#eb got that messy hair

[kingkatsuki]

Lactation | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟, 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Kinktober masterlist.

Based on this silly post I made a while back!

Summary: Time alone with Bakugou has been few and far between since the birth of your son, the after affects of pregnancy have you feeling sore and lethargic- But your doting husband is more than willing to help you out.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of pregnancy, lactation, praise praise praise, breeding, creampie.

Word Count: 2.3k.

“Why does he get to do it?” Bakugou’s chest was pressed firmly against your back as he hovered over you to watch his son feeding before bed.

“Do what?” You hummed softly, leaning into the warmth of your husband as your son latched on.

“Suck on these,” Bakugou palmed your other breast as you whined softly, a subtle ache ebbing through you from how heavy your chest felt full of milk.

“Katsuki,” You shook your head, smiling softly at your husbands childishness, “He’s a baby.”

“And?” He scoffed, holding your hips gently as he caged you between your son and the crib, “I’m just fu- freakin’ saying’ I was here first.”

Bakugou stopped himself from swearing after the side glance you gave him, knowing your husband better than he probably knew himself. A subtle pout etched onto his ageing features, tired eyes staring down at you as he kneaded your sore breast for emphasis. You did feel guilty that you’d been neglecting your husband since childbirth, even though you knew you shouldn’t. Bakugou was the perfect husband and father, reassuring you that you were still the most perfect, beautiful woman in the room even now. But insecurities would often plague your mind, and finding very little time for yourself since your son had arrived into the world meant that these thoughts would continue to fester at the back of your mind.

“Can’t even remember the last time I had these to myself.” Bakugou continued. 

“There’s no way you’re jealous of your son,” You laughed, leaning into his touch as he began to gently sway you from side to side.

“Ain’t my fault he’s got the perfect life,” Bakugou smirked as he pecked your cheek, “What I wouldn’t give to fall asleep sucking on these.”

He gave your other breast a playful squeeze as he raised it towards him before letting it bounce back into place. The wireless maternity bra you were wearing did little to stop the motion as you let out a soft gasp, milk leaking from your nipple and soaking the fabric. You were certain this was the least desirable you’d ever looked to your husband, with baby spittle and milk staining your shirt, messy hair and tired eyes. But Bakugou was gazing at you as though you were holding his world with your bare hands, keeping the moon and stars in the sky as he pressed another soft kiss to your cheek.

“They’re actually really fucking sore,” You whined as you lay your son back in his crib, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before standing back up. You didn’t even bother doing your bra back up as your breast continued to leak milk, sighing gently as your husband began pressing soft kisses along the column of your neck.

“Is he suckin’ too hard?” Bakugou nosed your cheek as he watched his son feeding.

“No, they’re just full.” You mumbled, “I feel like I’ve pumped for hours today and it didn’t make a difference because I’m still leaking.”

“Fuck,”

“Katsuki,” You chastised him for his language as he pulled back to give you an incredulous look.

“What? He can’t understand me yet.” Bakugou’s lips curled into a smug gin.

“If his first word is a cuss word I’m never speaking to you again.” You taunted as you turned to face him.

“You could never,” Bakugou teased, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Do you really want to take that chance?” Bakugou pecked another kiss on your lips before nuzzling your cheek, keeping his hand on your hip as he leaned over the crib to press a kiss to his son's forehead.

“Your first word is going to be ‘daddy’ ain’t that right?” He smiled sweetly, pressing a final kiss to the top of his head before standing upright.

“Or mummy,” You smiled softly at your baby boy, breaking off into a soft yawn as you covered your mouth.

“You tired?” Bakugou hummed as you nodded in affirmation.

“He’s been so fussy today, I didn’t get much time to myself.” You mumbled.

“Let me look after you, princess.” He took your hand in his as he led you towards your shared bedroom, the baby monitor in his other hand as he placed it down on your bedside table.

Turning his attention to you as he curled a hand around the curve of your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, “Bout time someone looked after you isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“Katsuki,” You gasped as he pulled you down to lay on the soft sheets, the top you were wearing riding up your thighs as you suddenly felt self-conscious about the stains against the fabric from feeding your son and the fact you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d shaved your legs.

It’s silly how shy you feel around your husband over your basic outfit, pulling your pyjama shirt off to leave you in a basic pair of cotton panties and a mismatched nursing bra. Motherhood made it difficult to cater your wardrobe to style over substance, the ache in your lower back had you choosing the most comfortable clothing you owned, but Bakugou thought you’d never looked sexier. The ethereal glow you’d taken on since pregnancy stuck around even now, your body truly a gift from the gods as he felt his cock throbbing with urgency between his thighs. But this moment wasn’t about him, it was all about you. Ignoring the throb as his cock leaked fresh pre against the fabric of his underwear as he leaned forward. Helping to undo the clasp of your basic grey bra as he watched the fabric spill down your shoulders, allowing your breasts to drop naturally as he moaned at the sight of them. How heavy they looked, your nipples darkened and swollen as you gazed up at him shyly.

“Katsuki, don’t stare.” You mumbled, but how could he not? When you were the one that carried his son to term, you were the reason his son was happy and healthy now.

“You’re so pretty,” He cooed softly as he began to press chaste kisses against your collarbone, following a path towards your sternum before nuzzling the valley of your breasts. Warm palms soothed along your abdomen, feeling your tummy where your baby had been for so long, “Tell me if I’m too rough.”

“Please, Kats.” You mumbled, pouty lips and furrowed brows as he leaned in closer.

“It’s been too long since I’ve had these to myself,” He murmured, nuzzling his face between them before moving to suckle on your nipples.

His lips slurp your breast as warm milk begins to flow, the sweet taste of it hitting his tongue as he moans against the soft skin. A large palm reaches up to take the fat of your breast in his hand, kneading gently to tempt more milk from your chest. There’s a part of him that feels wrong, as though he’s stealing milk from his son, but at the same time Bakugou loves every inch of you and he wants to take away the pain you feel when your breasts are heavy and lactating. So he continues swallowing the sweet milk that leaks from your chest as he switches breasts, his tongue swiping along the mess that’s leaked from your nipple against your skin. Groaning against you as he gently wraps his lips around your nipple, cheeks hollowing as his throat bobs. Your hands thread through his messy hair as your nails graze his scalp, brushing through the grown-out hairs of his undercut as you hold him in place while he worships your body.

“So good, Kats.” You murmur, your head writhing against the pillow as he gets another taste of you, the milk sliding down his throat as he groans against your skin.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” He rasps, pulling back to gaze up at you through half-lidded eyes.

Squeezing your breast to watch the milk begin to trickle out of your taut nipple before he leans forward to lap it up. You can feel the heat beginning to rise between your thighs, the sudden realisation sweeping over you that you can’t remember the last time you’ve had the time or energy to be intimate with your husband.

His hardness presses against your crotch as he shows how desperately he wants you, urgency brewing inside him as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your panties. Dragging his fingers through your slick to feel how wet you are for him as he sucks in a breath. Two of his fingers slip into your wet, tight heat and suddenly he’s reminded of how gorgeous you feel wrapped around his cock. His fingers curl inside you as he continues to lap at your breasts, his tongue circling your swollen nipple as he tastes more of your milk in his throat. A slight lilt to your voice as you beg him for more, a keen sense of urgency to your tone as you try to tug at his sweats. Desperate to feel him deep inside you, to satiate the ache swirling between your thighs.

Bakugou pulls his fingers from your sex as you whine at the loss of contact. Moving to pull his sweats down just enough to free his aching cock before he wraps the same fingers coated in your slick around his girth. Giving himself a teasing pump as his leaking tip nudges your clothed sex.

There’s an innate sense of urgency as he curls his fingers into the hem of your cotton panties to tug them down your thighs, leaving them hanging around one of your ankles as he lines himself up with your sex.

“Please, Katsuki.” You slur, “I want you so bad.”

He presses the bulging tip of his cock against your tight hole as he presses his weight forward, feeling you slowly begin to swallow the length of him. Eagerly sucking him in as he cants his hips forward, so wet and pliant that he manages to bottom out with minimal resistance as he stills inside you for a moment to cherish the sensation of your walls squeezing his cock once again.

“Fuck,” He chokes out as your breasts continue leaking milk, the sight alone has his cock throbbing inside you as he sets a languid pace. Vermillion eyes meet your own as he rests his forehead on top of yours for a moment, surrounding himself with you, “Always feel so goddamn perfect, like you were made for me.”

Bakugou licks his lips as he watches your breasts continue to leak for him, the creamy milk a contrast against your skin as he hovers over you, slurping up the spilt milk as it’s still warm on his tongue. He knows he won’t last long, not with all the pent-up frustration and the saccharine taste of your milk on his tongue.

“You make me wanna fuck another baby into you, have these permanently filled with milk,” He groans around your nipple, breath coming out in heavy pants as he feels you wrap your thighs around his hips, angling his cock to have him delving deeper inside your wet, slick heat.

“Katsuki,” You gasped, the familiar sensation already swirling in your pelvis.

“Stuff you so full of my cum you’ll always be round and plump with my child.” He continued, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the swell of your breast, “You’re so pretty like this, sweetheart. So perfect.”

“Kats, I’m gonna—” You mumbled, feeling the coil inside you dangerously close to snapping as he alternated breasts, easing the tension in your chest as he released more of your milk from inside you. The pain dissipated as it was replaced with white, hot pleasure as you began to clamp down around him.

“You’re so pretty, so perfect, taste so good—” Bakugou continued to slur his words as his nose nudged your breast,

Feeling yourself slowly falling into your bliss as

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He sucks your nipple hard, causing you to throb around him as you feel yourself tumble into your bliss. Your walls flutter around his cock as he continues his messy pace, groaning at the way your body feels clamping around him, trying to milk him of his release.

Shamelessly searching for his own release as his balls start to tighten, the thought of fucking another child into you has his pelvis throbbing as he imagines you all round and full with his release. Cumming deep inside you with a grunt of your name as he spills hot ropes of cum inside your fluttering walls. Leaning on his forearms as he rides out his climax, fucking his release deep inside you as he imagines you pretty and round with another child. His thrusts slow to a gentle rut as he rests his weight on top of you for a moment, looking down at you with complete adoration as you gaze up at him towing tired eyes.

Bakugou groans when he pulls out of your slick heat, his eyes immediately diving between your thighs to watch the thick, creamy mixture of his release begin to dribble from your stretched hole. Fingers delving between your thighs to push it back inside you as he thinks about giving you another child, if you want— picturing keeping you like this for as long as possible.

“Do you feel better, sweetheart?” His nose nuzzles between the valley of your breasts as you both enjoy the quiet moment alone together, pressing soft kisses against the sensitive mounds.

“Much,” You whisper as Bakugou flicks one of your nipples playfully.

“Finally got my spot back,” He grins up at you from between your breasts as he nips at the soft skin.

“Until your son wakes up,” You smile softly, already feeling yourself succumbing to slumber.

“Better make the most of it then.” Bakugou rumbles as he wraps his lips back around one of your nipples.

#tw:lactation #trigger:lactation #tw:breeding #trigger:breeding #bakugou smut #Bakugou Katsuki smut #bakugou x reader #Bakugou Katsuki x reader #mha smut #Bnha smut #Bnha x reader #mha x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #flashing lights

[titancanvas]

You barely get a chance to greet your boyfriend when he walks through the door, takes exactly four strides and collapses face down on the bed. Peering carefully over the rim of your book you survey his current position, noticing the long and heavy puffs of his chest as it rises and falls.

"Yuuji?"

"Mhm..." come his muffled reply.

You gingerly set the book down on the bedside table before shuffling closer on your knees, a tender hand carding through his light hair and some relief flooding your chest when you feel him relaxing beneath your touch, even going as far to push his head into your touch.

"Long day?"

"Mhm."

You narrowly supress a soft chuckle at his current state before giving his hair a small ruffle. "Get undressed so we can go to bed."

Five minutes and one power shower later Yuuji eagerly slips under the covers, welcoming the warmth of your body and making himself comfortable as he settles in for the night. One muscular arm winds around your waist to tuck you into the side of his body, a curve carved just for you where your figure slotted perfectly, shadows melting together on the sheets.

"You feel like home," he mumbles, press one sleepy kiss after another along the slant of your shoulder. It's clear how tired he is judging by his messy his lips are but it makes it all the more endearing. "Love coming home to you."

By the time he reaches the swell of your cheek you're quick to turn your face away, burying it into the pillow and effectively dodging his goodnight kiss.

Yuuji's entire expression falls and he looks awake as ever the moment realization settles into the grooves of his brain.

Did you just...?

"Does my breath stink? I brushed my teeth..." he mutters and you have to purse your lips together to stop yourself from smiling when you realize that a whine had slipped into his words, sounding much like a puppy who just got scolded.

You feel him shuffling behind you, sitting a little more upright as he leans over and tries to give you a kiss again. You only burrow yourself further under the covers.

If you were to turn around now you should've surely been met with the sight of watery eyes and wobbling lips. You can practically feel the disappointment oozing off Yuuji as he lays behind you, fiddling with the edge of the sheets. He pouts, running scenario after scenario through his mind to try and figure out why you're dodging his kisses tonight.

He took a shower, brushed his teeth. Was it the stubble that was finally growing on his face bothering you? Maybe his lips weren't soft enough — but he had stolen one of your tubs of lip balm the other day because he loved the taste of it so surely it couldn't be that.

It's only when he inhales deeply that sounds far too close to a sniffle that you think you've resisted him enough and finally turn around to face him.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the erratic pitter patter of his heart beneath your palm. "I'm just teasing you, Yu," you murmur, watching as the confusion and mild panic finally subside on his face, slowly ebbing away as it's replaced with relief. "How could I possibly go to bed without a goodnight kiss from you?"

Your words are enough to spur him on and without an ounce of hesitation Yuuji's on top of you, both hands on either sides of your head as he swoops down to kiss you — deeply and unafraid, his lips move across yours with warm familiarity, savoring the way your lips tug into a little smile the longer he kisses you.

When he pulls away his eyes are a little glazed over with sleep but he still manages to mumble, "You'd tell me if my breath stinks, right? Or if I need to exfoliate my lips or something? Or when I need to shave more —"

"Yuuji."

"Huh?"

"Let's go to bed, baby."

#jjk scenarios #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori x you #yuuji itafori fluff #yuuji itadori drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fluff #⌨️. notepad!

[jarofstyles]

A little valentines blurbby miss jars? Fluff?

Sure thing :) this is full on fluff. I can do some smut too later if we are feeling it!

Check out our Patreon!

———

Harry was at a loss.

In all his other relationships it was simple, really. Valentine’s Day was going out to dinner, buying jewelry, getting expensive wine. It was heart shaped boxes of chocolate and roses. He had done enough of them that he had been pretty sure he that he had it down to the core until he had heard Y/N’s request.

“I'd really love to stay home, make some sweets with you, maybe try one of those painting videos and then drink some boxes of wine. We can make paintings for each other.”

Y/N was by far the most confusing woman he had dated, but the one he had loved the most the quickest. The most. Something about the simplicity of it almost felt like a trap- until he got a happy call from her asking if he would rather do oil or acrylic and that she was at the craft store with a few different size canvases in the cart.

So he showed up, baking supplies and boxed wine in tow to her flat, letting himself in. She had insisted on messy clothes because they were definitely going to get dirty, and she wanted a comfy night at home with no phones. That had been the big rule- notifications off, phones plugged in and put away. It was the opposite to any other date he had on the day. No dressing up, no photos, no extravagance.

To Harry? That had been one of the sweetest things. She had only wanted to spend the time with him. It reminded him about what he truly did think the meaning of the holiday had been before the commercial bits had been stuck into his brain. Spending time with the woman he loved, uninterrupted and doing things they’d both like.

He did still feel a little lost on what to give her, though. He was nervous she wouldn’t like the gifts he had chosen, though she had given him a large kiss for the flowers as soon as he had walked into the door that had nearly taken him off of his feet. She hasn’t left his side, choosing to allow herself to show the clingier side that he was relishing in. Y/N was an interesting creature, keeping Harry on his toes in the best of ways. This was just one of them.

His eyes focused on her as she stuck her tongue out in concentration, the easel holding her painting rocking a bit as she moved the brush over the canvas in short strokes. He found that she was far more interesting than the video, seeing her hair falling slightly in her face from the ponytail she had tied up high on her head and a dash of blue paint smudged on her cheek from the sky she was painting. His heart ached with how much love he held for her. This sort of love had been something he felt through his whole body, ebbing and flowing with the beats of his heart. Everything with her felt exciting.

“I can feel you staring.” She tried to be serious but he could see her lip quiver as she tried to hold back her smile. “Why aren’t you painting?” It wasn’t like he was hiding it but it was always something that had her wanting to smile. Mostly because it felt like a lot of the time he couldn’t help it.

“Cause I’ve got my own work of art right here.” He teased, watching as she set down the paper plate holding the paints she had mixed. “Can’t believe I got lucky enough t’have you all to myself.” The breathy tone of his voice showed how serious his awe was, making her turn to look at him.

It was true. Some days he did wonder how he ended up here. Y/N was unlike the people he had dated before. It wasn’t that they were all bad, that they weren’t good people. Most of them were. But they just didn’t make him feel as… full as she did. As excited. As childlike at times, getting excited over slice and bake cookies and holiday movies, over matching socks and museum exhibits. No one had allowed him to truly get down to the core of what he was supposed to feel in a relationship. She had become his best friend and more so easily it was like he didn’t even have to try.

They just fit.

Y/N paused the video, crawling into his lap. Her hands rested on the sides of his neck, eyes examining his face as her lips pouted a little bit before she began to speak. “Not fair that you’re so sweet to me. I’m trying to paint and then you go and make me want to kiss you.” And she did. Leaning in, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and exhaled through her nose as she felt his hands slip under her shirt to feel her warm back. It was something he always liked to do and she allowed it. “When you’re sweet and soft it makes me horny. And I want to finish these paintings so we can hang them up.” They didn’t quite live together yet but they spent enough time at each others places that it would always be seen. At least one of them.

“And we can.” He smiled, clasping her bare waist under her shirt. It was one that was far too big for her frame but it was cute anyways, the shorts underneath not visible from the length of it. “I do enjoy making you horny, though. I can take care of that when we’re done.” He raised a brow, showing the seriousness of the offer as she merely sighed.

“Fine. I’ll hold you to that. But this has been the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had and I want to enjoy all the activities.” Her ex hadn’t really been into the whole thing and the fact that Harry had let her choose anything she wanted to do and fully indulged in it had been enough for her to know that he was the one she wanted to be with. “I am very full from cookies but I want at least one cupcake before you get my pants off. Deal?”

“I’ll let you have 2 if it means we can take a shower together. You’re covered in paint and sugar, sweet girl.” He chuckled, thumbing some of the powdered sugar from her neck. How she always managed to wear her food, he had no idea- but he knew he would always find it endearing.

“Hm. Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #Harry styles Valentine’s Day #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fanfics #harry styles writing #Harry styles au #Harry styles fanfictions

[soloorganaas]

“are you frustrated with me?” “never.” with wolfstar <3

hesitant love prompts

(not nsfw but T-rated towards the end)

~

“And look, there’s the cat again,” Sirius said to Harry, fatigue bleeding through his attempts at enthusiasm. He pointed to the black cat currently cleaning its cheeks on the page in front of them.

“Look, Harry,” he tried again. Harry blinked at him, unmoving.

Sirius’s chest clenched with the usual wave of despair that began to hit around three pm, when another day spent futilely trying to coax responsiveness from Harry only made it clear how catastrophically behind he was in developmental milestones.

Sirius was doing something wrong, he knew it, every single day. The most important job he’d ever had and he was failing, failing the person who needed him most. Everyone was watching him, hovering around as he did things wrong again and again and again. Sirius didn’t even know what, just that he could feel the silent judgment from everyone who’d thought him incapable right from the start.

Then there was the very much not silent judgment; the letters that arrived from Dumbledore with short, curt, passive-aggressive threats.

Please ensure your intersaepio charm is sufficient. Alastor mentioned to me your household perimeter still retains identifiable traces of magic.

The Ministry of Magic Law Department will likely review the custody arrangement this December.

As a reminder, the Gringotts account of Lily and James Potter may only be used for approved purchases necessary for Harry’s care and well-being.

Remus would grind his teeth each time one arrived, jaw clenched as he folded the parchment into neat squares and tossed it in the fire. Sirius would scoff, burst it into flames with his wand, and then sit silent and brooding for the rest of the day.

“Come on, Harry,” Sirius said again, a little pleadingly, offering Harry a reassuring smile.

Harry’s forehead creased in an anxious frown as if he sensed the desperation in Sirius’s voice and recognised it instinctively to mean something bad was happening – desperation meant scared parents and arguments and tears and clutching Harry late into the night and screams and bright lights and his world shattering in front of him overnight.

Harry grabbed hold of Sirius’s sleeve, pulling himself closer.

“Oh, Prongslet,” Sirius said quietly, his heart breaking in realisation. “No it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

He slipped his hands around Harry and lifted him gently into his lap, holding him tightly against his chest as he ran tender fingers through his messy black hair.

“It’s okay, Harry. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Sirius pressed his cheek against the top of Harry’s head, willing himself to hold it together for another day.

-

Remus arrived back shortly before six with arms full of shopping bags, pale and jumpy and slightly dazed. Sirius had always done everything he could to avoid Remus being subject to the sensory overload of supermarkets, and especially in the rush hour of early evening. But sometimes the fridge emptied without them realising it, and Harry wouldn’t stop crying if he left Sirius’s arms, and someone needed to get more milk.

“Hey, I’ve got it,” Sirius said quickly when he met Remus at the door, grabbing the shopping from his arms. Remus nodded, handing him the bags silently, and leant back against the front door with a sigh.

Sirius was hurriedly unpacking the cold food when Remus appeared in the kitchen, jacket exchanged for his favourite, indoor-only woollen jumper.

“Tea’s brewing,” Sirius told him, closing the fridge door and walking over to wrap his arms around Remus’s waist.

“Hello,” Remus smiled, taking a deep, grounding breath and inhaling the welcome scent of home.

“Tiramisu?” Sirius teased lightly. “For me?”

“Well, I can’t have you going without your little luxuries, Pads,” Remus replied with an affectionate smirk.

Sirius hummed, his fingers scrunching against Remus’s jumper as his existential doomed ebbed away a little.

“How was your day?” Sirius asked, and Remus let out an exhausted sigh that Sirius knew all too well.

Remus, after many heated discussions between the two of them, had started looking for work. Sirius had insisted there was no need for him to work ever again between Sirius’s money and James – and Harry’s inheritance. Remus had reminded him that Sirius’s money would run out eventually and Dumbledore had wound so many restrictions into Harry’s account they wouldn’t have full access to it until he was eleven.

