your smile, your voice, the way your eyes closed when you laughed, the way you held his hand, how you hugged him in the afternoons while you watched the sunset from one of your rooms; at every moment, there you were, with him. The way you stumbled sometimes when you danced together was endearing, at least the situation always helped him to have you back in his arms, just like now.

The Scarecrow didn’t know where all these images had come from, but he knew they weren’t a coincidence or hallucination because he felt that he had missed you, longed for you, and wanted to hold you in his arms over and over again.

Dorothy, who had been watching your interaction from the moment you had left the group, slowly removed her hands from her eyes so she could see how you pulled back after your kiss, which she had wanted to avoid seeing to give you both the moment of intimacy you seemed to need. For a moment, both of you remained completely still, just looking at each other while small shy smiles appeared on your respective faces, but you were surprised when you saw the Scarecrow’s arms wrap around your waist and lift you off the ground, hugging you against him with all his strength so you wouldn’t escape, to the point that the girl thought he was trying to hide you in his stuffing, but hearing your laughter alongside his filled the young girl with surprise. Toto, who was also observing the scene, wagged his tail quickly as if sharing the happiness you were both exploding with.

At that moment, while she saw you both embrace joyfully under the moonlight, spinning like two lovers that you really were, Dorothy knew it wasn’t the brain the Scarecrow lacked, but his memories. The body wouldn’t be right, but his memories seemed to have been buried among so much straw, memories of you, of his past, of your past together, and now it seemed his wish had been fulfilled without the need for the Wizard of Oz to operate on him.

— It’s me, my love.

[hee0soo]

Coachella, Baby!

Pairing — Song Mingi x afab!Reader

Summary — Not quite sober and having enjoyed the set you were most waiting for, you and your friend enjoyed the rest of your weekend in the desert. Not knowing what else it held ready for you...

Genre — smut, fluff if you squint

Warnings — fingering, penetrative sex , alcohol, stay safe kids and use condoms!

Word Count — 2.5k

Rating — NSFW

A/N — I don't know why i always think i can do smut but here you go! Also i'm a about 8 months late with this so oopsiee :))

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©hee0soo on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

When your friend had surprised you with tickets for this years coachella to see one of your favorite groups perform, you weren't sure if you wanted to kiss her or smack her for spending so much money!

But now, standing a little to the side with a clear view of Ateez performing on the stage underneath the Sahara tent, you were sure your soul had left your body and had descended to heaven right then and there!

The bass was loud, filling your ears pleasantly, the vibration of the music playing and making the locals dance and bang their heads enthusiastically while Atinys were screaming their lungs out to make the group on stage hear their own fanchat with pride. You were glad that you could experience this milestone alongside those boys while they gave their all during the powerful set list they had chosen for the night.

And the visuals were a dream in and for itself! Unmatched even!

From the captains sudden change to cherry red hair, San's abs flaunted right in your face, Seonghwa's very low cut shirt to Mingi's almost white hair and chest tattoo, you were impressed that your legs were still working when the set was finally over and it was already late at night when you and your friend came back to the hotel.

The plan for the next day was simple. You hadn’t planned any specifics with her, instead opting to just go wherever you liked for the next 2 days and when you saw videos of the members enjoying their time watching other artists you didn’t think much of it. Happy that they enjoyed their stay, you weren’t planning to seek out any of them. You wanted to give them the privacy they deserved and not burden them with questions or attention.

With that in mind, you and your best friend, kept walking from stage to stage until it became dark again and while you watched over the other girl as she downed one shot after the other, you stayed sober enough to be clear minded. At least enough to realize that you had managed to trip over you own two feet and land in the arms of a complete stranger.

Hastily you freed yourself from the gentle hands holding onto your upper arms, apologizing profusely.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you oka-?" you froze in your tracks the moment your not entirely sober brain caught up with the moment. Words that before had come out of your mouth like a waterfall, cut of and you were stunned to silence the second you realized that the person that caught you was not just a random stranger visiting the festival.

Dark brown eyes that somewhat reminded you of molten chocolate stared into your e/c ones and a devilishly handsome yet friendly grin made your heart skip a beat! His white hair looked wild and disheveled; standing into every direction while barely being tamed by the pair of sun glasses atop his head!

The carefree aura surrounding him had you relaxing instantly.

For a moment you just stood there, buffering while you tried to understand what was happening.

"I, uhm, okay?" the deep drawl of his voice went straight to your lower regions, lighting a fire you didn't know had been burning.

Quickly switching gear at the obvious, although adorable, struggle at communication in English, your next words made his face brighten even further if possible. The familiar sound of his own language causing his nose to scrunch up cutely and for once in your life you thanked the seemingly endless nights of studying for giving you the ability to understand and speak at least some Korean!

"I'm sorry Mingi-ssi, I really wasn't trying to bother you!" you explained with a rushed bow of your head.

The tall rapper waved you off. "No, I'm glad I caught you! Can't let a pretty woman like yourself get hurt," the wink he sent you paired with the way he was very obviously checking you out made your cheeks burn. "And your korean is so good too!"

"Ah, thank you that means a lot! I'm also glad to see that you can enjoy yourself like this freely," you said with a head tilt to the stage where ISOKNOCK was still playing. The smile never left his face. "Yeah, I'm really enjoying the view right now…”

Mingi took a step forward, reducing the distance between your body and his as he came to stand by your side while you were vibing to the music.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," you winked and turned back to face the stage. You could feel him hovering behind you, eyes staring at the back of your head for a moment before whispering a soft, "Yeah...”.

Searching the crowd for your best friend, you found her dancing with a tall brunette that was feeling her up rather enthusiastically. The way it looked you knew that she wasn't gonna stay around much longer and would soon search for a spot to fuck the stranger into tomorrow.

She winked over his shoulder at you and you laughed at her antics before she took his hand and disappeared in the crowd.

"Was that your friend?"

You looked at him over your shoulder, nodding and looking upfront again. "Yes, seems like I'll be leaving alone later tho." you chuckled.

"And you aren't planning to do the same as her? Leave with someone to have some fun, I mean?"

His words made you stop your dancing and startled look back at his face again. He was smiling still but something about the twinkle in his eyes caused you to pickup on the ultirior motive behind said smile. It looked almost mischievous!

"Are you offering?"

The surprise in your voice was evident. Did he really just- ask if you were down to go fuck with him? Him? Mingi? Rapper of your favorite boy group? You were already surprised that you had kept your cool once you had known who had caught you and that he hadn't immediately left right after!

The man shrugged, his oversized black jacket with the little fix on drawing printed on, slipping ever so slightly. Revealing a small bit of tattoo on his chest. You gulped.

"Would you agree if I was?"

Suddenly his voice was much closer then before; him having leaned forward to whisper directly into your ear. You felt dizzy. With his front now almost pressed to your back, you could feel the warmth emanating from his body. It left you breathless and the touch of his hand on your waist did not make it better.

Humming quietly you nodded.

"What was that? I need words darling…” he drawled out, the music long having faded into the background.

Fuck!

You swallowed harshly.

"Yes, I would! Please…” you whispered hoping that he could hear you. Mingis hand left your side which you automatically missed until he reached for your hand instead, leading you away through the crowd and away from any people.

Panic struck when you remembered the amount of cameras surrounding you and him and what they could pick up.

He must have sensed that something was wrong. "Don't mind them." Hurrying to get out of the spotlight, the rapper led you to the backstage area, waving at the security guard who nodded at him with a low whistle that had your cheeks burning.

You recognized the trailers that the artists used to get ready for the show or simply to hangout and you almost squealed walking past Sabrina Carpenter!

While you weren't sure where you were being led to, Mingi knew exactly where he was going. The yellow sign with Ateez written in dark purple glitter pinned to one of the trailer doors clueing you in very soon.

Picking the lock swiftly, Mingi gestured for you to come inside before doing the same. The door of the trailer falling shut behind him.

You looked around, taking in the surroundings. There were multiple vanity tables, chairs and an unbelievable amount of luggage standing at the side but what caught your eyes specifically, was the big and very comfortable looking couch.

His hot breath fanned over the exposed skin of your neck, making you shudder and goosebumps appeared on your arms. Your purse mindlessly dropping to the floor and Mingi wrapped his arms around you from behind, plush lips pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot right below your ear, making you shudder.

You tipped your head back, letting it rest against his shoulder. Enjoying the feeling of his mouth trailing down your neck. The soft sting of his teeth nibbling on the skin getting soothed by his tongue licking over the bites like a little kitten. The temperature inside the room suddenly much warmer and a thin sheen of sweat appeared on your skin.

The man let up from your neck to walk in front of you, fingers reaching for you to pull you along, dropping down on the couch and take you down with him. Now perched up on his lap you couldn't stop yourself from pressing your lips to his in an urgent kiss. Not hesitating to reciprocate Mingi let his tongue run over your lower lip begging to be let in. His left hand found purchase on your waist, the left one pushing up the fabric of your skirt and squeezing the flesh of your thigh.

Your breath hitched at the touch and Mingi used the chance to deepen the kiss further.

With clumsy moves and shacking fingers you pulled down the zipper of his jacket, shrugging it of his shoulders and revealing a low cut black tank top and more of his tattoo. Gripping the hem of the shirt you pulled it over his head and threw it carelessly somewhere behind you.

"Fuck, I knew it looked good but damn-" you gasped out, finger tips brushing over his chest and making him laugh loudly.

“Good to know that it had it's desired effect ." he winked and removed your own top to throw it to the side. He admired you with hooded eyes, the strap of your bra slipping down your shoulder. Quick and definitely knowing how, he opened the clasp on the back and with a smooth shrug of your shoulder the offending piece of clothing landed somewhere behind you on the floor.

Mingi used the moment of distraction to lean forward, his plush lips now wrapped around your nipple, licking and sucking like he had spend a lifetime doing it. A moan ripped through the silence of the night and you could feel yourself clench around nothing while the rapper used his mouth to tease your breast as his hand fondled the other gently. Thumb flicking over the nub, stimulating it deliciously.

You could feel his other hand resting on your waist, guiding the rolling of your hips against the very prominent bulge in his pants. Until now, you hadn't even noticed that you had started grinding against him and judging by the blissed out expression, Mingi didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

At a particular hard roll against his dick, Mingi Iet up and an almost whiny sound of desperation escaped his throat.

"Want you out of those pants," you panted against his mouth, knowing full well that's what he wanted too.

"Fuck yes, please?" Mingi gasped lowly. His face was scrunched together in pleasure and with barely opened eyes the man nodded again for good measure. At this point he was already so hard that it was almost painful wearing the prison of fabric that were his pants and underwear and the little sounds he made went straight to your pussy.

You could feel your underwear very well sticking to the skin, sure that it was a whole mess in them by now after grinding against him and it wouldn’t surprise you if you had soaked his sweatpants too.

With your skirt scrunched together at your waist you pulled away, his mouth separating from your tits and a sound of disappointment came from him.

It sounded suspiciously close to a whine which in return made you smirk smugly down at him.

“Get these off.” You demanded with a teasing peck to his cheek and loved the wide boba eyes he gave you at the change of tone in your voice. Mingi entranced by the look on your face quickly rushed to do as he was told.

His cock sprang free and hit his stomach before bouncing back and you could feel your mouth watering at this.

“Good boy.” You purred, forcing him to look into your eyes by holding his face just how you wanted it; thumb gliding smoothly over his cheek bone and you let up once more to shrug your panties down your legs.

When you reached for the hem of your skirt, Mingi stopped you and shook his head with begging eyes.

“Leave it, you look so sexy in it…”

So you left it. Hands lowering to his shoulders you sat back down in his lap which Mingi did not stay in for long as he twisted you around so you were suddenly trapped under his large frame, caged in by his arms right next to your head and making it impossible to escape.

Not that you wanted to.

The man above you surged forward to meet your lips in urgency. His cock was rubbing against the inside of your thigh searching for your cunt to plunge into.

“Can’t wait anymore, can i-“ he gasped against your mouth.

“Yes! God, yes pleeease!” you keened in return and let your head sink back into the cushions of the couch, lifting you hips a bit so he could line himself up.

His head caught against the opening of your pussy and you groaned in unison with Mingi when he finally pushed himself in.

It didn’t take much for the rapper to absolutely lose it. As soon as he was sheathed inside you, he lost control over himself. His head fell forward as loud moans filled the trailer and his thrusts were met with the rolling of your hips.

You felt like you were send straight to heaven. Riding the cloud of ecstasy as you got fucked just like you needed him to.

It was evident that Mingi very well knew what to do [don’t argue with me on this cause my man absolutely knows how to fuck!!!].

You were both so wound up that it didn’t take long for your orgasm to build up.

You slung your legs behind his ass, urging him to go faster. Your hand reached for his hair to hold onto while your other went down to rub your clit and a high pitched whine fell from your lips and went directly into Mingi’s ear.

His thrusts grew erratic as you both hurled towards your peak.

Your walls clamped down on his dick sending yourself and him over the edge. White hot cum spilled out while Mingi did not stop plunging himself into you, fucking you through the waves of your orgasm to let you ride it and you felt his seed run down the inside of your thighs when his moves stuttered and slowed down.

The pleasurable pain of overstimulation burned through you and neither you nor Mingi had the strength to move. The man let his man rest against your bare chest before letting out a soft chuckle.

“What?” you asked, amusement lacing your voice at his demeanor.

