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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

Captain of the team

AKA: Santi’s a dom unless Will’s in the room

(Fem!Reader x Triple Frontier boys)

Summary: When it comes to group sex, you need one F to spell “fuuuck” and 3 M’s to spell “Mmm” (AKA, Santi’s not as straight as he thought, and other things he learns when the boys dick you down together.).

Genre: Porn with some plot.

Rating: EXPLICIT AS ALL HELL. DO NOT READ OR INTERACT UNLESS YOU ARE 18+ ⚠️

Word count: 20k. LONG, but broken into sections.

Author’s note: I know the TF x group sex / gangbang / poly sex has been DONE. The existing examples are stellar ✨ and each so unique that I haven’t really wanted to tackle it myself! Tbqh, I probably didn’t do anything fresh with the beloved trope (and oh boy this evolved so much as I was writing and became something entirely different to what I was shooting for) but I hope I managed to put some small spin on it, somehow, that means you enjoy reading this?! One huge disclaimer: Benny’s not there, I’m sorry, I know some of you will be exceedingly upset with me (but don’t hate me bc neither is Tom, okay - so bear in mind I could have been even meaner to you! 😂) Finally, READ THE WARNINGS to decide if it’s your thing. It’s far softer and ultimately more loving than it sounds when I just list out all of the explicit acts they perform (for real, who says gagging on dick can’t be romantic though, lol, it’s actually a thing that can be so personal 😆), but there are defo things in there which might not be for everyone! So, you’ve literally been warned! If it’s not for you, that’s fine! P.s . This is the theatrical release, I guess. The Director’s Cut went further with some of the kinks (I am a slut for some consensual degradation), but maybe you can convince me to share some deleted scenes, who knows? 😉 I also left it very open for prequels and sequels.

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT: all consensual - some consent happens off-screen. MMM on F Gangbang -> mixed M/F + M/M group sex. Things the boys to do reader (as part of planned, consensual scene): service kink; degradation; name calling (toy, slut, whore, good girl etc.) oral sex inc. gagging / brief rough oral, cum swallowing; cum play; spitting in mouth; slave/master dynamics; dom/sub dynamics (sub!reader); brief ball play (sucking, resting on face); P in V sex (unprotected); creampies; cumshots (on face / body); masturbation; fingering; oral sex (receiving); orgasm denial; anal sex (unprotected); gangbang (ish, no DP, sorry!); light slapping (clit); light choking; kissing; aftercare and lots of check-ins / love 💕 Other explicit stuff: rimming (f giving m receiving); first time having explicitly queer sex; MM anal; MM blowjob; M eating M’s cum; sub!M; MM kissing; slight praise kink including terms such as “good boy”/“baby boy”; hair pulling; slight size kink; aftercare. (ask if you’d like more info on any of the above warnings!). General warnings: alcohol mentions, Catholicism mentions, language, mild angst- implied past relationship fuck-up (vague). Disclaimer: this is not a guide to real-life sexual activity. It’s a fantasy fic! Be safe! 😊🧡

Shout-out: to @astroboots because CiCi’s Santi is basically canon to me now. Definitely influenced this Santi calling Frankie “Frank” in this fic. I didn’t used to do that but it’s the only way I can hear it now! 🙈You’re all gonna want to RUN to check out CiCi’s Homecoming series tbh, for the most beautiful Santi/Frankie/reader relationship. Trust me! 🧡 Also, I have to shout-out the OG and flawless TF gangbang fic by @mylifeliterally, the amazing Santi/Frankie threesome by @adverbedly, @autumnleaves1991-blog’s amazing Santi x reader x Benny series, and @charnelhouse’s TFboys x reader series. (What are you even doing in THIS fic to be honest because you NEED to read all of these RIGHT NOW instead!!) I’m sure there are more I need to mention too but sorry that they escape me for now! (LMK if you wanna be untagged!)

Also a huge thank you to everyone who helped me understand American football a little bit! So sorry I used my new-found knowledge in such a crude way 🍆💦😅

THEY’RE GONNA NEED A BOAT WITH HOW WET THEY’LL GET YOU 😂

Pre-Game

“You okay, baby? You ready?”. Will dips to plant a soft kiss on your temple, the moment before you enter the scene far more romantic than you’d ever have expected.

As his large, warm hands inch slow and steady down your back, over silk and lace and skin, you feel a molten heat surge in your core. A slick builds between your legs simply owing to the fact he’s fully clothed and you’re dressed in something barely there, feeling on display as his eyes rake over you.

“Yes,” you nod, a subtle hitch in your breath which grates your words - makes them husky. “Very ready.”

A knowing, confident smile inches over Will’s face and it makes you hot for him - his easy manner a clear sign of the trust and bond between you as you prepare for what lies in store beyond the door. And, even though you mirror his ease, his comfort, his piercing blue eyes study you carefully just to be sure that you want this. With affection, feeling reassured, he dips to press another tender kiss to the middle of your brow, his blond beard tickling your nose.

With a surge of confidence as you feel Will’s arousal press against your hip, you loop your arms around his neck and plant a sweet, lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. You can’t help the devilish grin which claims your face, and, feigning a coyness which you expect Will to see straight through, you bury your words against his cheek. “Do you… think they’ll enjoy me?”

Will’s chest shakes up against yours then, with a deep, resonant chuckle. It isn’t mocking - instead it is familiar, reassuring- and you can picture the creases radiating from around your golden boy’s eyes like beams of warm sun. “Don’t act all shy now, angel,” he says, tone as tender as his touch, meaning even his dirty words sound flowered. “This whole deal was your idea, you filthy little thing.”

Your lips quirk again into a mischievous smile. It was your idea, that’s right, but still, you’re not past fishing for compliments from your big strong man. “But will they? Enjoy me?” you purr.

Will’s eyes sweep over you - or as much of you as he can see with you held so close. That means your face and lips and tits, and a hum of appreciation reverberates in his chest. “Baby. How could they not?” he praises, voice thick and dripping like warm honey. “You’re delectable. Delicious.”

You love him like this, slow moving and teasing and all restrained. Will can end you with the barest of touches, as it makes you crave what you know the man is capable of unleashing. The latent power of him. The force of him.

Even now, you gasp as he gingerly grips your chin, tilting your head to the side and you follow his lead, offering your neck to him freely. The air itself grows syrupy as he sinks his pink mouth to your skin, all supple warm tongue and ticklish brush of blonde goatee against your pulse point. You whimper, as he works a chain of kisses up to the shell of your ear, decorating you with a string of glistening pearls. “So pretty,” he whispers, praises, and his voice shivers down to your bones, making you heat from within. As you whimper for him, you feel the curl of a satisfied smile against your cheek - a shifting scrape of facial hair and muscle. “So pretty… and we’re about to ruin you, Princess.”

Fuck. At the mere suggestion of what is to come, a deep note keens in your chest, breathy and pitching-up at the end - a cracked-open sound already.

You can feel Will getting excited too, the press of his warm firm body all bulges - pecs and biceps and bulk and increasingly, that thick, straining mass beneath denim.

You pull away from him though, sultry, teasing, and his lips and eyes and hands and his whole damn being chase your skin - the feel of you. His cock even fills to reach for you, the tenting arousal evident in his jeans.

“Mmmph,” Will sounds, tone petulant as he immediately feels the loss of your warmth in his arms. “Can’t I have you all to myself just a little bit longer?”

Well, now there’s a thought. The smouldering look he’s giving you is certainly tempting; but, you resist this pleasure, in favour of the pleasures in store. “No, handsome,” you coo, in a husky tone which you hope sinks all the way into his crotch. “Remember? Today you have to share.”

A gulp trails down Will’s throat and you feel some pride in it - he’s so hard to fluster - and then he is sweeping his eyes over you just once more, head to toe this time, and shaking his head in utter disbelief at the sight of you -“Goddamn”. Next, he slides his warm grip down your arm and along the underside of your wrist. As a pleasant hum beds down under your skin he raises your hand to his lips, the pad of his thumb gently stroking back and forth as he plants a kiss to each of your knuckles like some gallant prince. And then, adjusting his erection with a downwards tug on the crotch seam of his pants, he offers you an adoring, doe-eyed grin. “I can’t wait to watch you, angel. You’re gonna look so good taking care of us.”

Then, with fascination, you watch his expression and manner subtly shift. You watch him enter his role, and his eyes are sterner and colder as he turns to you. You feel a thrill deep in the pit of your stomach as he reaches one arm -roped with popping veins- up to the back of your neck and squeezes, driving you on towards the door with a measured shove, his voice a deep, dark drawl now. “Now get in there, slut, the boys are waiting.”

They are.

Waiting.

Waiting with one express purpose.

Today, Will is going to share, and together, they are going to ruin you.

First Quarter, Second Quarter

“Fuuuck,” Frankie keens, his voice deep and frayed and stuttering apart like an engine struggling to start as your mouth sinks down on his length, again and again and again with a delicious glug.

Frankie should know fine well he’s supposed to play into the role; to get a little rough with you - that’s what you want - but apparently what you’re doing to him feels far too divine for that, because instead of... anything, his head is thrown back on to the lip of the couch, his eyes screwed shut and breaths entirely ragged. And his hands? His hands are wildly fisting for some purchase, claws sinking into whatever is nearby.

Well, “whatever is nearby” happens to be the sturdy thighs of Santi and Will, respectively, sat at either side of him, both entirely rapt while watching this whole thing go down - go down your throat that is.

“Jesus. Fuck is right, Frank,” Santi says in awe, his own hard cock twitching in his pants and he has to shift in his seat - has to unzip his fly to make room because he’s too full. Too full and tender as Frankie twists, burying his head in his buddy’s neck and moaning right next to his ear, hot breath fanning over Santi’s neck and making him shiver - sending a glorious prickle crawling under his skin and all the way to the tip of his dick.

Santi’s never thought about his friend in that way -at least, not before right now, not that he’d admit- but the other man’s noises are… certainly doing something for him. Something in the crotch area, specifically.

Goddamn, so is the sight of you. Holy shit, look at you, in this silly little outfit, half your tits and ass hanging out, and that smug, self-satisfied glint in your eyes. That look in your eyes as you accommodate Frankie almost all the way. How fucking pleased you are with yourself because of the fact you have all three men sat hard and straining before you and so eager to be… serviced.

“Please, she isn’t even trying. Stop teasing and make him come, honey,” Will commands coolly, reaching across Frankie’s lap to grab you by the back of the head in his broad, sure grip. To do Frankie’s job for him and drive you down on the man’s length until you are spluttering with it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Santi exclaims as Will holds you there and you take it, all the way, and -fuck- he had expected this would be a fun experience for him, sure, but he’d never realised how much he would enjoy watching. Watching Will’s brow burdened with purpose, face stern and all angles and his piercing blue eyes cold and hard and intimidating. Watching Frankie lose it, eyes screwed shut and lips parted and squirming - almost bucking off the couch in ecstasy and desperately clawing at anything he can touch like something feral. And those noises out of his mouth? Holy shit.

Finally, and last but definitely not least, Santi is awed by the sight of you, so dutifully gagging on Frankie’s length as Will holds you down. Holds you until you can’t take it - until you tap out with your palms on their thighs and he allows you to surge off of him, all spluttering noises and cock swollen, spit-shined lips, still linked to Frankie by gossamer threads, and that alone would be enough - more than enough to tip Santi over the edge but you don’t relent there though; no. Next, your hand wraps around the slick base of Frankie’s cock, making him look huge in your grip, your liberal spit inching down over his balls and you begin to pump, your tongue and lips working all over Frankie’s shaft and his artfully contoured head until he is undone and filling your mouth up.

Fuck, that’s a pretty mouth.

Fuck, that’s a pretty cock too.

Santi’s own arousal throbs, in dire need of some attention by now, and so he grips himself in the circle of his hand and squeezes a little. Squeezes; however, he immediately has to stop. Has to stop pumping himself or he’d nut at the sight of Frankie still pulsing his seed into your throat, flooding over your tongue, that deep crimson flush over the ruddy head of him, and fuck, you’re swallowing it down and all the while you’re looking at Santi. Looking at Santi and giving him the eye since it’s no use looking at Frankie - the man’s head buried in Will’s chest by now, the larger man smoothing his hand over his cheek and his patchy beard and helping him come back down with a smug grin plastered over his chiselled features.

So, here you are instead, eyeing Santi like nothing he’s ever seen -as though you’re promising him “you’re next” even as you swallow Frankie’s load down with relish, his hot cum slipped down your throat and the residual salt tang of him being licked from your teeth and lips and fuck if Santi doesn’t wanna kiss you while you still taste of him.

Santi doesn’t kiss you though. Doesn’t make a move to. Doesn’t make any move at all. Just sits there with his jaw slack and his dick in his hand as though he’s not good at this. As though he’s forgotten all the ways he can take a woman apart or all the ways he might get his rocks off. Instead of making a move -the thing he does, the thing he’s fucking known for- he’s holding his own dick in his hand and he can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Can hardly believe it’s true.

It all feels unreal; something akin to the moments after an explosion when all there is is ringing - blurred noise and slurred sound and blurred reality except this time it’s a good thing, his body vibrating; humming with pleasure already and you haven’t even touched him.

You haven’t touched him… yet, but the dark promise in your eyes hints at what’s coming.

He’s next.

And so, after doing a thorough job of milking Frankie for every drop, draining his balls dry, you lift off the man’s softening dick with a pop, his flushed head shined and sucked clean, and yet you only look hungry for more.

Hungry, and you bite your lower lip and dip your head - playing all deferential - and you look to Will. You look to Will, and Santi always fancied himself in charge but it’s obvious now - it’s Will, isn’t it? The only fucker in the room holding it together, sitting there with a shit-eating grin and looking about as fucking pleased with himself as you do while he watches his woman dismantle his buddies, taking them apart piece by mother-fucking piece.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?” Will asks you in his deep, steady drawl and you offer him a wicked smile. You are brazen as all hell, looking your fucking boyfriend in the eye while your lips and chin are still shined with spit from gagging on Frankie’s size and Santi can’t handle how fucking hot you are. How this is the hottest fucking thing he’s ever done, ever seen, and you still haven’t even touched him.

“Yeah, I thought so, you fucking whore,” Will scolds, his expression darkening, the smile dropping from his face and his words gathering dark. “Give Pope’s cock some attention now, you greedy little toy.”

Fuck. He’s next.

Santi’s next and he feels already like he’s floating outside of his own body. Floating like he’s in some fever dream, but somehow Will’s voice drags him back into the room. “You good, Pope?” Will asks with just a hint of amusement as his buddy is lost for words, and Santi finally shivers down into his own body. Will’s voice is steady - deep and earthy, and Santi realises suddenly that it always did ground him, even in the heat of battle. Always brought him back to the moment, giving him comfort and purpose, Will a constant calm amidst choas.

Santi blinks wordlessly still -has he even fucking said anything this whole damn time?- his jaw dropped open and his lashes fluttering as though he’s a shy virgin or some shit. “Uh… uh-huh,” he insists, voice grogged by lack of use, and a slow pearly smile drags over Will’s chiselled features. “Good. Want a turn of her?” he offers, and fuck, was his voice always so deep? Did it always hit so deep?

Does he? Does he want a turn? Hell, yeah he does. He’ll probably nut in you in seconds but yes - yes he fucking does, thank you very much.

“Yes,” Santi rasps, and the word barely comes out, so he tries it again. “Yes. Yeah, I do. Please.” Fuck if he knows why he’s being so damn polite about it, but it is what it is. He needs you. He’d beg for it if he had to but look at you, so willing.

“Yeah you fucking do,” Frankie praises as he comes back down to earth, still panting as he turns his head back from Will’s chest, bringing his voice tantalisingly close again to Santi’s ear, his lips so close to the bare skin at the column of his neck that if he leaned a little he could kiss him. “Shit. Feels so good in that wet little mouth, man.”

Christ, Frankie talking dirty is something else.

“Give him a turn,” Will orders coolly, eyebrows raised and head dipped and tone stern like he won’t fucking tell you again. The Miller brother is apparently the only one of the lot of them hitting the brief, even as his own erection sits nestled beneath the band of his black underwear, his jeans unzipped to offer breathing room to the veiny, straining mass of him.

This brief, this idea? It was you - it was all you, and then suddenly it was all of them too.

You had this fantasy, see. About being used. But not just being used by anyone. Being used by them. About them all watching the game -or whatever, something on the flatscreen. Ignoring you mostly, except for when you were serving them. Bringing them snacks, beers, anything they asked for, whilst wrapped up like a present in this obscenely skimpy little outfit. And then, the scene progressing. Serving them in other ways too, while they treated you like a little toy, made for their pleasure. While they watched the game or whatever and barely acknowledged you except when they were using you to get off.

You’d been very clear about that. Very explicit about how you enjoyed being degraded a little. You’d wanted them almost bored with it.

Well, it’s funny then, isn’t it? Because Santi has never been further away from bored in his goddamn life. He has never been so riveted, so captivated, and all he’s done so far is sat with his dick in his hand and fucking watched.

You flash a bratty, insolent look to Will as he speaks - God you’re a minx, fucking delicious - and the man licks his lips at the sight of you, kneeling and compliant and eager and about to be used all over again. Santi watches Will work his throat around a hard swallow. Watches his eyes darken with lust all his own and he knows the man’s envisaging taking his turn with you. And on the flip side, Santi is engrossed with the way you are held rapt as well, bound and controlled effortlessly by Will’s cool, quiet authority. Speaking of: “Stop distracting me from the game and suck on Pope’s cock - I won’t be pleased if I have to make you.”

Well, Santi’s definitely not going to argue with that plan - and it looks like you’re not either. He’s certainly not; not after the noises Frankie was just making. “Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, whisper soft, tipping his chin up as you slink towards him on your knees, an utterly devastating glint in your eye. “That’s it, hermosa,” he encourages, voice sunken with need and barely there - as if he’s never given an order in his fucking life. Never spoken a word in his fucking life. “Come put your mouth on me.”

Christ - never mind Frankie coming apart- he couldn’t have looked further from bored while you sucked him off and Santi’s not sure he’s got the memo either. You want him to be mean, but look at you. He just wants to fucking worship you.

He loves you too much to-

No. Wait.

No. He parks that thought for later. Buries it even. Maybe for a therapy session where he can talk about why on Earth he’d fall for his best friend’s girl.

Instead, he focusses up. After all, it’s not like he isn’t into the idea of all this - not like he doesn’t get the premise of all of them treating you some kinda way. For sure, it turns him on too - more than he could have realised.

Even the discussions beforehand had gotten Santi as hard as a rock. In the weeks leading up to this, he can’t remember ever jerking off quite so vigorously or so often. Can’t remember coming quite so hard in a long while. The conversations about which skimpy little outfit you would wear, and the fashion shows which followed. Talking about exactly what you liked (and didn’t), exactly what they could do to you (and what they couldn’t). What you could do to them and all the ways how. You’d all been meticulous about planning it - Will especially, of course, like it was a fucking military operation. Hell, Santi could swear they’d done less prep pre-Lorea.

Everyone was clear on their role; but, now that Santi has you here, on your knees like this, fuck if he doesn’t want to give you every shred of his focus and attention like you deserve.

Luckily, he’s a generous lover - if you want him to be mean, he can do that for you. Can give you what you need - take care of you like that. “Yeah, come here,” he coaxes you, his voice finally coming back to him, laying a sugared-trap. “Open your mouth,” he commands - still softly, still brandishing his ruddy, veined length in his hand, a purple flush creeping over the head of him. Shifting his hips forward on the couch so that he can smack you in the cheek with his need-laden cock a few times for good measure, before dipping the head of him into your wetness and warmth, letting the heaviness of him fall over your tongue and the weight of his hand settle on top of your head. “There you go, baby girl,” he soothes as you take him, opening up around him and getting used to his girth. “That’s it. Such a good little toy.”

Shit, Frankie wasn’t wrong, you feel good - and a cracked, disbelieving laugh even keens in his throat, his hips jolting up on instinct as he seeks to bury himself balls-deep in your mouth.

“Hnnng. You look pretty getting sucked off, Pope,” Frankie rumbles next to his ear and fuuuuck.

Santi could nut right now. “Unnf, you fucking asshole, Frank,” he curses, as he feels a jolt of pleasure zip along his length - making his whole body tingle.

But, thankfully -and he’s not even sure how- Santi remembers his role, and maybe that’s a good thing right now. Maybe it’s a good thing that he can simply guide your head down on his shaft like you’re a little toy. That he can simply sit there in his baseball cap, jeans pushed down around his hips, obnoxiously chewing his gum and ever so casually fucking into you. Watching the flickering flat screen and focussing on the background drawl of the commentator instead of how good it feels between his legs. Maybe it’s a good thing - because if Santi directed his full attention to you, like he wants to - if he directed his attention to Frankie or even Will, each of them languidly stroking their hard-ons in his periphery... If he did that, he’d come undone right there and then, and after so long waiting for you, he is keen to make this last.

That’s all very well, except - ohhhhh. Ah. Jesus, where did you misplace your gag reflex all of a sudden because he’s fucking buried in you to the hilt, your nose settled all the way down into the patch of dark curls, forehead pressed against the slight softness of his stomach.

Grabbing your hair in his fist, Santi pulls you off him urgently, his hips stuttering, breathing deeply until he can regain some morsel of control.

You look at him then - how you had looked at him once, so many years ago; before Will - your gaze veiled with innocence and lashes batting up at him and devouring him and wrecking him and he can hardly tear his eyes away.

Apparently the others can’t look away from you either, resonant hums of approval coming from his right, hands pumping their stiffened cocks with increasing vigour.

Still, Frankie pauses his own ministrations for a moment as Santi gusts out a breath, warm and sweating and shuddering and on the edge. “Come here, idiota,” the man breathes, deceptively soft, gingerly lifting the baseball cap from off of Santi’s head and rifling a hand through his grizzled curls for good measure.

Santi tries to ignore all of it. You, the look of you, the feel of you. The way Frankie’s small act of service makes his stomach flip. The way your hands are pressed flat and snaking up his thighs. The way Frankie’s hand lingers on his head a little longer than necessary, fingers raking through the length at his crown. “Better?” Frankie asks him, in a familiar tone. A tone that says he promises to always be there when Santi is in a pinch. To be there whether he’s bleeding out on some jungle floor or whether he’s too drunk on your mouth to take his hat off while you suck his balls dry.

“Better?” Frankie repeats, and Santi imagines answering his question with a kiss, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t yet, but as he turns his head to his buddy there is the hint of a promise there too. A promise that he’ll get his turn as well. A promise Santi would be keen to chase if you weren’t sucking his soul out of his dick like you’re trying to exorcise him from his own body. “Fuck. Look at this, boys,” Santi says in awe before he even really realises what he’s saying. “Fucking look at this pretty little slut choking on my cock.”

The boys chuckle next to him, throaty and deep and gruff and it does things to him, especially as your tongue circles diligently around the tip of him. “She loves your cock, Pope,” Will drawls. “Uhhh. Look at her - the little cumslut’s so hungry for your load.”

Santi wasn’t ready. Ready and willing, yes; but not prepared. For how much he’d enjoy being watched.

And, uhhhhh, holy shit, apparently you liked being talked about like this - like you’re not even there as they compare notes - because next, you hum pleasantly around his length. You suck him more vigorously and reach your hand up to squeeze and tug his balls, and Santi tips his head right back, moaning into Frankie’s neck as you work him.

Jesus, the man smells good.

“Fuuuck, cariño,” Frankie breathes, a tremor in his voice and Santi isn’t even sure. Isn’t sure whether his buddy is talking to you or to him; but part of him doesn’t much care - either way he likes it.

Santi is on the edge. He’s on the edge and, in this moment, he looks to Will, a helpless, sideward glance. He looks to Will because of course he does. Because that’s who everyone looks to when they’re in need, when they’re needy, when they need an order, and he watches Will tug his shirt off over his head, putting his rippling muscles on display, his latent power obvious and primed and his blue eyes intent on your mouth and Santi’s cock filling it. Looking at him too. Enjoying him too.

Fuck.

Santi’s eyes screw shut then and he’s not faring much better than Frankie had by this point - not that’s he’s complaining - the sight of you and sound of Frankie and raw power of Will almost too much. Almost. Too much and yet somehow he wants… more.

“Wait ‘til we’re all done with you. Gonna paint you with cum, baby. Fill all your greedy holes, huh?” Santi moans hard when Will says that, and his eyes would roll back into his head -probably- if they weren’t already fluttered closed, long dark lashes fanning on his cheek.

He wants to. Wants to paint you. Fill you. But Santi listens to Will and he can almost imagine the man is talking to him. About him and not you.

That thought, along with the wicked sensations you’re delivering gets Santi far too close to the edge all over again, and so he tugs on your hair to have you release him from the wet, slippy channel of your throat. His busted knees quaking beneath him -so much so that he thinks this might be it, might finally be the moment they decide give out- Santi stands, tugging his tee over his head and tossing it aside. Shifting his jeans and boxers further down his thighs with a jangle of his belt, baring his ass to Frankie and Will and not caring.

And then… Then, he looks back at you, kneeling ever so obediently and expectantly at his feet. With a grunt, his brow burdened with a furious need, Santi takes his length in his own fist and begins to pump, with a pace suggesting he’s about to spill his load. You simply smirk deliciously, raising an eyebrow and tipping your face up towards him before closing your eyes and bracing - flinching at intervals as you await the sudden spurt of thick ropes of come being dumped over your face. “Nuh-uh. Open your mouth, you little slut,” he growls, enjoying this power play, the mischievous glint in your eyes encouraging him. “Open your mouth. Gonna come over your tongue and I don’t want you to swallow. Keep it in there, understand? Let me see it.”

He hears a needy, awed moan from behind him and meanwhile a whine slips from your lips - the sounds a divine contrast of hard and gruff and sweet and liquid.

You answer him, making the closest sounds to a yes Santiago as you can with your mouth open wide for him, pink tongue glistening. E, aaa-eee-aaa-ooo.

And then, Will is standing too to get a better view. Frankie also. The men stand until they’re all crowding you, lengths brandished as you kneel. They are stood forming a gaggle around you, delivering mumbled, awed words of both praise and degradation, the syllables mingling with the wet, rhythmic fap of Santi’s hand and then…

Liquid.

Warm and sudden ropes of salt sprayed into your mouth, over your lips, across your cheek as Santi’s aim falters in the moment. As he stutters his hips into his hand and paints you with his thick, pearly seed.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl,” Will praises.

“Show me,” Frankie asks in awe and you stick out your tongue, almost proudly. You exhibit your face covered in his load and slipping from your smooth skin, coursing down towards your jaw.

Then, Will grabs the underside of your chin in his hand and stoops over, his long, toned body hinging at the hips. “Yeah, show us. Keep that pretty mouth open.” You moan, flowered vowel noises and Will just grips you harder, tipping your chin up and ceremoniously spitting in your mouth.

Well, fuck.

If Santi could come all over again - if it was possible - he thinks he would in that moment, watching Will do this to you and you loving it. Listening to him order you around. Telling you to swallow down Santi’s load then show them all your mouth is empty. Dragging your head towards his crotch so that he can rest his balls over your mouth and nose, rubbing them on you and moving the remaining come -his come- around your face.

Santi wonders if Will might take your mouth too, but he’s still showing some restraint it seems. Still patiently waiting his turn, and so instead, his touch softens around your jaw. He strokes your cheek tenderly despite the mess of spit and seed. “You good, baby?” he asks you softly, checking-in. “You liked that, huh?”

Will brings you to standing and you grip his forearms to steady yourself and you smile - a bright, beautiful smile that knocks Santi for six. Then, you tongue the remaining pearls of him from your lips before wiping your mouth on the back of your arm. “Fuck, yeah.”

Will looks at you and the energy between the two of you is sizzling. Alive and consuming and Will’s hard as a rock between your bodies and God, Santi would love to watch the man take you. Would love to watch his primed, coiled muscles in action, dominating your form. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before. Hasn’t imagined it.

“Let me feel you, huh?” Will purrs, his lips twitching into a smile. “Let me feel how wet you are?”

Santi watches, his jaw dropped open all over again, still reeling from that orgasm and still unable to tear his eyes away from you. Unable to move away as Frankie wraps and arm around his bare shoulders and tugs him a little closer into his side, even as he puts his dick away and pulls up his jeans.

Santi and Frankie both watch, as Will’s hand winds around your hips and ass and disappears in between your thighs, and they don’t see his fingers spear you from this angle but they see it play across your face, the flutter of your eyes and the knitting together of your brows and the way you almost collapse into Will, arms bundling into his sturdy chest as you are finally allowed a morsel of pleasure for yourself. They hear Will’s halfway wicked chuckle as he works himself inside you, his arm pumping, roped with popping veins and tendons. “Fucking dripping,” he drawls, managing to sound impressed and scolding all at once as you languish against him, and Santi swears he can hear your slick being forced out of you.

Then, Will abruptly removes his hand from beneath your excuse for a skirt, earning a groan from you and revealing his two middle fingers to the other men. They are glistening up to the knuckle with your juices, which he smears unceremoniously along your chest as he wipes himself clean on you.

“Think you’re having too much fun, whore,” Will scolds, tugging your outfit down over your tits and grabbing one breast harshly in his broad grip, giving it a tug. “Don’t go forgetting your place, Princess. This isn’t for you, understand?Fuck. Santi should move, he thinks. Say something, do something. Anything. Totally should; but he can’t. He’s rooted to the spot, Frankie’s arms still wrapped around his shoulders. “Now go and get some beers and make yourself useful.”

Will’s tone is harsh yet playful - just as playful as the look in your eyes as you nod deferentially in response to his command, and the small exchanges are not lost on Santi. He sees when Will crooks his finger and massages that spot just behind your earlobe. He sees his blue eyes search yours until you give him a soft nod of reassurance, Will dipping to whisper that he’ll be right out before his eyes follow you adoringly out of the room.

Then, standing there like a fucking Adonis, shirtless and powerful and with his jeans wide open at the crotch, the band of his boxers slung under his shaft and balls and not a hint of embarressment or self-consciousness as his erection looks fit to burst, Will turns the scope of his attention towards the remaining people in the room. Of course, that’s Santi and Frankie. “Well?” he asks, surely knowing the answer already. “Enjoying my girl?”

Santi lets out a choked sound which he hopes passes for “yes”, and to his side Frankie expels a throaty chuckle- a noise that Santi always thought was one of the most beautiful in the damn world but which sounds even more gorgeous post-BJ, apparently. “She’s a dream, man.”

She -you… you are a dream, alright.

Will’s eyes sparkle with pride and he slaps Frankie on the upper arm, before turning to Santi. “You okay, Pope? You look wrecked.”

“Yep. M’good.” He is good, and his whole body is still humming pleasantly.

Still, Will steps a little closer to smooth his palm across the stubble on the smaller man’s cheek, before -to Santi’s surprise- dipping to plant a smacker of a kiss to the centre of his forehead. “You beautiful fuckers,” he grins, smiling at the both of them, and then, an aside. “Take care of him, Frankie, while I check on my Princess?”

“Got it.”

Santi should feel offended at the insinuation he needs taking care of, perhaps, but as Frankie’s warm eyes fall on him that thought falls out of his head and he simply staggers backwards, seating himself on the couch with a huge, contented sigh, his legs all nervy and shaking.

Will turns back briefly when he reaches the door, with one final thought. “There’s some water and-“

“-Go. I know how to take care of him,”Frankie insists, almost defensively, and, with a nod, Will takes his cue to leave. Then, Frankie crouches before Santi and smooths a hand on top of his thigh, his voice hitting far different when directed towards him. Somehow fuller. Richer. “I know how to take care of you, huh, pendejo?

“Yeah, Frank,” Santi admits, and he doesn’t know why his chest tightens with emotion in that moment, but it does.

Meanwhile, Frankie reaches over to the cooler by the couch and grabs a chilled bottle of water. “Good. Now drink up. Judging by the size of your load you just lost half your bodily fluids. Christ.”

Santi’s chest shakes with a hearty chuckle. “Was fucking good man. I’m still shaking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, man… and we’re just getting started.” Frankie slaps his hand on to Santi’s thigh, but then it just… lingers there, his touch warm even through the denim.

Santi’s softening cock twitches inside his jeans. It’s not lost on him that Frankie is in the same position you were moments ago. Not lost on him at all.

The two men lock eyes then, and Frankie abruptly clears his throat, surging up from the floor and reaching up to tame his mussed hair. “Stop staring and drink up, pendejo,” Frankie warns, and Santi softens the intensity of his stare.

Still, Frankie’s words echo in his mind, and he can’t help but stare just a little, especially as the man zips his jeans up over his softening length, his trimmed pubes still peeking out above the waistband.

We’re only just getting started.

Half-time

“Hey, beautiful.” Will announces himself before slipping up behind you in the en suite, gently wrapping his arms around you as you gargle mouthwash - getting the residue of cum from out of your mouth before round 2.

After you spit, he settles his hand at the back of your neck, his thumb stroking back and forth. “You okay, baby? Not too rough? Too… anything?”

“No. If anything you’re going easy on me, Captain. Sent me away after two dicks,” you sing-song.

Will chuckles. “It’s not you I’m worried about. Honestly, I think Pope needed a minute. Talk about living up to his call sign - I think you actually made him see God.”

“Hmm. Well I have been told my blow jobs are a religious experience,” you guffaw, spinning in the loop of Will’s arms until you face him, getting to see his bright smile head-on. “Really though, is he doing okay?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Will reassures, a little frown appearing at his brow. “I just wonder… if things take the direction I think they might, are you good if we change the scene up a little?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s just say, it would involve a different kind of teamwork.”

“Okay,” you nod, and Will is surprised that you don’t ask for more details. “I trust you to keep us safe, baby.”

Will’s eyes glow with more than a little pride at that - a pride which quickly shifts into hunger. “God. Let me kiss that dirty mouth of yours, hmm?” You tip your chin eagerly towards him and he swipes his tongue into your mouth, his hands slipping down to knead the meat of your bare ass beneath this skimpy outfit. “Mmm. Can I feel how wet it got you again? Please?”

“This is merely the staging area, Captain Miller. If you want to sample me you’ll have to wait your turn downstairs.”

He swipes his tongue into your mouth again, the kiss hungrier. “Hmmph. Good thing I like waiting.”

You smile and wriggle playfully out of his grip. He makes it easy - he unhands you immediately - and you finish straightening yourself up in the mirror. “Now… do I still look pretty?”

“Even more delectable.”

“See you in there?”

“Mmm-hmm. Okay, baby.” He dips to steal another quick kiss, his tongue shoving over yours and earning a horny groan from him. “You still taste of cum, you slut.”

