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kithtaehyung · 5 months

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broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

title: broken (pt. 1) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell. note: this is only one half of what was supposed to be a whole chapter! broken, pt. 2 will come out after i've had time to make it something i'm proud of. trying to rush everything out didn't do any favors, so hilariously and ironically, broken is broken up into two hahaha. warnings: language, angst, tension, yoongi’s pov is longgg, alcohol consumption, tobacco mentions, bro🥲, yoongi in the studio😩, the studio boys make another appearance👀, …someone else makes their first appearance👀👀, scuffles, tense situations, did i say angst?, water bottles get their own warning, long hair yoongi, basketball yoongi🫠, crying, bro a ha ha, jimin has tats and he’s not afraid to show them, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, honestly he is on another level of warning here don’t perceive me💀, the fluff is fluffing here like what, backstory we’ve been waiting for😗, yoongi on the phone, hand holding :’)), kissing :’)), oh god the kissing❤️‍🩹, there’s just a lot in both parts i'm sorry y'all playlist: broken (lp) drop date: dec 3rd, 2023, 4:00pm est word count: ...19.1k 🚶‍♀️

Words abandon you.

They stand far from your form, pitying observers of your decaying state in front of the man you’ve been lying to. At once, you feel completely alone, not even Yoongi’s lingering presence helping when those eyes are piercing through time and space. Everything you’ve experienced over the past two years slings across your vision, from the first time you left your house in the pouring rain to get to Yoongi’s, to the car ride back you just took with his kiss still on your lips.

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels.

Your feet make lines in them when you move to close the front door, something leaving your mouth before you can judge if it makes sense, “About what?”

Zero sense. Absolute zero sense. Which your brother has absolute zero patience for. The drone in his question hits you like a punch to the gut, “Really.”

“Just out late, is all,” you grumble, trying your best to not acknowledge an atmosphere so tense it’s almost crowded. “Jimin had another party, remember?”

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

Dread launches up your veins, rocketing right to your heart in the middle of a pulse. He was there? You saw his car when Yoongi pulled up close to the house. He was there? When the fuck did he arrive? Oh, fuck, if he got there early enough… did he see you… and Yoongi…

No. There’s no way. Because one, Yoongi parked far down and around the corner. He made sure not to be close just in case you two could be spotted.

With a thought you really cannot afford right now, you also assume he stayed that distance just so that he could pin you against his car. Fucking hell, focus! Upping the strength of your resolve to match cardboard, you lamely stall in your hunt for clarification, “You were?”

“I was.”

The watch on his wrist glints in its twist. When aggravated veins stare back at you, it’s obvious your brother is on the edge. Because he is deathly calm. “So where’d you go?”

You blink, not having expelled a single breath since you stepped foot inside.

Does he not know? Or does he know and he’s just waiting for you to finally spill? With all the hope in the universe, you yearn for it to be the first one. Because you cannot deal with a fallout right now. Not right after what happened with Yoongi.

It’s just not the right time.

“Yuri’s,” you blurt, finally kicking into gear and strategizing how you’re gonna finesse this. “She came and got me.”

Your sibling just stands there, eyes a solid beam before he sighs at clasped wrists.

Here it comes. He’s gonna ask why you didn’t say anything. Like he always does because for some reason you’re still not a true adult to him and he has to keep tabs on you at all times and you can’t just sneak around with his best friend in peace—

“K.” Your eyes shake once. “Just tell me next time.”

And just like that, your brother vacates the foyer, dark dress shoes clacking as he retreats back into his room. Leaving you standing in silence.

All the words around you just as speechless.

Just like that, you’re gone again.

After watching you leave and wishing you didn’t have to, Yoongi shuts his door to rest ponderous thoughts on worn wood. Eyes closed and a storm on his mind’s horizon.

Just a little longer. He hopes you’ll understand. This is just something he needs. More than anything else.

Exhausted, he peels himself from the door, meandering through the bog of his living room. Trudge, trudge, trudge to the dining table, skirting fingers along the edge and noting that it feels different than before.

At least something in his apartment has changed for the better.

Who would’ve thought that table would witness both an end and a beginning. That it would see the worst and best of him. If it was ever called to stand, there’s no doubt that it could recite all his failures and shortcomings. But he hopes that it would also attest to how much he’s fucking tried.

As much as Yoongi wants to throw it out, he hasn’t. Because despite being withered to hell, all it needed to recover was the new company of a familiar face.

And a little bit of summer rain.

It watches as his thoughts move on, and soaks in the blues and pinks of sunrise as he crosses into the bedroom. At the feel of your lingering presence, Yoongi gnaws on his lip.

What the fuck does he do now? The moment you leave, he wants nothing more than to have you back in his bed. It’s the one fact that he has come to fully acknowledge. Because there are many times you’ve caught him slipping. But when you’re lost to your dreams? Visibly at peace and safe under his sheets? That’s when he can’t even think straight.

How your serenity throws him into disarray, Yoongi has no fucking clue.

But he can’t afford these feelings right now. Because how can he want you close while being the reason for this distance? Make it make sense. Don’t be a fucking hypocrite. Tsking, Yoongi once again accepts the consequences, heading to his bathroom before going back the fuck to sleep.

Lies. Who is he kidding? There’s no way his rest will be the same without you. Especially since he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you next.

There is a way to remedy that. To put an end to your time apart. But Yoongi’s been so in his fucking head that it’s chaining him down and pulling taut. No matter how much he struggles, he can’t break free, and it’s driving him to the brink.

But last night? With you? Half moons mar his palms as he stands. Staring. Branding that whole memory into his heart.

After three months of questioning his existence.

All it took was your soft hums to give him a reason.

And you won’t ever know how much that meant to him. Not until Yoongi finally decides to tell you. Which will most likely be never. Maybe that’s why this time tears at his chest more than all the others. Maybe that’s why he stood in his doorway longer than usual. Maybe that’s why he can’t quite carry the weight in his chest.

Dumping himself on dark mountains—creations of his and your design—Yoongi buries his face in those valleys. Inhales those aromas like some hit he can live off of for however many days left he needs.

Desperately grasping for a fading world where only you two exist. Drifting. Dreaming. Disarmed by a vibration on his nightstand.

The fuck.

Who is texting him this early. There are only a few people he has notifications on for wait it’s probably you saying you’re home.

Peeling himself off the sheets with a groan, Yoongi simply shifts his upper body to reach for his phone, squinty-eyed as he checks his screen.

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

Dumbass [07:30]: We need to talk.

…Shit.

Yoongi grips his phone in panic, ice water streaming through his veins and mind set ablaze with potential scenarios.

He’s awake. You went home. And he’s awake. Fuck, did anything happen? Did you say anything? What are the chances this text means he found everything out?

Shit.

Does Yoongi answer now? Or does he sleep and pretend that this is just a text and isn’t a problem at all? Think. Your brother may not even be referencing you, or him. Right? It could be something completely different.

Why can’t he fucking move?

Every regret Yoongi’s kept at bay floods his brain, crashing into assumptions of your mental state and creating a massive whirlpool of dread. Just answer. Don’t answer. Just answer. Don’t fucking answer. Suddenly, another alert lights his home screen and it’s a call oh fuck—wait… It’s Jungkook?

Why not. Sure. What’s one more issue.

Picking up, Yoongi runs hard fingers through his hair as he answers.

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

The what. The session? Oh, fuck. The session. Yoongi completely forgot they had a recording booked today because they were so hyped last night to get a date for the release party shit. Vacating his bed, Yoongi answers with a low, “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Yeah, don’t be late. It’s those guys from before.”

Fuck, it’s that one. The dudes that stopped by the studio just as things were wrapping up, shocking everyone when they scheduled some time. Highly successful musicians and performers booking something with a no name studio? Things are rolling in the right direction and coming along fast.

But as things go. If they don’t take this shit seriously, everything can crash just as quickly.

“Heading out,” Yoongi finally says as he yanks a hoodie from his closet, and a loud vibration against his ear makes him flinch.

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?”

“Shit, yeah.” Yoongi grips soft material before his phone hits his desk with a thump. Hastily dressing, he grunts, “Maybe. Might be like two minutes late.”

“Nah, come now.”

He’s heading over? Your brother? If that’s the case, there’s no way he doesn’t know.

Fuck, relax. Don’t overthink. If anything, there wouldn’t have even been a heads-up. Yoongi figures he’d just find out as soon as he’s thrown against a wall. Or the ground. Or right onto his coffee table that this very guy helped pick out. Shit, he needs to know but he doesn’t wanna find out.

But nevermind him. Are you okay? Swiping his device, Yoongi quickly types a text before fast-walking out of his room, going on autopilot when he assures into his receiver, “I’ll get there.”

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now.

As Yoongi breaks into the dining room, he hears a rustling on the line before other voices jut through the speaker. Sounds like Hobi and Joon are already there, and the next thing said further spikes his stress level another peak,

“We’re already cutting it close with the prep.”

Fucking hell, the prep. The mics, the tracks, the setup. They forgot to do all of it. Something inside of him starts snarling and almost pounces through the phone, “Fuck, we should’ve been ready already.”

“Shit, I know.”

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Dude, relax, I get it.”

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get it done but it’s gonna be tight. Hey, where’s the… Damn it, what’s it called?”

Frustrated and rummaging through his pantry, Yoongi knows he sure as hell didn’t think about anything else as soon as he heard you crying on the line. If he had remembered while leaving the studio, he could’ve spared a brain cell to rush everyone back in. “The what.”

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.”

Of course, he’d repeat every decision he made last night. Over, and over, and over again. But any of them should’ve remembered this step before leaving, which pisses him off. The studio’s lack of experience is showing and it’s making him nervous.

And Yoongi still doesn’t know what’s going on with his best friend.

“We need two overheads for drums,” he corrects while swiping a water bottle from the counter. And he’s about to rattle off where they are when he feels another long buzz.

Dumbass: Incoming Call

Of fucking course.

Mind whirring so hard he can feel steam, Yoongi quickly recalls where the mics are, “They’re somewhere in the back by the amps, but I gotta take this so I’ll see y’all there.”

“Wait, where are the—”

Nope. Kook’s just gonna have to figure out whatever he’s asking on his own. Switching calls, Yoongi answers while opening his door, hastily putting out the food and water he grabbed from the kitchen.

“Hey.” Fuck, is his voice shaking? What the hell is he gonna be faced with in the next few seconds? Can he freeze time and rewind and keep last night on repeat? “I’m about to head out.”

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.”

“No, just”—Yoongi dashes back inside before grabbing his wallet and keys from the bar—“You good? I can’t be late.”

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?”

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling.

“We got another project,” he huffs as he meets sunrise again, blazing a trail through his corridor and rounding the corner to his car. “A band’s coming in for a session.”

“Shit.”

There’s a pause on the line. And it’s the first bit of silence Yoongi’s had since he got the first bone-chilling text. Is his secret safe? Are you okay? Should he work extra late and run from a problem yet again? He’s very good at that. Running. If there was a medal for distance ran from issues, he’d be on the podium for both gold and silver.

“Okay, fine.”

Relief is temporary. This could just be him biding his time in order to figure out what to do. Or maybe he truly doesn’t know what’s going on and Yoongi has a bit more uninterrupted time with you.

Delusion is a great place to stay.

In any case, his friend’s behavior is alarming. What’s he doing up this early? And why is he wanting to swing by so bad if not to slice him into tiny pieces? Nerves slow on the downslope, Yoongi shuts his car door and lends his ear, “But serious, are you okay?”

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

He lets his friend go through a series of small sounds on the line, pulling out of the lot and hitting the road with tire squeaks. “What’s up,” he finally pushes, looking sideways and remembering the car ride home.

There was no way Yoongi was gonna say no to you. He didn’t in this universe, and he’d bet his whole life he doesn’t in any other one, either. Not when your wings looked like you hadn’t used them in months.

Pained, Yoongi hopes you’re completely fine and sleeping. Tucked away in a bed that captured part of his heart, visiting him in your dreams so that some version of him can be at your side.

“Everything, Yoong.”

But, as it so starkly turns out, he has to deal with reality. And with the fact that you’re just as far away as you were before last night. Maybe even further out of reach.

So, so far away.

“There’s a ton of shit, but. Fuck. Guess we’ll have to wait.”

Right now, deal with the studio prep and get through the session that will probably take awhile. After that, meet up with your brother and hope to god he doesn’t know. “K.”

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

Then, when all of that is done, Yoongi will be alone. Staring into the night and trying his hardest not to give up on himself again. “Yeah, I will.”

“No running.”

“K.”

When the call ends, Yoongi lets out the harshest breath he’s ever let out in his life. Hoping you went right to sleep without dealing with any of that.

“How did that sound?”

Looking into the recording room, Yoongi raises a thumbs up as Hoseok clicks back to the beginning of the track. At their side, Namjoon hits a button on the console before speaking into a microphone, “Y’all wanna come hear it?”

“We can move on. Wanna get the doubling done.”

Huh? They’re gonna move onto vocal doubling already? With a few blinks, Yoongi think it’d be better if they—

“Okay!” Jungkook agrees from the couch, cutting out any other thoughts. “If any of you need adjustments, let us know.”

“Yeah, actually, can one of you come switch this out?”

Joon throws a suggestion over his shoulder, but Yoongi is already heading for the booth before his name is even mentioned.

Get everything done smooth. Stay disciplined. Be professional, goddamn it.

Entering the soundproofed room will always make him want to occupy the mic instead. That feeling hasn’t gone away, and there have been countless nights where he’s spent time just sitting in this very space, visualizing what it would be like to work on this side of the glass someday. Deep down, Yoongi knows he could be somebody. But imposter syndrome runs deep.

Avoiding cables strewn about the room, he offers his hands without a word, taking a guitar from the lead singer and making his leave—

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.”

What? Where the hell did that come from? Did he even hear this guy right or was he just daydreaming again? Yoongi’s so thrown he can only stare with question marks for eyes.

Amused, the singer simply points to the side of his beaming countenance. “You have an ear.”

Huh. How the hell can this dude tell? All Yoongi’s done is indicate if a recording take was good or not, and given a few minuscule suggestions to the keyboardist and guitarist—instruments he’s well-versed in.

Yet again, he’s so in his head that the man outright laughs, “Relax! You can talk to us like normal, you know. None of us care about etiquette shit.”

“Shit, my bad,” Yoongi finally responds, instrument in his hands proving a little lighter. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Swishing long bangs to the side, the performer rests a hand on his hip. “We’re open to anything. We’d just tell you if your opinion sucks.”

Eyes creasing with his lips, Yoongi puffs out a laugh.

“Kidding. Only a little.”

Even though these people are world-renowned, they’re the first humble group to run through the studio. Everyone else has been either cocky, standoffish, or super opinionated, which made for unproductive hours.

Yoongi likes this change of pace. His shoulders start to feel composed, less scrunched than they had been since you left his place this morning. Comforted, he looks down at the guitar in his fingers.

Choosing not to say what he wants to.

Should he? Nah. These guys know what they’re doing. Despite the nice offer to speak up, it’s not his place. Far from it.

…But what would you tell him to do? What would you be proud of?

Committed to his answer, Yoongi grips the neck and decides without another thought,

“Do the chorus again.”

The whole studio stills. But all he’s looking at is the man in front of him, shaking his head when they ask, “Same way?”

“Uhm. No.” As he hands the guitar back, Yoongi wordlessly checks if he can see the sheet music. When given the go-ahead, he scans the lines before pointing out a passage to note,

“Mm. Here. Vocals are fine as is, but. Ride the build-up quicker and hit the next chord after a bit longer.” When he stops, he has to fight to ignore the eyes on him. There’s no doubt that his extended time in the recording room is being questioned, and his hand movements probably make him look stupid. “It’ll keep in time but hit harder.”

Done. He said it.

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame.

Instantly self-conscious, Yoongi swears he can hear Hobi’s pants shift in the control room through two closed doors shit he took it too far. Fuck, if these guys walk out now the studio is done for and he’ll be the only reason why—

“Well, goddamn. Let’s try that then.”

Huh. They’re gonna take that?

As he steps away, Yoongi feels slightly awkward doused in attention. Yeah, expressions seem like looks of approval, but they could just be polite.

The man hums the chorus with Yoongi’s notes in mind, and his eyebrows tick a bit before he addresses the others in the room, “You heard him?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

“Why didn’t you think of that, Woosung?”

Yoongi can’t keep his amusement under wraps as the singer laughs, addressing his keyboardist with a grin, “Damn, not even Sammy? Straight to Woosung, huh.”

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

Another bout of mirth spreads joy around the recording booth, and Yoongi shares a look with the singer before they both nod.

“Let’s see how it sounds.”

“K.”

Proud and adrenaline-filled, he turns to walk back to the door, head so buzzed he doesn’t know what to do. But when Yoongi can’t see into the control room anymore, he misses a stare through the glass.

A stare that lingers on him just a little too long.

The rest of the session goes smooth, and Yoongi’s relieved that they haven’t asked him for anything else.

After all. He doesn’t wanna push it, or step on Jungkook’s toes. What happened in the recording room only went down because you would have scolded him for not seizing that moment. And the suggestion he gave was lauded after the next take.

It was the first time since you kissed him goodbye that he felt a healthy pulse in his chest. Despite the chaos of the morning, amid the thoughts and worries penetrating his brain, you reached out and kept him steady in just the right moment.

Fuck being his good luck charm. You give guardian angels shame and you don’t even know it.

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

Jungkook holds up an arm while agreeing, “Okay! We’ll save what we got!”

Yoongi’s scanning the tracks when he feels hovering over his shoulder, and he already knows it’s the kid without looking. “Sup.”

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

At this, Jungkook pauses before he sighs. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he clearly lies.

But Yoongi will let him figure out whether to run with that or not. He seems a little bothered about something, and it very well could be what happened in the booth. This is work, and they’re both adults. If he wants to talk about something, Yoongi will gladly have that conversation.

Suddenly, a vibration erupts in his hoodie pocket, and his phone is fished out without him even thinking.

Hustler: Incoming C—

Shit. You wouldn’t call him at work unless it’s urgent. Which is quickly throwing any possible theories about your brother not knowing out the window.

But fuck, he can’t answer yet. There’s no way. Not only is he in very close range to someone you don’t wanna speak to right now, but he’d get blasted for being on his phone during a session. Hoping you can wait just two more minutes, Yoongi turns the buzzing off within his hoodie pocket, anxiously waiting for the take to start.

Hoping to everything that Jungkook didn’t happen to see what was on his screen.

As soon as everyone looks pleased—three takes and thirty minutes later—Yoongi quickly excuses himself from the control room. His head practically overheats on the way out back, but the gust of morning breeze serves to soothe it some.

It’s been chilly lately. A bit grey. But whatever the weather has been outside, it’s no match for the atmosphere of his brain.

Pulling his hood over hair he hasn’t cut in months, Yoongi looks around before ringing you up. Hoping that you’re good and didn’t have to go through a version of his panic earlier.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Fuck, still voicemail. Are you okay? On the phone with someone else? Did your brother actually end up finding out and things are worse than he thought? Clutching his phone, Yoongi glances up while giving it slight shakes, body on alert while deciding what the hell to do now.

Maybe he can at least text you to ask what the hell happened this morning? Typing. Erasing. Retyping. Retrying.

Yoongi [9:02]: Got a session today, doll.

That’s what he had to say? That won’t do you any good, the fuck? Berating himself with a sigh, he takes a few steps while texting a follow-up.

Yoongi [9:03]: Still going, but are you good?

Staring, it takes him a few seconds to decide if this is enough. If these two messages are gonna suffice to help him figure out what the hell he’s getting into later.

It’s not. There’s too much he needs to know.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

When it doesn’t ring a third time, Yoongi gives up, cursing before turning and raking his hood off in distress.

Only to see Woosung materializing out of nowhere—relaxed, silent, and taking a drag.

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

“Been there,” the man empathizes, blowing out smoke into crisp morning. After a swell of early traffic fills the alleyway, he continues, “In trouble?”

Great. With a sound of dejection, Yoongi answers to a stack of random boxes, “Might be.”

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?”

“I do,” Yoongi blurts without hesitation, looking right into eyes that have seen plenty more than he has.

And it’s the first time he’s admitted anything out loud. To a stranger miles above him in status, no less. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he clarifies, “It’s just… There’s something I need to do first.”

Wait a sec. Why the fuck is he talking about this so freely? This isn’t something he does. Privacy is practically his brand. So why is it easy to talk to this guy? It’s him, for fuck’s sake. But what’s done is done. Woosung probably won’t even remember this conversation even happened, or is already annoyed as hell he didn’t get a good read on him.

To Yoongi’s surprise, his alley companion speaks again after another white wisp. “Mmm… Something you need to do?”

Well. Yoongi walked right into this one. Swallowing and knowing he can’t dip out, he sighs, “Some shit I wanna finish.” The smell of tobacco wafts around him when he looks at dulled skies. “Shit I need to get through.”

An amused hum floats through empty space. “Been there, too.”

Yoongi slowly turns to regard his client, watching as Woosung becomes very interested in wet concrete.

What kind of shit has this guy seen? Surely, he could have had some of the same experiences. The slight droop in his confident shoulders tells enough. But would he understand the exact same situation?

No. At least, Yoongi hopes not. Quite fucking frankly, he hopes no one has had to go through the same shit that he has.

“Let me know if you ever need help,” Woosung offers, shocking Yoongi to the point of speechlessness. As he drops his cigarette to squash it out, he runs a hand through wild dark locks. “We’ll be around again.”

Wait. What? Yoongi can only blink. “Serious?”

“Yeah.” The man looks down the outside corridor, watching as people start heading to their jobs through a central courtyard. “Got a good feeling about this place.”

What does he mean by that. What can Woosung possibly mean by that what does he mean they’ll be back? To the studio? To the city? What’s happening. Yoongi simply lets a pause prevail before offering the only response he’s capable of,

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

That laugh has got to be top five in the world. Not as great as yours, but definitely up there in terms of what makes Yoongi feel like things are alright. Not that he’d ever admit that shit to anyone. Ever.

Mercifully, the conversation moves away from risky topics. Instead, there are talks about a tour one is planning for his band’s album, mixed in with mentions of equipment the other is saving up for. Then the rest isn’t about music at all.

Finally, it’s time for them to continue recording, so they know to head back inside. “Don’t wait,” Woosung advises as he turns on his heel.

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else.

“If there’s something you need to get through...”

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

As Woosung shuts the back door, Yoongi’s gaze finds the crushed cigarette at his side. Another reminder of how things were.

And a reminder that he’s still a fucking coward.

Hours later, Yoongi’s car awaits him in the lot.

And when he realizes that you still haven’t responded, he shuts his door just a little too hard.

Whenever his friend comes over for drinks, it’s always the same routine.

Both of them don’t talk much, instead opting for a quiet greeting before someone dumps themselves on the couch while the other grabs a bottle and cups in the kitchen. As soon as glasses are filled, conversation sparks as a game plays out on tv—or a sportscasting show if nothing interesting is airing.

But this time? None of it happens that way. Because when Yoongi opens his door, he’s pinned with a shadowed visage he's only seen piercing through others.

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

Raising a brow and giving space is his chosen course of action. Best to not disturb a beast if they’re already ready to lunge.

And his friend eyes him as he stalks into the house, scanning around in search of something—living room, dining table, even looking into the open doorway of the bedroom.

Fuck. Relax. Don’t assume anything until things are on the table. Yoongi has got to pretend like tonight is normal and fine and that he’s obviously and positively not seeing and sleeping with his friend’s little sister.

And that he most definitely didn’t eat you out where your brother is sitting now motherfucker he needs a drink. Or a smoke. Or both with a plane ticket out of the whole country.

At least the television is already on. If it wasn’t for that ambiance, Yoongi’s head would be jam packed with every goddamn sound known to man. Including the adorable way you talk in your sleep, and how you strain so beautifully when you come fuck, fuck, fuck! Focus.

What’s happened has happened. And what’s going to happen will happen. Whether it’s a consequence of his actions, or nothing to do with any of this at all.

But when faced with everything smushing together at once? Yoongi will probably need to be revived no matter what the outcome. This is the most stressed out he’s been in years.

Not only that, but his stress is more than obvious. Even now in the kitchen, he’s scanning through his bottles with a finger—an action he’s never done while sober since the choices are always predictable. Holy shit, he needs to pull it together.

Has he ever been this panicked? Does he appear just as chaotic and disjointed as he feels? This is too new. This is very new and if he doesn’t regain control there’s no telling where this foreign road leads.

But the silence still remains as he turns. And apparently the road hits a dead end at his dining table. Since it’s occupied rather than the living room sofa.