Mingi glanced up with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Coachelly, baby!”

[v6quewrlds]

part 2 to the joe angst where reader overheard joe's friends

part two to this.

“Babe, what's wrong?” he asked, rushing over to you. “Why're you crying? Did something happen in the bathroom?”

You looked up at Joe, your eyes bloodshot red and puffy from the tears you had shed during the ride. You took a shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart. But as you looked into his baby blues, you couldn't hold back the sobs that were now threatening to overtake you.

You took a seat on the bed, your body trembling. “Why didn't you defend me?” you managed to ask between tears.

Joe's brows furrowed, utterly confused. “What are you talking about?”

Your voice trembled as you recounted the conversation you had overheard, the words stumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “Joe, they basically called me a party girl, said I'm not right for you, that you need to settle down with someone stable...” The accusation hung in the air, thick with hurt and betrayal.

Joe sat down beside you, his own expression a mix of bewilderment and concern. “Sweetheart, you gotta breathe, you're workin' yourself up. That's not what they meant. It was just...” He sighed, searching for the right words.

“Joe, I'm not an idiot. I know what I heard,” you said, your voice breaking as you wiped at your face. The room was quiet, the air charged with tension. “It just hurts, you know? To think that your friends don't think I'm good enough for you.”

Joe's eyes widened, and his hand found yours.

You continued with a sniffle. “And it hurts to think you wouldn't stick up for me when I'm not there. I know they're important to you, but...” Your voice trailed off as you tried to keep the dam of tears from breaking again.

Joe's face softened, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “Babe, they weren't talking about you. They were talking about the new girl that does my PR, Sophia. Remember her? She's been dropping the ball a little bit, and they were worried she's gonna blow up something important when I’m not breathing down her neck during the season. Nothing to do with us, I swear.”

You searched his eyes, looking for a hint of deceit, but all you found was genuine bewilderment and affection. Sophia was flippant, you knew that, had recognized it within the first few minutes of meeting her. Joe had complained about that flippancy on several occasions during the handful of months you had been dating.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of your misunderstanding. “I overheard you guys saying I wasn't right for you, and I just...”

Joe's hand tightened around yours. “They were talking about someone else. I'm sorry you had to hear that, especially out of context. But I promise you, I see a future with you. A future that's a lot more than just fun."

Your shoulders relaxed, the tightness in your chest slowly dissipating. You took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the truth in Joe's words. “I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions,” you murmured, wiping away the last of your tears.

Joe leaned in, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Don't be. It's natural to get upset when you think someone's talking smack about you. But you gotta have faith in us. I'm not going anywhere. I love you too much.”

The confession hung in the air, a declaration that seemed to melt the last of your doubt away. Your eyes searched Joe's, looking for any hint of uncertainty, but all you found was the steady, loving gaze that had captured your heart from the moment you met. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace as he pulled you closer. Your heart swelled with relief and you whispered, “I'm sorry, Joe. I should've pulled you aside before dipping like that. I just felt embarrassed.”

He kissed your forehead gently. “It's okay. I get it. But you know you can always talk to me.”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. You took a moment to gather yourself before speaking again. “I guess I just didn’t want to cause any drama tonight. I know how important these guys are to you, and I wanted to make a good impression.”

Joe wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. “If it makes you feel better, they really liked you. They're lowkey embarrassed that they approved of you so fast.” He laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Shawn said you're the first girl I've brought around that didn't immediately kill the vibe. That's high praise from him.”

You managed a small smile, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease. You leaned into Joe's embrace, breathing in his familiar scent, and allowing it to comfort you. You realized that in the midst of your fear and doubt, you had been ready to throw away something that truly meant something to you.

“Give me their numbers, I'll apologize in the morning,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest.

“No, you don't have to do that,” Joe protested, but you had already pulled away, reaching for your phone.

“Yes, I do. I owe them that much after making things awkward. Maybe it'll help clear the air before we all have to see each other again.” You took a deep breath. “Plus, I want to hear the end of that prom story.”

Joe chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fuck that. The parts you heard were bad enough, you don't need to know the rest of it. I have an image to uphold.”

[ka1rin]

With Strings Attached

Isagi Yoichi x Reader , 2.4k words , genre: smut

You and Isagi have been best friends for years, but your relationship has always been more like a couple's— cuddling, teasing, and sharing intimate moments. One night, while you're both curled up together, the lines between friendship and something more blur, leading to an unexpected twist in your relationship.

Isagi Yoichi didn’t know when his feelings for you shifted, but he knew they were no longer simple.

You were his best friend—his anchor. From the moment you walked into his life, you’d been by his side through every win and loss, every dream and doubt. But somewhere along the way, the lines blurred.

He noticed it in the little things. The way his heartbeat sped up when your fingers brushed against his. The way his mind replayed your laugh like a favorite song. The way he leaned into your hugs, hoping you wouldn’t pull away too soon.

Isagi wasn’t blind to how you two looked to others. He heard the teasing from his teammates, the whispers when you’d show up at his games and run to him first, arms wide open. They’d laugh and call him lucky, and he’d grin, pretending it didn’t get to him. But it did. Not because he minded their jokes—but because he wished he had the courage to admit that maybe they were right.

The cuddling, the hand-holding, the cheek kisses—those weren’t things best friends typically did, were they? But you never seemed to question it, so he didn’t either.

Isagi Yoichi didn’t know how he ended up like this—your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist as the two of you lounged on the couch. You were focused on the movie playing on the screen, while Isagi couldn’t concentrate on anything except how close you were.

Your scent—something soft and familiar—filled his senses, making his thoughts scatter. He tried to calm himself, but his heart was racing. Every small movement you made, every shift of your weight against him, sent a jolt through him.

This was normal, he told himself. Best friends could cuddle like this, right? Except, nothing about this felt normal to him. It felt far too intimate, too perfect.

Then, out of nowhere, you turned.

The sudden movement caught Isagi off guard as you shifted to face him. Your arms slipped around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He froze. Completely. His body stiffened as if his brain had short-circuited.

You didn’t seem to notice. Your head rested against his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck. “This is nice,” you murmured, your voice soft and content.

Isagi felt like he was malfunctioning. His face burned, his hands hovered awkwardly in the air as he debated where to place them. Should he hug you back? Should he say something? His thoughts were spiraling, and he was acutely aware of how close your lips were to his cheek.

“Y-Yeah,” he managed to stutter, his voice embarrassingly shaky. He finally let his hands settle lightly on your back, but his muscles were still tense.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your face mere inches from his. “Are you okay?” you asked, tilting your head in concern.

“Y-Yeah! Totally fine!” he blurted, his blush intensifying. He was lying through his teeth. His heart felt like it was about to explode, and he was certain you could hear it.

You blinked at him, studying his face for a moment, before a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re blushing, Yoichi.”

“I—I’m not!” he protested, turning his face away, though he knew it was futile.

You chuckled softly, the sound sending butterflies through his chest. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Isagi thought he might actually die right there on the couch. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would give out. You, however, didn’t seem to realize the chaos you were causing inside him.

You leaned back into his chest, settling comfortably in his arms again, as if nothing had happened. Isagi let out a shaky breath, trying to calm himself.

Best friends, he reminded himself. Best friends.

But as he held you, feeling your warmth against him, he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could keep pretending that was all you were.

Isagi was absolutely losing it.

You had just turned around, wrapping your arms around his neck in an embrace that felt way too intimate for his already scattered thoughts. As if that wasn’t enough, you pressed yourself closer, resting your head against his chest. That small, innocent gesture sent his heart racing so fast it felt like it might break out of his chest.

And then… it happened.

He felt it—down there, shit he got hard. Heat rushed through his body, and he froze in sheer panic as he realized what was happening. The weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your body pressed so snugly against his—it was too much for him to handle.

Oh shit. This can’t be happening, he thought, his face going scarlet.

His hands hovered awkwardly for a moment before settling stiffly on your back, but that did nothing to help the situation. Every shift you made as you adjusted yourself only heightened his awareness of his… problem.

She’s going to feel it. Oh god, she’s going to feel it, his mind screamed.

You shifted again, completely unaware of the chaos you were causing, and Isagi’s breath hitched. He was as tense as a coiled spring, his entire body screaming at him to do something, anything, to make this less awkward.

“Yoichi?” you asked softly, pulling back slightly to look up at him. Your brows furrowed in concern. “You’re so stiff. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” he yelped, a little too loudly, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

You blinked at him, your concern deepening. “You don’t seem fine. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

He scrambled for an excuse, his mind racing. “It’s—uh—my leg! Yeah, my leg’s cramping from training earlier. That’s all!”

Your eyes widened, and you immediately tried to pull away. “Oh no! Do you need me to move? Should I get you water or something?”

“No!” he blurted, his hands instinctively tightening on your waist before he quickly loosened them. “I mean—no, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Just… stay.”

You tilted your head at him, clearly skeptical, but you eventually nodded and leaned back into him. “Alright… but tell me if it gets worse, okay?”

“Y-Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as his face burned.

As you settled against him again, Isagi tried to focus on anything else—the movie, the rain outside, literally anything. But all he could feel was you, pressed so perfectly against him, and the humiliating reminder of his very obvious reaction.

This is a nightmare, he thought, gritting his teeth. She’s definitely going to notice.

And yet, even through his panic, a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered what he’d been trying to ignore for so long. That this wasn’t just a physical reaction—it was you. It was always you. You were the reason his heart raced, the reason his thoughts spiraled, the reason he wanted so much more than just being your best friend.

But right now? He’d settle for surviving this without you noticing his very inconvenient problem.

Isagi thought he was barely holding it together.

After your hug, you leaned back against him again, your body pressed close, warm, and perfectly relaxed, while he was anything but. His face was still burning, his heart pounding, and his problem wasn’t going away.

Just stay calm, he told himself, trying desperately to focus on the movie playing in front of you. But then, you shifted

It wasn’t intentional—you were just readjusting yourself to get comfortable—but as you did, your hips pressed firmly against his crotch. Specifically, against him.

Isagi froze. Completely. His breath caught in his throat as every nerve in his body went haywire.

Oh god. Oh no. She’s right there. She’s going to notice my fucking boner.

He wanted to move, to say something, to do anything to fix this, but it was impossible. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before clenching into fists at his sides. He couldn’t risk touching you and making it worse.

You, blissfully unaware of the chaos you were causing, sighed contentedly and settled deeper into his arms, pressing yourself even closer. Isagi’s jaw tightened, his eyes wide and unfocused as he stared straight ahead at the TV, pretending to care about the movie.

But he didn’t hear a single word of it.

His entire focus was on you and the way your body was perfectly fitted against his, and the very obvious reaction he was failing miserably to suppress. He was sure you could feel it now—there was no way you couldn’t—and the thought made his face burn hotter than ever.

“Yoichi,” you mumbled, your voice soft and casual, “why are you so stiff? Relax a little.”

Relax? Relax? He almost laughed, but it came out as a choked noise instead.

“I’m—uh—just cold!” he lied, his voice embarrassingly shaky. “Yeah, cold. That’s all.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. “Cold? But it’s so warm in here. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Totally fine!” he blurted, his hands gripping the couch cushions to stop them from trembling.

You gave him a small, concerned smile before turning your attention back to the screen. But as you shifted again, pressing even closer to his crotch, Isagi let out a quiet, involuntary groan that he immediately tried to cover up with a cough.

She didn’t hear that. She didn’t notice. She didn’t notice, he chanted desperately in his head, though the heat in his face and the tension in his body were telling a very different story.

This was torture. Absolute torture. And the worst part? He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stop.

You turned to face him, your eyes locking together in an unspoken moment. Without warning, Isagi couldn’t hold back any longer. He leaned in and kissed you softly, and you kissed him back, the connection feeling electrifying. This was the first time your lips had met, and though you two had shared countless intimate moments as friends, this kiss felt different—more significant, more vulnerable.

Isagi then deepened the kiss, his tongue gently brushing against yours.

It was the first time either of you had crossed that line, and it took you by surprise. For a moment, you hesitated, but then, unable to resist, you kissed him back with equal fervor.

The kiss grew more passionate, the connection between you both intensifying with each movement.

Isagi suddenly grabs your thighs, pulling you closer until you're flush against him. You can feel his obvious arousal pressing against your core through his pants. A soft, needy whimper escapes your lips as you instinctively grind against him, seeking more friction. “I-Isagi..”

You bit your lower lip as you slowly unbuckled Isagi's belt, his eyes locked onto yours with unspoken permission. As his boxers become the only barrier between you and his obvious arousal, you can see the massive bulge straining against the thin fabric.

You hesitantly pull down Isagi's boxers, revealing his throbbing, massive member. You wrap your small hand around it, stroking slowly as he whimpers and bucks his hips. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist, stopping your motion. Fuck... I need to be inside you.

Isagi swiftly lifts you up and pins you beneath him, flipping your skirt up in the process. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside to expose your glistening folds. Look how fucking wet you are for me already...

His fingers trail up and down your slit, gathering your wetness before circling your clit. You arch your back, desperate for more contact as he teases you. You're so ready for me, aren't you, baby? Look at how you're dripping...