“Love you too,” you coo with a teasing, devious smile.

Will winks as he sweeps out. “Damn. I’m a lucky man.”

“You sure are,” you tease. “Now go join the other lucky fuckers downstairs and I’ll be right with you.”

As Will sweeps out and you watch his broad form disappear, with a final glance over his shoulder and a charming yet hungry smile, you feel somehow like you’re the lucky one.

Quarter Three

Santi isn’t ready for it. Well- that’s not quite true. He is ready and willing, but he isn’t prepared. Isn’t prepared for how good it feels. How good it looks.

He watches Frankie pull you into his lap and pop your tits from out of this silly little outfit. He watches the man gather your breasts in his broad palms and mouth at your nipples, while you make these pathetic, delicious little noises which send blood thumping straight to his cock.

He watches you be dragged off of Frankie by Will, big strong Will, as a punishment for your moans - for the way you had begun to grind your heat down on to Frankie’s denim-clad erection to get yourself off. And, it wasn’t lost on Santi that seeing Will hoist you off of the other man -seeing that latent strength in action, for the first time in a long while- was a thing of beauty. Something that made his whole body tingle.

Then, Santi watches you being a little brat about it, until Will begins to call you the kinda names which make you bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together. Names which make you wilt against him even as his hand is clasped around your chin and jaw, dragging you up until you are standing taller. Names he doesn’t mean because the man fucking adores you - that much is obvious.

You trust each other, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness. More than that; you make Will trust himself. If you didn’t, there’d be no way Will would wrap his hand around your throat like this. No way you’d let him. Not after what he’s done.

In awe then, Santi watches. Watches as Will moves and manipulates you so easily. He transports you to the table, bending you over it to reveal your exposed, tight little holes to everyone in the room. Making a show of you -if you can’t be a good toy I’ll get your holes out for everyone to see- Santi and Frankie both instinctively standing and crowding around you, hungry for a better view.

You moan as Will pulls up this flimsy little strip of fabric passing for a skirt, pushing it up past your hips and putting all of you on display for them, the globes of your ass and meat of your thighs, and that perfect glistening slit.

Will grabs your hands and holds them behind your back as you squirm your ass and hips on nothing. “Oh you like this? Little whore wants some cock, is that it? That why you’re acting up? You a thirsty little slut? A fucking attention whore?”

With a grunt, Will snakes his broad hand up your back to pin your torso down on to the surface of the table. With his other arm, his thick fingers skim idly -haphazardly, roughly- over your heat, and they come away glistening with you. Santi is rapt, as, with firm, indiscriminate pressure the man begins spreading your slick around, playing with it, spreading it over your clit and lips and one finger circling your little asshole, making the rim of it gleam, all inviting. He can’t look away as Will slaps your pussy, watching the way you writhe and moan for him so beautifully when he does it.

Santi is so aroused he almost feels light-headed.

“Fuck you’re wet. You’re enjoying this. Being on display, aren’t you? I’m just going to leave you here until we’ve all had a go, hmm? Until your holes are full of our cum.”

Santi is so hard it’s bordering on painful.

Then, without warning, Will spears two fingers inside your heat, all the way to the knuckle and you yelp, a high-pitched noise which bottoms out into a deep, chesty groan, a shiver of pleasure undulating right through your body as his girth drags through your walls and over your g-spot.

“Ready for some cock, alright,” Will confirms. “Shall I show them how to use you?”

“Yes. Yes please,” you beg, voice all throaty and undone.

Fuck this is better than anything Santi’s ever seen - in real life or in porn.

“So needy. Where do you want it?”

“In my pussy. Please.”

Then, just like that, Will’s perfect, pretty length is sunk into you, his hips pistoning back and forth, allowing no time for you to adjust to his size and taking you anyway.

His eyes roll to the sky as he is gripped by your tightness and Santi’s own cock pulses; aching, needing something.

Then, Santi is watching Will flip you on to your back, spreading your legs wide open and getting you to hold them there as he grips your ass in his palms and slams you down on to his length, his arms all bulges and his sculpted abs undulating as he works his hips.

The sounds are something else. The obscene wetness, the slap of balls against skin, the staccato grunts of Will and your cresting moans which give way to fast, abortive moans, your lips dropped open in a silent scream of pleasure.

Then, Will hinges at his hips to bring his chest down towards yours, one arm bracing against the table and the other gripping your jaw.

“You a filthy slut? You love having me balls deep in your cunt while my buddies watch?”

Will knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows that the fresh angle makes his stomach grind down on your clit. Knows how his power gets you off. Knows just what you like. Indeed, you moan a throaty affirmative, and Will clamps his free hand on your jaw until you open up for him, dipping to spit right in your mouth and over your cheek as he continues pumping in and out of you, pleasure ripping through you and maybe just a hint of pain too - only in a way you like, never more than you enjoy.

Fuck.

“Open your eyes and look at them while I fuck you. Look at them, all hard for you. Look who’s gonna be inside you next.”

The juxtaposition between the hardness and softness is something else. Will’s tight body slamming you so hard the whole table rocks, heavy balls slapping, muscles firm and pumped as he holds you in place; and yet the softness too. The lilting curve of his lips against your cheek when he folds to whisper in your ear. The unconscious kiss he plants just behind your earlobe. The way a large portion of his strength is still reined in, because he doesn’t want to hurt you; would really never hurt you in ways you didn’t like.

You start to whine and squirm all of a sudden like you’re close and Will laughs, drawing back to be perpendicular to your body, slapping your clit with a firm hand and making you yelp. “Oh no you don’t,” Wills scolds, and before you can find your release he denies you, pulling out at the last minute and groaning deep and low as he pulses creamy ropes over your stomach, cock twitching as he ekes out every drop to paint you with, watching his load pool and glisten on your belly. He grins down at you as his breaths steady, the man recovering remarkably quickly. Thriving from it. Somehow able to find words when Santi is rendered speechless and he’s only watching.

“Pope, you want a go of our little toy next? Fucked her open but she’ll fit you like a glove.”

Does he? Of course he fucking does; but he’s also fascinated by the planes of Will’s shirtless body. By the way he manipulates you so effortlessly - throws you around and puts you where he wants you - exactly how he wants you. He’s also fascinated by Frankie, his long, thick cock slightly incongruous with his lithe, soft frame. And, he’s fascinated by you. That look on your face as you hold your own legs open, unfulfilled and your pussy fluttering on air, your red-stained lips dropping open and your eyes fluttering shut.

Santi swallows, and he wants to make a move but he doesn’t. Instead, he thinks about how Frankie’s cock might look filling you up, all that size disappearing into you.

“Wanna watch Frank fuck her,” Santi says at the same time he thinks it, immediately nervous that’s he’s said the wrong thing as soon as the words are past his lips - but then Will is saying okay then and holding his damn hand out to Santi and Santi takes it and he feels safe with Will. Big strong Will, who Santi’s never called that in his head ever before today but hell, apparently now he is, and pretty Francisco, his hair curling up about his ears from writhing his head about the couch cushions and his eyes and his stomach all soft but his voice so fucking gruff and hard. And then there’s you. You all over again, and Santi might be a lapsed Catholic but, fuck, you could make him believe in heaven.

Everywhere Santi looks there is something gorgeous; someone gorgeous, and then Will is slapping the subtle curve of Frankie’s ass with a hearty, locker room chuckle as the man lines himself up with your entrance, that thick head notching against your hole. And you.

Oh god, you. Santi knows he’s meant to be mean, but wants to stroke your hair and shush you as Frankie fills you rough and balls deep, you beautiful thing.

“You okay, baby?” Will asks you, breaking the scene for a moment. “You ready for him?”

“Yes, m’good. Please Cat’. Fucking need you.”

Frankie makes a strangled sound in his throat at how desperate you are for him, and Santi finds himself pumping his length in the circle of his hand. He has to. He needs some friction.

“Tease her a little and she’ll beg you, ‘Cat,” Will offers. “It’s fucking beautiful.” Then, the hunk of a man turns his attention towards Santiago, and a heat prickles across the back of his neck, his body standing taller and stiffer - muscle memory firing as though he’s about to get an order. Standing to attention for Will, in so many ways. “You okay, Santiago? Still with us? You need to stop or take 5?” Fuck, there’s something about Will first naming him in that voice which gets his dick gets even harder than he would have thought possible.

Then Will is closer. Slipping his hand around the back of Santi’s neck to better search his eyes, but his touch trails and lingers on him a little longer, calloused pads of fingers smoothing up and into his hairline.

“Yes. Yes, I’m good,” Santi confirms, his voice sunken by need, wet and liquid and no sand left in his throat.

For a split second, Santi imagines his tongue buried in Will’s mouth - imagines the rough friction and rasp of stubble against beard like he could light a match, but then he is suckered in entirely by the sweet sight of you.

You and Frankie.

“Please. Please Frankie, fill me up,” you plead pathetically and he pushes -no, glides- inside your wetness, his hands gripping your hips and a faltered moan falling from his plush lips as he bottoms out.

“Fucking beautiful,” Will praises, looking like the cat that got the cream as he witnesses some other dude spearing his girl wide open. And fuck, it looks like Frankie is stretching you to your limit.

Santi’s cock is aching in his own hand as he watches it - watches Frankie’s dick surging in and out of you, gleaming with your creamy juices. Watches the way his size spreads your lips apart, making them all flushed and glistening as they cushion him. Your little asshole just visible when Frankie pulls out - all tight and puckered and begging for a cock too, he’d guess.

Frankie bottoms out again with a cascading groan - jeez this man is a vocal lover - and then he’s moving, pumping into you, bending his knees and getting the perfect angle to fuck up into you - the perfect angle for him, not for you, even if you do seem to be enjoying it.

“Look at Frankie go,” Will bids him, and Santi’s cheeks flush at the man’s knowledge he is looking; watching.

“She feel good, Frank?” Santi asks with a swipe of his tongue along his lower lip, and Frankie replies in the affirmative, his words barely intelligible; and then, Santi asks you a question. A question which makes his heart throb in his neck when he realises how desperately he wants the answer. “Does Frank’s cock feel good inside you, baby?”

Does it? Does it feel good? It looks like it would feel good.

You spill profuse praises, causing Frankie’s legs to tremble as he fucks you, and then Will is moving, coming up next to your face to shut you up and pressing his dick towards your mouth. “Come here baby. Lick up the mess you made of me.” With an obliging hum you wrap your lips and tongue around the head of him, sucking diligently on him even as Frankie’s cock is pounding you, sending shockwaves rippling through your flesh.

Santi watches as Will reaches to roughly knead your breasts and pinch your nipples, and he sees a shudder course all the way down your body like a wave, your hips adjusting to a new angle around Frankie and making him tip his chin to the sky and breathe quick and ragged to stave off his end.

“Fuck, she likes that. Do that again, William. Feels fucking perfect on my cock.”

You laugh. You laugh musically with Frankie deep in you and Will thumbing your nipples and it’s actually fucking beautiful. This messy, beautiful thing, and your laugh brings Santi back to his body.

To his needy body.

Santi palms himself, focussing on the head of him, just enough pressure to stay rock hard - not that he reckons he’d have any trouble while watching this.

Fuck, Santi thought he’d be more… dominant but he… he just…

He swallows.

He wants Will to tell him what to do. He wants Will to tell him what to do to you. What to do to Frankie… because he wants to do everything and he’s too spoilt for choice to choose and…

Fuck.

He wants…

“Santiago,” you croon, desperately, voice hoarse with need and stretching out the vowel sounds and extending your hand towards him. Your attention on him for a moment, even if you’re getting dicked down by two delicious specimens, Frankie filling you and Will gradually engorging all over again in your mouth until he’s stretching your cheek. And Santi almost turns around and looks behind him when you moan his name because it can’t be him you need, can it? Don’t you have everything you need? “Santi, please,” you beg, and the effects of your wanton plea ripple through each of the men. Frankie fucks you harder, ensuring your eyes meet his again, albeit briefly before they roll back into your head. Will’s face lilts into a crescent smile at how deliciously filthy you are, and Santi…

“My woman needs you, man. Come get involved Santiago,” Will offers with an easy, agenda-free smile. “Sure she can take three. Put it wherever you want. Or, hey. If you’re not gonna get your dick wet just yet, come and torment that little clit of hers and make her clamp down harder on our pal Frankie.”

God - Santi should have gone to Will. He should have gone to Will all those nights he was trying to wank himself off in his army bunk. Should have had the Captain slot in beside him and whisper orders in his ear because it’s the only damn way he can mobilise. Because he needs Will’s cool, calm authority. Always needed it to feel safe.

Needed that but…

…He needs you too. Has needed you. And, Santi tics his gaze over to you, arcing up a thick, suggestive eyebrow - and ever so briefly it’s like you’re sharing a moment just the two of you, even as Frankie’s thrusts shunt you back and forth on the table. Even then, your eyes trail up and down Santi’s body and your tongue darts out along your lips like a silent invitation. And so, Santi comes to stand alongside the table edge, looming over you all splayed out like this. He gets in a position perpendicular to you, where he can just about touch his cock to your lips and reach his hand down towards your mound at the same time too.

Slowly, so slowly and in such juxtaposition to everything that is happening to you, Frankie’s thrusts growing harder and faster and increasingly sloppy, Santi smooths his palm down over your chest, your stomach, and on towards your little hatch of hair, quickly finding that swollen nub and skimming over it with the barest of pressure.

You jolt from it, a shockwave careening through your body and causing your spine to arc away from the table like a bow.

Frankie makes a choked sound then and so do you, but you’re moaning around Will’s engorged dick -your hands on both him and Santi and dipping them alternately into your mouth, sometimes both at once, their cocks frotting up against one another’s - and so that figures. “Holy shit, she likes that, you beautiful motherfucker,” Frankie rasps, voice almost entirely sunken. A delicious bead of sweat shimmying down from his temple which Santi half imagines he’d like to taste. “Just clamped down on me like a fucking vice.”

With a smug smile at making you feel good- making Frankie feel good- Santi builds the pressure. Starts with circles. Then, starts flicking and squeezing and strumming your needy, swollen clit, your moans suffocated around his own dick, but your jerking body and jagged breaths around his shaft a dead giveaway that you like this.

“Give me some more lube down there, Frank,” Santi requests, and his buddy -though increasingly undone- obliges him, puckering his lips and letting a shined glob of spit land on your clit with a soft smack. Well- Frankie always did have good aim.

And then, as Santi works you, you are practically bucking off of the table; however, there are 6 strong hands holding you in position. In position so that you can be filled and pleasured how they like. Your own hands and mouth busy with two dicks and you could stop, if you wanted. Anytime you needed to. You could tap out if you wanted, but you don’t. You like this, and so instead you use your hands to reach for them, to reach for more, to reach for him.

You moan around Will’s cock as he pushes deeper into your throat - deeper and in counter rhythm to Frankie’s thrusts. “So humiliating how much you like being used, Princess,” he coos at you.

Santi is riveted as Will surges out of your mouth, and then your moans are suddenly unfettered; abortive whines and pants and burgeoning waves of sound from deep in your chest. To the other side of him, Frankie’s percussive grunts and groans are the perfect complement to your carnal noises, perfectly in time with the slap of his balls against you, and Will’s still whispering dirty things, dirty words cascading down to you and Santi’s tormenting your clit and all of this- all of this is only taking you higher.

Santi could come again. Could come already, but he’s slipping his fingers further down, further down your lips and folds and he’s hitting the shaft of Frankie’s cock too and it feels warm and ridged and contoured, the feel suggesting veins and weight and he’ll be damned if he comes before he witnesses the two of you reaching your end. And maybe - maybe it’s coincidence but as soon as Santi is touching him too, Frankie seems to be losing it, his rhythm uneven and his grunts increasingly broken and his hands clamping harder on your thighs, leaving indents like claws and half-moon crescents where his short nails dig into your flesh.

Santi is overcome by it. By the need to feel you, to feel you both, so he crooks his forefinger and he reaches down and he finds room against Frankie’s shaft to slip a finger inside you with him, stretching you just a little more, and he finds that you can take it. That you like it. And maybe… maybe it shouldn’t fit- Frankie already an impossible stretch- but everything is drenched. So slippery. Obscene wet noises like ruined fruit. Both of them inside you as he brings his other hand across to massage your clit, his palm pushing down on your lower abdomen, and he can feel it. He can feel it when you clamp down, he can feel when Frankie comes undone and his orgasm zips all the way up from his balls.

Santi’s touching both of you as you are bucking off the table with no chance of going anywhere. As Frankie is spilling his load into you, slamming deeper into you, as deep as he can get, all of his length disappeared inside you all the way down to the groomed tight curls where Frankie’s happy trail meets the base of his dick.

Santi’s not even inside you. Not inside your mouth or pussy but he swears he feels just as good from watching Frankie fill you. By the fact he helped you both come undone.

He and Will both simply watch, both intent on you and Frankie, and a disbelieving, awed sound slips involuntarily past Santi’s lips as Frankie delivers his load, thick and creamy ropes pulsing out of him and filling you. Santi’s fractured moan deepens as he watches Frankie slip out and his cum and your arousal slipping with him, a mess of gleaming, white liquid pulsing from your fucked open hole, and your legs left quivering and jerking as aftershocks tear through you.

It looks fucking delicious.

You look delicious.

Frankie looks delicious, his shaft shined with your juices as he withdraws. He looks delicious as he dips forward, hinging at the hips to shove his tongue hungrily over yours in gratitude, whispering sweet things to you. Shoving over the same tongue that was on Santi’s cock only moments ago - almost as though he’s tasting him.

No, Santi wasn’t prepared for this. For how good it would feel and look.

Santi’s part of this and even then he’s jealous. Doesn’t know who he’d rather be. Him, with the privilege of watching you get fucked and filled up. Frankie, burying his length into your tight hole. Or… you. You, being filled up and used like that and…

…There he is again, untethered from reality like the moments after an explosion, ringing in his ears and blurred sounds and-

“Santiago,” Will says suddenly by his ear, deceptively soft, and Santi turns, grateful for his guiding force. Will slips his hand around the back of Santi’s neck again, gripping him securely. A grounding touch too, and with effort, Santi lifts his dark, lust-blown eyes up to Will’s baby blues, suddenly acutely aware all over again of the aching, straining mass between his legs. Of Will’s size and mass too. His height and muscles and power - not only his strength no, but the quiet, cool authority that has always felt like safety to him. “Santiago,” Will soothes, with the subtle brush of a thumb up and down the column of his neck. “Is there something you need, hmm? Something you… want?”

Santi’s throat bobs around a hard swallow and he averts his gaze from Will, shuffling from foot to foot.

Yes. There is something that he needs. Something, but he can’t…

The words…

He looks to Frankie, brown eyes meeting and Santi’s mouth drops open and closes wordlessly, Frankie’s tongue darting out to whet his pillowy lips and his eyes filled with something Santi can’t name and can’t place.

He looks at you.

He wants so many things but he…

He can’t name them.

So, he looks to Will. He looks to Will because everyone looks to Will when they’re in need, when they’re needy, and Will’s eyes narrow as he contemplates something. A smile twitches at his lips as he lands on a plan of action - always the one with a plan of action.

And so, experimentally, Will smooths his hand over Santi’s hair, making him hum, making him push his curls ever so subtly back into Will’s grip. You do this too - Will knows fine well what it means. “Want me to pull on your hair, Santiago?”

“Uhh. Uh-huh,” Santi admits, voice hollowed-out by need. Heat blooming in his cheeks and flushing his neck and chest. That prickle over his skin again because Will knows. Will knows what he wants. What he needs.

Then, Will obliges. Tugs the ex-soldier’s head back and his chin up and Santi emits a weak, needy sound that could only be described as a whimper.

“Want me to tell you what to do, Santiago?”

Fuck.

Santi’s heart is hammering in his chest and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why but he knows it feels right. He knows he trusts Will. With his life, and with this too.

“Please,” he croaks, and again, Santi immediately worries that he’s said the wrong thing, but only for a moment. Only for a moment because then Will is nodding okay. Will’s nodding okay and then he’s standing up taller, drawing up from Santi. Raising his chin. Asserting his authority. “Always were such a good soldier, Garcia. Should have known you’d like taking orders,” Will drawls, with a satisfied lilt to his deep voice.

“Fucking dickhead,” Santi fires back immediately, and Will tugs harder on his curls.

So help him, he likes that.

“Get on your knees, Santiago, you insubordinate little shit,” Will delivers in a commanding tone, causing a shiver to skitter all along Santi’s spine.

It’s experimental, Santi realises. He doesn’t have to do it, and even now he recognises there is plenty of slack in Will’s tone -in his expression- for challenge. For disobedience. “Get on your knees and lick up Frankie’s cum from the toy.”

Oh yeah. There’s definitely plenty of room for challenge; but Santi doesn’t take an inch of it. Instead, his legs shaking, he positions himself and drops to the floor before you. He settles there like this is second nature. As though he’s ever done this before, naked and hard and kneeling, and his palms settle on his thighs. He settles there, distinctly aware of Frankie and Will stood either side of him. Of you, lying there obediently with Frankie’s cum still pulsing out of you - after he’s used you, made a mess of you.

And Santi looks up - looks to Will, because of course he does. He looks to Will like you do. Waiting for permission. “Taste her then,” Will orders, casually pumping his semi in his hand, quickly swelling again. “Taste Frankie’s load.”

Santi rises up on his knees. He rises up like he’s free. Like everything suddenly makes sense. He cups your ass in his hands and then with a moan and shiver of anticipation from you, suddenly he is sinking his mouth to the mess of you, Santi’s writhing tongue shimmying and thumping and circling against your sensitive clit, sending jerky aftershocks through you.

Next, his tongue is trailing down to your fucked open entrance and he is lapping Frankie’s salt from you. Slurping obscenely and tasting the delicious tang of it flooding over his tongue, his cock so hard it almost hurts; aches. So hard as Will fists his fingers into his crown of curls and drives him more deeply into your heat. As you moan and shiver under his mouth. As Frankie practically gasps at how much Santi is enjoying tasting him.

“Holy shit,” Frankie keens, a cracked-open noise like a revving engine struggling to start - a telltale tremor in it.

“Good, Santiago,” Will praises experimentally, and in response Santi moans into your heat as the words makes his cock throb. “Clean her up. That’s our good boy.”

God, his dick. So hard. So desperate for any friction. Aching.

“Mm-hmm.”

And Santi’s thinking about everything. About what he might do next. About how he could fuck you. About how he could fuck into you and have Frankie’s release coating his dick. Your juices all over him making him slick. About how he could fuck Frankie out of you. How he could claim you for his own. How he could be claimed himself if only-

-His cock aches.

He needs to touch himself -needs some relief- and he reaches down, fingers finding his velvety shaft.

“Fuck,” Frankie revs, voice levelled with need. “You look so pretty on your knees, Santiago,” he praises, and Santi almost spills over his own knuckles right then and there before he’s even really touched himself.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s waiting for something.

Waiting for…

Will commands him to get up. His legs feel like jelly but he just about manages it. He orders him to fold your legs back towards your chest. Tells him to fill you up like Frankie had. That the toy needs to be all used up.

Santi does as he’s told. He doesn’t need much convincing to slip into your inviting tightness anyway, does he? And, god, he’s only just slipped inside -just the tip- and it already feels so good. So good that he’s breathing in long gusts of exertion, trying to stave off his end and barely able to move because he’d nut before he’s even really fucked you. The way you grip him so tightly and the way it feels when the head of him nudges just right against your walls is something else. The warm grip of you on his shaft and the sight of Frankie’s cum being scooped out of you with every shallow thrust impossibly hot.

Santi’s whole body shudders, and then his eyes are rolling back in his head and suddenly Will’s directing. Will’s directing because it needs to be harder - not these pussy ass thrusts - and he needs to ruin you, and then Frankie is there. Frankie is warm, his chest at Santi’s back and his hands clamping around the man’s hips to fuck him harder into you - to guide the pace and depth.

Then Santi is moving. He’s moving because Frankie is fucking him into you and Will’s egging him on and you’re quaking around him, Frankie’s hardness an increasingly insistent pressure at the small of Santi’s back. Those big hands clamped on his hips and ass, that push and pull controlling his pace and thrusts, making each one longer and deeper than the last, and Santi can sense his balls drawing up, getting so tight, and his whole body getting ready to spill into you. It feels so fucking good.

“Looks like we have two toys, huh?” Will purrs. “You want that, Santiago? Wanna be a good toy for me and Frankie?”

He does. Yes.

Fuck, he wants that.

“Y-Yes. Yes,” and his own voice is barely recognisable, buried under layers of need, his hips stuttering and jerking and his legs nervy and he thinks he could fall over. Thinks he would fall if Frankie wasn’t sturdy at his back and so he leans into him. Leans into him more and all of a sudden Frankie’s gruff noises are fanning over his neck, over the shell of his ear. All of a sudden Santi is turning his head to the side and then he’s merely an inch away from Frankie’s lips, only the ghost of a moment between them.

Fuck.

The ghost of a moment, and with it Frankie loses control of the pace, the interruption to the rhythm and the slightly changed angle and how fucking wet you are causing Santi’s dick to momentarily slip out from you.

For a moment, you and Santi are joined in a crescendo of desperate moans in protest at the sudden lack of sensation - no, no, no- more more more, don’t stop- and Santi thinks about reaching down to guide himself back inside the warm embrace of you but he’s holding your legs, taking the weight of your hips as he suspends your lower half off the table, so instead, before either of them think about it, Frankie’s hand is reaching down.

Fuuuuck.

Frankie’s hand is reaching down and winding around Santi’s sensitive shaft, and he would moan at the feel of his buddy’s girthy fingers on his dick but the sounds are dying in his throat. Dying in his throat and fuck he’s close. He’s close, and as soon as Frankie’s hand is sliding down his lubed shaft and the head of him is engulfed by your plumped lips and wet heat all over again? He’s losing it.

“Come for me,” Will says firmly, and he thinks this time, that he really is talking to him too. Talking to both of you.

This.

This is what Santi has been waiting for. For Will’s permission and Frankie’s touch and you. Always waiting for you and he’s there. Fully present in his body and caught between you and Frankie, his orgasm ripping through him as a single word from Frankie falls over the shell of his ear. A gruff wrecked voice, deceptively soft: “Cariño,” and this time Santi thinks Frankie really could be talking to him too.

With that -with all of this- Santi is spilling himself and you’re clamping down around him too, wringing him dry and convulsing on him, hard, and Will is holding your head and shushing and stroking and praising you.

Santi is emitting ragged sounds from deep in his chest as you drain him dry, Frankie’s hand still squeezing the base of him, and all of a sudden he is releasing everything. His load, this weight from his chest, these sounds - almost like sobs but of pleasure. Sounds muffled only by Frankie’s tongue shoving over his, finally, pushing past the seam of his lips as Santi turns his head once more and the two men lock lips, the kiss hungry and tentative and unexpected and yet somehow entirely inevitable all at once.

The kiss eventually crests and breaks, just like Santi’s orgasm. The come down happens, yours and his, and for a moment the room is held in a cocoon of jagged breaths and breath taken away; pleasant hums and hands smoothing and lips meeting, soft wet sounds and hushed tones, and the soft slip of Santi surging out of you and his come and Frankie’s slipping with him.

Then, there are hands on him too. Careful hands. Reassuring hands. Familiar ones.

Will’s hand winding around the back of his neck again, into his buzzed hair, except this time his other hand is slipped around his waist too, gently pawing there. “You good, Santiago?”

“Yes. Good. Fucking. Soul left dick. Need a minute.” Will nods and slaps his cheek playfully and then they’re all back to you. Back to you and Will is massaging your thighs and you’re giggling disbelievingly and it’s beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

You made him feel so good.

And… Santi is fine.

He is.

He’s fine.

But even so he rasps a hand over his stubble and can’t help but notice there is an elephant in the room.

The elephant in the room is that he can no longer look Frankie in the eye.

He can’t; because then, he might give it away.

Might give away that he’s satisfied. That he couldn’t be more satisfied… yet at the same time?

There’s still something else he wants.

“Let’s take 5, yeah?” Frankie pipes up, sounding shy, sounding distant, and Will agrees, helping you off of the table and rubbing your legs until the blood comes back to them and you’re reaching for him and kissing him and he’s accepting, enjoying the gentle slip of your tongue against his, letting him know you still belong to him.

And, looking for his own embrace, Santi turns. He turns to search for Frankie, but he’s already quietly slipped out.

Already gone.

Gone, and it leaves a longing.

Yes, Santi knows there’s something else he wants, and he doesn’t know if he can find the words.

After all, it’s been this long -has been years- and he has never quite been able to say it.

Timeout / Huddle: amend the play

You all get cleaned up, get some snacks and water, and gather in the master bedroom for a much-needed change of scene.

The air is still heavy and thick with tension, hard swallows down throats and eyes glancing off of bodies and hands skimming skin, leaving searing, liquid trails of heat in their wake.

The pace is slower. More gentle, sensual. A different scene. A different feel.

But still, it’s clear this is not over. That there is more pent-up desire to be fulfilled.

You’re still nude under your silk robe, and shirts and pants have been hastily thrown on by the boys for this conversation, but no-one has made any move to end this.

Everyone still wants. Still needs. That much is apparent. Everyone is satisfied in some kind of way but still needing something more; and the group of you are never ones to leave a mission incomplete. You always get the job done.

Even so, it’s also clear that something has shifted. Maybe for all of you since the scene was planned - sketched out. Something is… different.

You’d talked at length about how the parameters might shift, of course. About what could happen in the moment, theoretically. About different feelings and desires and dynamics that might arise. Complex ones. Unexpected ones. Difficult ones. Pleasurable ones.

But this is far more than theoretical.

You think you all know it. Think you all have a pretty good idea; but it can’t come from you.

It has to come from him, and so this time, all eyes fall on Santi.

“Is there… something else you want to try, Santiago?” you probe, as gently as possible, all too aware -from personal experience- of this guy’s tendency to bolt when things get heavier than expected. More… emotional. More invested.

“Why are you all looking at me?” he asks, sweat gathering at his temples as though he’s literally burning under a spotlight, his heavy brows drawn down over his hooded umber eyes.

“We just want to make you feel good,” you purr. “But you have to tell us what you want first, honey.”

You look at him levelly. Letting him know: It’s okay. You’re safe. I promise.

Santi’s lack of protest is a subtle acquiescence in itself - you know him well enough to know that- but you’re going to need a hell of a lot more to go on than that if a single thing can happen. “So, what do you want?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I-“ his eyes glance off of Frankie, and it’s a subtle tic but it’s a glaring admission all at once.

You don’t want to push him - to push this- but it feels so close. So close, and so you think you can give this one more try. You sigh gently and you slip a palm up to Santi’s face, the texture of his stubble rough and warm under you, and his eyes flutter closed as he leans gratefully into your touch, a weight settling on his brow all the same.

He doesn’t give in - he’s stubborn- and so you go with a hunch. “Do you want to be filled up too, Santi? Like I was?”

Santi’s eyes blink open - widening, a flush creeping all the way down his neck, his tan skin flushed with an undertone of crimson.

He looks to Will. Looks to Will like he’s said the wrong thing even though he hasn’t said a thing at all, but Will leaves plenty of room.

Leaves this wide open.

Makes him feel safe.

Still, when Santi remains silent, you look at Will helplessly. Maybe things are done for today. It’s okay if things end here. After all, there can’t be any pressure. “We don’t have to keep going - it might be best if we leave things here and-“

“-No,” Santi protests, his voice weak and yet his assertion forceful. A plea.

You note that Frankie whips his gaze back up from the spot on the duvet he’s been intent on for 10 minutes in that moment, seemingly holding his breath as he waits for Santi to reveal his desires. You swear you can see his heartbeat pulsing -raging- through his corded neck when you look closely enough.

“No?” you prompt, doing your best to stifle a smile. To play this off as casually as possible.

“I. Want That. What you said,” Santi admits, his voice shot through with rare nerves.

You imagine you hear Frankie gulp next to you, but Santi’s looking down at his hands - now clasped firmly in yours. “I. Fuck. I think I want to try that.”

You nod encouragingly. He’s safe with you. You promise. “Okay.”

Will says something next, perhaps going on a hunch too. “Want Frank to fill you up?” It’s experimental. The words slack. Leaving plenty of room. Plenty of room, and Santi doesn’t take an inch of it.

Santi and Frankie’s eyes lock for a moment and you bite your lip, holding your breath as you wait to see how this is going to go down, the air suddenly as close and as suffocating as molasses.

You keep your voice gentle. “That okay with you, Frankie?”

Frankie clears his throat shyly, but the huge tent he’s pitching in his pants right now -as well as the deepened colour of his cheeks- is a dead giveaway. “Yep.”

You could swear Santi releases a held breath when Frankie confirms.

Okay. Good. You’re halfway there. “Santiago?” you probe gently.

“Yeah. Yes. Please.”

You exchange a glance with Will and he gives you a gentle nod. “Do you two want me and Will to stay or-?”

Santi and Frankie both reach for you immediately and in tandem, as though to pin you down before you can disappear, and each of their heavy-lidded, needy expressions sends a thrum of heat and happiness crawling under your skin. Your lips quirk up into a smile, and Santi’s still reaching for you, looking between your eyes and lips and moving close enough that he is almost straddling your lap.

God, he’s pretty when he’s all needy like this.

You read his intentions. “Wanna kiss me, Santiago?”

“Yes please, hermosa.”

Wow. If he’s going to keep asking so nicely you won’t be complaining. You kinda like it, in fact. You’ve never seen him so polite.

“Kiss each other then,” Will suggests to the both of you. “Put on a show for us. Get me and Frankie hard so we can fuck you in your tight little assholes.”

Well…

Now there’s an inspired idea you can all agree on.

Always the man with a plan, your boyfriend.

No wonder he rose through the ranks really, is it?

Quarter Four

Santi surges towards you and you meet him, both of you raised up on your knees on the bed as your lips gravitate towards one another’s. And then, he’s devouring you. Kissing you deeply and hungrily, the movement of his jaw scraping his stubble over your cheek and -no doubt- leaving you raw.

He wants you. He wants you here. He wants you to be part of this. He wants all of this at once. He wants, and it feels like too much but it also feels like everything he ever wanted.

“Can I get you ready for Frankie?” you ask wantonly, your voice husk and syrup, and Santi takes more than a moment to catch your drift.

Oh. Oh.

Well, Frankie’s big. He probably shouldn’t deny a little assistance.

“Yeah,” Will purrs. “Come here, baby. Lick his asshole. Get him ready for Francisco.”

