#why do i only have one heart lmfao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chelseeebe · 8 months

Text

seven minutes in heaven.

a/n: pure self indulgent smut here i really have no other way to describe this lmfao. i wrote this all in about three hours so please excuse any mistakes bc i had to get the idea out while it was still fresh in the mind. don’t get me wrong i love dominant eddie but let’s be real he’s just not, is he? he’s a fumbling little virgin and i love that

18+. smut. alcohol. sex with someone in the room (don’t do this. this is fiction.) eddie is so pathetically down bad for reader and also a virgin! they’re in college rather than hs bc i’m too old to be writing about teenagers here

‎♡‧₊˚

eddie’s insanely nervous when the bottle starts spinning, anticipating the dread of having to get in that tiny closet with well.. literally anyone.

he wasn’t exactly well versed when it came to sexual encounters. he’d barely just kissed a girl for the first time last year and had been successful in avoiding any and all games of this nature. it’s not like he didn’t want to, he just didn’t want to embarrass himself nor disappoint whichever poor soul had to stuff themselves into that closet with him.

it spins and spins until it lands on chrissy and some dude he’d just met tonight. breathing a silent sigh of relief as he now gets a further seven minutes to think up some excuse as to why he couldn’t kiss his match.

his ringed finger circles the top of the glass bottle, clinking against it in some unrecognisable beat. maybe he could run to the bathroom as soon as they came out? at least he’d have to miss another go, be free of the embarrassment a little while longer.

eddie’s eyes glide around the circle, eyeing up the potential matches. there’s robin, who absolutely not interested in him and especially not anyone of his gender. nancy, she’s cute but one hundred percent not his type and he’s sure that the fact both of her exes are sat in the room would mean they could get out of kissing. a few other girls that he’s sure would kiss him but they wouldn’t be thrilled about it. then there’s you. sat with your legs crossed, skirt riding up your supple thighs and a shirt that hung low enough that you shouldn’t have even bothered wearing one.

he only notices that he’s staring when steve makes some lewd comment about the noises coming from the closet. tearing his eyes off of your chest and onto the rowdy man.

oh shit, what if it lands on a guy? at least maybe they could just shuffle off and pretend to make kissy noises, see that’d be easy.

before he’s able to jump up and run off, chrissy and the unnamed guy stumble out of the closet, giggling with their cheeks flushed.

oh god oh god oh god.

‘ya have fun in there?’ steve bellows, clearly intoxicated and obviously way too eager to have his turn. why couldn’t he just be more like him, eddie thinks.

steve spins the bottle again. going round and round and round until it stops, the lipped edge facing you.

please no. please literally anyone other than him.

if he was clueless with the other girls he wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do with you.

‘oh shiiit,’ steve hisses as he sends the bottle flying again.

it slows down just before him, thinking he’d escaped once again until the glass stops. pointing right at his gormless face. he blinks at the bottle, trying with all his might to send it flying again through some undiscovered telekinetic energy or some shit.

it doesn’t. obviously. because he’s not fucking superman.

‘come on,’ you speak, stood before him with your hand extended. oh fuck. he’s not sure he can even take your hand. it’s far too clammy and he’d expose his super-virgin status.

he groans getting up from the floor, gingerly taking your hand and following you through the corridor to the closet. his heart in his throat the entire time. he thinks he might just throw up. unsure of if it’s from the anticipation or just sheer terror of having to try and kiss you.

with your fucking tiny skirt and your perfect tits pressed against him. there’s no way he won’t pop a fucking boner. oh god, what if-

‘you okay?’ you ask, shuffling into the small space opposite with the tiny flecks of light shining on your smile. he hadn’t even noticed you’d shut the door, too caught up in his own head to realise that this was now and he was going to have to do something before you ran out of there laughing.

‘yeah- yeah,’ nodding frantically as he attempts to collect himself. maybe you didn’t wanna kiss him? you’d make some polite excuse about having a boyfriend or something and then you could stand and make small talk for the excruciatingly long seven minutes.

‘good,’ you mumble before closing the already tiny gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a haste.

eddie’s head is empty. absolutely nothing going on inside. frozen in time as your lips move against his. he should do something. he just doesn’t know what.

‘what? you never kissed a girl before?’ you scoff, pulling away slightly. are you mocking him? or is this flirting? fuck, why don’t they make books for this kinda shit?

‘y-yeah i have..’ he mumbles, arms still limply hung around his sides. if you could see his face right now, he’d be comparable to a ripe beetroot.

‘so kiss me back then?’ you giggle, connecting your lips once again, soft hand coming to caress his warm cheek.

okay, yeah. just.. kiss back.

he does what he thinks is right, eyes fluttering shut as his lips move with yours. this is good, he thinks. it feels right.

your other hand reaches out to grab his wrist, moving his hand to rest on your waist. giggling into his mouth, your breath tasting like alcohol and a hint of mint. it’s sweet, addicting almost as he chases the taste with his mouth.

adrenaline racing through his veins when your hand leaves his wrist and tangles into his hair, fingernails tracing along his sensitive scalp. he has to restrain himself from moaning into your mouth. it’s an entirely new sensation for him, makes his cock twitch in his tight jeans. he can’t stop thinking about how much he wants you to just tug it, pull his head back with your delicate fingers.

your knee slides between his legs, thick thigh nudging the growing bulge in his pants. letting out the most embarrassing noise into your mouth. before he even has time to curse himself for it your tongue slips into his mouth, using the opportunity to push your chest further into his.

deciding now to be brave, his hand shakily meets your shoulder, holding you in that exact position. he could stay here forever, he wouldn’t need anything else in life. ever.

your lips pull back slightly and he whimpers. literally whimpers in response to the sudden lack of attention. feeling your smile grow against his now swollen lips. who the fuck whimpers? if he hadn’t already established his virgin-ness, he definitely had now.

‘is that good, yeah?’ you breathe, the words almost sending him into cardiac arrest. they sound as if they’re dipped in honey coming from your sweet lips.

he nods quickly, unable to form a coherent response without looking like an utter fool. opening his eyes just enough to see you staring up at him through your lashes. if he weren’t leant against the wall, he’s sure he’d collapse into a puddle of goo.

‘what if i do.. this?’ palm sliding down over his neck and heaving chest before stopping at his belt buckle, waiting for a sign to continue.

his adams apple bobs as he swallows and you take it as a compliment and sliding your hand on top of his very obvious boner.

he’s a goner.

grip tightening on your shoulder as his breath stutters. willing himself not to cum in his pants right then and there. he would never ever live that down. not with that meathead harrington who would definitely pull him up on it the second you left.

‘oh yeah?’ you remark, smirking in the darkness at his pathetic stature. slowly moving your fingers as you palm him through his jeans. your hardened nipples brushing against his chest because of fucking course you weren’t wearing a bra.

there’s no way he’s making it out of this cupboard alive.