Sighing, Yoongi ambles to his friend, placing everything down with clinks and ignoring the way his furniture is getting burned through. Both whisky’s are ready. Yoongi’s already holding his. And your brother still hasn’t moved a muscle. Honestly, what the fuck is going on with—

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What.

Don’t react. He’s staring. Don’t fucking react. Take a drink. A sip. Pick up the goddamn glass. Doing so, Yoongi slowly brings the liquid to his lips, not quite following his own instructions as he asks behind a barrier, “How was it.”

His question is met with a laugh that isn’t funny at all. The kind that drags a finger along the chalkboard of your soul. And the next question directed his way pulverizes Yoongi’s denial,

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

He’s sick. Beyond sick. The room is closing in and closing in too fucking fast. Shit shit shit. There’s no way he saw. No fucking way. He parked down the street he deliberately stopped as far away as possible and you saw your brother’s car in your driveway. Did he get there after you left? And didn’t see you while also not hearing from hi—

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck!

Yoongi can’t feel the air in his lungs. Because there isn’t any. Just a barren wasteland of shriveled futures and cracks in the foundation of every relationship he’s had in his whole life. The millisecond before a crash and only his wheels spinning and spinning and spinning—

Your brother shoots out of the chair, making the glass in Yoongi’s palm feel infinitely more solid.

“I mean, fuck! After all the shit we’ve been through? You’re gonna go back to her?”

All the—shit, he can’t even—back to? Back to you? What does he mean by back to you? Does he know about the first ti—

Volcanic, the man interrogating paces beside the dining table. Back and forth, back and forth. A pause. Back and forth.

And Yoongi still feels frozen in time. Is this it? Is this when things come crashing down? Glass suspends in midair all around him; an orchestra trembles beneath his feet, waiting for the moment to rip into his rib cage with swift strokes and a flourish as he’s taken down.

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

When Yoongi finally chooses to speak, what comes out only feels like a horrible attempt more than anything else, “Listen, it’s my fau—”

“What, you just decided to fuck that bitch again? Couldn’t stay away?”

Oh, fuck that.

Wood scrapes into flooring as Yoongi vacates his chair, hard feet planted as he gets into the face of his best friend, his confidant, his day one. Only to speak so low only them two can hear, “How bout you use your fucking words already and I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” They are only a breath apart. But no one’s going anywhere now. “Need me to spell it out for that fuckass brain of yours—”

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

Yoongi’s back connects with the chair behind him, palms flinging back to brace himself through a jolt of pain. And his eyes go so wide they stretch at the edges.

…Motherfucker, what?

Your brother is not done in the slightest, but Yoongi can only stare as he’s being berated for something that is one-hundred percent news to him, too.

“Everyone was happy when you finally left. All of us. Only for you to go and, what, get back with her?”

Nothing makes sense. This isn’t about you? Yoongi’s heart can’t even reset to start beating again. Everything is coming as shock after shock and there’s no way he can keep up at this pace.

His ex? Her? Where the fuck did that come from and why the hell does he of all people think that’s actually true?

“If you’re gonna be with her, you can count me out.”

No. Never again. That would never, ever happen again. “The fuck are you even saying—”

“I’m not fucking joking, Yoong. If you’re seriously back with her then—”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you heard, but I’m not.”

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

He—who? Who the fuck would say that? And when how what the fuck and why? Yoongi stares, chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Because he has a choice to make. Either he trudges into this lie and rubs sludge all over his bones, or he denies it like he wants because it’s not fucking true.

What the actual fuck. It’s already bad enough that someone sent this along the rumor mill. And it’s making him sick thinking about all the implications surrounding it. But it’s even worse that his best friend believes it so easily. He’s coming at him so quick without even asking if it’s true.

The only silver lining—the singular bright spot in this hellhole—is that he can use it as an out. An out to protect you from wrath and further fury from your older sibling because if you were the rumor? He’d be laid flat on his floor next to a broken dining set.

“You gonna say anything or what?”

Truthfully, Yoongi feels queasy knowing what he’s gonna do. But it’s for you. You, you, you. And for that, Yoongi will do anything.

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…”

“No?”

Just hurry up and fucking do it.

Resigned, Yoongi lets the memories flood through. Every moment that’s haunted him from a distance charges forward as he surrenders to the pain of his past. “It’s—” Fuck, he can’t even begin to lie, head thundering, thundering, striking his heart in the rain. “I...”

His friend halts. Tense before his shoulders fall back to normal. “You what.”

What the fuck does Yoongi do? What can he say when his brain is only firing up to beg him to run? Technically, he doesn’t have to say anything. He really doesn’t. But he can deflect. It’s what he’s best at, after all. He’s been doing it to you and he will do it again.

In the most defeated voice he can muster, Yoongi comes up with something that will placate his friend while still prolonging this horrid fib, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“You sure?”

It’s true. More true than anything. “It’s over now.”

A century passes. Then another. Then another. Every piece of furniture waits in silence as the television seeps back into his ears.

Then his friend sighs, not looking back as he slumps into the same chair that you always occupy. And Yoongi hopes his sigh of conflicted relief isn’t witnessed.

Following suit, he rubs his lower back before taking his regular seat again, not giving any shits about waiting to drink.

His ex?

As his throat warms, Yoongi starts to harden the more memories keep crashing into each other like jagged waves fuck he really hates how she was brought into this he swears as soon as he figures out who said this he is going to—

“Sorry.” Haze shattered, he lifts his gaze. “I’m so fucking stressed and hearing that last night just…”

“It’s done.” Yoongi reaches for the thick bottle, pouring more into his glencairn. Wanting to talk about literally anything else, he diverts the conversation, “But something else is up with you so say it.”

It works. The man inhales deep, rubbing his face with weary hands. When he rests elbows on wood, he finally talks about other things clouding his mind,

“Work is shit,” he groans downward. “They’re having me travel again.”

“Domestic?”

“Yeah. But for longer. And I don’t…” Tapering off, he sits back, slowly playing with his glass. As if he doesn’t want to mention the next problem.

When he finally does, Yoongi wholeheartedly understands the hesitation, “I dunno know what’s going on with my sister.”

Oh. Fuck, how the hell does he respond? Keeping his cool, Yoongi just repeats the question, taking out his phone and pretending to check his screen. “Your sister?”

“Yeah.” A sigh is sandwiched between explanations. “The past few months, I feel like.. They haven’t really been themselves.”

A sudden crack splits him through.

“Not laughing. Not eating as much. Like even when they sound happy, I can tell it’s a front.. I don’t know.”

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard.

No. No, no, no. Your texts have been so positive. So encouraging. Other than a few sad calls, you’ve been happy to hear from him just as he had been relieved to hear from you. Even in the car, you must’ve put your feelings lightly.

Your wings. You’ve been enduring all that? For him? Yoongi’s heart rears its head, snagging one of his breaths and slamming both lungs into the floor.

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

“They finally went out last night, but. Didn’t come back until this morning.” Running rigid hands through his head, the man looks so pained. So helpless. “Same clothes, dude.”

And Yoongi can only stare, feigning nonchalance but raging and tearing himself apart inside. “Mm.”

“I just… I know I suck at this, but. I don’t know what the hell to do. Or if I even do anything.” Your brother finally takes a swig, wincing at how much ethanol coats his tongue.

Relax, relax, relax. As much as he wants to erupt on himself right now, Yoongi has to stay calm.

Not like he doesn’t know how. That’s usually how he operates, anyway. It’s hard to tell he’s struggling unless you look deep enough. And almost no one thinks to do so because his surface is all they want.

But right now? He doesn’t think he can sequester this anger any longer. At him, his past, and his stupid present decisions.

“Like I tried to say something but I just.. I felt like if I push too hard, they’re gonna shut down even more. Ever since that fight with Kook, it’s like..”

Seeing an opening and keeping a neutral stance, Yoongi asks the most ironic question to date, “Are they seeing someone?”

At this, his friend shakes his head, eyes glued to dark amber liquid. When he answers, all the breaths in the world cut at once,

“I think she feels all alone.”

This hit is the strongest. Straight to the gut, breath stuttering and muscles clenching so hard they lock. It’s almost severe enough to affect how Yoongi feels around his eyes.

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

Yoongi’s heart lurches, deflating and slipping out of the crack in his chest. Piercing on the jagged edges before slumping down onto a table that continues to judge him.

You’re hurting. Your brother’s hurting. And it’s all his goddamn fault. Why can’t he just break free and admit shit? Why is he still haunted by the phantoms of his past? Why is he still so fucking weak? It’s clear that he hurt you. For months. You’ve been cheering for him that whole time while you’ve been visibly broken and it’s all because of his dumbass decision to—

“I’m heading out again.”

Yoongi raises his eyes. Because he can’t seem to move anything else. “When.”

Your older sibling takes a slower, more measured sip. Looking towards the channel playing in the living room, he answers, “After our game. Dinner Friday, game on Saturday, fly out Sunday.”

“Mm. We’ll still be here,” Yoongi assures, keeping things as normal and neutral as he can. “Just like last time.”

How ironic. How hypocritical. He hasn’t been there for you in the slightest so how the fuck can he say that with a straight face.

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot for y’all but..”

Not at all. Yoongi is more determined than ever to make everything up to you. It’s the least he can do after putting you through something he decided on the fly.

On the run.

“Don’t worry about that,” he vows into his drink. Honestly, if you’ve been having second thoughts about this whole thing, he doesn’t blame you. Absolutely doesn’t blame you if you realize you’re better than this. But Yoongi’s at least gonna apologize in every single way he can. As soon as he possibly can. “We got it.”

“K.” The man finishes his glass and goes to pour more. “Did I ever mention that she liked you?”

Now what— Coughing on whisky is a bitch and a half. Hitting his chest while both eyes squint from burn, Yoongi croaks out his exact thoughts, “What.”

At this, his friend finally breaks into his regular smile. Setting the bottle down with a hollow clunk, he points, “Don’t you fucking get any ideas. Jimin’s already on my shit list.” He scoffs out a laugh. “But it was obvious when we were younger.”

And Yoongi can only cough some more. He shakes his head through the sting, swallowing and trying to compose himself. He doesn’t know where the hell that came from, but he hopes your brother will understand when all is said and done. Even though he’s been the reason you’ve been so…

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

“You’re a good person,” he blurts instead. Whether the guilt or last cough pushed it out, that’s still on the table. “You don’t suck at what you think you do.”

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The hell? Does this dude really not see how successful he is? How much he’s overcome and conquered and sacrificed? Truthfully, Yoongi wouldn’t be where he is today if not for your brother. Him. Jimin. You. Anybody. Which is what makes this ongoing betrayal…

Unprecedented.

“You’re the best out of all of us.”

Your brother finally looks at him, though Yoongi isn’t doing the same. But he can still tell when a fist is held out for him to bump, so he does.

And they both share a drink in respectful silence.

After a moment of them watching the tv, the man finally sighs. “Guess we did shape up pretty nice.” When he’s agreed with, he keeps going with a grin. “We were so fucking bad.”

Yoongi can only chuckle, much better memories fighting off the terrors. “Old me was a little shit.”

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

Laughs precede big swigs of whisky and comfortable quiet. Bit by bit, shoulders start to relax with the surrounding air, and Yoongi lazily releases tension in his neck.

After a few more pours, your brother decides to call it, using the bathroom before announcing that he’s gonna head out. Yoongi gets up from his chair to clasp hands goodbye, not expecting to hear one more plea,

“Break up with her, Yoong.”

Shit. He sighs, and their conversation continues from the dining table to the front door. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s over now.”

“For good?” As they stop beside the coat closet, your brother pins him with a look. “I was about to drive over and break down the door.”

Even though Yoongi shares a tsk with him, he can’t help but imagine what could’ve happened if that was the case. And it sends an unwanted jolt of chills.

“Serious. I’m gonna keep saying this, but. she was just making you miserable, dude.” He slips on his shoes, smacking his foot on the ground to push one in place. “I’m sure it was good at first, but I mean… You gotta move on. You deserve better than that.”

Anything would be better than that. Yoongi just disagrees with the whole deserving part. “I guess.”

“You sure it’s over?”

“Yeah,” he assures, because that is something he intends to keep true forever. “It is.”

“Good.” Keys jingling, your sibling then points into the open area with his whole arm, seven words leaving his mouth like ice,

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.”

Ah. Among all the things. Of course he would bring that up, too. Jaw working, Yoongi looks away, now assaulted by all the torturous thoughts surrounding that painful reminder and fighting them off with no success.

Get rid of it? He’s been trying.

For three. Fucking. Months.

“I might.”

“…K.”

And his best friend departs, leaving Yoongi inside and staring at the same black spot he’s kept in the corner for years. It has mocked him as he struggles. Laughed at him whenever he’s tried to throw it out. And aside from the times he’s made you feel better stinging himself on those strings, he has accomplished nothing except letting it win.

Pissed off and doused in guilt, Yoongi yanks himself away from the door, the instrument, and everything else except for his bed.

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands.

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

But his phone exists somewhere on the other side of his bedroom door.

And he doesn’t have the strength to go get it.

What time is it?

All that greets him is darkness.

Nothing new, but darkness all the same.

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean?

He needs to call you. He’s lying to his best friend.

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you.

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale.

He needs to call you. But he’s so, so tired.

And the darkness pulls him back under.

Without even telling him the time.

Buzzing.

Faint, gentle buzzing softly lifts Yoongi’s eyelids before a loud series of smacks causes him to rush out of bed what the fuck?

Oh. His phone fell outside. Fucking hell, his heart’s beating way too quick for that to be the only thing that happened.

Head in his hands, Yoongi sighs deep before making his way to the dining table. And it takes all of his strength to bend down to reach for his phone.

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages

Chim: 7 Messages

Chim: Missed Calls (3)

Holy fuck.

With only the light of his phone illuminating the dark, Yoongi rings Jimin up. His heart’s a little disappointed it wasn’t you calling just now, but it’s probably best to stay away while his brain is so scattered and torn.

“Oh, fuck. There you are.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t scare me like that, bro. I was starting to get ready to drive over—”

“It’s fine,” he juts in. “What’s up.”

Alright, maybe he shouldn’t be an asshole. There’s no reason to let his lingering shadow from earlier control his temper now. Jimin’s just being himself, for fuck’s sake.

“I, umm. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

Now that’s not what Yoongi expected at all. “For what?”

There’s another pause on the line, and his reaction is immediate when he knows for a fact Jimin is fighting back tears.

“I… I got so drunk last night, I—And I—”

Shit. A sinking feeling starts to weigh Yoongi down, his center pulling the rest of him in like a black hole. And he doesn’t need to hear the rest of this to know what this call is about.

“He was looking for her, Yoong, and you weren’t there, either. He had this look, I—I couldn’t think of anything else to say in the moment and I told him—”

Jimin can’t even finish his confession. And it hits right in the gut.

Despite his perceived persona, Yoongi doesn’t like hearing people cry. At least, if they don’t deserve to or don’t deserve to be sad—or if they’re you. He could care less about the rest.

But Jimin is one of the only people that can get him like this: eyes stinging at their edges and his chest concave. In the dark, though, no one can tell. No one can see him.

So he can openly swipe at his eyes before dumping tired limbs into a chair, catching his forehead in a damp palm.

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

Exhaling through his nose, Yoongi tries his best to calm his emotions. Because they are still raging and it’s going to take all of him to quell this tempest.

Jimin knows more than anyone what this means to him. To you. The time you spent apart? If it wasn’t for his friend, Yoongi may have been in a much different position. If this was the only thing Park could do, then his effort has to be acknowledged. It worked like a fucking charm.

But goddamn, Yoongi wishes Jimin thought of literally anything else. He could’ve made up some random, some fling from another city, the damn studio itself.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally rasps out. “It’s just been a fuckin’ day.”

Jimin sniffles before cursing at himself and, judging by the sounds on the line, Yoongi figures he’s opening his fridge. If he reaches for soju, that would not be surprising in the least, and now that sounds like a good idea.

“Same. Gah, I just… I should’ve warned you. I didn’t know he went over there.”

“He told you?”

“I called him after you didn’t answer earlier.”

“Oh. Yeah, I passed out after he left.”

“Ah.”

Something shuts before there’s a crisp clink on the line, validating exactly what Yoongi was thinking.

“I really am sorry. What did you end up saying?”

“That it’s done.”

A hum.

“That’s very true.”

There’s a question that Yoongi thinks to ask. Context that he needs. But as important as this information is, Yoongi doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. Or ever. But now still counts. So he switches the conversation over to something less daunting, “Practice still on tomorrow?”

When Jimin laughs out of surprise, it gives Yoongi the smallest kick of energy.

“Ah, someone actually ready to go for once?”

“Yeah. The plan is to make this game quick.”

A hearty swallow spills out of the speaker before a hum follows,

“Mm, that reminds me. Got something that might help with that.”

What the hell does that even mean? “Huh?”

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow. You might find some good uses for it.”

Yoongi rubs the grogginess still clinging to his face. “All these years and you’ve never given me a straight answer.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Knowing the answer.”

At least Jimin’s back in a good mood. Or a better state than puffy-eyed and regretful. He doesn’t have to share the pain in this, too. It was an honest mistake.

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!”

Yoongi’s huff billows through his nose, and Jimin’s energy almost brings enough strength for him to clear the table.

Ehh. He’ll leave it alone. He’s been pretty good at that lately, too, no matter how early or late it is in the night. What time even is it? Checking his phone, Yoongi’s brows crease when he figures that out. Why the hell are they even on a call right now? “Wait, is it really three?”

“Huh? Yeah. I’m telling you, dude, I was getting worried.”

He was really about to drive over? “Sorry. I really did just pass out.”

“Mm. Well, I’m gonna go do that now.”

“K. Same time tomorrow?”

“Ah, a little earlier. Just so I can give this to you before everyone else shows.”

That just makes Yoongi infinitely more curious. “Seriously, what did you get?”

“Relax! You will like it.”

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

As soon as Jimin disappears from the line, Yoongi is left alone again.

Exactly where he always ends up.

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be.

But now that he’s done dealing with those notifications, Yoongi roams lidded eyes over his screen again.

Wait. You called him six times? Fuck. What did you text? Were you wondering where he was, too?

Hustler [20:01]: HOLY FUCK!! my phone died after i tried calling you this morning and i just fully woke up to charge it😭 he’s not home so call whenever

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter.

He very much would’ve rather been in your bed with you all day.

That sounds like fucking bliss.

Hustler [23:37]: tried calling but he’s home now. are you ok?? idk what’s going on with him but i think we need to be careful

Shit, Yoongi didn’t get to tell you. You’ve probably been worried about that every second you’ve been awake today.

And he couldn’t even make it out of his goddamn room to help.

All he comes with is worries for you. What kind of shit is this? What is he even doing? He even outright told you that you were dating only for that to be ripped from your hands for months. Why are you still giving someone like him a chance?

Hustler [23:40]: but all i wanna do is see you

Fucking hell.

Nothing in the world can stop his heartbeat quite like you can. With that smile, or those eyes, or the simple shit like this. Not even lightning can strike him the same way.

Despite the consistency Yoongi has with admitting his own shortcomings, and despite the way he keeps reminding himself he doesn’t deserve you…

All he wants to do is see you, too.

You’ve been more than he ever would’ve imagined—your consideration, your intellect, your mind. And there have been times when you’d look at him as if he was the center of your galaxy.

After all this time. All these days and nights.

You still don’t realize that he was destined to orbit you.

It’s been decided long before his mind was made up—at least, the part of him that doesn’t traverse the dark side. His heart had been tugging him to you ever since that rainy day, no matter where he’s drifted or which direction he’s gone in. All of them lead back into your arms.

But just like the feeling he gets walking into the recording booth, imposter syndrome eats him alive and doubt scavenges on what’s left.

He will never be good enough for you. One of these days, you will realize that you don’t have to settle for him. It’s good now, but you’ll only give him so many chances, which he is swiftly running through at breakneck speeds.

How fucking stupid. Having these thoughts while wanting nothing more than to hear your voice.

Just like everyone else, you’ll eventually be done passing through. His winter will return after your inevitable departure, all the warmth you give focused on something else that deserves it more.

Something that isn’t broken.

Yoongi whips his head up at the sound of buzzing, noticing thin lines of light beneath his phone on the table.

What. No way.

From the rapid beats inside his chest, he shoots his hopes right into the dark.

And they burst into beautiful sparks when he reads his screen.

Hustler: Incoming Call

But just like the streaks of color he witnessed with you on that balcony, his brightness is short lived. Because as soon as Yoongi answers, the way your throat constricts scorches his windpipe through.

And the first thing you attempt to get through makes his eyes shut tight.

“Are we… is this over?”

Fuck.

“I get it, if we are. If you—if you don’t wanna do this with me anymore.”

Fuck. Fuck everything this is not happening right now. “Hold up,” Yoongi breathes, body on full alert. “What’s going on?”

“I thought… When you weren’t picking up, I—”

“Breathe, babe,” Yoongi softens, hating, hating, hating himself all over again. “I passed out before you called. That’s it.”

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

“You would know,” he whooshes, syllables squeezed out by the mountain of regret on his back. After hearing what he put you through? Hearing how you sound now? There’s no way he can do that shit again. No more disappearing from the grid because he can’t fight himself. “You would know if I was done.”

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside.

“Are you? With me?”

Yoongi folds, fingers digging through his hair and blocking it in hard chunks. The amount of things he wants to say to you could wrap the whole world before repeating. But he settles with a truth he can say out loud,

“No way in hell, doll.”

Please. Don’t cry. Because he can only handle feeling his eyes sting so much in one night. There’s only so much he can take before he’s grabbing his keys and speeding over—friends and brothers be damned.

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.”

That’s okay.

Because he’s had a day, too.

“I don’t wanna bother you with it, though, it’s so late.”

Please keep going.

Please don’t leave him alone.

“Talk to me.”

Like a gentle stream, your recap—though not ideal—washes away the weariness from Yoongi’s eyes. Lifts the weight he bears on his shoulders, even if just a little bit.

You’re so good at that.

“Well. Umm. He saw me coming home this morning. And, umm. It was weird. I don’t know why but I think we have to be really careful. And ugh, it—. It sucks because he’s going on a trip soon and I don’t wanna stress him out even more but I—”

Shit, you’ve probably been holding all of this in ever since you got up. You don’t know that your brother believes something entirely different. But of course you’d be considerate, even now. That’s just who you are.

“I, umm. I feel so fucking bad about it but I don’t wanna mess him up right now. Or maybe he knows but just won’t say it? Fuck, sorry, I’m trying not—to—”

The phone goes mute, and Yoongi’s head suddenly weighs ten times heavier.

“He doesn’t know, babe,” he soothes, hating how he can’t be there to comfort you with more than his word and waves in the sky.

If he was stronger, things could be different by now. Vastly different. Vastly better. You would cry less, he knows that for damn sure. Weak, weak, weak. That’s all he fucking is.

The only one he seems to be strong for is you. “He came over earlier.”

“Fuck, really?”

“Yeah.”

You pause, seemingly to roll this information around that beautiful mouth of yours, and Yoongi has the strongest yearning to kiss all your worries right out of it.

“What did he say?”

Shit. You’ll just have to forgive him later. Because Yoongi chooses not to tell the whole truth. You don’t need to bear the same worries as him, anyway. They aren’t yours. He will shoulder all of those on his own. Because he’s the reason for them in the first place. “Nothing about us.”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

Good. Your relief is all that matters. But Yoongi still feels bad for not being able to pick himself up. You could’ve known that a lot sooner if he was stronger. If he was better. “So don’t worry, doll.”

“Okay. What about you? Are you okay?”

Huh? Your questions catch him completely off-guard. It’s almost comical how his first reaction goes straight to a No. But sticking to his earlier stances, he won’t bother you with any of that. There is a truth that he can admit. One that’s always true and will continue to be so. “Just wanna see you.”

And this is when his eyes slowly shut. Don’t. Don’t cry.

“Me, too, baby.”

Hearing that? Chipped and broken from your lips? That is another thing Yoongi can’t handle. His heart beats once before it free falls, and he clutches his phone just a little tighter.

Fuck everything. He’s gonna find a way to do this. All of it.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

He’ll figure out how to move mountains to make it up to both you and your brother.

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

Neither of you deserve this. And he doesn’t deserve either of you. Truly, the only thing he deserves is to be alone. And judging by the way things are going, it’s only a matter of time before you start resenting this behavior and leave, too.

“Thank you.”

What? Something in Yoongi flickers, and he lifts his whole head to eye his screen.