A moan shudders out of Santi even at the thought of you rimming him - of that pretty pink tongue lapping at him, and he could almost come apart if it wasn’t for Will. Will directing him to get on all fours on the bed. To position himself face down ass up. To spread his cheeks open for you.

Fuck.

Is this how you had felt earlier, Santi wonders, your holes all exposed and on display?

It feels… good.

You don’t waste any time in heeding Will’s command, and Santi swears he’s having an out of body experience as he feels the mattress dip to his rear with the weight of you, as he feels your breath against his entrance and your hands gripping the globes of his ass, all three of you making sounds of appreciation at the sight before you.

And then… Jeez.

The feel of your tongue is something else. First, you gently bend his hardened shaft back so that you can lick along the underside of him, your tongue then shivering up to his balls - which you suckle into your mouth for good measure, releasing them with a gentle pop. Then, from his balls your tongue dances over his perineum and finally, you circle around his puckered rim, around the sensitive flesh at his tight ring of muscle, and his moans are muffled right into the bed as he buries his head.

“Fuuuccck,” he praises, and you giggle smugly against him even as you continue your ministrations, your tongue swiping and probing and then gradually pushing inside, dipping into him and making his whole body tremble.

He moans again. Moans as your thumb circles the wetness of him and teases him there until he is eagerly pushing back on you, wanting you to ease in. You do - you push your thumb deeper inside, finding his prostate and pressing down, gently at first and then harder, stroking over it and almost making him shoot his load right then and there. Especially as he hears Frankie moan from somewhere behind him.

“Have you had something inside of you before?” Will asks.

“Yes.”

“You can take him?”

“Nothing as big as Frank. But I think so.”

“We’ll take it slow, cariño,” Frankie reassures, and Santi doesn’t think the man has ever sounded hotter - in control and assured and somehow deeply soft too, a well of caring and emotion brimming under his straightforward tone.

Frankie has got you. Whether you’re bleeding out on a jungle floor or about to be fucked in the ass by the man - he won’t let you down.

And fuck. What you’re doing feels good. Impossibly good, and from behind him Santi hears you mewl, your breath fanning against his ass as though you are being taken care of too. He’s not sure who might be warming you up or how but he can’t say he minds either image.

“I know you can take it, baby. You can take me all day long. That ass is mine, huh?” Will says with a swift smack to your ass, causing you to jerk and your thumb to slip slightly deeper inside Santi.

Oh, fuck.

He has to fight not to nut right now, but he wants to save his load. He wants to save it so he can make Frankie feel good. Judging from the sounds to his rear, Frankie is already enjoying this, and so -of course he does- Santi plays it up a little, feeling slightly smug, enjoying the attention, writhing his ass and increasing the volume of his wracked moans.

Santi is so very conscious he’s being watched. The two men behind him watching you open him up, Frankie emitting a beautiful groan as you replace your thumb with two fingers and Santi accommodates you with ease, and then he doesn’t even need to play it up. In fact, he’s having to reign it back in and he’s squirming and backing-up so you fill him deeper and swallowing down his moans and-

“There you go. There you go, Santiago,” Will praises, and Santi doesn’t think he’s ever felt such a sense of pride in his life as when Will praises him. “Francisco, have him suck on you and get you all wet.”

Frankie does just that, needing little to no encouragement to shift to the head of the bed and kneel before the other man, bringing his dick to Santi’s lips as you continue to deliciously pulse your fingers in and out of his tightness. “You want to? Want to open up for me?”

Santi responds by sinking his mouth eagerly on to Frankie’s length. It’s a new sensation- he hasn’t sucked a dick before- but he immediately loves how full he feels. Loves the weight of Frankie over his tongue and the taste of skin and salt. Loves the textures of him.

Pretty Francisco.

Pretty Francisco and his big pretty delicious cock.

Frankie seems to enjoy it too -Santi’s mouth on him- as before long he’s pulling out, insisting he’ll bust a nut if he stays in there too long, shuddering with need.

Will talks over at him. “I get a feeling our sweet Santiago likes to be told he’s a good boy. Think you can you be nice to him, Francisco?”

“Yeah. I can be nice to him,” Frankie chuckles. “That okay with you, pendejo?”

“Yeah, starting when, asshole?” Santi jokes, even as his voice tremors with need, and then he is being moved by strong pairs of hands - moved into position on his back as Frankie scolds him - “careful, or I might stop being so nice,” - and then all of a sudden, both unexpected and inevitable, it is happening.

Frankie’s hard shaft is inching inside of his eased open hole, stretching him out and filling him up until somehow, the dull burn is giving way to searing pleasure, and Frankie is buried all the way.

Next to Santi, Will has you on all fours as he fucks into your ass, slamming you hard and fast and burying that perfect dick in you just like you need him to, your hand winding in between your thighs and punishing your clit in time with his thrusts.

Will goes to town on you, because he knows you can take it, knows what you like, what you need, and meanwhile, Frankie - his sweet Frankie- is far more gentle. More gentle until Santi adjusts to his girth. Allowing him to set the pace and dictate the angle, his knees held up towards his chest as he holds himself open.

“Feel good?” Frankie enquires, a subtle concern etched into his handsome features, even as he hums with the feeling of Santi gripping his dick so tightly in his ass, his pink tongue darting out to skim over his lips.

Feel good? Good? That’s a fucking understatement, even before Frankie is really even moving. And, in response to what seems like an absurd question in the moment, it is all Santi can do to let out a choked, disbelieving laugh.

“Use your words,” Frankie scolds, his voice deep and delicious, and that command causes Santi to raise his arms and grab the pillows above his head for dear life, as though they might give him any purchase against the man’s deepening thrusts.

“Yeah. Feels good, Frank. Feels amazing.”

“Yeah?” Frankie says, the pace and force of his thrusts increasing as soon as he’s sure Santi’s enjoying this. The concern dropping from his features. His palms pressing down on the man’s thighs to keep them crushed up towards his chest, and Frankie sinking a little weight into his arms so he can deepen the angle of penetration too.

It’s good. It’s more than good; it’s divine.

And yet, Santi has seen Frankie fuck. With his own two eyes. Has seen Frankie fuck you. Hard. And he knows he’s still holding back.

Santi nods towards you, where you are getting railed into oblivion, tits bouncing and being gradually shunted up the bed by the sheer force of it, Will continually having to drag you back down on to his cock. “Francisco,” Santi pleads, almost bashfully. “I… I… want it like that. Please.”

“Like that how? All fours?”

“No. Just… harder. Fuck me harder, Frank.”

Frankie picks up the pace a little, testing the waters, sending a white hot, blooming pleasure shooting through Santi’s core. Still, he’s the one in charge here and he’s not about to let Santi forget it that easily. “You’re actually telling me how to fuck you? Curses under his breath. “I know you didn’t just try to top from the bottom, you little brat.” There is a warning in Frankie’s voice, but there is that undercurrent of humour too - an ease developed through years of back and forth between the two men - his endlessly familiar tone cut with a harsh, playful edge that Santi enjoys.

“Sounds like a fucking challenge,” Santi sasses back, and that was both his biggest mistake and his greatest idea, because with that, Frankie slams into him with far greater force, fucking him until he’s almost seeing stars.

“Uh- uh - fuuuucckkk.”

“You’re lucky you look pretty getting fucked by me, Santiago,” Frankie chides, but there’s so much warmth there too.

So much warmth and Frankie’s hard and soft and oh so familiar and entirely new and despite himself, even as he’s being drilled Santi can’t help but laugh. Can’t help but laugh because it’s unexpected, because it’s wonderful; but then Frankie is fucking him harder, and Santi’s laugh digresses to a moan and he’s keening for him, his hands raised above and behind him, searching for something to hold on to, and he figures he must look some kind of way getting fucked like this - being opened up so deliciously by Frankie - because you’re looking at him. Looking at him like you are rapt, captivated, even though Will -big strong Will- is buried deep in your ass. You’re looking at him, your eyes trailing from his flexed arms down his chest and flared ribs and soft stomach where his gleaming cock rests, nestled like a treasure between his thighs, knees curled back almost to his chest and Frankie’s soft stomach slapping up against his balls and sending jolts of pleasure slamming through him as he drives harder, faster, deeper.

Santi feels… boneless. He feels… liquid.

He feels something wet and liquid on his stomach and he realises his cock is weeping creamy fluid, Frankie fucking milking him, making him slick and God. God it feels good and it’s too much and it’s everything, but then Santi is reaching out for something -something else- and it’s you. Your hands clasping together in the space between you and holding on for dear life as you each get filled all the way up.

You lock eyes with Santi and hum approvingly at the sight of him, until Will is scolding you -I know he’s pretty baby but you focus on me when I’m fucking you, understand?. Scolding you but there’s no menace in it - you’re both smiling, that is, until Will is baring his teeth in a snarl at how good you’re making him feel.

And then, Will succeeds in reclaiming your attention by ramming you harder, and your eyes are rolling back in your head and Will is thumbing your clit and now you look like you’re almost seeing stars too.

All over again, everywhere Santi looks there is something beautiful; someone beautiful, all of them creating something beautiful, together, and Santi is smiling and he never knew that sex could feel like this. Never knew it could feel so fucking hot -hot like fire- and yet so joyful too.

So joyful and Frankie is fucking gorgeous like this, his hawkish face intense and handsome as he bears down on Santi, concentrating on not coming undone, breaths gusting from the circle of his plush lips and his thick length hitting Santi just right, and Santi idly thinks it’s apt that the pilot should have an aerial view.

Then, Santi vaguely hears Will ask you a question to the side of him. Something about whose dick you want to come on, but then he’s growling and gathering you up in his arms and raising your torso off the bed, his chest at your back as he snaps his hips forward and up as he buries his seed deep in your ass, and it gives Santi ideas.

“Harder,” he pleads at Frank with a flutter of his pretty eyelashes, and this time, oh thank God, this time, Frankie gets the memo.

This time, Santi’s got his knees up to his chest and Frankie’s hands are gripping his ample hips and Santi looks down. Looks down at Frankie disappeared into him. Looks up at the man’s smooth chest and broad shoulders. Looks down at himself, and he doesn’t usually like his stomach since he retired from the service but it looks good like this; good for Frankie, soft for Frankie, and he’s being railed and shunted further up and up the bed and he feels good. He feels so good with this white hot pleasure sparking in his core with every thrust, with the slight friction of his own length against his stomach as he’s filled. He feels so good that he is the one making Frankie emit such pretty, sexy as hell noises; making him feel good too.

Frankie’s filling him and it’s everything, and it’s enough, and it’s more, but suddenly Santi understands how you had felt earlier when you had called out for him, even as you had everything you needed.

He understands and he calls out for you now too. Calls out for you as Frankie fills him and he climbs ever closer to his peak. Closer and he’s filling him up and you’re watching him and Santi reaches out and it’s as though you know exactly what he needs. As if you know what he needs and you smooth your hand over his curls, over the stubble at his cheek. “Okay, baby boy. Okay. You’re okay,” you soothe, and his eyes roll back in his head with this divine contrast of soft and hard, being pounded and soothed, praised and used, and then he’s looking at Will all over again. Looking at Will because of course he is. Looking at Will because he wants permission. “One more orgasm. Give us one more baby boy.”

And then, just like that, everything is shifting. Suddenly you’re all talking and agreeing and moving and he is agreeing and pleading. Pleading that you straddle him and put his dick inside you. That you ride him while Frankie fucks his ass, and then, all of a sudden it’s happening.

It’s happening, and Santi’s being rocked between the motion of the two of you, both filled and filling, and it’s like the tide, one pleasure reversing and replaced immediately by the other, in and out, and it’s so good that he can’t take it. So good that the pleasure feels like it’s about to burst out of him everywhere.

So good he’s shaking, tipping his head back and moaning more deeply than he’s ever heard himself moan, and he sounds pathetic, desperate, wonderful, and then Will’s drawing Santi’s head into his lap and stroking his hair - telling him how well he’s doing. How well he’s doing letting you ride his dick, your hips undulating skilfully on him and your walls dragging over his contours. For having Frankie moving inside of him, so thick and stretching him open and him taking it so well, so deep.

“Feel good, baby boy?” you ask him, fully prepared to stop if he can’t handle the stimulation, if it’s overwhelming, and Santi could swear it is too much. That it is too good, and yet his hands somehow clamp down on your hips to keep him buried inside you and he’s begging. Begging all three of you, don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please.

Santi’s here, caught in a web of pleasure, and his enjoyment seems to build you all up too. Seems to drive you all further toward that peak together, and for a minute, with you all around him and inside him and above him he feels like he’s at the centre of the goddamn universe.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. Any of this. To deserve the sight of you as you surge up, arms reaching behind you and head twisting so Frankie can kiss you, full and deep. What he’s done to deserve your lips on his next as you fold forwards, hinging at the hips and shoving your tongue over his. What he’s done to deserve Will’s praises and the dirty affirmations which cascade over the both of you.

“Yeah - you belong to me, don’t you, even with this other dick in you?” Will rumbles in his deepest, darkest voice - and Santi screws his eyes shut and imagines for a moment he’s talking to him. Imagines he’s talking to him, and then, quite plainly, he is. He really is. “You too, little one. I’m letting them fuck you. You’re mine too. You belong to me, you got that, Santiago? Mine to take care of.”

Santi can’t describe it. Can’t describe the elation he feels with Will’s words in his ear, and his fingers raking in his curls. Your tongue in his mouth and your pussy wrapped around his length. Frankie’s dick buried in him and his hands clamping down around his hips. All of you taking care of him.

He feels like he belongs.

He belongs to Will. He belongs to you. He belongs to Frankie. And he feels - he wishes, he hopes- that you’re each saying it to him now, in your own ways. Saying everything that he’s ever wanted.

He belongs. He belongs. He belongs.

To you, and you, and you.

“You okay, baby boy?” You purr right next to his ear.

Then, Frankie’s voice sounds from above him too. “We’ve got you. Come for us. That’s it. Come on. That’s it, baby.”

Santi screws his eyes shut again and focusses fully on the feelings and sensations. The sounds. The sights are almost too much.

He feels your laboured, quickened breaths fanning over him as your bury your head in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, I’m gonna… Frankie, you close too?” Frankie grunts yes, he is. “Come with Frankie, Santiago,” you plead, directly into the shell of his ear. “Come with me.”

Fuck. He’d go anywhere with you.

“Come on,” Frankie encourages, fucking him more roughly as his seed pulses deep into his ass.

And, between you all, you are hard and soft and Santi’s spilling and Frankie is too, all warm and thick deep inside him, and Will is awed, watching like he is witnessing some divine confluence. Santi feels it too. Feels the divine here. He feels the God that he always missed whenever he was dragged to Sunday service. He feels like this is something so perfect it shouldn’t be possible.

It’s like belonging.

It’s like being loved. If that’s not sacred, what in the hell is?

“Holy fucking shit,” Frankie growls as he comes, and his noises merge with your more incoherent, throaty moans -louder than he’s ever heard you come- and yet Santi is silent. Silent as though in prayer -at least, the way the Catholics do it- head thrown back in a noiseless cry, little cracked sounds and fissures all that escapes his throat as a full body orgasm tears through him.

He clamps down and squeezes Frankie dry. He almost bucks you off of him, throwing you forward until your arms have to steady yourself with your arms at either side of his head as pleasure blows through him like an explosion. Like a Big Bang.

Then after, it is calm.

Santi is levelled.

Santi has this ringing in his ears and this blurred vision and everything seems unreal. Seems unreal until touches and voices start to ground him again. Until the weight of bodies and palms settles him back down to Earth.

There is softness and shushing and stroking and he’s lying on the bed and he’s being taken care of. Being taken care of by his squad who have his six, whether he’s bleeding out on the jungle floor or coming down from the best orgasm of his life. Soft touches and soft words abound, and only now, in this moment, does Santi realise his cheeks are wet with tears - getting wetter- and even so, despite this emotion, despite how much he hates feeling vulnerable, you’re collapsed on top of him, boxing him in with your arms and legs, and he’s never felt more safe in his goddamn life.

You come down to Earth first. You always were the anchor or the group. Holding everything in place. You kiss him, and his lips are trembling as they meet yours and he can taste the salt of his own tears on your tongue.

Then, there’s Will. The leader. The Captain. The one who always knows what to do. Who knows right now. “Taking my girl for a second, Frank, will you look after this one?”

Then, that just leaves Frankie. His Frankie. The heart of the group. His joy. “You okay, Santiago, you kinky mother fucker?” And Santi can’t help but laugh. Can’t help but laugh that yes. Yes he is okay -more than okay- even as he has tears streaming helplessly down his cheeks.

“Kiss him better, Princess,” Will says softly, and Santi finally opens his eyes, seeing Will carrying you, your legs wrapped around his waist, arms slung around his neck, and he dips you down so that you can reach Santi, swiping your tongue tenderly along his lips until he grants you access.

“You too, Frank,” Will commands, and then Frankie obliges, lying -half-collapsing, in all honesty- on his side on the bed. Then, he is bringing Santi’s face towards his with a tender palm on his cheek, and slanting his mouth ever so softly against his, his moustache tickling against Santi’s upper lip.

And, finally, when you and Will leave the pair of them, momentarily, to get cleaned up, Frankie becomes big spoon, curling around Santi’s form and whispering something into the man’s ear. Whispering something that makes Santi look entirely blissed out.

“I’ll take care of you, pendejo.”

Overtime

“There’s gotta be a joke somewhere here?” Frankie insists. “What do you call you two subs sitting in a bathtub?”

“Oh, ha ha,” Santi says, tone thick with sarcasm, merely causing the other man’s eyes to crinkle in amusement.

“I’ve got it,” he comes back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What’s the difference between you two and the USS Seawolf?” Santi emphatically rolls his eyes, and Frankie takes that as a clear invitation to deliver his punchline. “Nothing. You’re both subs and filled with semen.”

Okay, it wasn’t that funny, but it has tickled Frankie, and neither of you can resist that man’s infectious, throaty chuckle - despite best efforts, in Santi’s case.

Well, Frankie isn’t entirely wrong, is he? You had certainly been more than filled up. Your core hums pleasantly with the memory of it.

Then, after the fact, Will had lifted you away. Had stolen a moment alone with his love, to properly check in with you. To kiss you slow and deep and hold you close. To praise and fuss over you.

He’d also figured that Santi might do well if he wasn’t being crowded - that leaving Frankie to take care of him would be the best call. That Frankie would want that too; he went on a hunch. And, since then, everyone had been cleaned up and checked-in with and -to Will’s insistence- had rehydrated. Any immediate physical needs had been addressed, and emotional ones too, as far as possible.

There were soft kisses and hugs and caresses, sweet words of praise, and some good-natured words of teasing too, the moment Santi was ready to assert himself again.

Then, all that was left to do was to bask in the afterglow. That, and Will had run the two of you a bubble bath while he and Frankie had disappeared to shower in the en suite.

Now, you and Santi are sat at either end of the claw-foot tub luxuriating, legs overlapping and folding around one another.

Frankie is seemingly sticking with the two of you for just a little bit longer as well, his forearms resting on the bath edge and his chin on top of that, his eyes closing and a satisfied hum escaping him as you fondly card you fingers through his messed-up mop of hair, putting his ‘do back into place even as you know it will look tidy for all of 5 minutes.

Feeling a rush of affection for the man, you dip forward to kiss him on the cheek, and then you run your index finger down from his brow, tracing the profile of his hawkish nose, the line of his moustache, over his lips and shapely chin, and you can’t help the smile that curls your lips as you appreciate him.

“He’s kinda pretty, right?” Santi says, tone imbued with fondness too, and just a gentle teasing edge.

Frankie hums again, and then his eyes slowly peel open, creasing at the corners as he looks at Santi. “And you get uglier everyday.”

The challenge in Santi’s eyes is kind of delicious, and if you weren’t so spent it might even get you horny again. Still, you have other things on your mind for right now. “Why don’t you go nap, Cat’?” the man is obviously tired, stifling yawn after yawn - and yet, refusing to relinquish his post. “Sure Will’ll tuck you in, sweetie.”

Frankie looks apprehensively between the two of you.

“We’ve got everything we need. Really.” You pump your eyebrows, hoping that somehow you convey: I’ll take care of Santiago.

And so, confirming that you’re sure one more time, Frankie finally concedes, leaving you and Santi alone in the bath.

Santi looks at you, coming back to his cheeky old self -clearly, as his eyebrow ticks up suggestively- but there’s no real intention behind it. You can tell he’s wiped-out too.

“Sometimes I think this is actually the best bit,” you share, as though this is some insider bit of intelligence Santi might covet. “You can drag the aftercare out for days with Will, he’s a soft touch.” You toss the man a wink.

Despite your light-hearted tone, Santi’s eyes mist over then. You’re not a mind reader, so you can’t quite place it, but if you had to guess you’d say there was a look of regret there. Santi gets that look in his eyes on occasion, when you talk about Will -when you’re happy about Will- and so you’re not overly concerned. It registers like an old ghost, and, as usual, it is covered over in a matter of moments. Buried all over again.

“Did you have fun?” Santi asks you instead.

Wow. Did you have fun? Well, you can’t help the grin which splits your face then. “Couldn’t you tell I was having a good time? I thought you were intelligence.”

“I had some clue,” Santi grins, a lazy, charming smile which disarms you a little, in spite of yourself. He’s good at those. Good at making you feel beautiful, his dark eyes glinting at you.

“What about you?”

Something indiscernible passes over his eyes again. “Yeah. Yeah I did,” and he rasps his hand over his stubble, leaving a trail of bath bubbles in the wake of his hand which fizzle on his skin. There’s something more there too, though. You can feel him wrestle with it. That’s usual. Standard Garcia, but you’re surprised that this time, some words actually find their way out. “You know,” Santi says, a sudden seriousness burdening his brow, and you can’t help but tense up a little. “I always regretted fucking up with you.”

You draw your knees up to your chest, hugging them close, feeling like you’re wandering into dangerous territory; quickly erecting a perimeter around your heart. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Santi breathes out. Seems to release something on the exhale. “But now… I’m glad I fucked up. Because what you and Will have… You’re incredible. I see how happy he makes you, and… you deserve that. I… I never could’ve…”

Your eyes mist up, mirroring his, and you have to bite back a swell of emotion which surges in your chest. For a moment you can’t speak. You can only reach for one of his wet hands and clasp it in yours, interrupting the flow of his words and dragging his deep brown eyes up to yours. “Santi. You could have. For whatever it’s worth now? You could have.”

Santi smiles thinly. Nods. And you’re not sure whether your revelation is a sad one or a happy one, but regardless, he draws you to him with a hand around the back of your neck, dipping to plant a chaste, fond kiss on your lips, your foreheads resting together, just for a moment. It’s not an apology exactly, but somehow it feels like one. It doesn’t even matter - you forgave him long ago anyway.

You smile back at him - a thin, watery thing which you quickly gloss over; and then you each release a breath. You each let it feel lighter. It is only then that you realise how much it had been weighing on you all this time.

Then, your eyes gradually sparking with gentle humour, you distract from this thing between you. You arrange a bubble beard along his jaw, your bright laughter and his resonant chuckle eventually echoing around the tiled room.

He looks at you then like you’re beautiful, his head tilted to one side and you reel a little, his natural charm entirely disarming. Always was that way. “God you can take a dick,” he grins. “And you look good doing it too.”

Despite yourself, you laugh - a dirty, smug sound. “Look who’s talking, Pope.”

And, okay, it’s not the smoothest segue, but you’ll take it. “So… you and Frankie… that was…” you tick up an eyebrow. “…unexpected? Right?”

Santi pouts his full lips, nodding slowly. Expression impassive. “Yeah.” He doesn’t say anymore, even though you feel like he wants to; still, you don’t push him. He’s bound to be emotional right now, and tired, and vulnerable. Santi has bolted for fewer reasons than that before and the last thing you want to do is push him away. Maybe it sounds silly, but you only want to protect him - which has always proven tricky when Santi’s biggest enemy is himself.

So, instead, you chew over a different question, as though you’re about to ask him for the Earth. “Will you come lie up against me, Santi?”

Santi hesitates for a moment. Doesn’t make a move to come closer.

In the space he leaves you almost want to beg him. Don’t run. Don’t run from this. Not me. Not Frankie. Not Will. Not this time.

To your surprise though, he shifts in the water, and he slots his back against your chest, allowing himself to be nestled safely in the loop of your arms. Allowing you to take care of him, for once.

You hold him close to you, and with the weight of him against your chest, somehow, it releases a different weight you’d never even known you were carrying. Not since Will. Not since you were happy.

By the time Will comes into the bathroom to check on you, Santi is dozing against your chest.

You wonder if Will is going to be pissed, somehow, but instead, his eyes glow with admiration as he watches you -the two of you-Santi nestled against your chest, and a smile claims his face at the sweet sight.

He gives you a wink, no agendas behind it, and you love him for it. “You okay, angel?” he whispers with a staggeringly beautiful smile. “Need me to relieve you of brat duty?” He dips a hand in the water. “Water’s almost cold.”

Your eyes crinkle and you swallow a laugh. “He asleep?” you mouth.

“Looks like. Frankie’s zonked out too. Shall we put this one to bed as well?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “You sleepy?

“Not really. Hungry though. Guess fucking your ass really worked up an appetite.” He grins. God. How does he do that? Make you feel so safe and so ignited all at once?

Your eyes light up and you bat your eyelashes at your love in hope. “Snuggles and pizza with my Captain?”

Will’s lips twitch with amusement and adoration in equal measure.

“If it helps you decide, I took three dicks today. Think I deserve it,” you purr.

“Ok, Angel,” Will laughs robustly. “Can do.”

Post-game analysis

After a decent nap, Santi and Frankie join the two of you in the lounge.

Everybody is feeling more rested, eating the leftover pizza, and idly watching some shit 80s action flick that Frankie knows every single line to. There is intermittent chatter too, as everyone reclines on some couch cushion or other.

You and Santi are bunched up in the middle, your head reclined in Will’s lap and his in Frankie’s, the two seated men at opposite ends of the couch. Banter is flying around, and you and Santi are quickly being dubbed the mischief makers and more than playing up to it too, perhaps unconsciously trying to tempt some fun consequences.

“Look. Can we address the true elephant in the room, Pope?” Will sniggers, mid-way through one of the random digressions from the movie. “I thought you were a dom, man.”

“Yeah,” Frankie titters gleefully. “Santi’s a dom until Will’s in the room.” His comment earns him a hearty laugh from you and Will, and pure daggers from the man in question.

“Shit. You wanna watch out or, next time, I’ll prove to you just how well I can dom,” Santi says indignantly. And then, all over again, he tenses up. Feels instantly as though he’s said the wrong thing. That he’s been far too presumptuous. That he’s given far too much away about his wants. Why? Because a repeat performance was never agreed upon. Was never supposed to be on the cards. Still, with effort, his voice comes back, even if this time it is far smaller. “I mean… if there…” he gulps, his mouth suddenly as dry as cotton. “If there’s gonna be a next time.”

A tense silence falls over the room - an awkwardness for the first time today. And for one last time, all eyes converge on Will.

“Why are you all looking at me?” he wonders casually, chowing down on a slice of ham and pineapple without a care in the world.

“Because you’re in charge, Captain,” Frankie says without missing a beat - in all seriousness.

“Well - that’s not quite true,” Will chuckles.

“No?”

“No!” he replies, and his voice becomes suddenly wistful. “No, dumbass. We’re a team.”

Santi feels it.

Feels choked up.

Feels that expansive happiness swell in his chest again. That limitless relief.

He belongs. He belongs. He belongs.

And he feels his heart thudding in his chest.

“Sure, but baby - every team needs a Captain,” you say to his right, in a tone sure to massage whatever shred of ego Will has left.

Will huffs out air disbelievingly -increasingly amused as everyone continues to look towards him, as if to ask, “Well?”

And so, Will can seemingly no longer stifle the smile that crosses his features. “Okay. Well. We clocked… 11 orgasms this time.” That’s Will - Will counts everything. “Next time, squad?” Everyone’s breath is bated, hanging off his every word. “I think we can do a little better.”

At that, Santi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and Frankie’s arm settles over him, perhaps with relief too, giving him a gentle squeeze. In turn, Santi reaches out and wraps his arms around your leg, and with all of you around him like this, Santi finally feels like he belongs.

He only hopes this feeling can last.

THE END.

If you liked this, please consider swinging by my pinned post 🙏You can find my masterlists there. I have a ton of Triple Frontier, Oscar character, and Pedro character content, so please do have a browse if you’re interested! 😀

Most importantly, thanks so much for reading! I’d love to know what you thought so any comments, ask or reblogs will always be received with endless gratitude! 🧡🙏

#frankie morales x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #will miller x reader #triple frontier #Pedro pascal #Oscar Isaac #charlie hunman

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angy-mouse · 3 years

Note

How would demon dream team react to an s/o that never takes care of themselves? Like they forget to eat most of the time, they barely get any sleep and are constantly working (only if you're comfortable ofc !!)

did you mean: the premise of this series /lh

I wrote this with an oc/self-insert before I had this blog and literally the idea was that the oc needed basically every sin: she hated herself and had no pride, she would skip eating needing gluttony, she wouldn't let herself relax needing sloth, she wouldn't stand up for herself needing wrath, etc.

PS ik i used she above but thats talking about the original character i think i made this gn

George was stuck staring at what he was sure would soon become a warzone. You had been forcefully sat at the table by Dream and now he and Sapnap were staring you down. All three of you had your arms crossed and George was sure neither side of the argument would budge. Would this be it? Was this unorthodox relationship doomed to end so soon after he’d joined?

Dream pushed the plate towards you. “Eat,” he told you firmly.

“No,” you said back just as stubbornly, pushing the plate away.

Sapnap growled, something George had never seen him direct at you. “Eat. It.”

“I’m. Not. Hungry.”

George was scared. He’d yet to witness a fight between you and his friends but he’d seen them fight- hell, he and Sapnap fought like brothers and it wasn’t pretty. He didn’t know how far any of you were willing to take this- he didn’t even know why you weren’t eating. He knew he was pulled into this in the first place because you were overworking yourself and Dream was panicked you would end up hurting yourself without the influence of George’s sin.

George had a sudden, what he considered a miracle of an idea, and stepped into the danger zone. “You two go get some air, leave 'em alone for a bit,” he told the other demons, responding to their betrayed glares with a pointed look. Dream seemed to get the message and somewhat bitterly went to hide out in the bedroom, but Sapnap stormed to the entryway with clenched fists sizzling in heat. The two of you heard him kick the door open then shut, then heard his rage-filled yell as he stormed into the woods to take out his anger.

“I’m sorry, darling, you know they mean well, right?” You huffed but nodded, keeping your arms crossed and looking pointedly away as he settled into the seat next to you. “Here, darling, that can’t be comfortable,” he cooed, unwrapping some of the silky cloth he was draped in and wrapping it around your front like a blanket, pulling you into his side under the guise of making sure the cloth would stay. “There we go,” he hummed. “Now, since you don’t want this you don’t mind if I have some, do you?” When you shook your head he took a spoonful of the mixed vegetables and popped them in his mouth with a hum. As a demon he didn’t really need to eat this, but he technically could- he’d have to go to the bathroom later, which was weird for him, but nothing terrible.

“They’re a bit overbearing, aren’t they,” he hummed, earning a scoff from you.

“I’ll say…”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, taking another spoonful. “It’s only ‘cause we love you, though. We all want to take care of you, they just don’t know how to act when you refuse it.”

“I think they just don’t know how to act in general,” you muttered, allowing yourself a chuckle when it pulled a laugh from the sloth demon.

“That’s absolutely true- did you know Dream used to think a ‘clap-back’ was when you got sick of arguing with someone so you just slap them?”

You burst into giggles at that, leaning against George’s shoulder to stabilize yourself since your arms were under the silky fabric. “Oh my gosh I can totally see that! I’ll never get back the hour I spent trying to explain to him why I kept saying ‘mood’ when those fatass birds fell off the birdfeeder.”

George cackled at that through another mouthful of veggies. “Don’t get me started on Sapnap- mm, have a bite, luv, I feel bad not sharing. I work in sloth, not gluttony.”

He saw you hesitate, staring down the spoon, but he didn’t waiver. “...I don’t like lima beans,” you admitted quietly.

“That’s fine,” he didn’t hesitate to say, getting another spoonful without the offending legumes. “There you go, darling,” he hummed pleased as you opened your mouth and let him feed you. “Like I was saying, Sapnap’s the opposite, he latches on to any new languages changes he can get, he’s always been fascinated by human culture, but he finds the most obscure phrases ever and uses them- here, luv, this spoonful doesn’t have lima beans- he uses them obsessively and I’m pretty sure he uses them wrong.”

You eagerly nodded as you chewed. “He does, but it’s kinda cute so I usually don’t correct him.”

“Yeah, you can get away with a lot when you’re cute,” George said smugly and you shoved him for knowing and abusing his pretty privilege.

“You’re such an ass,” you giggled, opening your mouth for the spoonful he picked up. “...what are those noodles?”

“Let me see,” George chirped, grabbing the fork and taking a bite. “Hmm… I have no idea. Here, see if you know.” He fed you a forkful.

To say George was proud of himself was an understatement. He was a genius at work and before you knew it he’d fed you about half of the plate that you refused to touch. He smiled softly as he watched you look at the empty plate disappointedly. “Something wrong, precious?”

“...those noodles were really good… do you think there’s any more?”

“Well let’s see. Dream,” he called out, not unconvinced that if he left you and took away your silky blanket that the spell would be broken. He watched Dream tentatively poke his head into the room, lighting up when he saw the empty plate. “Can we have more noodles?”

Dream beamed, eagerly nodding. “Coming right up!”

#angymouse #squeakin #demonteam #dresqueaks #gogysqueaks #sapsqueaks #fluff #minors dni

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dreamwritesimagines · 3 years

Text

Burn The Witch 10 - Bad Influence [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s an extra chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Some nights are more hectic than others.

Series Masterlist

Oh hell no.

Tonight was supposed to be a normal night. Boring even. You were supposed to stay at home, watch a cliché horror movie, eat noodles and worry about whether your fake boyfriend, who didn’t know he was your fake boyfriend, was safe and sound on yet another secret mission of his.

Okay, maybe not that normal of a night.

But what was not supposed to happen was your ex-boyfriend showing up out of nowhere at your door.

“I know we left things off a little awkward but that’s no reason to point a gun at me. I was just doing my job.”

“Walk away,” you said, “Go back to the circle of hell they unleashed you from.”

“I heard you’re fake dating Barnes?” he asked, “He looks like your type.”

“I’m going to give you three seconds, then I will start shooting.”