‘h-holy shit,’ he chokes out, eyelids fluttering as he fights off fainting. his head is fuzzy, sorta like how he felt when he got high and jerked off except so so much better.

‘maybe we could.. continue this later?’ muttering quietly so as to avoid anyone outside hearing.

he’s well aware that you only have at most a minute or so left before someone rips open that door and reveals the pitiful mess he is. the sentence doesn’t register for a few seconds until he realises what you meant.

‘y-yes,’ he finally responds, overly eager, ‘please,’ ashamed at how desperate he sounded. he’s sure that he’d kill someone for just one extra minute in here with you. not entirely sure how he would be able to hold on until later.

you don’t reply with words, mashing your lips together one last time before someone hammers on the door, signalling that his seven minutes in actual heaven were over.

‘get out you horny fucks, i want a turn!’ steve jokes from the other side, making you spring apart before he comes crashing into the room.

you smile at him again, seemingly so innocent when he knows you’re anything but.

the bright light of the hallway makes him blink before you bound off back to whoever’s room you were playing him. leaving him with the worlds most awkward stiffy and absolutely no way to hide it from the prying eyes of the fellow players.

‘god damn munson, are you alright?’ steve laughs at his outwardly flustered appearance. eddie is so fucking grateful that the boy is too invested in getting his turn to pay full attention to the obvious tent in his jeans.

sliding into his spot, discreetly moving one of the cushions to his lap. he doesn’t give a shit about the game, too busy wondering just when later would be.

it goes on and on.

robin and nancy head off to the closet, receiving a few woos from the gaggle of people.

then it lands on argyle and jonathan, the larger man having to drag jonathan into the closet with an excited wiggle of his brows.

steve’s fuming at every turn that isn’t his, throwing his hands into the air when it lands on anyone other than him.

and then the bottle goes spinning again, stopping on you. eddie’s not sure if it’s jealousy that it could land on anybody else or desperate hope that it lands on him again.

it doesn’t, goes flying right past him and ends up stopping right in front of steve who jumps up, absolutely ecstatic that he finally gets to go into that damn closet.

eddie’s eyes meet yours, ducking his head slightly and hoping that the searing envy wasn’t so apparent on his features. you give him a little shrug and that same damning smile before getting off the floor.

‘c’mon then big boy,’ rolling your eyes as steve pulls you into the closet.

eddie’s seething with jealousy and he’s not even sure why. you weren’t his like, this wasn’t an exclusive contract that meant you could only play the game with him. near enough drawing blood as his teeth dig into his bottom lip. it’s the thought of it. of steve and his big hands and his exuding levels of confidence. infuriating him to no end.

‘you good bro?’ jonathan nudges his elbow, completely unaware that he had been glaring at the same stain on the carpet for what must have been minutes.

‘me? yeah.. i’m good,’ standing to grab himself another beer. thank fuck the boner had subsided. at one point he had seriously considered disappearing to the bathroom to relieve himself but a few thoughts of his sixth grade math teacher naked had killed it completely.

he pops the top off with his ring, taking a long hard swig of the beer, counting the seconds until you’d reappear from the hallway. this would be the perfect time to grow some goddamn balls and show you how he felt. he could slide right into the spot next to you, maybe even extend an arm around your shoulder. you know, really hammer it home.

‘it’s been seven minutes,’ he blurts out instead, appearing more as a jealous weirdo than the cool, outgoing guy he so wished to be. stupid. internally cussing himself out.

‘you were in there for eight minutes, dude,’ robin laughs, shoulders shaking at his eagerness. great, now everyone in the room knew he was a possessive, jealous freak.

‘hah.. yeah right,’ shuffling back to his spot with the worst attempt at playing at cool that he’d ever seen. swallowing the gigantic lump in his throat and watching the doorway like a fucking hawk.

‘seven minutes stevie.. that’s it,’ your voice echoes and you finally reappear, pulling at the strap of your shirt, readjusting it to its rightful position on your shoulder.

‘holy shit,’ steve remarks, his stupidly perfect hair all messed up, red cheeks to match. eddie longs to grab his collar and pummel his fist into his face. he doesn’t of course, that’d make him look really normal.

instead he chooses to read the label of the beer bottle rather intently, ignoring the feeling of your eyes boring into him. perhaps later would never arrive and he’d just have to move on with his life.

the party dies down and eventually the game gets abandoned, party goers slinking off home or to the bedrooms or as argyle had, passing out on the couch. now would be the perfect time to scarper off to his dorm, not like anyone would notice he was gone. you certainly wouldn’t. not with steve hanging around your feet like a lost puppy.

when the music cuts out, he knows it’s time to go. later was quite clearly not coming. and neither was he. well, he would. just when he got home.

‘well, i’m going to bed,’ you announce, pushing yourself from the couch, staring directly at him. is that a hint? is this later? god, he doesn’t know.

hesitating just a moment too long as steve interjects first, ‘me too.. you don’t mind if i crash here, do you?’

your eyebrows raise slightly, still staring him down. waiting for a response well, for anything from eddie.

‘i-i’ll take the couch, if that’s okay?’ thinking that maybe your lack of response was also a hint? it’s really not clear and he just wishes that you’d directly tell him what to do.

‘sure.. knock yourself out,’ you shrug, a tinge of disappointment in your voice. so it was a hint. you wanted eddie to volunteer to stay in your room, he gets it now! now that it’s way too late.

‘great! well, i guess we’re roomies,’ steve smirks, gazing over at you. disgustingly smug in the way his hand lingers on the small of your back. that should be him. if only he wasn’t such a bumbling idiot he might’ve been the one leading you up the stairs. fingers sprawled out on your back and a mischievous grin to match.

he takes his spot on the couch, shuffling out of the denim jacket that had clung to him all night. he’s sure he can hear a distant banging, some muffled moans and a squeaky mattress. or maybe it’s his subconscious playing cruel, horrid tricks on him. whatever it is, he hates that it’s got him excited. it’s incredibly disgusting and perverted but he can’t help it. he’d sported a slight chub for most of the night which was definitely not helping right now.

tossing on the uncomfortable couch until his head is buried in the cushion and he can’t hear it anymore. certainly rock solid as his eyes squeeze shut. oh fuck. the bathroom seemed like a perfectly valid idea now, that wasn’t weird right?

just before he can convince himself to get up and go the stairs creak and he can hear a soft padding of feet climbing down. freezing in his spot, hips pressed into the soft cushion so as to not give away his precarious position. it’s just someone getting water, at least he hopes.

‘are you a fuckin’ idiot?’ your voice whispers harshly from the doorway, muttering curses under your breath as you stumble across the room to the couch.

‘w-what?’ he speaks, turning his head but leaving his body flat against the back of the sofa. now he definitely didn’t want you to see that.

‘you were supposed to- fuck, where are you?’ groaning as your toe collides with the coffee table, still blindly feeling your way to the couch.