“For putting up with me.”

Oh. Of course you’d assume you’re the issue. Seems like you need the same type of assurance that he does. Both of you the same? Who would’ve thought his bruised soul would sync up with a perfect one like yours.

At this, he holds his breath before chuckling soft. “This has been the highlight of my day, doll,” he admits, finally breaking into a tiny smile and sitting back.

“Really?”

Wait. There was another good part of his day. But he wants to save that for when he can tell you in person. “One of them. But you’ll hear about the other one later.”

“Boo.”

Cute. Wait, isn’t it absurdly late? You have to be up for work in mere hours. It’s a miracle you reached out when you did. “Don’t you have to be up soon?”

“A ha… Yeah.”

“What are you still talking to me for?”

“I miss you.”

Well. That’s not something that he expected. And your admittance being so immediate actually sends shivers down his arms.

Yoongi can only laugh to himself. He knew he had it bad, but this feeling is something else. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what? Miss you? Yeah, right.”

God. You’re getting too fucking good at this. He’s gotta fight back or else his throne will be taken before he even sees you again. “Just a bad night to say it, doll.”

“Why?”

Perfect. “Cus I’m willing to get in the car.”

“Fuck.”

Yoongi happily lets his mouth slant when you groan, chuckling into the receiver and getting up to clear the table. When he flicks on the kitchen light, he doubles down, “Wanna try again?”

He knows you’re gonna say no. Even though your brother doesn’t know, it’s definitely not a proper time to sneak you out—as much as he fucking wants to. Fuck, to be the one sneaking you out of your house… Maybe there’s another version of you both out there that’s done it. A version of him watching a version of you creeping out to his car, face shining in nightfall and etching a permanent smile into his heart.

“I hate you.”

Yoongi should’ve expected that. The sudden laugh that flings out into his liquor cabinet ricochets off multiple bottles, and he shuts it while sporting a wide grin. “That’s better.”

“Ha ha.”

You’re smiling, too. Cute ass. Just the fact that he knows makes him excited for the future, and he’s determined to make it count. Make it worth it. You deserve every goddamn apology he can give. “I miss you, too, babe,” he whispers, grabbing the glasses from the table to wash in his sink.

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.”

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout?

Hell no, that’s outright cheating. That’s when Yoongi will never be able to win. Putting the phone down, he promptly states his new plan into a basin, “Nah, I’m going to sleep.”

“Wait, huh? Why!”

“Nothing.”

“I swear to god—”

“Nothing at all,” Yoongi lies, voice straight as he can muster while hot water runs over his hands. It’s a good kind of sting as his chilled skin adjusts, and he cleans one glass before he hears you ask in his ear,

“Getting ready for bed? Or are you in the kitchen?”

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.”

“Kitchen.”

The hell? “How’d you know?”

“You’re always in there.”

Can’t deny that. The glasses are both set to dry in the dishwasher as Yoongi’s amusement dies down, and his next comment flows out before he can think much of it, “You like to keep me in here.”

“It does seem to be where we end up, huh?”

“It does.” Which is fine by him. He’ll never forget all the times you’ve been in here. Your laughter and your storms, he will remember them all.

“The world said let them cook.”

Your giggles will be the fucking end of him one day. Fuck, he can’t wait to see you. He may even find a way to see you before the game.

But for now, Yoongi will figure out how to talk to you, every day, no matter what. Texts, calls, whatever the fuck. The effort has got to show from now on. No more of this dark headspace shit. He needs to try harder and figure it out faster. For you.

“Go to sleep, doll,” he huffs with full cheeks.

After another adorable batch of sounds, you rustle on the line before sighing,

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.”

With a blink, Yoongi notices two things. One, he just cleared his table and cleaned up without even thinking. And two, despite feeling like absolute shit the entire day and dreading the coming of night, falling asleep won’t be an issue.

Because of you. It’s always you.

Maybe there’s a way out. Maybe he can finally face it all and come out on the other side. “Talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

“I’d like that. And you’re sure he doesn’t know?”

Just like that, the demons are knocking again. Closing his eyes, Yoongi murmurs into the receiver, “I’m sure.”

There will come a time when he will tell you. But that will be way in the future, when he is ready. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he’s telling the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough for it to calm your nerves.

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night.

“Night, doll.”

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room.

Right towards the corner that stares back.

It’s been five days.

But it feels like you’ve aged twenty-eight years.

Ever since your brother confronted you—after your much needed reunion with his best friend—you’ve been floating through time. Lost. Confused. Wondering why that conversation went the way it did and gnawing at your sanity bit by bit.

And even though Yoongi explicitly told you he didn’t say anything concerning your relationship, you still haven’t shaken that feeling. No matter where you are, who you’re with, or on a pretty Friday like this one, you feel… Strange.

When you saw your brother waiting, you for sure thought you were gonna get grilled. It was a given you were gonna break as soon as he started asking deeper and more specific questions. The fallout was gonna happen in your own house right at your door.

…So what in the fuck was that?

You shift your legs, the chill of the office failing to comfort you in your manufactured, building distress.

Somehow, that version of the conversation proved much, much worse. Because now you’re spiraling trying to figure out why he just took your lie as the truth. Truthfully, you feel nauseous. And as much as you need to get some semblance of closure, you still feel hesitant. Because if he’s just biding time? He’s not just thinking about what to do with you.

He’s thinking about what to do with Yoongi, too.

This is so hard.

The only thing—the only thing—keeping you grounded. Is Yoongi himself.

Ever since the call you never thought he’d answer, you’ve been contacted every night. What was once days of radio silence quickly shifted to him reaching out however he could, hours of the day be damned. Just last night, in fact, Yoongi sent you texts at four in the morning, and you beam just thinking about what he said so casually.

Yoongi [3:57am]: That keyboard I told you about is fucking dope. Just got it today and it won’t let me sleep lmaooo

Yoongi [3:58am]: I was gonna say sorry for texting but fuck it you’re getting all the updates :)

No matter what it is, be it a text, call, or video chat, Yoongi seems fully committed and in the moment. Present. And it’s been… Really nice. If you didn’t have your brother’s shadow hovering over your brain, life would be practically perfect.

Forcing yourself to actually work, you manage to get some small things done. Even the meeting you attend goes smoothly and you leave any outside worries on the other side of those glass walls.

So when you get back to your desk, an awaiting paper bag makes you pause. And your whole body prepares to weep.

Only one person has ever sent you food while you’re at work. And staring inside the parcel, you would’ve been able to tell who it was from even if said person had never sent any before.

There’s a small note on top of a to-go container—one that you immediately recognize as that super good restaurant next to Jungkook’s studio.

What the hell? How did Yoongi know you wanted some this whole week but didn’t wanna risk being so close? With careful fingers, you pluck the tiny paper from the bag, opening it with care before your eyes get so teary eyed you can’t even read.

Tonight.

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man.

But you’re getting what I need so here’s the list:

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi.

Seeing an actual list of food squeezes a laugh through your throat in a squeak, tears rushing out of your ducts before they’re hastily swiped.

After five days. Yoongi really just sent you on a grocery run to surprise you with another meetup.

The gesture is so him that you cannot help but shake your head, ruefully huffing to no one and pocketing the note in your bag. And all your worries scatter even further.

A dinner before the big game is risky, for sure, but at this point you couldn’t care less. Your brother has his own work outing tonight, anyway, and you are dead set on breaking all of this to him soon.

Even though you are very much unprepared. And he is going to lose his fucking mind if he doesn’t know already. Fuck.

You’ve had all five days to think it over. All the possible combinations and possibilities and outcomes. Some of them are extreme, some of them are hopeful. But for a majority of these projections, you have a feeling that none of you are gonna leave it without wounds.

And you don’t know how you’re gonna save both of them if theirs are cut too deep.

Regardless, that’s in the future. Not now. Right now, you are staying in the present and working like molasses until you can jet out the door, nary a care nor concern weighing on your heels.

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

You’ll have the first substantial meal you’ve had in months.

Even though you want nothing more than to see Yoongi, your nerves are still buzzing and bumping into each other nonstop. There’s a lot you still need to know. Like why he was radio silent for months, and why your brother has been a little weird this whole week.

Save it for later. Hopefully Yoongi will tell you why eventually. Or that gap will stay elusive to your brain forever.

Sliding into your car, you dump your bag in the passenger seat before pulling out the list, clutching it close and taking a leap that could either calm your nerves or spike them.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

When he picks up, you legitimately don’t answer. Because even after all this time, you still can’t quite function when you hear that deep voice addressing you directly.

“Hey.”

All you have to do is say something. Anything. You could rattle off the damn list, stumbling over all the syllables just like they’re currently smushed together in your fingers.

But you don’t snap out of this trance until he speaks again.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” you squeak out, clearing your throat while watching other people walk to their cars. “Hi, sorry. I just umm.”

You just what? Somehow lost all sense of language just from him saying hi? Get it together. Stop that racket in your stomach and say what you were gonna say. “Thank you for the food. I’m off work now so I’m heading to the store.”

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

“Get whatever you want, too. Just let me know how much it is.”

Huh. Did Yoongi just say all those words in that order? If you heard him right, forget the damn food. You’re close to speeding directly to his place and breaking down the motherfucking door. “Oh, I definitely will,” you respond with instead of hauling ass, the words pushing through your lingering smile. “And don’t worry about that, I got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.”

Yoongi laughs again on the line, fuller and closer this time. Are you on speaker?

“It’s like that? Maybe I should work there, too.”

“Oh, you’d hate it,” you giggle, scheming hard in your head for tonight already. Pretty bubbles in your ribs lift all your spirits. “I’m actually pretty bossy here.”

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal.

“That is literally what I’ve been wanting to see.”

It’s your turn to chuckle as you finally make your way out of the parking lot, heading right to the market that you know for a fact has all of what he’s asking for. “I’m only that way at work, though.”

“Do better.”

Your immediate response makes his laugh crunchy in the speakers, and you go along with him because life is good. Life is fucking great right now. “Never mind, you’re paying. And I’m getting stuff for dessert now, too.”

“What? Who said anything about dessert?”

“Me,” you huff out in pride. Since he wants to see that demanding side come out so bad. With a fleeting thought, you think about what it could be like if you end up confident enough to—

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

Liar! Your cheeks hurt as you look both ways before making a turn. “Can’t fool me. You’re excited.”

“I am.”

The way there was no hesitation sends shivers up your spine. But it’s partly because you thought you’d be faced with another joke or dig. Not a sudden one-eighty. Stopping at a light, you clear your throat before shyness puffs right out of it. “Well, good,” you state while checking your mirrors. “Cus I am, too.”

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

Yoongi laughs before you hear the sound of cabinets, and you wonder which ones he could be touching.

“Mm, babe. One more thing.”

Can he stop making your heart beat two times at once? “Hmm?”

There’s a little bit of pause, followed by the clank of a pan on metal. When you hear another hum, you wonder what he could possibly—

“I think we’re out of condoms.”

Who is out of what. If you weren’t still at a red, your foot would’ve slammed on the gas because what the fuck! All you can manage out are sounds without substance, random syllables, gibberish. Nothing is computing in your head.

“Wait. Or are we?”

Okay, Yoongi needs to stop with that two-letter word before your behavior turns downright criminal. With as much seriousness as you can manage, you accuse, “Are you just fucking with me?”

And his response launches you forward just as the light turns green,

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

“Alright!” you cut in, stopping stopping stopping him because for whatever reason, this conversation is too much. Despite seeing this very man naked in many, many ways, just having this talk with him is making you shier than ever before. “Guess I’ll, umm. Get those, too.”

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

Wait. If he didn’t find some why is he telling you that you don’t have to— “Oh,” you peep in realization. A very sudden, jaw dropping realization. “Goddamn it, you’re too distracting now, bye.”

And he finally breaks with laughter that’s contagious as hell. Which isn’t fair when you’re pretending to be upset with him. Even when you can’t see Yoongi, you can imagine the way his cheeks rise and his eyes crease. The way the whole room illuminates when he’s packed with happiness.

And you want that to be the case forever.

“You’re just lucky I’m not there with you.”

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.”

“Damn!”

As the market comes into view, your teeth shine as you grin, roasting this man quickly becoming one of your favorite pastimes.

“To be fair,” you start to amend, fingers drumming on the wheel as you decide whether or not to say what you want. After deciding that there’s no wrong answer here, you softly admit, “I really do wanna get groceries with you.”

There’s no words that come out in response. Only the slight movements of shuffling and water running and what could be more cabinets closing. But you don’t really know for sure—

“It’s gonna happen, doll.”

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

One of these days you’re gonna see this damn cat again.

Foot connecting with Yoongi’s door, you grunt as multiple bags burden your limbs, pride digging divots along your arms—second trips be damned.

It doesn’t take long for him to let you in anyway, and you swoon at the way he doesn’t even ask while taking some of your baggage. But the kiss on your cheek makes your heart bang into everything between the front door and the kitchen. It’s so distracting that you barely smell the spices greeting you, too.

“Thanks for getting all this,” Yoongi says as you both cross onto tile.

“Of course.” Lifting the much lighter load that you have, you revel in the small thumps and thuds on his counter. Not really knowing why. “Let’s put this up before I yell at you.”

His laugh comes out in hisses while you both start reaching into bags. “For what!”

“Sent me everywhere to find some of this shit.”

“You could’ve asked somebody.”

Feeling a bit silly and high off his presence already, you repeat his words in a goofy mocking tone, and the way he blows out air sends your belly fluttering.

And just like that, things are back to normal again. No worries about your sibling, or work, or anything else looming by the door. Inside is what matters, and the whole apartment fills with jabs and jokes as groceries find their homes.

But Yoongi finds a bag you had separated from the rest, and you snap your mouth shut when he looks inside, something rising in your core when he turns to you with an eyebrow raised. And a smirk so salacious it makes you quiver.

“What about it,” you squeak out, crumbling when he simply takes the bag and flings it through his bedroom door. “You said you—we were out, so…”

“That’s a big box, doll,” he points out on his way to your tightly bitten lip. Mouth slicing through your sanity, he approaches you with a glint in his eyes. “Got something you wanna say?”

“Nope,” you whoosh out oh god he looks way too hot in those sweats wait is that a growing bulge? “Although I will say it took me forever to pick out what—”

Sparks ignite your hands when your lips are claimed, launching them into his shirt and tugging him backward because you’ve been waiting way too long to kiss the shit out of him.

And Yoongi responds in kind, pinning you to his fridge and so, very obvious that he’s been waiting for this, too.

Heaven probably wonders how to replicate this feeling. How to imitate this treasured yearning that only he can pull from the depths of your ocean. Deep, deeper, deepest. All these kisses. Your ascending affection.

“As much as I wanna throw you on my bed,” Yoongi jokes, pulling away and giving your cheek a light tap. “I’m taking you somewhere.”

And you’re so thrown from the impact that your brain mini-resets. “Huh? We’re leaving?”

“Uh huh.”

Hold on. Wait. Is this what he meant when he said he’s getting the next one? You’re going out to eat? Together? No. No, there’s no way. Yoongi knows that’s the worst possible thing to do right now, as much as the idea is sending your belly in a frenzy. “Are you sure? What about dinner? Won’t people… You know.”

“It’s ready already,” he reveals. “By the door.”

Your head snaps to where he points out, even though you can’t see through the bar. “Really?” No wonder it smells like a cooking aftermath. All those smells twirling around your head. How did you not even catch the dishes in the sink?

But hold up, you just bought a shit ton of food! “Then what the hell was the run for?”

Yoongi blinks. Then he does it again. Expression stone still, he responds as if you were privy to his plans this entire time, “I told you to get what I needed.”

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

This man is going to be the death of you. Affronted, your jaw hangs before you grit through a smile that betrays you, “Oh, you—”

“So thanks,” he quips through another tilt of his lips. “Let’s go, doll.”

The begrudged sound that leaves you makes him kick his head back on the way out the kitchen.

“Eat.”

The container on your thighs warms you through. “Now?”

“Mm.”

“I can wait,” you assure, watching as night paints the surrounding scenery in navy and black. “We can eat together.”

“Just a bite then.”

Turning to Yoongi, you don’t see a change in his face as he eyes the road. The veins in his arm catch all the streetlight, and you gulp before your gaze falls to what he made. Music fills the car, and you decide that maybe you do feel a little hungry. So you listen to instruction, popping it open and being careful as you pluck a piece to try.

There’s no denying it. This motherfucker is a chef. “Fuck, this is good.”

Your borderline moan sends Yoongi’s shoulders bobbing, and you will never get over those low, gravelly laughs. “Sorry.” Your hand hovers over your mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t react like that unless I’m alone.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well,” you swallow. “Course you don’t.”

A tiny peek of teeth show as Yoongi smiles, and you don’t expect what he offers next, “Just be you, doll. It’s just me.”

The next bite of food pauses on the way to your mouth. “Oh,” you murmur. “Same for you then.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Cus we wouldn’t make it to where we’re going.”

That was legitimately the worst time to put food in your mouth. Sputtering, your words come out low and chortled, “You fucker.”

His hisses are brief before he dips into silence again. As he slowly turns the wheel, you can see a glimpse of something deep in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologizes, swallowing as you keep your gaze.

What is that look? Weren’t you both just having a good time? “For what, baby?”

“Everything.”

Your lungs flinch. This is definitely not what you expected to hear on the way to wherever the hell you’re going. “Oh.”

Yoongi still doesn’t look your way, and with each pass of a light over his face, you catch quick snapshots of those eyes you’re still so shy of. “I, umm. I didn’t expect shit to pan out this way.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

After a slow motion of disagreement, his head falls forward just a bit. And your eyes find his hand clutching the gear shift in what you sadly think is frustration. “I’ve just thought about some things,” he starts, another song playing. “How worried you must’ve been.”

You look forward. Because this is the part where you can’t face him. “I was. But not for the same reason as last time.” Without a hesitation of your own, your palm reaches between your seats. And you can tell Yoongi watches as you take his hand to hold.

“I was worried about you,” you correct with softness. “It was hard because I didn’t know what to do.” Don’t fucking cry. You filled quite a few buckets already. “When you started not really saying much, I just… Hoped it was for a good reason, so. Yeah.”

You feel your hand gently pulled, which is already enough to make you melt. But when it’s kissed, you don’t know what the hell to fucking do.

“I’m sorry, doll,” Yoongi whispers into your skin, lips brushing with every syllable and painting a canvas of his reconcile. “I won’t leave you hanging like that again.”

There’s a tiny fire in the back of your throat, the embers reaching your eyes just a little too aggressively. You attempt to squash the growing flames before they flare. “Oh. Umm. Thank you.” What else do you say? Yoongi’s being wonderful, but why do you feel… sad? Why is there lingering snow on your windowsill? “Were you worried?”

“Me? Umm.” He stops at a light that he clearly didn’t want to stop at. Resting your conjoined hands on his pliant thigh, his jaw works as he observes them.

And you wonder if he thinks they slot together perfectly, too.

“…Yeah.”

Fuck. “About what?”

“That you’d hate me.”

Your heart meshes his fingers with yours. “Yoongi.”

“Or that you shouldn’t be with someone that’s gone this much.”

Fuck, he’s doing it again. Regressing. You’ve seen it happen in his kitchen and you’ll be damned if all that work, all that peeling, all that resolution amounted to nothing wait, wait, stop. This isn’t gonna be an overnight fix. And you have no clue what’s been happening, so just keep trying, trying, trying.

“I’m used to people leaving,” you joke, but not really. “Like seasons.”

He whips his head to you, and you backpedal because that probably sounded so random. You’ve got to think about filtering your thoughts a little more now that you’re getting comfortable. Yoongi says you can be yourself, sure, but you have to admit your quirks are a little out there. “I know it’s weird, but..”

He’s quiet as the light turns green. And when you don’t finish, he admits, “I think the same.”

“You do?”

Your hand is brushed as a hum peppers it from above. “Mmhmm.”

“Well.” That’s interesting. You didn’t know anyone thought about that stuff like you did. Now you wonder if there’s anywhere else your wavelengths sync, and if they’ve been syncing up all this time. “At least you come back.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand tight before he holds it against his lips. Again. Fuck, this is a lot. You’re so wrapped up in his gesture that you don’t catch what he whispers.

“Hmm?”

He glances at the center console before putting your hand back on his thigh.

“Always, doll.”

And the fire you stepped on rages back with a vengeance. Heat and sting surrounds your eyes, and you don’t hide how you press your feelings into his skin. “Me, too.”

If you weren’t lost in the surrounding scenery outside, you would have caught Yoongi’s look. But all you feel is his hand clutching you tight, and it breaks you down all the same.

The rest of the drive is spent with him telling you to eat more, and a bunch of your sing-alongs to almost every song that comes on. It seems like the tiny bit of closure opened you both up, and you don’t even realize that you’ve been on the road for a really long time.

But finally, Yoongi pulls up to a building, and you’re haphazardly rapping along to a song before you notice. Wait. What? He drove you to a rec center?

Your fingers curl around his forearm before you even notice. “What’s this?”

“Where we’re going.”

Hold on, you’re going inside? “Are we even allowed to be here?”

When Yoongi responds, his teeth make you shiver as he smirks. “Can’t say for sure, no.”

“Then why—”

He unlocks before you can finish, and you’re left in an empty car until he rounds the hood, coming over to your side and opening the door. You almost don’t hear what he says next, too focused on the jewelry swinging from his neck as he bends forward.

But you catch it, and glance once more at the sight in front of you before biting your lip—in nervousness or excitement, you can’t decide.

“You comin’?”

Damn. Obviously, you want nothing more than to see him here. And it’s much too late for anyone to be around. But if something happens… Whatever.

Your mouth finally unsticks. “If we get caught, you’re gonna pay for this.”

And you can’t resist his stupid grin. “Now get your pretty ass out before I put you in the back.”

“Yoongi!”

Grinning, he leads you out, and you follow him to the trunk. After bouncing his stowed ball a couple times, he decides to lean in and reach for something else.

Wait. Is that what you think it is? “Did you always have that in there?” you ask, pointing to the contraption that Yoongi’s using to air up his basketball.

And he does a horrible job at suppressing a smile. Which makes you burst into flutters and beats beats beats. “You liar!” Oh, you are gonna wipe those laughs from his throat. “I had to change up my plans because of you!”

Palming the ball, Yoongi tilts his head dangerously to one side. “And I got to see you,” he proudly claims. “So I’ll take it.”

You hate how the memories come packaged with what’s haunted you. What else happened during that time, and what happened after you left. But there’s no way you’re gonna bring that up. Not when the night has transformed into something so magical.

So you just clutch your food and lean on his car, opting to compliment him to wipe the murk away. “Got to see you, too,” you puff into the brisk night. Because you harbor a bit of nostalgia in your bones. And because he still makes you shy. “You and your stupid hair.”

Another bout of hisses wisp into your side. As you turn to regard Yoongi again, he slips his chains into his hoodie before continuing, and you swoon at the veins popping out of his skin with each pump.

How can he look so perfect doing the simplest things? So unfair.

After seconds that feel like an hour, Yoongi’s done. And he scans the parking lot before telling you to follow him.

What you expect is some outdoor courts. Maybe getting past a gate or two. So when you approach a back door lit by the shine of a single light, you freeze. “Are we really going in?”

Fishing something out of his pocket, Yoongi simply turns over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Oh.” You didn’t think you’d actually get inside the building. If there was an outside court just as accessible it would’ve made sense. Can you even bring food in here? Is that question even relevant? “No reason.”

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

“I’ve already done it a few times, so.”

“Wait!” Nerves throw your hand on his bicep before you can stop. “What if someone sees us?”

He’s so warm. And so toned. And if he plans on taking his hoodie off? You’re not prepared for whatever the hell he has underneath.

Voice softened, Yoongi tries to placate your paranoia, “They won’t, doll.”

“Are you sure? If we get caught here they’re gonna call the police and I am definitely not… Gonna…”

The object in his hand jangles, and you clearly see he was just joking the whole time because keys—keys—stare you in the face.

What is it with him and keys?

When Yoongi speaks, you feel like you’ve never done anything bad in your life, and suddenly the thought of trespassing with an official way in is so scandalous,

“You picked the wrong night to be a good girl.”

You have to admit. Seeing him so mischievous and dashing makes you wanna follow him wherever the hell he goes. Even if it gets you in trouble. Even if you were breaking in tonight, you would be all in. And that thought should frighten you, but it only does because of the wings tickling your rib cage.

How can he make you feel rebellious and yet still so shy? The power of Min Yoongi. He’s way too good at destroying you.