He hissed in a breath,

“Except you can’t,” he stated, “You have to keep your cover. Milkshake waitress having a gun? People would start asking questions.”

“You’re right,” you said through your teeth, “A knife would be much more silent.”

“What’s taking you so—“ Keith called out but he stopped talking as soon as he saw you two. His eyes narrowed almost immediately and he took a step but you threw yourself in front of him, knowing he was about to punch him.

“Keith, I got it.”

“What the fuck are you doing here dickhead?”

“Nice to see you too Keith,” Julian said, “Am I interrupting something? I always kind of wondered what was going on between you two.”

“Ew!”

“If I didn’t want to punch you before, I certainly want to do it now,” Keith stated and you shook your head.

“I got it,” you said, “Really, it’s fine. Go back to the living room.”

He gritted his teeth, “I’ll fuck you up the moment I get you alone, Julian.”

“I can pretend to be scared if you want,” Julian deadpanned as Keith walked back to the living room and you tucked your gun into the waist of your shorts again, crossing your arms.

“So what crossroad is missing its demon right now?” you asked and he tilted his head.

“Y/N.”

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to say hi,” he said, “Is that so bad?”

“Yeah. Considering the shit you pulled, it is bad.”

“You would’ve done the same thing.”

“No I really wouldn’t,” you said “What, am I supposed to believe you’re here to say hello?”

“Yep,” he said, “It’s customary to meet or re-meet your team leader on a mission.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him before you let out a bitter chuckle.

“Oh fuck no.”

“Hey take it up to the General, I didn’t ask to be put on a mission where you play the honeypot,” he said, “Speaking of, is Barnes head over heels yet? I know how charming you can be when you want to, call it a first hand experience.”

“You’re not a part of my team.”

“I sort of am.”

“It’s my team,” you insisted, “I didn’t give okay to you being on my—“

“I’m afraid that’s above both of our paygrades,” he pointed out, “Nothing you can do about it. Trust me, I won’t enjoy this either.”

“Oh you won’t?”

“You think I will enjoy watching you have a relationship with the goddamn Winter Soldier?” he asked, “As fake as it may be, it will look real.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“So I take it he doesn’t stay over yet?”

You ran your tongue over your teeth, shaking your head, “You know what?” you said, “I think I’ve had enough of this bullshit for the night. It’s always a displeasure to see you Julian, fuck off now.”

You slammed the door on his face and ran a hand over your face, making your way to the living room.

“General put him on the team?” Keith asked, “Is he serious?”

“Looks like it,” you checked your wristwatch, “I need to talk to him. Do you think I can-”

“Don’t call the General right now,” he interrupted you before you could finish your sentence, “You’re angry, and I get that, so am I but wait until tomorrow.”

“Keith, he can’t be in my team!” you insisted, “He can’t be trusted, you know he can’t!”

“Hey,” he grabbed you by the shoulders, “I know. I know what he’s done, I know he can’t be trusted. But the rest of your team got your back, okay? Especially me and Chloe. What happened at that last mission won’t happen again.”

You threw your hands up, “Ugh, fuck this shit!”

“We got this—” he started but then your phone started vibrating on the couch, making you both turn your heads. You leaned over to check the screen, then snatched the phone off the couch when you saw Bucky’s name flashing.

“I should take this,” you murmured and made your way to the bathroom to close the door behind you. You jumped into the empty bathtub and answered the phone.

“Hi Bucky.”

“Hi darling.”

Even the sound of that was enough to make a small smile warm your face and you closed your eyes, leaning your head back to the bathtub.

“You could’ve just texted, you didn’t have to call.”

“Nah I wanted to hear your voice.”

Your smile widened as you bit down on your lip.

“I wanted to hear your voice too,” you murmured, for once dropping the act, “God, you have no idea what kind of a terrible night I’m having.”

“What’s wrong?”

You scrunched up your face, scolding yourself in your head. “Just a…just a bad night.”

“Girls at soup kitchen are giving you a hard time?” he asked and you let out a chuckle.

“No,” you said, “I just heard some less than ideal news.”

“Do you need me there?”

You raised your brows, “Aren’t you on a secretive and highly dangerous mission?”

“Yeah,” he said, “Doesn’t matter, I’ll come if you need me. Do you?”

The clear difference between your ex-boyfriend and your current, albeit fake boyfriend was impossible to miss and you felt your throat getting tighter before you coughed.

Fuck no, you didn’t cry.

The last time you genuinely cried was when you were 16, and quite frankly you had no idea if you were even capable of doing it anymore.

“It’s fine,” you managed to say, “It can wait. Date night when you come back though.”

“Of course.”

“And actually I’ve been thinking about that,” you said, “It’s my turn, right? To pick the place?”

“Mm hm, we last went to Brooklyn.”

“So I was thinking what if we did one modern and one old times?” you asked, “I can pick the modern dates and you can pick the old times dates.”

“Huh,” he said, “That’s a good idea. Wait, you’re not going to drag me to one of those nightclubs, are you?”

You giggled, “Would it be that terrible?”

“Please don’t do that to me.”

“You don’t like dancing?”

“Not that kind of dancing.”

“You know, I keep waiting for you to actually utter the words ‘back in my day’, but it’s not happening.”

He chuckled, “Back in my day, we wouldn’t call that dancing.”

You hummed, slipping a little in the bathtub, “Good point,” you said, “So okay then, it’s settled. I got the modern and you got the old dates covered. What does that entail anyway? Home cooked meal dates?”

“Nope,” he said, “We’re dating, not married.”

You pulled your brows together, “How is that relevant?”

“Me being at your place or you being at mine would be very frowned upon,” he tut tutted, “Us together, without anyone else. Inside and privacy and all. Scandal, there’d be lots of gossip about your virtue.”

A clear laughter escaped from your lips and you covered your mouth with your hand, trying to pull yourself together.

“Right, my virtue,” you played along, “So I take it you have never been alone with a girl back in your day then? Since virtue was a huge deal?”

There was a pause on the other line, “I mean it wasn’t— it wasn’t that huge of a deal for everyone…” he trailed off, and you clicked your tongue.

“But overall, no Netflix and chill?”

“What’s Netflix and chill?”

You bit inside your cheek, trying to ignore the warmth at the pit of your stomach, “I know you hate to hear it, but you’re so cute.”

“No I’m not.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” you taunted him, “I won’t tell anyone.”

You heard Sam calling his name and there was a shuffle before he cleared his throat.

“I gotta go,” he said, “Promise to be safe?”

“Right back at you.”

“Good night sweetheart.”

“Good night.” you said and hung up, pressing the phone to your lips before you shook your head at yourself. You got off the empty tub and opened the bathroom door to step out, then found Keith busy with the noddle boxes in the kitchen.

“It’s still hot, and I took the liberty of texting Chloe,” he said, “She’s on her way.”

You tried to offer him a small smile.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he grabbed the chopsticks, “But we might want to finish Scream before Chloe gets here, because knowing her, she will make us watch a rom-com.”

***

You should’ve known trying to change the General’s decision was a lost cause. He listened to your multiple reasons why it was a bad idea to have Julian in your team, but you could’ve been talking to a wall and it still wouldn’t have made a difference.

“I’m aware of your past with Julian,” he said with a sigh after you were done listing your reasons, “Trust me, this wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

“It’s not about my past with him, sir.” You forced yourself to say, “He can’t be trusted. He’s not a team player, he doesn’t think about anyone but himself-”

“It wasn’t just my decision to make him a part of the team, it was all your superiors’,” he said, “We believe that you’re professional enough to pull this off.”

You gritted your teeth, “Sir, it’s not—“

“He’s in your team and a part of the mission now,” he cut you off, “You’re dismissed, Shrike.”

You dug your fingernails into your palms and nodded, then left his office to march up to Chloe and Keith who were huddled over Chloe’s desk.

“What did he say?”

“That he’s not going anywhere.”

Keith clenched his jaw while Chloe heaved a sad sigh.

“I can try to talk to him if you want, but…”

“It won’t make any difference,” you said, “I know.”

Keith crossed his arms, leaning back to the desk, “I mean we could always poison Julian.”

“Keith.”

“Or he could get caught in the crossfire. Spies die like flies, you know that.”

“Don’t say that!” Chloe exclaimed, “You guys are spies too and I already feel way too worried about you.”

“No worries, the only type of death Y/N will get from Barnes is la petite mort.”

You smacked him on the arm, “Fuck you, we’re not sleeping together yet.”

“But you sort of want to,” Keith said, “I heard your giggling last night while talking to him.”

You shifted your weight and threw your shoulders back, “Yeah, so? It’s my cover.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to fuck his brains out.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer!”

“I’m kind of excited about that too,” Chloe said and both you and Keith turned to her.

“Please tell me you don’t want to sleep with Barnes—“

“No!” Chloe said, “No I just… when Y/N wants to, we’ll go and get some vintage inspired lingerie so I’m excited for that.”

“We’re not going to do that Chloe.”

“Yeah, let the guy see the good things 21st century has to offer Chloe,” Keith winked at you and you rolled your eyes.

“You know what, I didn’t give you shit when you were the one undercover in Brazil and had to—“

“Y/N,” Julian’s voice reached your ears and a shiver ran down your spine, making you clench your teeth, “You have a minute?”

Chloe stole a look at Keith who glared at Julian while you raised your brows.

“Not for you Julian, no.”

“I just joined the team, you have to update me.”

“Actually she doesn’t because I already gave Sarah your file and I know that she gave it to you two hours ago,” Chloe stated and Keith nodded.

“Yeah and you’re standing a little too close, so why don’t you step back a little?”

Julian shot you a look, “Seriously? And you’re okay with this?”

“He’s right, you’re standing a little too close,” you stated, making him sigh.

“Y/N, we’re on the same team,” he reminded you, “We need to get along.”

“Actually, you’re on my team,” you corrected him, “I’m the leader in here. So technically, I don’t have to get along with you. You have to get along with me, seeing that you work under me.”

A small arrogant smirk curled his lips. “Wouldn’t be the first time I worked under you,” he said, “Brings back the memories.”

Your eyes narrowed and you tilted your head.

“It really does,” you mused, “The memory of the most boring ten seconds of my life, you tranquilized mattress.”

Keith snorted out his coffee while Chloe gasped, staring at you. You smiled at Julian sweetly, then grabbed your phone.

“Well, I’d better go,” you said, “Some of us have a mission to lead after all. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Have fun,” Keith said without taking his eyes off Julian, “I know we will.”

You winked at them and walked out of the bullpen, grinning to yourself.

***

The following two days were an actual disaster. Bucky wasn’t in the city so you had nothing to do and nothing to report about. Not only that, you had also made it your own mission to avoid Julian but so far that mission had been a success.

You were beginning to suspect Keith and Chloe had something to do with it.

There was also something at the pit of your stomach. Something that made you both sad and uncomfortable at the same time, like an itch you needed to scratch and no matter what you did, it wouldn’t go away.

Chloe had this genius theory of you missing Bucky, but she was absolutely wrong.

You were just done with counting the money and locking the register when you heard the wind bell by the door chime, but you were way too busy with trying to place the mason jars on the shelf to even look around.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” you said but there was no answer. You froze for only a second before the spy in you kicked in and you grabbed the mason jar tighter before reaching out to grab the nearest knife. The footsteps didn’t signal that it was more than one person and you would throw the jar and judging by the angle of his shadow he would probably lean left to dodge it and that would be when—

“Hi beautiful.”

You whirled around, still holding the jar tight before you dropped it on the counter with the knife, staring at Bucky standing by the door.

“Oh thank God….” you rushed to jump into his arms and he caught you, lifting you off the floor as you wrapped your arms around his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. Somehow just his presence was enough to make up for these last terrible days and you closed your eyes for a moment while his hand cradled the back of your head, pressing a kiss on your temple.

“Hi,” you giggled as you pecked him on the lips, “I didn’t know you were back!”

“Oh we just arrived,” Bucky said as he put you down, “Sam went home and I came here. He says hi by the way.”

“Hi back,” you said and the duffel bag on the floor caught your eye, “Wait, you literally just arrived?”

“Mm hm.”

You hummed, pinching his chin between your fingers as you turned his face, making him smile.

“No bruises,” you commented “That’s a good sign. You scared me though, I thought you were a robber!”

“Yeah, speaking of,” he said, “Where’s your friend?”

“Tara? She had a date, and the part timer had an emergency, so I’m closing today.”

“By yourself?” he asked, “That’s not exactly being safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” you taunted him, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Glad to be back,” his smile widened, “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh you don’t have to, you know I live close by. You should go home and get some rest, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Y/N,” he said patiently, “It’s night time—“

“Meh, evening more likely.”

“It’s dark outside,” he said, “I’m walking you home, come on.”

You thought for a moment, then heaved a sigh.

“Okay,” you said and looked around to see whether you had missed anything, then grabbed your jacket and switched off the lights. He adjusted his duffel bag over his shoulder as you locked the shop then you both started walking.

“So I take it the mission was a success?” you asked, entwining your fingers with his vibranium ones. He still wasn’t used to it and he hesitated for only a second before he held your hand.

“Something like that.”

“How are you going to celebrate?”

He frowned, “Celebrate?”

“Yeah!” you said, “A nice thing happened, why wouldn’t you celebrate it?”

“We don’t really… celebrate missions.”

“Why not?”

He thought for a moment, “I don’t know,” he admitted, “Can I- can we celebrate it then? Together?”

“Oh we absolutely can,” you nodded, “How does tomorrow sound? It’s my time to pick the date, and I’m picking a bar with lots of celebration drinks.”

“There won’t be any dancing in this bar, right?”

“Not yet,” you wiggled your brows, “But I’m warning you, I have plans. We will push you out of that comfort zone of yours.”

“My shrink would like you.”

You tilted your head, “Is that a good thing?”

“Yep,” he said, “How about you? Do you feel better?”

You heaved a sigh and made a face, “Trying.”

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked, “Anything at all, I’m serious.”

A small smile warmed your face and you looked up at him.

“It’s fine,” you said “Thank you for asking though. It means a lot.”

He squeezed your hand like he was trying to assure you and you turned around to see him better as you stopped in front of the building.

“I’d ask if you wanted to a cup of coffee upstairs but…” you sighed dramatically, “My virtue and all.”

“Right,” he played along, “Of course not. We can’t have your neighbors get the wrong idea.”

“No chaperone or anything…”

“I’m astonished you’d even think of such a thing miss,” he said, trying to keep a straight face and you bit down on your lips.

“Well, thank you for being the perfect gentleman, mister,” you taunted him, then stood on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his, his arm around your waist tightening. He looked down at you as you pulled back, that soft light crossing his eyes again.

“Good night Bucky.”

“Good night,” he stole a kiss from you again and you giggled, then made your way into the building. You took the elevator and as soon as you reached your floor and stepped out, you found Keith fumbling with his keys by his door. He looked over his shoulder and you tilted your head, staring at his blood stained clothes.

“Why are you covered in blood?”

“Why are you grinning like a high schooler with a crush?” he asked back and you tried to control your expression. “Something tells me the answer to both of those questions is the same.”

“Mission?”

“Mission.”

You hummed and went to unlock your door as well while Keith leaned sideways to his doorframe.

“At least one of us is having fun on missions,” he pointed out and you curled your lips, shooting him a look.

“Aw you poor baby,” you said, “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not and you know why?” you pointed at him, “You didn’t bring me coffee the other day.”

He gasped dramatically and you let out a laugh, then closed your door behind you.

“That Barnes guy is a bad influence on you young lady!” he called out before closing his door as well and you chuckled to yourself, shaking your head.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I think you might be right.”

Chapter 11

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #tfatws!bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #tfatws bucky #marvel

606 notes · View notes

xpeachesncream · 3 years

Text

bands | twelve

[ series masterlist ]

summary: jeon jungkook has it all: the looks, the fame, the money, the women. being considered the sexiest man in the industry, he finds no complaints about the way his life is going nor does he find any reason to apologize for the way he approaches it. he is a force to be reckoned with - until he meets you.

pairing: stripper!reader x idol!jjk

genre: (18+) strip club/nightlife au, post grad au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 4.2k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, insecurities, some overthinking, introducing you to fluffy koo?! and i think we’re all familiar with the song at the end too 🥺

tags: @brightcolorsoffendme @min-nicoleee @eggbutnotyolk @ra-mun-e @miinoongi @jimidol @ppeachyttae @thebeebi @bluesharksandfish @kooafraid @liriaus @thisartemisnevermisses @ggukkieland @preciouschimine @sunniejinnie @cypheruby @cyb3rbab3 @masterlists101 @awhnamjoon @redhedhoseok @wooya1224 @taeismydeath @jikookiekosmos (please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

"Am I doing too much for shopping for a dress? He told me to dress nice and I honestly don't have an ounce of nice in my closet." You told Kai as you looked through the hangers on the rack.

"No, you're not doing too much. And I think you dress nice, but it's always good to have a few dresses in general, right?"

"Okay, okay. How about this?" You hold up a black knitted, off the shoulder dress that fell right above the knee. "It's too simple isn't it?"

"Simple is the best." He shrugs. "That's probably the best one I've seen so far and it'll look nice on you. Plus, you can just curl your hair or whatever girls do."

"Hm, okay." You chuckle, heading over to the register to pay for the dress. You had picked up Kai from school and quickly dragged him to the mall before dropping him off at Eric's. You might have tried on and looked at a few billion dresses since you've been here, but out of all those, this dress probably spoke to you the most. You didn't wanna be too flashy, or do too much, but you did want to put effort into tonight's date with Jungkook. You had butterflies in your stomach all day, and quite frankly, you were nervous for how tonight would turn out. You just wanted to look good for him, and you definitely wanted him to look at you like you were the only girl in the world. It might have been a big ask on your part, but if he was serious about this, it shouldn't be a big deal, right?

"Let's get you some food before I drop you off."

"Can't I just stay at your place?"

"And watch me do my walk of shame in the morning? No thanks." He gives you a look before shaking his head.

"You're right, that's kind of weird." He does a fake shiver. "Kind of gross too."

"You started it." You snort. You make your way over to the food court, ordering Panda Express for a quick to-go meal. You could never go wrong with fried rice and their orange chicken. As you had ordered your food and waited for them to fill up your bowls, the two workers began to chat and you only overheard because—

"Did you hear? Jungkook is supposedly dating a stripper from that nightclub." You purse your lips into a fine line as you wait patiently for the food to be put into your bowls.

"I heard, but is it actually true? Why would he date a stripper?"

"I know, right? He could do so much better, why would he stoop that low?"

"My question is— how did a nobody like her get his attention?" The cashier turns to you and gives you a fake smile. "Anything else for you, love?"

"No." You shake your head, pay and take the food before walking away. You don't know why the words pain you so much, but you simply shake it off as you approach Kai who is waiting at a nearby table.

"Ready?" He looks up at you and tilts his head.

"You okay?"

"Mmm, yeah let's go."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Kai. Really." You give him a nod, along with a fake, tight-lipped smile. He knows something's wrong, but he doesn't press you, especially after the way you responded. You quickly drop him off to avoid any unnecessary confrontation with your stepfather and make your way home. As soon as you touch base, you sit on your couch and.. you just quietly sit there. Suddenly, everything people had been saying was getting to you. Why did Jungkook want you? Why did he go for you and not anyone else?

Maybe they were right? You were just a nobody. Even if Jungkook did have feelings for you, you questioned if this was even going to last.

"God, Y/N." You groan at yourself, shaking the thoughts out of your head to start getting ready. Just because you brushed it off though, doesn't mean you had gotten over it. They were starting to pile up one by one, and one day, you felt like you were going to break and really let it get to you.

That day wasn't today, though. It couldn't be.

You looked at the dress after you slipped it on, staring at yourself in the mirror as you slipped on your heels. You fixed up your hair and added a dab of lipgloss before letting out a content sigh. You wondered if this would be enough for him. You always wondered if you were enough for him. Your stomach was in knots and this was the first time you felt sick to your stomach nervous.

"Hello?" Your phone suddenly rang, you grabbing it with a quickness.

"Hey, I'm outside." You furrowed your brows because his voice sounded a lot closer than it should be. You kept the phone to your ear as you opened the door, seeing Jungkook smiling with the phone pressed against his ear as well.

"Silly." You scrunched your nose as you hung up and put your phone down. You watched as he looked at you up and down, his eyes widening in admiration and awe.

"You look beautiful, Y/N." You blushed.

"Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself, Jeon Jungkook." He smiles. He was wearing a black and white striped button up, black slacks, boots and a fitted black blazer. His black hair hung loosely over the sides of his face, natural waves coming in and giving it a little volume.

"Ready?" He holds out his hand for you to intertwine your fingers with his.

"You know, you didn't have to come upstairs." You smiled up at him.

"Mm, but that takes away from the complete experience, sweetheart." He grabs your purse and your small duffle bag [since he politely requested for you to bring a change of clothes] to carry it for you as you head down the steps and to his car. You loved the smell of his car, as oddly as that sounds. He always had a fresh strip of that Black Ice car freshener hanging from his rear view mirror that reminded you of his scent so much. "Seatbelt on?" You nod as he starts the car and locks his free hand with yours once again.

"Where are you taking me?" You playfully ask.

"Don't worry about it." He chuckles. "However, I want you to know we won't be out in public. Not because I don't wanna show you off, it's only because I don't want anyone to bother us." You nod.

"Okay." You appreciate his honesty, your what if's and insecurities slowly drifting away the more Jungkook talks to you, touches you. You always thought it was cute how careful he was with you, treating you like you were the most delicate thing in the world and that he had to take care of you in every way possible.

You realize that you're making your way to his luxury apartment building [his own, not the dorms] and you're a little confused as to why you had gotten all dressed up and fancy if you were just going back to his place. However, you didn't say anything to allow the plans to do the talking for you. You trusted him with this, and you feel like Jungkook really hasn't given you a solid reason to not trust him at this point in your 'relationship.'

You didn't know what to call it yet.

He parks his car in his usual spot, and immediately runs over to open your door and help you out. He gathers your bags from the back and hangs onto them as his other hand is resting against the small of your back. He brings you to the very top floor, where there aren't necessarily apartments but moreso conference and party rooms and you can tell strictly by the way each room has double doors.

"Uh, this exists?" Jungkook chuckles.

"Other idols live here too, gives them a way to do shit without having to step outside and have people in their business." You nod.

"Does this mean your dorm is like this too?" He nods.

"Yup, just another luxury apartment building. Few things differ but for the most part, they're the same." You shrug.

"Must be nice."

"It's alright." He stops in front of double doors towards the end of the hallway. "Close your eyes for me, please? Just for a quick minute." You smirk before doing what you're told and closing your eyes. You hear the doors open, and Jungkook's hand is retreating down onto the small of your back. He's guiding you as you walk in, but stops after a couple of steps. "Open?" You open your eyes and softly gasp at the sight in front of you. The entire half of the wall was strictly windows, so you had a good view of the city in front of you. What caught your eye the most though was all the pink and red shades of rose petals along the floor, lining your way to the dining table in the center of the room. Along with it were little tealight candles and balloons along the way, with speakers softly playing music in the background. The room looked so big having one table in the center, just for the two of you. The center table was drenched in white table cloth, with tall white candles in the middle and a single rose as its centerpiece.

"Jungkook?!" You slightly shriek. "Oh my god, what is this?"

"Date night, sweetheart. Had to make it worthwhile since we're not out in public." He smiles and takes your hand. "Come on, let's go eat. I know you're hungry." He pulls out your chair and has you sit before he situates himself in front of you and tucks your bags underneath the table.

"Thank you." You give him a soft, cute smile. You're not sure how else you can show your appreciation for all the effort he put in, but you were happy. "I-I really don't know what I did to deserve all this effort from you." He shakes his head.

"What do you mean? You didn't have to do anything. I wholeheartedly just wanted to do this for you." He smiles, his dimple poking out from the bottom corner of mouth.

"Well, thank you again. I really do appreciate everything you do for me." He scrunches his nose before looking up at the waiter, who was ready to serve you two either a bottle of Jungkook's favorite red wine or white wine.

"You like sweet or bitter?"

"Sweet." You shyly said as he signaled for the waiter to pour the white wine before thanking him as he left you two to your piece.

"So, dinner is a 3 course meal made by a friend of mine."

"A friend, ey?" He nods, knowing full well he hired one of the most popular chefs around to prepare dinner for you two.

"I hope you like it. I asked him to make it special." You chuckled.

"I'm sure I will." You sipped on your wine. Over time, the salad appetizer came out, followed by the main course meal. You both had dug in pretty quietly, Jungkook chiming in about random things with you reacting appropriately to the topics he brought up.

"So, did you figure out what you were gonna do for Kai?" You shrug.

"He's gonna go to the arcade and I'll buy him Loco Moco." You snort. "That sounds terrible, doesn't it? For an 18th birthday?" You frown.

"No, not if that's what he wants. Why don't you come over my place and I can make it for him? He can take over my gaming consoles if he wants, too."

"That's asking for too much."

"But you're not asking, I'm asking."

"Would you mind? He really does want to meet you."

"No I don't mind. It's on Saturday, yeah?"

"Yup." He nods.

"Schedule isn't as packed for a bit."

"Hm, okay. If you say so."

"Just let me know when to start making it and I'll make sure I make the time."

"Okay." You nod. "Hey, you have an older brother, don't you?"

"Yeah, but we aren't as close. Which is why it's nice to see you and Kai together. It's pretty comforting."

"May I ask why?"

"He just always thinks I'm a troublemaker, or that I rebel too much. We just have different mindsets, that's all."

"Did you guys fight a lot when you were younger?" He nods.

"Sure did." He points to the scar on his cheek and laughs. You lean over to run your finger over it before sitting back into your chair.

"That looks like a deep cut."

"That's because it was. He beat my ass over his turn on the computer." You chuckle.

"Sorry, that must have hurt."

"Eh, nothing I couldn't get over. But yeah, that's pretty much my relationship with my brother."

"How about your parents?" He shrugs.

"They think the same way. I try to be on their good side but they like to remind me about what I used to do or how I live my life." He forks into his food. "Like my tattoos. They hated that shit. Probably still do."

"I'm sorry, Jungkook."

"No, don't be. It is what it is. I really do try, but sometimes it gets tiring. I don't go home often because of it."

"Hmm." You hum. "You know, I always thought you were such a social butterfly."

"Me?" He laughs. "No."

"But you look so confident on stage. So happy."

"I am happy on stage, but it's kind of just that. I do what I need to do, especially for the fans and all. Don't get me wrong though, I love it. But behind the scenes, I'm not much of a talker, or someone who shares a lot. I like to keep it that way. I don't like getting too close to people and letting people into my bubble and vice versa. Gets complicated."

"So, what about me?" You look at him, curiosity filling the look in your eyes.

"I like you, and I want you in my bubble. You aren't complicated."

"How do you know that for sure? I can kick and scream and throw tantrums. And-and have attitude." You say, making him laugh and shake his head. "I can be complicated."

"I doubt it. Can't see an ounce of it. You can try, but I'm sure it won't be like the way you explain it to be." He looks at you. "All I'm saying is that I really like you, Y/N. I want you around me. You keep things so simple and sweet, and I've already started to appreciate the small things from being around you. It's something I used to overlook before we met. All the small things, the little joys in life. You make me look at things in a different perspective, I guess is what I'm trying to say." He cutely shakes his head at how he just rambled on, making you blush.

"It really makes me happy to hear that." You finished up the food on your plate, blushing as you wiped the corners of your mouth and fiddled with your fingers.

"So, did you ever think you'd be here after all the times you played so hard to get at the club?"

"No, definitely not. I mean, even in general." You tilted your head while looking at him.

"Are you happy to be here?" He asks shyly, his doe eyes wide and puppy-like.

"Of course I am."

"That's all that matters to me." He says, beaming from ear to ear. The waiter brings over the dessert, which is a sampler plate of 5 different cakes/cheesecakes. Your eyes light up because who fucking doesn't love dessert? You immediately go to town, yelling out your 'yum's' and 'ooh's' every bite you take. Jungkook laughs watching you happily eating away, giving him leverage to feed you a spoonful of the dessert on the plate closest to his end.

"I'm so full. That was so, so good." You finish your wine after one last bite of the dessert and sink back into your seat.

"Yeah? I'm glad you enjoyed it." He puts his napkin down on the table after wiping his mouth, then gets up, holding out his hand for you to take. You look at him, a little confused as to what he was trying to do, but you take it anyway. "May I have this dance with you, pretty lady?" You smile and nod, swinging your arms around his neck as he holds you closely against him by the hips.

"Jungkook?"

"Yeah?"

"I really appreciate you. Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"You're absolutely welcome, baby." The pet name sends goosebumps raging throughout your body, your forehead pressing against his. "You're special to me, you know? I can't really explain it just yet, but just know that every single thing that I've done for you has been worth it." You give him a small smile as you quietly dance to the music, your bodies pressed warmly together as you hold each other close. He softly sings along with the music, causing you to giggle every now and then when he showed off his cute facial expressions. After a song has passed, he presses his lips against your forehead, making you shut your eyes at the sensation of his soft lips against your skin.

You just wanted him as much as he wanted you. You were so undeniably attracted to him, just as much as he with you.

"I have one more thing to show you." He says as he grabs your bags underneath the table.

"One more thing, huh?" He suddenly gets shy, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he grabs your hand and leads you out of the room. You start climbing up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, going up about 3 more flights before Jungkook is climbing over the gate that blocks off the last flight the leads to another door. "Jungkook, is this illegal?!" He snorts as he waits for you to meet him at the door.

"Why would it be here if it was illegal?"

"But it was--" He opens the door, bringing you out to the rooftop to look at the entire view of the city ahead as the sun was getting ready to fully rest below the horizon. "Ohhhh shit, it's a beauty." You say in awe, walking over to the railing to take everything in. You expected Jungkook's body to press against yours from behind, however it doesn't. You find yourself looking for him, turning over your shoulder to see him quietly blowing up a balloon before smiling cutely at you and bringing it over. "A balloon?" You cocked your head to the side in confusion.

"This is gonna sound dumb and cheesy, but it was really the one thing I could think of to help put things into perspective. I want you to write everything you're worried about, everything you've been thinking about, all that negative shit." He hands you the balloon with a sharpie, causing you to laugh.

"Where did you even hide this stuff?"

"In my pocket." He scrunched his nose, his teeth piercing his bottom lip as he let out a soft, tiny laugh. You do as he says though, writing out all the negative shit that had been clouding your mind lately - Eric, worrying about Kai and him going off to college soon, your image, just to name a few. You wrote it all out as Jungkook stood behind you, resting his chin on your head as his arms wrapped around your neck.

"Okay, I think that's it."

"Mmkay, let it go." He nods towards the view in front of him. You let the balloon go, watching it dance around with the light breeze, flying farther and farther away as it does so. "I don't want you to worry about any of that when I'm around. I know the world hasn't exactly been the nicest to you, but I want you to know that I'm gonna do my best to keep you safe. You and Kai." You smile to yourself as your body sinks into his, the both of you just enjoying the view and the moment, which ultimately turns into a fun, playful competition as to who can spot more landmarks than the other.

After you both had spent a good amount of time watching the sun fully sink below the horizon, he took you back downstairs to his apartment, placing your bags off to the side of his room. You slipped out of your heels, sighing contently at the feeling of your feet being out of the heels after so long. You had no idea how you lasted at the club like this, it felt like it was such a long time ago.

"Baby." Jungkook says, coming in from the living room.

"Huh?" You look up at him as you set your heels aside neatly. The nickname was something you knew would take awhile for you to get used to, especially if it was used outside of the bed. It was moreso of a 'i can't believe he's actually calling me baby' kind of thing. He's actually calling me baby instead of my first name. I'm baby.

"Look, I bought this projector but I wanted to wait until you were here so we could try it." He begins fiddling with this little mini projector he bought, connecting it to the tv and doing all these technical handyman things that you weren't really sure of.

"What movie are you going to put on?"

"That's a good question."

"I'll let you figure it out." You say, rubbing your arm, eyeing his closet. "You're the one who knows all the good stuff."

"No I—"He turns to look at you, catching you eyeing his closet. "Babe."

"Hm?" You return your attention towards him, watching as he laughs at you.

"Do you want a shirt or something?" You nod shyly. "Then go get it. You don't have to ask or act all shy about it."

"But it's your shirt."

"Whatever is mine is yours too." He turns back to the tv, scrolling through his apps to find the best movie to put on. You slowly walk into his closet, eyeing all the clothes he has, taking in the scent of his shirts as you them by. You lock eyes on a random Carhartt longsleeve folded nicely on one of his shelves and start slipping the sleeves down your arms so you can easily step out of your dress. "I think—" Jungkook stops in his tracks as he sees you starting to slip out of your dress. You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, watching as he approaches you with his hands in his pockets. You feel his hands against your arms, his lips gently pressing a kiss against your shoulders.

"You think what?" You smile softly at him as he presses another kiss against your jawline before gently turning you to face him.

"I think I found a movie you'll enjoy." He lifts your chin to kiss you on the lips. You smile into the kiss before pulling away and nodding.

"Okay, that sounds good."

"Find a shirt you like?" You point at his longsleeve and he nods.

"Nice. That's one of my favorites."

"Oh, then I'll just pick something else if—"

"Why? I don't mind. Go for it." You silently nod before turning around to slip out of your dress and slip the shirt on. Jungkook changes into his pajamas behind you, following you into his bed shortly after.

"Oh my god." You laugh seeing Always Be My Maybe projected against the wall. "You asked Kai if I've watched this yet, haven't you?"

"Nooo." He lies, silently giggling to himself.

"You liar! You knew I've had this on my list and that I haven't gotten around to watching it."

"Don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart. Just pure coincidence." He says, leaving the room to grab water and shut off his living room lights. He shuts the door to his room, immediately putting the water down onto the nightstand before slipping under the sheets with you.

"Mhm." You eye him suspiciously as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to lay on his chest.

"Mhm." He mocks you, laughing before kissing you on the head. "Ready?"

"Have been. Surprised you didn't know that."

"Mmm, baby catches on quick I see." You smack his chest, cuddling up tighter against him as the movie starts. Tonight was the night that really solidified where you were at with him, because after dinner, you highkey expected him to take you home and fuck you senseless [which you weren't opposed to], but he kept it sweet. Delicate. Cute. A serious, date night to show you what you really meant to him. This wasn't just some plan to woo you and get you in your pants and keep you as the exclusive fuckbuddy - no, this was Jungkook really confessing where he stood with you, and vice versa. As you cuddled against him, you saw a lot of his cute, nerdy sides poking out whenever he would comment on certain things that came up on the movie. For the first time, you heard his really loud, obnoxiously cute laugh that you instantly fell in love with. You were with Jungkook, and you were seeing a whole side of him that many people didn't really see.