‘here,’ he calls, holding his arm out for you to find.

using his voice to finally find the stupid couch, fumbling around as your leg slings over his sideways turned thighs, ‘why are you lying like that? move,’ speaking in hushed voices, trying not to wake the gentle giant on the opposite sofa.

your bossiness certainly doesn’t make matters any better, his dick straining against the denim as he reshuffles, lying flat on his back. he’s grateful that you’d straddled his thighs and not his raging boner.

‘you were supposed to say that you were staying with me, you idiot,’ sitting tall atop his legs.

his hands are suspended in the air, hesitant to touch you. or touch the wrong part of you even. eddie’s brain reboots when you shuffle upwards, mouth running dry as the cogs turn ever so slowly to formulate a reply.

‘i- wha? i thought.. you and steve.. uh, in the closet?’ his eyes somewhat adjusting to the darkness, just about making out your figure and your furrowed brows. oh god it’s so hot- you’re so hot when you’re mad. his mind flashing back to that dingy closet and how fucking good your hand felt in his hair.

‘no,’ you grimace, ‘i don’t want to fuck steve, i want to fuck you.. are you stupid?’ coming to place your hands on his chest. sure that you could feel his heart pounding through his shirt. ‘he just touched my tits a little and besides, i hid in the bathroom until he passed out.. you are stupid.’

his mouth opens and subsequently shuts again without any words forming. there weren’t any. yes. yes he was stupid. quite clearly. most people probably would’ve gathered what was going on when you’d fondled his balls and very obviously stated that you wanted to fuck him later. well, eddie wasn’t most people.

‘you do?’ is all that he manages to squeeze out, sounding like a small child. eyes shining bright in the little light leaking through the curtains.

‘oh my god,’ you complain, leaning down to connect your lips, wanting to shut him up if nothing else.

even now, he’s still taken aback but he’s not completely brain dead yet as his hands find your hips. see? didn’t even need your guidance this time.

your hips grind down against his, pyjama shorts riding up as you move. eddie’s positively gutted that he can’t see them in this light, he knows they’re soft, can feel that at least. he’s more confident now, a new air about him that just wasn’t there mere hours ago. he thinks that maybe it’s because there isn’t a room full of his friends listening to your every move outside.

that or the sheer level of arousal coursing his veins.

but his tongue is the one to slip into your mouth, noting that you’d definitely brushed your teeth and he wished he’d done the same. your fingers walk the length of his chest, coming between your bodies to his belt buckle.

this is it. he’s going to lose his virginity. and to you no less. oh fuck.

you pull away, tapping on his chest with your other hand, ‘sit up,’ forefinger hooked into one of his belt loops.

he obliges immediately, shifting to sit back against the arm rest. making sure to hold onto your waist as he does. you feel so soft, his fingers melding into your skin perfectly. the cold metal of his rings leaving tiny indentations as his grip tightens. he’d do anything you asked him to, especially if you were poised above him like this.

your hand goes back to working his belt off, unbuttoning his jeans and working them down his thighs. brushing against his length with your fingers. he’s almost panting, head lolling back instinctively, stifling the ungodly moan that had found itself in the back of his throat.

‘look at me,’ you whisper, still tracing the veiny cock beneath you.

his head shoots up, looking back into your eyes. desperate to please you, abiding by any and all instructions that you barked just incase he fucked this up. he would have to pack his bags and flee the country if he did. not sure that he would be able to live with himself.

‘are you a virgin?’ you ask quietly and he feels his cheeks flush immediately.

was it that obvious? the fact that he’d popped a boner the second you’d kissed him was probably a dead giveaway, actually. you don’t seem to care.. he has no reason to lie. unless this is all one big prank and you’re actually about to climb off of him and start laughing.

it’s totally shameful but actually that’d probably still get him off.

‘yeah..’

you nod, taking your eyes off of his to look down at his cock. there’s a tiny wet patch which had actually most likely been there for hours when he thinks about it.

‘you want to, don’t you? we don’t have to.. could suck you off or something?’

‘n-no no, i want to.. trust me, i want to,’ sounding as desperate as humanly possible. over his dead body would he would fuck this up. now he’s not sure how long he’ll last but he’s sure it won’t be long.

‘okay.. good,’ you smirk, bringing the waistband of his boxers down. his cock springs up to his stomach and his eyes flit shut. was his dick small? is that something you cared about? he didn’t have much to go off here except from porn and even he knew that wasn’t exactly realistic.

he can hear you spit into your hand and he’s back to full attention, watching as it drops into your palm and trying his hardest not to cum right now. with your chin shining and your lips wet, it’s all too much.

and when your tender hand covered in your spit wraps around the base of his cock, he chokes on nothing. fingernails leaving crescent moon shapes in your hips, certain that he’s probably hurting you but unable to let go without busting a nut.

you pump your hand a few times, watching intently as he struggles to stay with it. it’s heaven. no no, it’s better than heaven. better than anything he’d ever experienced in his entire life. and the man had gotten creative with some of his masturbation sessions to say the least.

a snore rips through the room and it’s then that he’s reminded of the other man passed out on the other side of the room, ‘shit.. sh-should we carry on?’ nervously taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘just be quiet, he won’t wake up,’ ignoring the drunkard and continuing to pump your hand.

eddie’s unsure if it’s you or if he’s feeling things but he can feel a something wet on his thigh. not brave enough to take his hand down there to find out.

‘you sure you want to?’ leaving your hand at the base of his cock to move yourself upwards.

‘y-yes.. please,’ nodding like a maniac.

that’s all the confirmation you need to shift your shorts out of the way, sitting straighter on your knees and positioning his tip at your sopping entrance.

he’s not prepared one bit for how intense it feels. the sensation sends shockwaves through his entire body, sending his head spinning.

lowering yourself down onto him with a soft sigh, hands now finding his shoulders for leverage. eddie’s about to start levitating. you’re so warm, enveloping him inside just right. the second you move, he’ll probably start crying.

his eyes struggle to stay open, rolling to the back of his head. moaning far too loudly when your hips move forward causing your hand to clamp right over his mouth. as if that wouldn’t make him cum ten times faster.

‘shh,’ you hiss, working your hips at a steady rhythm. soft squeaks leaving your own mouth with every bounce but keeping your eyes steady on him. enjoying the sight of him coming completely undone underneath your body.

your hand leaves his shoulder for a second, manoeuvring his hand onto your chest, ‘touch me,’ mewling when he gets the gist and starts palming your tit. the feel of your hardened nipples underneath his palm only sending him hurtling faster towards his already fast approaching orgasm.

he’s one second away from blurting out that he’s in love with you. which he doesn’t think is far off of the truth to be honest.

you trust him enough to not start babbling and take your hand from his mouth, grabbing onto his shoulder again to quicken your pace. clit catching against the patch of pubes he wishes he had time to tame. it was driving him fucking insane, knowing that he was the reason you were panting and cursing under your breath.

there it is. that familiar sensation of something tightening in his stomach, except a hundred times more intense than anything he’d ever felt before. quickly shaking his head to give you some forewarning though it’s pretty useless.