So they had gone round and round in circles, until Remus realised Sirius was just terrified of letting him out of his sight, and Sirius understood Remus was desperately trying to free them all from anyone else’s control – and they cried, and hugged, and fucked, and struck a compromise. Remus was now searching for part-time work, reasonably close to home, that would allow him to be off sick around a rough full or stay home on Sirius's bad days without raising any questions.

The only problem was that the wizarding world was ever more suspicious of werewolves following their allegiance with Voldemort in the war, and even if Remus wasn’t registered he was perpetually on edge about someone discovering him. The muggle world too had its struggles, facing a deep recession and severe unemployment after three years of Margaret Thatcher.

“It was… well,” Remus said, attempting a small smile. “I have a few leads, at least.”

“What sort of leads?”

“A muggle bookshop, a solicitor’s office that needs someone to do the accounts, and another one of those… household enchantment businesses,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. They had sprung up after the war – people suddenly desperate to protect their homes against any and all future threats, assisted by a variety of legitimate and significantly less legitimate wizards.

“Sounds a bit more up your street than accounting,” Sirius said, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“I was planning on some subtle charm work to help make up for my arithmetic deficiencies,” Remus told him with a teasing glimmer in his eyes. “But yes, I think I would be significantly more suited to something in the wizarding world. Although I’ll obviously have to be more careful,” he added gravely.

Sirius pressed his lips together, forcing back the wave of terror rolling up under his chest.

“I know you don’t like it, Pads,” Remus said, slightly irritably.

“Hey, alright,” Sirius replied, feeling the sting of his tone. “You don’t need to start something.”

He let his arms fall away from Remus, only to find his hands caught quickly before he moved away.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Remus said sincerely. “I – I’m just on edge.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sirius told him frostily.

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”

Sirius pouted slightly, then nodded, conceding. “No, you shouldn’t have. But I forgive you.”

He gave Remus an almost mockingly chastising look, then tipped his head up to brush a tender kiss against his lips.

“We can be careful,” Sirius said quietly. “You can arrange your week to have four days off in a row, and I’ll make the quick fix-it potions as well, just in case.”

Remus gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hands.

“That’s going to be a lot to handle, with having Harry alone for three days.”

Sirius shrugged with casual cockiness. “I’m not worried.”

Remus laughed softly. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Yeah, ‘course Moony.”

-

Remus hovered in the doorway of their bedroom a few days later, when Harry was away with Andromeda for the weekend, and Sirius was spending a few happy hours customising a new denim jacket he’d picked up in Camden.

“Sirius,” Remus began hesitantly.

“Mm?” Sirius replied, a pin in his mouth as he tried to charm some loose stitches into place.

“Are you – I know it’s been…” Remus trailed off, sighing, and Sirius looked up with a frown.

“Moony?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you frustrated with me? Trying to find a job, making all of this so much more… difficult.”

Sirius unfolded his legs and jumped up off the floor.

“Why do you think that?” he demanded, walking over to Remus. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s – I was just worried… that you were, and you hadn’t said.”

“Why would I not tell you?”

“Well… to avoid another argument, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something I’d do,”

Remus gave him a look, then rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m being ridiculous, I’ll leave it.”

“Moony,” Sirius said fiercely, grabbing his shoulders. “I would never be frustrated with you for this – for trying to take care of us, for doing what you think’s best to keep us safe. Never.”

Sirius saw Remus’s fears crumble behind his eyes at his realisation that he wasn’t doubting Sirius – they had spent far, far too many hard years together at their very worst for Remus to think Sirius would turn away from him over this. No, it was the doubts about himself, a culmination of all the hatred from the war striking endlessly at his self-worth.

“I just don’t want him to take Harry,” Remus admitted, a little choked, as Sirius pulled him into his arms and he sank gratefully against him.

“Me neither,” Sirius said, pressing into his shoulder. “So we won’t let him.”

-

It was supposed to be Sirius taking care of him, but somehow Remus was the one tenderly soaping down his body, running kisses over his skin as rivulets of water dripped down it. Sirius leaned back with almost painful relief into him, head tipping onto his shoulder as Remus’s hands rubbed tenderly against his aching muscles.

Remus kissed slowly up his bare neck, tongue darting out along his tendons and eliciting a small, breathy sigh from Sirius. He moved his mouth wetly under his jaw, grazing his teeth against the bone, tightening more sharply as Sirius moaned. Remus’s hands had stopped moving, just squeezing lightly at the base of his stomach, until Sirius twisted to kiss him clumsily and Remus tugged at his waist to pull them flush together.

“Moony,” Sirius moaned, as their arms grasped tightly at each other, kissing desperately as if they could etch reassurance into each other’s mouths. Remus’s hands tangled in his hair, lips tugging roughly at his, the emotion he kept barely simmering below the surface now raw and uninhibited.

“Please,” Sirius gasped, head tipping back against the cool tiles as Remus sucked harshly at his neck.

Please break me down, let me fall apart here, hold me safely whilst I do.

Remus looked up at Sirius, just for a moment, desperate eyes holding each other in place – before they crashed back together, clinging to each other as they fell.

#im working slowly through these #because clearly they ended up slightly longer than drabbles #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #otp: i'm mental about you #hp #asks #fic prompts

[littleoanh]

Lovely imagine the bonten trio seeing reader in a suit for the first time

Also hello! I hope you're well beautiful!! <3

A/N: Hello Zee darling 🥰!! Oooh, yessss this is a great idea! I hope you don’t mind this isn’t as long as my other writings. I wanted to keep it short and cute :). 

Suit & Tie

Characters: Bonten Trio x gn!Reader

Warnings: Mention of blood [no graphic details], cursing, alcohol consumption and Bonten Trio is feeling some kind of way about you ;). 

Special Thanks: EB for helping me proofreading and beta reading!

Like, reblogging, and kind comments are appreciated.

“Are we all ready?” Ran grabs his car keys and wallet from the counter, tonight there’s a party thrown by Bonten’s business partner and their attendance is mandatory. The Bonten Trio and you had gotten ready at Ran’s penthouse since it was the closest after finishing up a messy mission together.

“Not yet, [Y/n] is still getting ready.” Sanzu’s droopy eyes are closed with his head leaning back on the couch, dreading going to this boring formal business party. He rather be partying at their clubs and going wild.

“[Y/n], what’s taking you so long?” Rin's voice booms through the bathroom door, he hears movements in there but how long does it take to get ready?

“I had to take a longer shower because of all the damn blood that got in my hair.” You respond through the door. Sanzu got carried away during the mission and unfortunately… you were standing next to him, in the splash zone. “I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”

“Take your time.” Ran being the most patient one of the three, he was the second to the last one of the four of you to be done. He understands it takes time to look perfect. Ran and Rin are having their own conversation while Sanzu is relaxing, they hear the bathroom’s door open.

“About damn time-” Rin stops his sentence and his lilac eyes widens, Sanzu’s droopy eyes are now open and Ran’s jaws are slack. You walk out of the bathroom wearing a black dress shoes, burgundy dress pants, a crisp white button up shirt, burgundy vest, a jet black and burgundy blazer and a black matte tie.

Holy shit… Ran couldn’t take his lilac eyes off of you, he never looked at you this way before. Not that he didn’t find you good looking because you are, it was just you two are just friends. Nothing more. But the way you stride out of the bathroom wearing that suit and tie with confidence makes you even more attractive. Something about your suit makes him gulp. Probably the way it enhances your snatch waist or how shows off how lean and tone your body is. God damn, he lightly chuckles while his eyes trails your body up and down. Now that you have caught his attention, he wants nothing more than to throw you against the wall, run his hands over your body to explore, and kiss you.

His words are stuck on the tip of his tongue, his impatience and vexation dissolve when you tug your black matte tie to loosen it up a little. What the… his cheeks blush, how did you do that? Making him feel all shy and shit. You never made him speechless before, now his heart is racing. He’s transfixed on watching you adjust your tie. Did your neck always look so smooth and kissable?  He doesn’t know how to react or what to say. His brain is malfunctioning, unable to form any words. He feels like a dumbstruck creep just staring at you. His lips are moving but still no words. He licks his lips subconsciously, trying again to talk but to no avail. He’s hoping someone else will say something before they think something is wrong with him. 

Sanzu’s breath hitches when you fix your cuffs, something about your fingers or your hand is oddly attractive to him. Why is this simple gesture makes Sanzu want to manhandle you and skip this stupid party? Scratch that, maybe he should be grateful this party was happening or else he wouldn’t have witnessed this suit on you. Either way, this suit looks as though it was made for you. No one else can pull this off except you. In a way, he feels jealous to be sharing you with others tonight but you deserve to bless others with your graceness. He will have to remain by your side all night to make sure no one puts their dirty hands on you. Maybe you’ll put your sinful hands on him instead.

You stare at the Bonten Trio wondering why they are just staring at you. “What’s with the staring?” Scrunching your eyebrows together, no one had said anything in the past three minutes. The trio snap out of their trance.

“Nothing, we were just admiring your suit.” Ran’s charming lazy smile appears on his lips, Rin only nods in agreement and Sanzu kicks himself up from the couch. “It looks good on you.”

“Oh,” You take another glance at your suit again, “thanks, I guess.” Nonchalantly shrugging off his compliment. “Let’s go before Mikey kills us for being late.” You walk past Sanzu and the brothers heading straight for the front door. Everyone watches you, having newfound feelings for you. Ran, Rin, and Sanzu all look at each other, somehow understanding they all now have a crush on you. 

“Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on with the Bonten Idiots?” Koko asks you while sipping on whiskey and watching Sanzu, Rin, and Ran either running around to get you something to eat or drink or scaring away random strangers who want to talk to you. The moment you all make it to the banquet hall, they suddenly start acting very strange around you. They follow you around like lost puppies. When you excuse yourself to go to the restroom, they want to come along too. 

“I honestly have no clue, they have been acting like this since we got here.” Drinking your choice of alcohol beverage. Koko takes a glance at you, noticing how perfect you look in your suit and tie. That has to be it, feeling certain the Bonten Trio have crushes on you. He keeps this to himself, leaving you to be oblivious of their attraction to you. It’s more fun this way, he takes another sip of his whiskey and spots the Bonten Trio approach you and try to fight for your attention.

[End]

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[rabioa]

Nasir's Prank(?)

Nasir (Twst OC) x reader

With a grimace you marched towards Sam’s shop. You were upset and you had every right to be. You loved your friends; they helped you so many times, but you have to admit, sometimes they need to know boundaries. You wanted to throttle Grim and Ace.

They loved to be mischievous, and so when April Fool’s Day came, they couldn’t resist the temptation to pull pranks on you. The pranks started out harmless: They snuck pepper into your cake, they hid your shoes, they even moved all the furniture a few inches to the right so everything looked off, but you couldn’t figure out why. These pranks were funny, and you did enjoy them.

Then, the nature of the pranks got a bit more annoying: They propped a bucket of water over a door you walked through, they tricked you into opening a glitter bomb in your own room, and the last straw was when Grim tried to hide under your (now glitter-filled) bed and jump out and scare you with his fire abilities, only to singe your uniform. You were a lot more peeved now.

Grim apologized for the uniform, but he did it in Grim fashion, which meant he did not apologize. Go figure. After chiding him plenty and sending him off to practice his magic, you changed out of your ruined uniform. This was most definitely going to be paid through Grim’s allowance.

It all brings you back here, inside Sam’s Mystery Store. You grumbled to yourself the entire time as you tried to find a proper replacement vest for your uniform. It was difficult because the vest wasn’t like the other dormitories colors.

The shop was brimming with activity. Sam was running an April Fool’s sale with a bunch of knick knacks and gadgets to prank friends with. You could even hear Kalim’s voice somewhere in the store and he rarely went shopping himself! After rummaging through all of the uniforms that hung in neat lines, you gave up on searching on your own. You needed to find Sam. Only problem was he was all over the place, making cash like true businessman. You roam the shop, chasing over the echos of his voice when you turned the corner and bumped into a tall imposing figure.

Oh, it was Nasir. You never really interacted much with Nasir, but you knew he was the second attendant for Kalim, right next to Jamil. His odd swirling hair ebbed and flowed like wisps of smoke as he peered down at you.

“Hello Prefect,” He greeted you with a coy smile. A default expression of his. “You seem worse for wear,” he noted as he resumed shopping as if nothing happened.

“Ah, yea, Ace, Deuce, and Grim got carried away with their pranks. How could you tell?” You asked, so certain you had cleaned up well enough.

“You have glitter all over you. You remind me of gold shavings.”

You flushed. It was embarrassing to be so messy around such a cynical figure. “Thank you?”

“Thank me not. You should be thanking your friends for such a spectacle,” He replied, his voice as cutting as ever. Nasir had such an odd way of speaking as the words were smooth and velvety, but it always felt so harsh whenever he spoke directly to someone. Perhaps it's that ancient authority that caused him to intimidate others with simply his tone. Kalim could be heard on the isle next to you guys.

“Jamil, I think I heard Y/N somewhere! Let's invite her to our banquet!”

This seemed to catch Nasir’s attention as his eyes slide over to the isle separating you from his duty. His gaze then slides over to you as his smile seems to widen. It was a predatory grin as he reached out and wrapped a long arm around your shoulders, firmly coaxing you further into the store and further away from Kalim.

He let his arm down your arm till he grasped your hand. His hand was surprisingly warm, like touching pleasantly heated sand. He ducked under the uniform rack and into the blazers and vests. Only a few strands of his floating hair and his eye could be seen through the gaps of the uniform blazers. He gently tugged your hand towards him, using his free hand to create a sort of passageway for you to enter the space between the racks and the store’s wall.

You hesitate, and he notices. Kalim’s voice gets louder. He leans a bit out of the darkness and it’s comical the way his head is peaking out of the clothes. “I don’t bite. I merely want to try something out and I need your help.” He convinces you.

You figured a servant of Kalim’s wouldn’t dare hurt you, so you step into the darkness. He hadn’t let go of your hand yet as he sits down. You follow suit, not out of will, but rather because your hand went down with him. He finally let go of your hand and you notice how cold the air feels compared to him. He grabbed a row of uniform shoes and placed it in front of you both, effectively concealing each other from the store.

“I heard today is a holiday. April Fool’s, was it? I had never participated before,” He stated it with a mischievous grin. You were most definitely confused with his train of thought. He opened his mouth to continue only to close it and let his gaze harden as he looked cautiously towards the store.

Kalim’s voice could be heard, calling out your name excitedly. Through the clothes you could catch small glimpses of Jamil and Kailm’s legs. You were about to answer Kalim’s calls, only for Nasir to place his hand over your mouth. He had a coy smile as he raised a single finger to his lips, shushing you.

Bewildered, you stared at him rather than the scene before you. His mouth remained as you focused on why he was doing all of this. It’s not like you guys were close. You don’t think he’s ever even approached you out of his will! Now he dragged you behind some clothes and you don’t know why. It was clear you guys were hiding, but from who? Kalim? Although it was entirely impossible, you couldn’t foresee why he would do such a thing.

“Its main focus is pranks, correct? To cause minor inconveniences to those around you as a joke, if I’m not mistaken,” He spoke up in a quiet mutter, cutting you from your thoughts. His hand was gone from your mouth, and you didn’t notice when he moved it.

“Uhh,” You blinked, only further lost. “Yea, that’s one way to put it I guess,” You nod.

His grin only grew. “I believe you just helped me execute a prank then,” He declared. “I heard hiding valuables from others is a common prank. I just hid you from Kalim, so that counts, correct?” He mused.

You’re stunned. He just used you, to prank Kalim. He also called you a valuable. And he is grinning at you like you just helped him rob a bank. “I… I guess so? I mean-” you pause, dumbfounded. “-Most people don’t hide other people for pranks?”’

He put one of his scarred hands to his chin, his expression thoughtful. Sometimes his mannerisms reminded you of Malleus, but only if Malleus was less innocent and more sly. “I see. I suppose I am not like most people anyways, so it matters not. I successfully pranked Kalim, and that is what matters here. Thank you, Prefect, you have been exceedingly helpful in this endeavor,” He decides as he reaches past you, invading your personal bubble.

He pulls back and fabric hits your cheek softly. He was holding up a grey uniform vest. Your eyes widen and he lets it fall gently into your hands.

“Oh, thank you!” you smile up at him.

“I saw you were searching for a uniform, and I doubt you were trying to infiltrate one of the other dorms. Not that you would need it to do so anyways. Your well known enough to roam.” He stood up and carefully slipped past the clothes and back into the isle. Kailm and Jamil were long gone, presumably defeated in their search for you.

His words were most definitely cryptic and before you could question his meaning, he spoke up. “I’m assuming Kalim will message you later, so I’ll just skip all the hassle. Kalim is holding an April Fool’s banquet tonight and you are invited to attend. Ah, if you do though, I’d suggest you avoid the lemonade, after all it would be unfortunate if salt was poured instead of sugar as a prank,” He grinned at you before he picked up his abandoned shopping basket to continue his chores.

You were left dumbfounded in the uniform rack as you try and process what just happened. That was odd. He was odd, but so was everyone else in the school. He did get you your uniform at the end… His hand was really warm.

#twst oc #twst x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #rabit-writings #rabit-nasir #rabit-ocs #im just trying my hand out at writing #idk if it is any good but if theres any room for improvement lmk

[strwbrrykss]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 | 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓

        sylvie wakes you up early with one thing on her mind. you’re all too happy to oblige, giving her what she wants and more before you part ways for the day.

𝐂𝐖: mild language, D/s dynamics, Mommy Kink, tiny mention of a tummy bulge bc I can’t help myself, praise, overstimulation, oral (f), fingering, use of a strap-on, lil bit of squirting, Sylvie is a Pillow Princess, reader has a tongue piercing, if I missed anything lmk

18+ 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝑂𝑅𝑆 𝐷𝑁𝐼 | 𝐼 𝐷𝑂 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝑆𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑀𝑌 𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐾 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝑃𝑂𝑆𝑇𝐸𝐷 𝑂𝑅 𝑆𝐻𝐴𝑅𝐸𝐷 𝐴𝑁𝑌𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝐸𝐿𝑆𝐸

The warmth against your chest stirred you from your sleep, and when you pried your eyes open, a smile grew on your lips. Sylvie had taken your right breast in her mouth and was lathing her tongue across the warm, plump mound of flesh.

“Good mornin’ Mommy,” she greeted softly when she finally pulled away, leaving a shiny patch of skin behind.

“Morning sweetheart,” you coo back and she smiled, moving to reattach herself, but you stopped her with a gentle hand.

“Let me show you how it’s done, Bunny...” You guided Sylvie back so she lay amongst the messy sheets and strewn-about pillows. With a devious smirk, you lowered your mouth to her exposed chest, kissing around her pert nipple at a teasing pace, making her shift and moan slightly beneath you.

“Be patient,” you chided before pressing your tongue flat against her nipple, the sting of your tongue piercing against the sensitive flesh made her arch off the bed, though you made sure to rest your weight against her to keep her still.

“- Feels good...”

“Does it?”

“Yes...” Sylvie sighed as you played with and marked her skin for a while longer before trailing

“Mommy -” she whimpered, head thrown back against the pillow, her hands curled into the rumpled sheets.

“Tell me, baby, what do you want?” Playful nips and open-mouthed kisses continued down her stomach, over her hipbones with the intention of leaving a mark behind.

“Words,” you stated bluntly and briefly stopped what you were doing to make sure she heard you.

“- Mouth... I want your mouth, please -”

“Good girl,” you praised and went back to what you were doing. Thankfully, the night before had meant Sylvie had slept without underwear on and was free for the taking. Slowly and deliberately, you parted her thighs and took in the sight before you.

“Who’s got you this wet, huh, Bunny?”

“You, Mommy -” You cut her off with a hot, flat stripe up her cunt, dragging the barbell of your piercing through her folds. The whimper that left her made your stomach flutter.

“Hands to yourself, Bunny.” With a frustrated huff, Sylvie removed her hands from your hair and grabbed fistfuls of the sheets again. With each press and lick of your tongue against her clit, Sylvie unwound piece by piece. All you could pull from her were broken moans and cries that turned into whimpers.

If you had it your way, you’d spend every hour of the day between her thighs, devouring her like the last good meal on earth. Her thighs clenched around your head and kept you firmly in place as you pushed your index and middle finger into her, slowly and all the way to the last knuckle.

“Fuck!” she gasped, head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut.

“Now, now, Bunny...” When you continued with your ministrations, she was practically grinding against your fingers and face.

Your fingers curled - almost expertly - against that one spot inside her that made her toes curl and her thighs close even tighter around you. Every muscle in her legs twitched and quivered as you pushed her closer to release. The lewd noises of your mouth against her pussy and Sylvie’s moans filled your bedroom. It was a wonder that the neighbours hadn’t complained before.

“I - I’m gonna -” With a particularly harsh flick of your tongue against her clit, Sylvie came undone with a loud, drawn-out moan. You coaxed her through it with gentle licks and kisses, gaining more intensity as the first wave ebbed away and left Sylvie breathless and at your mercy.

“You want more?”

“Yes, please.” She keened at the absence of you between her legs as you got up to get the strap-on from the nightstand. Through hazy, half-lidded eyes, she watched as you connected the harness around your hips and thighs, unable to tear her lusty gaze away from the soft purple silicone that you now sported.

“What colour are you, Bunny?”

“Green,” she sighed in reply as she lay back against the mattress. After applying a liberal amount of lube and making sure nothing was at risk of being pinched in buckles or come loose, you returned to the bed.

“Are you ready?” Thighs parted, cunt exposed, Sylvie nodded, eyes not leaving yours as you got comfortable. No matter how many times you’d had Sylvie beneath you at the mercy of the strap on, the look on her face the first time you rock forward will always be priceless.

“You like that, baby?” Her breathing was shaky as you shifted your hips slightly. It surely was a sight to see and you’ve got countless pictures on your phone and in your shoebox under the bed to prove it.

“You gonna be good and take Mommy’s cock, hm?” you cooed, reaching over to stroke your thumb across her cheek. She whimpered, bottom lip between her teeth as you pulled back slightly, retracting just a couple of inches before pushing forward again.

“If you don’t talk to me, Bunny, I’ll stop,” you stated with a punctuated thrust into her full pussy, making her gasp in surprise at the sensation.

“Yes! Mommy, I’ll be good! I’ll take it!” That was all the confirmation you needed to set a fair rhythm. Something that was easy to be maintained but still made her cry and clench in reaction to each thrust.

You remained kneeling to begin with, getting a decent grip on her thighs to keep her in place. Blissed out and taking each thrust with an open-mouthed moan, Sylvie looked borderline Angelic. Then something caught your eye mid-thrust, prompting you to slow down.

Watching with full curiosity, you rocked forward and watched as her lower stomach reveal the vague print of the silicone cock you were filling her with.

“Holy shit...” As you regained your pace, you reached out and pressed your hand flat to the shifting bulge. The new kind of pressure brought a near-scream out of your petite blonde girlfriend.