When you glare, the man only grins, hisses of laughter leaving him way too happily before he unlocks the door to no alarms or sirens. He doesn’t need to throw a wink your way, too, but of course he does as he lets you in. Which causes you to float through the dark entryway instead of walk oh he did not just slap your ass!

A jolt in your cunt causes you to regard him in shock. To which he hums in a feigned question. “Hmm?”

With nothing but darkness and his cologne surrounding you, it’s only natural that giddiness takes hold. Truthfully, you’re packed with so much adrenaline that you feel a little wild yourself. “You’ve been waiting to do that, huh.”

“So fucking long.”

You are not surviving the night. And you don’t give a single shit.

But as shy and out of control as you feel around this man, you also feel safe—even in a faraway, dark building that you’ve never been in before. That’s gotta say something about him, right?

Yoongi feels along the wall beside you for lights, purposefully bumping your chest with his front even though he’s securing a ball with an arm. When you question his joking decision with noises, a chaste kiss on your lips shuts you right up.

“You’re in the way,” he jokes through what you think is a smile, and you’re about to move when he flicks on a switch very far away from your shoulder.

Liar! Your jaw drop must be comical because Yoongi’s grin stretches astronomically wide. But you cannot find a retort because seeing him so chill while you’re stiff from paranoia has you at a loss.

Is this how he used to be all the time? This carefree, all caution to the wind? He’s so fucking handsome like this. No wonder he’s pulled so many hearts just like yours.

When you still don’t find any words to say, Yoongi makes it harder, stepping so close that you have to swing the plastic container away. Taking one of your hands in his free one, he gives it a warm squeeze while murmuring,

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

And Yoongi responds with lights in his eyes. “Just are.”

Your lips mesh with his as he keeps your fingers secured, and suddenly every cautious thing in your body gets launched into the skies, too.

But it ends as soon as it begins. And Yoongi backs away from you with a smile,

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

“Eat, doll,” he orders before turning and dribbling onto the court.

When you call out that he hasn’t eaten yet, Yoongi tells you that he already did. When you look around to figure out where to even sit, you decide on the closest set of bleachers and make yourself as comfortable as you can.

Which is impossible. Because they’re bleachers. Which is now triple impossible. Because Yoongi just shucked off his hoodie and the only thing he had under it was his chains goddamn it.

If you weren’t already sitting down you would’ve fallen right into the next dimension. How the fuck are you supposed to eat in these conditions shit he’s walking over!

Your throat seizes as Yoongi approaches, face trained as if he isn’t aware of his overwhelming presence. All he does is bend to place his sweater next to your legs. But the quick smooch on your lips makes you swoon harder than you ever have.

And the way his silver taps your chest makes you mentally hold on for dear life. Wait. What the fuck, Yoongi’s taking them off right now? Right in front of you? Just as you're supposed to eat oh okay he’s handing them to you great wonderful fantastic.

The metal links feel so warm yet slightly cold to the touch. Weighty, yet light. But you clutch them in your hand as you connect a gaze to his.

“Relax,” he orders, lightly slapping the side of your thigh. “No need to worry.”

And with bangs swishing, he goes right back to the ball waiting for him. Leaving you starry-eyed to hell with silver in your palm.

…Did all of that just happen? Is any of this even real? Quite frankly, you fucking forgot what you were even worried about.

No matter what he does—simple lay-ups standing in place, dribbling to different spots to shoot, or even lazily jogging after the ball—you’re so enthralled with his actions that you forget that you’re not supposed to be here.

And it takes your last bite of food for something to finally hit you. How does Yoongi have keys to this place? Where the hell did he score those because you don’t think he ever mentioned anything about working here. Or anywhere else other than the studio.

Yet another mystery to add to this walking, bare-chested enigma.

But there’s another question forming behind your eyes the longer you watch him practice, the more you notice how he’s actually going hard. Yoongi’s really good right now. A lot better than what you’ve seen of him before.

Has he been coming here more often than he’s let on? And why does he look so… serious? You’d be surprised if he even remembered you’re here.

Setting your empty container down, you gather the chains in your hands again, deciding to slip them over your head for safer keeping. After, you grab a water before stepping down the bleachers, hanging a little ways away until Yoongi notices you’re courtside.

And when he sees you, he stops practicing immediately, jogging to you so sweaty and shining and gross and handsome and— “Wait, you’re all swea—”

You’re pulled into a kiss the same time you hear a basketball drop, salt on your tongue and damp palms on your cheeks. And you melt right into the shiny wood floor, drifting, drifting, sailing into dreamland even though you’re technically already there.

“Sweaty,” you whisper into his hot breaths of exertion, a twinge between your legs when he kisses you even deeper—breathing, inhaling, taking you in. “Gross.”

“Thanks.”

You flash a smile against Yoongi’s lips, giggling because this is all better than anything your brain could’ve conjured on its own. When you ask why he’s going so hard, all you get is a question in return,

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

Huh? Blinking, you suddenly don’t remember your own train of thought. “What did I do?”

“Nothing.” He presses a wet mouth to your nose. “Did you eat?”

Laughing, you reassure him, “I did, I did.”

“Good. You bored?”

“Huh?”

Yoongi leans to softly take your lips this time, and you want to say he’s approaching the legal limit for kisses tonight. “Thought you came over cus you wanna leave.”

“And stop seeing you play? I could watch this forever.” You squeeze the water bottle a little tighter. “Just checking on you.” Another strike hits between your legs when Yoongi takes another, lazier glide over your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you forward by your bottoms, fingers slick from use.

You could do this for eternity, too.

“Well I got about five more minutes in me, so..”

This man.

“Forever might be a stretch.”

“Ah, shut up. Here,” you offer through a giggle, holding the water out for him to take.

“Thanks.” When he does, he tilts his head at just the right angle to cut you through, gulping down liquid and making you do the same to your nothingness.

So unfair. “You looked like you were going pretty hard.”

Lowering the bottle, Yoongi shifts his jaw before taunting something a ways off. “I kinda was.”

“It was kinda hot.”

His laugh makes you smile, and his next swig makes you weep. “Nah, but. This is our practice gym. I can just zone out here, so. It’s been one of those things.”

Ah. Was this one of the places Yoongi ended up during those months apart? You wish he could’ve brought you along sometimes. Or at least thought about asking. It’s nice just to be around him while he does something he likes. Gaining courage, you say exactly what’s on your mind, “You can always bring me, too. If you want.”

And it’s true. You don’t really have to do much when you’re with him, because just being around him is what brightens your day. Lifts your mood.

But you have to admit that watching him play basketball while shirtless is the biggest fucking win in history.

When did Yoongi get so close? When did his eyes retreat so far away? “I didn’t wanna bother you with this,” he admits, a drop of sweat clinging onto his chin. “I don’t even put music on.”

“You never bother me,” you whisper back. Hoping that he believes you and that he will start to accept that as fact. Because it is. “Even if you’re being annoying.”

The bottle crinkles as he smiles, and there’s a soft kiss to your lips that has no real desire behind it. Just a nice peck that sends you careening down a hill of flowers. “You won’t be feeling that way tomorrow, babe.”

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.”

And he says that while half-naked? Like any look on him could get any worse. “Oh,” you scoff out, fully calling his bluff. “As if.”

Well, fuck. You don’t enjoy the smirk plastered on his face. It has you both dreading and excited for whatever demon you’re gonna run into tomorrow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shrugs as he starts to hand the water back. “We can go soon, by the way.”

“Okay.”

But before you can grab it, Yoongi pulls the bottle from reach. “Unless,” he teases. “You wanna play me.”

“What.”

His grin shines, face glistening and turning your insides to jelly. “You told me you’d win, so. Let’s see it.”

You said that? While sober? How does he remember something like that when you can’t even recall a time or place you’d tell him something so bold. “When!”

“Right after you woke up once. Said you’re a master?”

Oh. That was ages ago. Fuck, you already forgot how did Yoongi remember?

“Oh. Well.” Your nose turns up in feigned haughtiness. “Wouldn’t wanna throw you off your game before a championship.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!”

Water spills down your head in rivulets as you freeze, stunned and watching Yoongi jogging his laughs back to the bleachers like a punk. “Think you got something on your face, doll.”

“Yoongi!” What the hell possessed him to do that to you here? Racing after him with purpose, you slam into him just as he reaches for another bottle, shoving a laugh out of his throat and making him catch himself on hardwood. “Nu uh, gimme that!”

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

“Bitch!” You lunge for another bottle lying further away, distancing yourself to quickly rip the cap off and to avoid feeling his slick back on your hands.

And it’s a lawless gym as both of you start spraying water, arcs and splashes of bottled liquid spewing over the court and soaking into your clothes and his bare skin. Which proves to get worse and worse for your wellbeing the more he gets soaked in your attacks.

Running ends up being the only option to avoid getting completely drenched, and you hightail it behind bleachers before your waist is grabbed. “Fuck!”

“Uh huh.”

You try to wrestle out of his hold, his wet forearm digging lovely into your stomach, and you’re temporarily let go just so Yoongi can spin you around.

Your back connects with solid wall, the impact shooting a grunt out of your throat before you laugh out of pure disbelief. “I can’t believe, you got me to do that,” you rush out, sentence punctuated by your breaths more than anything else.

Here you are. Under bleachers. With Yoongi’s skin caging you with radiating heat.

You can only stare as he drinks you in, no doubt looking at his silver around your neck and your chest heaving from exertion. Butterflies float across your stomach when his smile drips, and you fold as soon as he swoops in.

Everything in your being pulses hard. It’s so visceral that you teeter on the edge of sanity and logic, and the thoughts slipping through your mind are just as wild as you feel. Before you’re even aware of it, a mischievous finger slides along the hem of his shorts, and you jump at the downright boulders rolling down your front,

“Careful, doll.”

“Hmm?” You feel bad. And it feels fantastic. “What was that?”

More gravel slides down his tongue, and you shake at his attractive as fuck threat, “Fuck around and find out then.”

Your giggles add feather lightness into his murky laughs, but you’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice his hand between your legs until he slaps the inside of your thigh. “Yoo—!”

“Unless.” He leans forward. “My baby’s too scared.”

Holy fuck, you might be. Is he really willing to do something with you? In a public place very similar to where you’re gonna watch him play tomorrow? You don’t know why the fuck that’s attractive as hell, but it is.

Yoongi grips your chin, eyes falling to your lips and brows knitted before claiming your lips even harder. And despite your bones vibrating to hell, you put your all into the kiss, relishing in the growing hardness you feel against your front. An animal starts to wake inside your core, and you almost feel like stroking it. Feeding it. Raising it only for it to consume you in return.

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.”

“Huh?” Dazed, you let your vision refocus as Yoongi chuckles at your hazy state.

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.”

For some reason, the game makes you nervous today. Even while Taehyung strides into the gymnasium with you, there’s a lingering feeling swelling in your stomach, and you don’t have any reason for it yet.

At least this is another rec center entirely. Because there’s no way you would’ve sat still knowing you had a clandestine meeting in the same place not even twenty-four hours before.

But the activity already bustling around hardwood catches your attention. Not on both sides, since only one team is here, but they are active on the other end doing drills.

Wow. They look really intimidating, matching jerseys that were clearly done professionally and warm-ups having a set routine. You wonder if this is gonna be a tough game for… Wait. That’s your brother under the basket. That’s them?

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

Because you’ll already never get over how attractive he looks in athletic clothes.

But team jerseys?

Seeing this man rock a basketball uniform with his toned arms and legs so visible makes you want to claw your way out of your invisible cage.

When the hell did they even get those? And why is he already slightly drenched during the warm-up alone?

As soon as you see him make a lay-up, you know for a fact that you shouldn’t be here.

Yes, you’re gonna stay and yes, you’re gonna cheer for them all game. But you are absolutely gonna feel like jumping him, which will in turn make you wanna bolt and run all the way out of town every agonizing second.

Shit, shit, shit. You’re gonna have to try your damned hardest to unstick your eyes from that man the whole time. Already, you can hear Taehyung’s teasing, and your groan is to lament your future state.

Your name suddenly rings across the gym, and four feet pause in your ascent up the bleachers. When you catch both him and Jimin waving you down from their courtside chairs, you tilt your head in intrigue.

They want you to come over there? What the hell is this about?

Sighing, you turn. “Guess I’ll go see what they want.”

“Here,” Tae offers his hand. “I’ll save you a seat.”

Your bag is transferred to his grip while you nod, and you step down onto the court, wondering if you’re even allowed to walk onto it to see them. And Jimin’s grin can be seen from miles away. “Come here!”

You gingerly step onto shiny wooden floors, making your way over and becoming hyper aware that someone else notices your presence. But you’re so puzzled as to why there’s no one on the other side of the court yet because isn’t the game about to start?

Where’s the other team? As you approach their row of chairs, your hands immediately find your hips. “What’s up?”

Jimin’s eyes stay creased as your brother explains the reason he waved you down. A very stupid, very innocuous reason. “Can you keep score?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why me?”

Your brother uses his jersey to wipe sweat from his brow, and you wince at the brand new material getting gross already. “The girl that usually does it for us is sick.”

“And you know the game,” Jimin quickly tacks on, rubbing at some tattoos on full display. Wait, are there more than you remember? When did he get more ink?

Your sibling asks another question you had in mind, “You aren’t gonna cover those?”

“Nah. Not today,” the man elongates in a stretch. “Just got another one. This one!”

Ah, you were right. “I like it.”

Jimin couldn’t look more proud. But enough of that because you really just wanna go back and observe the game from another place entirely. “Can’t y’all find someone else to keep score?”

“We don’t think anyone else can,” your brother explains, looking over your shoulder. “At least, not the people coming to watch us.”

Cool. You get to be met with heat and sweat from all these guys without compensation. How is this something you would say yes to? “Well. I don’t really feel like being a scorekeeper for free.”

When your sibling laughs with Jimin, they share a look before he says so matter-of-factly, “Told you.”

You’re sticking with that. If you’re gonna sit next to a bunch of smelly people, they’re gonna pay… you… somehow.

A ways down the row, you catch Yoongi dumping himself onto a random chair, head tilted back before he hangs it forward to wipe sweat from his forehead.

And suddenly this temporary gig doesn’t seem terrible in the slightest.

Because one, you can sit on a team bench that will have his fine ass right there. And two, this will give you a way to objectively focus on the game. You won’t have time to be distracted by a demon and his hair that’s gotten criminally long.

“I’ll get us all dinner,” your sibling slices through your thoughts. “After we win.”

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the end seat and shooting one more glance to the other side of the court. “Then I get to p—”

The air around you squeezes inward. And all sounds plunge underwater.

Because you recognize someone you knew from a dark club walking onto the court, his team looking just as sharp and cocky as his eyes.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You don’t notice the way Jimin’s hands flex, nor the way a familiar presence walks up to join your brother.

All you can do is stare back.

And without even realizing.

You’re already rubbing your arm.

tbc. :((

a ha ha... so how do we feel? | taglist | discord!

a/n: okay, hello, loves. apologies this part took so damn long to post! can you imagine if i tried to post everything at once LMAOO yikes talk about too much at once. but i hope this part was enough to still be good on its own, and broken, pt. 2 will be... well. you can probably guess that's where a majority of my brainpower is going to go. a/n 2: thank you all for being here! it's been an amazing two years working on this series and i cannot tell you how grateful and appreciative i am to have such wonderful people alongside me. i hope this series continues to be there for you when you need it, bc it has become that for me, too. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

#ITS FINALLY HEREEE #SHEESH #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts reactions #filter for fics:#*ryenfictalk #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #three tangerines #3tan11 #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #btsfic #*latest #ryenwrites

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hueningsloverr · 3 months

Text

౨ৎ kiss her you fool !

pairing: established relationship!beomgyu x reader summary: dating beomgyu was rocky, simply because he didn't know how to kiss you. or how to ask. or when. luckily, he had his friends to guide him through it. word count: 1.0k extra: inspired by kids that fly's 'kiss her you fool'! apart of my valentines day series

beomgyu was not one to do things simply because it was asked of him. he 'marched to the beat of his own drum', or so his mom always told him growing up. and while it was his best quality, it was also his fatal flaw.

"no, we haven't kissed yet." he groaned, throwing his head back on his pillow as kai and taehyun laughed at him. it was an embarrassing thing to admit. six months dating, and he still hadn't worked up the courage to ask to kiss you.

he'd never kiss you without asking. his mom had raised him 'right'. and soobin would kill him if he tried.

kai continued snickering, even after beomgyu had practically rocket launched his pillow at the younger teen.

kai of all people was not one to laugh at others romantic endeavours, not with the state of his own love life.

"you gotta just ask man!" taehyun howled, falling back on himself as he clutched his sides, laughing so loudly beomgyu worried his parents would hear.

"you try to have a significant other!" beomgyu shot back, "a partner, who at that, is the prettiest person alive!"

kai's voice held a mocking tone, and then it was taehyuns turn to harass the boy. "it can not be that hard man!" kai giggled, as if he was a teenage girl on the phone. "just be like, hey, your lips and my lips would make an awe- ow! taehyun!"

taehyun grinned, turning his attention back to beomgyu. "the idiot's not wrong. just be polite. she's probably waiting for you to kiss her."

bviously, beomgyu was aware of that fact. he had long since stopped making excuses of his behalf, at this point it was simply a lack of guts. he had the rest of his life to live, so what if he embarrassed himself once in high school?

"don't be afraid dude," kai chimed in, and taehyun had half a mind to tell the teen to shut it. yet, kai was kai. he always made somewhat decent points at the end of the day. "dreams aren't found, they're made."

taehyun cackled, an exasperated, unbelievable, cackle. "shut up man!" he laughed, but beomgyu drowned out his younger two friends. they both were right.

quickly grabbing his phone, he texted you to meet him outside your house in 10 minutes. and with that he set off.

"i'll be back in a bit, you guys can leave whenever you want." he mumbled to his friends as he grabbed his coat and scarf off of his desk chair and sped out the door.

kai and taehyun were left completely clueless, but still giggling like mad men.

a quick walk through the park by your side, you practically freezing the entire way, was all beomgyu needed for a confirmation. he knew in most situations in life, he had endless attempts, yet somehow in that one moment it felt like he only got one chance.

stopping briefly at the steps to your house, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. he had half the mind to check it, but then he noticed you walking away.

"hey," beomgyu called out, his hand loosely reaching to grasp your wrist. it felt like every cliche moment in a movie ever. you always liked watching those movies this time of year. when the snow piled up so high outside it was a surprise school wasn't canceled, and the only thing left to do was watch movies.

"hm?" you grinned, turning back to look at your boyfriend. the streetlamp above gave you an etherial glow, and beomgyu felt his heart stop beating for a moment.

"don't go just yet." he whispered, inching closer. "there's more i want to say - more i want to do."

a soft look of surprise coated your face, and suddenly it was far too hot for it to be the middle of february. "what was it you wanted to say?" you mused, leaning closer to your boyfriend.

he felt his brain shut down.

there was no where to go.

no place to hide.

life presented him with two options, and neither seemed truly appealing. he could either let you go, or ask.

"i really like you," he blurted out, noticing how antsy you had become. you looked as uncomfortable as he felt - how fitting. "and i was wondering, you know, since we've been going out for so long…"

you leaned in again, as if following so closely behind his words you could guess what would come next.

"can i kiss you?"

your words caught him off guard. it wasn't supposed to go down like this - he was supposed to be the one to ask. it was supposed to be his romantic gesture.

beomgyu felt as the heat rushed to his cheeks, and he felt like all his defences had been knocked down. "oh," he managed to let out, eyes wide yet still so soft. all he could do was nod; a hesitant nod that said it all.

'i've been waiting for this'.

and before he could react, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his in a gentle yet determined kiss. his heart skipped a beat as he melted into the embrace, his mind going blank as he lost himself in the moment.

pulling away, beomgyu let out a soft gasp, and he watched in awe as you melted away from his grasp, up the steps, and into the warmth of your home. he could slowly feel the world around him shift back into focus, and the cold breeze began to penetrate his jacket.

it was still february after all.

and so, as he made his way back home, stumbling like an idiot drunk in love, he finally remembered to check his phone. his home screen was littered with notifications - mostly mundane things like a 394 day streak on duolingo to uphold, and pinterest board recommendations - but the most prominent was the oldest.

a simple text from taehyun that read "kiss her you fool!"

authors note: part 3!!! i've yet to have my first kiss... this may be wildly inaccurate. it most likely is. idk. also this is so late oh my god i meant to post it on like tuesday or wednesday but kept rewriting the kiss part😭

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seeingivy · 5 months

Text

lover

satoru gojo x f!reader

you've loved him three summers, now you want them all

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: FLUFF. good old sweet wedding vibes, you being an idiot, satoru being a bigger one and making dirty jokes constantly, and just being the best lovers in general

an: I named nanami's wife daisy after my sweet @daisynik7 who I always subconsciously associate with nanami now. please make sure to check out her work + support her bc she's the sweetest person to ever person!

Nanami Kento is made for loving. And you only realize it now, minutes away from his beautiful bride walking down the aisle, that he always has been.

“Y/N!”

You’re thrown out of your thoughts to see your lover looking at you just past Nanami’s shoulder, hands erratically shaking in the air as he beckons for you to walk over. You give him a smile, handing your bouquet to Shoko, before you walk over.

Satoru’s quick to lace his hand around your waist, a soft kiss being pressed to your temple, as you look at Megumi and Yuuji in front of you two, horribly failing to put their boutonnieres on.

“Hi boys. Satoru.” you state, leaning into Satoru’s touch. He’s rubbing small circles into your back as he smiles down at you, the soft aura of warmth in the air present in his constant touches.

“Hi Y/N. We-this shit is so hard.” Yuuji states, exasperated as he fumbles with the pins in his hands.

Megumi holds the pins and the flowers up into the air, his nimble hands twisting both in his fingers.

“You’d think this type of stuff is self-explanatory, but it’s starting to feel more like rocket science.” Megumi grumbles.

You fight the urge to laugh as the two of them grow more frustrated with the premise, trying their best to avoid having Nanami come over and put them on himself.

“Okay, how about you both hand me those before one of you stabs each other with the pins?”

You hold your hands out, softly fixing the flowers to Yuuji’s coat jacket, and then Megumi’s, before you pull back and admire both of them in full. Yuuji’s pink hair has been brushed down to perfection and Megumi’s wearing that expensive cologne that Satoru bought him for his birthday last year - the two of them the picture perfect groomsmen. Fitting perfectly in, with that soft love that’s blooming in the room.

You reach forward, cupping the sides of both of their cheeks, as you fight the emotions, that overwhelming, sickly sweet feeling that’s overflowing when you look at them.

“You both look very handsome.” you murmur, rubbing your thumbs on the softness of both of their cheeks as you watch the pink flush rise on both of their necks.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Megumi murmurs, while Yuuji all but wraps his arms around you.

The two of them shuffle away - more like Megumi being dragged by the wrist to go talk to Nanami with Yuuji - leaving you and Satoru standing slightly to the left of the altar. You turn to him, your hands instinctively reaching for his suit, fixing the little flowers pinned to his chest and his pink tie. He brings his hands up, crushing yours in his own, and stopping you in pursuit.

“Y/N.” he states, the tone in his voice teasing.

“What?”

“You’re already losing your bet, sweetheart. I saw those tears in your eyes when you were looking at Megumi and Yuuji.”

A stupid bet the two of you had made, since Satoru’s so convinced that you won’t even last five minutes when the ceremony starts. You roll your eyes, lightly shoving him, before you turn around to look at them.

Satoru’s quick to pull you flesh against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both watch. His soft breaths are enough to tickle your exposed skin, his warmth enveloping yours. Megumi and Yuuji are smiling brightly, laughing with Nanami right at the center of the altar.

They’re made for love too. Overflowing with it even.

“They’re sweet boys, Satoru. I-I’ve seen them in so many compromising situations. Cradling each other’s bloodied bodies, blank faces when they thought they lost each other, they-”

The wave of emotion is back in full flesh, this time tinged with the harshest bit of regret. At the three of them, so animated, when you’ve never seen them like this before. That they don’t get to be like this all the time. That when tomorrow comes, the only difference will be that Nanami will put his life on the line, but this time with a silver band encased around his finger.

A harsher loss if she ever has to lose him.

“Shh. I know, sweetheart. It’s-”

“I’m happy for them. For Kento. It’s nice to be in a room like this, being suffocated by the warmth of love.”

“I think that’s actually just me putting my entire body weight on you.”

You scoff, turning around as you place your hands flat on his chest. He’s pulling you closer to him, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as you jokingly protest.

“Satoru.”