‘f-fuck, oh fuck,’ lifting his hips from the couch to empty himself into you. eddie could’ve never imagined that this is what you would feel like. pure ecstasy vibrating through his limbs, spurts of white hot pleasure exploding behind his eyelids.

his thighs shaking as he collapses back into the couch, still mumbling a bunch of sorries as he attempts to float back down to planet earth. he’d lasted a measly few minutes and for that, he wanted to curl up and die. if it weren’t for the fact that you were so fucking sexy and so warm and so perfect- he probably would’ve lasted at least a couple minutes more.

eddie’s eyes stay closed as you climb off of him, readjusting your shorts as you settle on his thighs once again, ‘you back in the room yet?’ chuckling quickly, leering down at him.

a strangled laugh falls out of his lips, daring to look at you. ashamed even though he knows it’s not that bad. sure he’d lasted longer than at least one other person out there.

‘sorry.. i swear, gimme like.. like ten minutes..’ doing everything in his power to convince you not to leave. because truthfully if you stayed like this, he probably would be hard again in a matter of minutes.

‘hey.. it’s okay,’ you lean down, chest flat against his, ‘don’t worry ‘bout it,’ head perfectly tilted to gaze up into his eyes. maybe he wouldn’t need ten minutes at all. not with the way you’re looking at him like that, doe eyed and whispering sweet words of encouragement into his ear.

‘wanna.. uh,’ the words stick in his throat, ‘wanna get you off,’ blushing despite the fact his dick had literally just been buried inside of you. it’s ridiculous really.

‘you can.. don’t worry,’ pressing your lips to the stubble beneath his chin.

his cock twitches at the sensation and he truly realises how completely pathetic he was. fully at your mercy but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #stranger things x you #eddie munson fanfic

4K notes · View notes

kithtaehyung · 3 months

Text

broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) 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 | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time?

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware.

“Were they always on this team?”

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd.

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience.

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand.

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night.

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing.

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.”

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still…

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.”

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise.

“And you’re paying me double.”

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him.

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?”

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.”

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.”

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention.

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.”

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.”

You stare.

“This will be over soon.”

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet.

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!”

That was close. Way too close.

Get it together.

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs.

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy.

However.

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense.

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action.

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats.

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you.

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks,

“I need you all to calm down.”

“No can do, coach.”

“Not if they aren’t.”

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived?

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder.

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too.

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.”

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.”

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?”

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s.

And you don’t like it one bit.

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up.

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring.

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed.

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out.

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.”

“After what he did to you?”

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…”

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.”

“Yoongi.”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Please just—”

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back.

Only for him to be just out of reach.

After halftime, it’s a whole different game.

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill.

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead.

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on.

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck!

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning.

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench.

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger.

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands.

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win.

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate.

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change.

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive.

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight.

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees.

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy.

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder.

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you.

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if…

Nah.

That’s still too big a reach.

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night.

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!”

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight.

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on.

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?”

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.”

Motherfucker.

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?”

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.”

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night.

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain.

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky.

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?”

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod.

Weird.

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?”

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.”

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.”

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.”

“You’re whipped.”

“No, you.”

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat.

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some.

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do—

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake.

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud.

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!”

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.”

“No! What the fuck—”

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart.

“Babe, we have to go now.”

“No, let me go!”

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness.

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts.

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive.

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!”

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.”

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure.

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much.

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…”

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.”

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod.

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort.

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too.

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard.

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut.

You want to believe him. You do. You do.

But hope may be a bitch.

So you don’t.

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort.

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating.

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—”

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?”

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.”

Oh.

“Your brother’s here, too.”

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.”

“Umm.. Yeah.”

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.”

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—”

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes.

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.”

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up.

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?”

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.”

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.”

“Fuck that.”

“Huh?”

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.”

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.”

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.”

And you mean that.

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.”

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else.

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen.

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid.

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?”

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.”

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.”

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room,

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?”

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out,

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?”

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not.

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out.

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted.

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends.

So you leave to go pack without another word.

It’s raining.

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up.

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do.

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either.

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you.

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened.

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you?

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring.

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick.

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know.

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else.

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there.

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with.

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else.

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park.

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside.

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here.

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer.

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear.

Finally. “Hello.”

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside.

“You’re here?”

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell.

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame.

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—”

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go.

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.”

“No!”

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching,

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage.

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine.

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight.

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you.

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice,

“…No.”

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that.

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground.

And your breath cuts like it’s your last.

Shards.

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room.

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it.

Throw it out, all of it, all of it.

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is.

Shit, this is everywhere.

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts.

This really, really hurts.

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going.

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain.

“I got it.”

“Let me do it.”

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room.

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way.

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment.

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed.

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away.

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore.

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse.

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.”

“I still need to—”

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.”

“Do what? I’m helping you.”

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting.

But ice.

“Who said I needed it?”

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?”

“I say a lot of things.”

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder.

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.”

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?”

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.”

“Not tonight what.”

“We aren’t doing this tonight.”

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.”

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.”

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?”

“I am.”

“Wow.”

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?”

“Do you even know?”

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!”

“That’s cus—”

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.”

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…”

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then.

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.”

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.”

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.”

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock,

“Who asked you?”

Dark liquid drips onto your soul.

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.”

“That’s what I said.”

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare.

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time.

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center.

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming.

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—”

“Whoa, hold u—”

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—”

“Just listen—”

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—”

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming.

“I swear to—”

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders.

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?”

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again.

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now.

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass.

“He’s still home.”

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.”

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you.

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.”

Your eyes are ice.

“Are you.”

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside.

And Yoongi cracks like lightning.

“Goddamn it.”

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk.

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain.

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life.

“Stubborn.”

“Coward.”

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth,

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.”

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.”

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.”

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions.

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation.

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself.

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length.

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that.

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what.

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?”

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat.

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?”

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.”

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it.

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground.

“Holy fuck.”

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss.

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.”

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall.

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact.

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.”

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.”

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.”

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside.

And it’s maddening. “Please!”

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall.

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes.

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely.

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust.

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.”

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.”

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?”

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach.

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway.

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth.

“What was that?”

“I said fuck you!”

“Thought so.”

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.”

“Fuck—!”

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver.

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.”

“Asshole—”

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.”

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—”

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?”

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.”

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.”

“Make me. Bet you can’t.”

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.”

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear.

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.”

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that.

“Fuckin’ thought so.”

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure.

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down.

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension.

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.”

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!”

“What, doll.”

“Please!”

“Nah.”

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt.

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close.