“Fuck - Fuck! Do that again, Mommy,” she pleaded, tears shining in her eyes as you obliged and thrust a little harder.

Your other hand came down so your thumb could circle and brush against her clit. To say that Sylvie was now reduced to a babbling, tearful mess would be an understatement.

“You gonna cum for Mommy?”

“Yes! Yes please -” You pulled out for a moment and flipped her over. When you pushed back in, her pleas and cries were muffled by the pillows. She pushed back against your hips, desperate to be full and mindless.

“Since you asked so nicely...” With a hand curled into her hair and the other reaching underneath her to play with her aching clit, you returned to rocking in and out of her. Having a vocal girlfriend certainly had its perks.

“M’cum - M’gonna cum -” she sobbed into the pillow, overwhelmed by pleasure as it spilled into her limbs and up her spine.

“Cum for Mommy, be a good girl,” you prompted with a hot breath against the shell of her ear.

The lewd sound of the strap pushing in and out of her dripping cunt and the repeated sharp snap of your hips against hers pushed her closer and closer.

“Mommy... Mommy, I -” Her chanted mantra of your title was cut off by a loud, frankly pornographic moan mixed with uncontrollable sobs of pure bliss. And as you continued to thrust against her and revel in the pleas and whimpers that continued to rip from her throat, a small gush between the two of you made you slow to a stop.

“Holy shit, Bunny...” The backs of her thighs shone with the sudden release of fluids and it dripped down the now flush skin onto the sheets below. Some of it dripped off the base of the strap on, which was still firmly seated inside of her.

“Feels s’good,” she confessed, a fucked-out flush on her cheeks and neck as she nuzzled against the pillows beneath her face.

“You like being full of Mommy’s cock, Bunny?”

“Yeah.” Slowly, you pulled out and watched as her thighs trembled at the withdrawal. More of her slick release dripped down her thighs. Yeah, mornings spent ruining your girlfriend before she had to go to work were definitely your favourite.

#sylvie brett x reader #sylvie brett x f!reader #sylvie brett smut #f!reader #chicago fire imagine #sylvie and mommy #strwbrry writes

[scattered-stardust]

Drowning in the night

this is just angst, there’s a hopeful open ending, at least i think it’s hopeful.

There’s an ache in Kim, it’s always been there, and it doesn’t stop.

Sometimes it grows into a beast with claws, with teeth that are made to devour. It growls in his chest, a growl that reverberates, thundering against his ribs until it fills his ears, and it becomes the only thing he hears.

When he has a guitar in his arms, when his fingers press down on piano keys, it moves with the eb and flow of the music. It stays gentle, becomes an accompaniment to the notes filling the air.

Before, before his mother died, before the kidnapping, before everything, it used to purr when it was content. When he had his mother close, when her arms were wrapped around him, when she sung to him before he fell asleep. When Kinn and Tunkhun were still allowed to play with him. When Kinn showed him how to play guitar and Tankhun sang along before it dissolved into a cacophony when someone got out of tune or messed up the rhythm. When they were allowed to exist with each other and didn’t have roles to fill.

The ache still settles in his chest when Tankhun talks to him, when Kinn tries to show he still cares. In those precious few seconds, he allows himself to be in the main house, because he can’t be there for longer than that. Before he starts to imagine the blood on his hands, on everyone’s hands and it paints them red. Before he starts feeling like his father’s tool again. He hopes that he wouldn’t jump if his father ordered him to.

 But it’s in this place that Porchay now lives. In this wretched place that ruined Kim, that allowed the beast to run freely, made it almost depend on blood instead of the notes that his guitar produces. In this house where blood flows freely if you only know where to look.

It’s in this place, in a room he hasn’t seen in years, where he accidentally comes across Porchay again. He doesn’t dare to let his eyes linger on him. The wallpaper is still the same, white with little pink flowers that bloom between green leaves. Bookcases pushed against two walls. One wall is empty, it used to be a couch, now it’s empty. A desk by the windows with light flowing in. Books are gathered in a messy stack on the desk. Porchay sits with his back to the door, to Kim. He hasn’t noticed him.

Kim stands frozen, the door handle still in his right hand, his left flat against his leg. He doesn’t want to do something stupid, like reach for Porchay, like he still has a right to that. His heart beats in his chest, the ache in his chest dissolving into longing that has the potential to destroy him. His hand falls from the door handle and his rings knock against the wood of the door.

Porchay turns around and Kim subconsciously takes a step towards him. Hopelessly stuck in Porchay’s orbit. Porchay looks at him, his eyes flitting over Kim’s frame, until they land on his eyes. Kim doesn’t know what he’ll find there.

Kim looks at him, at the dark circles under his eyes. His hair isn’t blue anymore, but it still carries a blue hue. Kim can’t forget the way he looked under the club lights, almost ethereal.

His shirt threatens to fall of his shoulder, Kim feels like he has seen it before, but can’t remember where. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and drag Kim’s attention to his forearms, to his wrists, to his hands resting on top of the book he was reading, to his bruised knuckles. Kim wants to reach out, fall on his knees and kiss them.

“P’Kim,” he hears Porchay say, and he drags his gaze up towards Porchay’s face. His eyes are shiny, but his jaw is set, his mouth a hard line.

“Chay,” he says and immediately regrets it when Porchay slams his book closed.  A breath, a beat where Kim tries to think of what to say. To find the words to voice his regret over his actions, how he hurt Porchay. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Porchay’s face has turned hard, showing all the edges that weren’t in his face two months ago. Kim doesn’t know if it’s because of him or his family. He doesn’t know which is worse. Porchay takes a step forward, takes another and another until he stops in front of Kim. Kim has his eyes stuck to Porchay’s. They’re cold. The brown that turns gold in the sun is now harsh and unforgiving like stone. He clenches his left hand in a fist, willing the want to touch Porchay to go away, knowing that it won’t work.

“Get out of the way,” Porchay says, his voice hard and unforgiving. Kim wants to stay where he is, wants to fall on hands and knees to make his regret known to Porchay, tries to forget it won’t help. He is only kept standing by knowing that Porchay would just step over him and leave him there.

“Can I talk to you?” He forces out of his mouth. His right hand twitching to touch Porchay, he brings it up letting it hang between them. A frown appears on Porchay’s face, Kim wants to smooth it out. Porchay grabs his wrist, pushes it against Kim’s chest and in the same move pushes Kim against the wall left of him. Porchay curls his left hand around his wrist until Kim’s sure that he can hear the thundering of his heart. His callouses press against his skin and Kim stops a sigh from leaving his mouth. Porchay presses his left hand harder against Kim’s chest, his right comes up to rest on Kim’s neck. Thumb pressing under his chin and fingers spread out against the side of his throat, pushes his head against the wall and just looks at him. Looks at him and Kim feels a tremble run through him. Knows that Porchay must also feel it. He uncurls his left hand and resist the urge to press it against the wall, resist the urge to touch Porchay back.

“Why would I want to talk to you?” Porchay asks, harsh, a note in his voice Kim hasn’t heard before.

He closes his eyes, can’t bear to look at him any longer.

“You made it clear that you want nothing to do with me anymore.” Porchay’s thumb presses harder against his chin, makes Kim lean a little harder into the wall.

“Didn’t you say that my business is mine from now on? Not yours, not anymore. Maybe you should take your own words to heart.” A harsh breath follows those words. Porchay lets him go and Kim immediately feels cold. He hears Porchay’s footsteps fade away and only then does he open his eyes. His head still tipped back, resting against the wall, his breaths the only thing he hears. His right arm is still pressed against his chest, moving with the harsh breaths he manages to take. His skin is burning cold with the absence that Porchay left. Kim moves his left hand until it’s curled around his wrist, his heartbeat thundering in his chest. He tries not to think about the hand around his throat, the way it pressed down, the delicious way it pressed down and left him wanting to surrender to Porchay.

 He blinks, slowly, tries to ignore the longing that tries to take over his body. He aches, he almost forgot how bad he misses Porchay when he isn’t around. He lets himself lean against that wall for a while, until his legs stop trembling, and he feels like he can breathe again without longing swallowing him whole. He doesn’t look at the book Porchay was reading, doesn’t look at the jacket he left on the chair.

Takes a breath and pushes himself away from the wall, wills his hands to stop shaking. He walks out, signals to someone to get his car upfront and leaves.

His heart has stopped thundering in his chest. His hands still shake. He drives and drives until he feels steady again.

He goes home and doesn’t think about the time Porchay was here, about how it was raining so hard that they were both drenched and Porchay had to borrow his clothes. He can still remember the way the shirt threatened to slip of his shoulder.

Porchay hid the pictures while Kim was in the shower, trying not to be giddy that Porchay was seeing this part of him. He came out and Porchay hooked a finger through the necklace Kim had just put back on. Pulled him closer and kissed him, close mouthed. Threaded his hands through Kim’s hair and looked at him like Kim was a gift he could look at forever.

 A tear rolls down his cheek, his hand comes up to catch it. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. Another tear falls down. Now that he’s alone, standing in his appartement he drops to his knees. Another tear, it falls on his jeans. He swallows, he hasn’t even taken of his shoes, his leather jacket feels heavy. His hands are shaking. He can’t forget the feeling of Porchay’s hand around his neck.

God he wants, he has never wanted like this. Has never been as desperate as he is now. Sitting alone on his knees in his appartement, tears rolling down his cheeks. His longing aches. It feels too big to exist in him, it claws against his bones and howls. It reverberates through him, pushing against his bones, urging him to do something to stop making Porchay hate him. But he can’t. he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He wanted Porchay to hate him, to stop looking at him like he’s a wonder. To see Kim as he is at his worst.

The problem is that Kim wants to learn to be gentle, wants to look at Porchay like he’s the best thing he has ever seen, because he is. Kim wants Porchay to look at him, wants him to put his hands on him. Wants to know everything there is to know about Porchay.

Kim wants to make music with him, wants to hear him sing, wants to see him play guitar. He wants to hear Porchay play on his guitars even though he gave him his own. He wants Porchay in his space, wants to let him see Kim and still want him.

 He gets of the floor, gets his shoes off, leaves his leather jacket on the couch and digs the shirt Porchay left at his house out of a drawer. He takes a shower, turns the water a bit too warm and stands there for a second. Just, letting it fall.

Gets out, puts on Porchay’s shirt, a pair of boxers and nothing. Goes to bed and stares up at the ceiling. He can’t bear to think about the way Porchay looked at him.

He briefly thinks about calling Tankhun but decides against it. If he hears his voice, Kim will crack and he can’t deal with that right now.

Somehow, he falls asleep. At least he must have because he wakes up with Chay’s name on his tongue. His hands clenched in his sheets and his breath a shaky thing.

His phone screen is lighting up.

It’s three in the morning, a notification banner shines in his face. Chay.

Chay sent him a video. A video, he blinks, confused.

He’s tired, his heart is thundering, he clicks on the video anyway.

#stardust writes #kim theerapanyakul #kimchay #kinnporsche

[ursulawrites]

[ GRIEF ]

[ GRIEF ]  for receiver to wake up just as sender is saying goodbye, because the doctors told them to. 

Consciousness came to Charles like the tide coming into the shore. At first there were small waves, gently lapping at the sand before filtering away again. Noises would filter into his mind before disappearing once again, ebbing back out of focus. There was a faint beep, hushed voices and the steady hum of machines.

After that, the waves came more frequently and they stayed for longer. The noises became more refined, and louder. He could almost distinguish whose voice was whose. He was yet to be able to open his eyes, but he'd already figured out he was in a hospital bed, most likely the one in the medical wing of the mansion. That had been easy once he'd identified the constant beep as a heart rate monitor. The voices were all projecting concern too, they were worried about him.

Whilst in his somewhat unconscious state, Charles had no sense of time passing or how long he'd been there. His senses continued to sharpen though, which meant he heard every word that Erik said to his unmoving body an indeterminate amount of time later. He heard the heartfelt goodbye, his heart cracking a little at the emotion evident in Erik's voice. Erik thought he was dead, or dying, Charles wasn't sure which one was worse. He just knew he had to fix it.

Charles could feel Erik's hand resting in his own, and he summoned as much energy as he could to squeeze it gently. It was a gargantuan effort, but it paid off as he heard Erik gasp.

"You didn't think I'd leave you behind, did you?" Charles asked teasingly, his voice sounding raw from lack of use. He blinked his eyes open a few moments later, catching sight of Erik. The man looked terrible, like he hadn't been home in days. His clothes were rumpled, his hair messy and his cheeks were tear-stained.

"Were you crying over me? You silly man, I'm right here," Charles added in an attempt to lighten the mood. He watched as Erik swung his head towards the door, narrowing his eyes at where Hank was standing, looking dumbfounded with a clipboard in his hand.

"Don't be mad at Hank, he really did think I was dying. He wasn't messing with you," Charles added, his telepathy beginning to fill in the gaps. "It was a lovely speech though, I'm very glad I got to hear it." His voice was fading again, as was his energy. Whatever Apocalypse had done to him, it was going to take a while for him to bounce back.

"I'm going to have a little nap, feel free to tell me that you love me again when I next wake up," Charles teased, squeezing Erik's hand once again as he let himself drift back towards sleep. "And I love you too."

#i don't know where this came from #vividwrites #mandy #about: charles x erik #answered memes #answered memes: charles #writing as: charles

[green-eggs-and-ham-lines-au]

I drew what michellee and be are going to look like when I show them in.

I didn't want to keep you guys waiting for them, so I quickly drew this.

#Eb #Michelle #green eggs and ham #lines au geah #eb got that messy hair #Michelle got that big hair

[blindingdutchy]

No but tom fucking me while he wears a hoodie is something I have spent a LOT of time thinking about

okay okay, i couldn't see this and NOT write something so...

lazy lover | t.holland

{boyfriend!tom x fem!reader}

word count: 2,022

warnings: smut... as expected

warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), oral (f receiving)

Moments like these were your absolute favorite. Just you and Tom, cuddled up on the sofa with the soft illumination of the television solely lighting the room. It was storming outside--loud, heavy rumbles of thunder shaking the house slightly, and you could just barely make out the startling flashes of lightning over the tops of the closed drapes.

Perfect weather for snuggles and scary movies, but Tom being the softy he is absolutely refused to watch anything of the sort. So, you'd resigned to watching some romantic comedy for the millionth time. If you were honest, you hadn't watched a single moment of it; instead, you had spent the past hour just closing your eyes in bliss as you carded your fingers through your boyfriend's messy curls and smiled each time he giggled at the screen.

He was your favorite movie, by far. You wished you could see his face, but from this angle you could just barely make out the adorable crinkle of his nose each time he grinned. Tom was sprawled out on top of you, his head nestled over the middle of your chest, and his legs were all tangled up with your own as he laid between them.

It was more than a little stifling in the room as you were caught up in the heat of his body radiating through his lavender hoodie and your own, both of your sweatpants clad lower limbs wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Somehow, in both of your minds, the storm had translated to meaning cold, when in fact that was far from the case. It was cozy, though, and that made up for the slight dampening on your hairline.

"Princess?"

"Hm?" you hummed, that all too familiar flutter in your heart buzzing out through your body at the sound of Tom's sweet voice.

He nuzzled his face further into your chest, nose buried in the space between your breasts as his hot breathe scorched you through the fabric. "Mmmf yew," he mumbled, and you chuckled at the muffled sound of his words. Picking up his head, your breathe hitched at the darkened hue of his eyes beneath heavy lashes as he repeated, "Miss you."

Cozy turned to hot in an instant. In all the time you'd been dating Tom, you'd come to know one thing--miss you was not something he ever said when you'd been apart for too long. No, miss you was only spoken whenever the two of you had been too close for too long, and he was missing a little something more.

Tom's arms wrapped tighter around your middle, his face burying back into the bunched fabric between your breasts as he lazily pressed opened mouthed kisses through the soft cotton. He left a trail of wet patches in his wake, and your fingers froze in his hair as he found your hardened nipple under your shirt and wrapped his lips around it. "Tom." you gasped.

You tugged at his hair gently, coaxing his face away from your now dampened shirt to look at you. His lips were puffy and reddened from the fabric, a few pressure marks stretching across his right cheek, and he looked so... soft. He looked warm and inviting, like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter evening or a crackling fire during a snow storm.

Not a word had to be said for him to know what you wanted. He scooted up the sofa and further over your body until his center was pressed into yours, his lips coming down onto your own in a lazy, slow kiss. You sighed into him, parting his lips with your own as you abandoned his hair to slip your hands under his sweatshirt and trace your fingers over his bare skin.

It was languid and sleepy, like a fire that had burned itself down to a hot, glowing ember. Tom's arms were planted on either side of your head, caging you in place as he dragged his kiss from your lips and down to your jaw. He nipped at the sensitive skin behind your ear, swiping his tongue over the flesh until you whined and he sucked hard to leave a mark of his own.

"Tom, please," you whimpered, rocking your hips up into him, "I need you."

He grinned into your neck, leaving another mark for good measure before he sat up onto his knees between your legs. There was something so beautiful about him like that; this soft, sweet man bundled up in cozy layers that heavily contrasted the dark, heady burn of his gaze. His fingers tugged at the waistband of your pants, and you lifted your hips to help him drag them from your legs--panties too, leaving you bare aside from the baggy sweatshirt that had ridden up your stomach.

Eyes glued to the warmth between your legs, Tom licked his lips, "Fuck, I've missed you so much."

You bit your lip hard, shivering as his fingers ghosted over the chilled skin of your now bare thigh. Already knowing exactly what he was thinking of, you pleaded, "Please, I just want you--"

"Hush, darling," he simpered, "I want to have a taste."

Tom climbed off of the sofa, dropping to his knees on the floor beside you as he grasped your hips in his hands. Thumbs soothing over the skin, he pulled until your legs were dangling from the edge and your core was inches from his face. His eyes truly sparkled then, glimmering at you lustfully as he smiled to himself.

He didn't waste any time teasing, and your hands fluttered helplessly around you to try and ground yourself when you felt his lips wrap mercilessly around your clit. Diving in head first, literally, Tom gripped your thighs to keep them spread apart as he licked fat stripes through your folds. Sparks shot through your entire body each time he curled his tongue around your bud, swirling and sucking around the nub tirelessly.

It was a little pathetic how easily he pulled you to the edge, your stomach all twisted up in knots as you trembled all over. What else was to be expected though, when the two of you had been together for so long? Tom knew your body like the back of his hand, an expert in all the little things that made you tick--like the way his eyes flickered up to watch you watch him make you feel good.

The sight of his brown eyes watching you like a hunter watching his prey, dark and greedy, got you every time. Squeezing your thigh, Tom teasingly kissed your clit and pulled away with a cheeky wink at your groan of frustration. The tension in the pit of your stomach ebbed away, the quivering of your legs ceasing as he patted your hip and mumbled, "Slide up, princess."

Cooing at the name you loved to hear him speak, you scooted back up the sofa until your head fell onto the armrest once more. He didn't even take his pants off when he climbed back up between your legs, arms caging in your head once more. His lips tasted of you as he kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth as you tugged at his pants eagerly.

"Please, Tommy, I miss you."

Tom's breathe hitched at the sound of you speaking his words, and a little desperately he inched his pants down just enough to free his length from them. You moaned at the sensation of his warm skin falling against your thigh, his tip slipping across the slick mess dripping down your legs. Not wanting to wait for him to make the first move, you reached down to wrap your fingers around him.

He hissed at the contact, hips instinctively rutting into the contact as he groaned, "Fuck, princess--"

The words were lost as you dragged his tip through your folds, teasing your clit for a moment before lining him up. His eyes screwed shut as he sank into you, lips parted in a silent oath, and he crumpled down until his chest was pressed to your own. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you clutched the fabric of his sweatshirt in tight fists as you arched off the couch in pleasure.

Giving you a moment to adjust to the stretch, Tom buried his face into your neck with a muffled moan, "Always feel so perfect, princess. So tight f'me every time."

Tom rocked into you slowly, nudging deeper and making you whimper as you clenched around him. You didn't have to say a word for him to get the message--his hips pulling back before pushing forward again deeply. It felt as if you could feel every last bit of him; every line and ridge of his length dragging along your walls perfectly as you moaned.

You were clawing at his back, fingers slipping over the cotton that was somehow far more slippery than bare skin. If you had thought it was hot in the room before, it was nothing compared to the sweltering temperature between the two of you in that moment. Your hoodie was bunching further under your breasts with each of Tom's thrusts, the fabric of his own scratching at your bare skin from multiple angles.

Sure, you'd had sex with clothes on plenty of times. Rushed and risky encounters in pub bathrooms, your dress bunched up around your hips and his trousers pulled down to his thighs, but this? Tom, suddenly so desperate for you, fully dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants on the sofa? This was new, and it was hot.

The movements were lazy and slow, his lips sleepily suckling at your neck as he panted into your skin and moaned in your ear huskily. You were a withering mess, sweating all over and trying to hold onto him in any way you could to keep from drifting away in bliss. Each sloppy thrust into your heat had you calling his name, begging for that release to finally wash over you.

"Tom, 'm close."

He leaned further onto one arm, lifting the opposite shoulder to slip his hand between the two of you. His hips never faltered as he swiped his fingers through the slick mess between your legs, swirling around your clit smoothly. "Cum for me, princess, wanna feel you." he encouraged, dark eyes blearing down at you hazily.

His cheeks were all red, and his curls were sticking to his forehead with sweat. Lips parting, you panted desperately for air as your stomach began to tighten immeasurably. It was almost too much--the look of him, the feel of his cock languidly finding its home deep within you, over and over. His fingers still rubbing slow, deep circles to your sensitive bundle.

With a sharp inhale, you cried out, "T-Tom!"

The knots in your belly exploded, stars bursting in your eyes as you clenched your entire body around him. Thighs squeezing his waist tightly, fingers clawing so harshly into his sweatshirt you finally found purchase in the skin of his back, and your walls clamped down around his length. "Oh, fuck, princess!" he heaved, eyes screwing shut and nose crinkling as he stuttered in his movements.

Tom's lips parted in a guttural cry before he dropped onto you entirely, arm pinned between you as he continued to ride you through your orgasm with his fingers. He pulsed inside of you, and after a few seconds he gave a loud sigh as a warmth spread through you. Your legs were trembling as you dropped them onto the sofa again, smoothing over the fabric of his hoodie as you finally released your grip.

But, when he moved to pull away, you pulled him back and mumbled sleepily, "Can we just stay like this for a bit?"

Smiling with heavy eyelids, Tom nodded and kissed you softly, easing back down again. You groggily brushed the curls from his forehead and grinned back, humming in appreciation when he rested his head on your shoulder again. His lips ghosted over your neck as he murmured, "I love you, darling. S'much."

"I love you, Tom."

#tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland oneshot

[lightblueterracota]

Tenderness, Undescribed

hermitcraft grian x mumbo jumbo. i don’t have a fully established and intricate universe for this storyline, but basically it’s their hermitcraft characters and grian also has wings :^)

another note is this is in no way shipping the irl people, this is absolutely only for their fictional characters! please don’t ship real people and/or harass the actual people behind these characters :)

/

There’s a certain tenderness to Mumbo that Grian finds fascinating.

For his long legs, clumsy mobility, and dark eyes above a bold mustache, Mumbo is not often associated with the word tender. More often than not, other Hermits know him for being the friendly neighborhood Redstoner that often finds himself in disasterous, life-threatening situations, often needing to call for other Hermits to dive in and save him last second. His general obtuse nature and lack of direction make him seem like a friendly yet out of control aircraft helicoper with styrofoam blades. 

But there’s no denying that Mumbo is a genius as well. Almost on par with Doc, Grian would say that Mumbo is one of the brightest people he knows, despite his daftness. Even if he gets his Redstone wiring mixed up terribly sometimes, there’s a brilliance beneath that mustache that shines through everytime Mumbo eagerly invites Grian to his base to show him another massive and impressive machine. 

And when he talks about his Redstone -- he’s all over the place. Big gestures and waving arms, loud exclamations of excitement as he eaglerly jumps around and points out each piece of Redstone and its wiring, it’s hard for Grian to keep up sometimes. But there’s something oddly fond whenever Mumbo gets insanely proud of a build, and even if Grian doesn’t understand it 100%, he listens attentively anyway as Mumbo explains it to him.

It’s hilarious, sometimes. Mumbo’s fingers are big and clumsy sometimes, and he struggles with piecing together intricate Redstone wiring that require small pieces. When he’s impatient, sometimes he has to ask Grian’s sharp eagle-eyes to help him piece together a particularly tricky part of a machine, and Grian is more than happy to help.

All in all, while Grian is very fond of Mumbo, he’s not someone Grian would consider gentle and tender.

There was a moment though, when that changed.

It happened on one of Grian’s worst nights. Upon visiting a nearby village, he hadn’t realized that he had accidentally triggered a raid, and at that time he had no combat gear on him. As the mobs swarmed from the hillsides and Grian desperately tried to protect the villagers and herd them indoors, arrows and slashes of melee weapons cut across Grian’s body. Even when he decided to draw back, trying to make his escape by flying away, several arrows were shot into his wings, and he almost didn’t make it.

He was on low health and bleeding when he crash-landed into Mumbo’s base -- the only other person that was also active at that time of night. He had scared the crap out of the man, Mumbo jumping out of his focus on his Redstone as the winged individual crashed through his window, heavily injured and weak.

He was too faint to respond to Mumbo’s frightened, “Jesus, Grian, what happened?!” as he collapsed onto the floor, wings spread across the floorboards of Mumbo’s base. He blearily watched as the man jumped up, immediately rummaging through some storage for healing supplies.

“Your wings,” Mumbo had said, and there was some saddening awe in his voice. “Oh Grian, your wings. They must hurt so bad. Hold on a second.”

Grian didn’t want to think about it. He could feel blood dripping from his wings and could see a few scattered feathers that had fallen off in his crash-landing. His beautiful wings, ruined.

“Can you stand?” Mumbo asked, and Grian was about to protest, when Mumbo continued, saying, “Wait no, you probably can’t. Hold still. I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

Grian cringed, expecting to be hauled like a sack of potatoes and bracing for impact, but was shocked when he felt Mumbo’s gentle hold as the taller hoisted the winged man up, moving him to a nearby bed. Mumbo seemed to be very careful of not brushing his damaged and bleeding wings, gently shouldering Grian so that his limbs were comfortable and his wings had room. 

The closeness of Mumbo’s body caught Grian off guard and he silently let Mumbo gently place him down onto the bed. Then Mumbo got to work, grabbing some healing supplies and bandages.

“I’m sorry,” Mumbo warned in advance as he disinfected his own hands, “but there’s a couple of arrowheads still in your wings. I need to take them out before I bandage you. This is going to hurt.”

Before Grian could react, a sharp, excruitating pain blossomed from his left wing as Mumbo carefully removed the sharp object, the scalding pain shooting up his spine. A pained yelp came escaped from Grian, only to be sizzled away by Mumbo’s gentle shushing as he immediately started applying pressure to the wound.

“Shh,” Mumbo said softly, disposing of the arrowhead and cleaning the area. “Shh, I know it hurts a lot. It’s okay. You’re alright, I got you.”

It wasn’t often Grian heard Mumbo speak in such a soft manner. Oddly enough, his words were comforting, settling over Grian’s tired bones like a blanket, and Grian forced himself to relax as Mumbo continued to softly speak some encouragements.

Whimpers of pain continued to come from Grian as Mumbo continued to clean him up, his normally clumsy and large hands now extremely gentle and intricate as he delicately plucked the damage out of Grian’s wings and applied healing salves to his wounds. As Mumbo gently worked through patching up Grian’s wings, he made sure to inspect the rest of Grian’s body carefully, checking for other signs of bleeding and wounds.

Once he was doing bandaging him, Mumbo told him, “Lean back, please.”

Grian obeyed, settling back carefully into the bed and watched as picked up a bottle of healing potion. Grian groaned in protest, not in any mood to digest anything, but Mumbo simply leaned forward to place two fingers underneath Grian’s chin and lifted, making Grian’s mouth aim upwards.

“I know you probably don’t want to drink anything right now, but this will make you feel much better, I promise,” Mumbo said gently as he held Grian’s face up firmly and lifted the cool glass edge of the bottle to his lips. “Please drink.”

A feeling of tenderness, undescribed, washed over Grian as he became acutely aware of Mumbo’s fingers underneath his chin, and the way his thumb barely brushed against his bottom lip.

Too weak to fight against the gentle push of Mumbo’s hands, Grian let Mumbo slowly feed the potion into his mouth, obediently swallowing the restorative liquid. Mumbo let out a pleased hum as he watched Grian consume the potion.

Once Mumbo made sure Grian drank every last drop, he softly released Grian’s chin, letting his face fell back softly.

There was a belated, blurry moment where Grian realized he enjoyed Mumbo’s warm touch on his face.

Falling back into the bed pillows, exhausted, Grian felt his eyes go heavy. It seemed that the healing potion Mumbo fed him had a drowsy side-effect, likely to encourage overnight healing. As sleepiness slowly ebbed over his brain, Grian watched as Mumbo cleaned up, the warm light from the nearby lantern seeming to frame Mumbo in an entirely new perspective.

Who knew Mumbo would have such good bedside manners as a doctor, Grian thought lazily.

“You can sleep here for tonight,” Mumbo said. “I wouldn’t want you flying around in the dark now anyway. Your wings will be okay, they just need some time to heal a bit.”

Oh. Yeah. 

“My wings,” Grian whined softly. “They look so damaged...”

“No,” Mumbo cut in gently. “Your wings will be back to beautiful once you rest up for a bit. I promise. You’ll be back to flying in no time, don’t worry.”

“They’re so ugly now,” Grian lamented miserably.

“They don’t,” Mumbo insisted. “You look beautiful right now, Grian, I promise. Now go to sleep.”

Grian knew damn well he was in no good-looking shape. He could still feel the dirt on his face and the way his hair was still curled and messy from crashing. But he was too tired to open his mouth and argue against Mumbo, so Grian let his eyes shut, the last thought drfiting in his mind being:

He thinks I’m beautiful.

/

After that, Grian could only ever see the tender side to Mumbo.

After nursing him back to health, Grian had thanked him countless times, with Mumbo simply giving him a kind smile and insisting it was no problem. From then on, Grian could only ever see that gentleness in Mumbo, and remember the way he tended to his wounds and cleaned his wings and held his face that night. The kindness and way he had jumped up immediately to take care of Grian. The gentleness and how he soothed his pain.

So maybe to other Hermits, they know Mumbo as a clumsy, bumbling human being.

But to Grian, he knows him as someone tender, undescribed.

/

#hermitcraft shipping #hermitshipping #grian #mumbo jumbo #grian x mumbo jumbo #grumbo #fanfic

[more-stuff-of-pi]

Hands

a/n: a friend sent me this tiktok and i have not stopped thinking about it so ofc i dragged maya into my bullshit (she was a huge help for akaashi). s/o to @saetyrn9​ for being a godsend and supplying me with this advice so i could write tobio <3

notes: these are all separate pairings. requests are open :) find my masterlist here

pairing: various - daichi, kuroo, kageyama, akaashi, bokuto, suga x fem!reader | genre: spice & fluff | warnings: pet names; spicy; in some, reader has enough hair to be tucked/pulled on | word count: 2,444 total

Daichi chuckled low and dark, the sound rumbling in his throat. You pressed your thighs together in anticipation as he reached towards your face. You continued to stare at him though your defiance was beginning to waver at the glint in his eyes.

His hand lightly scraped against your cheek, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He smiled at you, unnerving and exciting all at once. Daichi then slid his hand down until his thumb rested on your chin, the rest of his fingers curling around it.

“Are you finished, pretty girl?”

Your heart frantically beats out of your chest and, despite that, you smile wickedly. You tilt your chin down just enough to pop his huge thumb into your mouth, sucking it down and swirling your tongue around it. His eyes rolled back as he groaned.

You pulled back so that his thumb slid out, going back to resting on your chin. The movement left behind a delicious shining trail, your lips looking even more devilishly tantalizing.

Daichi chuckled again, sounding more strained as he opened his eyes only to meet your cheeky smile in return. Once your gazes met, your own smirk widened, Daichi’s own only growing.

“Oh,” he warned, squeezing tighter around your chin, grinning at the way you audibly gulp, “you’ve done it now, princess.”

Kuroo Tetsurou was an absolutely chaotic ride. One minute, he was being the absolute biggest dork, cracking stupidly delightful puns, the next he was what you could only describe as unbearably sexy, and the next he was so refreshingly serious and vulnerable. Tetsurou was colorful and lovely and warm and funny and handsome and compassionate and diligent. He was so in tune with you, always willing to match whatever level you were at. He flowed and ebbed like water. You were pretty sure you depended on him like he was, and he you.

And because Tetsurou was so well acquainted and well versed in you, he knew from the moment he stepped in the door and saw you that something was off. You were washing dishes, a chore that you hated. Tetsurou usually was the one to do it since he didn’t mind it and you would do the laundry since he despised that chore. It was a trade off and one that worked well. The only time you would ever do the dishes was when you were overwhelmed and simply needed something methodical to take your mind off things.

After slipping off his shoes, Tetsurou slid behind you, slowly loosely wrapping his arms around your waist, giving you plenty of time to shy away from him if you wanted. But once he was encircling you, you immediately melted into his embrace, leaning into his face when he hooked his chin over your shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Bad day?”

You sighed, whimpering almost, in response.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head gently, reaching over to unplug the drain. Wiping your hands on a towel, you turned around in Tetsurou’s hold, hands fluttering to his arms. You bit your lip, embarrassment flushing your cheeks as you looked at the space between you so as to not have to directly face Tetsurou. “Can you just help me forget about it?”

Tetsurou’s eyes widened, a little surprised at the request. But his mouth grew into a soft grin, his eyes melting to a place of care and desire. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, leaning down to kiss a spot right next to it as he did. He gently kissed the corners of your eyes, too, as red and tired as they looked. When your mouths finally met, the kiss was slow and passionate and loving and eager all at once. It didn’t really make sense but your tongues were dancing like they knew the rhythm anyways.

Molten heat began swirling at the unmistakably loving way Tetsurou was kissing you. He felt the same stir in him as he pulled away, looking equally as dazed as you felt. With a few blinks, the glaze of his eyes swirled to a more solidified darkness. His hand that had slipped to the small of your back gently tugged your hips closer, the other hand caressing your face. He stroked his thumb over your cheek before sliding his hand to gently grip either side of your face.

And in the most loving, tender, gentle voice, Tetsurou whispered against your lips: “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t even remember your own name.” And he sealed his promise with a chaste kiss.

You tried to feel bad about how much of a devil you could be, but teasing Tobio was just so addictive, the rush it gave you might as well have been some kind of drug, thrilling as it was. Though Tobio was quite perceptive in the middle of a game, he always needed a bit of a nudge in the right direction to catch onto your teasing. But, after being with him for so long, you became a natural in nudging him right where you wanted him.

You had purposely waited for some formal charity event that you and Tobio couldn’t afford to be running late to. In getting ready for the event, you had slipped into a lacy set, a beautiful deep blue to compliment the color of Tobio’s eyes. Feigning ignorant innocence, you walked into your living room, presenting Tobio with two choices to pick for the formal event. He had only stared at you, a blush quickly rising to his cheeks as you shrugged and slipped into the option that had a tasteful but rather high slit.

The rest of the night he kept glancing at you and his face would heat up all over again, remembering exactly what it was that you were teasingly wearing underneath. You had done everything you could think of to tease him. Leaning too much into your chin, the neckline of your dress shifting precariously. Moving your hand to your throat, squeezing when you knew he was looking. A few times when he was across the room you had crossed your legs, ‘accidentally’ letting the slit fall open to reveal the garters sitting snugly around your thighs. Once you had even slipped a finger in between the garter and your thigh, pulling and letting it snap back against your skin.

But the last straw for Tobio had been when you slid into the seat next to him while he was talking to some important businesswoman or other, innocent dazzling smile sitting prettily on your lips. You had taken his large hand into yours, gently placing it on your thigh. Hidden by the overhang of the table cloth and the distraction of the conversation, you had inched his hand up, over the garter until it eventually cupped you, his fingers meeting the intricate patterns of the intriguing swirl of lace and the wetness they were holding.

It was no wonder that you found yourself now with his large hand wrapped around your jaw, fingers and thumb digging painfully into the sides of your face.

He used the deliciously sinful grip that he had on your face to shove you against the wall of the entryway of your shared apartment. Even through his lustful fury, what really got him was how, in the depths of your gorgeous eyes, even now pressed up against the wall held by his larger strength, Tobio saw nothing but love, trust, and adoration. In his eyes, he saw that you were truly his for the taking. And he was yours.

Tobio jerked your face, forcing you to look at him. “If you wanna play, princess,” he squeezed possessively, and on instinct you opened your mouth. Tobio grinned, leaning on his forearm above you, staring you down, his own eyes mirroring all of the emotions found in yours. “Then we are going to play.”

It was, regrettably, rather easy for you to become lost in thought. You didn’t ever mean to lose focus, sometimes your mind would drift off, carrying you to some faraway place or memory.

Fortunately, however, Akaashi Keiji was used to his girlfriend’s mind wandering. He found it rather endearing that way that you could be present in one moment and adrift the next. It didn’t happen too often, only every now and then, enough to warrant it a recurring issue.

Keiji was at the sink, cleaning the dishes used for dinner that night while you were sitting at the table, sifting through the small stack of mail there. He was talking to you, telling you about the latest panels that he was excited to be working on, though frustrated with how slow he seemed to be going compared to his usual pace.

“Maybe it’s because there’s not enough caffeine in my coffee,” he joked, briefly glancing over his shoulder to watch you laugh knowingly with him as you both well understood that the amount of caffeine Keiji consumed was probably a borderline addiction. Only, you were busy staring blankly through the mail in your hand. Keiji smiled at the sight. “Love?” he called, not really expecting any kind of response. And sure enough, you were still as lost as ever.

Keiji wiped his hands on the towel kept by the sink, crossing to stand in front of you. He braced himself on the back of a chair, slightly leaning forward as he innocently lifted your chin with his finger, tugging to get you to look at him. “Angel, did you even hear a word I said?”

Despite his gentle tone and small touch, you seemed to be jerked back into reality. You looked down from the finger on your chin, to Keiji’s blue eyes and not a moment later, you were shifting in your seat, flustered and at a loss for words. Keiji quirks an eyebrow, wondering what could have you so hot and bothered until he remembers certain events the previous evening. The room had been dark and so very hot, filled with the music of both of your pants and moans. You had clung to him like your life had depended on it, face fallen open into wanton bliss, messy and without a care in the world. The scratches you had left on his back suddenly flared with the memory.

As he looked into your eyes, ever perceptive, he could see the familiar glaze ringing the edges and immediately understood what place your mind had taken you to. Keiji smirked, fully prepared to bring his angel another moment to occupy her pretty little mind.

When you first got together, you wondered if Koutarou was simply too big. The man was big, massive even. He always made you feel so small, his hands wrapping around your waist, covering a lot of ground. When he would come up behind you to wrap his arms around you in a giant loving hug, he would always curl over you, resting his head atop yours. And though he made you feel so small physically -- he couldn’t help it, afterall, he was just big -- he always, always made you feel like the world to him.

Even now, loving you so gently, he reminded you of the large part you occupied in his world. He didn’t even need words to do it. Koutarou was always so wonderfully and delightfully expressive, deliciously so in moments like these.

You were in his lap, nothing but an old worn shirt of his drowning you in fabric, the probably unflattering shorts that you wore around the apartment hastily discarded somewhere. You had your hands hanging off of his shoulders, lazily crossed at the wrists. Your legs were wrapped around him much in the same way as he held you, hands loose around your waist. The kisses passing between you were passionate yet soft, heated yet full of the tenderness that Koutarou always treated you with. Even when you asked him to be anything but gentle, he always found a way to slip it in, a small yet significant reminder of his utter love and adoration for you.

He rolled his hips up into you, the particular motion pulling a whimper from your lips. You could feel Koutarou smile into the next kiss. His hands trailed from your waist, squeezing playfully as he went up, both of you giggling into each other. After a few pinches along the way, Koutarou’s hands rested on either side of your face. The look in his eyes made you still, being helplessly drawn into the stars there. His eyes shone, bright and vibrant and full of the excitement that you felt with him everyday. His thumbs rubbed into your face as he searched your gaze, a gentle smile resting peacefully on his lips.

“You’re my everything. I love you so, so much. Let me show how true that is.”

Koushi’s voice was beautiful. It was so soothing. Any other time you would love to listen to him read to you if only for the chance to hear his voice.

But now, with your wrists tied to your ankles, your legs spread wide open and trembling, and just an overall overstimulated mess, you swore you were going to kill him the next time you could form a coherent sentence.

Your eyes rolled back into your head at another vibration, fresh tears streaming down your face.

Koushi must have noticed, his voice pausing.

You knew you must have looked ridiculous. Old tears having already dried in streaks down your face, new ones gently adding fresh paths. Your mouth was open, tongue almost lolling out. Maybe it was. You really couldn’t tell, you were so lost in your own head. You honestly didn’t really even notice Koushi had stopped reading aloud, only processing it when he clicked his tongue.

“You know, if you keep spacing out, you’ll never learn. And we wouldn't want that, now, would we?”

You couldn’t do much more than nod your head forward, your neck having given up on supporting its suddenly incredibly heavy weight.

Koushi tsked once more, stopping his pacing altogether. “Now, now, angel,” Koushi cooed, taking the manuscript he was holding and scraping its weight underneath your chin, lifting up. “Eyes on me.”

With the assistance, you were able to meet Koushi’s eyes. There, you saw the mischievous glint that sent a shudder down your spine. Your eyes fluttered closed and Koushi gently lifted your chin further. You managed to open your heavy lids once more, gazing submissively back at him. Koushi licked his lips, devilish smirk stretching his pretty lips across shining teeth.

“Good girl.”

taglist: @samwrights, @mayaoliviee​ - send an ask to be on it!​

#hands #haikyuu smut #haikyuu filth #sawamura daichi x reader #daichi x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader #kuroo x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara x reader #suga x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #fem!reader #haikyuu x fem!reader #an ungodly amount of tags truly #thanks so much amy for all of your advice for kags!!! #thanks as always maya for acting as my beta <3 #all the love #also i hate the way half of these end lmao #i suck at endings AAAHHH #also I think maya and i agree that suga's is the best #good one me hehe

[lallyloo]

Jealousy

(So @imincognitohere and I were talking about EB recs, and porn, and how Link’s entire porn collection would consist of a dark haired guy with glasses and a John Mayer lookalike. Then we imagined Rhett finding Link’s JM porn collection and crying, and then just railing Link. And now we’re here.)

*

He’s not really supposed to be on Link’s laptop, but Link’s running behind and Rhett really needs the May 2022 Ear Biscuits schedule now.

He silently curses himself for not keeping the schedule on his own laptop, or even his phone, but Link’s the one who types during planning sessions and they’re always together, so it’s never mattered before.

But today Link’s stuck in traffic on the way to the creative house, and Stevie’s trying to book their first guest in nearly two years, and Rhett needs the info now.

And they have each other’s passwords for this very reason.

So Rhett waits for the sign-in screen to appear, and he types Link’s password.

RaisinCRUNCH1984!

And he’s in.

 The desktop is just a line of neatly organized folders against a backdrop of some douche playing guitar.

Rhett stares at the douche for a second.

He knows his name is John Mayer.

But in Rhett’s mind he’s just ‘douche’.

Link’s crazy about his music but Rhett’s not, and the guy seems like a tool anyway.

And why does Link need him on his desktop? Why not Christy? Or the kids? Or hell, why not him and Rhett? Would that be too much? No.

And sure, Rhett’s desktop is a silhouetted photo of himself in Death Valley, but that’s neither here nor there. It was a great trip, and it’s a great photo, and it’s not just some random musician guy.

Rhett tears his gaze away from the background and scans the labels on the desktop folders, stopping when his eyes hit one called ‘May’. It seems to be the most obvious choice, likely full of schedule info, brainstorming, personal appointment times, etc.

To Rhett’s surprise, the files inside seem to have much more random names than the desktop folders.

It doesn’t seem like Link at all, and Rhett is a bit flummoxed as he reads down the list of random letters and numbers jumbled together.

He settles on a file called 324_eB_32_MMdrmfanta.

He’s in such a hurry he doesn’t pay attention to the file type, and Rhett realizes it’s a mistake as soon as he clicks it.

It’s not a list of dates or information. It’s not a schedule.

It’s a video.

And it looks like porn.

There’s a room. An office maybe? The camera pans and there’s a desk and a chair and a window.. and a bed. Yep, it’s porn.

The camera pans to socked feet, and up bare legs, over a little red speedo, to a bare chest, up to the face of someone who looks a bit like a younger Link.

Dark hair, blue eyes, glasses.

There’s a knocking sound in the video, someone at the door, and Rhett is curious to see who might walk in. It’ll be a blonde woman, he assumes. A Christy lookalike.

“Link you dirty dog..”

He’s invested now, curious to see what kind of fantasies Link is into. He knows Link and Christy’s relationship has its ups and downs, and Link’s blue balls have been an ongoing joke for years, and maybe he’s invading their privacy a bit by watching this video.. But it’s not actually Link and Christy. It’s just porn. Just a fantasy Link has. And they’ve talked about fantasies before. Hell, Rhett told him about the first time he ever jerked off. Watching a little porn video is nothing.