“You love it. Though, if you’re interested in me putting my weight on you in other ways, if you know what I mean, we can-”

“You dog. That didn’t even make any sense. And we’re at a wedding.” you scorn.

“Well, it obviously made sense if you’re scolding me for it.”

“Shut up, you’re so-”

There’s a soft clinking of the bell, indicating that they’re about to start the reception, that Nanami’s soon to be wife is about to stroll down the aisle any second. You turn back, giving Satoru a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek, before you stroll back to the other side.

And relish in the fact that Satoru has the marks of love on his face, that Yuuji and Megumi seem to glance at each other every time the officiant makes a comment about true love, and that Nanami Kento is about to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loves most.

You lose the bet at the two minute mark. When Nanami erupts into a fit of his own smiley tears, when he takes his hand in hers for the first time. At getting to spend forever, with his Daisy in the meadow.

The question, later on, catches you off guard.

“Whose that?”

You turn your head, to where Amelia - one of Nanami’s childhood best friends - is pointing, the look on her face filled with curiosity.

“Who are you talking about, Amy?”

“Him. The tall one, with the white hair and blue eyes.”

You swallow hard, biting the side of your cheek, as you smile.

“Satoru. Satoru Gojo. He was one of Nanami’s groomsmen.”

“Is he single?”

Your suspicions, the ones you’ve held from the combined bachelor and bachelorette party, are confirmed. That Amelia, like many others met you before, wants him.

It’s not the first time it’s happened. Satoru, naturally, has a gravitating sense to him. It’s in the way he stands, the way he smiles and talks that he can’t help but catch people’s attention. And you can’t even blame him for it, because it’s the thing that drew you to him in the first place. That magnetic force about him.

Like you’ve manifested him solely by thinking about him, he’s suddenly right at your side, his hand sliding around your shoulder.

“I saved you a seat at the table. I’ll just be in the bathroom, okay?”

“Okay, love. Sure.” you respond, watching the embarrassed flush spread across Amelia’s cheeks. You give her a warm smile, so as to curb her feelings, as Satoru leans closer to whisper into your ear.

“Blink twice if you’re going to meet me in there.”

You roll your eyes, before clenching them tightly shut and giving him his answer.

“You’re no fun, Y/N L/N.” he groans, pressing a kiss to your cheek before running off to the other side.

You turn back to Amelia, as she all but starts word vomiting.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything and I didn’t even know that you two were-”

“That’s okay, Amy. How could you have known?”

She somewhat deflates, cheeks still bright pink, as she mumbles.

“I really am sorry. I just figured since he wasn’t wearing a ring or anything, you know?”

“Of course. I’m really not mad, please don’t feel embarrassed.”

The two of you link your arms together, as you start strolling towards the table. You take a second to admire the soft fabric of the dresses you’re wearing, at the matching little bracelets secured around your wrists.

“How long have you been dating?”

“It’s been three years.” you state, your affection for him glowing in your chest.

“Are you guys engaged?”

And you’re not sure why, but every fiber in your being is begging you to say yes.

“No.”

“Well, sometime soon. God knows, that’ll be you up there sometime soon.” she states, lightly squeezing your hands before she splits and walks towards her own table.

You turn your head towards the door, to find Satoru excitedly wrapping his arms around Ijichi, that you realize it.

That Nanami Kento is made up of love. That Megumi and Yuuji and Shoko and Nobara and everyone around you always has been.

That most of all, Satoru Gojo was made for loving. And it’s your deepest, sincerest wish that he’s made for loving you.

For the rest of your life.

Almost six hours later, and deep into the night, you and Satoru are both lugging an extreme amount of weight to your front door.

It turns out that Megumi Fushiguro and Yuuji Itadori can not hold their drink for the life of them. Which means that you and Satoru have to drag the two of them home, so they don’t do something embarrassing or commit an accidental murder on the way home.

“Stand there. I’ll come get him in a second.”

Megumi leans a majority of his weight on you, the sweet wine smell hanging on his breath as you watch Satoru lead Yuuji to the living room.

“Satoru. I told you that you forgot to turn the Christmas lights off.” you groan, only now noticing the little golden lights twinkling in the dark of your apartment.

“Chrr-istmas? It’s Jann-uary.” Megumi slurs, slightly shifting on his weight.

Satoru’s quick to catch him before he stumbles, signaling for you to let him go, as you head to the kitchen.

“Well, this is our place, Megumi. If you were so morally opposed to our decorations, maybe you should have stayed sober enough to go home.” Satoru adds, both Megumi and Yuuji dazed off on your couch.

You set the two glasses of water and Baby Aspirins on the table, ruffling their hair, before you shuffle into your shared bedroom with Satoru following. You’re both quick to help each other, you unpinning Satoru’s boutonniere while he attends to taking off your heels, before you both stumble into the bathroom together.

“Satoru.”

“Hm, sweet?”

“Do you remember Amy? Amelia?” you ask.

He pauses for a second, rolling over the thought, before he leans against the counter and turns to you. He’s holding your toothbrush in his hand, already set with the paste, before reaching for his own.

“No. Who’s that?”

“She’s one of Nanami’s friends. You met her at the bachelor/bachelorette party.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Short, long red hair and a lot of freckles?”

“Hm. Doesn’t ring a bell. Why do you ask?”

“Oh. She just thought you were cute. Was asking me if you were single.”

There’s a wide smirk spreading across his face, as he wraps his arms around your waist and makes the motions to tickle you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re too cute! Are you jealous?”

“No.” you grumble, cheeks turning hot at the premise.

“Yes, you are.”

“How could I be jealous? Are you forgetting what we did in the bathroom?”

“Aw, you’re so possessive, princess. It’s so sweet.” he adds, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder, as he makes the moves to start removing your makeup.

Satoru’s love language is acts of service, down to his bones. Meaning that any small task you could do for yourself - like taking your shoes off, making your breakfast - it was something that Satoru always beat you to doing.

But his favorite? Taking off your makeup, massaging your little serums into your skin, and pressing a kiss to the top of your head before the two of you go to bed.

“You’re the only one for me, silly girl.”

“I know that. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Oh?” he asks, fully laughing as you shove him.

“Well, she did say another thing. That got me thinking.”

He sets down the little bottle of wipes, securing his hands around your waist as he lifts you to sit on the counter. He stands in the little space between your legs, squeezing the sides of your waist as he patiently waits for you to talk.

“Well, she asked me if we were engaged? And I was just kind of thinking about….why we weren’t.”

“Oh.”

Satoru’s face is devoid of any emotion, as you make your best efforts to backtrack.

“I-I’m not saying that as an insult to you! I just mean that….maybe I realized that I want to be with you forever. And I’ve always known that, but I really want it. Right now. We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the day after, but I know that if something did happen, I’d hate to know we never got to cross that.”

You lock your fingers in with his, rubbing your fingers into his calloused skin as the admission, so vulnerable it makes your chest hollow out.

“You just mean the world to me, Satoru. I want everyone to know it, from the little metal band that goes right here.” you murmur, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a kiss right into the little divot of his ring finger.

It’s at this moment that Satoru Gojo doesn’t know what to do. And he fully curses that bitch Amelia, who he can’t even fucking remember mind you, for putting this stupid thought into your head.

For throwing a wrench into his plans.

Because in earnest, Satoru Gojo would be crazy not to marry you. Not when he loves you so much, when you fill every empty part of him so tenderly with love that he can’t even remember the pain of that loss at all.

So much so, that he’s been planning out the perfect proposal for months. Just for you, here and now, to suggest it to him in your shitty bathroom.

“You don’t have to say anything, Satoru. I know marriage is a big thing to think about. We can talk about it another day.”

He watches you smile at him, so genuine and kind, before you press a kiss and pad out the room to change out of your dress. And the entire moment makes his heart sting.

That you think for a second that he has to consider whether or not he wants to marry you. That it doesn’t even hurt you, that you’re willing to wait for when he’s ready. That you think he isn’t dying to call you yours, to wear a ring proudly on his finger and tell any living, breathing soul that you’re his.

The following morning, he recounts the situation to a very hungover Megumi and Yuuji. And the two of them are half there, which adds up to one fully functional brain, in Satoru’s eyes.

“Shit. So what did you say?” Megumi asks.

“Nothing? I’ve been planning out this stupid proposal for weeks, I couldn’t just do it then and there!”

“You said nothing? She probably feels like shit right now.” Megumi adds, rather unhelpfully.

“Do you have a ring?” Yuuji asks.

Satoru fishes around in his pocket for that light green, velvety box before handing it to Yuuji. He doesn’t miss the way their eyes go wide, the soft smiles on their face, as they admire the ring.

One Satoru took six months to pick out and then had to end up custom designing. So that it could be perfect for you.

“I’m so happy for you, Gojo-sensei. You’re made for each other.” Yuuji adds, excitedly smiling at him as Satoru takes the box back.

He admires the little glimmering gem, warmth pooling in his own chest, as he tucks it safely back into his pocket when you trudge out of the bedroom. You’re half asleep still - one of Satoru’s favorite sights - as you groan and reach for the warm cup of coffee that Satoru had already prepared for you.

“Morning. How are your heads?”

“Pounding.” Megumi groans, bringing his fingers up to his temples as Yuuji slides him a glass of water.

“We’ll make breakfast, yeah?”

You and Satoru move to make the two of them eggs, giving each other soft smiles as you hear the two of them murmur behind your back.

“Hey, Satoru?”

“Yes, princess?”

“About last night…”

Satoru freezes up, giving Megumi and Yuuji a look, as they both all but end their conversation and immediately start eavesdropping.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I-I wasn’t trying to pressure you into something.”

“You didn’t-”

“I did. I guess I just felt weird when Amy brought it up and all, especially since we were at the wedding. But we don’t have anything to prove to anyone and you know, marriage is a social construct anyways, so…”

Satoru can tell very quickly that you’re trying to backtrack from the tone in your voice. That it’s so dejected, that you can’t even force yourself to say the words like you mean them.

"What we have, right now, means the world to me. Your heart has been borrowed and mine's been pretty much blue ever since I was able to know what that meant, but it hasn't been for so long. And that's really all that matters to me, Satoru. Really. That we get to stay together, like this."

And that stupid feeling in him twinges again. That you want nothing more to be together, to be married, but you’d put it aside to keep him in your life if you had to. That you’re more than willing to do anything for him, that you think he won’t move mountains to give you anything you want.

Especially this thing. This thing that he’s wanted since the moment he met you.

You neatly plate the eggs onto the dishes, before sliding them in front of Megumi and Yuuji and giving them bright smiles.

“I’m going to go get ready for work. I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

“I love you.” Satoru adds, rather urgently.

And when you soften, give him your tender smile, Satoru knows that he has to do this sooner than later. In fact, when you arrive home from work.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

You arrive home, particularly sore and bloodied, to find Satoru waiting for you in the kitchen. A horrible habit of his, coupled with his insomnia, means that he always waits up for you, when you’re out on a mission.

Satoru’s quick to move towards you, the metallic smell of blood in the air, as he reaches forwards, his anxious hands running across your skin and feeling for any cuts and bruises.

“Y/N.” he murmurs, nearly pleading as his eyes go wide.

“I saw Shoko before I got here. It’s all minor, I’m just a little sore.”

Satoru’s hands are all but trembling as he wraps his hands around your face, trying his best to ignore that metallic taste of blood on your lips and focus more on the sweet, vanilla taste of your chapstick. He’s breathing hard as he rests his forehead against yours and you absentmindedly bring your hands up to his chest.

“Hi Satoru.” you whisper.

“Hi Y/N.”

“I’m okay.”

“I know you are. It just never gets easier seeing you like this. You getting a paper cut is basically the end of the world for me.”

You giggle, earning a soft smile from him, as he tilts your face slightly up. You press a kiss to the palm of his hand, before deflating directly into his arms and wrapping yourself in his embrace. It’s only then that you notice the lit candles on the dinner table and the smallest bouquet of pink flowers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“You. You and me specifically.”

You look up, giving him a confused look. And then he’s holding a little green box in his hand, flicking it open and turning it towards you.

You immediately feel the tears well in your eyes, the shining engagement ring glimmering in the box.

“Satoru.” you whisper.

“You kill me, you know that?”

You swallow hard, looking at his blue eyes as he pulls you closer to him, his hands secure around your waist.

“You really think I don’t want to marry you? I’ve been waiting for the fucking day since I met you, sweetheart.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been trying to plan it out. For months. For basically the past year. And-and it’s so hard when I want every second of it to be perfect. To be a testament to us and-”

You bring your hand up, the tears freely flowing from your eyes, as you rub your thumbs into the softness of his skin.

“You’re so ridiculous. Anything would have been perfect. It’s you.”

The softness in his tone, your words, are enough to bring the tears to Satoru’s eyes, as he quickly whips out his phone and hands you it. It’s open on a photo album, filled with pictures of you and Satoru. Specifically, Satoru holding up the little ring box with you in the peripheral, unbeknownst to you.

“Satoru.”

“I’ve been taking pictures of you. And the ring for like the past six months. It’s been under your nose the entire time.”

“Oh my god. You’re so fucking stupid, Gojo.” you respond, laughing as you shove him.

He’s leaning against you, your temples pressed together as you look at all the pictures. At his glittering smile, in each and every one of them.

“I hope you know that I’ll always want to be with you, married or not. After everything that's happened, after everything we've been through...I…I just want to be where you are. I want to go where you go and I…I want us to be this close forever.” he murmurs.

He takes the ring box back from your hands, carefully plucking the little ring from the plush, before holding it out in front of you.

“Will you marry me?”

Satoru Gojo is a lover. And you only realize it now, when it’s pouring out of him, in that sweet smile and that honey sweet tone, that he’s always been made for loving you. And you, for him.

“Of course, I will.”

He slides the little band onto your finger, quickly lifting your hand to press a kiss to it, before wrapping his arms around you. And pressing his plush lips against yours, warm and soft and so deeply fulfilling that it makes every bone in your body ache.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, as he laughs.

“Can we consummate our engagement?”

“That’s not a thing, dumbass.” you deadpan.

“I’ll make it a thing.” he responds, all but dragging you by the wrist into the room with him.

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hornedqueenofhell · 4 months

Text

Holiday in... Handcuffs? Pt. 4

Pt 3

They didn’t bother with any space between them that night, Eddie lays his head on Steve’s shoulder because that’s where it belonged, the same way Steve’s fingers belong on his lower back, tucked under the hem of Eddie’s hoodie. Their legs tangled together as Eddie trails a finger over Steve lips and asks to kiss him.

“Ask me again in the morning sweetheart. I don’t want to be half asleep when I taste you.”

Eddie groans at that, hips shifting against Steve’s, “Baby you can’t say shit like that to me and expect me to go to sleep.”

“Watch me.” He tips Eddie’s chin up and tugs his lower lip between his teeth, scraping until the tender flesh snaps back and leaves Eddie whining and arching under his hands.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you the second I get you in my bed princess.” He hisses and Steve laughs in his face.

“Try that one again when you can stop grinding against my thigh helplessly…princess.” Steve purrs right back. “Until I say so, you’re at my mercy and I’m going to enjoy it.”

Eddie wants to make him eat those words, wants to place his lips everywhere else since Steve’s own mouth is off limits. But Steve’s eyelids are drooping and he can feel a yawn behind his teeth, so he just presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead and whispers, “Enjoy it then big boy. Good night.”

They drift off tangled together while Steve’s family plans a raid on the Munson cabin first thing in the morning.

~O~

The Hopper-Byers house woke up solemnly and got dressed, their living room floor full of sleeping bags and piles of blankets. The kids were riding with Nancy and Jon in the station wagon while Joyce and Hopper took the cruiser. Robin was out of town and no one wanted to stress her out until they had safely gotten Steve back home.

Nancy was loaded down with her handgun and sawed off that Hopper was pretending not to see at this moment. Lucas was fiddling with his wrist rocket while El, Max, and Will talked quietly amongst themselves. Dustin had used his spare key to get Steve’s home defense bat which was tucked between his knees, hands gripping the end until his knuckles go white. Mike had been strangely silent since the news broke, guilt over everything he’d said to Steve eating him alive.

“We’re going to get him Hop, one way or another.” Joyce swears, their backseat has enough supplies in the back to make sure that the corpses of Eddie and Wayne Munson are never found again. They’d send Steve back with the kids, let them take care of him back at home base. Hopper would get his testimony later, after Joyce had put some good meals in him and let him rest off the trauma.

And then they’d get Steve whatever help and therapy he would need depending on what he’d had to live through. They would offer him all the support and love that his family had never been able to. Joyce would call Steve her son the way she’d always hesitated to, afraid she had been overstepping. Hopper would ask if Steve would like to change his last name, had wanted to since the Harrington’s had disowned him for being bisexual.

Everyone was making silent promises to apologize, to hold, to talk, to give Steve all the things they realized they’d been holding back or neglecting. Because it was either they got the chance to or they’d be begging forgiveness at Steve’s grave.

Joyce consulted the map they’d brought with all of the satellite dots from Steve’s phone as they passed a gas station about half an hour from their destination. “They stopped there according to the map, the last one before they got to the cabin.”

Hopper squeezes her hand quietly, “One way or another.”

~O~

“I know it’s not much because I’m afraid I don’t know you very well yet son, but I didn’t want you to be here empty handed so this is for you.” Wayne says as he nudges a box across the coffee table to Steve.

“Wayne, you didn’t have to.” Steve carefully slipped off the paper, something Eddie found so endlessly endearing. He looked forward to watching Steve do this with the rest of his gifts once they got back to town tomorrow. And then Eddie was ordering take out and making out with Steve in the other man’s apartment until Steve kicked him out.

The box contained a pair of slippers and a soft bathrobe, not Steve’s normal style but probably a soon to be necessity if he didn’t want Robin to murder him if Eddie ever stayed over. “I get the feeling this will be very useful soon. Thank you so much Wayne.” He offers sincerely as Wayne reaches over to pat his knee fondly with a warm smile.

“You’re welcome Steve. I’m so happy to have met you, and how happy you make Eddie… it warms this old man's heart.”

“You’re not even that old Wayne.” Steve snorts, making them all laugh. He shifts back against the sofa to tuck under Eddie’s arm, eyes closing with happiness as Eddie’s lips press to his temple.

“Do you want another cup of coffee?” He asks and Steve nods gently so Eddie gathers up their mugs and heads into the kitchen.

“Go get your boy.” Wayne encourages him with a wink. Grinning Steve hops up and follows Eddie into the kitchen. He grabs some snacks for them to nibble on while Eddie refills their mugs. Before he can step back into the living room Steve stops him.

“Look up sweetheart.”

Eddie looks up and sees a sprig of mistletoe taped over the doorway, “Really? Really Wayne?”

Wayne just laughs at him and waves them off, “Just kiss the man Eddie, I’m sick of whatever weird mating dance you two are doing.”

Eddie looks to Steve who is grinning at him with his own little eyebrow wiggle, he grips Steve’s hips and reels him in close. “May I Steve, may I kiss you?”

“Yes, please Eddie kiss me.” Steve whispers against his lips, hands coming up to cup his face and tug him down until their lips finally meet.

And then the cabin door bursts open.

“Freeze!”

Steve and Eddie’s lips break apart, whipping towards the door in sync as Eddie’s arms tighten around Steve.

“Release him now!”

This time the voice registers and Steve’s jaw drops open. “Hop?”

“Steve! We came to rescue you!” Dustin bursts past Hopper branding his bat and swinging wildly.

“Rescue me? What the hell are you talking about?” Steve studies all their tense faces as he carefully moves Eddie behind him.

“Wait was this all a joke? Were you just playing a prank on Dustin, pretending to be kidnapped?” Mike spits, getting defensive now that they are on the backfoot.

“Kidnapped? Dustin, were you even listening when I called you? I told you I was staying with a friend for Christmas. I specifically said I wasn’t being kidnapped.”

“Your phone was breaking up, I heard a struggle. I heard the horrible thing he said to you!” Tears beaded in Dustin’s eyes as he gestured wildly at Eddie, “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

“Oh Dusty, come here.” Dustin drops the bat and sprints across the room, throwing himself into Steve’s arms with a sob. Steve squeezes him tight and lets Dustin wail with relief as he holds fistfuls of Steve’s sweatshirt.

“Thank you for coming to rescue me Dusty bun. You were so brave.” Steve tells him as he starts to calm down, he turns them slightly and offers a hand out, “Dustn, I’d like you to meet my friend and supposed kidnapper Eddie Munson.”

“...Hi,” Eddie offers gently, he awkwardly holds out a paper towel for Dustin to dry his eyes with, “Steve tells me you’re his little brother.”

“This is sweet and I’m sorry to interrupt but could the lot of you stop letting the cold in and maybe see if my front door can still close?” Wayne interrupts and the rest of Steve’s family blushes before shuffling into the cabin and doing their best to close the door. The handle was completely fucked but the deadbolt hadn’t been pushed so they just used that to hold the door closed. The frame was ruined but at least the draft was minimal.

“Thank you, now someone explain to me why my nephew is being accused of kidnapping.” Everyone continues to fidget awkwardly until Wayne gestures for them to sit.

Wayne has one armchair while Steve and Eddie share the other, Dustin leaning against Steve’s legs. Joyce, Hopper, Nancy, and Jon all squeeze together on the couch while the other kids scatter on the floor. There’s still wrapping paper from their gifts scattered around.

“Why didn’t any of you just call me to ask if I was kidnapped? Or Robin for that matter, I texted her everything about where I was.” Everyone winces at the mention of Robin since they’d left her out of the loop for her own safety, turns out she was the loop.

“Since you didn’t reach out again after the kidnapping message we weren’t sure if you or your kidnapper had the phone and we didn’t want to risk them getting angry and killing you.” Hopper says taking lead on this debacle. Joyce is squeezing his thigh tightly so she doesn’t run over and snatch Steve into her arms.

“I texted Dustin a picture of the cabin yesterday after we finished decorating.” Steve points out, Dustin hasn’t released his sleep pants since they sat down.

“With the other evidence we had gathered it looked more like you trying to help us find you.”

“Other evidence? I’m sorry but what fucking evidence are you talking about?” Eddie snaps, more scared than angry. This man burst into his home and pointed a gun at him so he’s a little on edge right now, even with Steve’s hand in his.

Hopper clears his throat uncomfortably and holds his hands up in surrender, “Sorry, sorry. When Dustin reported the abduction I went to the ‘scene’ and there was some video footage of what appeared to be a large black vehicle driving too close to the curb, and then you pushing Steve to the ground. You went out of frame but another camera shows you driving another black vehicle with Steve in the passenger seat shortly after.”

Eddie huffs, looking very much like he wants to go one one of his tirades until Steve leans more into him and Eddie deflates. This is Steve’s family, who thought they were protecting someone who means a lot to them. Eddie can be justifiably angry for feeling profiled and accused but he won’t take it out on his not quite boyfriends loved ones.

“There was a truck,” Eddie says through gritted teeth. After another glance at Steve he manages to take a deep breath and the words come out a little easier, “it was taking the corner too fast and kicking up a lot of icy road slush. I pushed us both out of the way so we wouldn’t end up soaked. And last I checked, owning a black vehicle wasn’t a crime.”

“It’s not honey and we’re so sorry that this happened.” Joyce speaks up, intervening and diffusing the attention with her genuine warmth, “This was all an unfortunate misunderstanding but what matters is that Steve is okay and that you’re both happy. And we’re sorry for messing up your sweet moment.”

This time Steve and Eddie were the ones blushing, Steve’s entire family had burst in on the two of them kissing after all.

“Could we maybe start over?” Joyce continues, “Would you all like to come over for Christmas dinner? And we can have a repair guy come out and fix your door tomorrow.”

Eddie and Steve glance at each other before looking at Wayne who just shrugs, “I’ll follow along with whatever you boys want.” They turn back to each other and Steve offers him a small smile.

“I know it’s a little fast, and certainly not how I would have planned for this to go. But since I’ve met your family, would you like to meet mine?”

Eddie lets out a snort laugh and squeezes Steve’s hand, lifting it to press a kiss to his knuckles, “Sure Stevie. At least this time I don’t have to worry about somehow making a worse impression than the one that’s already been made of me.”

“They’re going to love you, I know they will.”

With the new plans set Steve, Eddie and Wayne go get dressed while Hopper uses the tarp they brought the tree in with to try and keep the elements from seeping into Wayne’s cabin. Steve’s family goes back to their cars with the exception of Dustin who choses to clamber into the Range Rover with Steve and the Munsons.

“Is Eddie your boyfriend Steve?” He asks bluntly as they head out, their vehicle taking up the rear of their little caravan.