Every. Single. Time.

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?”

“Please!”

“Mm. Not loud enough.”

“Yoongi, please.”

“Oh, we’re saying names now?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.”

“Do it yourself then.”

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat.

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…”

“Nah.”

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.”

“You’ll come when I say you can.”

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?”

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong.

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.”

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.”

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command,

“Then fucking come.”

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin.

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened.

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice.

“I said again.”

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone.

“Yoongi—”

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place.

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.”

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.”

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs.

“Babe.”

“I—I—”

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.”

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes…

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.”

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale.

“There you go. Keep going.”

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is.

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.”

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?”

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—”

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Babe.”

“You told me so many times—”

“Breathe, angel.”

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice.

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Just… Like this.”

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—”

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out.

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—”

“I’m here.”

“So please don’t push me away.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you don’t make promises but—”

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear.

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.”

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore.

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.”

“Hmm?”

“Shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on.

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside.

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?”

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.”

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap.

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off?

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.”

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—”

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those?

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release.

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too.

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever.

“You got hurt cus I said to play.”

“Nope.”

“I wore the outfit that day.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And lost my friends at the club.”

“No.”

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have,

“How about we share it.”

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.”

“Okay.”

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.”

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.”

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain.

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.”

“Duh.”

He’s himself again.

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too.

That’s all you both need to feel peace.

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head.

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed.

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head.

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—”

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.”

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…”

Scroll, scroll.

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?”

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again.

Scroll, scroll.

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.”

Time bursts.

Your chest glows.

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion.

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?”

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door.

His eyes.

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms.

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance.

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do.

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe?

No.

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters.

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.”

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—”

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you.

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue.

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you?

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man.

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything.

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.”

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.”

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.”

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself.

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.”

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall.

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides.

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts.

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.”

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.”

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—”

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes.

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?”

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.”

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?”

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.”

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.”

“I want what you want, doll.”

“Then it’s okay.”

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him.

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give.

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined.

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again.

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two.

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yoongi—”

“Fuck.”

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come.

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too.

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?”

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.”

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.”

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.”

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.”

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.”

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it.

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?”

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?”

Again.

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.”

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.”

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire.

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything.

“Taking me so well like this.”

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want.

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!”

“Uh uh.”

“Please—please—”

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful.

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion.

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists.

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut.

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles.

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.”

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down.

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel.

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.”

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?”

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised.

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.”

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper.

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.”

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.”

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.”

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.”

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas.

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you.

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world.

Swelling, you already feel close.

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble.

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi.

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again.

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep.

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again.

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again?

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times.

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins.

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence.

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found.

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning.

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.”

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.”

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest.

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out,

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.”

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer.

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet.

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough.

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.”

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.”

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?”

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you.

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.”

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?”

Oh. Wait. “What?”

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that.

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops.

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there.

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.”

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion,

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift.

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same.

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.”

“You did threaten to kick me out before.”

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.”

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!”

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.”

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.”

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.”

“Guess what.”

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again.

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours.

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many.

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home?

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?”

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.”

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet.

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.”

“I can!”

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.”

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin.

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony.

And it hurts. It really, really hurts.

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same.

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret.

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.”

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.”

Oh.

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking.

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?”

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself.

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.”

tbc. :)

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ 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

#AHHH it's finally here!#bts fic #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts fanfic #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #3tan12 #*latest

1K notes · View notes

asimpforyagami · 8 days

Text

🇸 🇮 🇹 🇴 🇳 🇮 🇹 !

BSD MEN REACTING TO YOU ASKING TO SIT ON THEIR FACE.

↷ A/N ─ i love writing these lmk if yall like reading these by liking :D

★ FT. ─ dazai , chuuya , ranpo , akutagawa , fyodor

!! TAGS ─ face-sitting, 69, cunnilingus

SMUT, 18+, MDNI

"can i sit on your face?"

ᴅᴀᴢᴀɪ.

yes yes and YES

you've never seen this man more excited

to think that you were the one who suggested it between you two!

we all know he's a freak

and a master pussy muncher

man's throbbing just hearing those 6 words from your mouth lmaoo

"Aw, would you look at that? This is the third time you've come, bella. Wanna squirt next?" he mocks from under you. "No complaints accepted. You were the one who suggested this."

ᴄʜᴜᴜʏᴀ.

chokes on his expensive ass wine (iconic)

turns his neck towards you so fast you think he might've snapped it

just stares at you flustered and blushing slightly

stares

still staring

YANKS you and THROWS you onto the bed. yea man, that's defo leaving marks. but its chuuya saurrr 🤷🏻‍♀️

"Guess you really aren't as innocent as I thought you were, eh?" he says teasingly. "My, my, you're on top, yet you're the one dumbfucked. And I haven't even started yet!"

ʀᴀɴᴘᴏ.

rolls his eyes LMFAO

him? abandoning his snacks?? as if

"what's in it for me huh?"

will only accept it if you agree to the 69 position so he gets something in return (man's a giver-taker)

eats you out and takes 2-3 second breaks in between for commentary to update you about how you taste and if it really was worth putting his candy stash down for you

"You think you're sweeter than my candies? Wanna bet?" he raises an eyebrow. "I mean, I already know the answer - you know, the greatest detective in the world and all that. But I'll give you a chance to prove yourself."

ᴀᴋᴜᴛᴀɢᴀᴡᴀ.

he will choke and die so WHY are you suggesting it /j

lets pretend for a moment that he WONT choke and die from the gorgeousness of your ass (love yourself !!)

he's a bit grossed out at the thought. just virgin things ig /j

if he somehow (and idk how) agrees, he'll grip your hips and place you down on his face gently like really really slowly

to the point where you grow impatient and shift so you can toy with his cock

and then that man just snaps and 🤭

"You like that? Is that right? You want more?" he glares at your pussy, heart nearly bursting out of his chest when he hears you pant 'Yes, yes, I love it.'

"Hm. I guess it's okay then."

ꜰʏᴏᴅᴏʀ.

DISGUSTED.

first off how tf is his tired ass anemic body supposed to hold your weight and not die

secondly you're messing with his religious faith!! stop trying to tempt him, satan!

you have to convince him. seduce him on the ultra pro iphone 15 max level.

will ask for a 69 position because ain't no way he's eating you out without getting a bj in return

"Really, now? You're forgetting your part of the deal?" he pats your ass impatiently, your body limp from pleasure and thus unable to give him head in the position. "I guess I'll have to do it myself then."