And for that, you were grateful.

youtube

can i call you baby? can you be my friend? can you be my lover up until the very end? let me show you love, oh, no pretend, stick by my side even when the world is caving in

track eleven: at my worst (remix) - pink sweat$ & kehlani

487 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

day two ❅ cause i’m mrs. snow, til death we’ll be freezing

don’t cry snowman, don’t leave me this way, a puddle of water can’t hold me close, baby

day one ❅ day two ❅ day three | series masterlist

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: smut + angst

notes: weeee yay day two!! touya + co go ice skating :) this, again, was not supposed to be as long as it is, but eh here we are!! | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), drug use, very rough sex, public sex, generally toxic relationships, size difference, tense family dynamics, reader’s probably a lil too obsessed with touya’s cum, slight dacryphilia, slight degradation

words: 8.3k

synopsis:

I’m only worried about you, you want to say. It isn’t your intention to put more stress on him, especially when being forced to spend nearly every waking minute around his blood siblings is evidently very difficult for him, but you don’t want him dead because of it, either.

“I love you,” you tell him instead, unsaid words sown into the fabric of the sentence.

But he doesn’t need to hear you say it, he can feel it—in the air around you, radiating off your frame in thick waves that crash into him in the most pleasant way; in the way your soft fingertips stroke his cheeks, tracing his features with the utmost gentleness; in the way you gaze so tenderly at him, eyes sweeping across his face akin to the most compassionate caress.

It all makes him feel like he can do this, like he might actually survive this, so long as you’re by his side.

❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

The wind howls gently, picking up swirls of snow and dusting it against the window, the snowflakes soft taptaptap’s echoing among the tiny bedroom. It’s grey but bright outside, the morning of December 22nd. Strands of hair stick to your cheeks and neck, chills erupting across your skin as you wiggle around beneath Touya’s heavy arm, laying across your waist in a loose grasp, your movements causing the blanket to slip from your clammy skin, a soft hiss spit through your teeth as the cool air of the room hits your heated skin. Touya’s got his head buried in the pillow, his torso laying half on top of yours, legs intertwined.

“Touya-nii,” you whimper, eyebrows furrowing a little in frustration as you struggle under him. “Niichan,”

“Mmph,” he emits an unintelligible noise in response, muffled by the pillow.

“Niichaaaaan,” the honorific leaves your lips in a whine, giving another weak shove at his arm. “Niichan, you’re so hot, I’m gonna melt,”

“Too bad. We’re not getting up yet,”

You whine again, your squirming becoming more vigorous. “But Touya-nii, I’m so thirsty! Please, my mouth is drier than the desert, I swear to God,”

“If you don’t stop acting like a brat, I’m gonna fuck you like a brat,”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

That gets his attention, fluffy head shooting up, white tufts tousled and standing on end, sleepy eyes squinting against the sudden light as he tries to glare at you. “Excuse me?”

The deep, rough lilt to his voice, heavy with sleep, makes your stomach flutter, blood rushing to your cheeks as you gaze at him.

Even in the morning, he’s stupidly beautiful.

“G-Got you up,” you giggle a little, reaching forward to run your fingers through his messy hair, smoothing it down in the process.

He deadpans, glaring at you for a moment, though there’s no heat in his eyes. You stare back, blinking twice, little fingers trailing down the side of his face and then tracing his jaw, murmuring about how pretty he is.

“Pretty, huh?” he finally sighs, a small grin spreading across his cheeks, head tilting to the side as your fingers travel down his neck, tracing the intricate black ink.

“Mm, very pretty,” you whisper to yourself, eyes zeroing in on his adams apple as it bobs with his chuckle. “But I’m still thirsty,”

He laughs again, rolling his eyes and pushing himself up completely, sheets pooling at his waist. “Fucking brat,”

It’s just past 9am, but the kitchen is empty. Touya carries you there, and even though you’re more than capable of walking by yourself, you snuggle into his neck, scattering gentle kisses across the scarred skin, head resting against his broad shoulder.

He exhales a sigh as you do so, and you can physically feel the tension leaving his body, a tiny bit more with each kiss you press against him.

A soft yelp hitches in your throat as he places you on the counter, cold marble stinging the bare skin of your thighs, Touya smirking at the sound as he wanders over to the fridge, rooting through it for a moment before turning back towards you.

“Water?” you make a face. Touya deadpans for the second time in fifteen minutes.

“You said you were thirsty, did you not?”

“Yeah, but…” you trail off shyly, hooking your ankles together and swinging your legs a little. “I wanted chocolate milk,”

“No,” he says instantly, slamming the fridge shut with more force than necessary, jars jiggling and clinking together with the motion. “Water first,” he uncaps the bottle and holds it out to you. “Don’t you dare start pouting,” he adds, when your eyebrows are beginning to knit together, voice stern. “You did not drag me out of bed at nine in the fucking morning because your mouth was drier than the desert just to pout when I give you water. You know you aren’t allowed sugar first thing in the morning, baby,”

You suppose he has a point, working hard to smooth your face as you take the bottle from him.

“M’sorry, niichan,” you murmur before taking a sip, gazing at him through your lashes.

He glares at you for another moment before a tiny grin breaks his face, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

“You’re really testing me this morning,” he mumbles as large hands pry your knees apart, wedging his hips between your thighs while hands curl around your hips and drag you towards the edge of the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist—an automatic reaction—ankles hooking again and holding him close, bodies pressed flush together.

Something’s still off, you can tell, evident in the way his head drops the moment you’re close enough, forehead resting against the crown of your head, exhaling.

“It’s not very nice, babygirl,” he speaks again after a beat of silence, calloused hands slipping under your—his, your mind reminds you—t-shirt, palming your hips. “Think you should make it up to me, hmm?”

And you want to, God, do you ever want to, want to kiss all of his sorrow away, want to pull those gorgeous broken whines and throaty moans from him, want to help him forget about whatever it is that’s bothering him so deeply, to lock it out of his head, shoving it from his mind as his brain is filled with thoughts of you. But…

“B-But niichan, we’re in the kitchen,” you have to force the trembling words from your mouth, biting down hard on your lip to keep from moaning as his teeth skim along your neck, evoking a full body shiver.

“So?” his lips brush against your skin, nimble fingers dipping into your cute pink panties.

“Anyone could—could come in any second and—”

“What? Catch us?” he pulls back a little, smirking. “And?” sapphire searches your face as heat rushes to your cheeks, rushes shamefully between your legs. He snorts a moment later, pressing two fingers against your clothed cunt. “Exactly,” the word is just a huff of breath as he nudges his nose against yours. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I—”

“Don’t try lying,” he sounds bored as he cuts you off, fingers rubbing at your little hole through the damp cotton of your panties. “Your pussy’s very honest,”

And the broken whine that hitches in your chest is nothing short of absolutely pathetic, back arching and eyes fluttering as he begins flicking his thumb over your clit, keeping his touches light and fast.

“Yeah,” he breathes, the word bordering on a growl. “Of course you would. Bet you could cum from just this if Natsuo were watching, huh? Want everyone to know how easy you are for niichan? How much of a good little slut you are for niichan?”

“You planning on testing that theory out?”

Natsuo’s unexpected voice makes you jump, eyes snapping open and flying to his face as you choke on a gasp, Touya’s thumb choosing then to press hard against your swollen little clit, forcing an embarrassingly loud cry from your lips and paying no mind to his younger brother, who’s leaning casually against the doorframe with a smirk decorating his face. In fact, Touya doesn’t react to Natsuo at all—

Because he already knew.

“N-Niichan,” you nearly wail, burying your scalding face in his shoulder, nails digging into the smooth muscles of his back.

“Aww,” Natsuo coos, and he sounds genuine. “C’mon, don’t hide from me, sweetheart,”

“What, now you’re shy? When you were about to get off on the very thought just moments ago?” Touya’s patronizing chuckle vibrates against you, though his hands are on your back, petting you in smooth, soothing motions.

“Niisan, don’t tease,” Natsuo laughs, and you smush your face harder against Touya’s shoulder, whimpering a little as Natsuo’s voice gets closer. “I just figured if you two were gonna have a cheeky lil fuck in the kitchen, the least you could do is let me watch,”

Touya begins laughing again, starts to say something, voice abruptly cutting off. You stiffen, clinging to him, breath bated as you listen.

“Surprised you two were the first ones up,” Fuyumi’s voice floats through the space, tone clipped.

You peak out from over Touya’s shoulder, watching as Fuyumi fiddles around with their extremely expensive coffeemaker, a deep scowl etched into her face.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Touya asks lightly, sounding genuinely surprised, innocently curious.

“You know why,” she snaps, slamming her coffee mug down on the granite countertop and whipping her head around to glare at her older brother.

Touya chuckles and shakes his head, maintaining that he doesn’t, he swears, and if you didn’t know any better, if you couldn’t see the smug smirk on his face, the mocking amusement swirling in his eyes, you’d believe him to be telling the truth.

But Fuyumi knows him better than that, rolling her eyes and grumbling unintelligibly under her breath. Shouto chooses then to enter the kitchen, hair slightly mussed, looking a little like a white and red haystack atop his head, and Touya’s body goes rigid.

He yawns out his morning greeting, glancing around the room, mismatched eyes lingering on your bare thighs for just a second too long.

Touya notices, because Touya notices everything—especially when it comes to Shouto, cobalt eyes sharp and trained on his every movement—moving to shield you with his body as best he can.

“C’mon princess,” he’s mumbling as his hands force their way under your ass, hefting you up again. “Let’s go,”

And no one misses the way Shouto watches the two of you leave, the way his sleepy eyes focus on your ass—just barely concealed by the cotton panties, Touya’s hands providing more coverage than the garment does—then move down to his brother’s shameless erection, partially obscured by your body, inhaling a sharp gasp that everyone hears, that everyone knows what it’s in reaction to, that everyone ignores.

❅ ❅ ❅

Today’s activity is ice skating, Rei tells you as your exiting the cabin.

She looks excited, a smile on her soft lips, eyes bright as she pats your shoulder, and it makes warmth flutter in your chest, glad to see the events of yesterday haven’t completely dampened her mood.

“Do you know how to skate?” Natsuo asks you, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“I do,” you say proudly, looking over at Rei as you reach Touya’s car, sharing a grin. “Rei taught me not long after she and my father started dating,”

“Aw, mom,” Natsuo coos, looking over at his mother for reassurance. “That’s sweet,”

Rei hums, nodding as her eyes drift back to yours.

“Hold on a second,” she says as her smile slowly begins to dissipate, glancing from Touya’s hand on the handle of his car’s passenger door, to your face, to Natsuo standing by his own car a few feet away, brows knitting.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting in the car?” his response comes out as a question, spoken slowly as he’s worried it’s the wrong answer, tilting his head a little like a puppy.

“There’s no need for you to take more than one car,” Rei says pointedly, her gaze darting to Touya, holding his eyes even though she was speaking to Natsuo. His mouth falls open to protest, but she continues. “The five of you will fit in one. We’ll see you there,”

Her tone is final as she turns away and gets into her own car, the five of you watching in silence as it reverses onto the road, snow and ice cracking and popping under the thick tires. Natsuo turns back to the group, a large, boyish smile on his face.

“It’s fine! We’ll take my car,” Natsuo’s eyes soften a little as he looks over at his silver Porsche, patting the roof affectionately.

“No,” Fuyumi responds immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Stone eyes fly back to her face, alarmed. “What! Why?”

“Because you drive like a lunatic—I refuse to ride in any car when you’re behind the wheel,”

Natsuo frowns as he rounds his car, coming to stand with the group. “Well your car isn’t here, since you came up with mom, so—”

“We can take Touya’s car,”

“No,” Touya nearly growls, the unexpected rumbling deep in his chest causing everyone to flinch.

“Why not?” Fuyumi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly as she glances at her older brother. “I can’t think of any reason—”

“He is not stepping foot in my fucking car,”

Fuyumi’s eyes widen slightly, staring at him in disbelief, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding, or are you really that stupid?”

“Touya-nii,” you gasp softly, tugging on his arm a little and then hugging it to your chest. His voice drips with venom, sharper than a tungsten needle, and it makes both you and Natsuo wince, despite not being the object of his fury.

“Fine, Christ, I just won’t come then,” Shouto finally chimes in with a roll of his eyes. “Will that make you happy?”

Touya whirls around to face him, rips his arm from your grasp so aggressively, so suddenly, that it sends you stumbling backwards. Natsuo catches you quickly, righting you with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“You wanna know what would make me happy? You fucking de—”

“That’s enough,” Fuyumi cuts him off with a glare so fierce it sends chills skittering across your skin, regardless of the thick sweaterdress and heavy jacket you’re currently wrapped up in. Natsuo must feel it course through your body, because he pulls you tighter against him, fingers digging into your shoulder.

Touya’s eyes snap to his sister, raising an eyebrow as a terrifying smile spreads across his face. It’s a smile you’ve only seen a few times before, gleaming white teeth on display, angular jaw clenched tightly. It’s a smile that makes icy dread pool in your stomach, thick and heavy, and you try to press yourself closer to Natsuo, body flush against his side, partially hiding your face in his chest.

Still, Fuyumi does not waver. “You are an adult, Touya. For God’s sake, act like one! Shouto is not a disease—”

“Could’ve fooled me,”

“—that will infect your car! He’s your baby brother!”

Touya’s eye twitches at the term, painful smile stretching even wider. In the pale afternoon sunlight, those glinting white teeth look pointier than normal, and you whimper into Natsuo’s chest.

“My car, my rules,”

“Oh my God! Are you being ser—”

“Alright, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Natsuo jumps in quickly, trying to keep his voice light. “You’re scaring our little princess, niisan,” he says, voice softer, a large hand rubbing your shoulder in comfort.

Touya spins around again, wild sapphire eyes finding yours, his face falling the moment your gazes meet.

Little fingers have tangled themselves in Natsuo’s jacket, clinging to him so hard the skin over your knuckles is stretched taut. Your entire body trembles as you blink hard, trying in vain to clear the tears rushing to your eyes. The pounding of your heart echoes in your ears, so loud you can’t hear what Touya says as he swoops towards you, eyes wide and worried.

“We’ll take my car, and Fuyumi will drive.”

Natsuo’s voice holds the same note of finality that his mother’s does, large hand still curled around your shoulder as firm stone eyes scan the three faces in front of him.

❅ ❅ ❅

Touya refuses to have you and Shouto in the back seat alone, and Natsuo insists that he sits in the passenger seat, to make sure Fuyumi doesn’t hurt his baby, he explains, which is how you end up smack in the middle of the oldest and youngest Todoroki children.

It’s cramped—they’re both too big to be in the backseat of such a small car—resulting in the three of you being squished together, your body packed in tightly—practically wedged—between theirs.

It’s nearly impossible to keep your thigh from brushing against Shouto’s, but you try anyway, leaning into Touya as much as you can. A strong, possessive arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers fisted in the material of your little sweaterdress, sapphire eyes hyper-focused on the way Shouto’s corduroy clad thigh keeps knocking against your bare knee with every gentle jolt of the car.

But when Shouto idly drops his large hands heavily to his lap with a sigh, long fingers splayed casually, just the very tip of his pinky resting against your thigh—well.

Touya sees fucking red, yanking your body away from his little brother immediately with a vicious growl caught in his throat, the movement so sudden and unexpected it has both you and Shouto gasping, heterochromatic eyes wide and alert as they snap to his eldest brother’s face,

He hadn’t even noticed. Truthfully, you probably wouldn’t have either if it hadn’t been Touya’s suffocating, overbearing presence beside you—engulfing you, causing you to be excessively aware of every miniscule movement, every jostle and touch and bump.

“Don’t fucking touch her,”

It takes Shouto another half a second before the realization hits him, eyes darting down to his thighs, finally taking note of the placement of his fingers. Then he’s scoffing, rolling his eyes as he huffs to himself, quiet and under his breath, something about Touya being absolutely ridiculous and childish and insecure.

Yet Shouto’s legs spread a little more every time Touya pulls you a few centimeters closer to him, ensuring that your thighs can never quite escape his, his strong muscles constantly nudging against yours.

It isn’t until you push your knee back against his, hard and purposeful, giving Shouto a sharp look, that this behaviour finally halts.

“Who’s being childish now?” you hiss, eyes holding his sternly, widening a moment later as if to say, Stop aggravating him.

Shouto’s face falls, lips tugging down into a frown as his gaze searches your face, head shaking a little. He opens his mouth—to apologize, you think—but is cut off by Touya’s immature snickering, his chest vibrating against your back.

“Fuck you,” he seethes instead, eyes narrowing and mouth snapping into a firm, unimpressed line.

“Watch it—”

“Play nice, you two,” Natsuo warns from the front seat. “I won’t hesitate to pull this car over and beat both your asses on the side of the road for everyone to see,”

“Okay, dad,” Shouto snorts as Touya simultaneously responds with, “I’d like to see you try,”

Nevertheless, Natsuo’s little warning does manage to shut them up for the remainder of the ride, Shouto crossing his legs, knees pressed up painfully against the door in an attempt to stop touching you. You’re practically in Touya’s lap by the time you arrive at the Ena Skating Rink at Crystal Park, seatbelt uncomfortably biting into your flesh through your clothing.

“I don’t understand why we had to drive an hour just to go skating,” Shouto grumbles just as Fuyumi turns into the parking lot, face set in a deep frown, eyebrows furrowed as he glares out the window. “There was a perfectly fine lake like, ten minutes from the cabin,”

“Shou, you sound like a petulant teenager,”

“Technically, he is a petulant teenager,”

“Not for much longer,”

“That’s right, your birthday’s coming up,” you say automatically without thinking, words slipping from your mouth as Fuyumi circles the lot in search of a parking spot. In the past, Shouto would’ve ignored such a slip-up, figuring the politeness of providing you an answer not worth Touya’s wrath, but now he turns to face you with a small smile, heterochromatic eyes almost twinkling, mask of irritability burning off his face in an instant.

“Yeah, in a few weeks,” he shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll be twenty,”

Do you have any plans?

The question lingers on the tip of your tongue, words frozen at the back of your throat as Touya’s hand curls protectively around you, strong fingers digging into your plush waist hard enough to make you wince.

But Shouto has become pretty good at reading you over these past few years, no longer needs you to voice your thoughts—the two of you have become accustomed to communicating through looks and expressions alone, to keep from sending Touya into an absolute rampage, to keep the both of you safe.

“Not sure what I’m doing yet,” he answers, keeping his voice light, though those mismatched eyes are sharply trained on your face, ready to analyze and decode whatever expression your features morph into.

This is the first time he’s ever verbally answered, though, and it hits you like a bag of bricks swung at your chest, the realization that this is something the two of you have built up together, something the two of you have spent years doing, working together silently, quietly, subtly, to keep Touya placid, something the two of you have been subconsciously doing to protect each other.

The thought inspires an odd feeling in your stomach, chest tightening with something akin to anxiety, something bitter and heavy rooting in the pit of your belly.

Touya saves you from having to answer, hastily unbuckling your seatbelt for you the moment Fuyumi’s finished reversing the car and nearly hauling you out before she’s even cut the engine.

❅ ❅ ❅

“You’re not coming?” you ask Touya as he slips your foot into a skate, beginning to lace it up.

Touya shakes his head. “No,”

“Touya never learned how to skate—refused to, actually,” Natsuo informs you, sitting down next to you on the bench and playfully bumping his shoulder against yours.

Tilting you head, you stare at him, a soft little oh slipping from your lips. Touya avoids your gaze, jaw clenching rhythmically.

“It’s for the best. He really shouldn’t be near any sort of blade for an extended period of time, not while Shouto’s in reach,” Natsuo jokes, though no one laughs, because it’s true.

Touya spends most of his time leaning against the boards, bright sapphire eyes trained on you, glued to you, cataloging all of your movements, each of your cute little giggles and soft little smiles, every hand on your shoulder or waist as it steadies you.

It’s hard for him to watch.

It’s hard for him to watch the way your eyes twinkle as Fuyumi speaks to you, the two of you gliding around the ice nonchalantly, hard for him to watch the way Natsuo pulls endless laughter from your throat as his gloved hands hold yours, pulling you along with him, hard for him to watch when Shouto appears beside you, slowing his stride to talk animatedly to you, the two of you absorbed in whatever discussion you’re having.

And yet, he can tell something isn’t right. Your eyes are twinkling, but they don’t gleam the way they do when you gaze at him. You’re laughing, but it isn’t as bubbly and pure as it is when evoked by him. You’re talking, but you aren’t wholly and completely captivated by whatever it is Shouto’s saying to you, gaze constantly drifting just over his shoulder, connecting with Touya’s.

Those ten little words from the night before echo through his mind again, and his molars grind together, but the look in your eyes, the way your face positively lights up when you skate towards him, past him, blowing kisses and giggling behind mitten covered hands, stomps them to little pieces, to dust, your fleeting presence blowing them away. He feels like he can fucking breathe again, each time you glide by him, resolve hardening a little more with every lap past him.

No, he knows he’s the best for you, absolutely is without a doubt the very best for you— and you confirm it with that loving, adoring, doting look every single time.

Despite this, he keeps disappearing intermittently, your heart sinking just a little bit more every time you look over to see him nowhere to be found, a sour taste settling on the back of your tongue. This is only the second day into the trip and you’re already terrified, knowing that he’s filling his nostrils with that fine white powder the moment he begins to feel his high fading, the moment he feels himself beginning to come down.

And by the third time he vanishes within a single hour, you decide you can no longer stand by and do nothing, say nothing—he’s gone for more than usual this time, an uneasy sense of dread flooding your body, making your limbs tingle as your heart begins to race, plopping down on the wooden bench and bending down to quickly unlace your skates. Your voice shakes as you tell the others that you’d like to take a short break from skating, claiming that your feet are sore, and that you’d like to rest for a while.

In actuality, you’re sure they all know what you’re doing, itching to go search for Touya, heart pounding painfully as several scenarios flash through your mind, but they say nothing, nodding with those polite smiles they all plaster on their faces any time something like this occurs.

The muscles in your thighs ache as you jog across the snow-dusted field, eyes frantically darting around the large open space in search for a man with ivory hair and azure eyes. Your feet take off the moment you spot him, an instinctual reaction, breath ragged and burning in your chest as you barrel into him, winding your arms around his waist tightly and burying your face in his strong chest.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he’s murmuring softly, arms encircling you and squeezing you against him, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head. “What’s going on, princess?”

Pulling back, your eyes study his face, stomach plummeting when you see it.

“Out playing in the snow again?”

Cobalt eyes narrow, Touya tilting his head in question as he stares at you. A frown mars your face, deep sigh leaving your nostrils without your permission, and Touya bristles. A tender thumb swipes across his nose, showing him the pure white powder it gathers.

“Slow down,” you say softly, gently, cautious eyes watching him carefully. “I don’t want a trip to the ER for Christmas,”

He holds your gaze for a moment, and you can see it, the blue fire simmering deep within them, but because it’s Christmas—and only because it’s Christmas—he blinks twice, extinguishing the flame to dull embers.

Chest heaving once, deep and heavy, he sighs out of parted lips, holding your hand to his cheek. Sapphire eyes close briefly as he nuzzles his face into your touch, and for a moment—just for a second—you think he’s about to apologize.

But that would be a Christmas miracle.

“Keep me in line,” he says quietly, shoulders slumping a little in defeat, a tiny sardonic grin on his lips as his eyes open again, searching your face. “Okay? Can’t let my best girl down on Christmas, now, can I?”

And although his shoulders are straining under the weight of this new responsibility—to try and restrain himself a little more, to not solely rely on the drugs to numb him to everything, to give up autonomy, power, to you—a weight feels like it’s been lifted off of yours, regardless of the fact that he’s asking you to control him, and you inhale deeply, able to breathe again.

“I love you,” you tell him instead, unsaid words sown into the fabric of the sentence.

It all makes him feel like he can do this, like he might actually survive this, so long as you’re by his side. The thought produces an inexplicable lump in his throat and he blinks hard, glittering eyes sweeping across your face before he seizes it, large hands cupping your jaw almost painfully as he pulls your face towards his, lips capturing yours in a crushing kiss.

Niichan! You try to squeal, muffled by his lips, Touya using the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, down your throat.

Traitorous as ever, your body melts into his only a second later, fingers latching behind his neck, trying to pull yourself closer.

“I need more,” he mumbles against your lips before pecking them again, eyes still closed. “I need more, baby, I need more right now,”

“Then take it,” you whine breathlessly into his mouth, echoing your words from the night before. “Take it, it’s yours,”

❅ ❅ ❅

It smells like damp rubber and stale snow, with a hint of year-old hard candy crushed beneath snow boots, releasing faint scents of artificial strawberry and orange.

The restroom is filthy, but neither of you care, too wrapped up in each other to pay much mind to the grime on the walls, or the flaky rust on the faucet—which is quietly dripping intermittently, covered in little droplets of condensation that gleam under the harsh florescent light humming above, tubes exposed.

The cement wall is cold against your bare skin as Touya rucks your dress up around your waist, hands under your ass supporting your weight as your legs wrap around him obediently, praising you for listening to him and never wearing pants, even in weather like this, because god, it makes everything so much easier, baby.

In the past, you would’ve been in a rush, positive you didn’t have much time before someone noticed your absence.

But your family is used to this now, completely unphased by the two of you disappearing for twenty, sometimes thirty minutes and returning with swollen lips and freshly fucked hair.

It’s not like they can say anything, anyway—it’s not like anything is going to stop the two of you now; it’s not like anything would’ve stopped the two of you before, either.

Despite this, Touya still doesn’t exactly take his time with you, large hands pawing at your breasts, your waist, your hips, fingers dipping into the elastic waistband of your panties just to let it snap back against your skin, reveling in the little yelp it conjures from you.

“Already soaked,” he sneers in your ear as two fingers skim over your lace-clad cunt. “Of course you are. I don’t know why I expected any less,” he huffs out a chuckle; a mean, harsh sound that ghosts over the shell of your ear before he captures it with his teeth, biting down hard and forcing a high-pitched squeal from your throat. “Because my baby’s such a Goddamn slut, isn’t she,” his lips are against your ear as he murmurs in that low, sultry voice, hot breath contrasting the cool air of the restroom, and you shiver violently.

“Only for you,” you whine out, already breathless.

And you’ll never get over how easily he knocks the air out of your lungs with just a few dirty words and prodding fingers, stroking your slit through drenched lace in a way that’s almost gentle, careful, purposeful, sure to keep his touches as teasing and not nearly enough.

Still, those three words have more of an effect on him than you would’ve thought, a possessive growl ripping from his chest as he grinds his hard cock against your inner thigh, the denim rough against your soft skin.

That growl in particular is your favourite, and you tell him so.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, pulling back as sapphire searches your face rapidly, wide and bright and alert with the cocaine rushing through his body.

“Makes me—” sharp teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, just above your shoulder, a loud gasp cutting you off and bouncing against the walls of the small room. “Makes me wet, niichan,”

He groans into your skin, tongue wet and warm and caressing the skin in little licks back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as he sucks, branding you with brilliant violet.

“What’s this? My princess talking so dirty without being prompted?” he pulls back to look at you, and you can see the amusement dancing in his deep, deep eyes, endless pits of cerulean smothering everything their gaze touches, almost voracious as they soak it all up, feeling like they’re sucking the very life from you in the most delicious way.

A pitiful squeak escapes your lips in the form of an answer, heat seeping into your cheeks. He’s mocking you—you can tell. Those three words uttered from your lips aren’t even that dirty, are nothing compared to some of the things that have come out of your mouth while you’re delirious on his cock, begging for his cum.

Still, you’re unable to find your voice, staring at him in an almost helpless manner, a little kitten in the clutches of a jaguar, claws beginning to close in on you, trapping you between heavy, sharp paws.

“Ah,” he smirks, eyes darkening dangerously. “Not so bold when niichan’s actually looking at you, are you?”

Front teeth dig into your bottom lip, chewing on it a little as you hold his gaze, feeling heat gush between your thighs, the symphony of your combined slightly ragged breathing ringing in your ears.

“Say it again,”

And you try—really, you do, lips separating as you try to force the words out, a nasty combination of frustration and shame eroding your chest, burning and acidic, then shaking your head a moment later.

“Just,” you whimper as you try to pathetically rock against him. “Please?”

“Nah, nah, nah,” he’s shaking his head, that stupid grin etched across his face, pulling back even more but keeping you up against the wall, hands still cupping your ass, hips pinning yours. “Niichan isn’t gonna fuck you now unless you ask for it,”

Your forehead creases with a deep frown. You usually ask him to fuck you, don’t you? “I alwa—”

“No, no, you don’t,” he says simply with a tilt of his head. “Niichan wants you to really ask for it this time,”

You blink rapidly in confusion. “I-I don’t understand,”

Little breaths are beginning to leave your mouth, speeding up with the racing of your heart, terrified to upset him. Yet he looks amused, looks like he’s having so much fun as he torments you.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos with a false pout, mimicking your own. “You’re not that stupid, are you?”

A little whimper leaves your lips, chin twitching, threatening to begin trembling as you shake your head at him, unable to find words. Heat floods your face again, little pinpricks under the skin of your cheeks, a physical manifestation of your humiliation as he tuts his tongue.

“I don’t know how else to explain it to you,” he shrugs nonchalantly, though you can feel his cock throbbing through the thick denim of his jeans. “Just ask for my cock, babygirl,”

Although oozing with patronization, his voice is soft, blown pupils gazing at you with so much love it’s nearly overflowing from his eyes, slender fingers kneading the flesh of your ass almost tenderly as he waits.

And that’s all the encouragement you need, really.

“I-I want your cock, nii—” you begin, voice fading as your eyes meet his unimpressed gaze, raising an eyebrow at you as if to say Really? That’s the best you got?

A fierce need to prove yourself, to make him moan again, to make his stomach tense from just your words alone, blazes in your chest, burning through your veins and giving you another surge of confidence.

Gazing at him through your lashes, you pout a little more. “Niichan,” you whine out the honorific, back arching a little as you do. “Please, niichan, give it to me, I’m begging, my pussy is aching for your cock, T-Touya-nii—I need it filling me up, need it right now, f-feels so empty without you stretching me wide open,” the sentence fades off into a little whimper, but his lidded, glazed eyes, and the way his tongue runs along his bottom lip as he stares at you spurs you on, more dirty words spilling from your lips. “Feels—Feels wrong without your f-fat cock inside of me,” you nearly weep. “Please, niichan, make it right again,”

The gentle tremble in your voice only adds to it, somehow manages to make you seem so fucking innocent as you whine out such filthy words, and Touya can barely handle it, rubbing against your thigh, the repetitive motion of the denim dragging across your soft skin causing it to chafe.

“Fucking Christ,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes slip shut. “I wish I had recorded that,”

A cute, shy little giggle bubbles up your throat, face still burning. “I-I can say it again, if you want, niichan,”

He laughs—a genuine laugh deep in his throat, paired with a smile that meets his eyes—and presses a chaste kiss to your nose.

“One day, I’ll film us,” he vows, and the thought alone makes your stomach swoop. “But now, niichan’s gonna make you feel right again, okay, princess?”

“Oh, please, please,” you’re whimpering, body quivering against him.

“Shh, niichan’s got you,” he murmurs as he fiddles with his belt using a singular hand, your tiny fingers wandering down between your bodies to aid him.

Shoving your panties to the side, the head of his cock presses against you, and you wince in anticipation of the stretch—the stretch you so lovingly begged him for, he reminds you, sapphire eyes soaking up every single one of your expressions as he pushes in; reveling in the way your shut lids tighten, face screwing up in pain as the softest little yelp hitches in your throat.

It burns unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, abused cunt still sore and raw from the night before, from being fucked so ruthlessly less than twenty-four hours ago.

But you’re so wet, he breathes, rolling his hips slowly, stretching you little hole out just a bit more with each unhurried rock of his hips against yours. The wetness does nothing to stop the sting that accompanies his motions, though, reopening the tiny superficial fissures in your sensitive skin, quite literally tearing you apart, again, as your cunt yields to his girth.

“Niichan, hurts,”

“Yeah, baby?”

Little fingers curl in his thick sweater, and you whimper out an affirmative, head nodding lethargically against his shoulder.

“I thought you wanted niichan to fill you up?” he speaks as though he’s confused, a hint of condescension sown into the question, never halting his thrusts.

“I-I do!” you say quickly, head shooting up to gaze at him with glassy eyes, thick shield of unshed tears causing them to gleam in the harsh light. “I do,”

“Well then,” he smirks at you, hips pulling back, slow and controlled, before thrusting back in, sharp and fast, so hard it shoves your body up the wall, head whacking against the concrete with such force it sends agonizing pain shooting through your skull like lightning strikes. “Stop being a fucking brat, and take what niichan’s giving you,” he scolds over the piercing cry that falls from your lips, voice rough, deep, rumbling the way thunder does, buried in thick clouds on a humid summer’s day.

“Ungrateful little slut,” he snarls out, panting a little as his hips set a punishing pace, rapidly slamming into you, his jutting hipbones digging into the fresh bruises from the night before.

And you’re powerless to stop the noises you’re emitting, catching in your throat in time with his harsh thrusts, little mewls of niichan! and broken whines bouncing off the solid, cold walls, each one reverberating in his skull, forcing his hips to drive faster, harder, deeper.

But it’s fucking intoxicating, the way he’s pulling those needy little sounds from you as tears slip down your cheeks, pompously spitting demeaning words at you, sugarcoated in a thin, gleaming layer of praise. He’s a goddamn drug, words invading your mind and casting a thick haze over it, and during that moment all you can see is him, hear is him, taste is him—you swear you can feel him rushing through your veins, his heady scent of expensive cologne mixed with hickory campfire and a hint of Marlboros filling your lungs, the organs swelling painfully as you hold him inside your chest, trying to keep a piece of him close to your heart.

He stops to readjust your position, grunting as hooks an arm under your knee and yanks, ripping it from around his waist and forcing it toward your torso, your ankle nearly resting on his shoulder, his hand splayed flat against the dirty wall, using it as leverage. Your other leg clings to him, wrapped so tightly around his body that the muscles are beginning to quiver. Still, this brief pause affords you a much needed moment to catch your breath before his hips piston into you again, harsh, strong, fast, cockhead slamming against your cervix with each snap of his hips.

Each thrust forces another yelp to tear from your throat, your voice hoarse and raw, as he bruises your abused cervix, sharp spikes of pain shooting up your lower back and down your trembling thighs. He’s a watery blur at this point, eyes overflowing with tears, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders as you clutch him, arms beginning to ache from holding yourself up.