The guy with the glasses heads for the door and Rhett is enraptured as the scene unfolds – slipping off the chain lock, a hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly. Rhett wonders what the woman’s going to be wearing. What she’s going to say. What they’re going to do. How they’re going to fuck.

On screen, the door opens and Rhett pulls back a bit, surprised, when he realizes there’s a man on the other side of it. Another brunette, with longer hair – not as long as Rhett’s, but longer than Link’s. And flowy. The guy’s kinda pretty.

Huh. Maybe it’s a threesome video? Two guys and a girl? The guy with the glasses looks surprised but pleased, and Rhett stares at the screen, wondering when the girl will show up.

The other guy says something Rhett doesn’t register, and then he steps into the room, wraps the glasses guy up in his arms, and shoves his tongue down his throat.

The unmistakable sound of a porn sax overdub echoes through Link’s office, and Rhett pulls himself out of it. He clicks through the video, skipping ahead, his eyes growing wide as he gets quick glimpses of erections, blow jobs, sloppy kisses, a finger in a butthole, AND IS THAT HIS TONGUE?? And fucking, so much fucking, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Rhett skips to the end to see the long-haired guy trailing his tongue over the glasses guy’s dick, licking up every messy drop of cum.

And. Oh.

The girl never showed up.

Rhett closes the video.

So Link watches porn. Gay porn.

And he’s never told him.

Rhett can’t help but feel a little confused. And a little jealous.

Why hasn’t Link told him? Why haven’t they talked about it?

Does Link like guys?

Rhett’s never been into guys. Not once, like ever.

Well, sure, he’s thought about Link once in awhile. What it might be like to touch him. Kiss him. Maybe more.

But that doesn’t count. Because it’s Link.

It’s Link!

Rhett’s not into guys. Link doesn’t count.

And if Link is into guys he clearly doesn’t want to tell Rhett yet. And that’s fine.

Isn’t it?

Rhett is a little hurt, but he’s alright with letting Link tell him in his own time. That’s what best friends are for. They’re cool and they’re understanding and they’re patient. And Rhett is all of those things.

He closes the folder, and his eyes fall to the desktop again.

To that douche.

With the familiar face.

Why does he suddenly seem so familiar?

Rhett stares at him for a moment and his blood runs cold.

The video.

The guy at the door with the stupid floppy hair.

Rhett quickly opens the folder again, choosing another file at random.

Cheesy porn music starts and Rhett watches another slightly geeky dark-haired guy with glasses flirt with a dark-haired flop. Rhett skips ahead quickly. There are blowjobs, and the flop is lifting the cute geeky guy, kissing him, spreading his cheeks as the glasses guy gasps–

Rhett closes that video, and clicks another one, and moans fill Link’s office as the video starts right in the middle of a fucking scene. Two guys. Another cute eyeglassed guy with dark hair, and some long-haired jerk. As Rhett watches, he catches sight of a guitar in the background and his face burns hot.

“Rhett?”

Rhett fumbles with the laptop, slamming it closed, but the video keeps playing and the moans of two guys echo through the room as Rhett turns towards the door.

“Link!”

Link looks furious.

“Dude, what’re you doing??”

“I was just looking for– ”

“You’re snooping on my laptop??” Link pushes past him and opens his computer, typing in his password.

“No! I wasn’t! I was just– ”

Link clicks the little x in the top corner of the video and the room falls quiet as he turns back to Rhett.

“That’s my private stuff.”

“I was looking for the Ear Biscuits schedule!”

“And you thought you’d just watch some of my porn while you were in there?”

“It said May! I thought it meant the month!”

“Well it doesn’t mean that!”

“I know that now!”

Link looks at him for a moment and then rolls his eyes. “It’s a stupid name. I’ll.. rename it.. and hide it, I guess.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What if you need somethin’ else in the future?”

“Well I’ll know not to look in the John Mayer folder.”

Link makes a sound, something akin to a squawk. “What??”

“That’s what it is, right?”

“It’s– I mean, it’s..” Link stutters, unable to look at him. “NO.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s not.”

Rhett gestures to the laptop, which still sits open on the desk. “You’re tellin’ me all those dudes with the long hair don’t make you think of… him?”

Link doesn’t answer the question, he just frowns. “I should’a called it something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. PORN maybe?? THIS IS MY PORN RHETT DON’T LOOK AT IT?? Does it need to be that obvious?”

Rhett can’t help but laugh, “That wouldn’t help at all. You know it’d only make me more curious.”

“True.” Link says, and he’s smiling now at least. “So fine, I’ll call it something you won’t care about.”

“Like what?”

“Well I’m not gonna tell you, ya dummy.”

Rhett raises his hands in defeat, “fine, fine.”

The room is quiet for a moment as they look at each other, and Rhett can’t help it when his gaze moves from Link’s face down to the idiot on the screen.

He’s so smug. So full of himself. He writes stupid lyrics and people just swoon over him. Link swoons over him.

But Rhett writes lyrics too. And he sings. What’s wrong with his songs?

“What’s John Mayer got that I ain’t got?”

Link’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “WHAT?”

“I didn’t even know you liked guys,” Rhett says quietly, “and now you’re into HIM of all people.”

“What’s wrong with HIM?”

“Well, for starters, he’s a– ” Rhett stops himself from calling the guy a name. Yeah he’s a stupid dumb idiot who steals the affection of certain best friends, but Rhett doesn’t need to say that to Link. He doesn’t need to make him more upset. “He’s not.. ”

“I know you think he’s not cool,” Link rolls his eyes again. “I don’t care.”

“It’s not that.”

“Well what is it??”

“He’s not.. me.” Rhett can feel his face start to burn the moment the words are out of his mouth. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. What is this? What’s he even doing?

“Not you??” Link laughs. “Dude, don’t tell me you’re jealous of John Mayer now too.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Rhett says, and Link shoots him a skeptical look. “I mean, maybe just a bit. But now...”

“Now what?”

“After I saw those videos..” Rhett chokes out. “Link, why’re you thinkin’ about him and not me?”

“Rhett, you’re not into guys!”

“And you are??” Rhett can’t seem to help the hysterical tone in his voice.

“Well, yeah, man.”

“Since when??”

“Since.. always, I think.”

“What about Christy?”

“Christy knows,” Link shrugs, “she’s okay with it.”

“Oh.”

Rhett thinks of his own wife and how she’d react if it were him.

Lately Jessie’s been more open-minded than anyone, more willing to learn and explore and grow. Would she be okay if he were.. if he liked..

And he already knows the answer – has heard her say a hundred times, a hundred ways, ‘we’re not who we used to be.. so whatever that means for you and Link, that’s fine by me. The four of us can figure it out.’

Rhett hadn’t questioned her at the time. Hadn’t realized what she meant.

“So, look, you found my porn,” Link is saying, “but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about this whole jealousy thing you’ve got going on. I’m not gonna stop watching it just because your feelings are hurt.”

“But..”

“But what??” Link asks, exasperated.

“I want you to think of me.”

“Look,” Link sighs and takes off his glasses, rubbing a hand over his eyes, “I used to think of you..”

“When??”

Link shrugs. “Awhile ago. Years.”

“Why’d you stop??”

“Rhett, listen, I knew it was never gonna happen with you so I made myself stop.”

“And it’s gonna happen with John Mayer??”

“No,” Link laughs, “it’s just a.. just a stupid fantasy.”

“So let me be your fantasy.” Rhett hates himself the moment it’s out of his mouth – he’s never said anything more embarrassing – and Link just gives him an odd look.

“Dude..”

Rhett cringes, “I know.”

“I’m not gonna fantasize about my straight best friend.”

“But I want..”

“Rhett, WHAT.”

“I’m not into guys,” Rhett tries to explain, feeling like an idiot, “but I’m into you.”

“Well, I’m a guy.”

“I know, but you’re – ”

Link steps forward, and before Rhett can say anything more Link leans in and kisses him. It seems to be a test at first, gentle, and then Link slips his tongue out, pressing against Rhett’s lips, encouraging Rhett to open for him.

And Rhett does. He doesn’t even question it. His brain just screams, yes! Finally! And he’s kissing Link, soft and wet, and an ache shoots through his body, straight to his dick.

When Link pulls away, Rhett’s still got his eyes closed, his head tilted, with a smile plastered to his mouth.

“Did you like that?” Link asks.

“Yeahhh,” Rhett sighs dreamily.

“Then you’re into guys, you dummy. The percentage don’t matter.”

Rhett’s eyes snap open. “Okay, I’m into guys.”

Link looks at him, wide-eyed, and smiles. “So kiss me again then.”

Rhett does, taking hold of Link’s face and kissing him, and he knows he’s supposed to be doing something else. He came in this room for a reason. A file or something.

But none of that matters because he’s kissing Link and Link’s kissing him back, and as Rhett pushes Link up against the desk they bump the cable on Link’s laptop and it beeps to notify them that it’s come unplugged.

“Hold on,” Link mumbles, pulling away to plug the cable back in, and Rhett’s eyes are fixed to the photo on the desktop.

Stupid John Mayer douche.

He’ll never have Link.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

Rhett glances up to find Link watching him curiously.

“What?”

“You’re staring at my laptop like you wanna murder it.”

“What,” Rhett sputters, “no I’m not.”

“You really are jealous, huh?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Link, I’m fine.”

“Guess I’ll just leave it open then,” Link smirks. “Since it’s not botherin’ you.”

Rhett reaches past him and slams the laptop shut. “No.”

Link laughs. “You’re like a jealous girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend.”

“Oh, you’re my boyfriend now?”

“Maybe,” Rhett says, and he’s dying. Literally dying. Link’s never going to let him live this down.

But Link kisses him again and suddenly Rhett doesn’t care. They’re kissing and Link is touching him. Link’s hands move down to unbutton his shirt, so Rhett grabs hold of Link’s shirt and tugs it up and over his head.

“What ones did you watch?”

“What what?”

“The videos, which ones.”

Rhett nearly chokes, looking away, and Link takes him by the chin and pulls his gaze back.

“You can tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Rhett admits, “I just skimmed a few.”

“Well what’d they do in them?”

“Blowjobs,” Rhett says, replaying the scenes in his mind, “lots of fingers everywhere. Fucking.”

“Fucking?”

“Yeah, tons of it.”

Link’s fingers slide down Rhett’s belly, stopping at his belt, and the buckle clinks as Link undoes it. “You wanna act it out?”

“Act it out??” Rhett feels like he might actually scream.

“Yeah.”

“DO I HAVE TO BE JOHN MAYER?”

“No!” Link laughs and shuts him up with another kiss. “Just be you, dummy.”

“You want me to– ” Rhett stammers, speaking against Link’s lips, “Want me to go to the door?”

“The door? Why?”

“To knock? Like in the video?”

Link laughs again, and at least Rhett’s managed that. If nothing else, he can always make Link laugh.

“You watched the dorm fantasy video?”

“I don’t know.”

“Guy studying? Red speedo?”

“Ohh, yeah, that one.”

“And how’d it end?”

Rhett’s eyes go wide. “Fucking.”

“Right,” Link says, smiling back at him. “So you wanna just skip to that?”

Rhett’s died. He’s a corpse.

But he manages to breathe out, “Yes.”

Link opens a drawer and tosses a bottle of lube on his desk, and he’s saying “come on, come on,” and Rhett’s brain finally returns to him, because if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s using his dick.

He’s not quite sure of the next step because he’s never done THIS. But Link walks him through the lube and the prep, and god, his ass is beautiful, and now Rhett gets to fuck it, and when Link’s hand slips over Rhett’s dick, slicking him up good, Rhett’s knees nearly give out.

Then Link’s turning away, still talking to him, teasing, asking, “You gonna fuck me better than John Mayer would?” and Rhett grips his hips and slides in slow, easing in deep, gasping at how tight Link is around him.

And Link groans,“Oh god.. fuck, you’re in..

And moans, “Rhett, do it.”

And Rhett does.

He fucks the hell out of Link.

Plows him into the desk.

Tries to fuck John Mayer right out of his mind.

Just rails him.

And Link keeps gasping, “Yeah, like that, yeah, Rhett, fuck me like that,” and when he breathes out “better than John Mayer ever could..” Rhett stops and grabs hold of him, turning him around, needing to see him, wanting Link to see who’s fucking him and giving it to him so good.

Link goes easily, seemingly happy about it, and when Link is bare-assed on the desk with his dick in his hand, Rhett hooks his arms under his knees and fucks in again.

“Tell me,” Rhett sputters as he fucks with everything he’s got.

“Tell you what?” Link is looking up at him, dazed, and they both know Link’s teasing.

“Tell me I’m better.”

“Better than who?”

“You know who,” Rhett grits out, and he’s going to come. Soon. Real soon. And he needs to hear it so bad. “HIM.”

“Oh..” Link grins, and his voice catches in his throat as he says, “John Mayer?”

Rhett can only nod, silently begging Link to give him what he needs.

“You’re better,” Link smiles up at him, his breath stuttering, and Rhett can feel him tighten around his cock. “You’re so good, Rhett, fuck, you fuck me better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Rhett gasps, pulling Link’s knees up higher, fucking in tighter, harder, faster, and he nearly folds Link in half when he leans in to kiss him again.

And Link breathes against Rhett’s mouth, “No one fucks me like you..” and he comes, shooting hot between them, and Rhett groans and stills, coming hard inside Link.

“Fuck, yeah, so much better than him,” Link sighs, “You’re bigger too.”

And Rhett’s pretty sure he passes out.

When he comes to, he’s still holding onto Link, and he lets go slowly, easing his legs down.

“You alright?” Link’s asking, with a little worried expression on his face.

“Yeah,” Rhett says, “was I out long?”

“You were out??” Link sits up quickly, getting a better look at him.

“I think so,” Rhett shrugs, “I dunno. Maybe it was just too good.”

Link laughs, “Dude, stop.”

Rhett stares down at him, looking hurt.

“What, you’re sayin’ it wasn’t good?”

“Rhett– ”

And Rhett knows he’s teasing again, and he knows it was good, but Rhett pushes against his chest anyway, encouraging Link to lie back down on the desk.

And Rhett leans over and licks up every messy drop of cum from Link’s chest, and sucks his dick clean too.

He’s clearly better than John Mayer.

And he definitely likes guys. Especially Link.

#rhink #fic #rhink fic #my fic #jealous rhett #i apologize for the formatting #tumblr hates when i post from my laptop

[snackhobi]

pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), cursing, minor consumption of alcohol, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, pet names, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink, light dom/sub undertones if you squint ig (reader is kind of subby)

– –

Throughout the years of your life, you've learned a few things. Some of them are pretty obvious (buying suspiciously cheap sushi from a petrol station is like playing Russian Roulette with food poisoning and diarrhoea), some of them are less so (just because something is 'on sale' doesn't actually mean that it's cheaper if they'd increased the overall price beforehand), but one thing that you're only just starting to learn is that— for all that Jimin says otherwise— blind dates will always stand you up.

jiminnie is he there yet??

you to my entire lack of surprise, no. i'm starting to wonder if this 'hoseok-hyung' of yours even exists tbh i should have been suspicious from the second you called him a 'friend' bc that implies that you HAVE friends

jiminnie ok RUDE. we're friends??

you suddenly i can't read

The two of you had been outrageously drunk after a night out on the town, once, and Jungkook had come to collect his tipsy boyfriend, and you'd seen the fond way he'd watched Jimin despite his messy behaviour— how he'd given Jimin a piggyback even though it must have been hard with the way Jimin had been squirming and laughing and kicking his legs back and forth— and your heart had squeezed tight in your chest. (You'd been so drunk.)

It had honestly been a slip of the tongue when you'd revealed to Jimin that you were kind of maybe feeling somewhat lonely, a little bit, potentially. You'd had one night stands and short flings but it's been a long time since you've been in an actual relationship, a long time since you've really clicked with someone. Maybe part of you had been missing it, that connection with another person. Normally you're fine with being single, but Jungkook and Jimin are so in love that it spills out from them and you guess in the moment you'd wanted to feel that, too.

You blame the alcohol. You also blame your own loose lips. And Jimin, you blame him too, for persuading you to go clubbing in the first place. You don't even remember what you'd said, waking up with a headache the weight and size of a tectonic plate, groaning at the pain of the morning light stabbing into your eyes, but with no recollection of your admittance that maybe you were tired of being single. Your best friend, however— despite having drunk more than you— could recall the previous night with crystalline clarity, much to your horror and embarrassment. And, because Jimin is Jimin, he'd latched onto what you'd said with the tenacity of a dog with a bone.

Fast forward to where you're sitting now, on yet another arranged date that he's planned for you— and once again, you've been stood up.

you i'm starting to wonder if any of the people you've tried to set me up with are even real

jiminnie omg they ARE you had a nice time with lisa??

Okay, so you hadn't been stood up for every date. Lisa had been the only person who'd shown up, and she was cute and friendly and you got on like a house on fire, but you'd very quickly found out that she was actually head over heels for her best friend Jennie. You being you, your first date had rapidly turned into you giving your new friend a pep-talk and hyping her up— and suffice to say you've been having weekly girl's brunches with Lisa and her now-girlfriend Jennie ever since. So, yes, technically you haven't been stood up every time, but still.

you yes, my ideal first date involves telling the other person that their best friend is definitely in love with them too :))

jiminnie I'VE ALREADY SAID THAT I'M SORRY :(

you LMAO it's fine, it's always nice to make friends but seriously minnie, like,, if your friends are going to stand me up, could you at least have had the decency to organise the date somewhere less fancy? i spent ages getting ready and noah fence it kind of feels like i just wasted a bunch of my time,,

Jimin doesn't fuck around. From the outside the bar, Dionysus, exudes a quiet aura of exclusivity. Inside, however, it has a surprisingly understated atmosphere despite its namesake being the Grecian god of Getting Turnt, the sleek interior paired with soft lighting and stylish fixtures, elegant. 

Either way, it's the kind of place that warrants you actually pulling out the stops with your outfit and makeup; you rarely have a reason to doll yourself up like this and it makes a nice change of pace, but it seems like you shouldn't have bothered. What's the point in putting on a cute dress and nice heels, or doing your hair and opening your expensive Too Faced eyeshadow palette for the first time, if you're just going to be sitting alone at a bar all night? At least you don't stick out, which is good, you guess.

You are the only person who's alone, though. It's midweek and everyone else is seated around one of the tables, couples and groups that are engaged in quiet discussion or watching the show— there's a small stage where there's a quartet performing live music— but you're perched on one of the barstools, tapping away at your phone, alone. If anyone were to pay any attention it would be obvious that you've been stood up, but they're all too busy having an enjoyable evening to spare a glance at the girl sitting by herself at the bar.

The only person who's paying attention to you is the bartender. He's clearly good at his job, keeping an eye on you and making you feel welcome without seeming like he's hovering; he doesn't act like you're being an inconvenience, but you give him a hefty tip each time you order a new drink anyway. Hoseok might not be turning up tonight but if you've gone to the effort of dressing this nicely and getting a taxi here then goddamn you're going to make the most of it.

It takes forty two minutes and three virgin cocktails before the handsome bartender speaks to you, saying something beyond the customary back and forth you've had so far as he hands you your next mocktail. 

"Are your friends usually this late?"

You let out a little huff of laughter. "Something like that." Normally you'd be more hesitant to speak to a stranger like this, but the bartender's eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine and from what you can tell, he's just making that sure you're okay. "Seems like it'll just be me for tonight."

"You're welcome to stay and wait as long as you like," he says, and you can't help but quirk a grin at him.

"I bet you say that to all the paying customers."

He laughs and raises his hands in surrender. "You got me." And then: "If you want another drink, just give me a shout. I'm Seokjin, but everyone calls me Jin."

"As in, Jin and tonic?" You smile. "Sure. I'll be sure to remember that. I'm Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." Jin gives you a grin before disappearing down the other side of the bar to make drinks for some other customers. Your own smile slowly fades, and then turns into a frown, eyes landing on the clock on the wall; Hoseok is forty five minutes late at this point. (You know he's not going to show.) It's been so long that the musicians on the stage have finished their set and are leaving, a different performer about to step on, and you sigh. You'll finish this last drink and then you'll go.

You use your straw to stir the mint leaves and ice cubes around, muddling the flavours in your glass. You haven't really been paying attention to the music before now; you couldn't name the songs that have been performed so far, but they're common enough that you'd recognised the sound of them, the sort of music that most people could hum along to but probably wouldn't know the origin of. Easy listening. Pleasant, but nothing new. It's clearly more about setting a nice backdrop to the bar rather than music for music's sake. A background noise, rather than acting as the focal point of the bar.

You assume this is going to be the case for the next musician, and so you barely pay any mind as the he takes to the stage alone; you're looking down at your glass as he sits at the piano and puts his feet on the pedals and places his hands on the keys, but then, he starts to play.

Your eyes snap up. A chord hangs in the air, extended, haunting; a crescendo into a light melody; the chords dip, waters dark and deep while he weaves the higher notes with infinite softness, ebbing notes that fade into each other, his fingers dancing across the keys with grace and ease. You notice with a throb in your chest that he has no sheet music. He's pulling this music from inside him, his mind, entirely from his own memory.

His eyes are cast down as he watches his hands, but you can see how they slip shut whenever he tilts his head back, fringe hanging over them. His hair is bleached blond but he clearly hasn't been maintaining the look, with dark roots starting to show through. His posture is horrible, his spine a little curved as he slouches forward, and he's not dressed as sharply as the other musicians had been— there's no tie around his neck and he has a multitude of earrings in, rings on his fingers, changing his outfit into something a little messy and different and entirely unique.

He's fucking breathtaking.

Without realising, you've swivelled away from the bar to watch him. Your drink is still clutched in your hand but you pay it no mind, condensation gathering on the cold glass and dripping down your fingers the longer you sit there, ice cubes melting as he finishes his first song and moves onto the next. Same as the first, you don't recognise it, the melody echoing deep in your chest, speaking of some feeling that you can't put a name to, each sliding arpeggio and chord reaching inside you and hanging there, little glowing droplets that shine out like moonlight.

Each of his pieces are entirely different and yet they all feel like him, somehow. Strong and soft and lovely and aching. The water from your glass has pitter-pattered onto your lap, darkening the fabric of your dress in some nameless constellation, but you don't notice. Your world has narrowed down to: the sound of his music, the motions of his hands, the way he bends into the notes, him. 

Your eyes trace his profile, the cat-like eyes, the round of his nose, the pout of his lips, falling into the way he lifts his chin and tilts his head; thoughtless, gorgeous.

You don't realise that it's over until it's over. The final notes hang in the air, crystallising, and then they fade. He finishes with little fanfare, tilting a polite nod at the audience that claps for him, and then he slips off the stage and is gone just as quickly as he had come. You blink, coming back to yourself; you feel like you're rising out of deep water, motions slow and heavy, and you don't know how long you've been sitting there, entirely entranced. You'd been too distracted to clap. You'd just sat and watched in silence as he'd turned to leave, barely sparing the room a glance.