He wraps his fingers around his thick, throbbing length and positions the plump, pinkish head at your slick, trembling opening. He rubs himself against you, teasing your entrance without pushing in, making you whimper and beg. "Please, please, please, yoichi put it in"

Unable to resist your desperate pleas any longer, Isagi surges forward, sinking his hard cock deep into your tight, welcoming heat in one powerful thrust. A low groan tears from his throat at the exquisite sensation of your walls clutching him. “Fuuuck yes, take my cock”

He begins to piston his hips, driving his massive length in and out of your soaked pussy with brutal intensity. Your moans echo through the room as he fucks you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air. “Ahhh fuck, you’re so tight.”

He hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts your legs over his shoulders, changing the angle and allowing him to plunge even deeper inside you. He pounds into you mercilessly, hitting spots inside you that make you scream and writhe beneath him. “Yo-ichi feels so good! M’so close ichi” you say.

His breathing grows heavier, his movements becoming slightly more frantic "Fuck, I'm close too... You feel so good, baby." He leans in, pressing gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone, a stark contrast to his rough thrusts "Cum with me, okay?"

He buries his face in your neck, his moans and heavy breaths warming your skin. His thrusts become more erratic, his grip on your waist tightening as he nears the edge. "Fuck, I can't hold back... Come on, baby, squeeze me just like that..."

You let out a breathy cry "Ichi, I'm gonna—" Your body convulses around him, your inner walls clutching desperately at his cock as you climax. The sensation of your orgasm pushes him over the edge "Fuck, baby—"

He throws his head back, his body stiffening as he finds his release, pulsing hot and thick inside you. He stays like that for a moment, their bodies entwined and breathing heavily, before slowly collapsing on top of you, his face buried in your neck. "Damn..."

He lies there for a while, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he tries to catch his breath. Slowly, he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes soft and satisfied. "You okay, baby?" He asks, brushing a strand of hair out of your face gently.

Isagi rolls off of you, pulling you close to his sweat-slicked chest. He chuckles softly, his voice warm and tinged with affection. "I guess that confession was more...physical than I intended. But hey, actions speak louder than words, right?"

[youremychaos]

Harrow, my love…it’s been a while hasn’t it? Life has been crazy these last few months, and I completely missed your update. However, I am here now and ready to dig in!!

First of all I completely forgot that Jimin woke up in Yoongi’s pov (had to backtrack a little lol)…which threw me for a whole ass loop when I started reading this ‘cause what do you mean JIMIN?! The way my heart stopped and I wiggled in my seat. My baby has come the fuck home!!

How dare you throw Haegeum!Yoongi in my face like this…that man has me in a chokehold that I don’t wanna be let out of. The image of Taehyung wearing a balaclavas does something to my core…those eyes just peeking out…yeah, sir whatever you want, you can have it.

Okay the build up of Yoongi coming up to see MC is crazy, my vibrating in my seat! I want them to link up again already!!! Joon too, that man needs a good hug. 

The main character has arrived!!! Yoooooonnnngggiiiiii…what an entrance my guy! Stroll in with a pair of bloody chopsticks and a simple, “Darling”...what a charmer.

You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating.

This right here? Yummy and funny. I like your visual even though I’ve seen it with my own eyes from the mv.

Coming up to the end of the first half, I know Yoongi is feeling all types of kicked sideways. Bringing Jimin is a huge gamble and kind of manipulative all things considered. If anyone could bring MC back it would be Jimin but I don’t think he would push for her to join them again. I feel that Jimin more than anyone can understand where MC is coming from and her mixed emotions about everything that has taken place so far. It seems that Yoongi knew his gamble might not work and has something else up his sleeve. He isn’t the type to just leave so willingly. 

MC comparing Yoongi and Ryujin hurts. I can see what she means but damn does it hurt to admit it. After all is said and done, Yoongi is a shady ass dude with a shaky track record in love. The way he goes about things aren’t always clear and are often very infuriating. So, I can see why MC is reluctant to go back. The song lyric “How deep is your love?” comes to mind when I think of the trio together. Namjoon and Yoongi would kill for MC and if push comes to shove, I think she could do the same but she would feel bad about it whereas Namgi just keep it pushing like it didn’t happen. I have so many thoughts and feelings about this but I shall read more to see what’s going on.

Harrow, you play dirty! ATEEZ as bodyguards?! How am I going to survive this fic, huh?! You’ve pulled so many of my favorite idols into this universe that I don’t know who to drool over…it is unfair! But I will say, ATEEZ do fit the vibe, so good choice!

“Not so fast,” she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. “You always roll away. Snore in my face for once.”

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. “I do not snore.”

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, “Everyone snores a little,” and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

I love that you can include such innocent and cute scenes in between the death, sorrow and destruction. 

Jimin is alive and well, the way I was tearing up as they hugged. But started giggling right after seeing how Ryujin and Hwasa left MC to be stuck in between Yoongi and Namjoon. What good friends they are lol

The one on one talk went a lot better than I thought it would. MC needed to let those tears out with Yoongi and I’m more at ease that he is willing to wait for her mental health to get better. Healing takes time and having him/the guys not push for her to come home too soon means a lot. Goodbyes and hellos are hard, but the way you pulled apart each interaction was wonderful, the tension between Jungkook and MC is still there which I love. I tend to forget that they have their own thing going on at times because I get so wrapped up in Namgi/MC.

There is a subtle shift in the family dynamics or I could just be reading too much into it but with Seokjin’s bullshit out in the open, it seems to me that everyone is a little more relaxed. Not as on edge with being alive. 

Oh shit…things are bout to take a turn for the worst right? Now that I’m thinking about it, does Hwasa know what Christian looks like? Does Ryujin? And if so…would she give MC easily or put up a fight? Ryujin is asking waaaayyyy too many questions about MC's relationship with the family men and Hwasa is giving up too much information...I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I am starting to not trust Ryujin again. Her dinner speech had me on edge, like it was a backhanded request almost…kind of on the lines of “we’ll be cool once i’m back in my rightful place”. I could be wrong but idk, that’s the feeling I got. I’m not trusting Ryujin at all right now! What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? I swear if she was/is messing around with Christian, I’ll scream!

I mean it is possible she could have a relationship with Hwasa but I doubt that. I think it would be with someone that holds more power. Ryujin is starting to show her ass and I’m not a fan. If you were married/dating whatever with Yoongi in the past, keep that shit to yourself! Telling MC that nothing has changed or that you were the same as her…that’s just evil. Planting seeds of doubt when there really doesn’t need to be any….but if I want to play devil’s advocate, if Yoongi does truly feel something for MC he should treat her differently than how he treated Ryujin. On the other hand, he has an image to uphold, so certain styles are expected as the woman of the house.

I hope Yoongi puts a fucking bullet in Ryujin’s skull, right between her eyes! This slimy two-faced bitch! Harmless my ass! I want to reach through the screen and punch Ryujin myself! Damnit, I am so pissed off. You know MC’s history or at least a little with Christian. She knows MC wants nothing to do with him and once Yoongi finds out all bets are off. There is no respect or trust to be gained. Whatever good could have come with working together will be shot to shit cause it will be an all out war over MC.

I’m trying to think of what chapter it was but there was a part where either Yoongi or MC was trying to figure out how Christian got so much power. I know that Seokjin was a part of it but could Ryujin be too? Is there more to Seokjin that still hasn’t been uncovered yet? Once again this man is on my shit list. He knows more than he is willing to tell and Ryujin is on some kind of other shit that will backfire for sure.

Once again, I am left at the end of the chapter with so many theories and questions. I love that every character is so freaking two-faced. I never know what to expect. I'm excited to see what you whip up next and I'm prepared to scream about it. At some point I'll scream in your dms when I get the chance.

I love you and your mind!!!

Collateral 🗡️ 23: This life of death and destruction

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon

🗡️ word count: 13.6k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️warnings: violence (a man gets stabbed in the eye, weaponized chopsticks, blood); recreational drug use & getting drunk; vomit.

🗡️note: are we ready to continue this story??? the cast of characters has doubled in size, and i think the angst & drama has multiplied, as well. i wrote this opening scene on april 20, 2023 moments after watching the Haegeum mv. it feels good to have finally built the rest of the chapter around it over a year later. this chapter is like 80% dialogue, lol sorry. we are setting up for what is to come in the rest of the fic. enjoyyy!!!

🗡️ also note: in this chapter, mc is borrowing clothing. if you are comfortable with imagining the clothing belongs to the thin kpop idols, please do. if you are not, then please don't. i am not making assumptions or allusions to body size but instead trying to paint a picture of being at the mercy of others.

🗡️ if you have not read the Yoongi POV chapter, i strongly recommend you do so before reading this.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted sept. 2024 | read on ao3

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“He looks hesitant,” Ryujin drawls in a bored tone. She turns to face you and her lips upturn at the edges, eyes sparkling. “Like he’s scared of what he may find when he gets here.”

The air is stiflingly hot, creating a sticky film over your skin, and your body feels heavier than it should. In this humidity, you are dizzy and agitated. More than anything, you are not ready to come face to face with the man who has caused you so much confusion and mental duress.

“Good,” you say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Your fingers dig into your hip bones, and you do your best not to shuffle anxiously. You do not fully believe in your conviction, but you want your performance to be believable enough that the girls don't think you're weak. “He should be.”

“Looks like he brought all the family men,” she adds, turned back to watch their approach. 

Your heart flutters suddenly, wondering whether she means Jimin is there too, unable to hide the tremble in your voice as you ask, “A-all of them?”

This time, when Ryujin faces you, her expression appears contemplative, almost sad. 

“All of them,” she confirms, causing nausea and excitement to stir. 

All you can say in response is, “Oh.”

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you forward, toward the window. You do not fully approach, not wanting to be seen, so you stop as soon as you spot them walking in the street toward the noodle shop downstairs that doubles as your hideout. 

Seven figures approach in a V formation. Six of them wear ratty dark t-shirts and khaki pants, and they hold what look like juvenile weaponry—baseball bats and chains. Over their heads are balaclavas, reminding you of Christian's men. Is it meant to taunt him, you wonder. Do they think they will find him and his men here?

Yoongi is in the center, leading the charge, with no face covering and wearing a baby blue satin bomber jacket with thick white lines down the sleeves. On the breasts of the jacket are embroidered dragon heads, reminding you of Namjoon. 

Namjoon. The thought of seeing him again, like this, makes your insides stir. You feel the urge to vomit, but you hold your ground and watch as the men approach, wearing a frown on your lips. 

When the heads disappear from sight, you turn and listen for the silence that lingers in the air, save for the thrum of your pulse. A calm before a terrible storm.

Ryujin lets out a long, loud trill of a whistle—a signal, no doubt—and you listen as the 

hideout breaks out into chaos. Men scramble through the short hallway that leads out into the open space that Yoongi and his men will soon enter. 

"No guns!" Ryujin commands as she stomps through the space toward the hallway, clad in a white tank top tucked into a short black tennis skirt and tall leather equestrian boots. "You are on the defense only. Do not harm a single hair on any of these men's bodies. Do so and you die!"

As you stand near the window, you listen to the street commotion below. Vehicles drive along the narrow roads, vendors shout while ringing bells and chimes, and in the distance, a dog barks. 

You know that you will not hear the men's approaching footfalls, but you listen for them, anyway. Yoongi and the family men only need to walk through the small dining hall of the open-air restaurant below, then up a flight of stairs. You hear nothing that might give their positions away. 

"Wanna hide?" Hwasa—the nickname of your darling friend Hyejin—asks. She rests her chin on your shoulder and loosely wraps her arms around you, engulfing you in a perfume of roses and lilies.

You shake your head and mutter, "No," watching the doorway for any movement.

Finally, heavy footfalls echo through the space, giving you goosebumps, and when you hear the sounds of shouting followed by someone running into the room, you hold your breath. 

"Fuck, fuck!" a man yells as he rounds the corner and cowers, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He seems to be patting himself down for a weapon, then he sighs and squeezes his eyes closed as he presses his back to the wall. 

"Ya!" Hwasa yells, making the man gasp. "What is it?"

"B-big Duri," the man stammers, eyes wide. He shakes his head quickly as if attempting to clear away his thoughts. 

Duri is a hulk of a man who stands watch at the top of the stairs. He is as muscular as he is tall, with a bit of softness around his belly, and his towering status has earned him the title Big Duri from the other men. One snarl from him makes men cower away in fear.

"What about him?" Hwasa asks.

"He was s-stabbed," the man says, staring at the floor. "In the f-f-fucking eye."

Hwasa drops her arms from around you and stands up straight. You open your mouth to speak but find no sound can pass your lips. 

Footfalls approach, heavy and fast. You are not sure who you expect storming in from the hallway, but for some reason, it is not Yoongi. 

He walks in assuredly like he owns the place, dark hair framing his face in waves. Clenched in his right fist are two bright red chopsticks that look like the ones served at the restaurant downstairs, and you could swear the thinner ends of them are dripping with blood. 

"Darling, let's go," Yoongi says, wide eyes fixed on you. He looks like a madman with his hair somewhat disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his throat.  

You are surprised to see Yoongi dressed as he is. Under the pastel jacket is a white tee tucked into loose-fitting blue jeans. When was the last time you saw him in blue jeans? Your first trip to Hong Kong?

You heavy-blink, breaking from the thought process, and attempt to hold steady and keep cool. But you do not feel cool. Your pulse quickens, and you worry you might faint. 

"I'm staying here," you say, voice trembling. 

You half expect Yoongi to storm over and grab you by the arm. Part of you even feels saddened when he stays where he is. 