Tufts of white hair stick to his neck and forehead, clumped together with sweat. He’s almost whining out curses, slipping from between clenched teeth as his thrusts continue to pick up speed, although you can barely hear him over the sound of your own ragged breathing, peppered with pitiful little sobs that leave your chest heaving.

“Look at you,” he gasps out, wild sapphire eyes searching your face. “So fucking beautiful, taking my cock so well,”

And even in such a position, inebriated from the potent combination of pain and pleasure and him, his praise still makes your heart soar. A little pink tongue darts out to wet your chapped lips, bitten raw by him and salty with your own tears. Strand of hair stick to your puffy cheeks, though you’re unsure if they’re coated in sweat or tears.

“C’mon, baby,” he nearly keens. “Want you to be a good girl and cum for me,”

And those two tiny, four letter words are the magic words, like they always are, your head nodding vigorously, incoherent babbling bubbling past your lips; yes niichan, of course, wanna be a good girl for you, touya-nii, the best girl, your best girl.

He gives you permission to touch your clit, swollen and aching from neglect, your fingers sneaking between your bodies to rub at it, pussy clenching almost immediately.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “Yeah baby, just like that, milk niichan for all the cum he’s got,”

The praise, mixed with a direct command, has your fingers speeding up, moving in rapid circular motions, that cord of heat in your stomach coiling tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until it finally snaps, your little cunt throbbing as you gush around his cock.

He follows immediately after with a dark growl of your name, hips stilling as he finally cums, pinning you against the wall, cockhead pressed tightly against your sore cervix.

It’s thick, scalding, and copious, wrecked little noises getting caught in your throat as his cock pulses, filling you with endless spurts of cum; so much, too much, and you’re sure your womb isn’t nearly big enough to take it all, positive that it’s leaking out of you, running down your ass and down his balls.

You still haven’t caught your breath by the time Touya’s releasing you, hands firm on your hips as he places you gently on your feet, keeping you steady as your legs shake. You can still feel his cum leaking out of you, and you wish you had something better than your thin panties to keep it inside of you. With a pout, you tell him so, voice absolutely ruined as you wheeze out, “I-I wish I had a-a plug, niichan, to hold all of your cum inside me,”

“Christ,” he breathes, eyes twinkling as he gazes down at you, brushing his slender fingers through your sweaty hair. “You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”

❅ ❅ ❅

You don’t remember much of the drive home, struggling to keep your heavy eyelids from falling shut. Touya’s half dried cum is sticky—now practically gelatinous—in your panties and the mere thought of it makes you whimper, wiggling your hips a little, trying to shuffle closer to him.

It makes you feel needy. It makes him feel wanted.

“Niichan’s here, baby,” he’s murmuring into your hair as he readjusts his arm around your waist, pulling both your legs over his lap, your side still pressed firmly against his. “Niichan’s here,”

A pitiful whine slips from your lips, little fingers curling in his hoodie as warm hands travel up your dress, kneading the supple flesh of your thighs. Fingers press into the bruises he knows are there without even having to look, smirking at the way you hiss, contrasted by the way your thighs spread just a bit more, giving him more room to work, to play. The pads of his fingers graze the tiny raised cuts that the rough denim of his jeans left behind, tracing the raised little scabs.

“Sleep,” he tells you softly. “You did so good today, such a good little girl for me, my best girl,”

And his voice is the most soothing lullaby, smooth like melted platinum and quiet enough that only you can hear it, undoubtedly drowned out to the others by the staticky car radio.

❅ ❅ ❅

The dark bedroom is bleary, as if you were gazing at it though a thick slab of glass, eyes scanning the room slowly, mumbling out something that’s unintelligible even to yourself.

You’re not exactly sure how you got here, sitting on one of the twin beds in yours and Touya’s shared bedroom, propped up against the tiny headboard like a doll.

Touya’s murmuring to you softly as tender hands find the hem of your dress, tugging it up slowly, slowly, slowly, a low whine getting caught in your throat as your soft skin is exposed to the cool air, until he’s removed it from you completely. The clasp at the back of your bra snaps, and you want to tell him to be more gentle, this is your favourite bra, but you can’t seem to make your tongue move, the muscle sitting slimy and heavy in your mouth. Your vision disappears entirely for a second as something soft is slipped over your head, your body engulfed in the scent of hickory wood and Marlboro smoke.

Then large hands are all over you, maneuvering you onto your side then rolling you onto your back, gently prying your thighs open a moment later as he kneels between them, the springy mattress dipping with his weight.

“Touya-nii,” his name escapes your lips in a jumbled whine of protest.

“Shh, baby,” he hushes you, pulling your soiled panties down your legs.

Every muscle in your body aches, weighted down with fatigue from the long day, a few weak kicks—more of a fluttering of your legs, really—being all you’re able to manage in resistance.

“Hurts, niichan,” you whimper, through your eyelids are already falling shut again, exhaustion tugging at your consciousness gently.

“I know, princess,” he responds, and you’re just awake enough for the words to register, brow furrowing. His body heat disappears for a moment from between your thighs as he leans over to grab something, then returns, waves of comforting warmth rolling off of him.

Your body flinches ever so slightly as you feel something cold and smooth being spread across your swollen folds and puffy little hole. Cream, your mind supplies feebly.

“Niichan—”

“Quiet now,” he says, voice firmer than before. An order, this time. “Go to sleep, baby, and let niichan take care of this,”

Hot, tingling sparks blossom deep in the pit of your stomach, making your entire body buzz, like you’re high off him again, the sensation causing your chest to swell. This is what love feels like—Touya rubbing cool, soothing cream into your raw skin as he murmurs soft praises to you—you’re absolutely positive about it.

“I love you,”

The words leave your lips as a dreamy sigh, body finally relaxing against the mattress again.

He presses a tender kiss to your inner thigh, the soft skin a mosaic of crimson and violet from his previous ministrations. “I love you more,”

And that’s the last thing you feel, the last thing you hear as your mind slowly drifts into unconsciousness, filled with hazy images of a pretty boy with glowing sapphires for eyes and ivory for hair, of slim veiny hands decorated with the most magnificent black ink, the pads of their fingertips dancing along your skin, of a deep, sultry voice smoother than satin murmuring how much it loves you as lips crawl up your body—up your thighs, over your stomach and ribs, along the curve of you neck, until finally, they reach yours.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #dabi #AAAAH this was supposed to be posted last night but i fell asleep editing it after getting distracted by SOMEONE #anyway enjoy!!#i hope u all like it!!#whew two down three to go #technically two to go because part four is nearly finished ehehe #tw pseudo-incest #OH THERES ALSO SOME FORESHADOWING IN HERE EUEUEUEUEUEEUEUE #MARI KNOWS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT

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sneezefiction · 3 years

Text

attention

Miya Osamu x Reader

desc: you’re spending too much time fawning over a very fictional captain Levi and not enough time doting on your real boyfriend, Osamu.

a/n: @starrysamu dearest remy, this is for you. i only just found out that it’s your birthday and i felt like i needed to show my appreciation for you in a tangible way. this isn’t the best, but i laughed a lot while writing it, so i hope it’ll make you smile. so much love to you and happiest of birthdays!! you’re such a joy to speak with <33

warnings: mentions attack on titan (fictional deaths), language, suggestive towards the end

wc: 1.5k

---

“I bet you haven’t moved in hours.”

“Mm,” you hum absentmindedly.

Osamu stays silent for a moment, squinting judgmentally at you from the corner of the living room. He’s been standing there for ten minutes and you’ve not so much as acknowledged his existence. Granted, you already spent the entire morning with him, but you could at least greet him with your usual, “hey, babe.”

He’d even settle for a “what’s up, ugly” at this point.

However, your eyes are glued to the TV screen. Blue light and flashing colors reflect off of your skin while the blood-curdling screams of various animated characters fill the room. You gasp and a hand flies to your mouth. That’s the fourth time you’ve done that since he’d walked in the room.

Whatever it is you’re watching, your reaction seems reasonable. The show looks and sounds disgusting. Or at least to Osamu it does.

“You really should move around a little.” He coaxes, “You’re gonna cut off all your circulation.”

Osamu approaches the couch, but you continue to ignore him.

“Yeah, and?” you respond, eyes still fixed on the screen, “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

You reach for the remote and turn up the volume a couple of notches. His brows furrow in contempt. Now, this is just plain rude.

“Well, if you lose a limb, don’t come cryin’ to me.” He says flatly.

“I won’t…” you start, “but-“

You point to the screen, singling out a few characters being hunted by hideous and… very naked titans. Gross, Osamu thinks.

“-they might.”

If you were known to watch shows for the plot, he wouldn’t mind your series marathons all that much. But he knows you too well.

Osamu flickers his gaze to the TV and steps in front of the screen, intentionally blocking your view. It’s an attempt to steal your attention away from all of these fictional characters you claim to keep “falling in love with.”

You whine and tell him to “get his ass out of the way,” while craning around his broad shoulders to see. It’d be a shame to miss out on Levi Ackerman’s hella sculpted jawline, even just for a second.

But your efforts are to no avail. ‘Samu (his ass included) refuses to move away from the screen.

You breathe out a white flag of a sigh, slumping back into the couch in defeat. Though you’d planned on this being a solo watch party, you know that the only way to get what you want out of this situation (Levi screen time) is by appeasing your actual boyfriend.

“Whatever ‘Samu. Just join me already.” You huff out.

Tossing open your blanket for him, you pat the empty space expectantly. If you’re going to give him any attention at all, he’s obligated to at least keep you warm.

And he won’t lie, you look very comfortable.

Seeing you cozied up in his apartment and lazily splayed out on his couch has always made him melt a little. Osamu is just a bit domestic like that.

But if you’re just going to use his Netflix account to fawn over fake (albeit incredibly sexy) men, then he’s less than thrilled to have you sitting there alone. Any good boyfriend would be at least a little agitated… right?

So for the sake of reining you and your wandering mind in, he decides to plop down next to you. The whole couch sinks when he sits and you tilt into him like a planet gravitating toward the sun. A really obnoxious, show-interrupting sun.

Osamu snakes an arm around your back, pulling you into his chest, and turns his head toward the TV. All is calm as you get comfortable and adjust yourself against him... until suddenly the screen splatters red. His arm tenses against your waist and a frown forms on his face. Apparently, something or someone just bit the dust.

“What exactly are ya watchin’?” He asks, tone drenched in disgust.

You whip your head toward him, an eyebrow cocked and lips parted. You’re looking at him as though he’d just gone and grown a third eye or called your mom a hoe. In terms of drama, Osamu is beginning to think you might actually rival Atsumu.

“You seriously don’t know?”

“Do I look like someone who keeps up with anime?”

“Well… no,” you admit slowly, “but that’s got nothing to do with you not knowing about Attack on Titan. I bet even Kita has heard of it.”

You wait for recognition to flicker in his grey eyes at the mention of the anime’s name. Instead, he gives you his signature blank stare. Should you be shocked or disappointed? Which emotion would bother him more?

“Yeah, it doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Have you been living under a rock?” You scoff, mouth still agape.

“No, but I basically live with you and that’s difficult enough.” He jests, poking you in the side.

His warm hands gives you a quick squeeze and you almost jump out of his hold. For someone who runs a restaurant, he’s got some well-toned arms. It’s unlikely you’ll be able to escape his grasp anytime soon.

“No! None of that shit!” You hiss as he tries to tickle you. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

Your back curls like a cat and you bat at his hands to abate any further pokes or prods. He only chuckles, smirking at your feeble attempts to stop him. You were the one provoking him in the first place, but he’ll let it slide just this once.

When Osamu no longer seems like a threat to your ticklish sides, you nestle back into him. Your hand rests lightly on his chest and your head finds a soft-ish spot on his shoulder.

Feigning a pout, you mutter, “Captain Levi wouldn’t treat me like this.”

He’s quick to respond.

“Well, Levi-” the name sounds uncharacteristically bitter as it leaves his lips, “-wouldn’t treat you like anything, sweetheart. Sorry, but he ain’t real.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Osamu beats you to it.

“And judging by the rate these people are dyin’, he probably won’t last long enough for you to even mentally date him.”

“Don’t underestimate me and my mental dating abilities, ‘Samu.” You warn, “Or Levi. He could totally beat your ass.”

With perfect timing, Levi makes an appearance, striking a lethal blow to another one of the babbling giants. Two giants. Now four of them. Okay, he might’ve spoken too soon.

“Mm… maybe. But he probably couldn’t put up with all of your bullshit. This Levi kid seems like a bit of a hardass,” Osamu responds after a few minutes of transfixed silence.

You jut your lip out, sinking further into the couch, “Crush my dreams, why don’t you?”

He rolls his eyes in response.

“But,” you continue, “you’ve gotta admit, he is attractive. I mean, just look at those eyes. That body, too…” you breathe.

You swoon and tease and clutch at your heart, but it’s all an act to get under ‘Samu’s skin. He is your number one, after all. Teasing is just a part of your relationship and you would try to milk it whenever you could.

However, you don’t get a verbal response from him this time. He just tightens his hold around you and buries his nose in your hair. Warm breath tickles your scalp and trails across your skin.

Is he pouting? Or is he finally watching the show without adding commentary to it? You can’t tell the difference.

Osamu stays like that for a moment and you revert your attention back to the screen, intent on catching the last couple minutes of this episode.

Though you hardly have a chance to re-invest yourself before Osamu is speaking again.

“Well, I’m just glad he’s behind a TV screen,” he sighs against your head, “and-”

A smirk works its way onto his lips and Osamu begins circling a thumb on your exposed thigh. Your breath hitches and you turn to face him. His fingers press against your skin and play at the hem of your shorts.

The warmth of his hand sinks deeply into you like poison. In a matter of seconds, you’re at a loss for words, rendered unfit for battle… even if that battle is just teasing the ever-living shit out of him.

Thoughts of the show, of Levi, of other fictional men, are long gone from your mind.

Damn him for still having this effect on you after all this time.

“-judging by the way you can’t keep your hands off of me-“

He glances at your hand, which is resting delicately on his abdomen. You’re pressed up tightly against him, tucked into his side and looking up at his face which seems dangerously close to your own. Then his eyes, heavy-lidded and a shade of grey far prettier than Levi’s, flicker down to your lips.

Your skin flushes hot and you grip the fabric of his shirt.

“-I’d say you’ve gotta be at least half as into me as you’re into general Levi or whatever the hell his name is,” Osamu murmurs, his breath fanning gently on your lips.

He leans in, planting a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth, effectively teasing the delicate skin.

With one calloused hand on your face and the other still stroking your thigh, you feel your mind going fuzzy. This was escalating much faster than you’d expected it to and you haven’t even had the chance to pause your show.

You glance over to the TV... and heaven seems to be shining down upon you. It’s the blessed Netflix “are you still watching” screen; your show is perfectly paused. Now you can focus on what’s right in front of you.

Osamu finally has your full, undivided attention. Just as he should.

“Just for the record, it’s captain Levi.” You whisper to him.

“Oh, shut up.” He says before crashing his lips into yours.

You do, in fact, shut up.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu miya #osamu #hq #hq imagines #hq scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #inarizaki #miya twins #remy <3

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princeasimdiya12 · 3 years

Text

Unpopular Ducktales Opinion

So there’s been alot of news and rumors about Ducktales being cancelled after it’s third season. And there’s been alot of back and forth of how official it is and how it’ll be the end of one of the greatest cartoons/reboots of the modern era. And for that, I’d like to say...

I’m okay with Ducktales ending at season 3.

Don’t get me wrong. I do love Ducktales. I enjoy everything about it and I would love to see more content and episodes from them. But I’m honestly willing to settle with the show ending now. For the most part, it’s had a remarkable run with so many strong and compelling episodes that anyone can enjoy. There were a few base breakers every now and then, but nothing too big that would tarnish the show’s popularity.

Plus with how season 3 has been progressing, you can tell that alot of the main cast’s character development and story arcs have become “completed” in a sense.

Scrooge is now more accepting of his family and is willing to own up to his mistakes along with embracing change when it comes to adventuring.

While Huey’s arc is still in progress, the nerd is becoming more comfortable with embracing his interests while also learning that there’s more than one way to solve a solution.

Dewey is shown to be more thoughtful and considerate towards others while channeling his impulsivity to a positive effect.

Louie learned, or is still learning, that it takes more than smooth talking and “seeing every angle” to get what he wants and that he needs to put in the effort to accomplish his goals.

Webby became more confident in expressing who she is while also achieving her dream of being part of the McDuck-Duck family.

Donald is more accepting of his family going on dangerous adventures and has also started to take the time to focus on his own interests (reuniting with his friends as the Three Candelabras, his new relationship with Daisy).

Della is back from the moon and has been able to connect with her kids, brother and uncle while learning how to be a good mom.

Launchpad is living his dream of fighting crime alongside his boyfriend/partner Drake and their adopted daughter Gosalyn. (Not to mention that LP hasn’t been very involved in the show after the Let’s Get Dangerous special).

Gyro is now significantly nicer after making amends with B.O.Y.D. and treating Fenton as an equal.

Fenton is happier now that he has a better balance of his identities as a professional scientist and a bionic superhero, both of whom want to help people.

Lena was able to cut ties to her abusive aunt Magica as well as forming healthier relationships with her friends and sister while also becoming a good witch in her own right.

Goldie is starting to be less selfish when she realizes how much she cares for Scrooge (and Louie) and decides not to run from them. She’s still greedy but she is more considerate of them.

Penumbra and the Moonlanders have already adjusted to life on Earth and there doesn’t seem to be any hostile tensions between them and the humans.

The only one left would be Beakeley who is still going through her own arc this season along with her past relation to F.O.W.L. But as it stands, most of the main characters have either obtained positive character development or are in a much better place compared to how they were at the start of the series. So I find it kind of hard to see how these characters can grow if we’re given a fourth season.

One of the risks of making the series longer would no doubt be the characters having to relearn their lesson while also undoing their development. That would be incredibly risky if done incorrectly and the DT crew doesn’t feel like the type to do that constantly.

And in regards to story, it’s also hard to imagine what the Ducks will go through after defeating F.O.W.L. and reclaiming the Missing Mysteries in season three. What else is there for them to do after they obtain all of Isabella Finch’s mysteries? Is there really a mystery that’s just as big as the MMs or even Della’s disappearance that season 4 could work with? What type of villain/antagonist could possibly replace the fiendish organization that’s been established as one of the greatest threats in the Ducktales universe? Even greater than Magica de Spell who unleashed a shadow themed apocalypse upon her return or General Lunaris who staged a global scale alien invasion and was close to destroying the Earth.

While it’s true that there are other elements from the Disney Afternoon Universe that could be implemented for season 4, I think it would be too risky to include those elements. Mainly because they’ll draw more attention towards them and less on the Ducktales cast or their original show. It’ll kinda tie to the whole “jumping the shark” problem as the show would need to rely on outside sources or escalated plot points in order to keep the viewer interested. Or as stated above, the characters would need to undo their character development in order to relearn the same lessons but in different formats. If not done properly, that can very well damage the show’s image and fans would start to hate on it for trying too hard.

And after seeing that type of switch from love to hate happen on so many cartoons in the past (Steven Universe, Star vs the Forces of Evil, Voltron, Miraculous Ladybug) I don’t want the same thing to happen to Ducktales.

I personally think it would be best if Ducktales ended as it is now. So that it can end in peace and be fondly remembered for years to come.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you agree or disagree with anything I’ve written here, you’re more than welcome to reblog this with your thoughts on the matter.

#ducktales #scrooge mcduck #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #webby vanderquack #donald duck #della duck #launchpad mcquack #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell cabrera #lena de spell #goldie o'gilt #penumbra #mrs beakley #fowl #f.o.w.l.#eddy's posts

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deniigi · 4 years

Note

i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

“So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.

No one was stopping them.

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

---

This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

---

Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

---

Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,” Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

---

Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. “Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

---

Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

---

Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

---

Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

---

“Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

---

Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

---

“So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have…more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,’” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

---

Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

---

Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

---

Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

---

About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

---

Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

---

He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,” he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

-----------

Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

#samuel chung #jack murdock #matt murdock #mike murdock #inimitable verse #fic #ficlet

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

For Everland

→ [2/7] of the Society Series

→ summary: Yoongi is supposed to be your patient. He's not supposed to threaten your so-called relationship with your lifetime partner, Jeon Jungkook. You're not supposed to love him—you shouldn't be able to.

→ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader | PG-15

→ genre: 97% angst, 3% fluff | dystopian!au

→ warnings: profanity, making out, implied sex, infidelity (kind of?), blood, death, hyperventilation, depictions of a seizure (oc works at a hospital so), mentions of the afterlife, descriptions of getting shots/needles, a character has a missing leg (poor bby)

→ wordcount: 17.7k

→ a/n: this is loosely inspired by the great lois lowry’s the giver. i grew up reading that book omg 😭😭🥺and writing this fic was sO fun bc if i had to choose a dystopian society to live in for the rest of my life, it would HANDS DOWN be this one

cr.

It's over.

Thank goodness, it's over.

It's easily the worst part of the job. The transport room is painfully white and frighteningly silent. The only comfort you have is your ocean linen hand soap that sits loyally on the side of the sink. You pull off your latex gloves slowly, tossing them in the trash and turning on the warm water to wash your hands. The familiar, sea breeze scent punctures the room, soothing your jittery nerves. It seems to warmly congratulate you for orchestrating another successful transport.

Thank god. You won't have to do the procedure for another few weeks.

You make a bee-line toward the hospital closet, quickly shrugging off your spotless lab coat and pulling on your worn-out, fuzzy sweater. Already, you're feeling a bit better just being in your normal clothes. Professional attire makes you feel solemn and serious. You hate it.

But other than having to do the procedure in the transport room quite often, you enjoy your assigned career.

The procedure is only inevitable, you suppose, as you start to walk home from your career unit. Jungkook, your assigned partner, isn't waiting for you today, so he must be at home, making dinner. You begin to fast-walk before you accidentally break curfew a second time—the first time was embarrassing enough.

But to keep your mind busy and away from shutting down due to boredom, you reflect back on the day's work.

It's definitely not easy being a nurse, but you take the job with immense pride. Because without you, no one would be able to get to Everland. When you'd first received your career assignment, the Council had proudly told you that you were the very bridge between the society—Tagna—and Everland. They told you that you should take your assigned career with pride.

Everland. How do you even begin to explain that place? It's a paradise, they say. The Council tells every citizen of Tagna the general idea, but only you're gifted with the details. They told you that the skies are blue and the sun shines brightly but never too much. It is spring all year round in Everland. The land boasts serene nature and lakes that stretch across the grassy lawns. The homes are built from cedar wood and are sturdy against the whispering breezes at night.

Of course, you've never seen Everland for yourself. In fact, the Council makes it very clear that no one who has been to Everland has come back to Tagna. You suppose if you lived in paradise too, you wouldn't want to leave.

Some are transported to Everland earlier in their lives; you've worked with a handful of newborn babies, young children and even teenagers. Others are transported later, after thoroughly experiencing the structured and well-disciplined society of Tagna; there were more adults, grandmothers and grandfathers who you transported to Everland. But in the end, every person in Tagna—yourself included—would earn a chance to visit Everland themselves. It's just a matter of time... and luck.

As a nurse, it's up to you to take care of the patients. You're supposed to talk to them, keep them company, comfort them, be their closest friend—until it's time for them to be transported. The transportation is also part of your job, but the least favorite part for you.

Maybe you hate the procedure and going through with the transport because you get quite attached to your patients—you don't want them to leave. But maybe... and deeper inside you, you hate the procedure because you're jealous.

You can't deny that you want to experience this Everland. You've come close to the paradisiacal land more times than any other citizen of Tagna. But the Council seems to be intent on keeping you in society so you can serve those in need.

Goddamn. Every time you step into that small, white room, every time you put on your latex gloves, you wish it were you, sitting in the hospital bed, instead of your patient.

When your assistant rolls in the medical cart with supplies, you can't help but spend an extra few seconds gazing longingly at the clear serum in the syringe. The sharp, pointed needle glints in the white light, which brings a small, sad smile to your face. That's the serum that puts your patient to sleep—well, physically. Their minds are already flying through dimensions, zipping past other worlds to land in Everland. Their bodies will follow suit later.

It's unsettling though. You hate how the clear liquid disappears through the skin the more you press the pad of your finger on the plunger of the syringe. There is also an unspoken agreement with all the people in the room to stay absolutely silent. The silence is unsettling to you.

Very rarely, your patient has to be strapped into their seat. But it becomes quite obvious when you're tending your patient before the transport whether they'll need a strap. You assume the shot isn't too painful, judging from the majority of the reactions of your patients. But you're not really sure. And it's not your job to know. The Council is extremely strict about assigned careers.

Sometimes, it's unsettling to watch your patient fall asleep. Their eyes begin to flutter rapidly and their limbs become limp, their head lolling to the side. As a tradition, you have to walk towards your patient, your shoes clacking against the white floor. You hold their hand and speak your last goodbyes.

"Remember the lines we rehearsed? The ones we went over every day, honey?" you say every time.

There's always a mixed response from the patients. Sometimes they nod, sometimes they shake their heads. Other times, they don't even answer you—when the serum works too quickly and they're already halfway crossing dimensions in their minds. It usually doesn't matter. You recite the rehearsed line yourself.

"For us and for Everland."

On good days, your patient says the line with you; it's their very last words before they would leave Tagna forever and enter Everland. When their body goes slack and their eyes close, you have to double-check their pulse—for the transportation to Everland is not possible with a beating heart. The injected serum is merely a catalyst that will help your patient transport to Everland. And once the patient's mind is already at Everland, their body will follow, and they will wake up in paradise.

The unsettling feeling does not leave until some of your assistants enter the room to roll your patient's hospital bed away. You always give them a nod of acknowledgment but you never speak to them—just in case any loud noise might disrupt your patient's safe travels.

Every transport procedure drains you. But Jungkook's always waiting for you somewhere, waiting to replenish your energy and shower you with attention. He's always insisting that you take a rest, which, in his language, means to go on a lunch coffee date with him. But you're usually too busy to accept.

You manage to reach your house unit before curfew, opening your door and nearly collapsing on the living room couch.

"Sweetie?" you hear Jungkook calling you from the kitchen. It takes you a moment to realize he's cooking spaghetti, which makes you lift your head gratefully.

"Yeah?" you say.

"Are you tired?" he calls. "I made spaghetti, but I can wrap it up for you so you can have it for breakfast tomorrow if you want to sleep."

"No, no, it's fine," you say, heaving yourself up from the couch and stumbling into the kitchen. "I want to eat dinner with you."

Jungkook smiles brightly. Normally, you leave him to eat his meals by himself. "Did something good happen today?" he asks as he pulls out the chair for you and places two still-hot bowls of spaghetti on the table.

"Not really," you shrug, sitting down and grabbing your fork. "It was normal as work goes."

"How was the transport, then?"

"Routinely," you say, stuffing a forkful of spaghetti in your mouth. "Mm, this is good, Jungkook," you hum, swallowing. Jungkook beams at your compliment. "The patient was a grandmother, and she recited the lasting line with me, so that was good."

"For us and for Everland?"

"Yeah." You nod.

You like it when Jungkook discusses work with you. Because in your opinion, your career units are the only thing the two of you have in common. Which was the whole point of assigned partners, anyway—to match people up according to their career units. The Council says it makes couples more compatible. You're indifferent.

It's silent for the rest of dinner. Jungkook knows you don't like to come home to small talk after doing it for work all day. And you don't find it interesting when Jungkook starts to go off in tangents about the new baseball lineups the Council approved of. You do the dishes while Jungkook clears off the table and cleans the kitchen floor.

The chores are habitual, making you feel almost like a robot as you complete them every day. When the last dish is in the dishwater, you turn to Jungkook, who just came back from taking out the trash. "Jungkook?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Listen, I've been meaning to ask you..." you trail off. Your partner smiles hopefully at you. "Where do you roll my patients off before their bodies are transported? I mean... I guess what I'm asking is, do you get to see Everland? Is there a portal or something that leads there?"

Jungkook sniffles, scrunching his eyebrows in thought. You can tell by the slight crease on his forehead that he's disappointed there's going to be another work-related conversation.

"We're just told to put them in a white sack. Maybe that's the portal you're talking about? I'm not sure where they go, sweetie," he says. "We just do these extra check-ups so we know they're in good condition to transport. Then we set them in another room. I guess someone else does the rest." He pauses. "But I don't think I was supposed to tell you all that. Y/N, you know the details of our assigned careers have to be kept confidential."

You sigh. "Yeah, I know... Still, though. What does it matter? We work in the same career unit. There should be no secrets!"

"I think the Council would have something to say to that," Jungkook says. "I just think you want to see what Everland is like because you've been asking me an awful lot of questions about work," he sulks. "We're partners, Y/N... Can we please act like it? Look at Hoseok next door with his partner. And Namjoon too. They always go on dates, and they're already thinking of signing up for kids from the clinic."

You flinch. Assigned partners, you want to remind Jungkook. But you don't. It's not that you hate Jungkook or despise his presence altogether. It's just that you don't love him. Not as much as he loves you, anyway.

But he's loyal and one of your only friends. And he's not too bad of a company.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you say, reaching out to place a friendly hand on his. "I just... I've been selfish, I know."

Jungkook takes your hand in his, tugging you into his arms.

"I always feel guilty, you know?" you whisper against his chest. "I make Everland seem like this fairytale place. But I don't even know what it's like."

"It's best to trust what the Council says," Jungkook reassures you. "You're better off trusting them than anyone else, right?"

"You're right."

"It's okay," Jungkook whispers, kissing your forehead before letting you go. "Sooner or later, we'll be transported too. Sometimes in moments that we least expect it."

You hum, detecting the melancholy tinge to his silvery voice. "It's your brother, isn't it? How do you think he's faring in Everland?"

"Junghyun?" Jungkook sighs. "He's probably having the time of his life there... It was just so sudden. I didn't even get to say goodbye to him."

"They leave us in the most mysterious ways," you say. "Too bad we lose contact after their transport. I would've loved to see what it's like there."

"Yeah, me too," Jungkook says. "But I want us to leave for Everland together."

Unlikely, you think. "Me too," you say. "Come on, let's get to bed. I have to stay late tomorrow at work. They're giving me another patient on top of Jimin."

Jungkook groans, his hand searching for yours as the two of you make your way into the bedroom. When he finds your hand, he holds it tightly, almost as if he was afraid you'd fade out of sight at any second. "The Council's overworking you, sweetie."

"Or they just think I'm doing a great job," you say, squeezing his hand. "It's okay. I swear I don't mind. He's a good guy, you know, this Jimin. Deserves to be in Everland. He just needs some emotional boost as they all do. And as for the new patient... I don't know what to expect."

"Well, then," Jungkook says. "Tell this Jimin to say hi to my brother for me when he's there."

"Sure thing."

"Sweetie?"

"Hm?"

"Don't work too hard," Jungkook says. "You need some time to relax."

You giggle. "My career is my relaxation! It's fun to meet these people, to talk to them, you know? Granted, half of them don't understand me, but I dunno... I like the process way more than the procedure itself."

"Yeah, yeah," Jungkook laughs, shaking his head, his hand slipping out of yours. "We should wash up," he says, "before the suppressant makes me drop to the floor snoring."

You laugh along with him, tugging your assigned partner into the bathroom. The nighttime routine in there is as practiced as any other routine in your life. Soon, you and Jungkook are lying in bed, side by side. Just like always.

"Sweetie?" Jungkook murmurs, the suppressant taking a toll on him already. He seems to be barely awake.

"Yeah?"

"Try to get home much before curfew, okay?"

Jungkook had freaked out when the patrollers had found you crossing the streets after curfew. He'd been reminding you about getting home earlier for months now. But you never listen to him. Still: "Of course," you say. "I'm sorry for always making you worry."

When Jungkook doesn't answer, you realize he's already knocked out. You let out a deep sigh, turning over to face the small window in the bedroom. It's dark out tonight, with no moon to light up the bedroom even the slightest bit.

Sometimes, you wonder what it would be like if the suppressant worked on you normally as it did for everyone else.

Out of the thousands of citizens of Tagna, it had to be you to be the victim of immunity to the suppressant.

"Jimin! How are you?" you exclaim, closing the hospital room door behind you as you shake a bag of his favorite chips in your hand. "Look what I got you! I might've been late because of that." You laugh apologetically as Jimin giggles, immobilized on his bed.

"I'm fine, Y/N, thank you. No need to worry." But the man shifts uncomfortably, then lifts the bed covers off of the lower half of his body. "Can you help me up?" He nods towards his missing right leg, giving you a rather frustrated look.

"Yes, of course," you quickly say, taking big steps to help Jimin out of his bed and onto his wheelchair. Though the amputation had been successful—the infection didn't spread to the rest of the body—a missing leg left Jimin often irritated and frustrated. "Where do you want to go today?" you ask him, rubbing his shoulders to comfort him.

The man places a hand on top of yours, looking at you pleadingly. "Outside the hospital...?" he says hopefully.

"Aw, Jimin..." you say, crouching down in front of him to take his hands. "You know we can't do that." He knows, but he asks every day, just in case—as if one day, you'll be waiting for him with a different answer other than no.

"I know," Jimin says, squeezing your hands. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you tell him. "Do you want your blanket, Jimin? You know, to cover—"

"Yes, please." Nodding, you help the man drape a white cotton blanket over his leg. "I want another look around the hospital before I'm transported."

"Sure!" You adjust Jimin's blanket, securing it so it falls over his missing leg. You and Jimin have a wordless agreement not to talk much about it, and you know how much he likes to have it covered up. Jimin's insecure, embarrassed about a missing limb. Especially when before the amputation, he had been a fit, robust figure, always running around and training. "We'll just roam around the hospital and talk."

Jimin smiles. "That sounds good to me. Let's bring the chips too."

You hand the snack to Jimin, carefully checking the room one last time before rolling the man out into the hospital corridor. It's silent as you wheel Jimin in the direction of the left-wing, where there are full-length windows replacing the usual bland white walls, allowing bright sunlight to flood the corridor. It's the only place that gives the otherwise spotlessly white hospital a golden glow. Jimin likes that spot the best; honestly, so do you.

Once you situate Jimin in front of the windows, making sure he isn't completely in the sun, you sit down next to him. (He doesn't like it when you tower over him.) Jimin looks comfortable in his wheelchair, clutching his now open bag of chips and staring out the window with deep admiration.

"Tell me about Everland, again," he whispers, gazing thoughtfully out of the windows. "Please, Y/N."