"Good, isn't he?"

Normally you would have startled at Jin's sudden appearance. Instead you just blink again, still trying to shake off the daze you've found yourself in. "Yeah." Your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat and suck in a breath and put your drink down, dripping wetness that leaves a ring on the smooth wood of the bar, and try to speak normally this time, willing your voice to be level. "Yes. He's very good."

"Yoongi is here at the same time every week," Jin supplies, tone conversational, like he's just having a regular chat. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. You wonder if Jin can hear how your heart is pounding, the galloping hooves of a wild horse that tumble in your chest. You try to keep your expression stoic as you look at him, scared that he'll be able to read what's written across your face— but he's smiling at you in the same way as before. Just a barkeeper who's trying to get a return customer. (Although, you'd swear there was a glint in his eye for the briefest moment, but then it's gone.) "He changes the set each time, if you're interested in coming back to hear something new."

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to wet your lips. Dionysus is too fancy of a place to ask customers for tips for the musicians, but— "Can I buy him a drink?"

Jin cocks his head at you. "A drink? For Yoongi?"

"Yes," you say. You feel a little shy when you spot his expression, biting your lip. "I just really enjoyed the music, and I'd like to tip him somehow? Is that a normal thing that people do?"

Jin pauses, and then smiles. This smile is a little wider than the ones he's given you before, different, but he seems pleased. "Who cares about what's normal? I'll get a drink to him. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever he prefers," you say. You figure that Jin would have a better idea about what that is than you, which is proven true by his almost instantaneous reply.

"He likes red wine, or whisky, neat. I think tonight is a whisky kind of night." He's already going through the motions of putting the drink together, and you slide him money as he begins to pour. You know nothing about Yoongi but you can't help but feel like the drink suits him— simple, classic, masculine. "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?"

"Um, you can just say that it's from someone who enjoyed the music, I guess?" You giggle a little, feeling awkward and off balance. Jin is looking at you like he's expecting you to say something else, but you just want to express your enjoyment of Yoongi's music and nothing more. You don't— you don't want to be weird, you just like the sound of his piano playing.

Jin disappears into the back with the glass of whisky, and you finish the watery remnants of your drink before you leave, ice cubes completely melted in the— wow— forty minutes that Yoongi had been playing. It hadn't felt that long at all.

It's not until you're stepping through your front door that you realise you haven't looked at your phone since before the beginning of Yoongi's set. Jimin's messages have been changing from apologetic to concerned to downright frantic.

jiminnie Y/N BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

you how many times should i blink if i don't need help?

jiminnie omg you're ALIVE where were you?? i was starting to get worried

you sorry i got distracted! but i'm fine, i'm at home hoseok never showed

jiminnie yeah i know :(( he messaged me saying he had an emergency and couldn't make it tonight but he's free this weekend??

you … remember when i said that this was the last blind date i was going to go on?

jiminnie it doesn't count as a date if hyung never turned up!!!

you that isn't true and you know it omg minnie… i appreciate what you're trying to do but pls bb. let it rest

jiminnie i just want you to be happy :((

you i don't have to be in a relationship to be happy

jiminnie you said you were lonely!

you omg i was DRUNK let it GO besides being stood up by multiple blind dates isn't going to help me feel less lonely lmao i get that you're happy in your relationship with kookie and you want to spread that happiness but you don't have to!! i'm fine!! yeah i get lonely sometimes but what single person doesn't?? i'm happy being by myself hhhhh

jiminnie fine :(( but if you change your mind, hobi-hyung would still love to meet you!

As you kick off your heels, humming a bar of Yoongi's music to yourself, you think that Hoseok probably shouldn't bother holding his breath.

(That night, when you sleep, you dream of dark eyes and the press of a sinfully perfect cupid's bow against your own lips, a pair of large hands drawing noises from you like a glissando, rings cool against your heated skin.)

–

Wednesday nights become a ritual of sorts. You get dressed, do your hair, match your makeup to your outfit and shoes, coordinating your look into something that doesn't look out of place in Dionysus before you hop into a taxi and make your way to the bar.

You're a firm regular by now. Your seat has become just that, your seat, the same one you'd been sitting in the first time you'd been there; it's towards the dimmer lights at the back and so you're sitting further away from the stage than you might like, but at least you can see the whole room from here. You turn up twenty minutes before Yoongi's set and Jin always greets you warmly when he sees you: you've quickly come to enjoy your chats. Jin is always unashamedly himself and the two of you joke and laugh as he works, but he always knows to leave you alone as soon as Yoongi steps onto the stage. 

For the next forty minutes the rest of the world fades away as you drink Yoongi and his music in, listen to the lilting notes he coaxes out of the piano, watch how his fingers rest on each key before he slides into his next piece, reverent.

You never ever explicitly mention Yoongi in your conversations with Jin, though. The bartender seems to bring the musician up anyway; he does it smoothly, in a way that's utterly casual, and he seems to know a surprising amount about someone who is, by all accounts, a very private person. (You're not complaining about the fact that you now know that Yoongi wears Kumamon slippers because his feet get cold easily— "he's cold blooded, like a lizard," apparently— but you do wonder how Jin knows that.)

The Yoongi that Jin describes is just as beautiful as the man you see on stage, but less mysterious, less distant— and yet he still intimidates you. 

Jin might be his friend but to you Yoongi is unapproachable. Untouchable. To him you're just a nameless face in the audience, nothing more. His eyes will slide across the room before he starts his performance, but he never seems to notice you; it's no surprise, sitting where you do, in an area of relative darkness in comparison to the rest of the bar, and once he sits down he only looks at the piano under his hands. He has no eyes for anything else. You're far enough away and his lashes are cast so low that even when his eyes are open it's hard for you to see where he's looking, and the shadow of his fringe hides how his pupils scan his hands as he plays, anyway.

Every week, when the set draws to a close, Jin is already pouring Yoongi's whisky or wine and you slide him the exact amount of change. Every week, Jin asks if you want to pass on a message, and every week, you say the same thing: that it's from someone who enjoyed the music. And that's that. Jin will disappear to give Yoongi his drink and you'll finish your own drink in quiet solitude before you slide off your barstool to go home.

(The only thing that's changed over the weeks is that the music Yoongi plays seems to be a little lighter and— dare you say— happier? He still looks down at the piano with the same intensity, still lays his hands on the keys with the same delicate pressing weight before he begins to play— but with some songs he seems to be teasing the music out, flirting with each note, eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his chin and moves his hands.

You're not a musician by any means, so you don't know how to describe it with any sort of accuracy or terminology, but to you it's like the deep waters of Yoongi's music have been cut through with light, beams of sun rippling through the dark blue. You don't know what's caused this change, the slow uplift in his mood throughout the weeks, but you hope he manages to keep hold of it, whatever it is.)

Between work and studying and volunteering and making time to see friends, you don't often have time entirely to yourself, and so Wednesday nights are a rare moment of peace during your otherwise busy week. That's why when Jimin says that he's had to rearrange your weekly film night to Wednesday— because he and Jungkook are going down to Busan to see each other's families this weekend— you decline. 

Jimin is rendered speechless and demands to know why.

"I'm busy," is your answer. Jimin doesn't buy it.

"You're never too busy for movie night," he says. "Wednesday is the only night we're all free."

"Well, I'm not free, Minnie. Sorry," you say. His head is in your lap, your fingers gently stroking his hair, and you can easily see the way his face contorts with disbelief as he stares up at you.

"Do you hear that, babe? Y/n is too busy for our weekly tradition." Jimin sounds scandalised.

Jimin is stretched out between the two of you— while his head is in your lap, his feet are in Jungkook's, the younger man idly massaging his boyfriend's ankles and feet. "Yes, babe, I heard," Jungkook says, indulgent.

"What's more important than movie night?" Jimin lifts one of his legs and Jungkook turns his attention to that one, digging his fingers into the arch of Jimin's foot. Jimin sighs in relief, but then turns the full force of his stare back at you. "We were going to watch Spirited Away. You love Spirited Away."

"I'm just busy," you say, and that had been your mistake. You should have had some sort of credible reason but you hadn't been prepared, and while he hadn't made it obvious at the time, Jimin had latched onto your vague excuse, sniffing out weakness like a shark with blood in the water. If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed, but you hadn't paid attention and so you hadn't noticed. (Whoops.)

And so, Wednesday night that week is the same as always; Yoongi plays his music, you fall a little bit more in love, and pass your compliments to him with Jin as the mouthpiece. You go home, wash your makeup off, and arch into the touch of your own hand while imagining it's someone else's fingers sliding across your skin. Routine. Normal. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

The next week, however, it all goes to shit.

Okay. Maybe that's a little dramatic. It's not as bad as all that. The night starts as normal: you're on your stool, and you have your drink, and you have ten minutes until Yoongi is due to play, shifting to get comfortable, crossing your legs.

But then: 

"Oh my God, you're wearing your come fuck me heels," comes Jimin's voice from behind you, and your blood turns to ice.

You turn on the barstool so fast you almost fall off it. You come face to face with Jimin who has an expression of what can only be described as sheer delight on his face. He's even dressed appropriately for the bar, a silk shirt tucked into his Very Tight jeans and a subtle smoky eye to top it off; Jungkook looks nice, too, but you have no doubt that he's only here under sufferance, if the infinitely apologetic look on his face is anything to go by.

"Jimin?" Your voice comes out as a hiss. If you were a cat your back would be up and your hackles would be raised and all your fur would be on end, your entire body going into fight mode. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself what was more important than movie night," Jimin says simply, like it's obvious. "So here we are."

"Sorry, Y/n," Jungkook apologises from over his boyfriend's shoulder. Jimin ignores him.

You can feel how your face is starting to flush, your skin crawling with embarrassment. You change your outfit every week and your friends have managed to turn up on the one week where you've cycled into what could probably be considered your most promiscuous one, the hem of your dress high and the cut of it low, along with shoes that Jimin had rightfully named as your Come Fuck Me heels. It wasn't because you were trying to seduce anyone but you only have so many items in your wardrobe that are appropriate for Dionysus. 

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin says mysteriously.

"He stalked your Bitmoji on Snapchat. Ow." Jungkook pouts as Jimin slaps his arm. "Sorry, again. I said we should leave you alone but Jimin said we should check in case you'd been kidnapped because you never willingly go into bars."

You're interrupted by Jin, who'd been busy serving someone when your idiot friends had turned up; he leans across the bar and touches your shoulder and fixes Jimin and Jungkook with the most intimidating look you've ever seen on his face. You know Jin as a light-hearted pun master, harmless and goofy and approachable, a great friend— but right now he looks like some sort of beautiful guardian angel, broad shouldered and narrow eyed and honestly, pretty menacing. 

"Are you alright?" He keeps his eyes on the other two men as he speaks. "Are these guys bothering you?"

Jimin, rather than looking cowed, looks like he's reached a stage of absolute euphoria, eyes darting between Jin's hand on your shoulder to your face. Jungkook's face, meanwhile, is doing that thing it does whenever someone issues him some kind of challenge, his sweetness abruptly being swallowed by his competitive side and his stubborn refusal to lose anything. You're the only person who has the power to save this situation before it goes absolutely tits up, and you swallow down a resigned sigh.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jin," you say, looking at him with a smile as you pat the hand on your shoulder. "Unfortunately these guys are my friends, much to my infinite suffering. Well, Jungkook's alright. Jimin is the one who's the pain."

"Hey," Jimin whines. Jungkook looks quietly pleased, but pretends to scowl when Jimin looks at him, offended on his boyfriend's behalf.

Jin still seems unhappy but pulls his hand back. "Alright," he says, but then he pitches his voice low so that only you can hear: "If you need any help, just ask me for a rum and soda, okay?"

You always order mocktails whenever you're here, wanting to stay completely sober so that you can enjoy Yoongi's playing with all the attention it deserves. You've never asked for anything alcoholic, least of all a rum and soda. Although you really are okay, you can't help but be warmed by Jin's concern for you and how he's offering you this careful, considerate lifeline in case you need it. "I will do. Thanks, Jinnie."

He smiles at you and then gives Jungkook and Jimin one final frown before going to deal with a gaggle of customers who've gathered at the other end of the bar. While Jungkook remains standing, taking in the interior of the bar with wide eyes, Jimin slides onto the stool next to yours.

"He's fucking hot," Jimin says with no preamble, eyeing Jin without shame as the bartender starts to pour and mix different drinks. Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise but settles when Jimin pats him fondly on the butt. "I'm not surprised you're wearing those heels. I would too if I were you."

"Oh my God, Jimin." You hide your face in your hands. "Jin is just a friend, please don't make this weird."

"Come on, Y/n, it's okay," Jimin says reassuringly as he pats your shoulder, replacing Jin's touch with his own. "The blind dates might not have worked out, but you've met someone nice so that's good! I mean, you did meet him because I organised the date here in the first place, but I'll let that slide. Also I can't believe you missed movie night because of a boy and you didn't tell me, but I'll let that slide too because I love you."

Park Jimin is your best friend. Park Jimin meddles in your life despite your protestations and isn't beyond being passive aggressive to get his way, but Park Jimin is also one of the nicest people you know and everything he does is because he loves you and will do whatever he thinks is necessary to reach his end goal of making you happy. He's magnanimous and kind and caring, and he also has absolutely the wrong idea right now, clearly under the impression that you're attracted to Seokjin and have been flirting with him for however many weeks it's been since you were meant to meet Hoseok here.

"No, seriously, Jimin, it's not Jin." You look at Jimin through the gaps in your fingers. "He's cute, yeah, but I don't come here because of him."

Your friend looks genuinely baffled, hand stilling on your shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

And, with perfect timing— as if your life is some badly written film or romantic drama— the clock ticks over to 8pm and Yoongi steps onto the stage. His hair is dark, blond replaced with black a few weeks ago, though it's still long enough that it hangs in his eyes; he looks a little ragged around the edges, a little messy, a little tired, and altogether beautiful. You want to touch the coolness of your fingertips to the dark circles under his eyes, want to press kisses across each of his bony knuckles, want to let your tongue settle in the hollow of his neck that shows each time he leans back and tilts his head up just so.

You hadn't even meant to but you'd turned away from Jimin the second you'd heard piano notes begin to play, drawn in by the sound like a moth to a flame. Jimin's hand falls off your shoulder and you hear him breathe out a quiet oh of realisation. You tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi at the piano and turn on your stool to face the bar again, gripping your glass with both hands, shoulders hunched.

"I like to watch him play," you say, and your voice is near a whisper, so as not to detract from the music.

"It's beautiful," Jungkook says, speaking before Jimin can say anything. His voice is quiet, too, not wanting to break over the sound of the piano. 

And so you hear with absolute clarity as Yoongi shifts mid-song into something different and it startles you. Yoongi always varies his music, always has something new, but you've been here often enough that you had recognised the opening song— it was one of your favourites— and you know that he's cut himself off before finishing, soft melody jumping into the opening bars of something different, sharper, a little angry, maybe sorrowful. Something that pulls at you and demands your attention.

Of course you give it to him. You swing your head away from your drink to watch him once more, watch how his motions have changed, the way he surges forward and presses his weight into his arms and down into his hands, his fingertips, the keys. You turn your entire body at this point, settling in your usual position for when you watch Yoongi; you see how his head tilts and he shifts from a minor into a major key, the same notes and chords transformed from something pensive into something joyful as he leans away from the heavier hands he'd been forcing the keys down with.

"How long does this go on for?" Jimin asks.

"About thirty or forty minutes," you answer. Though you turn your head back over your shoulder so that Jimin can hear you, you keep your eyes fixed on Yoongi. It's probably entirely coincidental, the sudden change in his music coinciding with when you turned away from him and when you looked back. He's not playing for you, he's playing for the whole bar, and besides, he's been looking down at the piano the whole time. He hasn't been looking at you.

And yet. The idea that Yoongi has noticed you and wants you to watch him has something hot settling low in your belly.

Jimin leans forward so that his chin is on your shoulder, talking directly into your ear as his hands wrap around your waist from behind. "This is the guy?"

Yoongi finishes the song and you watch in captivation as he swallows and runs a hand through his hair before he starts the next one. He's never done that before. Fuck. "Yes. Yoongi's the guy."

"Do you wait until he's finished so you can speak with him?" Jimin asks, ever curious.

You pause. "No," you admit. "No, I've never actually spoken to him."

Jimin doesn't ask why you've been coming back to see a guy you don't know and haven't talked to. He just hums gently. Jimin is pushy but he's also understanding and empathetic and knows what to say, when to press forward and when to hold back. It's one of the reasons you love him so much.

Jimin lapses into silence as Yoongi starts the next piece. It's one you haven't heard before and it's a little fiercer than most of Yoongi's recent songs. Rather than each note sliding into the next, he hammers them out separately, each note a statement that builds into something larger, a provocation. A storm gathering above Yoongi's waters, threatening to pull you in, pull you under.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook and Jimin briefly murmuring to each other, then Jimin's hands slide from off your waist and you hear the sound of him shifting so that Jungkook can sit down, Jimin using his boyfriend's lap as a chair instead. You have to wonder if the barstools can actually support that kind of weight, but Jin doesn't come over to tell them off, so you figure it must be okay.

On stage, Yoongi's hands pause, an uncharacteristic caesura that breaks the flow of the notes he'd been stringing together before he resumes playing as if this hiccup had never occurred. To anyone else, it would sound like that break was meant to be there, but you know better. You know Yoongi had faltered.

No way.

No way?

He's paying attention to you.

(Oh, shit.)

No way.

You're suddenly so overwhelmed that you actually feel nauseous. You've been consumed with thoughts of Yoongi for weeks, had images of him playing you just as easily as he does that piano, thoughts of him laying you out bare beneath him, but the idea that Yoongi actually knows who you are? Is aware of you on some level? Wants your eyes on him?

Fuck. 

It's too much. 

You're already off kilter from Jimin and Jungkook's arrival— as harmless as their appearance was meant to be— and this is the cherry on top. You don't know if you can keep your composure right now and you need to get away from Yoongi before you end up walking onto the stage and pulling him off that stupid piano stool to show him exactly how much you enjoy his music.

"Jimin? Jungkook? How about you say we go to a club and get absolutely shitfaced?"

You haven't looked away from Yoongi in the time that you've said this, but you can just feel the confusion emanating from the men behind you.

"But you—"

"I thought—"

"We're already dressed up, aren't we? Besides, I still owe you for film night, so drinks are on me."

There's little argument from them after that. For the first time since you've been coming here you leave before Yoongi's set is done, slipping out of the bar without noticing Jin's confused gaze on you. 

It's not until much later, once you've drunkenly fallen onto Jimin and Jungkook's couch, that the sober part of your brain whispers to you: you didn't buy Yoongi his drink.

(That night you dream of stormy skies and tattered sails and a capsizing ship. Once you wake, the memory of the dream quickly leaves you, and the last thing you remember is the sight of someone reaching towards you, pulling you out of the water, skin pale and head ringed with blond hair, a halo— and then you forget that too, slipping through your fingers like quicksand.)

–

Of course you go back to Dionysus the next week. You make Jimin promise that he won't turn up without warning again, and then you make Jungkook promise that he'll at least send you a heads-up message if Jimin changes his mind. Despite both these promises, after the debacle last week with your outfit, you've actually bought new clothes, so at least today you don't feel as scandalous. (You still look hot, though.)

You're grateful when Jin doesn't press you for details or ask why you left early last week. He just greets you like he normally does and predicts your order with his usual aptitude, and as you stir your drink with your straw, you have to wonder at what happened. You're probably overreacting, overthinking things, grasping at nothing; there is not a chance in hell that Min Yoongi, reclusive piano savant, has noticed you. No way. Nuh-uh.

He's probably only aware of your existence because of the repeated drinks you've had Jin foist on him. If anything he's probably annoyed at you after not tipping him with last week— he's probably come to expect them by now and you'd forced him to miss out. Maybe you'll get Jin to give him two drinks this week? Ooh, then again, maybe not. Is two shots of whisky a lot? People drink doubles, don't they. How strong is the wine he likes, anyway?

Yoongi's appearance on stage pulls you out of your thoughts. He makes his way up the steps, towards the piano, scans the room— and then for the first time since you've been coming here to watch him, he stops.

He stops because he's looking at you.

It's only for the briefest moment, eyes resting on you for maybe five seconds, and then you breathlessly watch as his mouth twists into something that can only be described as a smirk, pleased at the sight of you.

Oh, God.

He looks away and sits at the piano like he normally does, but you would swear that his back is a little straighter— something in his posture that reads as cockiness, even. He launches into a song that starts light but then almost immediately dances into something flirtatious, seductive, and tonight whenever Yoongi glances at you, he makes sure that you know. He turns his head just so, looks at you through the curve of his lashes, each touch of those dark eyes against your own sending little shivers through you, punching the breath out of your lungs.

You've always been entranced by Yoongi and tonight is no different. The minutes slide by as easy as water, liquid, music gliding over you like the rising tide, kissing your skin like the ebb and flow of the waves. It feels like he's barely started when his set is over and he's finished, standing up with as little ostentation as always before he vanishes off the stage.

You already have the money counted out before Jin has made his way over. You slide it towards him as he pours the whisky, but rather than asking if you have a message to pass to Yoongi, a look of consternation passes over his face.

"The price has gone up," Jin says, and you blink.

"Oh, that's no problem. How much is it now?" You're reaching for your purse to get more money out when Jin puts the whisky on the bar in front of you.

"No, don't worry, I'll just go out back and get the right change for you," he says. He says it with such confidence that it takes you a beat too long to realise that what he's just said makes no sense— why is he getting you change if you haven't even given him enough money? Isn’t there change in the till?— but by this point he's already gone, the staff door swinging shut behind him. 

You tilt your head, beyond confused.

Someone chuckles from behind you, the sound quiet and low. "Ah, cute."

You twist in your seat to see who's talking and then freeze. Yoongi is standing right there, looking at you with his dark, dark eyes; it's the first time you've been subjected to the full intensity of his gaze, from this close, and your pulse picks up. He looks a little softer without the lights of the small stage throwing him into sharp relief but his aura is just as intense; your eyes dart across each feature of his face as you drink him in— the mess of his fringe hanging into his sharp eyes, the faintest freckle on his nose, his surprisingly cute cheeks, his pink mouth.

The mouth that's curving into a sly little smile, now, your eyes flying back up to meet his own.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" He points at the whisky. He takes it before you can answer, and there's something unfairly erotic about how he drinks it: the way he holds the glass, swirling the whisky over the chilled rocks inside; the way his mouth falls open as the tumbler touches his lips; the way his head tilts back as he lets the liquor flow into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You shamelessly watch him the whole time. He lowers the glass from his lips, still a little parted as he takes a breath in, and then he's looking back at you. You have to bite back a noise that's risen up in your throat, unbidden. Does he know how much he affects you? 