"Darling," Yoongi says, lifting his free hand to wave you over. "I'm not asking you twice."

"How many men did you kill out there?" you ask, eyes on the chopsticks that drip blood beside his dusty white sneaker. Yoongi's arm drops to his side and he heaves a weighty sigh, shoulders falling. 

Behind Yoongi, Ryujin saunters in. She grins and stands beside Yoongi, resting her head against his shoulder as she reaches for the bloodied chopsticks in his fist, saying, "You owe me a bodyguard."

Yoongi—whose eyes never leave you—throws the chopsticks to the floor, off to the side. They clatter against the uneven wood, and you wince at the thought of blood splattering. 

He mutters, "Fine." 

With that admission, you surmise that Yoongi has, indeed, stabbed Big Duri in the eye. How he managed to do so when he is so much smaller than the man is beyond you. You would be amused by the visual of Yoongi leaping onto him like a kitten if the situation were not so infuriating. 

Slowly, Ryujin lifts her head from Yoongi's shoulder. She turns her gaze to you as she says, "She doesn't want this life, Yoongi. She told you so, herself."

"Darling," Yoongi says, seemingly ignoring Ryujin, making her roll her eyes. "I will make some changes. We will figure it out. Just come home."

You shake your head. "I told you I wanted to leave."

"You are in danger," Yoongi insists, and you scoff. For the first time since you have arrived to this dingy place, there has been no hint of violence until he turned up. 

As Yoongi sighs, his nostrils flair. You can clearly see that he has something on his mind, but he remains still and silent. 

Anger rises, and you clench your fists at your sides. This is not the reunion you expected, but you cannot say you are shocked. "I told you I no longer want this life, and the first thing you do is stab a man—a good man!"

"Darling, I—" 

"Go home," you interrupt. 

Yoongi watches you, expression cold save for a flicker of sadness in his eyes. Every nerve in your body wants to propel you forward and into his arms, but you do not want to return to the home of a maniac who attacks men with chopsticks, beautiful as that maniac may be. 

"I have told you time and again that I cannot handle this life of death and destruction! And here you are, bringing it straight to my feet. Go home, Yoongi."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows. In the doorway, you see Namjoon appear, balaclava raised to his forehead. His dark grey tee is smeared with sweat and blood, and before he can open his mouth to speak, you turn around. There is absolutely no way you will be able to keep your strength if you are forced to face any more of them. 

"She wants you to leave," Hwasa says. You are grateful for her as you hear the heels of her boots against the rickety hardwood. "Now!"

"I want to speak to her," Namjoon says, and you are surprised to hear Yoongi say, "She does not wish to speak. Come on."

As their deep, low voices mutter, tears fill your eyes. You breathe in deeply, hoping to ward them off, but as you exhale, the air comes out shattered, and you know that you are only moments away from crying. 

"Tomorrow night, we can sit down and discuss matters," Ryujin says. 

You keep your eyes on the late afternoon sky, hanging on her every word. 

"Amicably," she continues. "No weapons. No hot tempers. And you have a man en route to Busan to take Duri's place when we arrive. Deal?"

"All of us?" Namjoon asks, and you fight the edges of your lips, which curl into a sad smile. 

Ryujin sighs. "Yes, all seven of you sordid little devils. Now get the fuck out of my hideout. You gave our darling a scare and I will not have her fainting because of it. I will send you a time and place, and you will show up dressed as respectable men. Seriously, what the fuck are you guys wearing? You look like trash."

Ryujin's voice fades as she continues to berate them, footsteps retreating, and it occurs to you once more that somewhere out in the chaos is Jimin. You turn, and the movement causes Yoongi's head to lift and eyes to open wide and expectantly, standing halfway in the hallway. You were not expecting him to still be here. To your disappointment, Namjoon has already left the room.

"Is Jimin here?" you ask. 

Relief floods Yoongi's face, and he cracks a smile, nodding as he says, "Yes. Come see him."

You shake your head, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. 

"Glad he's awake," you say. "Perhaps I will see you all tomorrow." 

Yoongi's expression turns sad, and you watch as he mouths the word perhaps before you turn your attention back to the window. The sound of his shoes retreating makes you want to throw up, and you swallow it down as a single tear streaks your left cheek. 

* * *

Ryujin lies on a large fur rug that she has pulled near the window. Atop the rug is a mess of blankets and pillows, and her limbs tangle with those of Hwasa and the other three girls. 

You sit arrow straight on the wide window sill, staring at the street below. The sky slowly darkens, illuminating the buildings with an orange glow that is exaggerated by the neon lights on each restaurant and storefront. 

"Yes, Yoongi," Ryujin says into her phone, playful irritation in her tone. "I swear to you there is nobody by that name in our ranks. Seokjin-oppa has already warned me about his possible presence."

You listen, hoping to hear traces of Yoongi's voice coming through the phone, but you know that it is hopeless; his dulcet tones do not exactly travel far even while in the same room as him. Muffled and at a distance, the notion is hopeless.

"You know," Ryujin continues, "you would have less to worry about if you hadn't stabbed my most trusty security guard in the fucking eye with a chopstick."

Her words make you wince, and you turn away from the window, staring at the empty wall opposite where Ryujin and the girls rest. The floral wallpaper is peeled in places and tinted brown from water damage, but otherwise, the space is clean and empty, save for six suitcases and the items Ryujin has brought in and strewn about for comfort. 

Outside of this room is a hallway that connects to more rooms, though you have not bothered to look into any of them, save for the bathroom, which is the first room to the right as you exit this one. Whatever this hideout was originally built for, you do not know, and you do not care, although you imagine at least one of the rooms could serve as office space for the restaurant below. 

A shrill laugh barks through the air, making you jump. You gaze over your shoulder to find Ryujin's head tilted back, eyes closed as she full-body laughs. 

"Don't be a fucking idiot," she says, opening her eyes to meet your gaze. "No scrub in clown paint is going to buy our little darling from me. Now get some sleep; we'll talk about this tomorrow evening, as promised."

Something about Ryujin calling you our little darling sends a chill along your spine, and you turn back to staring at nothing. She ends the call abruptly, and you hear as her phone clatters against the wooden floor, undoubtedly tossed aside. 

"Darling," Ryujin calls, voice soft and pretty, causing your shoulders to rise to your ears as if protecting you—from what, you are unsure. 

You swallow hard. "Hmm?"

Ryujin giggles. "Come. You're so tense. Relax with us."

She is correct that you are tense. You have been tense for days. When you got into her car at the airport, she said you would be here for two or three days, but it is going on a week, and you are tired of sleeping on rugs in a pile of bodies. You want to return to a bed. Any bed. 

As you turn to face Ryujin and the others, you are struck by a sense of homesickness and longing that makes your stomach churn. Hwasa and three slender beauties called Solar, Wheein, and Moonbyul crowd Ryujin, who sits up on her elbows, gaze fixed on you.

Hwasa's head is against Ryujin's left shoulder, near her breast, and she watches you, as well, gaze soft but pleading. Moonbyul, with her long, straight hair lightened to a pale gold blonde, has her head on Hwasa's tummy, curled in on her. The other two are resting similarly, with Solar clinging to Ryujin and Wheein clinging to Solar, long dark hair draped over limbs which are draped over more limbs clad in white cotton and black spandex. 

You watch them in their near-stillness, questioning where you would fit. Clearly, the five of them are tight. They call her mother, and she proudly dotes on them as if they are her precious children.

Ordinarily, you wait for everyone to begin dozing off, then you curl up on one of the outside edges, back turned from whichever woman is beside you. But you know that Ryujin wants you to be physically close to her—you can tell by the way she watches you.

What would physical closeness to a woman like her entail, you wonder. 

"So shy," Ryujin pouts. "So moody."

Hwasa, as if mirroring her energy, juts out her bottom lip. 

Ryujin tilts her head, studying you. "What does the lady require to help take the edge off?"

Although she is not explicitly saying so, you know that she is offering pills. Every day that you do not give in and crawl to Ryujin and her pile of women, she assumes it is due to some defect in your ability to relax. In a way, you suppose, she is correct. 

"Going home would take the edge off," you respond, voice flat and lacking all mirth.

Ryujin sighs, and her pretty, impish smile falls into a dramatic frown. "I, too, would like to go home. And I promise that we will, soon. Yoongi is convinced there is some third party attempting to track you down, and he has been insistent on weeding the man out. He seems to think that you are safest while remaining in hiding. I, however, think we are sitting ducks."

You hum and nod.

She sits up ever so slightly, causing the clinging women to shift along with her movement. "What do you think?"

What do you think? Such a simple, innocent question, yet it stirs an anger in you that is so deep, festering in the dark pits of you that are fed by lack of proper comfort and sleep. 

There is a part of you that wants to snap at Ryujin and ask whether she really cares what you think. You want to storm up to her, take her by the straps of her white tank top, and shake some sense into her while demanding she returns you to Korea at once. 

Another part of you worries that Yoongi is being too paranoid to think clearly and that he is making an already strange situation worse. You find it hard to believe Christian has weaseled his way into Taiwan and is lying in wait to pounce, if that is what the phone call just now suggests.

But, then again, you never would have imagined Christian would show up with a briefcase of money, nor did you expect to see him turning up to the mansion in the middle of the night. Still, the notion feels ridiculous. You're not in Korea anymore. 

You shrug, purse your lips as if you are thinking it over, and say, "I don't really know."

Truth be told, you are exhausted, catapulting emotionally from one extreme to another, finding it impossible to truly relax. You are not sure whether Ryujin has done anything to deserve your vitriol; she has kept you safe and fed, even if you are slowly succumbing to exhaustion-induced hysteria. 

Her history with Yoongi notwithstanding, she appears reasonable and kind. It is hard to hate her for her past when it has opened up Yoongi's arms to you—for better or worse. It is not as if you regret the time you have spent with him.

And, if you are being honest, you wonder whether the transgression between them was as simple as the men put it, or if there is more to her side of the story. Surely, she did not wake up one day and decide to betray the man she loved.

Or, perhaps, she is charming you the way Yoongi did. What better way to tame a wild beast than to uproot it from the comfort and safety it has grown accustomed to and force it into close proximity, giving it no other choice than to be grateful and eventually feel some semblance of love toward its captor. Maybe she and Yoongi have more in common than you realize.

The thought makes you snicker, and you stand, taking notice of how Ryujin lifts her chin and watches you. Hwasa stirs and sits up, causing Moonbyul to roll off of her with a groan and clench onto the pillow below her.

"Going to the bathroom," you say.

Hwasa stands as Ryujin sing-songs, "Buddy system," causing you to smile and roll your eyes. 

You are not allowed to do anything outside of this room—including taking a shit—without the accompaniment of one of the girls. Lucky for you, Hwasa is always willing and eager to be close.  

Hwasa tiptoes over and snakes an arm around your elbow, momentarily resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you walk. You have come to enjoy her company quite a bit, and you are relieved to have her here. 

While it was shocking to lay eyes on Hwasa after your plane landed in Taiwan, she was very clear and open about her circumstances, and you found it easy to trust her. According to her, Seokjin and Jimin gave her the position at Paradise knowing she was one of Ryujin's women, reminding you of Hyunjin and how he and his family were safe, after all. 

Yoongi may not have been working directly with Ryujin this entire time, but it seems that his men have been. And, judging by how comfortable he seemed with letting Ryujin touch him and boss him around earlier, you do not suspect that he harbors the same ill thoughts that he seemed to when you first encountered her all those months ago. 

You wonder what has changed. Has it been your presence in his life, or something more? After all the destruction Ryujin's team has caused Yoongi's family over the last several months, ending with Jimin in a coma, some sort of truce had to have been made. You have heard whispers of conversations, but you are curious about the specifics. It seems the woman who was at the helm of the destruction, Hyungseo, is not here. 

In due time, you think. You have no doubt Ryujin will open up to you.

As you and Hwasa leave the room and venture quietly into the hall, two armed men look up from the game of Chinese checkers that they play on the floor, and smile. They are beautiful, and you smile back, yanking your gaze away from them before you are able to make any more of an impression on either of them.

Admittedly, you are lonely. Physically, emotionally, sexually…and there is something in the gleams of their eyes that stirs you deeply, but you know that it is not them who do it for you. 

It is their eyes. They share the same piercing, knowing gaze of hunger and brutality that glimmers in the eyes of the family men. Your family men. 

"I think Yunho likes you," Hwasa teases, voice loud enough for him to undoubtedly hear, though you do not turn back to look. 

Instead, you press your palm against the cold metal door leading into the small bathroom and sheepishly ask, "Which one is he, again?"

A snicker comes from the floor, undoubtedly from Yunho's companion Seonghwa, and you turn as you enter the dimly lit room, grinning widely at your friend. The bathroom door swings shut, and the scents of toilet cleaner and bleach sting your nose. 

There are three toilet stalls in this room with mint green painted metal doors. The walls are a similar shade of green, and the yellow and white tiles on the floor are chipped in places.

You make your way to the sinks straight ahead and turn on the water, which is always cold, and run your hands under the stream. On the counter, in the corner, is a large black makeup case containing travel-sized toiletries for yourself and the rest of the women, and you open its lid and rummage around for your toothbrush and toothpaste. 

"How are you holding up?" Hwasa asks as you unscrew the cap from the toothpaste and squeeze a small dollop of its contents onto your bristles, careful not to take too much. 