“Not yet, but I think we’re getting there.” Eddie throws him a cheeky wink as he flicks on some low music to fill the background.

“Cool, hey is that a dungeons and dragons tattoo?”

The older man grins and with a faux annoyed groan Steve settles back in his seat as his family starts to get to know his soon to be boyfriend. This might be the strangest Christmas Steve has ever had but it’s also one of the happiest.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #dustin henderson #joyce byers #jim hopper #wayne munson #baker!steve #mechanic!eddie #modern au #no upside down au #comedy of errors #accidental kidnapping #steddiefic chronicles

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0v3rcast · 10 months

Text

Gnaw: Grudge Match

For the first time, the Archon War and its ending are subject to a second opinion.

(And that opinion is yours.)

Osial banks across the stormy sky, feathers of his right wing dipping into the clouds above, water and wind forming beads against his wingtips that follow him as he dips back down. You lend him your energy, and Electro arcs across the vast plumage of his wings and pools inside the beads.

He flaps his wing. A single storm bead rockets down from the sky.

Fishing boats and trading ships are reduced to soaked splinters and fractured metal. The remains of sails, now naught but tatters, writhe in the wind before falling into the sea.

Those who do not die from the sheer enormity of the impact drown in the harbor, bleed out from shrapnel of their own ships, or meet their end at the hands of your contributed Electro energy.

Within fifteen seconds, the harbor has been reduced to a graveyard, the ruined husks of an entire fleet now skeletons lying in deathless slumber on the seabed.

Osial laughs, wild and untamed, just this side of lost to mania, and he dives, his wings glimmering with Anemo.

The Golden House didn't really stand much of a chance.

Electrically-charged Mora are funneled en masse into the vortex above, glinting gold with lightning tails flowing up into the sky in chaotic patterns. Some magnetize against each other, some fly alone, others ricochet into the sea or embed themselves into the land.

Several unlucky souls are punched cleanly through by the symbol of their nation's prosperity, leaving gaping holes in their flesh and ruined bones.

Their screams, warped by the wind and rain and the song of thunder, are a beautiful chorus to you. A performance to welcome you home and give warning to those who foolishly stand against you.

Thunder roars, deafening, and lightning falls, piercing Millelith members. Rain weighs them down, wind steals their breath, and the wind chill robs even the most hale and hearty of a steady aim.

Osial flicks out another storm bead. Several buildings are blasted apart, their rubble crushing their neighbors, metal and stone and wood making a cacophony of ruin.

Entire lives are being uprooted. Centuries of tradition are vanishing under the onslaught. The work of thousands of human lives simply vanishes as it topples into the bay, the waves hungrily lapping at the base of the city and greedily swallowing all that cannot escape.

A small smile stretches over your face.

They deserve this.

With a flick of your wrist, the remaining Mora cluster together into a single massive ball, and you will it towards the wreckage of the city with a little mental exertion.

It crashes down into the heart of the city, right where Rex Lapis once died, and it then erupts as all the force keeping it together simply ceases to do so.

Golden coins and human gore scatter in every direction as fleeing civilians are reduced to mulch by this world's most ostentatious fragmentation explosive.

Osial howls in glee, currents of vicious wind tearing humans from the streets and into his waiting maw as he dives again and again.

In the distance, there is a roar.

The earth shakes to its foundations as immense stone pillars rip free, aimed for Osial, their normally flat tops ground to geometrically perfect diamond spearpoints.

"Morax," Osial sneers. "Come to watch your miserable excuse for a city die under my wings?"

The being that appears then is not Zhongli, or even Rex Lapis. It is Morax. An ancient dragon, Archon of Geo. The God of Contracts and War. This is no simple serpent, no puppet meant to be majestic and awe-inspiring - this is the war-form. The true face of a draconic god, plated in metals hewn from the heart of the world, innards glowing with yellow-orange energy.

This Morax is the face of death.

Morax roars in wordless fury at his old foe... but then his eyes catch sight of you.

The roar becomes deafening, full of such hatred and vitriol that Osial briefly forgets to fly from surprise, leading him to dive instead.

On some cruel instinct, you give Morax the smuggest, most shit-eating grin you can conjure, and you mouth 'where were you when they needed you?'

If looks could kill, Morax would have just reduced you to subatomic particles.

You gesture to Osial, your gift helping to subtly translate, and he launches up into the storm and the highest points of the atmosphere.

Morax follows, howling threats in a language you don't know.

(The elements lean forward in their seats. You've just invited them to the best fight this eon. Bets are already being made. Geo and Anemo both grin at the other, eager to see whose champion is superior.)

Meteors fall, carved apart by wind.

Voices carry for thousands of miles, roaring in pain and glee and fury.

Bones shatter, scales are torn apart, wounds ooze blood in quantities enough to bathe Liyue in a red rain... and Gods war.

On the ground, the storm has only increased in strength, now that so much more energy is being poured into the area.

Not helping is the hail of immense stone pieces.

Where godly blood lands, life is burnt away by the acidic touch of divinity.

Those who did not flee before can flee no longer without risking swift, painful death.

(Ganyu weeps, the work of thousands of years falling apart in less than five hours. What use were her labors?)

(Ningguang vanishes into a bunker beneath the stone, where she can wait out this chaos. She will build herself back up. This is simply a setback.)

(Hu Tao watches from a distant field as her home is utterly destroyed.

...some morbid little part of her gleefully remarks that business is about to be skyrocketing.)

(Shenhe is unaware of this happening, having been spirited away into Cloud Retainer's realm the moment said Adeptus realized just who had been given a burial at sea.)

(Yanfei is luckily out of the country right now, instead in Fontaine to deal with a reappearing case she'd long thought solved.)

(Xinyan assists in evacuation efforts, her flames burning away godsblood and rain to shelter those nearby.)

(Chongyun and Xingqiu barely manage to stem the tide of raging Hilichurls that are dead set on killing the escaping civilians.)

(Kequing lies in the collapsed rubble of a multi-story building, her Vision repeatedly shocking her as Electro takes the moment to be immensely petty.)

(Xiao drowns in his Karmic Debt, feathers trying to force their way through his skin as his more animalistic instincts refuse to obey.)

(Baizhu has already fled, knowing that he neither can be nor wishes to be of use in this fight. His work is not yet done.)

(Yaoyao stands guard over the population who have made it to her home village.)

(Yun Jin helps to gather scattered families back together amongst the crowds of refugees. Xiangling and her father work to feed the masses while they are all displaced.)

(Beidou watches the storm from the far horizon on the deck of the Alcor. Going in would be suicide, but not helping is just as unthinkable. She must choose, but the sheer weight of the choice is paralyzing. The fleet follows behind her, whether that is into certain death or into retreat.)

(Qiqi stands in the heaviest torrents of the storm. Where the blood of gods stains her skin, life is breathed back into dead flesh.))

Far above in the heavens, Osial and Zhongli are tangled, claws gouging into the new Anemo Archon's innards as coils attempt to shatter the Geo Archon's ancient spine.

There is a deafening crack as Morax's spine bends in a way it was never supposed to.

Ribbons of intestine hang from the massive wound in Osial's underbelly.

Both of them begin to fall to the face of Teyvat tens of thousands of miles below, and you are along for the ride.

Osial lets out a wheezy cackle as he tightens his grip on Morax, drowning in his own blood.

Morax writhes, wings unresponsive.

You hug yourself against Osial. Impact comes far sooner than you expected.

There is darkness.

When you wake, you are in the shallows of an immense crater, exactly where Liyue Harbor should have been. The moon glows pale white above you.

Shattered pillars and ruined buildings jut from the not-quite-bay.

Sitting next to you is a not-very-undead Qiqi. She gives you a relieved look when she sees you're alive. You offer her a thumbs up, as though that will solve the issue.

She accepts it with as much grace as anyone in her situation can and returns the thumbs up, smiling at you faintly.

Beneath you is Osial, dying from mortal wounds but still very alive. Somewhere in the distance is a similarly wounded Morax.

You climb down from your dying companion and come to face him.

"Ah... good. You still live. I did not fail you," Osial gurgles. "Thank you... for helping me settle the score, my maker."

You tell him to hold on. You're sure there's something you can do to heal him. He lets out an amused huff.

"Your kindness is touching, but I know my end is coming. I can feel the Abyss."

You refuse. Osial is yours, damn it. Your friend. Your first Archon. Your protector.

A feeling wells up inside of you.

He will not die. You won't allow it.

Your eyes burn as tears stream down your face. You rest a hand against his scaly face, and ask him to trust you one more time.

"Of course. Always."

You let your power flow. The world erupts into starlight as a new constellation is born, sky adorned with a new pattern of stars: Serpens Fidelis.

The loyal serpent.

Where once laid your dying companion is now a male of mortal human size, who sits up, obviously quite discombobulated. He manages to find his feet, though repeatedly stumbles as he takes his first steps.

Scarred tan skin faintly reflects the moonlight, bathing him in an ethereal glow. Silver locks of hair with deep blue accents seem to drink in the moonlight.

He turns to you, finally, and grins, canine teeth closer to fangs than human, Cherenkov blue eyes glimmering with undeniable joy.

"Thank you, my maker. This new form is far less damaged."

From his right hip dangles a Hydro vision. The Anemo Gnosis is in your hands instead. It appears the cost for his life was you reclaiming the archonhood you bestowed upon him.

He is otherwise entirely nude and doesn't particularly seem to notice this. Maybe that's because he's never had to wear clothes before.

You kindly point this out to him, more than a little embarrassed on his behalf, your hands over Qiqi's eyes so she doesn't see.

Holy shit, was he always that built?

He grins at you, shooting you a salacious wink. "Yes, yes. Get an eyeful of my statuesque physique. I worked for many years on it."

You ask how he managed that as best you can while dying of embarrassment.

"You become quite proficient at lifting weights and swimming at the same time while trying to struggle free of stone javelins pinning you to the seafloor," he says mildly.

He manipulates the water and stormclouds into a set of luxurious robes. A sash at his waist now holds the Hydro vision.

On his back rests a fragment of the Jade Chamber carved into a massive greatsword.

"Shall we gloat over our dying adversary together, my maker?"

Yes, this sounds like a phenomenal idea.

You let Qiqi go, now that Osial is not running a one-hydra nudist colony, and she follows behind the two of you like a lost puppy.

Morax has returned to the form of Zhongli by the time you get to him.

The Vortex Vanquisher lies shattered at his side, and hundreds of rips and tears in his clothes display his grievous wounds.

Osial confidently struts over.

"Why hello, hated enemy mine~"

Zhongli weakly snarls up at him, and also at you, his fists curling feebly at his sides.

"Damn you both. May the Creator strike you both down into the depths of the Abyss."

Osial lets out a small 'snrk', begins to lowly chuckle, and slowly escalates to peals of howling, gleeful laughter. Zhongli just looks offended while Osial laughs himself nearly sick.

"By the maker, you have no idea who you're talking to right now, do you?" He wheezes, tears in his eyes, clutching at his sides.

"The destroyer of my people and an abomination wearing the skin of the Creator of All." Zhongli fires back, indignant. "Are you blind?"

"Go ahead and pray for our maker to save you. See what happens," Osial says, grinning cruelly.

Zhongli murmurs a prayer for protection from evil.

A faint glimmer of magical energy escapes his lips and swirls just above your hands. You cringe at it and wave it away like it's smoke.

Zhongli goes ghost-white, his eyes becoming impossibly wide.

"Creator?"

Tears bead at the corners of his eyes as his actions finally begin to play back in his mind.

"Please, my maker, forgive m-"

Osial cuts off his head.

"What an asshole," he snickers, some blood now on his cheek, a massive grin on his face. "I'm glad he's dead."

You just look at him like he's crazy. Which he probably is.

"Oooooooooohhhh, that's who you are." Qiqi says from behind you, having caught on to your true identity.

Another massive hydra erupts from the ocean in the distance and lets out a sound akin to whalesong.

"HI, HONEY!" Osial yells in her direction before immediately bolting towards her.

You let out a distressed sigh. Exactly what kind of mess have you just gotten into?

(Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21 @sinnful-darling @fleshdotmp4 @ash1 @chilling-on-the-moon @fluffy-koalala @extremelytoastybread @euphoricaldemise

This should probably be all of you.))

#genshin sagau #sagau gnaw #sagau cult au #genshin angst #hopefully one of you likes this #WOOO FIRST DEATH #of non you people i mean #im a little late but whatever #osial is a stud and you cant convince me otherwise #totally has the anime pretty boy muscles

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braidlottie · 1 year

Text

YOU’RE RED, SOAKING WET.

MILF!SIDNEY PRESCOTT X AFAB READER

wc: 352

warnings: porn without plot, swearing, mommy kink, fingering, overstim, sub!reader, dom!sidney, crying, lil praise kink

title inspired by rocket skates by deftones

“that’s it, honey, you’re ready to cum, aren’t you?” sidney smiled watching how her fingers disappeared inside you. your back was against her chest and her hand was down your sleep shorts, telling you that “mommy would take care of everything.”

“i-i’m so close,” you gasped, the back of your hand going to your mouth to silence your whimpers.

“i know baby, just keep looking at mommy with those pretty little eyes.” she brought her other hand to your bottom lip, letting you suck on her fingers. “shhh,” she cooed at your whimpering.

her brown eyes and smile were so soft and comforting, acting like she hasn’t been touching you for the past twenty minutes. the tears and desperation catching up to you by the second orgasm.

“oh my god, baby, you’re so wet. we might have to change the sheets when we’re done.” she slipped her index in with her middle ones, rubbing her thumb against your clit. you tried snapping your legs shut, but sidney slapped your thigh as a warning.

the squelching sounds that her strokes of her fingers inside you made you feel so dirty, which made you feel even more aroused. she smirked when she felt you clench around her fingers, never stopping her steady motion.

“aahh- ohh fuck, i’m cumming!” you exclaimed, hips thrashing. you held onto sidney’s wrist, her brown orbs staring you down ever so seductively. “cum for mommy, sweetheart.” she wasn’t even finished with the last word before you came all over her hand.

tears started to stream down when you realized sidney was not stopping. you writhed in her tight hold, so sensitive but so desperate, craving to let go just once more tonight.

“oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. is it too much for my baby?” she pouted condescendingly, tilting her head. “i c-can’t,” you cried, gripping onto sidney’s free hand. “you’re almost there, baby, c’mon.”

“oh fuck, fuck-” you came harder than the last, crashing down onto sidney immediately after. “you did such a good job baby. mommy’s so proud of you, you know that?” her praises lulled you into your slumber.

#sidney prescott #scream #scream 5 #sidney prescott x reader #scream masterlist #scream 1996 #scream 2022 #sidney prescott smut #scream 2 #scream 3 #scream 4 #mommy sidney

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 months

Note

I saw your requests are open! I would LOVE to see Alfie with number 8, “I want to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” 🥵

I’m all about dark too if you feel like it. Thank you! 😊

Can do, one order of Alfie with a large side of dark!

Warnings - Dark!Alfie & smut below the cut. Minors DNI.

The wood emits an odour of damp, the drips from the leaky pipe above it moistening the surface, adding to the overall old, musky fragrance of the cellar. Long ago, it was used for storing wines of the finest vintage, but now the space serves as something else entirely.

The leaky pipe continually drips onto the beam above, your hands and wrists wet, yet not enough for you to struggle free from your rope bindings. How many years does it take wood to rot, you wonder at times. One snapped beam would equal your freedom.

Would you truly want to leave here, though? That would of course mean leaving him.

He might be the one who keeps you in this state of torment, but imagining a life without it is perhaps bleaker than the surroundings you're held prisoner within. Who and what would you be, if not Alfie's plaything?

The sound of heavy footfalls creaking the floorboards above signals his impending appearance, the creaky cellar door opening, the lamp he carries with him finally bringing a little illumination into the darkened space.

He descends the stairs carefully, sniffing, clearing his throat, the scent of him cutting through the musk and the dust, Alfie placing the lamp down on the table.

"'Ello, poppet. Want me to let ya down for a bit, do ya?"

You nod. "Yes, sir." You used to cuss him out, spit in his face, kick him, bite him, but now you know, it all goes a lot more smoothly if you show what he demands. Obedience.

"Good. Right, come on, then. Let's get this rope undied, yeah." Reaching to the hook connected to the upright support strut, he unwinds it, the tension slowly slipping from your wrists and arms as the tightness is loosened. He only lets you go when he has use for you. Falling asleep standing up has become a talent you have mastered, although your weary bones ache for a bed.

Walking to you, he watches as you shake a little life back into your arms, your bindings still tight, the rope that once tied you to the beam above shaking gently. "Still pretty, ain't ya? Bit pale, though. Then again, I suppose ya would be for not seein' no sunshine for a couple 'a months, innit?"

His chuckle, all foreboding grit and rumbling darkness, sets your skin on edge. It's thrill laced with trepidation, an exotic, potent mix, goose pimples rising as your blood begins to run hotter, Alfie reaching for your face. His thumb skims your cupid's bow, eyes touring you as he leans in close.

He smells of rum and deviance, his breath warm where it flutters against your cheek. “I want to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

You know exactly how to oblige him, sinking to your knees, waiting patiently as he unfastens his trousers. You can already see the outline of his colossal erection through the black fabric swathing it, your captor pulling himself free, pumping his bulky shaft in a gold ring-adorned grip a few times before steering it to your mouth. "Open wide, love. Yeah, that's a good girl."

He shows no mercy, pushing forth between your lips, his hand fisting in your hair and making you take every last, fat inch of him. You choke him down, sucking gently to begin with, your tongue working the underside of his shaft as he slips back and forth.

The wet heat encasing him has him grunting deeply, cock twitching against your tongue. "Yeah, darlin'. You suck cock like a good'un, don't ya?" He moves faster, fucking your mouth with greater purpose, the need to spill into your throat consuming him.

It never takes too long, your mouth just too delicious an outlet for him, the thrill of knowing he's using you as nothing more than a mere toy adding to the ecstasy that rockets through him. He spurts thick and plentiful onto the back of your tongue, his cum dripping down your throat, his eyes two shards glittering at you through the low light.

It's the sight of him above you like that which burns itself into your brain, keeps you warm and lit up when the illumination is gone, when he's tied you up again and left you all alone in the dark once more.

Sometimes, it's in the darkness where we find the light. You understand only too well that Alfie's darkness is absolutely no exception.

#alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #peaky blinders fanfiction #peakt blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months

Text

Don't Move (2 of 4)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, light teasing, established relationship, secret relationship, clit play, public, caught in the act

Word Count: 677

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Under the table, Gaz makes you tremble.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // don't move masterlist

The briefing—the thing you’re supposed to be paying attention to—is a distant drone of sound.

Captain Price stands at the very front of the room. You are in the far, back-left at a table with Kyle. The room is packed. Crowded. But everyone’s attention is on Captain Price. No one is paying attention to you or the fact that Kyle’s hand is on your thigh.

It is not harsh or rough or even gentle. It is there, more toward the inner part, and dangerously close to your pussy. You’re thankful for what you’re wearing, because right now, there is a wet heat forming between your legs that you cannot stifle.

Kyle’s gaze is on the front of the room, but his fingers flex, then rub absently like he’s not paying any attention. This is dangerous. Someone might see, especially in a room that is packed like this one. You’ve been with Kyle for several months now, and it is only a thing shared between the two of you.

No one here knows. And if they do, no one has been brave enough to say anything to either of your faces.

Kyle’s hand slides upward, squeezes, and then moves even closer. At first you think he’s only teasing, and he is, but there is more here.

As discreetly as you can, you reach under the table and wrap your hand around his wrist, moving his wayward hand away from your pussy. Once his hand is in his lap, you bring your arm up from under the table to rest on the top.

Without even looking at you, Kyle leans in your direction. He is so close that in a non-work setting, someone might think he’s itching to kiss you.

“Move my hand again,” he whispers. “And find out what happens.”

Heat instantly rushes to your cheeks and then your pussy. Kyle’s hand returns, and this time he cups your sex, his fingers pressing on your pussy through the fabric of your pants. Again, you shove him away, not heeding his warning.

The corner of Kyle’s mouth quirks into a knowing smile. He subtly shakes his head, and then his hand returns, effortlessly undoing the buckle and zipper. His warm hand slides underneath the band of your pants, delves further, finds your clit.

Your hand on top of the table forms a fist as Kyle circles your clit with a single finger. Your gaze darts around the room but no one is looking. No one is watching, and Kyle must know this too because he goes deeper, his middle finger finding your entrance.

That finger slides inside, followed by another, and his palm presses against your clit. With slow, purposeful movements, Kyle’s fingers move in and out of you while Captain Price gives the briefing.

Your brain is stuttering. Fading. Zoning. All you can focus on is not falling apart because Kyle touch is fucking good. It always is. The only thing you can hear is your breathing, and the muted movement of Kyle’s fingers. Your hips flex forward, and your legs spread, giving Kyle more room to work. The moment his hand has more space, his pace increases.

Still, no one turns their head or stares in your direction. That’s not a comfort, because you’re moving quickly toward an end, one that you’ll have to control if you’re not careful. Slowly, you rest your chin in your hand, and bite down on your knuckles the moment the orgasm rockets forward.

You shudder, but it’s miniscule, enough that Kyle smiles in triumph but the rest of the room remains aloof.

Carefully, Kyle withdraws his hand and brings those glossy digits up to eye-level. He grins, and then puts his fingers into his mouth, a single eyebrow arching with amusement as if daring you to say something.

You don’t. Instead, you reach under the table and discreetly redo everything Kyle undid. When your attention returns to the front of the room, Captain Price is staring at the both of you, frowning as he speaks.

Caught.

You’ve been caught.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf

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kissitbttr · 2 years

Text

𝑾𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒖𝒑, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

summary: steven wakes you up with the most important question of his life

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader

word count: 1998

a/n: (listen to this and this, while reading xx)

His eyes speak with love as he gazes upon your sleeping figure.

a smile perches on his face, fingertips lightly tracing the soft skin of your wrist. The way your eyes flutter shut. Those thick lashes brush against your upper cheekbones with your lips parting just a little. He can’t help but admire how peaceful and adorable you look while you’re asleep. It makes him feel so warm and nice.

the room falls into silence and the only thing he can hear is your breathing. And, Gods, how he feels at ease listening to it.

You aren’t aware of this, but Steven likes to wake up early before you do, just so he gets the opportunity to watch you sleep like an angel that you are before you’re awake. And that may sound creepy to some, but frankly, he doesn’t care at all.

He had spent a lifetime trying to find someone he could love and who would do the same for him. Who accepted him for who he is, and is willing to help him through all his troubles and reassure him that everything’s going to be okay. He found that someone, and it’s you.

You’re Gods greatest gift for him, and he doesn’t think he can get anymore grateful than that.

“Love? Wake up, love...” he quietly speaks. “It’s your turn to make pancakes”

He hears you grumble, but refuses to open your eyes, scooting yourself closer to him, and the sight is so endearing

“Strawberry pancakes, remember? You made a promise last night you’d make them for me.” He smiles, resting his temple against his open hand.

“Five more minutes, baby. I promise You mutter, fingers reaching out to find his arm before grabbing it close to your chest. “Love your hand so much, it’s way softer than mine.”

He responds with a chuckle, loving how you often slur in your sleep. It’s so cute to him. “Well ... i can’t wait for another five minutes, knowing you, you’ll turn it into five hours.”

You softly back hand slap his arm, “don’t make fun of me. You know i don’t”

“I know, darling” he answers with a teasing smile, kissing the crown of your hair. “But i do need you to wake up though, there’s a rather important question i need to ask.”

He turns his gaze from you to momentarily check on the ring that sits on top of the table beside his bed, breathing out a sigh of relief to know that it hasn’t gotten lost yet. He quickly grabs it from the night stand before hiding the beautiful jewelry inside the pocket of his sweats.

Ever since he purchased the ring, he has been extra careful with it. Always keeping an eye on it, checking the inside of his pockets and bag every five minute to make sure that it still there. His anxiety most definitely sky-rocketed when there was now an engagement ring he had to look after.

The ring cost a lot of money, nearly emptied out the numbers on his card, but he didn’t mind. He’d get the most beautiful and gorgeous-looking one there is because you deserve it. You deserve everything good in this world.

“How important is this question for you to wake me up at dawn, hm? You’re destroying my beauty sleep.”

“It’s not dawn, it’s late!” He replies, chuckling as he removes parts of your hair that’s covering your pretty face. “Please?”

You groan slightly, hating how cute he sounds when he says it. It’s your big weakness, really.