You adjust your position on the barstool, thoughtlessly uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you regain your balance. Yoongi's eyes fly down to watch the motion and you're close enough to him that you see how his pupils dilate at the movement. A breath escapes your mouth, a little pant of air that you desperately mask as a cough as you try to calm the racing of your heart, the flood of arousal that's pulsing through you.

"I'm glad you like the whisky," you say, your voice steady despite how your legs feel like they're about to give out. (Thank god you're sitting down.) "I'm sorry to have deprived you of it last week."

Yoongi's shifted so that he's leaning against the bar. He's standing while you're still sitting and you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "You did seem like you were in an awful hurry," he says, a teasing lilt to his tone, and yet his voice is still so low, deeper than you'd imagined.

Despite the levity in his words there's something heavy in his gaze. "Oh?" You can't help but react to it, helpless and unable to resist. "You noticed me leaving?"

Yoongi's eyes sharpen. Hooked. "Of course," he says. "You're the only thing I pay attention to when I'm here. You have been from the first night you walked in."

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn't expected Yoongi to say something so forthright, to be so direct, more used to coy flirtation from the other people you've met in the past; it's like you've been dipped in cold water, a shock to the system, bracing and invigorating and refreshing.

"Oh," you say, at a loss with how to respond. Yoongi seems pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a self satisfied smile.

"Besides," he adds, "I find it flattering that not only do you come here every week to watch me, you always make sure to make your appreciation known, too." He lifts the glass up and takes another drink, but this time he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does, gaze unwavering as he finishes his drink. The rocks tumble over themselves as he sets the glass down on the bar, lower lip wet with a drop of whisky that lingers; his tongue sweeps across it and leaves a sheen, catching the light, shining. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight. "It would have been hard to ignore that even if I'd wanted to."

A shiver trickles down your spine. You'd really only ever meant it as a compliment, a quiet way to express your admiration about his craft, and you have to ask— "How long have you been playing the piano?"

This question seems to throw Yoongi off kilter. You see the way his lashes flutter as he blinks with surprise. "For as long as I can remember," he says, and then a small smile appears on his lips. "When I was young I had a toy piano that I constantly used to hammer at, so when I grew up a little, my parents bought the real thing so that I could learn how to play."

He sounds nostalgic and your heart squeezes in your chest. "You're self-taught, right?" You ask, remembering something Jin had told you before. 

Yoongi looks briefly startled. "Yes, I am," he says, and then his eyes narrow. "Did Jin tell you that?"

"Um, yeah." You squirm a little on the barstool. "Sorry, should I not have said anything about it?"

"No, no, you're okay. It's just that Jin says a lot of things, and I'm just wondering what else he said to you." Yoongi's tone is weirdly pained.

The concern is obvious on his face, and you wonder if Jin is to Yoongi what Jimin is to you— well-meaning but maybe a little overwhelming in their approach. 

"All good things, I promise. I love dogs, too." You smile up at Yoongi, who seems a little taken aback, and the smile starts to drop off your face. "Um. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." For all that Yoongi was smirking earlier, he seems a little unsure now. You feel confused, waiting as Yoongi clearly turns some thoughts over in his head, and then he says: "What exactly has Jin told you?"

You smile. You recognise that tone, the nonchalance that hides a little worry— it's exactly how you sound whenever you find out that Jimin has been speaking to someone about you, even if it's always positively. "Oh, just bits and pieces," you say. Feeling bold, you pat the barstool next to you, tilting your head invitingly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself instead so we can see if Jin was lying to me?"

Yoongi looks genuinely startled, his eyes widening imperceptibly before the expression wipes off his face as if nothing had happened. "Why not," he says, as if in equal parts to himself and to you, before he takes a seat.

Here's what you learn about Yoongi: he's intense, yes, and soft spoken, but as you continue to talk, he begins to loosen up, bit by bit. When he laughs he smiles so wide that his eyes squeeze shut and you can see his gums and you're so fucking endeared at the sight. He's sharp and smart and witty and just so, so intriguing. 

You prop your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in your hand as he talks, wanting to take everything in, and you rapidly realise that Min Yoongi is less of an enigma than you'd thought, but just as complex as you'd expected— and you want to unravel that complexity. If he'll let you.

You've been talking for so long that the bar has started to empty out, patrons trickling away, the two of you so engrossed with each other that you barely notice. You find out that Jin and Yoongi are actually roommates, best friends, and that Jin is as chaotic as you'd expect and is also very good at drawing Yoongi into his shenanigans; you throw your head back to laugh at one of his stories, and when you catch your breath you find Yoongi looking at you, watching you with an expression on his face that makes you pause. He's been watching you intently all night, listening quietly whenever you talk, but this expression, this is new. He swallows.

"Can I ask something?"

You blink. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks, and that's not a question you'd been expecting at all.

"Uh," you say eloquently. "Well. Honestly? I couldn't stay away, I guess. I'm not really a musician, and I don't know a lot about the piano, but there's something in your music and the way you play— every song makes me feel something different and new, or reminds me of something I haven't felt, places I haven't been to, but I feel like I know somehow. Like I'm nostalgic for something that I haven't experienced, that doesn't exist. It's almost like you're taking my hand and showing me around some hidden part of the world that only you can see— like you've made it into music because that's the only way you can communicate it. How could I not come back after that?" You pause. "Um. Does that make sense? I feel like it didn't. Sorry?"

Yoongi's been watching you as you've been talking, silent, and by the time you've finished his mouth has fallen open a little. He stares at you for a few moments longer, and then he says: "Holy shit." And then he says: "Oh my God." And then he says: "What the fuck."

"… I guess it didn't make sense, then?" Despite the ease of your earlier conversation you suddenly feel awkward, laughing a little as your legs uncross so that you can shuffle to the edge of your barstool. Ready to hop up and make a quick get away if you need to. Run away from the embarrassment. "Um."

"Y/n," Yoongi says, and you realise with a start that you haven't introduced yourself to him throughout your whole conversation— Jin must have told him your name— but then he keeps talking. "I thought you just— I don't know, that you just kept coming back because of me. Not the music. Then Jin kept talking about you and—" 

He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair; you stare at his bared forehead, and it says about how attracted you are to him that the sight of his forehead is enough to set your heart racing. "I thought that maybe if I let this happen just one time that it would be enough, but now I don't think it will."

"Yoongi." You're confused, unsure if you've correctly understood what he's just said. "Let what happen one time? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you," Yoongi says. "Fucking you." His voice is a rasp and the sound of it, the sound of his words, shoots straight through you and into your core. "I thought the drinks were— I don't know, an invitation. But they weren't, were they? You really meant it. You really like my music. And me."

Yoongi's voice is hoarse and you come to the realisation that he feels tense. Like he can accept that you want to have sex with him, but he's bowled over by the idea that you're attracted to the other parts, too, as few of those as you know. That you genuinely enjoy what he plays. That you think it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Yoongi," you say, tone deceptively gentle. "I really, really like your music, and I think you're an incredibly talented musician, and I've been memorising everything Jin's been telling me about you because I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever come across and I'd really like to get to know more about you. So I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to talk to you like this." You gesture between the two of you, sitting as you are, facing towards each other on your barstools. And then you brace yourself to take the leap, to throw yourself into uncharted waters. "However, I am also insanely attracted to you and I've spent the past I-don't-know-how-many weeks picturing you bending me over that piano and fucking me so hard that I can't walk straight."

Yoongi freezes in the middle of rubbing the back of his neck, a clearly nervous habit. Though your voice has kept steady while you've been talking, your heart has been thrumming in your chest the whole time, feeling as nervous as Yoongi looks. Something flickers across his face, and his hand drops away from his neck as he straightens, pushing himself off from where he's been leaning against the bar.

"Oh?" He leans towards you. Your legs unthinkingly part as he moves, the material of your dress hitching up as you spread your knees so that he can get closer. "So you do want me to fuck you?"

His nervousness seems to be entirely gone, emboldened by your words. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as he holds you in place, at his mercy. He's barely touched you but the feeling of contact makes you bite back a whimper. Even though it's darker here and you're away from the tables, away from the few remaining patrons of the bar, the two of you are in plain sight even under the dimmed lights; you're not doing anything illicit or inappropriate but a little thrill trickles down your spine at the idea.

"Yoongi," you breathe.

"What is it, babygirl?" He tips his head down as he moves closer, his nose brushing yours, each of his words a warm curl across your lips. "Tell me."

The pet name sends a shiver through you. Your hands rise from your lap, sliding over his chest to touch lightly at his neck, a little shy, a little bold. "I want you to kiss me."

"Oh?" Yoongi's mouth is so close to yours, and when you tilt forward to kiss him, he stays just out of your reach, leaving you wanting. "You think you deserve a kiss, do you?"

You can't help but make a little noise, a petulant whine at the back of your throat. He has you entirely at his mercy and he knows it. "Please," you say. "Please, Yoongi, wanna kiss you so bad."

The smile he gives you in reply is wicked. "How can I say no when you've asked so politely?"

Yoongi finally, finally dips his head down and then he's kissing you with such intensity it steals the breath out of you. It's open-mouthed and wet and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth in between taking your top and bottom lips between his own, alternating, sucking on them and lapping at them with his tongue. You chase after his mouth with your own, roll your tongues together, hands sliding over the smooth skin of his throat as they circle behind his neck, but then Yoongi pulls away; you bite that needy whine back again, kiss cut short far sooner than you would have liked.

Yoongi is taking the sight of you in, eyes lingering on your shining lips, and then he's rising to stand. You're shaken out of your kiss-induced haze when he does, a little confused, but he takes your hand in his and you let him lift up, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is pitched low, deep with a promise of pleasure to come, and you shiver.

"God, I thought you'd never ask," you say in a rush, and he just laughs quietly at your obvious desperation.

"Come on, then." He helps you off the barstool, your hand still in his— god, his hands are so big and his touch is so warm. His eyes are dark as he watches the way you reach to rearrange the hem of your dress with your free hand, but he beats you to it, palm flattening the material against your legs; his fingers dance just under the edge as he straightens it, hand sliding over the skin of your inner thigh and lingering before he pulls away.

"You're shameless," you say, a little breathless, and Yoongi just smirks at you. Tease.

Your fingers remain tangled with his as he leads you behind the bar and through the staff door. Jin's out back, scrolling through something on his phone, but as soon as you walk in he abandons whatever he's doing and raises his eyebrows. He looks surprisingly severe. "Customers aren't allowed back here."

Your eyes widen, but then Jin's serious expression cracks and he starts to laugh. Although he's joking and clearly doesn't care, you feel a little guilty at breaking the rules and duck behind Yoongi, shy. Yoongi snorts and holds a middle finger up at the bartender.

Jin gasps theatrically, clutching his chest while looking askance. "I raise you from birth and this is the thanks I get?"

"You're one year older than me, hyung."

"I carry you in my womb for nine months and birth you into this world and you— oh, okay, you technically shouldn't be doing that either," Jin says, stopping mid-sentence as Yoongi decides his hyung has been talking for too long and turns away from him to start kissing you again, shameless as he tugs you close to him and licks into your mouth; you immediately fall back into him, unable to resist. "Jesus Christ, Yoongi."

Once you part, you bury your head into Yoongi's chest as his arms come around you, hiding your embarrassment in Yoongi's dress shirt. "Sorry, Jinnie," you say, muffled.

"You are absolutely not to blame here, Y/n, you are an angel and a sweetheart." Jin's tone is soothing. "Yoongi, however, is a tiny evil gremlin who needs to learn how to control himself. Though I can't blame him, you are very cute."

"Hyung, I need the apartment tonight," Yoongi says without preamble. You wriggle in the circle of his arms. You're not normally this timid but Yoongi is just so direct and blasé with Jin that you can't help but feel a little shy, as hot and bothered as you are.

"I'll crash at Joon's," the bartender says. He’s obviously not surprised. You lift your head from Yoongi's chest to look at Jin and find that he's smiling at you. "If Yoongi starts to bother you, just whap him on the nose. I find a rolled up newspaper works best if you have one to hand."

"I'll kill you, Kim Seokjin," Yoongi says.

Jin just laughs as he waves the two of you off and you take the initiative to start pulling Yoongi towards the back door. He comes easily, but once the door has swung shut behind you he takes the lead again and guides you towards his car. He lets go of your hand so that he can unlock it, swinging the passenger door open for you, and he's unabashed in how he watches you step in and eyes the way your dress hitches up again as you slide into your seat; he leans against the car and just stares at you.

There's honestly nothing sexier when someone clearly wants you as much as you want them. It makes you feel bold, drunk on the way he looks at you. 

You glance up at him through your lashes. "The sooner we get to yours, the sooner you can have me," you say.

Yoongi curses under his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

Surprisingly enough, though, he keeps his hands to himself when he gets behind the wheel. You can't help but feel a little surprised; you don't know how close Yoongi's home is to the bar, but you very rapidly tire of waiting to feel his hands on you again and so you lean over the centre console and press a fleeting kiss just behind his ear.

Yoongi doesn't outwardly react, continuing to stare at the road, so you take this as a challenge. You slide one of your hands onto his thigh— for balance, of course— and kiss behind his ear again, tug his lobe with your teeth, mindful of his piercings, and then proceed to trail little kisses down his neck and the little slither of his collarbone that you can reach without his shirt getting in the way. You finally get to lick your tongue in the hollow of his neck that you've been thinking about for weeks.

Yoongi's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Jackpot. 

"Y/n," he says, voice low, and you're so close to his throat that you can hear the rumble behind his words. You love it. "You should stop now, or we're not going to make it to my apartment."

You go still. Yoongi continues to look at the road but his knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, and when you glance down you can see how much you've affected him, cock hardening in his slacks. It would be so easy to slide your hand up his thigh and finally touch him, have him pull over and wreck you, but you want something more than a quick fumble in the seat of a car. 

So you just press your lips lightly against the line of his jaw one last time. You let yourself breathe in the dark scent of his cologne— pinewood and pepper and something deeper— before you pull back, folding your hands in your lap demurely, trying to force yourself to be content with waiting.

"Good girl," Yoongi says. You can't help but preen; you don't normally respond to praise like this, but something about Yoongi just makes you want to please him, hear him compliment you again. Yoongi glances at you, a little flicker of realisation as he sees how you've just reacted to his words, and his eyes darken. "You like that, baby? Like being a good girl for me?"

Fuck. "Yes." Your pulse is rising. You've been craving Yoongi for weeks, but god, if he asked you to go home right now, sent you home without touching you, you'd go, just to hear him call you a good girl again. But you don't want him to leave you untouched, you don't want that at all. "I want you to touch me, Yoongi," you say. "I'll be a good girl, please just touch me."

"Fuck." Yoongi's foot presses down on the accelerator. He's never wanted to live closer to the bar before, but the sight of you staring at him from his passenger seat and rubbing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to give yourself some relief is making him rethink his housing location. "I will, baby. We'll be there soon."

Soon turns out to be less than five minutes, scarcely any time at all, though each second is torturous in how long it feels. Yoongi's careless in how he parks the car, wonky within the lines of his spot, but neither of you notice or care. You fumble with the buckle of your belt, climbing out of the car as quickly as you can and slamming the door shut with more power than you probably need to, noise loud in the quiet of the night.

Before you can react, however, Yoongi is rounding the car and grabbing you, pressing you against the metal and glass of the door. One of his hands slips under your thigh, lifting your leg and shoving the hem of your dress out of the way so that he can grind against you; you gasp at the feeling of his growing hardness against the dampness of your underwear, and Yoongi leans forward to swallow the sound into his mouth. 

The kiss is rushed and desperate, but you love the messiness of it. Yoongi pulls away to press his lips against the side of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, mouthing at the jumping pulse he finds there. You start to make small ah-ah noises when he laves his tongue over it, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, each of his touches fizzing like electricity on your skin.

"P-people could see," you stutter, struggling to catch your breath with how good his mouth feels on you.

Yoongi smirks against your skin. "I thought you wanted me to touch you," he says, but immediately relents, pulling away from you so he can lead you into the building. You miss the heat of his body against yours but he keeps hold of your hand as you follow him; it's late and the building seems quiet, so you're mindful of just how loud your high heels sound as they clack on the floor, though Yoongi doesn't seem to care.

When you step into the apartment you reach down for the straps on your shoes so you can kick them off but Yoongi stops you with a hand to your shoulder. It's a light touch but you stop immediately, glancing up from your feet to his face.

"Let me," he says, and a hot trickle of arousal runs down your spine at the tone of his voice. 

You straighten up and watch as Yoongi gets down on one knee, hands circling around your ankle and lifting your foot. You rest the toe of your shoe lightly on Yoongi's knee, watching as he undoes the strap around your ankle and slides the shoe off, setting it to one side, before he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. You shiver at the light touch and Yoongi smirks, letting your ankle go so you can move and he can take your other shoe off, too.

He barely takes his eyes off your face the whole time, only glancing down when he has to. His motions are slow and unhurried despite his earlier rush, carefully setting the second shoe next to the first, and you can't help but feel like he's teasing you— drawing out your reactions just because he can. Before you can say anything about it, though, his hands trail up from your calves to your thigh before he hitches your leg over his shoulder, one hand staying on your thigh as the other grips at your hip.

You bite back a gasp. From his angle Yoongi can see everything and he's looking up with hooded eyes, staring at the dark patch on your underwear, wet for him; his gaze trails across the lace of the lingerie you're wearing, the small colourful flowers blooming across the dark material. It was something you'd put on to complete your outfit, the matching panties and bra making you feel expensive and pretty— even if you hadn't expected anyone to see it.

"Look at you," he says, hand lowering from your hip to trace lightly across your slit; it's a barely-there touch, sensation dulled by the material in the way, but you still jolt at the feeling of it. "Did you wear this for me?"

"Of course," you confess. You've wanted his eyes on you for so long. "Always dress up pretty for you."

"Fuck." He sounds reverent. "You've always been such a good girl for me, haven't you?"

A needy noise rises unbidden at the back of your throat when Yoongi spreads your leg wider and leans forward to mouth at you through the lace of your panties. Your knees go weak and you have to lean back against the wall for balance, grateful at how close you are to it when Yoongi draws his tongue upwards, wetting the fabric, your toes curling.

"Yoongi." One of your hands is resting in his hair and you can't stop your grip from tightening. "Yoongi, please."

He gives you what you want, fingers hooking into your underwear and pulling it down; he lets your leg drop so that you can step out of them, but as soon as you've finished he throws the panties to one side, one hand splaying across your stomach as the other lifts your leg again so that you’re spread open for him, immediately pressing his mouth to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasp. Yoongi seems to have tired of his teasing and is eating you out like a man starved, the slick sound of his tongue and lips filling the apartment as he laves attention on your dripping pussy, staring up at you as he drinks your reactions in. He dips his tongue into you and your hips try to buck forwards but the hand on your stomach holds you in place, firm, and you let out an embarrassingly loud keen at how good it feels to be this powerless.

You slap your free hand across your mouth and try to swallow the noise down. Yoongi frowns and stops, leaning his head back as he looks at you; his mouth is shining with evidence of your arousal, opalescent. "I want to hear you."

You bite your lip, forcing your hand away from your mouth; you don't want to be too loud, too noisy, but you want to be a good girl for Yoongi. He wants to hear you so you'll give him what he wants.

"O-okay," you breathe, and Yoongi smirks up at you; it's filthy, how he's looking at you like that while his lips are wet with you. You tilt your hips towards him, desperate to have his mouth on you again, and he immediately complies.

He's lapping at your clit when the hand on your stomach moves and slides down. You watch as he takes his tongue off you so that he can curl it around his fingers instead, before running those fingers across your lower lips to gather the slick there, wetting them even further. You roll your hips into the sensation, loving the press of his slightly rough fingers against your silken folds, wanting more, eyes wide as you watch how Yoongi's hand trails between your legs.

He puts his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he presses one of those spit slick fingers into you. You're so turned on that the initial slide in is easy, but he still takes his time; he's distracting you with the way he's sucking at your small bundle of nerves but you still feel when he presses his second finger in, longer than yours, the sensation of it even better than you'd dreamed.

He crooks his fingers and you throw your head back against the wall, dull thud barely registering over the sensation of Yoongi inside you. He sees how you react and continues to move his fingers in the same way, thrusting his fingers in and curling them as he pulls out, watching as you writhe; the pleasure inside you has been growing, the feeling building, and if Yoongi keeps doing that then you're going to cum. "I'm close," you gasp.

Yoongi responds to this by pushing a third finger inside you, rubbing his fingertips directly over your sweet spot. The stretch burns, just a little, but God, you love it. He purses his lips over your clit and flicks his tongue over it at the same time as he curls his fingers again and it undoes you; your spine arches away from the wall as you cum, ripples of pleasure sparking through your body as you tighten around Yoongi's fingers, sobbing almost deliriously at how good it feels.

Yoongi watches you the whole time, keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high. He only moves away when you start to jolt from oversensitivity, pulling his fingers out carefully as he does. You feel empty without them inside you and you can't wait for him to fill you up with something better instead.

Yoongi holds you steady, his grip firm as you slip your leg from his shoulder and shakily push yourself off the wall. Once you've gotten your balance he stands up— his knees must hurt but he doesn't complain, too busy watching you lift his fingers to your lips, sucking them into your mouth so you can lick the taste of yourself off him.

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi stares at the way you flick your tongue across his skin, glancing at him coquettishly through your lashes. You reach out for him, hands moving towards his belt, but he shakes his head. "Bedroom," he says.

Of course you follow him. At any other time you'd be taking in the details of the apartment, the glimpses you get into the other rooms, but you're too busy looking at Yoongi to have a mind for anything else. He's been hard for so long by now that it must be driving him crazy and you want to give him what he wants. What he needs.

He swings a door open and flicks a light on. Yoongi's room is what you'd expected: neat and organised, with dark furnishings, the only mess being a few scrunched up balls of paper that have overflowed the trash-bin by his desk, which has a pile of notepads next to his laptop and a set up of musical equipment that looks far too complex for you to make heads or tails of. 

You forget about this instantly, however, when Yoongi captures your lips in another kiss, a hand splaying across your jaw so that he can control the pace, crowding you towards the bed until the back of your knees make contact with it and you fall onto the mattress. Yoongi cages you in with his arms and keeps kissing you, though when you palm him through his slacks he hisses through his teeth.

"Want you, Yoongi." You use your hand to stroke over the hardness of him as you nip at his lower lip. "Please."

"Fuck, of course, babygirl." Yoongi leans back and you move with him, sitting up as he stands straight. He unbuttons his shirt and you help him slide it off his shoulders, using it as an excuse to run your hands over the pale skin he reveals to you, sliding your palms down his chest and over his stomach; you dip your head to kiss where your hands have traced, letting your tongue flick across his skin. You lick shamelessly at one of his nipples and feel drunk on the way he lets out a surprised little breath, turning your head to do the same to his other nipple as your hands finally reach their goal: his belt.