You shrug, and rather than respond, raise the brush to your mouth. The mint is cloyingly sweet as it hits your taste buds, and you close your eyes, worried that its minty sting may tangle with your emotions and cause tears to well.

"Will you be joining Ryujin to meet with them for dinner tomorrow?"

Without opening your eyes, you begin to shake your head, not sure whether you can handle sitting at the same table with all of them. But then Jimin's bright, gleaming smile crosses your mind, and you shrug and nod. You may as well. 

Hwasa chuckles, and her hands rest softly on your shoulders before giving a gentle squeeze. All at once, you relax, dropping your shoulders and tipping your head forward, instinctively giving her permission to do anything she would like. 

As you finish brushing your teeth and tongue, she squeezes your muscles and rolls her thumbs in circles. You hold the small plastic brush between your teeth, feeling a dribble of frothy, minty spit roll down your lip to your chin, and you rest your palms against the counter until Hwasa lifts her hands away. 

"I suppose I should brush my teeth, too," she says with a pout in her tone, and you open your eyes to see her squirting some paste onto a matching toothbrush that she has written AH on in large letters for Ahn Hyejin. 

You spit, rinse, and spit some more, then use the inside of your sweaty black tank top to dab the moisture from the edges of your mouth. When Hwasa is finished, the two of you link arms once more and make your way out of the bathroom, ignoring Yunho and Seonghwa as you walk by. 

The rest of the girls, led by Ryujin, walk by in a fit of soft giggles, and you make your way to the pile of blankets and pillows, feeling physically exhausted despite being uncertain of whether you may actually be able to sleep. 

Hwasa follows and lies down beside you, beaming as she scoots nice and close and wraps an arm around your waist before you have a chance to roll away and face the wall. 

"Not so fast," she says, causing you to chuckle despite yourself. "You always roll away. Snore in my face for once."

Affronted, you attempt to wiggle out of her hold, surprised by how strong she is as she holds you in place. "I do not snore."

Hwasa rolls her eyes, says, "Everyone snores a little," and wiggles closer as her hold on you loosens—so close your noses nearly touch.

You feel too warm, and the scent of Hwasa's perfume mingling with her body heat stirs something inside you, filling you with the urge to flee. You are lonely, and she is beautiful and soft, and suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room.

At a loss, you close your eyes. Whether you roll your body away or continue to face her, she will not create more distance because she cannot. As soon as the other girls return, they will pile into the bed, and you will feel the weight of ankles and wrists drape over you. 

"Good night, pretty dove," Hwasa sing-songs. 

You crack a smile, unable to hold back despite how dangerous it feels to allow yourself to be anything but stoic and collected for the time being. The nickname reminds you of Paradise and of Jimin, and you are unable to hold back. 

"Good night, Hyejin," you mutter in response, forgetting her nickname for the familiar one as her warmth and comfort lulls you fast into a sleep you did not expect to come. 

You actually feel…good.

* * *

The rattle and clanking of dishes and silverware have all of your nerves on high alert, causing your pulse to spike and your palms to sweat. You are acutely aware of the fact that at any moment, several men you miss and adore are going to come walking into the private dining room to join you, Ryujin, and Hwasa, and you are going to have to face them.

Each time a member of the serving staff enters, your eyes dart up in panic, and each time they bow apologetically, confusion painted across their features. Under the table, from your right, Hwasa grips onto your hand and mutters kind words that are lost over the pounding of your heart. 

When your trio arrived first, you were grateful. You assumed that by the time you waited on the arrival of the men, your nerves would have calmed and you would have composed yourself. 

But you were wrong. Oh, how you were wrong. 

With each passing second, your heart riots behind your ribs, quick and dizzying. You feel the urge to excuse yourself to the bathroom, but you are terrified of what it may do to Yoongi if he arrives to find that you are not sitting at this table. 

Food and drink are brought in. Large dishes covered in steaming meat, vegetables, rice, and noodles. Carafe after carafe is set down, and as you sit forward to peer into one of them, Hwasa says, "That is kaoliang. Fermented liquor from China." Your mouth begins to water, but you are not sure you are ready just yet to start drinking. 

Shadows linger outside the door to the private room, tall and wide blobs obscured by the privacy glass. Ryujin glances at her watch, mutters, "Fucking finally," and stands, causing Hwasa to stand as well. 

You remain glued to your seat. Even if you wanted to stand, you are not sure you would be able to. 

As the door slides open, your heart pounds. Seokjin enters with a smirk and a bow of his head, followed by Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jeongguk, Namjoon, and finally, Yoongi. 

Jimin beams, eyes and mouth wide and happy, and he rounds the table in a rush, pushing past Ryujin, who attempts to pull him into a hug. Your eyes fill with tears, and as you finally get onto your feet, legs wobbling beneath you, the tears spill, streaking your cheeks. 

You stumble and crash into the papered wall from the force of Jimin's hug, elbow scraping and stinging, but you do not care. Jimin smells and feels so familiar, and you sob in his arms, burying your face into his black lapel and letting out a deep, shattered breath.

"Oh my god," you manage to mutter against his shoulder, and he tries to loosen the hug to hear you speak, but you shake your head like a petulant child and pull him closer, refusing to let go. "I was so scared, Jimin. I thought I might never— I've missed you so much."

Voices greet one another, and chairs scrape across the floor, signaling that the others have begun to find their seats. This time, when Jimin begins to release the hug, you allow him, dropping your hands from his shoulders but holding them loosely around his hips.

Jimin's eyes are glassy with tears, and hair is slightly longer, almost grown out into a mullet. For the first time since you have met him, it is brown, and you mutter, "Nice hair," while doing your best to smile widely despite still crying. 

He grimaces at you, lifting his hands to thumb away the moisture under your eyes. Then he leans in, kisses the tip of your nose, and says, "All better, dove."

"Thank you," you whisper, sound lodged in your throat, then you release Jimin for good and pivot to take your seat, taking a deep breath before allowing your eyes to fall on the rest of the men. 

To your surprise and dismay, you find Ryujin sitting across from you with her eyebrows raised and a sharp, devious smile playing on her lips. To her left is Hwasa, and to her right is Jeongguk. You do not need to look to see that Yoongi and Namjoon have taken the seats on either side of you because of course, they have. Where else would they be?

But you do look. You sweep the sprawling rectangular table, starting with Namjoon at your left, then Hoseok, with Seokjin at the far end, where you anticipated Yoongi might sit. Past Seokjin is Taehyung, then Jeongguk, then Ryujin, who is leaning to the side and whispering something to Hwasa, whose hand reaches to where Jimin sits on the other far end. 

Jimin inspects Hwasa's rings and nails, dainty fingers tracing delicate lines. When she turns back to look at him, there are tears in her eyes, and you realize belatedly that she has missed him, as well. Of course, she has.

You do not look at Yoongi, gaze ending with Jimin. Yoongi clears his throat, causing Ryujin to stand, and—feeling uncomfortable with also standing while she speaks—you quickly have a seat. 

Ryujin bows her head, hair pulled in a tight bun at the back of her head. She, matching Hwasa, wears a black suit with a white silk blouse, blending in with the black suits and black satin undershirts the men wear. You are the odd one out in a sleek black evening gown; Ryujin was insistent. At least it, too, is satin. 

"Gentlemen," Ryujin says, and all at once, the men stand, bow their heads, and sit, including Yoongi, who scoots in close beside you. "Thank you for joining us tonight. I trust you have found us a replacement bodyguard?"

Yoongi hums a gruff, low note, and you are acutely aware of his presence by your side. His scent—earthy and musky, ever so slightly tinged with citrus—sneaks past the savory blend of food smells and floods your senses. You swallow a lump of trepidation that has crept its way to your throat. 

"First of all, I would like to thank you for trusting me with taking care of our little darling," Ryujin says, turning to look at Seokjin. She remains standing. "As you are all aware, things between Yoongi and I have not always been easy. But, moving forward, I would like for all of us to remain amicable."

At this, Ryujin's eyes land on Yoongi. She appears fierce and ruthless in the way she looks down at him, lips upturned as if to show that she is enjoying this position of power. 

You glance from the corner of your eye to find that Yoongi peers back up at her, sitting tall on the edge of his seat. His expression is blank, as is to be expected. There is a long pause during which you wish someone would speak or move to eat or drink—anything to cut through the tension.

Finally, Yoongi folds his arms over his chest and sits back, shifting his weight in a more relaxed position. He clears his throat, and you turn your gaze to the piles of meats, vegetables, noodles, and rice. 

It sounds as if Yoongi attempts more than once to speak but struggles to find the words. At this, Namjoon sits forward, pulling your attention to the left, and he asks, "May I?"

Ryujin's face lights up. "Of course, Joonie-oppa. The floor is yours."

"Firstly, thank you for your hospitality. The hideout was certainly difficult to locate—"

Ryujin snickers. At this, Jeongguk stands, facing her, "Look, noona, if you would have answered your phone, we never would have shown up there with—"

"Sit down," Ryujin snaps, turning a playful but intense glare on Jeongguk, whose mouth snaps shut as he takes his seat. Beside him, Taehyung snickers. "I didn't answer my phone because I wanted to converse with her before making any choices, and you idiots acted irrationally."

At the word her, Ryujin lifts her hand and gestures to you, momentarily pulling your gaze. Although you do not glance around, you are certain that all heads turn to look your way, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat while you begin watching droplets of condensation streak your water glass.  

"Pardon us for being concerned," Yoongi responds, voice tense and pained. 

This seems to quell whatever emotion that has Ryujin acting defensive, and she slowly takes her seat and reaches for the bottle of kaoliang. All seem to be waiting for her response, and she takes her time lifting her glass to her lips and sitting back in her chair. 

"Nobody faults you for being concerned, oppa. But you need to be more considerate of the reason she has come to me in the first place."

Yoongi must open his mouth to speak once more because Ryujin lifts her hand to stop him before she continues. 

"Yes, I know that you are concerned for her safety, especially in the wake of some mysterious man from her past showing up out of nowhere. But she was already planning on leaving for mental health reasons. So maybe storming in with chopsticks blazing is not the wisest way to reunite with someone who is already shell-shocked from all the other bullshit she has had to witness."

"Some of the bullshit was at the hands of your people," Namjoon interjects. 

Ryujin levels her gaze on him. "The most heinous bullshit, I would imagine. And as you can see, Hyungseo is not present. I am dealing with her, and Seokjin, Yoongi, and I have already discussed ways I can help with harm reduction."

Your gaze moves to the right, to Jimin, and you are surprised to find he is already looking at you. You smile, unable to stop the tears that form from how relieved you are that he is alright. 

"I know that trust has been tarnished between our families, and that myself and my girls have taken things too far," Ryujin admits. "I sent my people out to scare you, and they did so much more than that. I will never stop feeling sorry for what has happened. Not a night has gone by that I have not been filled with regret over someone so precious to all of us becoming seriously injured."

Ryujin lifts an arm, reaches over Hwasa, and holds out her hand to Jimin. He takes it without hesitation. 

"He could have died," Jeongguk says, brows knit in a frown. 

Ryujin sighs. "I know this, Ggukie. And I am so, so sorry. I am determined to quash any bad blood and begin earning your respect. Tomorrow we leave for Busan. Once we are all back home, Serendipity will be opened for a night of drinking, drugs…whatever you heathens do."

To your surprise, many of the men snicker, amused. 

"Seokjin and Hoseok already have a security team on standby so that you are not only relying on my people to keep you safe," Ryujin continues. "The era of family feuding is over. I am happy with my little piece of the peninsula, and I want drug operations to continue in a way that is lucrative for both of us. We will remain your first line of defense in the harbor, and in return, all that I ask is that we get free reign in Seoul to come and go."

Yoongi clears his throat. "If Sunmi-noona will accept the offer, she can be your liaison in the city once more."

At this, a mischievous smirk tugs on Ryujin's lips. She gives Jimin's hand a squeeze before releasing it, then raises both elbows to the table to cradle her chin in her hands. "Tell me, oppa. Why does Sunmi-unnie spit at my feet whenever I mention your name?"

Yoongi says nothing. 

Rather than press him, she winks, then reaches for a large metal spoon and begins to fill her dish. Everyone hesitates, and it is Jeongguk who breaks the tension and follows suit, scooping food onto Taehyung's plate and causing the others to act in kind. You sit still, unsure whether you have an appetite. 

"Darling?" Yoongi asks at the same time two fingers gently caress the back of your arm. 

Your evening gown is a form-hugging halter top with a low back, leaving your skin open to soft, delicate assaults like the ones Yoongi likes to conduct in gentle motions. You flinch but try not to pull your arm away, worried about hurting his feelings.

Yoongi chuckles softly. "Are you not hungry?"

You shake your head but mutter, "I don't know."

"Should I have sat elsewhere?" he asks. He shifts as if he is looking over and around you, and you imagine he is speaking nonverbally to Namjoon. 

The room is too bright, the food and cologne smells are too numerous, and the sounds of voices and silverware and porcelain are too loud. You raise your shoulders to your ears, then turn toward Yoongi, still unable to meet his eye as you ask, "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Yoongi stands, says, "Excuse us for just a moment," and waits for you. 

As you stand, you catch Ryujin's eye. She appears concerned and places her palms on the table as if ready to stand and defend you. 

You nod and say, "We'll be right back," and watch as she relaxes. 