562 notes · View notes

chrisevansonly · 8 months

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

✯social media au

✯charles leclerc x female reader

✯charles has mega heart eyes for his girl

✯not requested, this is solely to comfort me a bit as my brother leaves in basically 48 hours, probably less now..i wanted to get something out not only for you guys but for me too so i don’t worry that i’m not doing enough, i hope you enjoy<3

yninstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, leclerc_pascale and 257,000 others

one hundred, thousand, million times yes🩷

tagged charles_leclerc

see 65,000 comments

username omg omg omg omg omg

username im so happy for them😭

francisca.cgomes congratulations beautiful!!🩷

>yninstagram thank you babe!! can’t wait to celebrate with you🥰

leclerc_pascale my angels, congratulations 😘

>yninstagram merci maman!!!❤️

username idk if i wanna sob or scream

charles_leclerc i love love love love love YOU😍

>yninstagram i love love love love love YOU char🥰

>arthur_leclerc you guys make me sick😃

charles_leclerc added to their story!

*comments disabled*

charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, yninstagram, apmmonaco and 876,000 others

shooting something fun today, thank you to my angel for taking the best photos of me❤️

tagged yninstagram

see 89,000 comments

username charles will do anything to squeeze y/n in a caption😂

username 👀👀👀

yninstagram when the model looks this handsome i can’t help it 😍😍😍

>charles_leclerc 😏😏😏😏

username all i see are constant heart eyes from charles LMFAO

carlossainz55 you know we could have figured out y/n took the photos mate….

>charles_leclerc why don’t you just mind your business 😁

>carlossainz55 no😁

username let this man be whipped in peace😭

yninstagram added to their story!

*comments disabled*

yninstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, lilyhme, charlotte2304 and 456,000 others

pasta + charles = happy y/n😌

tagged charles_leclerc

see 67,000 comments

username she’s so fucking stunning

username ok but that pasta looks so good🤤

lilyhme she is everything to me!!!

>yninstagram you are everything to me!!!

charles leclerc y/n + y/n = happy charles 😘

charles_leclerc my gorgeous girl i never get enough of you❤️

liked by yninstagram

leclerc_pascale ❤️❤️❤️❤️

liked by charles_leclerc and yninstagram

charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, yninstagram, scuderiaferrari and 1M others

happy birthday to the woman who makes my entire world go round, to the woman who brings out the best in me, who lifts me up and supports me no matter what and is my best friend. y/n there is no one else i want to do life with and have as my wife. je t’aime tellement mon cœur ❤️

tagged yninstagram

see 103,000 comments

username SHES STUNNING

username happy birthday y/n!!!

username WHEN IS IT MY TURN

yninstagram oh 🥹

yninstagram give me 5 minutes i’m currently sobbing i can’t

yninstagram char, je t’aime tellement aussi mon bébé ❤️❤️

liked by charles_leclerc

landonorris happy birthday y/n!!!

>yninstagram thank you lan!!

username she’s so fucking beautiful it hurts

francisca.cgomes happy birthday love🩷🩷

>yninstagram thank you baby🥰

yninstagram added to their story!

*comments disabled*

yninstagram

liked by carla.brocker, charles_leclerc, wagsofformula1 and 342,000 others

coffee dates with my love are my favourite, even if he has a really intense schedule and is away a lot, char never fails to make me a priority and keep our weekly dates happening🥰

tagged charles_leclerc

see 34,000 comments

username i wanna be her so bad

username wait why is this cute😭

username definition of if he wanted to, he would.

charles_leclerc id do anything to make you happy amour

charles_leclerc seeing you smile is worth more than anything

>yninstagram 🥹❤️

carla.brocker i cannot get over you😍😍

>yninstagram see you soon beautiful 😘

username Y/N PLS TELL ME YOUR SECRETS

yninstagram added to their story!

*comments disabled*

yninstagram

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 765,000 others

back at the track and back in the paddock for another exciting race weekend!! i wish you and your team the best of luck my love, i’ll be cheering the loudest!! forza ferrari!!❤️

tagged charles_leclerc

see 67,000 comments

username i need y/n’s skincare routine

carlossainz55 😁❤️

liked by yninstagram and charles_leclerc

username they are my parents

scuderiaferrari always a pleasure having you join us ❤️

liked by yninstagram

charles_leclerc i will race my hardest for you baby😘

charles_leclerc my beautiful beautiful girl

>yninstagram i love you sm char, you’ve got this🥰

username tbh sappy charles is my fav charles

arthur_leclerc i better see you cheering for me too😞

>yninstagram ALWAYS!! i’m almost at my spot to watch arth, you’ll do amazing!!🩷

username y/n also supporting arthur in F2 is what keeps me going 🥹

2K notes · View notes

auggieblogs · 6 months

Text

Cupids's chokehold | Oscar Piastri Instagram au

Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which Oscar's girlfriend is a rockstar and he (oscar) is our fav groupie?

a/n: Hiiii!!!! I hope everyone is having a good day/night. Felt like my blog needed an Oscar fic so, here it is. Happy reading, everyone:))

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

oscarpiastri

liked by pierregasly, landonorris and 789,161 others

oscarpiastri Take a look at my girlfriend, she's the only I got.

tagged yourusername

comments:

username our* girlfriend you mean?

username MOTHER

username Oscar y/n is for the girls and the gays🙏🏻

landonorris wbk, she's all you talk about

yourusername you sound jealous, Norris landonorris I AM

username i am sat

username the first picture❤️

yourusername AJHSJSKS OSCAR BABY ILYSM

*liked by oscarpiastri*

yourusername i mean lol simp

oscarpiastri ???? I love you too.

username jaws on the floor

username my bisexual awakening

mclaren the motorhome could use some tunes @yourusername

yourusername onw to austin rn🫡

username oscar is a groupie confirmed

username that's my wife you're talking about, Piastri

username NOT CUPID'S CHOKEHOLD I AM VIOLENTLY SOBBING

username cool gf 🤝🏻 vroom vroom bf

oscarpiastri word.

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 125,114 others

yourusername I love my boyfriend, tbf.

tagged oscarpiastri

comments:

f1 our favourite groupie, tbf.

landonorris mine is max, actually

maxverstappen1 you're my favourite too, lando😉

yourusername my lestappen heart is breaking

username come back home, y/n. the kids miss you

username WELL I LOVE YOU Y/N WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THAT?

username I love the rockstar gf and racer bf dynamics

oscarpiastri SJSHJSSKJS THAT'S ME I'M THE BF

oscarpiastri you're so pretty WHAT

oscarpiastri I love love love you

yourusername I love you too, angel❤️

*liked by oscarpiastri*

username pda? we've truly lost her y'all

username I am very normal about them. I am also a big fat liar.

username which guitar did you get?

yourusername the red one🥵

charles_leclerc Forza Ferrari?👀

yourusername I meannnnn

landonorris *gasp* traitor, i hope she's uninvited from the paddock

yourusername chill out lil bro

username she's hilarious😭😭😭

username I CANNTTT WITH HER LMFAO

alpinef1team we love your boyfriend too, big deal🙄

username admin you're on thin ice

username very "right where you left me" coded

yourusername I AM DECEASED

username love this comment section sm

oscarpiastri why is everyone calling me a groupie?