“Alright fine” you slowly open your eyes, soon a smile replacing your frown at the sight of your beautiful man with his messy curls framing his face. “You’re such a pretty thing to look at”

“I believe that’s something i should’ve said to you, my love” Steven responds in his —best— neutral voice, but he fails to hide the shy glint decorating his features.

“We both can be pretty”

You always have the answers to everything, Steven thinks. It’s one of the many things he loves about you. And how you try to make him feel good about himself every single minute, telling him how beautiful he is inside and out. It always put his heart at ease.

You look at his shy demeanor and your smile grows bigger, reaching up slightly to peck cheek. “Now… what is it that you want to ask me?”

All the smiles wash away as he falls back into being nervous, compiling all the courage in him before he gets to ask the one important question that is about to change both of your lives forever.

He has prepared the worst and best scenarios when it comes down to this. He would not be able to handle the situation perfectly if you decide to reject his proposal, but he always puts your feelings first. If you’re not ready, then you aren’t. That’s what’s important to him, even if it hurts him to the core.

“I…” he starts, slowly reaching into his pockets, internally relieve when you don’t question his move. “Have never been the one who believes that love exists for me. . . Encountered so many but it always ends up with me being alone again. . . A person takes one look at me and they see a burden. Someone who brings quite disastrous into their lives and for a while, i start to believe them.”

“You are not a burden, Steven,” you say, refusing for him to believe that it’s true.

Nodding, he continues, “you always remind me that. That i’m just as good as everyone else and how well deserved i am to be loved by someone else.” He’s holding back tears when images of his previous partners reject his love and dedication to putting effort into trying and making the relationship work.

“You made me the happiest man alive, the day when you chose me.” He smiles softly at you, eyes filled with adoration and love that he reserves only for his woman. “Almost too good to be true. I still can’t believe it until this day. When there were so many beautiful people out there who would get down on their knees to make you the love of their lives, hoping for you to choose their beating hearts yet you chose . . . me.”

Your eyes and heart begin to soften when he reaches his hand out and intertwines it. Propping your elbow on the plush pillow so your face is inches away from his.

“You have the most beautiful and purest heart to love of them all. . . that’s why i chose you.” you truthfully respond, rubbing your thumb against his skin in hopes of wiping away his worries.

His love grows more when you speak to him. You always know what to say to him, and he knows that you mean every word that has ever been told. You never lie when you’re with him. What’s the point of lying to the man you commit your love to?

“I love you, darling . . . With all my heart and soul, I love you. You took my breath away when you walked into that museum and my life. I prayed to the Gods that you could be the one who lights up my gloomy days. Who’d be the one to hold me in your sleep and wake up to the next morning.” His smile pulls into a grin. “You looked so beautiful that day . . . in the prettiest white sundress, i have ever seen in a person. And when your eyes locked into mine. . . Gods, i swore i could’ve fainted right there and then. “

How could one be so perfect? Speak like a true poet, and aim for your heart, just like that. You have spent way too long burying yourself in the arms of someone who didn’t appreciate you. Convince yourself that this is the love you deserve to have and nothing more,

But Steven changed that. With all of his awkward smiles and shy gestures. He had stolen your heart, completely, and that was all it took to get you to fall madly, deeply, and utterly in love with this man.

“You will never stop that, won’t you? Doing exactly what it is that got me to fall in love with you in the first place” You tease him, biting back a smile as your heart continues to race.

He shrugs playfully, “Whatever it takes in order for me not to lose you and have you on my side for the rest of my life.”

Your eyes bug out, jaw parting slightly as you hear the words he speaks out. He doesn’t break his gaze away from you, and you are quick to notice something is up. But he doesn’t seem to look nervous at all, yet you have your assumptions.

“Steven. . . what’s going on. . . ?” you reluctantly ask, not out of fear, but out of wonder. Could it be something that you have been dreading to hear him say?

He takes a deep breath before moving his body, scooting himself closer to you so that he’s able to hear your quick breathing. You see him reaching into the pocket of his pants, catching a glimpse of a beautiful encrusted diamond ring which makes your heart come to a halt. Hand going up to cover your gaping mouth with tears watering your eyes.

“Steven? Oh my god i—“

“And i will not stop doing what i’m doing. To shower you with my love and affection, to be the greatest love poet you have ever seen, to be there for you when you needed me the most, to prove to you that i can be the man that you have been looking for. I can be everything you want me to be, my love. . . But i may need your guidance through it all. . . Because that is how i will grow. With your love in return. . . So. . . Y/N Y/L/N. . . My sweet angel.” He takes your delicate hand in his and holds up the ring with the other.

“Will you marry me?”

He’s hopeful as he takes a look in your eyes, which are brimming with tears. You look speechless, but in a good kind of speechless. It worries him less, but he’s still not so sure.

But soon, when you take your hand away from your mouth, looking down at the ring before meeting back to his brown eyes with a smile, giving him the answer he has been dying to hear you say,

He releases all of the troubles and distress that have been weighing on him through his sigh. A large grin breaks out.

“I thought you never asked me that.”

Steven shakily slides the ring into your finger, observing how beautiful it looks on your hands, looking back to meet your eyes as he cups your face and pulls you into a hard kiss. Happiness and love engulf both of you, but no one is happier than he is.

Steven feels like his head is in the clouds.

“I love you, i love you, i love you so much” You speak against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck as you both fall gently into bed again, sharing light chuckles.

He squeezes your waist, “No more than i love you,” He whispers tenderly, “I know i could’ve done better with the ring, it’s just. . . One day i’m going to buy the perfect one for you, i promise.”

You shake his head, drying your tears away with your hand.

“You could propose to me with a ring pop and i still would’ve said yes, my love.” You whisper softly to him, before pressing your lips against his. “Thank you. . . my husband.”

The butterflies make a presence in his stomach when he hears you call him that. It has a ring to it and he decides that he can get used to hearing you say that instead of his name.

He likes that a lot.

“You’re welcome, my beautiful wife.”

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight fics #marc spector #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely #moon knight #oscar isaac

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keerysfreckles · 1 year

Text

saving you - peter parker

pairing: tom!peter x stark!reader

warnings: use of y/n, she/her, swearing, mentions of blood and fighting (scenes used from endgame)

a/n: i love peter parker sm i just HAD to write another blurb (also for my bexi boo mwah)

y/n never thought she'd fight a giant purple alien from space, let alone fighting him twice. five years ago she was on titan fighting the alien, then she blipped, alongside half of the world.

five years later she's on the same planet fighting the same purple asshole.

herself and others all came out of different sized portals created by doctor strange. y/n walked out with peter parker, her best friend. she looked around, seeing the army of avengers, ready to fight the battle.

her and peter, and everyone else, got in their positions as they heard steve, "avengers. assemble."

and with those two words, the team of most likely one hundred people ran towards thanos' army.

sam and valkyrie ended up in the sky at some point during the battle, while everyone else mostly stayed on the ground. scott turned huge again since the fight in germany, and immediately started stomping on the evil aliens.

the rest of the avengers started fighting the aliens that remained on the ground. bucky snd rocket shooting them together, with groot branching his arms through the aliens' bodies.

y/n and peter never left each others side as they ran towards the battle. the avengers' goal was to get tony's gaunlet away from thanos once it had all six infinity stones in it. all they had to do was get thanos' gaunlet, easy.

ten minutes pass and most of the avengers are injured while lying on the ground, the only few remaining are tony, steve, thor, peter, y/n, clint, valkyrie and pepper.

dealing with the team of eight they have, they create a plan to beat thanos.

"y/n, sweetheart i know you can fight and i know you can fight well," tony starts, placing his hands on his daughters shoulders, "but i need you to run away, i don't want you anywhere near here when we get the stones, capisce?"

a concerned look shows up on y/n's face, "what? dad, no, i'm not just leaving you guys here. let me he-"

y/n got cut off by tony hugging her, followed by pepper hugging her as well.

the family of three backed up from each other. tony looked back to the rest of the remaining avengers, giving y/n the signal to walk away.

yes, she was going to walk away from the problem, but as she saw her father, and peter start running towards thanos she knew she couldn't just watch.

taking out the ninja stars she has in her suit, she throws them at thanos' wrist to try and get his gaunlet off.

"what- y/n! i told you to run!" tony yells from inside his suit, while blasting thanos.

"i told you, i'm not just leaving you guys!" y/n yells.

tony backs away slightly, before finding clint with the red iron man gauntlet. tony takes it from him and passes it to peter. "peter run!" tony yells before going back to fight with thanos.

y/n watches as peter runs from thanos with her dad's gaunlet.

peter runs as fast as he can before he gets knocked down into a pile of rubble. a giant blue and yellow beam comes down in front of him.

"hi- hello," peter stutters to the blonde woman, "i'm peter parker."

"well peter parker," the woman starts, "you have something for me?"

peter nods as he hands her tony's gaunlet before she flies off.

peter stands up from the rubble, and watches in shock as y/n is on thanos' shoulders trying to fight him.

"y/n!" he yells as he watches thanos throw the poor girl at least 100 yards away. peter immediately runs after to look for her, "um- mr. stark, sir i'm going to try and find y/n."

"oh you better find my daughter alive parker," tony grumbles into the teams shared intercoms.

finally seeing the sight of y/n rolled over onto her side, holding her stomach, peter removes the nano-tech mask from his face.

he rolls y/n over to see the girl with dust and small marks of blood on her face. "hey, hey y/n you gotta wake up. your dad's gonna kill me if you don't," peter laughs, shaking the girl.

"cmon, please wake up."

tears brim peter's eyes, seeing the girl he's fallen in love with get hurt right in front of his eyes.

the only thought going through the boys mind was that he never got to tell her how he felt.

as he talked on his com, his voice was weak. "mr- mr stark i need help! she isn't waking up!"

tony's heart rate drops. disregarding the giant purple alien in front of him, he flies over to where he saw peter run off to. he flies down to the ground to be met with an unconscious y/n in peter's arms.

"friday, read y/n's vitals," tony instructs his ai.

"vitals steady. oxegyn decreased 20%. heartbeat decreased 10%."

"shit," tony mumbles. "you stay with her kid, i have to beat this asshole," he gestures back to thanos. "keep her alive!" tony yells as he flies back to the main fight going on.

peter looks down at y/n again, still with tears threatening to spill over. "y/n," his voice cracks, "please don't leave me."

the tears mentioned before finally spill, leaving peter's cheeks hot and lips trembling. he leans down and presses his lips to hers, while holding her jaw in his hand.

"please, please, please," peter kept mumbling against her lips, tears not decreasing in pace.

peter notices y/n start breathing heavier, he starts shaking her again. "hey, hey cmon, y.n wake up. i cant lose you, i just can't y/n."

peter sighs, "i love you."

y/n starts coughing slightly, before rolling over onto her hands and knees and coughing more than before.

peter immediately starts rubbing his hand up and down her back, "hey, thatta girl," he laughs slightly, glad she's okay, "cough it all up."

"oh my god," y/n gasps, before sitting on her knees on the ground.

"are you okay?" peter asks, keeping his hand on her lower back. y/n only nods, while peter places a kiss on the top of the girls head.

"i love you too," y/n whispers after leaning her head against peter's shoulder.

breaking away from each other, the two teenagers turn around to see a giant multicolored beam shoot up into the sky, yet the two didn't see thanos with the gaunlet at all.

y/n gasps lightly, before running to where the others were. peter followed after, "no, no, no," y/n keeps mumbling to herself as they got closer to the rest of the team.

peter got in front of y/n, incase anything was a threat to them. y/n couldn't see what was going on, but she saw the group surrounding someone lying on the floor.

she looked around, not seeing her father anywhere. a thousand thoughts flooded the girls' mind.

she heard peter talk to someone, but his words were muffled as her brain wouldn't let her think the worst possible solution happened.

pepper holds peter in her arms, comforing the boy, which left a small pathway for y/n to go through.

"dad," y/n whispers, jogging to her father who was leaning against a piece of a broken ship. "dad hey, cmon, get up. we have to go back home."

y/n grabs his hand as she starts crying, she couldn't hold her tears back any longer.

tony looks up at his daughter weakly before placing his other hand on the side of her face, "tell parker he better take good care of you," tony says weakly, making y/n nod and smile softly.

tony leans up with the rest of the energy he has left and kisses y/n's cheek. y/n and the rest of the group watch as tony leans back against the broken ship, and see his arc reactor light dim.

"no, no, no, no," y/n keeps mumbling tapping on the arc reactor.

her heart drops when the light fully turns off. everything around her goes quiet as she leans her forehead on her fathers chest.

this was it. she'd never see him again. never talk to him again. never tell him how her first day of senior year was. never tell him how amazing her first date with peter went. nothing.

pepper lets go of peter to go bid tony a final goodbye. peter helps y/n up off of her father and immediately holds her head to his own chest.

he tries his best to calm her down by cooing to her.

"shhh."

"it'll all be okay."

"you're so strong, you're going to get through this."

"i'll always be here for you."

"i'll always protect you y/n."

y/n lifts her head to look peter in the eyes. "you better not leave me parker," y/n kisses his cheek.

"never in a million years," the boy replies, holding the girl close to him, kissing the top of her head again.

#peter parker #tom holland peter parker #tom holland #marvel #spiderman #the avengers #marvel studios #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader

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friendlylocalwhumper · 3 months

Text

Their eyes are wild, round as saucers and glimmering with unshed tears. Strapped down to the floor by their wrists and ankles, a band of metal across their throat, and their clothes plastered wet to their shivering body, Quinn looks small.

A rough hand weighs heavy on their chest as if to keep them from floating away. A curtain of bleach-fried hair hangs around a mean face twisted in the shape of concern for once. “Calm the fuck down,” Major rumbles, pushing down on their sternum.

That pressure is the only thing keeping them sane. Quinn’s hyperventilating has them so dizzy that they can’t feel their fingers or toes. Their eyes rocket around the room but they find no escape, no guard to manipulate or trick. Just an empty room and a friend who can’t save them.

“Calm down,” Major snaps, and those teary brown eyes finally settle on him. His hand wanders up to grab them by the jaw. “It’s coming again. You know that?”

They nearly panic again at the reminder. The chains keeping them down rattle with the shudders of mortified anticipation.

“Hey, stay focused. On me. Say yes Major.”

It’s hard to keep hyperventilating against the hand pressing down on their ribcage. Exhausting. They gasp weakly. “Ye-. Yes, Major.”

“Cool.” He didn’t make them say it to get obedience out of them or anything, and uncharacteristically, he doesn’t smirk. “It’ll hurt. You need a stupid mission or something? Instructions, to think?”

A jerky nod. Their eyes flit to the clock on the wall that counts each second, ticking upward. When it hits the next minute, the shock will course through them again.

“Eyes on me, bitch,” Comes his reminder, and they look up at him again, a tear slipping free to crave its way down their cheek. “It’s just pain. Just lasts ten seconds. Make it to five without a sound. That’s the rule.”

“Five?” They bite out, teeth nearly chattering from adrenaline. “Why, why’s it matter if I… I can’t…” Their question dies out as the click of the clock warns that there’s only five seconds left.

“Because I said so. Just do it. No screaming, five seconds. You ready? Breathe.” Speaking in a machine-gun rapid fire now, Major grips onto their hair and forces them to look straight into his eyes, at nothing else. “Breathe.”

The restrained spy sucks in a tremulous breath, focus finding its way into their expression. And then they jolt, their body straining with all its might to fling Major away, to tear their hair out in his grip, to break their own body in the metal restraints. Major swings a leg over their stomach and straddles them, knees digging into their sides hard. And he shoves their head down so it won’t bounce off the floor like it did a minute ago.

Their mouth stretches wide, but Major growls, “Five seconds,” and watches them go red with the effort of keeping the scream in.

Ten whole seconds pass. The electricity stops, and they flop, panting.

“Didn’t scream at all,” Major comments as he disentangles his fingers from their hair. “Look at me.”

Jittery, drowning eyes find him again, lost with pain. They focus enough to see Major give a grim nod. “You did good,” He says, and their bottom lip wobbles. “Gonna happen again in a minute.”

“F-forty-five seconds,” They correct on a hoarse gasp.

“Whatever. Can you handle it?”

“Nnh nnh-… n-, I-I don’t…”

“Not do you wanna. Can you? Will you fucking survive it?”

They swallow a whimper and nod slightly. “Doesn’t f-feel like it. But… yes?”

“Yeah. You will. Don’t piss me off, now. You didn’t scream. This time don’t even open your mouth.”

Their eyes flash with doubt. “But I… I, I don’t…”

“You’re a tough bitch,” Major snaps, lowering to be all but nose-to-nose with them. “You won’t die. This is fucking easy. Say you’ve got this.”

There isn’t time. They have no time. They try to look at the clock again, but he leans to block it from their sight. “Say it,” He orders again.

Quinn takes a ragged breath and grunts with the effort of speaking on command. “I’ve got this?”

“Again.” He’s petting their cheek. They don’t even recognize it directly, they just lean into it and swallow a sob.

“I’ve got this.”

Stormy eyes harden. He doesn’t say anything else, just watches. The clock ticks, and the shock comes.

After ten seconds, Quinn sucks in air, and when it escapes them it comes out as a squeaky sob. They screamed, they think. Hard to be sure. Major moves and they flinch, eyes squeezed shut, breaths tiny and rapid.

“Okay,” Major says, and he sounds softer than before. “It’s whatever. ‘s actually fine if you gotta be noisy. Uh. Keep your eyes closed.”

They flinch again when he touches their face, but it doesn’t hurt. His hand brushes back and forth, stiff with scars and clumsy. The side of his thumb scratches over their nose, his cracked palm slides over their forehead. There is no pattern to it, no tender cupping of their cheek. No kiss to the forehead or finger under their chin to lift it. It’s like being a kitten curled up at the foot of a trucker who is reaching down to pet it with the same nonchalance of scraping mud off his boot.

As rough as it may be, it drags a broken sob out of them, and he doesn’t stop. Maybe he can see how badly it hurt that time. Maybe his arbitrary rule about keeping quiet was only for their benefit, and if it didn’t help then he won’t make them try again.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn keens, tipping their head cooperatively as he swipes his palm to rub the tears off each cheek for them.

“What for?” Comes the gruff answer.

“For. For… I don’t know. I just am.” Their voice is high and painful in their throat.

“…’s okay.” The click comes. Quinn nearly screams from pure terror and surprise at how quickly a minute passed. “You’re fine. Hey, breathe.”

They do. The pain comes again. His hands, his weight, all of it disappears.

Some time later, and it might be minutes or hours later, they hear him picking a fight. Growling, yelling. Quinn tips their head slowly to see that Major is pinned by a boot on his chest, screaming in rage about… Quinn. About how the shocks haven’t stopped, and it’s too much. How this is pointless and stupid and it won’t work because they never talk, they never break.

The click of the clock comes, but Quinn is too busy to turn their head and watch the seconds tick by in terror. They are watching Major with awe, teary eyes lit up with curiosity and pride. They must be doing a very good job holding up, if Major is so mad for them. They can handle the next shock. Major might not think so, if he’s arguing for them, but they finally believe they can. They must be very very strong to have lasted this long, to make Major actually care.

#whump #mine #drabble #captivity #angst #torture #quinn #major

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aliasrocket · 8 months

Text

I just thought of the most specific Rocket Raccoon scenario ever — the guardians receive a commission from a planet that has a victorian era vibe especially to their clothing and the guardians including Rocket had to wear victorian era clothes to fit in …

(I have a LOT of scenarios regarding this so pls lmk if you guys want more of these! I could honestly write it into a fic at this point oml)

masterlist. requests.

It was probably just a bit past 11pm when Rocket called, the night was silent and you were just finished getting ready for bed when he called you.

Due to his tech, you both are able to project a hologram of yourselves through your phone as a way to communicate, meaning you had a clear visual of Rocket’s entire body floating in your room.

His black suit was not made of the usual silk; the texture seemed to be of dense wool. He wore a white dress shirt inside and a black tie to match. Closely hugging his small waist was a black vest that had been buttoned all the way down with the exception of the button at the very bottom. The sleeves of both the coat and the dress shirt had been neatly rolled up above just one of his forearms, making his supposedly symmetrical suit unsymmetrical.

That wasn’t exactly a bad thing, though. In fact, the arm that had been a little more exposed had gained more attention from you than the other—you watched the way his muscles tensed when he would curl his fingers around anything.

He was just kicking off his dress shoes when you picked up and right of the bat your jaw was left hanging at the sight.

“Hey, princess,” Rocket greeted, a little more wearier than you would have expected. He stood with his hands on his hips, pushing the body of his coat back just a little to reveal his hips. “Fuck, today was a bust.”

“What happened?” You asked, eyes finally parting with his stature and now moving up to his rugged expression.

“Nah, apparently the lady who supposedly has the fortune doesn’t have the damn fortune,” Rocket explained with an angered strain in his voice. “We went through all this effort, dressed so damn formally just so we would be treated like everyone else and now I—”

“Wait, Rocket, isn’t this classified information?” You shook your head, finally snapping out of your less than innocent thoughts of Rocket in his current outfit. “You shouldn’t be telling me about these things right?”

“Yeah?” Rocket sharply exhaled from his nose, a smug grin overwhelming the look of exhaustion that had been dragging down his already greying features. “Fuck those rich brats, ‘s not like I signed a contract or something. Anyway I show up at the discussed address and—”

“Rocket, they hired you.”

“Yeah hired me to stick a gun up the asshole of anyone who comes in the way of this mission, they ain’t saints, princess.” Rocket pulled at his shirt’s rolled up sleeve, letting it fall to his wrist without letting you give a proper goodbye. Not that you’d let him know you were staring, anyway.

Rocket's jaw clenched, and you decided maybe it wasn't the best idea to push it further especially when he was already irritable and tired.

“Okay so I get to the house right, almost fuckin’ blow the brains of that broad’s bodyguards the fuck out—” Rocket paused his rant when he rolled his coat sleeve down, now shrugging off his jacket and only testing just how fitted all his clothes had been. His chest flexed as he pulled his shoulders back, sliding sleeves off his arms only to reveal his clothed biceps restrained in his shirt. Each wrinkle and each fold in his clothes only further teased that Rocket was completely and utterly clothed.

“And finally I get to hold my damn blaster under her chin only to find she doesn’t even have so much as a goddamn clue as to where her fuckin’ fortune is. And now? I gotta clean her damn snot and tears off my fuckin’ blaster. D’asted little shit.”

Rocket’s fingers popped off the buttons of his vest in one swift motion and the vest was discarded in seconds, leaving his black tie and his shirt that hugged at Rocket’s enchanced pectoral muscles.

His head tilted as he tugged at the knot of his tie. You were hallucinating, right? There was absolutely no way Rocket was loosening that tie slower than it had to be, pulling it to the side as his protruding knuckles gave attention to his hands and the way they clasped onto his tie and tossed it aside so gracefully.

Oh, shit. You bit your lip when Rocket unbuttoned his dress shirt with one hand, the first button coming off so easily to reveal a white undershirt. The thought of Rocket in only a singlet had sent you melting against the pillows of your bed.

You were probably frowning at this point, tunneling on Rocket’s hand working through each of his buttons with ease before Rocket was getting the shirt off too.

And there it was again, the flexing of his chest when he pulled the shirt out and shrugged it off, and finally he was all yours—his biceps, forearms, and hell, even some parts of his chest were—

“Hey,” Rocket called loudly along with your name.

“Huh?”

“Called you five times, you didn’t respond,” Rocket said. His hands were on his hips once more but this time, his chest had been heaving, some parts of it uncovered by his singlet like something of a boob window. “Are you zoning out?”

“Uh … something like that.”

#.alias.drabbles.imagines.#rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #rocket gotg #gotg rocket #gotg fanfiction #rocket raccoon fanfic #rocket raccoon x you #rocket raccoon imagine #rocket raccoon x reader #rocket raccoon fanfiction

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harringrove-cafe · 5 months

Text

The Harringrove Cafè will be inviting the top guests you voted for to bake ship sweets (treats made by your other favorite ships)!

Couples, throuples and quads will be crowding the kitchen together to create their own signature treats, and on December 1-3, Billy and Steve will deliver those treats on your behalf!

Please see the menu below and choose what treats you would like to order for your friends. (or yourself!) The order form will close on November 29th at Midnight EST! (In the meantime, regular Saturday orders from this month's menu will continue to be sent out!)

Order Now

(Text version of the menu below the cut)

Friday Movie Truffles Lucas/Max

Sponge cake truffles dipped in white chocolate and drizzled with dark chocolate and sprinkles, served in a keepsake movie night popcorn bucket

Forest Rendezvous Cake Eddie/Chrissy

A gorgeous brown butter and red velvet mini layer cake, topped with forest green icing, fondant leaves and molded chocolate versions of Eddie and Chrissy's signature necklaces.