The sunlight bounces perfectly off the bridge of Jimin's sloped nose, giving his face of beautiful features a sort of rare radiance.

"Everland?" you hum. "What do you want to hear about it?"

"I don't know... If people like me are welcomed there, I guess," Jimin sighs. His gaze flickers to you. "No one I know and admire knows about my amputation—except you. They won't let me contact my friends or family... They're sending me to paradise early because I'm an embarrassment to Tagna."

"Don't be like that." Sure, you've noticed society's outcasts are usually the ones that are transported—the ones with physical or mental disabilities, or just those older in age. But, of course, that just means that everyone should be transported sooner or later. Or maybe these people are the only people that Everland accepts.

Jimin is going at it as if Everland only accepted those rejected from Tagna. You're not so keen on that idea. The Council works hard to protect every single citizen. That would be impossible.

The seated man inhales sharply. "How can I not be like this, Y/N? I feel so useless here, like this, in a fucking hospital of all places. The only way I can even moderately feel like I'm back in society is here, in front of these damned windows where I can actually see the sunlight. Otherwise, I'm stuck in these white-walled rooms with no one to talk to but you. Then I'm forced to run through these health checkups with doctors that never speak to me, even when I ask them questions! At this point, anything is better than this stupid hospital."

"Oh, Jimin..." you say, immediately taking his hand in yours. You can't bring yourself to tell him 'don't be like that,' again. Pure sorrow is held deep in his brown eyes when he looks at you; your heart aches. "Hey..." you whisper, softly squeezing his warm hand. "Remember that thing I always tell you?"

"What thing?" he huffs. You can tell he's a little bit irritated, and you struggle to keep a straight face.

Placing another comforting hand on his remaining knee, you say, "Remember? For us and—"

"For Everland," Jimin finishes for you. "Oh, that thing," he mumbles. "Of course I remember."

You nod, smiling when Jimin grips your hand tighter. "Have you ever stopped to think about what that meant?"

"No, not really, Y/N." Though he's still frowning, he doesn't look as forlorn anymore.

"Well," you say, "we, as a society, will always miss any patient after their successful transport. I remember everyone I've helped to cross the dimensions and go to Everland, so I'm sure your friends and family unit will always remember you as well. You'll be the man who was worthy of being transported into paradise. Think of it like you're doing it for Tagna, to represent our society in a new land. For us."

"And for Everland?"

"It's nice to say that out of respect, you know?" you smile. "I mean, you'll be staying there for the rest of your life, Jimin. Besides, no one ever said anything about you being an embarrassment, Jimin. You're nothing but a hero, a veteran."

The corners of Jimin's lips turn up just slightly as he looks out the windows once more. "For us and for Everland, huh?"

Though he can't see you, you nod. "Everland is the happiest place on what's left of planet earth," you say, causing Jimin's head to whip toward you. "Yeah," you say. "It's a place even better than our advanced society right here. Everyone is equal in Everland too, but you get many more benefits. The skies are this rich, azure blue and the clouds are so fluffy, they say they emulate the sweetest cotton candy. The people there are veterans like you. I can guarantee you that everyone is respected and well-understood. Every home unit has enormous windows that let the sunlight warm up the buildings. The food there is fresh, nurtured straight out of the soil and hand-picked by the dwellers. It's beautiful there because it's spring, all year long..." you trail off.

Jimin stares at you, lips parted and eyes glossy, no doubt daydreaming about this Utopian place just like you are. "Beautiful..." he mutters under his breath. It's like he wants to ingrain this wonderful scene he had painted of Everland in his head, to recite it to himself every so often before his transport.

You sit back, hand still intertwined in his as you let Jimin lose himself in his reverie. It's several minutes later when Jimin finally jolts from his seat, turning to you with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry," he says. "I zoned out."

"No worries," you tell him. "We all do when we think of Everland."

Jimin hums, squeezing your hand, turning to you with the best of his ability (which was how well his chair would let him). "Do you have a partner, Y/N?"

The rather personal question makes you raise your eyebrows in shock, but you quickly make up for it with a small, stifled laugh. Normally, your patients like it when you tell them fantasy stories or when you listen to them talk about their whole life. They very rarely ask about you.

"Uh, yeah, Jimin," you say. "I have an assigned partner."

"What's he like? When were you assigned to him? Do you love him?"

When you raise another shocked eyebrow, Jimin squirms in his seat, releasing your hand. "Sorry... I-I wasn't trying to be... um, invasive. I'm just... I'm being transported before I get my partner. Having one was one of my dreams since I was little. You know, having my very own family unit to come home to after work..." he trails off. "Please, tell me everything about it."

How can you say no to that?

"Don't worry," you smile warmly. "You can ask all the questions you want—I can't guarantee a good answer, though."

"That's fine, Y/N."

"Well then, hmm..." you say. "Um, his name is Jungkook. I'll start with that. Tall, handsome, ungodly fit... Kind, too." You pause, searching for the look of approval on Jimin's face; he looks like he's in bliss, so you continue. "Sometimes, he acts like my assigned mother, you know, nagging at me to take care of myself and being concerned about everything I do... But, at the end of the day, he's my best friend. He tells me not to overwork myself and he tries to take me on dates when they're due. Then he always makes sure I'm back home before curfew. He knows how I let time fly past me at work," you laugh. "Jungkook's a beautiful soul. I'm really lucky to have been assigned to him. It's been about three years, and I can't say I have any complaints, really."

"Do you love him?"

The question catches you off guard. You look at Jimin, who looks so hopeful, so attached to your assigned relationship—as if it were as precious as his own. With that look on his face, you don't know what kind of monster you would have to be to tear that fantasy apart. Your assigned partner is the last relationship Jimin will hear of, the one that will be embedded in his memories when he is transported. It's your job to take care of Jimin. And it's your job to support him emotionally.

You know the answer to that question. You've known it for a while, and for the longest time, you always thought (or hoped) it would change. It never did.

You're not even completely sure what love is, at this point, though the Council had drilled the definition of it in you since you were a little girl. You're supposed to love your assigned partner, so in a way, you feel like you've failed them.

But you let out a shaky breath, catching Jimin's eyes as you beam. "Yes, I love him."

It's a lie.

Usually, you're given one patient to work with at a time; the Council knows to give you some well-deserved lax time. But never have you gotten two patients. Jimin's transport wasn't scheduled for another two weeks, yet they're taking you to meet a second patient today.

You're not that bothered by the news—not as bothered as Jungkook, anyway. You know he's always wanted to lounge around in bed, watching authorized movies and cooking homemade breakfast together. But you insist that you need to take your assigned career seriously.

He can't argue much after that.

You've said your goodbyes to Jimin earlier that day, had a quick snack and waited. And waited. and waited.

The first meeting with a new patient always makes you feel so jittery. You don't know this person at all—you're to never have any personal connections with them. So you always have to figure out their conditions yourself. It's always one of three things: mentally disabled, physically disabled or older in age. At first glance, it's always easy to tell which the patient is.

The patient is always nervous too, glancing at you anxiously, wondering if you would take good care of them as the Council had promised. There's some pressure to make the best impression. Your white lab coat tends to make your patients uneasy, so one day you 'lost' it in the laundry and never wore it again. A fuzzy sweater or a modest t-shirt with jeans usually does the trick.

You straighten out your t-shirt for the hundredth time, checking to see if it was tucked in your jeans correctly and fixing your hair too. Sometimes, you think you probably feel more nervous to meet your new patient than the patient. After all, you'll have to spend as much as time (or more) with this person as with your assigned partner.

When the door to the hospital room opens, you stand up immediately, ready to greet your patient and assistant, Taehyung, who always introduces you to your new patients. But you're greeted with something you're not quite ready for.

"Don't fucking touch me," a menacing voice snarls. The owner of this voice is a rather lean man with messy blonde hair. He practically slaps Taehyung for holding onto his elbow, and even the always-happy Taehyung looks miserable.

You quickly scan the patient with your eyes. Normally, your discernment is quick, but this time, it's hard. Immediately, you're able to rule out old age. If there was a physical disability, it wasn't obvious. You're leaning towards mental disability, though you also get a feeling that it's really not. You're stumped, but you try not to show it.

Besides, your patient already sounds really irritated.

"Hey, Taehyung," you say, offering your assistant a smile. "Who's our lovely patient?"

The patient dramatically rolls his eyes, aggressively pulling away from Taehyung's grip. "Min Yoongi."

"Yoongi!" you say with a happy smile, though you're very much aware that this Min Yoongi is anything but happy. "Come on into your new room! Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N. I'll be your nurse until your transport in several weeks. You turn to Taehyung, nodding. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. Good luck," Taehyung says before hurrying away.

It's possible that Taehyung's busy and that's the reason behind his sprint away from you and the new patient, but something tells you that it's something else. And that 'good luck' sounded more like a warning than a cheerful goodbye.

Your eyes meet with Yoongi's. They're hard, black and cold. Almost like they can pierce through your soul.

"So, Yoongi," you say, "are you excited about going to Everland?"

It's the best way to start off the first conversation with any patient. They enjoy talking about Everland—and if they don't know much about it, they beg for you to tell. It works every time.

Except not today.

Yoongi scoffs, collapsing on his hospital bed as he turns to face you, cocking his head haughtily. "Why would I be excited?" He sounds like he's accusing you of spreading false lies.

But you don't back down. "Oh, I'm sorry. Maybe excited isn't the right word. I guess I meant you're looking forward to it?"

"No, I'm dreading it. Terrified. Fucking disgusted and filled to the brim with overflowing trepidation."

"W-What?"

"Whatever. Just leave, Y/N. Come back when it's time for me to be 'transported' or whatever the shit the Council calls this."

Never have you dealt with a rude patient. They're all usually very understanding and kind and most of all, respectful. You're taken aback, but you're not one to say no to a challenge.

"Yoongi, do you need someone to talk to?" you ask in your softest voice. "Hey, I'll listen to anything. Really. If you're that 'filled to the brim with overflowing trepidation,' then you can tell me. I'll listen."

"What makes you think I trust you?" It's another challenge, the way he utters it. Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest and raises a daring eyebrow at you.

You swallow your pride, keeping an unfazed, neutral look on your face. "Everything you tell me here, stays in here, Yoongi. You have my word."

"You could be lying through your teeth right now," Yoongi snorts. "Could you be any more artificial? You're giving me a headache, all right? If you're going to be so ersatz with your emotions, I reckon you leave."

Me? Give him a headache?? And not the other way around???

You've had enough.

"I don't think you want me to leave," you say slowly and firmly, crossing your arms and staying rooted to your spot.

"And why would you think that?" Yoongi cocks his head, his bangs falling over his eyes as he does so. He makes no effort to sweep it away. For some reason, that ticks you off even more.

"Loneliness," you say. "You'll get sick of being cramped up and alone in this white-walled room. The only artificial thing here would be the lights—and trust me when I say if you stay here alone, you can say goodbye to natural sunlight until your transport. If you claim that you don't find loneliness even in the tiniest bit of solitude, then I think I might have to ask you to leave for being... what was it again? Ersatz with your emotions."

You haven't left eye contact with the patient.

And you start to become jittery again when complete silence follows after your passive-aggressive speech.

Until: "Damn. Didn't think you had that in you."

"What?"

"I have to give you credit for that," Yoongi shrugs. "Maybe you won't be completely annoying after all. Maybe you'll be bearable."

You let out air through your nose. "Thanks?" You shake your head in disbelief as you sit next to him on his bed.

"You're welcome, I guess."

A small giggle escapes from your lips, then a louder laugh.

Yoongi looks at you as if you sprouted devil horns on your head.

"Sorry—" you manage to say in between giggles—"if the Council saw me being this mean, I'd have to say goodbye to my job."

"You call that being mean?" It's Yoongi who laughs this time. "You're going to have a hell of a time with me, then."

You leave your home unit early for the first time—without Jungkook having to shake you awake—to buy some snacks for your patients. (Though you know Jimin's favorite foods, you end up having to take a wild guess for Yoongi.)

Jimin had made you promise to meet you as early as your schedule allowed it. You don't mind. Hanging out with Jimin is relaxing, especially because he lets you blabber on and on about your personal life. Today, he wants to hear about your assigned career.

"The Council assigned me as a patroller, you know," Jimin says, leaning back proudly in his wheelchair. "I would've been a hell of a good one too... If it weren't for the infection." He sighs, staring at his foot with scrutiny. "It's okay," he shrugs. "What about your career?"

"Hm," you say, looking outside the window where the morning sunshine catches your eye. "Well..." you hum, voice soft and eyes glazed over. "I'm a nurse." Jimin waits for you to continue. "But I have to admit, I didn't really like my assigned career at first. Why be a nurse when you can be a doctor, a surgeon, perhaps?" You give Jimin a small smile. "As a little girl, I always wanted to be in that operating room, you know, operating and saving lives."

"That's honorable, Y/N." Jimin gives you an approving nod, placing his hand on yours to tell you to proceed.

"But I guess the Council thought I'd be a better nurse," you say. "And now, I think they're right. I mean, they always are. Besides, I wouldn't last two seconds in a cold, quiet operation room. I need to talk to people, you know? Take care of them, tell them stories, help them transport. I think I value the presence of people, along with their happiness." You shrug. "I dunno. I do dare say that I'm pretty good at making people happy."

Jimin laughs softly. "There's no other career that would've fit you better." He turns his body fully so that he's facing you. "Y/N, I really don't say this often, but I'm glad you're my nurse. Thank you." Jimin looks deeply into your eyes, something he only does when he's extremely serious. "Hey," he whispers, "I just want you to know that I'm not scared. Everland will be as wonderful as you've always told me. I trust you. And I know I'm in great hands."

He squeezes your interlocked hands for emphasis. "For us and for Everland, yeah?"

"Have you obtained a serious eye infection?"

"N-No," you stutter, wiping your red eyes with the back of your sweater. You quickly set down some snacks on Yoongi's bed and avert your eyes away from him. "I just..."

"Oh," Yoongi says, clapping his hands together. "You've been crying!" he accuses, pointing at your face with a smug smirk. He looks like he could care less, yet he asks, "What happened?"

"It's really nothing," you sniff, sitting down on Yoongi's bed. "They're not sad tears, necessarily."

To your surprise, Yoongi laughs. You look at him with disapproval. "I'm sorry!" he snorts between giggles, "but you wouldn't know 'sadness' if it socked you in the face!" Upon seeing your puzzled expression, he sighs. "Whatever."

Yoongi doesn't push the topic, which is very much like him. You don't mind. It's not like you want to explain crying in front of Jimin, your patient. Jimin has a strange way of making you feel special. And special's a word no one's allowed to be in Tagna—because specialness is the cause of discrimination. But you think specialness makes you feel valuable.

"So," Yoongi starts, tilting his head to look at your curiously, "why are you here?"

This time, you're the one to laugh. "I'm your nurse! I'm supposed to look after you before your transport. You know, talk to you, answer your questions, tell you about Everland."

"Doesn't sound very crucial to me."

Yoongi has a habit of being very, very candid. You tend to mistake his honesty for rudeness, but after a while, you've come to appreciate the truthfulness. He brings out a fun, slightly meaner side of you that nobody else but Yoongi would approve of. You hate to admit it, but you like it.

"Fine then," you say. "What do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know. What do you do with people you know? Not including those in your career unit."

"We..." you trail off, a frown settling on your face. "I don't know any people outside my career unit," you admit. "I mean, unless you count my assigned partner. But then again, I always talk about work with him too." You gasp. "I don't think I have actual friends!"

"Good," he says, which makes you look at him with incredulity. He laughs at your expression, a genuine laugh in which his eyes sparkle with mirth and his lips are tugged into a rather snarky smile. But it's a smile nevertheless. "It's fine, Y/N. 'Cause me too. We can be each other's friends."

"Really? But wouldn't you technically be a career-related friend?"

"But are we going to talk about career-related things?" He gives you a look. "I believe I told you I'm not the least bit interested in Everland. Nor do I care even the tiniest bit how to get there. I surely don't have any inquiries regarding the transport. I'm pretty sure you won't have to worry about being a nurse around me... Though I'll probably appreciate the snacks." Yoongi pauses to rip open a bag of gummy bears. He grins. "My favorite. How'd you guess?"

"I had a hunch." You smile proudly, taking a mental note to buy some more gummy bears for Yoongi in the future. "But wait a minute," you say. "You really want me to be your friend?"

"Definitely not a nurse," Yoongi says. "I can take care of myself, thank you. But you were right. I'd die of boredom if I'm alone. That's where you can step in as a friend." He winks, sorting out the green gummy bears from the other variegated colors and popping one in his mouth. He offers you a red gummy bear.

How'd he guess? You smile, shaking your head as you take his offer. My favorite.

Jimin and Yoongi are polar opposites. If one man is gentle, sensitive and kind, the other is brash, rather presumptuous and most of all, pedantic. It's obvious who is who.

But you're not one to pick favorites. A patient is a patient no matter who they are—at least you try to think so. Your end goal is to make sure you're there for them before they're transported to the all-so-magical Everland. Granted, one acts like your friend and the other, your patient.

Jimin likes to ask you a lot of questions, whether it's an inquiry about Everland or questions about your personal life. He's made you repeat the details of Everland so many times, you're sure he already has everything memorized. But he still asks.

On the other hand, Yoongi doesn't bother to ask questions at all. As a man of his word, he proved from early on that he had no interest whatsoever in Everland or assigned partners or assigned careers or assigned anything. You're starting to wonder if he has any interests at all. In fact, come to think of it, you're not even sure if he's ever left his hospital room.

"Oh, this place reeks," you tease, waving your hand in front of your nose. You toss Yoongi a bag of gummy bears and plop down on the bed next to him. "Do you ever leave the room?"

The man laughs, reaching for the snack. "I don't leave the bed."

You scrunch your nose. "Ew." Yoongi shoves four green gummy bears into his mouth, and you watch with a mixture of disgust and pity. "We need to get you out of here."

"Out of the hospital?" Yoongi asks with a mouthful of gummy bears.

"No, just out of this room," you say. "I mean, you might die from a kidney disease before being transported. Imagine that, the first man in decades to die in Tagna—in this day and age with advanced medicine and technology!"

Yoongi scoffs. "Whatever. Fine, let's get out of here. Not like there's anything better to do outside, though."

"We can get ice cream in the cafeteria," you offer. "And argue about the right way to cut up a sandwich again."

"You monster, you're supposed to cut it in triangles!"

"Yeah, says the one who puts the milk first, then the cereal!"

The bickering continues until you're seated in the hospital cafeteria. By that time, both of you are too tired to carry on with the arguing. So there's a bit of silence as you and Yoongi feast on your ice cream scooped onto large sugar cones. You went for plain vanilla, but Yoongi opted for the most sugary flavor: butterscotch dutch fudge nut with diced marshmallows and a caramel drizzle.

You swear he might get diabetes before his transport if he keeps this up. Maybe you should bring him some healthy snacks next time—kale, avocados, spinach. They're green, just like how he likes his gummy bears, so maybe he'll listen to you and finally have a salutary diet.

But instead of being able to convince Yoongi to start the habit of healthy eating, it all spirals down into another debate.

"It's CAR-amel," you insist.

"CARE-amel," Yoongi retorts, shaking his head. "We've been quarreling for the past hour, Y/N. Aren't you getting tired of it? I've never argued this much in my entire life!"

"But what if that's how this 'friend' thing works?" you say. "Actual friends care so much they disagree on every little detail."

"Then it's very tiring to have friends," Yoongi sighs, taking a depressing lick of the lump of sugar on a cone.

"I agree." A pause. "Did you ever have friends, though?"

Yoongi snorts. "Actually, contrary to popular belief, I did. But that was before I got myself into this mess."

"Mess??"

He shrugs the question off, countering it with another question of his own. "Did you have any friends?"

You tilt your head, but figure it's best to let Yoongi have some space. "Um, yeah. I guess I was pretty well-known in my year. Now I don't really have time for that. Work," you sigh. "But I still enjoy what I do."

"I know you do. You're a good friend, and though I wouldn't know, an amazing nurse," Yoongi grins, shrugging so nonchalantly that you almost miss the complimenting tone of his voice.

You grin back. It had taken you a bit to coax the sweetness out of his cold and collected demeanor, but once revealed, Yoongi could almost parallel Jimin's amenity. "What about you? Did you like what you did before you were chosen to be transported?"

Yoongi's smile disappears in the blink of an eye, a sour frown replacing it. "Not exactly." His stone-cold voice is a sign for you to change the topic, but he continues to speak. "I was good at my career. Liked it at first, too. But I'm a rare mistake, I suppose. Maybe I had some traits within me that the Council didn't catch, or maybe I changed as an adult. The Council deemed my career as a mismatch."

A mismatch... You always thought that was a myth—assigned careers never failed. The Council never made mistakes. You can't even fathom the amount of disappointment that Yoongi probably had felt when realizing his assigned career was a mismatch. "I'm so sorry," you say. "Do you mind if I ask what career unit you were in?"

Yoongi hesitates for so long, you start to think you've crossed the line. But then: "Unit 38. I was in unit 38." He clears his throat and watches carefully for your reaction.

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens, shuts, then opens again. "38?? That's my unit!" you say. "How come I've never seen you before?"

He crosses his legs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I suppose I was in the more secluded area of the hospital."

Though you want him to elaborate, Yoongi's uneasy fidgeting sets you off. You're here to make him feel safe, comfortable. As much as you're insanely curious now that Yoongi's avoiding the subject, you shrug. "Oh, that's interesting... Wanna talk about something else?"

When Yoongi shoots you a grateful look, you actually feel glad for changing the topic. It was the right thing to do. As to sate your curiosity...

I'll just ask Jungkook about him later.

"Hey, Jungkook?" you whisper, testing the waters, trying to tell if the suppressant already brought your assigned partner to a deep slumber. You turn around on the bed to face him, and you're glad when he turns around as well.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Do you know anyone of the name Min Yoongi?" you ask hopefully.

Jungkook crinkles his brows in thought. "Min Yoongi?" he mutters to himself. "Min Yoongi..." He gives you an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, the name doesn't ring a bell."

"It's fine," you sigh, lying fully on your back now and staring up at the dark ceiling. "I just think it's strange the Council would assign me a patient who worked in the same unit as me."

"Really?" Jungkook murmurs. "Unit 38? Why don't we know him?" he asks, tiredness laced into his tone. "Are you sure you heard him right, sweetie?"

"I'm sure," you say. "He did say he worked in the more secluded part of the hospital... And I thought we were in the most secluded area."

Jungkook laughs softly, moving to place his hand on top of yours. "Why don't you just ask him about the details?"

"I didn't want to push him into explaining something he's uncomfortable with," you say. "I'm sorry... I'm keeping you up with all of this, aren't I? You're tired. It's past curfew." You glance over at the digital clock you keep beside the bed. The red, glowing light flashes 2245 hours. It's pretty late.

"It's okay," Jungkook says. "You don't have to be sorry, Y/N," he laughs, but it comes out dry and forced. You can practically feel the worried look on his face. "You took the suppressant today, right?"

"Never gone a day without one," you reply. "You know they don't work on me as well as they work on others..."

"Sweetie, you should tell the Council. I don't want you to get in trouble for acting out of line," Jungkook sighs but it morphs into a wide yawn. "See?" he murmurs sleepily. "Mine works fine."

You stay silent, watching blankly as your assigned partner's eyes flutter shut. Soon, his breathing becomes even, his chest rising and falling steadily. He's asleep, just like that.

The suppressant does a number of things—or, at least, it's supposed to. The Council keeps the full effects of it private, and the only citizens who are aware of the details are the specialists who designed it. It's uniquely engineered to help the average citizen fall asleep an hour after curfew only to wake him up at 0700 hours every morning. Except on Sundays, it's 0800. Every citizen must take one suppressant—a small, white, tasteless pill—every day before he leaves his home unit at precisely 0845 to get to his career or school by 0900 hours.

Untimeliness is definitely not tolerated.

Which is a proven hassle for you. The suppressant doesn't affect you in the same way it does others. You're always waking up and sleeping later than others. Back when you were in school, you'd always be late for your classes. The Council generously took that into account before they assigned your career, though—but not before they scolded you for being tardy to the career ceremony.

Compared to other careers, nurses have a more lenient call time. It works out in your favor because if it weren't for Jungkook, you'd show up to work three hours late daily.

The clock flashes an angry 2300, but you're still not tired.

At least tomorrow is Sunday. Usually, it's the day off for every citizen in Tagna. Jungkook probably wants you to spend the day with him...

But it won't hurt to visit the hospital. Just for a few hours. To meet your new friend. Jungkook won't mind, right?

You smile to yourself. The thought makes you so excited, you aren't able to sleep until 0300.

It's routinely to visit Jimin before Yoongi.

Jimin is becoming increasingly nervous as the days of his departure to Everland are decreasing. He doesn't talk too often when you visit, but you know he finds your presence soothing.

But today, it's eerily silent.

"You okay?" you whisper.

He nods but offers you no words.

"You're worried, Jimin. Trust me, it'll calm your nerves to talk to me. What's got you anxious?"

He looks down at his foot, avoiding eye contact. You let him stall as he collects his thoughts. Then, in the smallest voice: "I... I don't like injections," he squeaks.

"Hey, hey, it doesn't hurt one bit," you say, wrapping a comforting arm around him. "I would know, Jimin. Trust me."

"I don't know," he sighs, fidgeting his hands. "The needle just—" he chokes over his words, shaking his head in shame. "The last time I got an injection, they took away my leg. I'm scared, Y/N. What if I get to Everland without my good leg too? What if they take away all of my limbs?"

Once in a while, you get a patient who's slightly nervous about the injection, but never have you dealt with something as serious as this. "Jimin... The transport isn't a surgery," you say softly. "It puts you to a peaceful sleep so you can be transported safely. It won't hurt one bit. And you definitely won't lose any limbs. You're in safe hands."

Jimin nods, but he looks fragile, back hunched and eyes shaking. It's hard for you to see him in this state. You wish you can do more for him—more than telling him tales of Everland and bringing him snacks and giving him intangible support.

You want to show him Everland.

But how can you? You don't even know where it is.

"You look like you ate dog shit."

You've been waiting for this moment the whole day—you missed the grouchy man and his candid words.

"Hello to you too," you say, wearily plopping down on Yoongi's bed as he shifts to make space.

"Where's your chipper smile today, Y/N?" Yoongi says. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he's worried about you. But he covers it up well with a: "Your frown is very hideous, by the way."

"Thank you."

"No, I mean, I meant to ask, what happened? You look completely miserable."

"It's confidential," you sigh. "You know, about my other patient..."

"What are the fucktards going to do about it when you tell me?" Yoongi snorts. At your appalled face he clarifies, "By fucktards, I mean the members of the Council."

"Yoongi!"

"It's not like they're going to find out," Yoongi shrugs. "Is this other patient giving you a hard time?"

"They could take away my job," you protest.

"Yeah, only if they find out."

"That's true..."

"So?" Yoongi says. "Are you going to elaborate?"

You pretend to think. "Okay, maybe..." You nod. "Yeah, okay. But I have nothing against Jimin, you know, the patient. He's an absolute sweetheart," you say. "Which is the whole problem. He has such big hopes for Everland. And I keep feeding him all of this paradisiacal information, but it's not enough! I want to help him, I want to tell him what Everland's really like, but how can I? How can I speak about something so highly when I've only lived through it vicariously? Oh god, I tell him things he wants to hear, but technically, I'm lying to his face." You pause for breath. "I'm a liar! But he listens to me! He trusts me! I can't bear the thought of him coming face to face with Everland and realizing it's nothing like what I told him it would be! He'd be broken!"

You can't lie, it feels good to let out everything that had stacked up over the past several days.

"Everland is wonderful. I don't want to doubt that. But what if it's not wonderful enough for Jimin? He's different from my other patients, you know? He needs so much more reassuring and love and care... Sometimes I don't think I can give him the best. Should I resign? I can't keep doing this to him. I'll practically die of guilt! Imagine that—in our day and time—a citizen passing away from something incurable! Bullshit!"

"It is bullshit," Yoongi agrees with you right away. "But I think it'll be fine, Y/N. You don't need to resign. And you definitely don't have to worry. You really don't have to." He stares at the floor with a frown etched deeply on his face. "It'll be fine."

"Really?"

The man nods slowly but surely. You can tell he's choosing his next words wisely, which is something he normally doesn't do. Yoongi is a man of rapid-fire and quick reactions. He's prone to blurt out whatever's on his mind. This is the first time you see him be so attuned to your emotions. Maybe he's trying to think of words that'll help you calm down.

"Everland will be unimaginably peaceful," he says, finally looking at you. His dark eyes show no flicker nor hint of playful teasing. He's serious. "Jimin will like it there."

Something about the way he says it makes you believe him.

Mondays are days when you always end up behind schedule. Your body likes to throw away its natural alarm clock out the window Sunday night, so you tend to accidentally sleep in the next day.

Jungkook usually tries to wake you up for work, but half of the time, you don't budge, so he leaves a kiss on your cheek and leaves for his job. The sequence is always vague in your memories.

Curse your immunity to the suppressant.

It's really no surprise when you show up to your job an hour late. You might've also made a little stop to the convenience store for some snacks. Of course, not for you, but for your patients.

Jimin's already waiting for you patiently on his bed. He thankfully doesn't ask any questions when you walk in a bit breathlessly, handing him a bag of his favorite chips.

You plop down on his bed, wiping away the beads of sweat that had accumulated on your forehead. "I'm so sorry, Jimin," you wheeze. "You must've been up for hours. I apologize for making you wait."

Jimin giggles, shaking his head. "What are you talking about, Y/N? I woke up a few minutes ago. Around 1005 hours? You're right on time!"

If he's lying to make you feel better, he's doing a good job at it.

"I don't get a daily suppressant anymore," Jimin confesses. "I'm awake when everyone's asleep and sometimes, I'm asleep when everyone is awake. Sometimes I can't sleep." He sighs, fingers wrapping around the chip bag. "That never used to happen when I took the suppressant."

He sounds lonely. As if the whole world was excluding him from vibrant, festive affairs.

You're supposed to be his solace, but you can't help but say, "Why don't they give you the suppressant?"

"I've asked," Jimin says. "But of course they don't answer. Just some grunts and mumbles that I can barely comprehend."

"That's not very nice of them," you say. "How about this? I promise I'll visit you more often if you're lonely. And to make you feel better, how about I talk about Everland again?"

Jimin nods hopefully, his eyes lighting. You want the best for him, but sometimes, there's not much you can offer him—except your words.

Yoongi is different. He doesn't want your buttered up, sugar-coated words. He doesn't live behind the curtain of fantasy. He lives in reality. Maybe even a bit more than you do.

"The suppressant tends to mess up the injection. Makes the process longer," Yoongi says casually. He rips open the bag of gummy bears. "Which is exactly why they're not given to patients. Why do you ask?"

"No, it's just..." How does he know that? "Jimin wants to take it again."

"Why would he?" Yoongi scoffs. "I always hated waking up early. Now I can sleep through the whole day and night."

"He's lonely."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. He was well-known before he was moved to the hospital. He misses the social life, I think."

Yoongi doesn't answer for a long time after that. When you finally look over at him, you find him staring into his hands with a conflicted look on his face.

"You okay?" you ask, reaching out and putting a hand on his by habit.

The contact makes Yoongi flinch, but he nods. "I'm always okay, Y/N. Why bothering asking?" He grins. His hand feels warm under yours and you make a move to hold it. But he jerks away. "Anyways, you should be going now, right? Time to get my beauty sleep, you know."

You're shocked, leaving his room feeling utterly rejected.

He'd never even told you goodbye.

If the Council finds out you're pulling a disobedient stunt like this, they might just shove you in the jailhouse for eternity. Then you'll be stripped from your career, home unit and assigned partner.

All your life, though, you've been known as the obedient one. If the Council told you to end your service as a nurse by jumping off a bridge, you'd do it.

But sometimes, you suppose you need to take drastic measures.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest and your palms feel irritatingly clammy in your jacket pocket where a ziplock bag stays stowed away from sight. Every step towards the hospital fills you with dread—it's another step you've survived without having a Council member catch you in the act.

Maybe this is a bad idea. What if they can check your vitals? That would give away the fact that you had neglected to take your suppressant this morning. The white pill sits snugly in the ziplock bag in your jacket pocket.

The plan is simple. You will walk into the hospital like nothing is wrong. You will walk straight into Jimin's room and hand him the suppressant. He will take the pill. It can't be that hard.

Both of you had developed this plan over the course of a week. It would've taken less time to execute it too if you hadn't chickened out three days in a row.

It mostly terrified you that once started, this little illicit project would last until Jimin's transport. It freaked you out even more that the whole thing was a secret between you and Jimin.

You can't credit this idea to yourself, but it wasn't exactly Jimin's either. Both of you had hinted at it, and in the end, it had been officially addressed. So, you can't blame anyone if it fails drastically.

The suppressant has been around for decades. No one in Tagna has lived without taking them for a very, very long time. The Council likes to hint that before the suppressant entered the human body system, humans were fickle, sexual and undeserving beings. You don't think you'll revert back to that, per se.

But you're wary of the possible side effects.

You always told yourself you'd never show favoritism among your patients. But here you are. Sacrificing your suppressant for Jimin. In your defense, he's something else. Someone that will forever be ingrained in your memories. He's the only person who deserves more than what Everland has to offer. Because Everland surely doesn't restore back missing limbs. And that's what Jimin deserves.

Come to think of it, there's a crazy synergy between you and your patients for some reason. Even Yoongi... He understands you in a way no one else has before. Talking to him feels natural, effortlessly easy and fun, too. Maybe it's because he had worked in your career unit—as the Council says, compatibility rates skyrockets amongst those in the same career unit. Or maybe, just maybe, he should've been your assigned partner. Maybe you're a mismatch with Jungkook.

And judging by the way you feel around your assigned partner, you think it might be true. Doesn't easy communication and having fun around someone mean you love them? Isn't that what love is? Isn't that what defines a deep attraction?

But then again, the last time you'd tried to hold Yoongi's hand—which hadn't been a romantic gesture at all—he had tugged away. Ever since that incident, you've been refraining yourself from lightly touching his shoulder or reassuringly holding his hand. Yet if Yoongi had felt awkward from that encounter, he didn't show it.

Now it's been five days since you've stopped taking your suppressant. Ever since the third day, you haven't felt guilty about it anymore. It almost feels natural not to take the pill at this point.

Jimin's been noticeably happier these days as a result. He has two days before his transport, but he's showing no symptoms of intense nervousness. The suppressant seems to be doing wonders for his condition.