A warm palm presses against your lower back, and Yoongi guides you toward the door, out into a small hallway, and to the left. The restaurant's main dining hall is to the right, and you are thankful to walk in the opposite direction, not sure whether you can handle another person's eyes on you. 

Yoongi walks into an empty private dining room, switches on the light, and holds out his arm for you to enter. As you step inside, you hear him conversing softly with who you assume to be an employee, and then he joins you, closing the door behind him.

As you stand and face the large, empty dining room, you expect Yoongi to touch you or prod you into speaking. Perhaps you expect him to beg you to return home. Instead, he seems to be waiting.

After only a handful of seconds, you decide you cannot take it anymore. Every ounce of you yearns for Yoongi, and knowing he is so close and being so patient has you reeling. You turn and quickly step toward him, reaching for his lapels and burying your face against his chest. He smells like home, and as he wraps his arms around you, warmth fills your chest, and you begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm sorry I had to leave. I miss you, Yoongi, but I can't stand being there. I can't do it."

"Shh," Yoongi whispers, lips pressing to your temple, causing you to cry harder. It has only been a week, and yet you feel as if you have been away from him for so long. 

"I'm sorry we keep creating distance. I don't know how to make it work out. I'm so scared, Yoongi." You are fumbling, mouth on autopilot, dredging up each time you and Yoongi were apart, feeling somehow responsible for everything despite knowing you have always only done your best. 

"Yesterday was a mistake," Yoongi says, peppering kisses from the crown of your hair to your cheek and back up. "I was terrified and not in my right mind. You left in a frenzy, and then there was that letter, and it all been very confusing—"

You sniffle loudly, letting out a sound that halfway sounds like a laugh. "Oh my god, the letter. I'm so sorry."

Yoongi chuckles, gently grabs your shoulders, and pries you away from his chest. You allow him to move you, and you stand straight but keep your eyes on his black satin shirt. You do not want to see his scar or the pretty way in which his eyes downturn when he is sad. 

His voice is soft and conspiratorial as he says, "I almost killed Seokjin after I found it."

With wide, surprised eyes, you look up, unable to hold back any longer. Yoongi's smile is loving and big, and his eyes sparkle with happiness, making your stomach roil with uncertainty. His scar is still so red against his soft skin, but it adds so much to his allure and beauty.

"I was under the impression you were running away with Barom, what with the timing of it all. You packed a bag, left behind all of our gifts, and disappeared into the night the moment he arrived."

Despite Yoongi's high spirits, you shake your head somewhat desperately. "I wrote it earlier that day, thinking I might run away a night or two later. I was scared that if I said goodbye, I wouldn't be able to leave." Tears build once more, and your body goes limp, hanging against the weight of Yoongi's hands. "Yoongi, I'm so—"

"Alright, no more sorries," Yoongi says, pressing against your shoulders enough to signal that he would like you to stand up and get your shit together. "Seokjin explained your conversations and motives to us already, and I have long since forgiven the both of you. I understand why you felt you had to sneak away. Remember when I went missing in Hong Kong? I was also in the midst of a mental health crisis, darling. I have no hard feelings."

You straighten out and search Yoongi's eyes for any hint of dishonesty, but all you find is a soft, loving gaze looking back at you. With a relieved sigh, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing the side of your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

"I love you," you say, feeling the words fill you with warmth. 

Yoongi drapes one arm over your shoulders and rests his other hand against the back of your head. "I love you, too," he says. "And if you need time and space, I will give it to you. Despite everything, I trust the girls to take good care of you."

"Is it weird?" you ask, pulling out of the hug and stepping back only far enough to see Yoongi's face. His only response is to raise one eyebrow. "Being around her again, I mean. Was she always so bossy?"

Yoongi chuckles and shakes his head. "I suppose it is a little weird, but we were friends first and foremost, and being friendly with her again feels easy. She has not always been that bossy, per se, but she has always been strong-willed enough to face all seven of us down the way she did tonight."

This makes you laugh, and you lean into Yoongi once more, tilting your head to press your lips to his throat, just under his chin. 

"Thank you," you say. Yoongi hums, and you add, "For giving me time and space. For being understanding. That night was a fucking mess, and I have been really scared for what the aftermath may look like."

"No hard feelings," Yoongi repeats. "As long as you are happy."

All at once, you are flooded with myriad thoughts. Are you happy? This last week, while being more or less calm on your nerves, has also been lonely and strange. Would you feel better if you cut your losses and went back home to your men, where everything felt familiar again? Could you cycle through medications until finding the magical cocktail that would allow you to be whole again?

No, you think. Probably not. 

"Are you sure?" you ask, voice soft and uncertain. "I don't know how long I might need. I can't promise—"

Yoongi kisses your forehead, pressing his lips slowly as he hums. He says, "I'm sure. We can figure it out one day at a time."

With everything out in the open, your stomach pangs with hunger. You smile and ask, "Can we go eat now?" and you are delighted when Yoongi smiles with relief and says, "Yes, of course."

With his thumbs, Yoongi rubs below your eyes. His hands linger on your cheeks, and you expect him to lean forward and kiss you, but he drops his hands a beat later, then grabs onto one of yours and asks, "Shall we?"

Yoongi leads the two of you back to the dining room, and as you enter, you are pleased to find the entire table has erupted into pleasant conversation. Jeongguk's arm is draped over Ryujin's chair while Hwasa emphatically tells them a story, and Jimin is leaning close, listening with his chin propped onto his hands. 

Taehyung is explaining something while glancing between Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok, and as you and Yoongi round the table and return, nobody acknowledges the two of you until you take a seat and Namjoon—eyes still on Taehyung—gently places a hand on your knee. 

It is only when you begin to reach for half-empty bowls of food that Namjoon takes your plate in his hand that you realize how long it has been since the two of you have spoken. You are once again overwhelmed with emotion and fight the urge to say sorry a hundred more times. 

Instead, he points with a large metal spoon and says, "Both of these dishes have a tangy garlic sauce, but this one is a bit more spicy."

"I'd like to try both," you say, watching as Namjoon spoons a heap of chicken with vegetables onto your dish, followed by a heap of tofu and peanuts with vegetables in a slightly redder sauce full of chopped red peppers. 

As Namjoon sets your plate in front of you, you reach with your long metal chopsticks with the intent to gather some noodles from a dish that is across from Yoongi, out of Namjoon's reach. However, Yoongi takes the dish and begins to scoop some onto a smaller plate for you, and you sit back with a smile and wait for him to finish. 

"Still having those dreams?" Namjoon asks.

You know in an instant that he is referring to the dream that you wrote about in your letter, and you feel silly as you bite your bottom lip and nod. 

"That has to be really stressful," he says, reaching for a pitcher of water to fill his empty glass. 

You smile sadly, imagining his white shirt filling with blood. It is stressful, but— "On the plus side, I get to see you."

As you lift your gaze to meet Namjoon's, his furrowed brow and wilted frown gently lift, not quite into a smile, but at least something a bit more relaxed. 

"Hi," you say softly, taking in Namjoon's familiar, beautiful face.

His smile widens, creasing his cheeks with dimples. He mutters, "Hey, you," and the soft, dulcet tone of his voice fills your chest with warmth. 

You open your mouth to tell him that you love him. That you miss him. That you're sorry for leaving. So, so sorry. 

But Ryujin loudly asks, "Caviar?" pulling the attention of everyone at the table. 

Behind her, waitstaff hold new plates, and everyone nods in agreement before continuing their conversations. And although you could pour your heart out now, Hoseok steals Namjoon's attention away, and you decide the moment has passed.

Food and drink continue to appear in waves, and suddenly, you are tipsy and full and tired. Namjoon stands to walk around the table and have a quiet conversation with Ryujin, and Jimin seizes the opportunity to steal his seat. He and Jeongguk discuss business operations at Paradise while you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes listening to the sound of his voice. He is alive. He is awake. 

He speaks slower, and there is a rough quality to his voice that was not present before. It seems to take him more time to process what is said to him, and he reacts as if on a delay. But he is here and alive and awake. 

Only when more kaoliang is poured, and Ryujin raises a toast do you sit up and take your cup. You barely hear what she shouts, booze and excitement slurring her speech, but you make out the words together, family, and happy, and you tap your small glass against as many as you can reach before shooting the strong liquid down.

A large, warm hand rests on your right knee, and as you set down your empty glass, you turn to find Yoongi watching you, glassy-eyed with a smile on his lips. You attempt to smile back but instead, swallow thickly and search for something to say. Luckily, he speaks first.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it has been without you at home?” Yoongi’s gaze becomes pained but remains soft, tugging at your heart. 

And although the sentiment is sweet, you are unable to ignore the impossibility of his question. In fact, for some inexplicable reason—you suppose you must blame the alcohol—you become somewhat annoyed.

You ask, “How could I possibly know that? And anyway, don't you have your hands full as it is?”

Across the table, Jeongguk snickers. It takes Yoongi a second to react, and you are glad when the corners of his lips raise into another smile, even if just for a second. 

“Being around those girls has made you sassier than you were before, darling,” he mutters under his breath. 

You roll your eyes. “It has only been a week, darling.”

Leaning close, elbows on the table, Yoongi lowers his voice and says, “It only took me about a week to begin wearing you down.”

Arousal stirs from the tone of his voice, but so does your stomach. Being kidnapped and worn down is not exactly a topic that you delight in discussing. You must not show your dissatisfaction, however, because Yoongi leans in close and presses a soft, warm kiss against your cheek. 

As the raucous dinner comes to an end and you begin to wish everyone a safe trip home, Jeongguk finally approaches. You have been holding back the urge to kick him in the shin all night, feeling somewhat scorned by his lack of attention. 

"So you're going to stay with the girls?" he asks, standing close enough to wrap you in an embrace but keeping his arms to his sides.

You nod and find it hard to hold his eye contact, looking down at his satin-clad shoulder instead. Jeongguk lifts a hand and delicately places two fingers under your chin, tilting your head until you look him in the eyes. The contact of his skin against yours sends an electric current through you, and you shiver. 

"Call me if you need anything. I can be to Busan in a matter of hours."

Sheepishly, you glance down again and mutter, "I don't have anyone's number anymore."

Jeongguk drops his hand, turns to the left, and says, "Seokjin-hyung! What the fuck, man?"

Arguing ensues, but you are too distracted by Namjoon wrapping his arms around your side and pressing his lips to your neck. Suddenly, your bones are jelly, and you stumble to the right, leaning your weight against his embrace. Yoongi joins, taking your chin in his hand in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, and tilting your lips against his. 

"We'll be ready whenever you are," Namjoon insists, lips grazing over your skin. "Whatever you need…please don't shut us out."

Somewhere behind Namjoon, Seokjin shouts, "Yah! I'll upload everyone to her contact list. Quit fussing!"

"Okay," you mutter while smiling against Yoongi's retreating mouth, unable to find anything more substantial to say despite it all lying in wait at the tip of your tongue all night. 

"We miss you," Yoongi says, pressing another kiss against your temple. "But we can wait if that is what you need."

Tears well and you fight the urge to sob. Not here, you tell yourself. Not now. You have already cried so much.

You hug everyone, even Seokjin and Hoseok. Jeongguk attempts to play it cool, but he stares at your lips the entire time, and you practically beg him to kiss you before ultimately letting him walk away. Jimin litters your cheeks and temples with loud, wet smooches, causing you to giggle and shriek. 

Taehyung asks about your medication, making your heart ache from his kindness. You briefly inform him that you have been having no dizzy spells, and he promises to send you more medication as soon as you are in Busan. 

Finally, Namjoon and Yoongi pull you into another three-way hug and take turns kissing your lips, cheeks, and forehead. They mutter soft, sweet phrases that you only make out the tones of, feeling the whooshing of your pulse as you begin to question whether you are making a huge mistake and should just grab your shit and go home. 

And then, all waving and clambering out the door haphazardly, they are gone, and the room is quiet. 

You sigh and glance around at the dregs of food and alcohol, feeling simultaneously full and empty in more ways than one. Tears fill the edges of your eyes, and you do your best not to blink, worried that any movement will cause them to spill. 

Ryujin sighs loudly. "Alright, well, this was fun and all, but I want to get fucking laid. You girls down for a night on the town?"

You glance down at your outfit, ready to complain, only you look good enough to go to a nightclub and find you have nothing to say to the contrary. You even wear a pair of cozy black ballet slippers, which you slid on while feeling unsure whether you could handle so many tumultuous emotions while wearing heels, and for that, you are grateful. 

"Sure," you utter while turning to Hwasa, who has a drunk but devious grin tugging on her lips. Her smile widens and she claps excitedly.

The drive to the nightclub is long, and you are exhausted by the time you arrive, having been fading in and out of a stupor. You feel more drunk than you had earlier, and you are tempted to suggest taking a cab back to the hideout alone. Of course, that would never fly. You can already hear Ryujin singing buddy system in your head.

Hwasa eagerly pulls you from the back of the car and chuckles as she rubs her fingertips along the edge of your hairline and says, "Poor sleeping beauty. We'll get you something that will wake you up, okay?"

You respond with a halfhearted smile and nod, and she takes your hand in hers and yanks you to the door, not bothering to stop for the security guard who, to your surprise, makes no move to stop you either. Inside, loud bass-heavy club music plays, and you are led through a series of hallways until you enter a large room full of the rest of Ryujin's girls and a group of men. 