1K notes · View notes

zeltqz · 3 months

Text

it girl | sanzu h.

synopsis. you find sanzu after a fight at a party and end up introducing yourself and helping him patch up. turns out sanzu isn't as extroverted when it comes to speaking to girls, rindou finds out.

contains. smut, first time (sanzu's a virgin), nervous sanzu, bold reader, mentions of violence, busted lips, bruised knuckles, kantou!manji era, nude/explicit photos, oral (m), sanzu gets head for the first time, koko rindou and sanzu are best friends idc.

author's note. sanzu's so pretty but i just know that boy has never felt the touch of a woman, hence why i wrote this lmfao. call it a power move or whatever 🙄 (i wanna see more submissive sanzu honestly). fanart credits: caravaggist

“My head is fucking killing me,” Sanzu said with a pained groan. He began coughing until he started laughing, running purely on adrenaline. “I beat that fucker’s ass, didja see that?!”

“Shut up, stop being so loud.” Sanzu winced when Rindou smacked him upside the head. He looked down at his busted, bruised knuckles and cursed. “We’re so fucking dead.”

“Told you not to drink that much,” Koko sniped, gesturing with his chin over at Sanzu. “Got us into a goddamn fight.”

“Not my fault you guys are such wimps.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Koko doubled over to catch his breath, slumping against a car.

“Are you guys okay?” you called out, steadily approaching the three boys.

Your heart nearly stopped when they all turned to meet your eyes, but there was one you couldn’t take your eyes off of the most. He had green eyes and crazy pink hair tied up into a ponytail. You’d been eyeing him for the majority of the party, just small glances over at whichever end he was loudly talking at. The entire time you had been taking extra shots for courage to approach him but pussied out each time. When you were upstairs, there was loud shouting, chanting, and the sound of things breaking as a group of boys managed to get into a fight. You didn’t see the full thing, only coming down the stairs the exact moment you saw the three of them run outside, tearing down the street and around the block in record time. A quick scan of the party, you saw the pink haired guy was no longer there, so your feet went running before you could even think of what you were doing.

He was much prettier up close, an ethereal kind of beauty you rarely ever see. Not many people can rock long pink hair but he manages to make it work well.

You ran out, taking off after them. It was a miracle you found them, having guessed which direction they must’ve took off in.

“Who are you?” Kokonoi asked, looking strangely at you.

“I was at the party,” you gestured down the street, “and saw everything. Are you guys okay?” you repeated, walking a little closer to the group.

Kokonoi’s hostility dropped down a few notches and he nodded. Rindou shrugged and rolled his neck, trying to ease away the stiffness residing in his bones. Sanzu, on the other hand, just stared at you dumbfoundedly. He didn’t say a word, just stared at you with half wide eyes that only widened when you met his gaze. You held eye contact for a few seconds before looking down at his knuckles. Out of the three, Sanzu was probably the most roughed up, having done the most the entire fight and caught the most strays. His lip was busted and his knuckles were bruised.

“Oh that looks really bad. One second,” you said, pulling out a tissue from your pocket “Can I?” you asked, looking into his eyes. He doesn’t say yes or no, and Rindou isn’t even sure he’s breathing anymore. He doesn’t stop you as you hold his bruised hand and lift it up to your face for examination.

You placed the tissue onto his knuckles. “I’m sorry that happened by the way. I don’t know how it started but I’m sure you guys didn’t deserve it.”

Kokonoi snorted and Rindou elbows him roughly. “Eh it’s whatever. Bottom line is we won, so.”

“You guys shouldn’t be fighting like that though. Especially in public. The police got called and are probably on their way here.”

“Wait seriously?!” Kokonoi whipped his head up at you and you nodded. He cursed under his breath. “We better get going again. Don’t wanna have to get bailed out again.”

Again?

“True that,” Rindou agreed, dusting off his pants. His head was pounding and he might probably have a concussion, but all that didn’t matter to him. He just needed to get out of here. “Call Ran, he’ll come pick us up.”

“He’s gonna fucking kill us,” Kokonoi replied.

“Better him than Mikey.”

“But—”

You tuned out the rest of their conversation and continued dabbing Sanzu’s knuckles, who still hadn’t said a single word since you approached. You blinked up at him and removed the bag from his hand.

“Your lip is bleeding,” you announced, and he almost flinched away when your thumb rose to his lip. “Does it hurt?” He shook his head. “Can I put this on your lip?” You shook the tissue in your hand.

He nodded slowly and your smile nearly sent him straight to heaven. You pulled a water bottle from your purse and wet the tissue, pressing it on his lip and held onto his chin, tipping his head upright so you could see what you were doing better. Granted the tissue probably weren’t helping at all, but you had to work with what you had.

“This looks really painful,” you murmured, fixated on the damages done to his face. He has these two pairs of twin scars on both sides of his mouth that you think are so cute. Without thinking, you let your thumb trace the diamond outline gently. You pull the tissue away from his lip and pocket it. “Does your lip hurt?”

Sanzu shook his head and you smiled. “That’s good.”

Rindou looked over at Sanzu weirdly, wondering why the loudest person in the group was suddenly so quiet. He didn’t have time to explore that train of thought deeper because Kokonoi spoke up.

“Rin, Sanzu. Ran’s on his way now. Let’s go.” He pocketed his phone and turned to you. “Thanks for the warning about the cops by the way. Really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem.”

A black car pulled up to the curb and the window rolled down. “You three are so fucking dead,” Ran said exasperatedly.

“As long as Mikey doesn’t find out we’re goo—” Kokonoi’s relief came crumbling down as his biggest fear came to light. The passenger seat window rolled down and Mikey’s face came into view. He didn’t look mad, honestly he didn’t look like anything. Just emotionless, but that was enough to scare the absolute shit out of Koko. “Boss, we can explain—”

“Get in the car.”

Kokonoi swallowed but obliged, his feet dragging behind him as he walked around the car to get in.

You looked back over at Sanzu who’s eyes hadn't left yours. “Guess this is goodbye. I’m (Name) by the way. What’s yours?”

Whatever reaction anyone was expecting, it wasn’t for Sanzu to completely stammer over his words, forgetting who he was, or how to form a literate sentence. “Me name? Who is—I—what, huh?”

Rindou looked at him like he grew two heads, even Mikey raised a confused brow. You pressed your lips together in a thin line to stop yourself from laughing and Sanzu’s ears burnt with humiliation. Frankly he was mortified with those being the first words he’s said to you ever. Rindou thankfully saved him from more embarrassment by grabbing the back of his collar hard.

“His name is Sanzu by the way,” he told you before dragging him towards the car, kicking him into the backseat. The door slammed shut and you watched as Rindou entered the front next to his brother and then the car pulled off, recklessly rounding the corner.

You stayed there for a minute, blinking, then smiled giddily down at the floor before making your way back to your friends inside.