Beer Battered Deep Fried Oreos Tommy/Billy/Steve

Oreos deep fried in a beer batter, drizzled with chocolate syrup and confectioners sugar for the perfect snack after the party's over. Dank In The Darkroom Brownies Argyle/Jonathan

White chocolate ganache poured over dark chocolate brownies with pineapple on top for the perfect snack to eat after passing the dutchie.

Mall Date Ice Cream Cake El/Max

A triple-layer ice cream cake decorated with the Starcourt Mall colors and an ice cream cone cookie on top.

TigerFreak Striped Cookie Bars Eddie/Jason Several layers of colorful sugar cookies, one side with Jason's team colors, the other side with Eddie's Hellfire colors. The cookie bars are topped with edible D20 dice candies and a game-winning basketball.

Strawberry Banana Blast Billy/Chrissy/Eddie/Steve

A giant waffle cone bowl filled to the top with Scoops of Banana and Strawberry ice cream, a huge helping of whipped cream, pretzel pieces, chocolate sauce and a cherry on top. Serves 4 (of course).

The Most Metal Sandwich EVER! Billy/Eddie/Steve

A S'more sandwich topped with a chocolate covered pretzel, followed by a massive toasted marshmallow, a giant melted chocolate candy, a graham cracker, more chocolate, another marshmallow, ANOTHER graham cracker, strawberry ice cream, and yet another graham cracker.

Triple Trouble waffle supreme El/Lucas/Max

Ranger Raspberry and Mad Max Melon scoops on top of a floating waffle. Each treat comes with a crunchy chocolate wrist rocket and skateboard.

Summer Royaltea Billy/Chrissy/Steve

Triple Berry Boba Tea with a Strawberry Crown on top, with a taste to remind you of a summery Californian and his king and queen.

Buckleway root beer float Robin/Heather The perfect date night beverage of root beer and Scoops Ahoy vanilla ice cream, with an edible chocolate megaphone and trumpet tied to a red string of licorice for you to snack on after your float's all gone.

Chianti Chocolate Latte Joyce/Hopper A long awaited date at Enzo's in a mug of delicious chocolate latte spiked with chianti wine syrup. You've gotta have wine, right?

Bubblegum Milkshake Tommy/Carol

A Bubblegum flavored Milkshake topped with peppermint gum and candy sprinkles. Comes with one straw so Tommy can watch Carol drink it after he did all the work making it.

CheerGuard Energizer Chrissy/Heather

The perfect drink after work or practice—a strawberry lemonade bubbly blend with a collectible whistle and megaphone floating in every cup.

Order Now

#harringrove cafe events #hg ship sweets #harringrove cafe menu

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caesarhamato22 · 8 months

Note

Hey babes, was wondering if you’d be up for a ‘seven minutes in heaven’ thing with Rocket and reader. The way it happens is up to you!! No worries if you’re not feeling it though, just wanted to ask how you’re doing <33

GOD IS REQUESTING ME TO WRITE???

Consider it done.

Also, I'm doing fabulous, thank you for asking, how are you? :)

More Than Seven

Rocket X Reader

Note: This is set just before Vol 3. You're friends with the guardians.

Words: 4.6k

Summary: Drunk, mingling with strangers, and at a random house party on Knowhere. Someone stumbles up to you with a giddy grin and asks if you want to put your name in a draw. You weren't informed what for. You just said yes.

Warnings: Language, alcohol, making out, very slight touching over clothes.

You weren't sure how you got there. You weren't even sure when. But what you did know, was that you were hammered.

It was a cold night on Knowhere, colder than most. Dark, with a soft chilled breeze. Neon lights brightened the streets while giving everyone who passed a stunning glow. Glass and spilled drinks littered the ground. The lights reflected off the roads, a beautiful ambience. People stumbled with their friends, partners and comrades, or even a stranger or two they met that same night.

Being passed midnight wasn't a common excuse to go home as most patrons stayed up well into the early hours of the following morning. Occasionally, sleep was ignored, and many went straight to work despite the lingering hangover that would set in quite quickly.

It was a house party, as Quill had once explained to you. Or, in this case, a building party? You couldn't pinpoint the correct terminology. Didn't matter much. You were there. At some 'building party', drinking everything you could find while mingling with faces you had only ever seen once or twice, or not at all.

Yeah, building party still didn't sound right.

Different coloured lights beamed from every direction. The music was loud, almost echoing, and it seemed every room you went into was playing a different song.

Some popular songs, some in a language you didn't understand, but mostly were from Quill's playlist. You recognised those ones.

Mouthing the lyrics with a gentle sway in your hips is what you found yourself doing majority of the night. Your eyes were closed and your mouth maintained a bright smile, unaware to anyone watching, if anyone was.

The voices of those around you became a blur. Multiple conversations slurred together and you weren't even sure who was speaking.

You tried to listen, but the music was too intoxicating, and so was the drink in your hand. Drax would surely make fun on your sloppy movements, you just knew it.

"Girl, you gonna join?"

Were they speaking to you? The pull on your wrist answered your question.

Your eyes blinked open, adjusting to the lasers and glowing bulbs around the room. Your eyes settling on a shorter woman in front of you. Her glittery cheeks and bright purple eyes stared at you.

"Me?" You asked, raising your voice to communicate passed the blasting speakers. "Yeah, sure!"

"Yeah! What's your name?" She was a lively girl, you noticed. Her four arms occupied with drinks, except two. One holding your wrist while the other held a datapad.

You had lost count how many times you had introduced yourself to someone new this night alone.

Giving your name instinctively, she entered it into the datapad. She better not be putting you up to be sold. You really weren't in the mood to run from whoever would buy you. You'd been dancing the whole night, your feet hurt!

"I'll let you know if it's you, lovely!" She pulled your wrist to bring you closer, allowing you to hear her.

With a nod from you, she moved along with a couple others trailing behind her. You watched her approach other people at the party, probably asking them the same questions she asked you.

You turned to those around you with furrowed eyebrows and a sway in your step. "What did she, uh ..." You looked behind you and saw the girl move deeper into the crowd. "My name ... on the datapad?"

The guy you spoke to leaned his pointed ear near your mouth. "Huh?"

You held his shoulder with your free hand to stabilise yourself. You felt his hand hold your waist, holding you steady. "My name! What did she need my name for?" The slur in your words remained but it seemed you spoke clear enough.

He spoke next to your ear, "a draw! You might picked!" His three fingered hand tightened on your waist encouragingly. You nod, trying to think. Things were blurry. Thinking's hard.

"For what?"

He leaned his ear to you again, eliciting a frustrated groan in your throat.

You asked again. "For what? The draw! What is it for?"

He leaned back after hearing you. "Oh!" He paused. "No idea!" He stood to his regular height and let his hand fall from your waist before facing the others he was talking to beforehand.

Thinking it couldn't be something horrible, hopefully, you left it, allowing yourself to dive back into the party and finishing your drink.

There may be a small chance of you getting picked for whatever the draw was for, but there was probably at least one hundred creatures attending this party. Inside the building, or lingering outside, or every on the roof.

How many people were picked? Did everyone eventually get a turn? A turn for what?

Yeah, thinking is hard.

The thought of potentially having your name chosen quickly left your mind once another drink found your lips.

The songs continued and the lights seemed to get even brighter.

You danced with new friends and some familiar faces, while also rejecting a couple guys' offers to find a 'quieter spot' to hang out.

Time flew by. You guessed an hour, but you couldn't be certain.

A hand grabbed your wrist, hastily pulling you off the dance floor you had found yourself comfortable on. You forced your eyes to focus on the same girl from before, now pulling you to who knows where.

It happened so fast, making your head spin. Your drink was taken from you -- what the fuck, give it back -- and the girl's three other hands pushed you through an open door into a dark room, possibly the only room in this place without LEDs and a disco ball.

The music became muffled and your eyes were fuzzy, even in this pitch black room. Your hand draped passed the doorknob. Locked.

You reached around for a light switch. Were you dumb? Where was it?

The alcohol effected your senses, but you were well-aware that being in this particular situation wasn't the safest option during this current night.

"You have seven minutes!" The girls voiced yelled from the other side of the door.

Your eyes narrowed. "Seven...? What...?" You exhaled with a slight sway. Choosing to lean against the wall behind you helped a little.

"Might wanna sit down, doll." A gruff voice slurred from below you. "Don't want you fallin' on me."

Your eyes wandered blindly around the small room. "Rocket?" Your eyes looked around your feet, as if you could see anything through the pitch black. "Why is the door locked?"

Your back slid down the wall while feeling a small hand on the side of your calf, like he was letting you know where he was sitting so you didn't kick him as your legs sprawled out in front of you.

Or he was subconsciously making sure you didn't fall.

But that was just a theory.

You didn't spot his shrug, a reply to your previous question. "Some chick pushed me in here before fetchin' you. Ain't been here long."

From where his voice came from, you guess he was sitting across from you. You brought your legs close and crossed them. Only then did Rocket let his hand fall back into his lap.

"You haven't tried unlocking the door?" You asked. "I thought you were like... a master at machines, or something."

"I am." Not a single beat was missed. "That's a doorknob."

"Didn't think a lock on a wooden door would be harder to crack than the Kyln."

"I wasn't drunk when I was in the Kyln." He looked around the closet, still surrounded by darkness. The music pulsed from outside the room as it seeped through the gaps around the door. "And the lights were on."

"We can't even turn the lights on?" Your hand felt around the wall beside you.

"The switch is on the outside."

"Of course it is."

A slightly awkward silence took over the small room as only the sounds of your legs crossing could be heard. Your knees almost grazed Rocket's by how limited the space around you was. Through the muffled music, you could hear his breathing. It was heavy. Just a bit. Probably from the alcohol. You noticed your breathing was similar.

"So," you began. "Why are we in here?" You shuffled to get slightly more comfortable, relaxing in your spot on the floor as best you could.

"You gave your name to that four-armed girl, right? The one that pushed you in here?" He asked, like he was building up to a point.

You nod your head then quickly answered, remembering he couldn't see you. "Uh, yeah. I didn't know what it was for, though."

"Smart move. Giving out personal information to strangers." You could practically hear him hide a smile.

You threw your hands up into the air. "Sorry I was being nice. Didn't know I was being put into a fucking raffle." You narrowed your eyes at him. At least, you thought you were looking at him. Were you glaring at the wall? "Why'd you put your name in if you didn't know what it was for?"

"Unlike you, I asked what it was for, and I said no. Drax thought it would be funny giving her my name. She left before I could say anything."

You nodded again. Rocket's explanation made sense. It didn't need a vocal response. Although, you still needed to know why you were locked in a damn closet.

"What did she say? The girl, I mean."

"Some shit Quill taught a bunch of people. Some Terran thing. Two people, locked in a room, kinda weird, if you ask me." You could hear Rocket fiddle with his nails. You recognised the tiny clicks. It was a little action, something he did during a moment of peace and possible need for distraction. "Some freaky stuff happens. I wasn't interested."

"Not gonna lie, I thought you would be." You shrugged. Your attention went to your own nails, focusing on the feeling rather than what you could see.

"Why?"

"I don't know." Another shrug. "You seem like that kind of guy." Your hands paused. "No offence."

"Thanks." His sarcasm dripped from his mouth. You swore you could almost see the light from the cracks in the door shine against his exposed canines. "I didn't care for it. I already got my eye on someone."

Your hands froze and your eyes snapped fully open to look at him. You've never been so grateful to be in pitch black, unable to see and unable to be seen.

Rocket liked someone. And it wasn't you. Because if it was, he would've told you, wouldn't he? You would've seen it, right? Sure, he was nice to you... ish. He let you borrow his tools, he helped you out, occasionally. But for him to like someone else? You wouldn't lie, it stung. You didn't think it would, but it did. It hurt.

"I saw you lookin' at someone too." His voice went low.

You tried to look at him with your eyebrows furrowed to show your true confusion, hoping he could see. Even if the light was on, he wasn't looking at you. He instead stared down at his freshly clipped and filed, blunt nails.

"Who?"

"You seemed pretty comfortable with his hand on your waist."

You thought back to that brief interaction. It had lasted mere seconds and you didn't even get his name.

"He seemed pretty comfortable too."

"Rocket, what are you getting at?"

Why did he care? Had he been watching you? You didn't even know he was at this party up until this point.

Expecting a smug answer, you remained silent, waiting for him to continue poking fun at the innocent encounter he coincidentally witnessed.

"Nothing. Doesn't matter." His words seemed extra slurred when he mumbled his reply.

Deciding not to pry, you leaned back against the wall and turned your attention back onto your nails. Silence overtook the room once again, a little more awkward than before.

Seven minutes. You had definitely been stuck in this closet for more than seven minutes. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to try to leave. Or better yet, want to leave.

"So, who is it?" You thought making conversation again might ease the tension.

Rocket didn't reply but his ears stood up. His silence convinced you to continue.

"The girl you got your eye on. Or guy, I don't judge." You raised your hands in surrender. Your ears caught his light snicker. That was good, right?

"Well... she's a real piece of work. Stubborn little shit."

"You two must get along great."

He laughed a little louder. That was definitely a good sign. But that's just what you assumed. You could never be too sure with him.

"Yeah. We do."

He shuffled in his spot to let his legs relax in front of him. You could feel his warmth next to your crossed legs, pulling them tighter, if that was even possible. You weren't sure you liked the familiar hot sensation between your thighs, worried that even he could sense it.

You weren't even sure you liked having a thing for the drunk creature in front of you. It was confusing and annoying and almost impossible to understand.

You wanted his lips on yours, you always did. The way technology was second nature to him, allowing him to create anything from anything in minutes, sometimes without even looking.

Oh, how you would love for him to use those hands on you however he wanted. To have you gasping, begging, thighs open, pleading for more, or less, or to just keep fucking going.

But he wouldn't do that with you. Not when he was doing it with someone else.

And, unfortunately, that’s all you could think about.

"You feelin' alright?"

Rocket's voice caught you, bringing you back to the dark room you had been locked in for definitely more than seven minutes. "Started to sway there."

You leaned your back against the wall, stablising yourself while letting your eyes focus back on whatever was in front of you, thinking it would be Rocket. Yet, when you truly did focus, his presence was beside you, his hand on your thigh.

How long were you thinking about him fucking you? When did he move next to you? Fuck, you were out of it.

You weren't on the floor with alcohol poisoning.

You weren't doing dumb shit from how drunk you were. Or were you?

"Yeah, I'm fine."

So out of it, all because you wanted him so, so bad.

"Do I make you uncomfortable or something?" His grip on your thigh loosened.

"No!" You replied a bit too quickly, your instinct being to quickly place your own hand on his, keeping it on your thigh.

With a pause, you would've both looked into his eyes and avoided his gaze, if it wasn't for the surrounding darkness stopping you from doing both. You felt your hand stay on top of his for longer than necessary, so you removed it as soon as the doubt entered your mind.

"No, you don't make me uncomfortable."

You had prepared for the small weight to leave your thigh, to leave that spot in particular, cold. But it didn't. His hand not only stayed, it went further. Just a bit further to your inner thigh, closer to your knee than you core, technically.

"You sure?"

You weren't sure how to respond. Not with words, at least. What would you say? What words would you use to communicate the feelings that you hadn't even understood yet. It was painful, pitiful in your eyes. Especially when your body answered his question for you. Your hips being the first to move on their own. Not by much, just an inch or two, shuffling forward the tiniest distance, almost trying to pull his hand closer.

The shuffle made his hand slide up your thigh by, again, just an inch or two. By accident or intention, his or yours, his hand had moved.

But that was all it did. Due to the lack of response, you wondered if this subtle movement had been too much.

Too much for him.

Rocket was never the biggest fan of physical contact. You didn't even need him, or anyone else, to tell you that. It was plainly obvious with the way he kept his distance from others in many ways more than one; swatted hands that came too close to his head, and even the way he'd slam the door when entering a room by himself.

Rocket didn't like physical contact.

So why had his grip gotten tighter on your thigh?

"Rocket-"

"How you feelin'?" He asked.

Not what you thought he'd ask.

"What?"

"You're zoning out, and if you're gonna throw up, I'd like to know so I can move."

That earned a small chuckle from you, lightening the mood of the small closet.

"No, I'm not gonna throw up. Thank you."

You could almost sense him nod, along with his hand placing two pats on your thigh to acknowledge your answer.

The muffled music sounded clearer, and your head wasn't spinning nearly as much as it was when you were first shoved into the room. Your eyes seemed to have adjusted to the darkness, now able to make out the outlines of the clothes hanging up and the boxes sitting on the floor.

And the more you thought about it, Rocket's voice seemed less slurred too. Perhaps he was sobering up at the same pace you were.

"Sorry."

His hand was now closer to the middle of your thigh rather than the side of your knee. With your leg slightly bent, thinking his hand would leave but it only brought him closer.

Whether it was on purpose, or he was blind to the tension, his thumb brushed soothingly over your clothes.

"For what?"

You couldn't think of a single thing that he needed to apologise for. At least, not to you. Not right now.

"For bringing up that guy. And how he was holding your waist. S'none of my business."

You had honestly forgotten about that. You had forgotten about everything, really. The warmth of his hand was the only thing you were focusing on. So for him to apologise for something so miniscule, something that had left your mind a short while ago, to know that it hadn't left his mind...

"It's okay. I didn't think much of it. Plus, I think he was just making sure I didn't fall."

Another nod came from him as a response. A silent nod. A painfully stoic, still nod. You weren't sure how much more silence you could take. How much longer of this you could endure. Why couldn't his hand on your thigh go any lower? Why did he have to be with that girl that he mentioned a short while ago? The one you knew nothing about, other than how fucking stubborn she apparently was.

Why couldn't he be doing whatever he does with her ... with you?

"Can I kiss you?"

Fuck. Fuck, wait-

The words fell from your mouth the moment you thought of the question. You weren't meant to ask it out loud. Shit, you weren't even meant to be thinking about him in that way at all, especially not when he had a girl.

You didn't even know her name and you despised her. That's kind of petty, isn't it?

Despite the beats of the music from the other side of the door, the closet got eerily quiet. Not even a few seconds had passed before you regretted asking your question, even if it wasn't on purpose.

His hand was still on your thigh. That's good, right?

His right hand, on your left thigh, still resting yet his grip was slightly tense, but his thumb had stopped brushing against you.

You wanted to leave. You wanted this stupid fucking door to be swung open so you could leave and pretend you didn't just embarrass yourself by asking some dumb fuck question that you knew would be answered with a flat out 'no'.

You hear an inhale. It was quick, and so very quiet, it was impressive that you had caught it.

A slight shuffle, and his hand is gone. Cool air replaced the previous warmth and your breath hitched as you worried if you had ruined, what seemed to be, a pretty decent conversation you were having with your friend.

You look down. Somehow, you could make out the floor and your legs in front of you. Though, only the outlines.

A small hand held your face, the right side on your face, bringing your attention forward.

His lips were soft. Much softer than you thought they'd be. How could lips this soft make daily comments so vulgar?

With furrowed brows and closed eyes, his lips were on yours, placing a gentle kiss without much movement. At the slightest sign of you melting against him, he exhaled through his nose and his thumb began brushing against your skin once again, just below your eye with a careful instinct to not scratch you.

Even when his nails were blunt, just like they were then, you knew he could.

On one knee and one foot, Rocket was your height. Your hands slowly made their way to hold his face. Your fingers relaxed against his soft fur when you felt his tongue graze your lips, a silent wish for more than just some measly peck. Your lips parting for him and your hands pulling him closer as his tongue connected with yours, eliciting a soft sigh from your mouth onto his.

His right hand reached your waist as his body attracted to yours by instinct. Your back leaned against the wall as Rocket shifted himself to gain easier access to your lips.

With one of your hands still holding his face, the other travelled to his neck and squeezed him tenderly and slow. He sighed against you, releasing a low groan as his arm wrapped further around your waist.

"Fuck yeah, you can kiss me."

You felt his words and his smile against your lips, sending waves through your body as you arched your back in an attempt to feel more of him.

The kiss only got more fervent as you actually engaged in the silly Terran game you were originally in here for. The taste of him was something you wanted for so long. Every time you hung out with him, every time he explained a weapon or part of the ship to you, you just wanted him.

Wanted him to keep talking to you. Wanted him to keep paying attention to you. It seemed immature at times, but you couldn't help it.

You liked him. And that's that.

"Why did you take so long, princess?" His lips now trailed your jaw.

"What do you ..." Your head tilted back, exposing more of your skin.

"I was close to just kissing you myself if you didn't end up asking me."

You shuddered at his breath, the grazing of his teeth against your neck as his warm pecks grew passionate.

"I didn't think ... I thought you didn't want to."

"Was my hand on your thigh the whole time not enough of a hint?"

His arms circled your waist as you felt more of his body press against you. You shuffled forward feeling the building warmth build between your thighs again.

"And don't think I didn't notice that little trick before. I almost broke right then and there when your hips moved up."

"So why didn't you?"

His lips stopped before he pulled back and studied your expression as best he could, using whatever light peered through the cracks of the door.

You looked at him confused, almost longingly, for a serious answer as to why he also kept you waiting so long.

"I wanted to make sure I wasn't dreamin'."

You stared at him and all you sensed was the truth. You felt his radiating vulnerability, something you rarely, if ever, spotted Rocket displaying.

"Well you're not dreaming ..."

Your reply surprised yourself almost as much as it surprised him. Your hands cradled his face, your thumb now brushing his fur peacefully. He leaned only an inch closer.

"You sure?"

He remained still, waiting.

"I promise."

That's all it took for him to bring his lips back to yours. Parting and reconnecting over and over, the sounds of tongues and mixed saliva would disturb others, but it was like a fucking song to you.

His hands eagerly lowered to your waistband as yours gripped his shirt, tugging to both take it off and pull him impossibly closer.

"You have no idea how long I put up with this fucking feeling, having to wait so long ..." Your voice was breathless.

"I got some idea." His knuckles brushed against your stomach. "I've been waiting since day fucking one, princess."

The jingling of keys broke through everything around you before multi-coloured lights filled the tiny closet. You squinted your eyes while your hand provided an extra shield from the blearing LEDs as the music became clear and the voices of others bounced off the walls and through your ears.

"I totally forgot about you two!" A girl, the one you met before with four arms, looked down with beady purple eyes from where she stood in the doorway, datapad in hand. "That was way more than seven minutes, fuck, sorry guys!"

Rocket's hands left you, but he stayed in his spot beside your seated form.

"All good ..." You assured with a twinge of confusion from her sudden appearance, almost forgetting that you had actually been locked in the small room.

"Yeah, we're good." Rocket pat your thigh twice. It was different now that you could actually see him. His eyes on the girl, his hand on your thigh, it was almost like a reality check.

A really good reality check.

As you stood more stable than before, Rocket's eyes tracked your movements the same way he did when you first sat down.

You left the closet, fixing yourself on the way towards the front door.

"Wanna come back to my place?" Rocket's voice was clearer now, speaking from behind you.

Standing outside the vibrant building, surrounded by fresh air brought a near level of sobriety to both of you.

You thought over his offer, obviously wanting nothing more. But guilt stopped you like a punch to the face.

"What about your girl?"

You eyed him. Perhaps you could finally get the name of the girl Rocket just cheated on with you. But his face showed only a brief pause. He looked over you, observing your shivering hands that you unwillingly clenched into fists, and your pleading eyes that were begging for many more answers than one.

"Baby, I was talkin' about you."

You fists weakened and your lips parted. No gasp from you was needed, and your body only showed minor signs that you didn't know what to believe. But you could actually see now. You weren't in that dark closet anymore, and you could see he was genuine.

"That whole time, I was talkin' about you. And I didn't lie. We do get along, and you are a stubborn little shit." The smile he wore looked good on him. "And I'm askin' you; do you want to come back to my place?"

He stood beside you, waiting for your decision to follow, or to leave.

You knew what you wanted.

Fucking hell, you knew exactly what you wanted. You had wanted it for a long fucking time. This douchebag that was snappy to everyone, but the tiniest bit less snappy to you. All the little things he did in your favour made you want him in an embarrassingly large amount of ways.

And this whole time, he wanted the exact same thing.

You replied with your own smile, matching his, "yeah. I do."

Taglist:

@aliasrocket @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @scholastic-dragon @beckalias @ero-manga-sensei @john-hobbit-watson @dreamlessnight @baloneyslacks

#rocket raccoon x reader #rocket raccoon #x reader #gotg #guardians of the galaxy #fanfiction #fanfic

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