That finally puts you at peace.

And regarding the little warning that Yoongi had given you? The one about how taking the suppressant would make Jimin's transport take longer? Jimin didn't mind.

He told you he'd rather be happy, that he didn't mind the wait. It was all it took for you to authorize the plan.

And now look where things are. It's going great.

This is peculiar.

You have no idea when it started, or how it started, or why it started, but you've been noticing the smallest details about Yoongi. The way he eats, the manner in which he talks, the slightly sarcastic tone to his voice when he argues with you... You may not have noticed them before, but you see them now. And it's endearing.

He's endearing.

Every time he smiles at you, your heart beats a little faster and you feel the heat rushing through your face. You can't quite say it's a good feeling per se, but you know it's special. When his hair falls over his eyes, you always have the urge to reach out and fix it for him. You can't even get him out of your head.

You've never experienced anything like this before. You can't exactly say you hate it, but you're not sure if you like it either.

"Hey, Yoongs?" you whisper. Yoongi glances up from reading his latest book you provided him. It's a cheesy romance story and Yoongi openly made a ten-minute rant on why he hates romance, but you just think he's in denial that a little romance is actually really addicting.

"Hm?" he hums.

You're silent, admiring his face before the words tumble out of your mouth. "Did you ever have an assigned partner?"

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. "Oh?" He smirks. "Why are you interested?"

You flush bright pink. "Why can't I just ask a question without having to deal with a deflected inquiry?"

"Because I like being difficult."

"Clearly."

"But to answer your rather invasive question, yes, I had an assigned partner," Yoongi says. "But it was a mismatch. Lovely."

You gape at him. "The Council mismatched your partner and career??"

"Technically, they mismatched my home unit too," Yoongi scoffs. "They failed me, you know. Don't trust those fucktards."

"Maybe you changed drastically during your transition to adulthood?" you reason. "The Council just doesn't make mistakes!"

Yoongi laughs out loud. "Oh, they make a lot of mistakes. Trust me."

Trust me. It's a lot coming from someone you've known for less than a month. You grew up with the Council supporting you, watching you grow, nurturing you and treating you like you were their own daughter. You can't just throw away your trust in the Council because someone you're fond of says so.

"Mistakes? What other errors could there possibly be?" you say doubtfully.

"They should've made their system foolproof," Yoongi laughs. "They should've put a chip in everyone's arm to check their vitals. Now there's no way of finding out who's not taking their suppressant."

You freeze.

Did he know??

"You mean there's barely a difference in action between those who take the suppressant and those who don't?" you ask.

"No, there are a few differences," Yoongi shrugs. "Only a suppressant developer would know, though. Say, Y/N," he smiles, shutting his book and showing you the cover. "Do you know what love is?"

"Love?" you say, raising your eyebrows. "What do you mean? Of course I know."

"You mean you trust the definition of love that the Council gave you."

"Yes? Why wouldn't I? Love. Noun or verb. A deep attraction. Or to feel a romantic connection with someone." The definition slips off your lips easily after years and years of repeating in your head and out loud.

"And," Yoongi drags on, "how do you know you feel a deep attraction to or a romantic connection with someone?"

"If you communicate naturally together? And uh, have fun together?" you say, but it sounds more like a question than a sure statement. You sigh, "Maybe I don't know what love is."

It feels horrible admitting it out loud.

"Maybe because I don't know what it is, I can't seem to love my assigned partner," you say. "That makes sense, right?"

Yoongi laughs. "Love isn't something anyone can control. That includes the Council." He laughs again, casually tossing his book across the room. You gasp when it lands in the trash can. "Every single fucking 'romance' book here is fake—ersatz, if you will."

"What the hell do you mean?" you say, frowning as you try to stand up to retrieve the book.

But Yoongi grabs your arm and you freeze once more. You turn your face the other way as your cheeks start to feel warm.

"Love is something you find for yourself," he says. "Arranged partnerships, forced partnerships, assigned partnerships—whatever the books say—it's not supposed to work. You're supposed to feel something when you're in love. You're supposed to feel bothered. And sometimes, you'll feel a little too warm for your liking. Your stomach will feel weird. Kinda like there are butterflies flying about inside it. You're supposed to care for the person you love, be their friend, their listener. Sometimes, you'll feel like you want to touch them—sexual attraction. You love them so much, you want to know every inch of them—physically and mentally..." Yoongi trails off. "Of course, the suppressant suppresses all of those feelings."

"Oh." It's the only thing you can manage to mutter. How can you say anything else when Yoongi just described almost everything you felt about him?

It explains so much too.

Why so suddenly you'd been feeling so heated around Yoongi. It's most likely you loved him before you stopped taking the suppressant. But it was only revealed after.

"Oh?" Yoongi says.

"I-I don't know," you say, flustered. "All my life... All my life I thought I was supposed to love my assigned partner. But I don't now... And I... I think I love someone else."

Yoongi smiles, cocking his head so that a bit of his bangs fall over his eyes. "Are you sure?"

You mirror his smile. "Yeah," you murmur, taking a deep breath before using all of your willpower to lean in and sweep Yoongi's bangs off to the side. "I'm sure."

"Good," Yoongi says. "So, do tell. Why have you stopped taking the suppressant?"

He's extremely close to you. So much so, when he speaks, you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheeks. You barely have the capacity to be surprised.

"I... um, I thought I was immune to it," you answer back in a hushed whisper. "So I didn't think it would change anything if I uh, stopped taking it," you lie. "But it was suppressing me and I didn't even know it."

"Still, you feel it now, right?" Yoongi says. "The butterflies in your stomach?"

Butterflies. What a weird way to describe the fluttering sensation rising up your middle to your chest. But you like it.

"Right now?" you say, raising an eyebrow.

Yoongi grins. "I don't know why, but we're attracted to each other, Y/N. Love has a strange way of connecting the people most far away."

"Wait, Yoongi—"

"Blushed cheeks, shy glances, playful touching... Y/N, I think I found out you love me before you did," Yoongi laughs, lying back on the bed triumphantly. "And then when I thought about it, I supposed you weren't too bad. That's when you started to plague my mind—in kind of a good way, too. It wasn't long until I realized I loved you back." Yoongi glances your way. "Am I going too fast? Do you need time to understand?"

"Um, yes!" you say. "Are you proposing that we love each other? But in an unconventional way? A way that the Council doesn't approve of?"

"The Council isn't the law, you know."

"You're right. They're higher than the law."

Yoongi snorts. "They tell you they are," he says. "I like to think that they're control freaks. It'll be fine. I get to escape to Everland or whatever the shit they call 'paradise' anyway."

"I don't even know what to say!"

"Yeah, me neither."

"What am I supposed to do? Believe you? Challenge the Council questions? Start taking the suppressant again?"

"Do whatever you want," Yoongi smiles. "That's how I ended up getting chosen to go to Everland."

"What do you mean?"

Yoongi suddenly leans in, making your breath hitch and the butterflies in your stomach spread their wings in rapid succession. A rippling motion undertakes your inner stomach. Instinctively, you reach out to the man in front of you, softly wrapping your hand around his wrist. He smiles, tugging you close—so close that your noses are almost touching.

"You'll find out if you want," Yoongi whispers. You can feel his warm breath on your lips. The sensation is new, foreign, but the intimacy pulls you in.

His lips finally meet yours in a quick, fleeting kiss so soft that if your whole face wasn't burning, you would've convinced yourself it hadn't happened. Yoongi leans away, looking confident in himself as he glances at you through the bangs that had fallen over his eyes again.

Your heart beats dangerously fast in your chest when your eyes meet his, goosebumps dotting your skin and your lips feeling unusually tingly.

"Do you believe me now?" Yoongi asks.

It's a hard question disguised with easy words. You find yourself struggling to answer, cheeks tinging pink as you look down at your feet.

Of course you want to believe Yoongi. But you can't throw away your belief in the Council and that was that.

Yoongi senses your hesitation and breaks the silence. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"How about this," he says. "Why don't you go back home to that mismatched assigned partner of yours and see for yourself?"

You hum. Maybe that is a good idea.

You suppose you'll have to see for yourself.

"Jungkook?" you whisper.

"Yes?" he answers in a similar, quiet tone. He grabs your hand from under the bed covers, drawing soft circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. "What do you want to ask this time?" There's a small, teasing lilt to his voice that almost makes you feel bad for planning on dropping such a difficult question on him. But you persist.

"Why do you love me?"

Jungkook momentarily pauses. "We're partners! Of course I love you!"

"No, no," you sigh, shaking your head. "But why. If we weren't assigned partners, would you still love me?"

There's a sudden shift in the covers as Jungkook turns to his side to face you. Judging by the frown etched on his face, he isn't a big fan of your question.

"The Council picked us to be partners, sweetie," he says. "I love you because we have easy communication and we have fun together."

"Is that all love is to you?"

"Do you want me to go ahead and define it, sweetie?" Jungkook asks. "I'm getting worried, Y/N. Why the sudden questions about love?"

"I-I'm sorry..." you say. "But just... don't you feel something? Love makes you feel something."

"Feel?" Jungkook shakes his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you constantly think of me throughout your day? Don't you feel the butterflies in your stomach? Don't you start blushing if I ever say something nice to you? Don't you want to touch me?"

Jungkook's frown deepens. "Why would I have butterflies in my stomach?" he says. "I don't think that would be healthy at all, sweetie. And I'm already touching you, see?" He holds up your intertwined hands.

He doesn't understand.

"Never mind..." you sigh, pulling your hand away from his. "I'll stop bothering you."

"No, explain, sweetie," Jungkook says. "You're not bothering me. I promise."

He will never understand. Not like Yoongi does, anyway. You stay silent, wishing that the suppressant will put Jungkook to sleep. It's better for people like him to stay ignorant.

But just as you thought the long silence indicated that Jungkook was asleep:

"Well, do you love me?" He sounds hopeful, but also so sure you're going to give him the answer he wants.

The question catches you off guard. You desperately want to say yes—to preserve a partnership and prevent Jungkook from pain and sorrow. But maybe it's better for you to tell him the truth. You can't continue what you have with Yoongi when you have an assigned partner. It pains you to say but—

"I don't love you."

"W-What?"

"We're a mismatch, Jungkook. Let's go to the Council tomorrow and file a split."

This is possibly the worst day to proceed with the procedure.

Things have been hectic with the Council pulling you out of your home unit to separate you and Jungkook. Things have been awkward. Jungkook probably doesn't want to speak to you ever again. He's convinced that you broke his heart.

You're convinced that he never truly loved you to begin with.

Yoongi helps you explore a new kind of relationship. The one that sets fire to your insides and seals it with searing kisses. The one that's pretty distracting for your other daily activities.

Jimin sits patiently on the hospital bed with a blanket draped over his missing leg. "I'm excited, Y/N," he says. "Just think! In a few hours, I'll be there! In Everland..."

You nod, silently pulling on your latex gloves.

"I'm so happy, Y/N," Jimin says. "I've never been this happy in my whole life."

"You'll be happier in Everland," you reply, smiling. "You deserve it, Jimin."

"It's all thanks to you," he says. He suddenly sits up, looking at you solemnly. "But I'll miss you, you know that?"

"Oh, Jimin... I'll miss you too."

"Thank you," he says. "Really. For everything."

He's talking about the little suppressant plan. "No, thank you," you say. Jimin was the catalyst to you finally coming to your feelings, after all. "I wish you a safe transport."

When your assistant rolls in the familiar cart with your needed supplies, you can hear Jimin take a deep breath. He must've seen the syringe.

"It won't hurt," you promise, walking over to the cart and holding the syringe carefully. The needle glints in the air.

Jimin gulps. "F-For us and for Everland, right?"

"Right. Now, lie down, please," you say in your most soothing voice. "This is going to put you to sleep. Your mind will start to travel between dimensions to eventually reach Everland. If you want, you can close your eyes too."

You lean in to whisper in his ear, "The process might take longer... as you may know, but the delay won't be hours long, I hope."

Jimin nods. His eyes flutter close and you can tell he's trying to relax his body.

"That's it," you say. "Relax..."

You let Jimin take a few deep breaths. Then you hold out his arm. "Clench your fist for me, please."

Jimin does as you say. Once you can spot a vein on the upper forearm, you tell Jimin the needle will go in. He nods and does not respond, squeezing his eyes shut. Thankfully, his body stays relaxed as you begin to slowly push down on the plunger. You're almost done when Jimin starts to whimper.

He must be scared.

"Just a few more seconds, Jimin," you say. "You'll be fine..."

But his whimpering doesn't cease even after the needle is out of him. You wipe away excess blood with an alcohol swab quickly, pressing a clean cotton ball on his skin and using medical tape to secure it.

Jimin's still squeezing his eyes shut and you notice sweat accumulating on his forehead.

"Jimin?" you say. "It's over, Jimin. Are you okay?"

"I-It h-hurts," he whimpers. "P-Please, make it stop."

"Hurts?" you say. It's not supposed to hurt. No one ever said it hurt after. You don't want to panic; not when your patient is close to a panic attack.

"Please, Y/N," Jimin groans. His body starts to shake and his eyes open in the process. "I-It's hard to b-breathe—"

Your darkest nightmare unfolds before your eyes.

"He's hyperventilating!" you yell, no doubt frightening your assistants. "Jimin, do you hear me? Purse your lips, take a deep breath through your nose and let it out slowly through your lips, okay?? Do you hear me? Jimin??"

Jimin's leg jerks, nearly kicking you. His whole body begins to twitch; you watch in horror as foam starts to gather in his mouth. "Fuck, he's having a seizure! Get me a cushion!"

"Jimin, hang on!"

You turn his head to the side, guarding the edges of the hospital bed so he doesn't fall off. When your assistant hands you a cushion, you carefully place it under his head. "Oh, Jimin..."

All sorts of bad thoughts fly past you. What if he can't get to Everland because he took the suppressant? What if he will never find happiness again? What will happen when the Council finds out? Will they declare my career as a mismatch too?

Right now, all you can do is wait the seizure out. If he's unconscious afterward, it'll be one of two things: he's somehow transporting himself to Everland or he's in need of urgent care.

It's all your fault, it seems. If you hadn't agreed to such a fickle plan, you would never be in this state of agony. A minute flies by and Jimin falls asleep, limp and sweaty. His face is red and there's a puddle of spit with a mixture of vomit by his lips. You have to look away.

I'm so sorry, Jimin.

A new batch of assistants burst through the door and they start to roll the hospital bed away.

"Wait, where is he going?"

They don't answer you. Apparently, they're not your assistants.

"Is he going to Everland??" you try again.

They're silent.

"Is Jimin okay?"

One of them turns around to look at you. Her eyes are cold but she forges a small smile on her thin lips. "He is okay. The transport was successful. The Council has permitted you to go home early."

There is a relief that floods through you. But it feels cold.

You didn't even get to say your proper goodbyes to Jimin. And now he's off to Everland, but only after leaving Tagna feeling intense pain and undergoing great suffering. The last memory you have of him is him unconscious, legless and distressed.

I don't want to go home.

There is no one waiting for you there, now. So you walk solemnly down the unsettlingly white hospital hallway and knock on the door of a familiar room.

"Come in," says an all too familiar voice.

You already feel comforted.

You tell Yoongi everything that happened in Jimin's procedure. His hyperventilating, his seizure and then his successful transport. Yoongi listens quietly to your story but you can tell his mind is someplace else.

When you finish talking, he continues to stare at you, offering no comments or reactions to Jimin's hectic transport. He looks a lot like he's thinking with his brows slightly furrowed and his lips parted.

"Yoongi?"

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Do you want me to be brutally honest?" he asks. You nod, though you're a bit wary of his candid thoughts. "Don't get mad," he warns you. "But I pity you."

You frown. "Pity me?"

"Yes. You, your job, your... life."

"Just because I had a mismatched assigned partner doesn't signal the end of the world," you say. "You don't have to pity me, Yoongi."

"Jimin's gone, Y/N," he replies without skipping a beat. "I do pity you. Jungkook's gone because you never loved him. And I'll be gone too. What are you going to do?"

"This is my job," you say. "I guess we can't all have perfect assigned partners and careers and home units and everything. Besides, Jimin's in a great place now. And you will be too. I'm just helping you get there."

Yoongi's silent. He stares at his hands then he stares back up at you. Then, he sighs.

"Do you want to know why I'm here?"

You frown. "What do you mean?"

"You've been wondering, right? Why I'm not physically nor mentally disabled. Why I'm not an elderly man, either. I'm a strange case, aren't I? You weren't supposed to get another patient for a while longer, but you ended up having to take care of me and Jimin. Don't you want to know why?"

"I mean, of course I do. It's just very sudden that you're—"

"I'm a criminal."

Your heart drops in your chest.

"You're a what?"

"A criminal."

"W-What...? Why aren't you in a jailhouse? A-Are you sure you're a criminal? Why would they allow you to go to Everland?"

Yoongi nods, laughing bitterly. "It's all a part of the Council's masterplan."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"The Council likes order. They like normal. They can't accept people who are different. They can't possibly house the citizens who would disobey their orders," Yoongi says. "So they ship the different ones off to Everland."

"Because Everland accepts and loves everyone for who they are!"

"No, so they won't be a disgrace to Tagna," Yoongi snorts. "My brother had Aspergers," he continues. "But they didn't find out until way later. He liked the routinely ways of the Council and tried to conform. But he was still different. Social interactions were hard for him—so hard that the Council found out that he's different. The next thing you know, he's shipped off to the hospital so they could 'treat' him and I never saw him again."

"They took him to Everland," you say.

"I know they did. I didn't find out until later," Yoongi says. "Because I invented the drug."

"What??"

"The syringe you use for every patient, right? I invented the serum inside it."

"H-How?"

"What do you mean, how?" Yoongi says. "It made it easier for the Council. Less chaos."

It makes sense. When you were training to be a nurse, everything had been a pilot-run because the transport system had been revamped.

"I didn't think they would use the drug that way..." Yoongi says. "I thought they'd use it on the criminals in the jailhouse..."

"Why would they give that to the criminals in the jailhouse??"

"You and I, Y/N..." Yoongi trails off. He looks into your eyes, almost as if he was pleading you to believe him. "We're murderers."

You stand up from his bed. "What did you say?"

When Yoongi stands up and takes a step towards you, you step backward, nearly stumbling over doing so. "Listen to me very carefully, Y/N," he pleads. "That drug... it stops your vitals."

"No! It puts you to sleep! Then your mind starts to travel across dimensions!"

"Don't you understand?" Yoongi says. He grabs your arm. "Everland is death."

You fall to the floor.

"They burn the bodies in the basement of the hospital," he continues. "You thought Tagna was such an advanced society there was no such thing as death?" He laughs scornfully. "Y/N, the Council believes Tagna is so advanced, it's permitted to kill their own citizens to preserve equality and likeness. And when the neighboring societies attack, they'll release the gas-version of the drug and kill everyone—even the citizens of Tagna if they have to."

"That can't be true..." you whisper. "Yoongi, I can't do this." You bury your face in your hands. "Neighboring societies? A cemetery under the hospital? I've been living under a rock."

"The only society we know the name of is Atna. They're curating a selection of their best and most intelligent citizens to destroy us," Yoongi says. "That's all I know. I helped design the gas serum that would make them drop dead like flies. Until I threatened to quit and release the gas in the Council's chambers."

"You quit because you knew they killed your brother."

"Exactly that," Yoongi says. "See, it isn't so hard to understand. And now I'm here, a threat to society, apparently. After everything I've done for them, too. Even fixed up the suppressant by request..." He pauses, watching you tremble on the floor. He kneels down next to you, patting your back. "Hey... do you believe me?"

"I killed him..." you breathe shakily. "I killed Jimin... And I made it worse by letting him take the suppressant... A-And it reacted badly with the serum... I killed seventy-eight people... Oh, fuck! And I have to kill you!" A broken sob leaves your lips as your huddle into a ball. "You're right, Yoongi. I'm a murderer..."

"You were forced to do it. And you didn't know," Yoongi soothes. "The Council are a bunch of vile fucktards, Y/N. They're the real murderers. Not us."

"What am I going to do?" you sob. "I can't continue on, Yoongi. I want to resign."

"If you resign, they'll kill you too."

"Maybe death... maybe Everland will be better than this," you whisper. "What's the point anymore, Yoongi? When I'm old, they're gonna kill me too."

"Let them. There's no use fighting it. Either way, you'll end up dead. Like me."

"I can help the other citizens of Tagna," you say, wiping away your tears and gritting your teeth. "I can free them from the Council's restraints. Maybe we can leave Tagna altogether and see if there are other societies to live in. You can tell me where they keep the gas! That could be really helpful."

"No, Y/N," Yoongi firmly says. "Let the others live in bliss."

"What?? Why?"

"I don't want to be a hero. Think about how complicated things will be if you were to go against the Council," Yoongi says. "It's not worth it because you'll lose."

"So you're going to let me kill you?"

"Everland is better than Tagna, don't you agree?"

There he goes again, answering your question with another one of his.

"You've accepted your fate."

"I have. You should accept yours too."

"I have no fate," you scoff. "I'm someone the Council chose to become a licensed murderer."

"Your service helps those poor people escape their suffering."

"Yeah, without their permission."

"You shouldn't have declared your assigned partner as a mismatch to the Council," Yoongi sighs. He rubs his forehead in a conflicted way and gives you a sideways look. "I'm leaving in five days, you know. I don't want you to be alone. Mismatched or not, he was your friend."

"Five days..." You run your fingers through your hair. "That's such little time."

"We'll spend it together."

"How?" you challenge. "How would I? I'm not supposed to feel love, Yoongi. They'll notice something suspicious if I'm always here with you."

"They'll think you're being a good nurse," he answers. "Come on, Y/N," he says, taking your hands in his. "As your patient, I demand you stay over with me tonight. The other days... you can do whatever you want. I just... I want your company today."

After everything you learned now, you need Yoongi's presence too.

So you nod, crawling into bed with him. He tells you light-hearted stories of fictional societies that might exist in the barren world until you fall asleep.

You confess.

This morning, when you woke up, you swiftly got out of the hospital bed, swept away Yoongi's bangs from his face and gave him a silent goodbye (you didn't want to wake him) before walking out of the hospital. You go straight to the Council. And you admit you haven't been taking the suppressant. You admit that Jungkook isn't a mismatch as you had thought he was—you were without your suppressant and you weren't thinking straight. You tell them that you deserve whatever consequence they will bestow upon you. That you're sorry (though you aren't). And you regret messing up Jimin's procedure (which is the truth).

They are generous to you. Only because they love you like their daughter. Only because you have such a highly held job.

The Council doubles your suppressant intake and declares your curfew will be stricter. But they will move you back to your original home unit and reassign you to Jungkook. They lie to you. They say he loves you very much. You lie right back to them. You say you love him too.

Then, you bargain with them. You ask if your current patient may have an extension date until their transport, explaining that it's hard for you to convince him that Everland is a paradise. You tell them that he repeatedly tells you that he is afraid of Everland. It's a lie. But the Council will make something of it because they don't know you know the truth. In the end, you manage to convince them to authorize a three-day extension.

Now you have a week left with Yoongi. Less time than you'd like, especially with your stricter curfew. But it's more than what you had before.

Your next step is to apologize to Jungkook, hoping he doesn't take your declaration that you were a mismatch too personally. He is nothing but a victim to you, at this point, you realize. You would never know if he truly loves you or not—only ditching the suppressant altogether would tell. And it's not his fault that you don't love him back.

But the Council must've told Jungkook that you weren't in your right mind when you filed a split with him because he welcomes you back with open arms.

"I missed you," he whispers, tugging you into a tight hug.

"Me too," you say, hugging him tighter. It isn't a lie either. "I'm sorry," you say. "I'm really, really sorry, Jungkook." That's the truth.

"The Council told me what happened. I'm sorry about Jimin's transport, sweetie," he says. "Please don't make me worry again, though." He pulls you back and looks at your face, studying your features with what reflects on his eyes as admiration and care. "Please take your suppressants."

"I will," you tell him.

"They're making me monitor you," Jungkook says. "But just promise me, that you'll take the suppressant."

"I promise."

It's a lie.

Every day, you leave your home unit for work just like any other day in your life. But every day, you pretend to take your two suppressants in front of Jungkook, but when he isn't looking, you crush them, dissolve what's left of them in water and flush the solution down the toilet. And then you spend the rest of the day—up until your curfew—with Yoongi.

The two of you try to pretend everything is normal. When, of course, everything is not. But it helps to imagine everything is all right.

"What if Everland exists?" you whisper, poking at Yoongi's chest as he reads his mystery novel. "And when you die, you actually go to Everland?"

"I'll find out in a couple days for you," Yoongi says, setting down his book and quirking a teasing eyebrow at you.

So much for ignoring his impending death.

"I'm more worried about you after I leave," he says. "Don't you ever wish I never told you about what Everland really was?"

You hum thoughtfully. "I don't know. Haven't thought about it much... I guess I'm a bit peeved you forced all this information on me," you tease. "But I think I like knowing the truth, overall."

"Well, that's a relief," Yoongi grins. "Don't wanna piss off the person who's dealing with my transport."

You shouldn't have, but you laugh. "We're really getting into the dark humor, aren't we?"

"We are," Yoongi agrees. "And we'll continue while it lasts."

"How long do you think it'll be until I meet you in Everland—if it exists?"

"Maybe like what, fifteen? Twenty years later? You're still young, Y/N," Yoongi tells you, poking at your cheeks. "You still have baby fat, love."

"I-I do not!" You flush a brilliant shade of red. Something about Yoongi calling you love... You wish you could cherish this feeling forever. Lock it up somewhere and go back to relive it over and over again.

"It's okay. I like the way you look," he says proudly. "Even if you were ugly—which you aren't—I would still love you. Because—" he pauses dramatically—"love makes you see past physicalities."

"Clearly," you joke, gesturing at Yoongi's face and subsequently earning a playful shove from him.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing, though?" Yoongi suddenly asks. "What if we just... run away?" He hums, grabbing your hand and tugging you to his chest, earning a little yelp from you.

"Run away?" you say in a hushed whisper. "That's preposterous!"

Yoongi laughs. "I know, I'm just joking. Imagine if we ran away only to find a post-apocalyptic world outside of Tagna. What if one of us dies? Then what about the other? Or what if we meet the crazy Atnatians? I was totally joking. To run away would be akin to a death wish. Only more drawn out and torturous."

"Yeah, I figured," you huff, turning your body towards Yoongi to frown at him disapprovingly.

He just snorts. "You didn't sound like you had it figured."

"You are very, very difficult."

"I know," he says. "But sometimes, you are too."

"Hey! You—"

You're cut off when Yoongi pulls you in by the waist for a kiss. It's one of those searing ones, where your whole body tingles at the feeling of his warm lips moving against yours. Your hands helplessly splay against his chest as his free hand caresses your cheek. When he carefully flips you over, your legs sandwiched between his thighs, he pulls away from your lips, a bit breathless and winded. And the moment his softened eyes meet yours, you realize this is more than what it seems—the road to passionate lovemaking. In reality, it is a desperate goodbye.

Before tears can well in your eyes, you tug Yoongi in by gripping the collar of his shirt, crashing your lips on his. You want to forget, but everything becomes a reminder that he will leave you in two days. The way he grips at your thighs, the way he spares extra time to memorize every inch, explore every crevice of your body—it's all painful to digest that this might be the last time... Everything he does to you might be the last. You hate it.

But you have to live in the moment.

There's something about Yoongi's movements tonight that reveals his true feelings. You can feel how much he loves you tonight—not from the butterflies in your stomach, but from Yoongi, himself. It's like he's cherishing the moment, so it can last well in your memories.

The Council likes to preach that equality is what drives society to succeed. Everyone must be equal, dress equally, live equally, even die equally (though that's disguised as a simple transport to Everland)—all to ensure that everyone is satisfied with the justness of the system. You disagree. It is unfair.

You feel wronged. Stripped away from the greatness of the life you could've had. But there is a small part of you that is grateful. If things hadn't turned out the way they had, maybe you would've never felt love. Maybe you would've been stuck in your career unit, working as a slave to the Council as they brain-washed you without knowing the truth. You wouldn't have met Yoongi.

In comparison to the truths you've unveiled and the pure bliss you've felt with Yoongi, it's a small price to pay. In the end, you'll have to transport Yoongi to Everland. And then you will go back on with living your life as a citizen of Tagna. Jungkook will do everything in his power to make you fall in love with him. Maybe you will; maybe you won't. The far future is hazy and thinking of it hurts your head.

You'll figure something out, though. You always do.

Finally, you've accepted your fate.

The procedure room is unbearably cold.

Your hands shake as you pull on your latex gloves, and you have to take deep breaths to steady yourself, to convince your assistants that this is like any other normal transport. Except it's not.

"Why are you more nervous than I am?" Yoongi laughs, sitting up on his elbows on the all too familiar hospital bed.

You turn around and shoot him an ungrateful look. "Stop it," you hiss. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Yes, nurse," he says sarcastically, saluting to you.

You bite your lip so you won't break out in a grin in front of the assistants. Shaking slightly, you turn to the medical cart where the syringe lies, the needle gleaming at you dangerously. You've touched seventy-eight shots, but you can't seem to grab this one, no matter how hard you try.

Finally, you let out a big sigh. "Can all of you leave, please?" you say. "Sorry, not feeling well today."

Thankfully, your assistants are obedient. There's shuffling as they move out of the room, and soon, it's only you and Yoongi left.

"Alone at last," he says, smiling.

"Not so happy you invented that horrible serum, now are you?" you say, frowning.

Yoongi shrugs. "Depends on the wielder of the serum. In this case, I'm satisfied."

With a huff, you snatch up the syringe and hold it out in front of you. "So this is it, then?"

"I suppose it is, love."

Your heart sinks. "I don't know if I can do this, Yoongi."

"Sure you can," he urges you. He grabs your wrist, pulling you close under the upper half of your thighs hits the edge of the medical bed. "Find the vein, insert the needle and you'll be done."

"It's not as easy as it sounds," you say. You stare at the man, a frown etched on your forehead. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Yoongi replies. "Come here," he says, pulling you in to plant a sweet kiss on your lips. Something tells you it will be the last one.

"Okay. Okay," you whisper to yourself. "Lemme just find the vein and—" you nearly choke on the heavy feeling at the back of your throat. "I-I just have to insert the needle... press the plunger... Fuck," you curse.

"You can do it. I'll be here, watching you," Yoongi says, giving you a shit-eating grin.

"Thanks. That helps."

"Aren't you going to ask me for my last words, love?"

"No," you say, taking a deep breath and inserting the needle into Yoongi's upper forearm. He doesn't even flinch.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Because," you say in your trembling voice as you begin to press on the plunger, slowly and carefully. "Because," you repeat, "I don't want you to say the lasting line. It's bullshit."

"I had another line in mind."

"Really?" you say. When the plunger doesn't move further, you close your eyes in shock, even disbelief. You fumble to stop the blood from seeping out, quickly cleaning the mess with an alcohol swab and taping a cotton ball to the small wound. There is care laced in your actions, and your fingers linger on his arm.

"Yeah," Yoongi answers, his voice softening. His eyes begin to droop as the serum begins to work on his body. "I love you, Y/N."

"Oh, Yoongs..." you let out a choked sob, grabbing his hand. "Please don't—"

"I'm not done yet," he manages to breathe. He tries to look into your eyes, attempting to grin at you, but his lips don't move at his will. "F-For you and for me..." he trails off. "Because..." he takes a short pause to swallow, "E-Everland is bullshit a-and 'us' should only c-consist of... of y-you and... me."

"Yoongi..." you whisper, squeezing his hand. "I love you too. For you and for me... Yoongi?"

And when there is no sarcastic response, you know he is gone.

Except he's not traveling through dimensions to get to Everland. He's dead. And you don't know what happens when you die.

You can't bear to look at him. So you let go of his hand, turning your back to his body. On cue, your assistants flood into the room. You duck your head to wipe your tears and let them roll his unconscious body out of the room. When you get a short glimpse of his face, you find that there's a faint smile on his lips. You exhale a breath you didn't know you were holding.

As long as he was happy...

And with the way he was cracking jokes just seconds before his death proved a lot. If Yoongi is—was—okay with it, then so are you.

You bid him a final goodbye in your head.

Something switches inside you. A boiling, bubbling feeling. You can’t quite describe it, but it’s intense, making your body tingle from head to toe.

With vehement steps, you walk out of the hospital and straight into the Council. Standing before the Council members, you smile at them angelically.

"Good afternoon, Y/N," they chorus.

"Good afternoon, Council," you say.

"What are you here for today?" one of them inquires.

You look at him, "With all due respect, sir, I just want to have a little wish granted."

"A wish?" another member says incredulously.

"Yoongi. Formerly held a career in unit 38. Deceased. Don't burn his body in the basement under the hospital. Bury him, please. Properly. Give him a coffin and a tombstone and everything. He's done a lot to advance Tagna hasn't he? It's the least you can do."

And before any of the Council members can react, you march away, down the streets and into your home unit.

Confronting the Council and demanding justice from them felt refreshing. Your suggestion might actually be taken, or you might be taken to the jailhouse. You're not sure which. But whatever it is, it won't matter. All you can do now is wait until your time of death comes.

"Y/N? Sweetie?"

Jungkook.

"How was the transport?" your assigned partner says, rushing to greet you with a hopeful smile on his face. "The Council told me they gave him an extension for his transport date because he was so nervous. Did it go well?"

You smile. "Yeah... It was... good. Peaceful. Eye-opening, too."

"That's great!" Jungkook exclaims. "Did he say the lasting line?"

I love you, Y/N. For you and for me. Because Everland is bullshit and 'us' should only consist of you and me.

The saddest... but most content part of your life in just three sentences. Tears begin to well up in your eyes, but a small smile stretches across your lips from the memory. "No, he didn't say it."

"O-Oh," Jungkook says. He awkwardly stares at you in blatant confusion, wondering why you are crying profusely while smiling. He wonders if starting to take the suppressant again messed with your sanity. Jungkook's brows furrow as he begins to worry again. "Y/N..."

"No," you say, shaking your head adamantly. "He said something better than that."

Something true. Not some bullshit line like for us and for Everland.

It feels good to admit to something so genuine. Your grin grows wider.

Yoongi would be proud of you for not being so... so, ersatz. And he's up there somewhere—maybe in your head—nagging at you, teasing you. You'll count down the days until you'll be able to follow him there.

But for now, it's for you and for me, Yoongi.

—masterpost

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #btswritingcafe #yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #for everland #THIS ONE GOES OUT TO THE ANGST LOVERS #and the ones who love bickering couples lmfao

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