The room is dark and somewhat hazy, lit by strips of purple lights along the ceiling and floor. Short two or three-person sofas line the mirrored walls and are dispersed throughout the space, most of which are occupied. On tables set beside each sofa are bottles of champagne and piles of cocaine, with glasses large and small scattered throughout and topped with small lamps that emit very little light.

Ryujin approaches a man sitting amidst the chaos by himself, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees, thumbing through his cell phone. You are curious whether these men are people she knows, and you watch to see how familiar she is with the lone man, but Hwasa steps in your line of vision and takes your chin in both of her hands. 

"Coke?" she asks. 

You want to say no, proud of yourself for being off the shit for as long as you have been away from home. But you are certain that without it, you will not survive this night, so you nod and allow yourself to be tugged further into the room, to an unoccupied table. 

"Don't worry, this is from our stash," Hwasa says as she picks up a discarded rolled-up 100-dollar Taiwanese bill and tightens it between her finger and thumb. "Moon and Solar were in charge of overseeing the distribution process."

You mutter, "How generous," doing your best to smile, and watch as Hwasa snorts a small pile into one nostril and then the other. When she hands the bill to you, you take in a deep, slow breath, and let it out, then lean forward to snort from the edge of the pile first into your left nostril and then your right.

As you let the bill fall to the table and tip your head back, sniffing in again on each side, you ask, "Does Ryujin know these men?"

"Mmhmm," Hwasa hums as she fills two glasses with champagne and hands one to you. "A few of these guys worked at Paradise while I was there, and some of them are from Serendipity. Maybe you know them."

"Oh," you say, pulling the glass to your lips but stopping to ask, "How did they end up here?"

Hwasa purses her lips and tilts her head, making a show of how hard she is trying to conjure the answer to your question. Then her eyes widen and she says, "Oh! Some guy started to come around to Serendipity and just sort of gathered the rest of these guys up as, like, a posse. I don't really know what they do, to be honest, but they always dress up in matching suits and cover their faces, which is creepy as hell."

Your stomach tenses, and you feel too anxious to turn your head to the left and figure out who Ryujin is talking to. Although you know that there is absolutely no way in hell it is Christian, something about the description of the men reminds you of his men, and you begin to wonder whether there really was credence to Yoongi's worry surrounding the possibility of Christian being on this island.

"What's his name?" you ask, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music. 

"Hmm?" Hwasa asks into her champagne glass as she leans closer. 

You begin to glance over to where Ryujin and the man are, but your heart pounds so hard, you worry you might be sick if you see him. 

"The man who gathered all the guys, from Serendipity, " you say, leaning closer. 

"What's his name?"

"Oh," Hwasa says, taking a slow slip of her champagne while her wide, dark eyes stare past you. She blinks owlishly, then pulls the glass from her lips and says, "He has a nickname…Insanity? Something like that."

Unable to stop yourself, your head flies to the left, searching the features of the man whose lap Ryujin has claimed with her legs. His nose is sharp and somewhat hooked, and it is not a familiar shape. Worried, you glance around the room, but there is no sign of Christian, as far as you can tell. 

"Something the matter?" Hwasa asks, touching fingertips to your arm and making you nearly drop your glass of champagne. 

You must look frantic when you turn back to her, based on the fear that pulls at her pretty features. You blink and wet your lips, shaking your head. Unconvincingly, judging by the way her brows knit and she continues to stare at you. 

"I just..." you swallow thickly and glance around the room once more, slowly scanning every face you can see. "I just thought he sounded familiar."

Hwasa makes a small sound, and you scan several more faces before returning your gaze to her and asking, "Huh?"

"It's just," she says, uncertain, "well, I heard he was previously working on Jeongguk's team, back when he was a drug runner. So…maybe he is familiar?"

Something is not adding up. Although Seokjin mentioned that he has kept Christian around to do whatever he pleases, it seems odd that he would be known to these women as someone who was once part of Jeongguk's team. As you recall from the day you were taken to the mansion, he did not seem to perform his drug-running duties to Yoongi's liking. Did Seokjin keep him on Jeongguk's team even after that day? Could he have had something to do with the group of men Jeongguk massacred with kunai knives for fucking him over?

You stare at your glass of champagne trying to make all the pieces fit, but it feels like you are missing a huge chunk of information. 

Hands touch your shoulders, causing you to jump. You mutter, "Shit," under your breath at the same time Ryujin's high, somewhat mocking laughter fills your left ear. 

"So sorry to scare you, pretty darling," she slurs, sounding quite inebriated. 

"Don't worry about it," you say, attempting to loosen your posture. Ryujin's hands remain on your shoulders and you do not want her to feel how tense you are. But then she squeezes your shoulders and you close your eyes, this time succeeding in relaxing. 

"How do you feel after such an emotional dinner?"

"Good," you respond while her thumbs circle over your muscles. You wonder whether she is the reason Hwasa always gives massages. Or perhaps it is the other way around. "And, I don't know. I guess also conflicted. Homesick."

Ryujin's hands fall away and she rests her chin on your left shoulder, loosely wrapping her arms around yours and pinning yours to your sides. Hwasa busies herself pouring a third glass of champagne. 

"You really like them, hmm?" Ryujin asks. 

"Yeah," you say, possibly too quiet for how loud the music in this room is. "Most of them, anyway."

The last part is a joke. You like Seokjin and Hoseok just fine, but you are certainly not as close to them as you are to the others. Taehyung, too, for that matter, although he has had the pleasure of watching his boyfriend rail you, which has formed its own kind of bond between the two of you. 

"What is your relationship with the guys?" she asks. 

Hwasa hands her a glass, and she releases her hold on you and takes it, muttering a soft, "Thank you." 

You turn to face Ryujin. Although you still hesitate to become too close to her, you do feel comfortable in her presence, all things considered. If Yoongi is willing to trust her again, then perhaps you should be, too. 

"Yoongi, Namjoon, and I are a thing." After a pause, you add, "And…sort of Jeongguk."

Ryujin's mouth falls open and she gasps. "I need to know more!"

You feel your cheeks become hot, and you pick up your glass of champagne, which Hwasa has filled. But rather than explain, you ask something that has been on your mind for a while.

"Before, when you and Yoongi were together, was Namjoon…" Unsure how to finish the sentence, you trail off. Luckily, Ryujin knows just what you mean. 

She nods. "Yes. Romantically, those two have always been the closest. Namjoon and I were never super physical. We were just very, very comfortable around one another because of Yoongi."

Interesting. You suppose this makes sense, remembering a conversation between you and Jimin a while back when he told you about how marrying Ryujin was a means to an end more than anything else. 

"Yoongi and I were meant to bring two families together. And, don't get me wrong, we were physically and emotionally attracted to one another. But we also had more fulfilling relationships on the side. For Yoongi, it was Namjoon."

"And for you?" you ask before you can stop yourself. 

Ryujin smiles wide, but then it falls to a frown. She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Nobody you know."

You nod and accept her answer. You suppose that perhaps the two of you are not that close, yet. In tandem, you and Ryujin raise your glasses to drink. But then she yells, "Oh!" and you startle enough to nearly spill your champagne onto yourself. "Jeongguk, though! What happened with him?"

You tip your head back and chug the rest of your bubbly. It is truly miserable to drink quickly, and you instantly regret your decision, feeling the carbonation sloshing around in your guts. 

"We, uh…" you begin, feeling shy. Why do you feel shy?

"You should see those two," Hwasa interjects, causing your face to heat even more. "They bicker like children but then circle one another like feral animals. I can only imagine their chemistry behind closed doors."

Affronted, your mouth falls wide. "We what? No we do not!"

Hwasa nods, grinning. "Yes, you do! I thought the two of you were fucking for sure when I first started working for Jimin. I was shocked to learn Jeongguk was with Taehyung and you were with Yoongi."

"And Namjoon," Ryujin supplies. 

Hwasa's grin widens. 

You raise your hands to your face as if to hide. This day has been exhausting, and these two are giggling at your expense like a couple of school girls. 

"Oh, stop," Hwasa says as one of your hands is tugged down from your face. You open just the one eye, keeping the other closed tight behind your palm. "Everyone wants a piece of your ass. Don't be shy about it! Embrace it."

With a sigh, you shake your head. "Not everyone," you groan, feeling defensive.

"Everyone with eyes," Ryujin says, waggling her eyebrows while Hwasa makes kissy noises. "I would shoot my shot if you weren't already so taken."

Hwasa nods and says, "Me too!"

Suddenly, it is too warm and too loud in here. "I need a stronger drink!" you declare, making both women laugh. 

You take a step back and turn, moving in autopilot toward the door before realizing you have no idea where you are nor where a bar in this building is. 

Ryujin takes your right hand and yanks you gently back, sing-songing, "Ah, ah, ah, not by yourself."

"Alright," you concede, interlocking your fingers with hers. As you begin to walk toward the exit, your left hand is engulfed and you glance to find Hwasa is coming along. 

You exit the mirrored room and turn right, taking a dark hallway about halfway and then turning right once more, through a thick black curtain that is guarded by two men on the other side. There is a bar directly to the right, and Ryujin tugs you to the counter and orders a bottle of whiskey that you do not catch the name of. 

With a nod, the bartender grabs an unopened bottle from a high shelf and then delicately stacks three medium-sized glasses. Hwasa takes the glasses, Ryujin takes the whiskey, and your hands remain held by both of theirs. 

Back in the mirrored room, you return to the table off to the right, toward the back. The girls release your hands to pour three drinks, and you fidget by pinching the satin of your skirt between your thumbs and knuckles, suddenly feeling antsy. 

"Cheers," Ryujin declares as she slides a drink in front of you. You take it, hold it up, and tap it against their glasses, then pull it to your lips and smell the strong, bittersweet liquid before taking a sip. 

The potent, boozy caramel flavor that you have come to expect is accented by a hint of something earthy, possibly wood. You take a bigger drink, hold it on your tongue, allowing your taste buds to open and fully experience the onslaught as they adjust, and then you swallow it down. 

"Tomorrow, we return to Busan," Ryujin says for the second time tonight as the whiskey flows down into your chest, filling you with warmth. You look forward to being at a proper home rather than on some random floor in a balmy, empty building. 

"I'm looking forward to seeing your home," you say, sounding far more meek than you intend to.

"I'm looking forward to hosting you."

Hwasa leans her elbows on the table and says, "You finally get to have your own room. That is, of course, unless you want to stay with me."

The playful smile on Hwasa's face, paired with her tired and intoxicated bloodshot eyes is almost enough to make you melt. Almost enough to make you follow her into any room she wants to lead you into. 

When you shrug and say, "Honestly, I may be too lonely to sleep alone," you are being brutally honest, and not all all flirtatious. 

"I can even decorate it like your room in the mansion," Ryujin says. "Is it still yellow?"

Her words halt your movement of lifting your glass back to your lips. "How did you know that?"

Ryujin rolls her eyes and says, "Please, nothing about that man has changed, down to the way he likes to outfit you. It's exactly as it was seven years ago."

Bile swirls around in your tummy, and you set the glass down on the mirrored table with a clank that is louder than you intend. Could that be true? Is Yoongi really outfitting you in the same fashion he was outfitting her all those years ago. 

Hwasa clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and swats at Ryujin's arm, muttering, "Mother, don't say things like that to her," under her breath. 

You shake your head, determined to not show how strange the information makes you feel. But Ryujin turns, pouts dramatically, and wraps her arms around you. 

"Oh, sweetie, I don't mean to suggest he was trying to turn you into a second me. He just seems to have the same tastes and fashion sense, is all. Trust me, he loves you way more than he could ever love me. I can tell."

You have no idea whether Ryujin is being truthful or trying to make you feel better, but you decide that either way, you see no use in dwelling on it. You are going to be living under her roof for the foreseeable future, and becoming upset whenever she says something a little too blunt, snippy, or insensitive is not going to get you anywhere. 

With a nod, you say, "I know. Don't worry." But it only makes her squeeze you tighter. 

"Just look at his bullshit excuse for taking you home with him," she says. "Collateral, my ass."

What an odd statement. You ask, "What do you mean?" But what you really mean to say is what do you know?

"The man takes you as so-called payment from your ex but then spends millions of dollars on a wardrobe, an armored vehicle, the most lavish birthday party in all of Seoul. Make it fucking make sense!"

Ryujin releases the hug, and as soon as you are free, you slam back your whiskey and pick up the 100-dollar bill, squeezing it tighter into a tube. Ryujin whoops and claps as you lean close and snort from the edge of the cocaine pile into your left nostril and then your right. 

"Mommy needs some, too," she says as she takes the bill from your hand and leans forward. 

You tip your head back and raise a knuckle to each nostril, sniffing deeply to make sure none of the drug is stuck inside your nose cavity, then you stand up straight, stretching your back by pushing forward your chest, and reach for the bottle of whiskey. 

"Partying so hard without me?" a male voice asks from behind you, and you nearly drop the bottle. 

The tone, the accent, and the cadence all confirm your fears are true.

"Christian?" you mutter as you spin, and you almost do not believe your eyes. 

From the expression he wears and the way his gaze falls to the floor, eyes widening as they lift to your face, you wager he also cannot believe his. 

Christian steps forward and you take a step back, elbow hitting the table and causing you to grip tighter to the bottle of whiskey. 

"Barom-oppa!" Ryujin shouts as she pounces on Christian, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"Hey there, dearie," he says, lifting his arms to return the hug, never taking his eyes off you. 