You deftly unbuckle it, fast enough that the leather makes a snapping noise when you pull it, and Yoongi bites back a laugh— under normal circumstances you might be embarrassed by how obvious you're being, but you're desperate to finally touch him, especially after he'd made you cum as hard as he had. You look up at him as you reach for his zipper but falter when you notice that he's staring at you with something akin to awe, lifting your lips off his skin.

"What?" You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Yoongi doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he quirks a little grin at you before he cups your face with both hands and bends down to kiss you again, deeper and slower than he has before. You match his pace, the two of you tilting your heads to get a little closer, but when you continue to pull Yoongi's zip down he laughs against your lips and you smile. He gets the hint, stepping back so he has room to kick his trousers and underwear off; he's not trying to be sensual about it, moving fast so he can get close to you again, but you're enraptured nonetheless.

You swallow at the sight of his cock when it’s finally freed. It's flushed red from neglect, fully hardened, curving up towards his stomach, and you can see how the head glistens with precum, slick and wet. Saliva floods your mouth. Yoongi looks briefly startled when you put your hands against his hips and lightly push him backwards, but then you slide off the bed and onto your knees in front of him and the shock immediately disappears from his face, tangling a hand in your hair as you settle in place.

He's so hard that you don't feel like teasing him. Instead, you take the precum that's gathered at the tip of his cock and rub it down his length, hand wrapping around and twisting as you dip forwards and take the flushed head into your mouth. You can't swallow him all the way down, thanks to your gag reflex, but you give it a damn good go— you relax your throat as much as you can as you lower your head, using your hand to touch the parts of his cock that aren't in your mouth. You tongue at the vein on the underside as you lift back up, using your free hand to cup his balls, and Yoongi curses, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you off.

You blink up at him in surprise, mouth still open after he's slid out of your mouth— you feel like you'd barely started— and you can see how his cock twitches as he drinks the sight of you in.

"That mouth of yours is downright sinful," he says, running his thumb over your lower lip. You go lax under his touch, which seems to please him. "As much as I'd like to cum down your throat, I think you want something else instead, don't you, babygirl?"

Your breath shudders out of you and you nod. You want Yoongi's cock inside you, itching for him to finally fuck you stupid, the way you've been yearning for so long. "God, yes, please."

Yoongi's lips twitch at your shameless desperation. "Stand up then, baby," he says, and you comply. "Turn around."

You turn towards the bed to show Yoongi your back, and he slowly unzips your dress; it slides off your shoulders easily, slipping down your body and pooling on the floor as Yoongi drags his hands over the revealed skin. You tremble under his touch, sensitive to each of his motions as he unclasps your bra, and finally you're entirely unclothed, lingerie carelessly tossed to one side before Yoongi pulls you close.

Your back is pressed to his chest, and you can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against you, but you forget about that when his hands move to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck, using his tongue to lick down the bared length of it, and your breath hitches in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, the perfect mix of careful roughness.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Yoongi breathes into the crook of your neck. You whimper and grind back against him, feeling the wetness of his cock as it slips against your skin, and he bites back a groan.

"Yoongi, I need you," you say, so close to finally getting what you've been craving for so long. "Please," you add, voice high with desperation.

You feel how Yoongi bares his teeth against your skin in a silent snarl before he's turning you around in his arms, and you squeal in surprise as he hitches you upwards onto the bed, your head falling onto the pillows. It wasn't a rough motion, Yoongi still careful even when he's clearly as hungry for you as you are for him, but you find yourself whimpering at how he's manhandled you, loving it. Seems like he's helping you discover things about yourself that you hadn't realised before now.

Yoongi settles between your legs, staring down at you, bare and helpless underneath him. You reach out your hand to touch his chest, sweeping your fingers down the line of his stomach and over the trail of dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock, still shining with your spit. He curses, leaning over you to paw at his nightstand drawer; he fumbles with the lube and condom when you wrap your fingers around his length again, stroking him hard and slow.

"Yoongi, please," you say again, practically begging, wanting him inside you as quickly as possible. He curses under his breath again but then wraps his fingers around yours, pulling your hand off his cock. You pout at him. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Good girls are patient." Yoongi leans back on his heels and you make a small whining noise, but you quieten when you watch him rip open the condom packet; you reach forward again to help him roll it down his cock, wanting to keep the feeling of his hardness and heat under your touch, but he fixes you with a stern gaze. "Hands."

You pause, wondering exactly what he means. You settle on pulling your hands away and stretch up to let them rest on the pillow above you. You must have done the right thing because Yoongi smiles, and you give a squirm of delight. He shifts closer and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss your inner ankle.

"So perfect," he says, and you squirm again, pleased. He reaches for the bottle of lube and uncaps it with a quiet click, drizzling it directly onto his cock and biting back a noise at the coldness of it— but then he squirts more into his hands, warming it between his fingers. You make a small questioning sound, and Yoongi smiles before kissing your ankle again. "This is for you, baby."

Your eyebrows raise in quiet surprise. You're already so wet, dripping with a mix of your own cum and Yoongi's lingering spit, but he's still being this careful and considerate. He dips his slick fingers between your flushed lips and draws them upwards, making you arch your back as he grazes over your pearl of nerves, pleasure shooting directly into your core. 

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "God, please, Yoongi, please."

"I've got you, babygirl," he murmurs, and you marvel at his self control, his restraint even now. He grips your leg with one hand and uses the other to guide himself into you. Finally. You moan as he sinks in, stretching you, slowly pushing in inch by inch; you can feel the way your walls stretch, parting for him, until he's bottomed out, and you feel so full.

"Holy shit, Yoongi." You've moved your hands and you're digging your nails into his back, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible, Yoongi's cock so long that you can feel it filling you completely. "Oh, God."

Yoongi's fringe is hanging in his eyes but you can see how his pupils have almost swallowed the dark of his irises, the way he's drinking in the sight of you beneath him— your pupils are blown too, hair a messy halo against the pillows, nipples hard from arousal, chest heaving as you hiccup in air. He pulls out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending electricity shooting through your nerves; he stops before he's completely out, only the head of him still inside you, and you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the next slow thrust in.

You're completely blindsided when Yoongi snaps his hips forward suddenly, fucking sharply into you, and you choke on a surprised breath. He sets a brutal pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours almost drowned out by the way you wail. Your hands fall away from his back and to the sheets, fingers gripping at them, twisting under your hands. His brows are drawn together with focus, but when you raise a hand up to touch his face he goes easily, letting your leg slip off his shoulder so he can kiss you.

His motions slow somewhat as you kiss each other, but he keeps the roll of his hips just as deep, and you end up all but panting against his mouth instead of kissing him; he swipes his tongue across your lips and you let them fall open so he can lick into your mouth, sloppy and wet. You can feel an orgasm building again, surprisingly fast— especially as he's not even touching your clit— and you clench around him, wanting to hit that peak again.

Yoongi stops kissing you to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, grinding into you each time he pushes all the way in, hips flush with yours. "Such a good girl." His voice is a low rasp, dark and heavy. "So pretty for me."

Yes, yes, yes. "Wanna be your good girl," you breathe. "Make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Yoongi actually growls, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you up. You grab his shoulders for support, legs spreading so that your knees hit the mattress, his cock still inside you as you look down at him, both of you kneeling now. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, stomachs flush, and Yoongi grinds up into you. His hands slide from your waist, to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you up; the change of angle has the curve of his cock dragging right across your sweet spot and you gasp. "Oh, yes, there, just like that."

You press down as Yoongi's hips snap up, and you can feel how his motions are starting to get a little jerkier, staccato, the way he speeds up. With the drag of your nipples against his chest, and the way he's hitting your g-spot dead on each time, you're close to hitting your peak, pleasure riding up into a crescendo— and then Yoongi slides one of his hands between the two of you to rub at your clit and you're gone again, gasping and shaking as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, all the air escaping your lungs in a drawn out, shuddering wail.

"Fuck, baby." Yoongi's motions grow a little more hurried and sloppy, thrusting up into you as your walls pulsate around him. You try to match his pace, drinking down the way his face twists as he chases his own release— and then his grip on you grows tight enough to bruise and he cums with a surprisingly quiet moan. He grinds upwards, his cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into the condom; you shiver at the sensation, squeezing your legs around his hips in an instinctive attempt to draw him as deeply into you as possible, as futile as that is.

Your legs are shaking. You remain tangled around each other, sweaty and panting, but then Yoongi is grasping your chin and tilting your head down so that he can kiss you. It's soft, and gentle, and you melt into it, going lax and boneless in his hold as you tighten your hands in his hair. 

You feel how he smiles tiredly against your lips, and when you pull back, he looks thoroughly fucked out; his hair is a mess from how you've been running your hands through it and lips are kiss swollen, parted so that he can suck air in and try to catch his breath. You must look similarly wrecked. You feel hazy, though Yoongi feels solid beneath you, grounding you as you slowly come back to yourself.

"I'm going to lean you back, beautiful," he says, and you entwine your fingers together behind his neck so that he can tilt you onto the mattress, careful and reverent. He slips his softening cock out of you and you let out a small sigh at the sudden feeling of emptiness, though as soon as he's done tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin he comes back to you, lightly kissing you as he draws a hand gently between the valley of your breasts. Despite the tenderness behind the motion you're suddenly struck with wondering if he's about to ask you to leave, but then he asks: "Do you want to come wash up?"

You pause. "Oh, God, my makeup," you say with sudden realisation as your fingers come up to touch under your eyes. Your eyeshadow and mascara must be a mess by now. You splay your hand across your face, as if trying to hide it— which you know is stupid, especially considering the fact the rest of your body is naked under Yoongi's gaze. He huffs out a laugh and takes your hands with his own, pulling them away. "Nooo," you whine. "Don't look at me."

One of Yoongi's eyebrows rises. "Why would I ever want to look away from you?"

You wriggle. "Yoongi," you whine again, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, but you let your hands go limp and Yoongi pulls you to your feet. "You're shameless."

"And you're gorgeous," he says, simply. "Come on, you'll get cold."

Yoongi lets you clean up first. It's weird how comfortable you are as you navigate your way around Yoongi and Jin's bathroom— you pilfer one of Jin's makeup wipes to clean your face— and how natural it feels to accept the shirt Yoongi gives you, an oversized, stretched-out old thing that's gone soft from years of wear. You're perched on the bathroom counter as you slide it on, glancing down at the design on the front, and you instantly perk up when you see what it is.

"You do love Kumamon," you say with delight. 

Yoongi stops in the middle of brushing his teeth, looking a little ridiculous with the minty froth around his lips but still just as kissable. He rinses his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with a towel before he makes a face at you.

"Jin told you about that, too?"

"I want to see your slippers," you say in reply and Yoongi groans. You can't help but giggle, feeling sleepy and soft and affectionate, and you touch your fingers under Yoongi's chin so that you can press a quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's cute."

By the time you've both finished your ablutions and you slide off the counter, you feel tired, what little energy you had after being fucked by Yoongi completely gone from you; you slide onto Yoongi's bed gratefully, glad to be off your feet. You hold your hands up and beckon for him to join you, but then let out a sharp laugh of surprise when he tugs his rumpled blanket off the bed from underneath you and lets it drop to the floor. "Yoongi!"

"I'll be right back," he says. While you wait, you decide to stretch, eyes slipping shut as you extend your limbs. You know you'll feel the ache between your legs tomorrow, a little thrill skating through you at the knowledge that Yoongi's touch has left a physical reminder, something only you can feel and no one else can see.

When your eyes flutter open again, you see Yoongi standing at the bottom of the bed, a different blanket gathered in his arms. He's staring at you, and you realise that the material of his shirt has moved as you've stretched, hitching up over your hips. Even though you're both tired, Yoongi's eyes still darken when you shift your legs, and you bask under his attention.

"A different blanket?" You ask, curious, and Yoongi's eyes slide away from your still-bare core back up to your face.

"It's Jin's," he says. "I wasn't about to let you sleep on sweaty sex sheets."

"I don't mind," you say, honestly, but Yoongi proceeds to lay Jin's blanket across the bed anyway. "Jin's not going to be happy about this," you add, but you say it with a laugh, instantly curling up into Yoongi when he lays down beside you.

"He'll live." Yoongi's arm comes around you, fingers trailing over your shoulder; you lapse into silence and let your eyes shut, focusing on Yoongi's movements. It feels like he’s pressing piano keys down and playing a silent song against your skin. You can't help but smile, starting to drift off, when Yoongi speaks again. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Hm?" Your eyes open and you blink away your sleepiness to look up at Yoongi, who's still watching you. "Breakfast?"

"Yes." Yoongi's fingers still on your shoulder, and then he slides his hand down to tangle your fingers with his. "Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer." He pauses. "Unless you don't want to," he says, and though his voice stays steady, you see a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He's worried that you've gotten what you want and now you'll be done with him.

"You're so silly," you say softly, and you can see how Yoongi's face twists with confusion, unsure about how to react to being called silly— you can't imagine many people have said that to him, as outwardly intimidating as he can be. You squeeze his hand. "Of course I want to. But how about we plan it tomorrow? I don't know how long it's going to take me to be comfortable with walking in a straight line, so breakfast might be off the cards for now."

After a moment, Yoongi's face takes on a satisfied expression. "That's what you said you wanted," he says, and you huff out an amused breath.

"I technically said I wanted you to bend me over a piano, actually," you point out, letting your head settle in the crook of his neck again, and Yoongi brushes his lips against your forehead.

"There's a piano in the living room," he states casually, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you, even as your eyes start to fall shut again.

"I'll keep that in mind."

–

jiminnie y/n!! tae said you called in sick for work? are you okay??

you i'm good! just a lil busy

jiminnie with what?

you [image attached]

jiminnie … why have you sent me a photo of a piano?

you yoongi's gonna fuck me on it omg on that note i've gtg BYE LOVE YOU MINNIE xoxoxo

jiminnie WHAT??? OMG??? GET THAT DICK QUEEN!!!

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts x reader #bts smut #suga x reader #joy.masterlist

[jinmukangwrites]

Day 5 (6-17): Aged-up | Mother and son | Brothers

Warnings: near death experiences, drowning, canon typical violence, kidnapping

Note: I felt like I've written a lot of Dick and Damian bonding this week... So I'm switching it out with Jason. I had other things I wanted to write for this prompt, but it got too late at night to write something long. Enjoy this short, hurt/comfort Jason and Damian bonding instead <3

-o-o-o-o-

Damian's only been captured for a few hours... and already he feels more miserable than he has in a long time.

None other than the Penguin stands before him, sneering cheek to cheek as his associates finish tying the knots around chest and the damp wooden pole his back leans against. The sand underneath him is rocky and sharp; he can already feel the curious laps of the returning tide against his tailbone. His hands are restrained behind the pole as well, while his legs are tied by his ankles. He's sitting, and stuck sitting thanks to the rope around his chest.

His head aches, which isn't very surprising considering the thing that got him in this situation was a well placed hit to his skull via a brick.

He didn't mean to get caught. He simply wanted to blow off some steam after getting fed up with Jason while on patrol. Of all people to be paired up with, it had to be Jason. It couldn't have been someone Damian gets along with like Richard, Duke, or Cassandra. It couldn't have been Timothy where they at least know when boundaries are being pushed with their banter. It couldn't have even been Stephanie, where she's at least funny.

No, the entire family was there, and Damian got paired with the one he doesn't know how to deal with. He got annoyed by the constant, demeaning tone Jason would use on him, and after one too many backhanded insults that only Jason found funny, Damian snapped. He doesn't even remember what exactly was said, he just knows he yelled at Jason to go on without him, and Jason didn't stop him when he turned the other direction.

Thinking back on it, Damian probably insulted him back, and the reason he let Damian go was because he was just as annoyed as Damian was.

It doesn't matter now. What matters is that he didn't intend to stumble upon the Penguin and his goons in some warehouse by the coast. He was just going to take down a few classic muggers or something of similar nature and go back to Jason and act like the argument never happened.

He intended to go back and tell his father about the Penguin's actions, but he didn't notice a pigeon until he almost stepped on it. Startled, it flew up at his face and he fell backwards right through the already broken skylight. He barely managed to slow his fall with his grappling gun, but he still hit the ground pretty hard. Hurt and surprised, he didn't have time to even stand up before the brick was smashed against his skull.

And now he's here, under Gotham's docks, being tied to a poll while the Penguin laughs to himself.

"I'll just let the tide kill you for me," he says to himself, yet his idiot goons still cackle. Damian glares at them, but they only laugh harder, sending down their own insults until the ocean water begins to pool up to Damians toes.

The Penguin makes a remark that it's time to go, and that he doesn't want to get his new dress shoes messy, and then they're gone, leaving Damian to attempt to tug on the ropes holding him against the pole. He tries to reach for the small blades he keeps in the compartments of his gloves, but his fingers come away empty. Curse Gotham's Rogues and their ability to actually use their brains and disarm their captives when they get their hands on them.

He strains harder on the ropes now, twisting and trying to reach any knots with his fingers, but all he succeeds in doing is cutting off the circulation to his hands and pressing the rope into his chest.

He relaxes with a frustrated huff and glares at the water that's already risen a few inches to ripple close to his hips. He knows that not long from now, the water will be above his head.

For now, it's freezing, and once it reaches his fingers, escape will become all the more impossible thanks to numbing appendages.

He tugs on the ropes, then tugs some more, and he keeps going until he has to stop and let the blood come back to his fingers.

The water continues to rise, seeping through his suit and into his bones, rising to his fingers, then his arms, then his shoulders... It's when it finally touches his chin when the despair and terror finally settles.

He can't get out. He can't get out. The ropes feel no more loose than what they were when he began trying to undo them, and his fingers are so numb now they must be turning blue under his gloves. His jaw aches from his chattering teeth, and his nose is beginning to run.

He pulls desperately on his bonds now, his attempts to escape becoming more and more reckless the longer he sits here. He's hyper-aware of the movement of the water around him, and his panic is making it difficult to breathe.

Through his terror, he hears something. The motor of a bike. He hears the engine cut out nearby. He can probably shout for help.

It's his last hope. He can only pray that whoever came to the docks at this hour of night, that they are friendly. He opens his mouth to yell for assistance, but he chokes when sea water enters his mouth. He scrambles his bound feet against the rocky sand, attempting to lift himself up the pole just a little higher, but he doesn't go anywhere. The ropes are too tight.

He's not sure if the water near his eyes is from him flailing in the water, or if it's because of frightened tears. Either way, he can feel the water tickling his nose, and he only has a split second to suck in one last breath of air before the water rises above any means to breath.

"Robin?" A deep voice shouts, and Damian could sob at the irony of it. "You here?"

Someone came looking for him, but they don't know where he is. He's going to drown under the feet of someone who could have saved him if they had come just minutes before.

The water rises over his head now, and he can no longer hear anything besides the racing of his heart. He can't feel his fingers or toes anymore, and he's sure he will drown with bruises under the ropes on his chest.

He's going to drown. He's going to die. His lungs hurt, already his oxygen is running out. He's panicking and it's cold and he's going to die-

He doesn't know how much longer he holds his breath, only that eventually, his mouth opens against his will and sucks in water that may as well be fire going into his lungs.

Black creeps into his vision... and with the last sight of dark bubbles erupting around him, he loses consciousness.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes up vomiting. A strong hand wraps around his arm and holds him on his side so he can empty his lungs and stomach of salty sea water. It feels like his insides are being torn apart, but eventually it calms down a little so he can finally suck in a gasp of air.

The hand on his arm becomes two, snaking around his shoulder blades to sit him up and squeeze him against a broad chest.

"Holy shit," a familiar voice gasps, "Jesus fuck."

"J'son..." Damian murmurs, trying to make sense of what's going on. His throat feels abused, and his head pounds like drums. He's so tired, his eyes begin to drop.

"Nah don't you fucking think of it," Jason growls, pulling him away from his chest and giving him a hard shake. Damian blinks, trying to focus. Jason brings a hand up and brushes his dripping hair from his face.

Then, it all comes back to him. The tide... The water... He was drowning...

He thought he died.

But here he is, untied from the pole and on the docks, looking at Jason's bare and dripping face with his helmet castaway on the ground. He must have given him mouth-to-mouth... And his chest aches like he's taken a beating. Must be the combined bruises of the ropes and from chest compressions.

He's suddenly overwhelmed with emotions, all of his fear slamming right into him.

"You came," he croaks, not sure if it's because of his abused respiratory system or if it's because of his rekindled tears.

Jason's face twists, then he pulls Damian back in to squeeze him tightly once again. The hug is a surprise, and it hurts, but Damian doesn't fight it. He's too relieved and scared and confused and ashamed to fight it.

"When you didn't answer the comms, I thought you were still mad," Jason explains. The rumble of his voice in his chest against Damian's cheek is oddly relaxing. "But then it started getting late and I didn't feel right, so I asked Babs for your coords and- fuck- I thought I got you killed."

"How did you know...?" Damian asks, not willing to go further into the sentence and endure the pain of his throat.

Jason gives a laugh, and it's almost hysterical. "A lucky guess? I don't know, I guess it's just habit to look in the water when something goes wrong at the docks." There's a pause. Then Jason releases Damian once again. "I'm sorry. I said some things I shouldn't have. This wouldn't have happened if I kept my cool."

Damian shakes his head. It doesn't matter now. "You came."

Jason's lips twitch. "Of course I did. We're... Brothers. Even if we don't get along all the time, I still don't want anyone beating you up other than me."

Damian let's out a laugh, though it dissolves into a fit of coughs. Jason rubs his back during all of it, then once he calms down he helps him to his feet.

"C'mon," he says, "let's get you back home so Alfred can check on you. The sooner we get back, the sooner I can get getting yelled at out of the way for letting you go off on your own."

He helps Damian up to his feet, and Damian gratefully clutches to his jacket to steady himself. "I am to blame too. Once we tell father you helped save me, he will be less angry."

Jason snorts. "You think I'm worried about the old man? It's Dick I'm worried about."

"Ah," Damian grins, all the fear finally ebbing out from his system. "I'm afraid I cannot help you there."

Jason helps Damian onto the bike and returns his helmet so it's over his head. He holds Damian in front of him with one arm securely around his chest as he drives. He feels safe nestled against Jason like this. It's strong and unyielding. His relationship with the older man has always been strange, considering they weren't always on the same sides when Richard was Batman.

But this? This is safe. It's warm. Is careful and gentle. Normally he'd be embarrassed to be so vulnerable like this near Jason, but like Jason said... They're brothers.

He cannot help but feel a little disappointed once they finally make it back to the cave. Yet it seems he's misjudged Jason once again, because after he was rushed to the med-bay and Jason got an earful from Richard... he fell asleep and awoke the next morning with Jason still there.

Things may not be perfect with Jason, and they argue a lot, but Damians sure things have a chance of becoming better.

They're brothers, after all.

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