Christian looks somewhat normal compared to the last time you saw him, with a white and red floral button-up tucked into black slacks, and a black leather blazer. His hair has some product in it to give it a slightly messy style, falling in front of his eyes, and he wears minimal makeup. 

But there is a darkness to him. Smudges around the eyes rather than clean lines, tattoos on his throat and neck. On his left hand, he wears a black leather driving glove, and across his nose is a red scuff, as if he has been punched. Under the rich musk that fills the air around him, you sense the stale smell of cigarette smoke, and he has silver hoops in his ears and one in his left nostril. 

A lot has changed about Christian in the months since you have known him. 

Ryujin releases their hug and takes a step back, causing Christian to look down at himself and rub his hands down the front of his jacket as if her tiny body could have somehow managed to do anything to the leather. Then he stands up straight and shakes his head to the side just enough for his hair to move out from in front of his eyes, and you realize that his left eye is completely white. Is it…missing? 

"Oh my god, your eye!" you shout, lunging forward before you can stop yourself and raising your left hand toward his face while your right hand nearly drops the whiskey bottle once more. 

Christian takes your wrist in his gloved hand and holds firmly onto you, and your entire body flushes hot with nerves as you realize the mistake you have made. The way his gaze holds onto you, even with only one dark iris and pupil, is piercing and intense, and you attempt futility to pull your hand away. 

"Funny story how I lost that," he says, expression pulling into a strange, sad grin. He leans close, nicotine on his breath as he says, "I'll have to tell you some time."

You pull on your arm, desperate to release it, but his grip is far stronger than you remember. Should you be afraid of this man?

"Christian," you begin, glancing from your hand to his face. 

"Perhaps over drinks, some time," he continues. "Just the two of us."

You nod, willing to lie to him if it means letting you go. Panic rises as you continue to take stock of how different he is from the man you used to know. 

Ryujin takes the whiskey from your hand, sets it on the table, and then grabs his hand in both of hers as she says, "Alright, that is enough of that. I need you two to play nice."

The room returns to view, and you remember why you are here and who you are with. You realize belatedly that these two not only know each other but that they are friendly with one another. 

"Wait," you say, turning to Ryujin, "you told Yoongi—"

"Look, I lied to him," she says, cutting you off. 

Your mouth falls open and your pulse whooshes in your ears. "You…but…" Could she possibly know what she has done by bringing the two of you together? "Why?"

Ryujin chuckles and steps close to Christian, placing her dainty, manicured hands over his chest. "Oppa is harmless. You know that! And Yoongi…well, he's paranoid. Trust me, darling. Nothing bad will happen to you."

You are not so sure you are convinced, but you know that freaking out will do nobody any good. Especially when you are so far away from home. You are not eager to show any more weakness to any of these people. Especially the one they call Mister Insanity. 

Someone shouts for Christian, using the name Barom, and you turn quickly back to the table. Your glass contains more whiskey, courtesy of one of the women, you assume, and you pick up the glass with shaking hands and slam it down, then reach for the bottle again. 

Intoxication roils through you in hot waves, and you squeeze your eyes closed to take a deep breath in and out before shooting more whiskey. A small hand touches your lower back, and you wish you were curled up in a bed all by yourself, far away from these people and this music. You are tired of being touched.

"I know it's weird to see an ex," Ryujin says. "Sorry for surprising you like this. He told me he wouldn't be around tonight."

"How did he lose his eye?" you ask, focused on the wrong thing as you turn to face Ryujin. You tremble so hard that your teeth clatter. 

Her smile falls to a frown and she shakes her head. "That isn't my story to tell."

You nod, accepting her answer, and turn to Hwasa, who watches you with a concerned expression. You mouth the word, "Bathroom?" and she nods and rounds the table, taking you by the arm. 

"Down the hall to the left," Ryujin says. 

As you walk through the room, you squint, attempting to ignore all the movement in the mirrors in your periphery. It's too much. Everything is too much. 

The darkness of the hallway is a blessing and a curse, relieving you from the chaos of the private room while introducing challenges of its own; it is almost too dark and somewhat claustrophobic. 

You stumble and Hwasa's hold on you tightens. She picks up the pace and leads you straight into a single-stall bathroom, then turns on a light that is thankfully relatively dim. The moment she closes and locks the door, you stumble forward, fall to your knees on the rough tile before the toilet, and vomit the contents of your stomach. 

Your mind races with myriad thoughts, but one is the loudest of them all: What the fuck is Christian doing here?

*

Oh, oh, I broke down all my doors Oh, do you see it now? Nothing was fixed at all

I never asked to be like this

🎵 visit the playlist

hello, hello!!! we meet again!!! i hope you have all been having great middle of the year months! things have been ok for me but i have been reading a lot more than i have been writing. how did you feel about this one??? it is a little slower, as it is setting the stage for the final chapters. any guess how things are going to go? how do we feel about the new (and returned) characters??? it felt really nice to writing Jimin into the scene again. 💜 i'll be honest, describing Ryujin & the Mamamoo girls laying on the rugs and blankets made me think of Quanxi and her harem of fiends from Chainsaw Man.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! REBLOGS ARE IMPORTANT BLAHBLAHBLAH LIKES ARE ALSO AMAZING AND SO ON. 💜 tags will be coming in reblogs. also, character asks are always active if you have some burning questions or comments (just don't expect me to outright spoil anything hehehe.)

i love you, stay hydrated!!! if you are somewhere with a heatwave, stay cool!!! 😘😘😘 until we meet again!!!

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2024 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations of reposts allowed.

[freyito]

How about Argenti with a GN reader that gets sick easily?

(ex: crying can cause them to get sick the next day, etc.)

✭ pairing(s): argenti x gn reader

✧ a/n: this one is really cute!! im a freak for writing my favorite goobers taking care of reader no matter the circumstances. if we couldnt tell. (GOD REACHED DOWN AND GRABBED ME BY THE THROAT AND MADE ME SICK WHICH SPURRED ME ON TO FINISH THIS FIC ((i am also fighting MAD burnout so. i apologize in advance just incase.))

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff :3, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.7k

ꜰᴇᴀʀ ɴᴏᴛ

Argenti is used to this. Coming home to you, cuddled up in bed voice raspy and body too warm yet too cold at the same time. Even waking up to you simply feeling miserable, tugging at his arm to get you some water. He doesn’t mind it, not one bit. He has always enjoyed taking care of you, even when you didn’t need it. He doesn’t mean to coddle you, but sometimes the honor of taking care of you overwhelms him.

However, you’ve been getting sick easier lately, and it has him worried. Rather than the usual offenders (cold weather, idiots who didn’t understand what a mask was, and many such cases), all you had been doing was… working. So, why were you so miserable when Argenti came home?

You were practically trapped in bed, every time you stood up your head started spinning. Your throat felt like hell, all scratched up and painful, making your voice deeper and gravelly. It was a constant battle between you and your blankets, one minute you’re way too hot for them, the next, you couldn’t bear to be without the blanket. Ultimately, you chose to stay wrapped up in the blanket, seeing as the shivers never stopped.

When Argenti came home, he found you, quite obviously, stuck in bed, watching some cheesy romance movie you didn’t even put on. You were in and out of consciousness, letting the streaming service auto-play movies and shows. Somewhere along your little horror marathon, the algorithm lost track of the original memo and now you were stuck with some sparkly male protagonist pining after his love interest in the silliest of ways. He kinda reminded you of Argenti. Or perhaps that’s because Argenti was standing in front of the TV, in the perfect position where he was covering the MC entirely, yet the character’s aura of sparkles framed your knight perfectly. Or maybe it was Argenti himself. It was hard to tell with your fizzled out mind.

“My love! Oh, it’s happened again,” He sighs, yet his voice sounds almost ecstatic. “Have you eaten well? Drank water? Maybe some apple juice or orange juice will help?”

He prattles on about ways to make you feel better, or at least soothe the discomfort you're in, while immediately starting on chores. He doesn’t even take off his armor before he’s throwing clothes into a laundry basket. Even then, he doesn’t take long to come back to your side after throwing the clothes in the washer. He’s got a big, loveable smile on his face as he does so, resting the back of his hand on your forehead, then drifting to your cheek.

“Would you like me to draw a bath, dear? Would that help?” His voice is oh-so-gentle. You don’t have the heart to say no, even if you took one earlier. Regardless, you don’t even get to answer before he’s off once more. You cozy up in the bed for another minute as you listen to the sounds of water running in the other room, and Argenti’s muffled humming.

As much as you hated being sick, and how often you got sick, you can’t deny that Argenti’s enthusiasm helps you a little. At least mentally. The fact that he’s always been so ready to take care of you without a word of protest has been comforting. Even with all he’s been tasked with, he never seems more proud of his work than he does with you.

He comes back in all too happy, scooping you up in his arms without another word. It’s like clockwork for him, treating you like royalty in general. He does the same even if you aren’t sick, taking his time to take care of you and pamper you in any way possible, even in the domestic ways. He would do this even before dressing his wounds if he were to come back with any. Nothing stops him.

The bathroom smells of lavender, an opened bag of epsom salt on the counter. Argenti sets you on the counter with a humble smile. He leans over the bathtub, finally taking off one of his gauntlets and dipping his hand in the water to make sure it isn't too hot. He pulls his hand out and shakes off the water, before turning back to you, holding out his hand to help you off the counter.

He begins to take off your clothes, gently and reverently. There are no lingering touches, no traces of embarrassment as he does so. Once you are naked, he presses a kiss to your forehead and ushers you into the bath. You settle in nicely, the warm water a balm against your skin. Though you were sweaty and so damn hot, it felt infinitely better. You don't know what made this bath feel so much better than the one that you took, but you simply chalked it up to Argenti’s making.

You sink deeper into the bath, til the water is up to your chin. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, the steam helping to clear your nostrils. For once it feels like you can breathe, and lord, is it heavenly. Sure, the scratch in your throat is still there, but it doesn’t feel as significantly damning as it did before. You feel yourself relax, the fuzziness in your head lessening. You can’t help but let out a groan of satisfaction as you allow the water to wash away your woes, or what it could, at least.

It was so comfy that you could practically fall asleep in the bath, running your fingers over the texture of the bottom of the bath just to keep yourself awake as you fight your own consciousness.

“May I come in?” Argenti’s voice breaks you out of your drowsiness, and you catch a glimpse of his hair through a very small crack in the door. You give him a groggy ‘yes’, and he walks back in with a clean pair of clothes for you. He sets them on the counter, before kneeling down next to you in the tub. “I changed the sheets on the bed for you, and the blanket is in the dryer…”

“Mh, thank you,” You mutter, closing your eyes as he places his hand on the top of your head.

“Can I ask what you’ve been doing lately?” His voice holds concern, head tilting to the side.

“Not much,” You shake your head, opening your eyes and looking up at him. You notice now that he has finally shed his armor, wearing nothing but a simple black t-shirt (that fits his body too well), and some sweats. “Just working…”

“I’ve noticed you were working more hours than you’re usually scheduled recently,” He hums, leaning back and taking his hand away from your head. You can’t help but chase after it for a second, sitting back up in the tub. “Perhaps you are working too hard, my dear.”

It is a possibility. Not that you’d mention it. Yes, it’s been a stressful couple of weeks at work, and you swore you had gotten through with it. You did feel like you were working a lot more, but c’mon, you got sick from anything. It couldn’t have been stress, could it? Perhaps you just ran into someone who was sick while working one of your shifts…

Argenti chuckles at your reluctance to admit it, and shakes his head. “It’s alright. I assume it can stay a mystery,” He then stands up, leaning over you once more. “Come on. I don’t want you to prune up in there.”

You groan, yet reach out for his hands, standing up and out of the tub. You’ve never felt so much grief for leaving a bath, though the water was starting to cool down. And while your throat, head, and nose feel better, you can feel the sickness fighting back. You let out an ‘ugh’, unprompted, and Argenti gives you another concerned look, before grabbing a towel and drying you down. He’s a lot quicker this time, though doesn’t neglect to show you the same amount of love as he always has done. Once you are dry, he hastily dresses you, turns around to drain the tub, then picks you up once more.

You groan, yet reach out for his hands, standing up and out of the tub. You’ve never felt so much grief for leaving a bath, though the water was starting to cool down. And while your throat, head, and nose feel better, you can feel the sickness fighting back. You let out an ‘ugh’, unprompted, and Argenti gives you another concerned look, before grabbing a towel and drying you down. He’s a lot quicker this time, though doesn’t neglect to show you the same amount of love as he always has done. Once you are dry, he hastily dresses you, turns around to drain the tub, then picks you up once more.

The bed dips next to you as Argenti climbs in, shuffling closer to you. Then, even closer, throwing his arm around you and pressing a kiss to your forehead, then, after a pause, to your nose, your cheek, then your mouth.

“Stoopppp…” You grumble, pulling your head away weakly. “You’re gonna get siiick…”

“A sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Argenti jokes, placing his hand on the back of your head and tucking it into his chest.

You two stay like that for a while, his fingers fidgeting with your hair as you fall in and out of consciousness once more, languidly stretching an arm over him like he was your teddy bear. Then your leg, to get more comfortable. He stays trapped beneath you, simply watching as you finally end up falling asleep for the upteenth time today. He himself cannot find sleep, too enraptured by the sleeping beauty in his arms, though disheveled and snotty.

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