~*~

“Yeah they’ve definitely got a concussion,” the nurse said, snapping her gloves off. She stepped away from the three boys at the table and handed them each plastic cups of water. “Make sure you drink plenty of water and get plenty of rest.”

“Thanks doc.” Mikey wrote her a check and she nodded, thanking him before exiting the room. He looked at the three in them in disappointment. They each had an annoying habit of crashing random parties going on in the street and getting shit faced, then turning up to work and events hungover or too exhausted. Now they have hit the final nail in the coffin by getting in a physical altercation with strangers and the police are probably looking for their asses right now.

“I have nothing to say to you three. You heard the woman, get plenty of rest,” he scolded before leaving the room.

“Who wants to bet the medical bills are coming out of our paycheck?” Rindou asked, sliding off the table. He rubbed his head exhaustedly and yawned.

“I might just have a heart attack if I see that,” Kokonoi responded, shuddering.

“That girl…” Sanzu muttered under his breath, scratching his chin.

“What?”

“That girl,” he repeated louder as if he just came to a sudden realisation, “was a fucking angel!”

“Oh. Welcome back to earth Mr. Who me is name I what?” Rindou mocked, amusement written all over his face as Sanzu rolled his eyes.

Kokonoi laughed loudly. “Oh yeah! What the fuck was that all about?”

“Shut up,” Sanzu grumbled and closed his eyes, blocking their mockery out. He tried to picture your face again behind his closed lids but the concussion was slowly getting worse and your face was starting to fade from his memory. “I need to find this girl and redeem myself. What’s her name?” he said snipply, snapping his fingers at the two boys for them to hurry up.

“Stop being a weirdo. You probably blew your chances anyway,” Rindou stated.

“Nah uh! It wasn’t that bad!”

“Who me is name I what?” Kokonoi repeated and Sanzu groaned loudly.

“Keep making fun of me whatever! But when I find her and make her my future wife I don’t want to hear shit from any of you.”

“Wow,” Kokonoi fake gasped. “You can tell your future kids the story of how you met!”

“Future wife huh?” Rindou chuckled. “So we’re just skipping past girlfriend?”

“Gotta aim big.”

Kokonoi shook his head. “That girl wants nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah? Well why did she patch me up and not you two fucking idiots then? HUH?” Sanzu gestured to his busted lip. The two boys had nothing else to say and just rolled their eyes, muttering whatever under their breath. “Exactly, shut the fuck up.”

Sanzu traced his scars with his finger. He could still feel the gentle trail of your finger on his skin and closed his eyes once more, picturing you in front of him, staring up at him with such care in your eyes as you genuinely found yourself worried at his injuries. He looked down at his knuckles, still bruised, and pictured your hand in his. He regretted not saying more to you earlier, regretted not actually having a conversation with you and telling him his injuries looked worse than they actually felt.

Sanzu stood up and Rindou called out to him. “Oi. Where the hell are you going? We’re heading back to mines.”

“I’m going back to that party to redeem myself.”

“It’s been like an hour and it’s almost three am. She’s long gone. Let it go.”

Sanzu shook his head, condescendingly clicking his tongue in a way that ground Rindou’s gears. “Don’t be jealous Rin.”

“Jealous of?”

“I got a girl that wants me for me, not my dick.”

“That’s something only a virgin would say,” Kokonoi inputs, laughing when Sanzu instantly closes his mouth. “No way, are you actually a virgin?”

“No I’m not!”

“Yes you are!”

“I’m not!”

“Who’d you lose it to?”

Sanzu scoffs. “Like anyone remembers that,”

“Okay playboy.” Rindou laughs. “I remember mine.”

“So do I,” Kokonoi high fives Rindou. The two of them look at Sanzu. “Well? What’s her name?”

“I was high. Don’t remember,” Sanzu shrugs. Rindou looks over at Koko who both equally look unimpressed. “ANYWAY! It doesn’t matter because I’m going to find that girl and redeem myself tonight.”

Kakucho enters the room. “Find what girl?”

“Redeem yourself for what?” Kokonoi asks.

Rindou laughs even louder. “Redeem himself for “Oh friend who I am what?””

Sanzu’s ears burn when Koko joins in the laughter. “Alright so just forget my question. Cool,” Kakucho rolls his eyes.

“Sanzu got us into a fight tonight and some girl helped him with his busted lip and now he thinks he’s in love.”

“I don’t think—”

“We know,” Kokonoi interrupts.

Sanzu shoots him a glare. “If you’d let me finish,” he says snarkily. “I don’t think I'm in love. I know I am.”

“In love with a girl you don’t even know the name of?” Kakucho asks hesitantly. He should be used to this by now honestly, it's not the first time Sanzu got hyper fixated over something, except in this case it's someone. In actuality, he should be worried for this girl, knowing how obsessive Sanzu gets at times. Picturing the boy in a relationship was something Kakucho just could not do no matter how hard he tries.

“I’ll find her name. You forget who I am and what I do in this goddamn organisation?”

“Aside from dragging us to useless parties and getting us involved in unnecessary fights?” Rindou asked.

“You had fun tonight, stop acting like you hated it that bad,” Sanzu complained.

“What did this girl look like?” Kakucho asks.

Sanzu describes your appearance from your height all the way down to your eye colour, recounting to his friends every single detail he managed to observe about you the entire time he spent staring at you. They all looked at him with concern. Sanzu noticed their glare and shrugged. “What?”

“Surprised you didn’t count every single lash of hers honestly,” Kokonoi rubbed his forehead exhaustedly when his head pounded again. “This headache is killing me. Gonna head home.”

They all said goodbye and waited for him to leave the room.

“I think I know the girl,” Kakucho said, recounting the horrifying moment of Sanzu describing you in as much detail as possible.

“WHAT?!” Sanzu exclaimed far too loudly for his head and Rindou’s to handle, a sharp pain shooting their heads. “Ah fuck,” he groaned, rubbing his head.

“Are you serious?” Rindou asked, looking at Kakucho who nodded.

“Yeah. Someone like that lives on my floor. I see her leaving every morning.”

“To Kakucho’s we go!” Sanzu grinned, grabbing the younger boy's hand and dragging him outside. Rindou reluctantly follows behind them, wanting to see where this situation was heading.

Kakucho ended up being right, and when they entered the lobby of his apartment, they saw you collecting your mail. Sanzu’s feet felt frozen to the floor as he just stared at your side profile. He almost had a stroke when you turned to face in his direction, and he swore you were looking directly at him when you broke out into a smile, waving your hand.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while,” you said and Sanzu was confused. It’s only been a few hours, hasn’t it?

You were walking and he stood up a little straight when it looked like you were heading towards his direction, only for his heart to do a complete 360 when you hugged Kakucho instead. It wasn’t an affectionate hug, both your hands barely lingered on each other’s body, just an awkward side hug that lasted barely 2 seconds.

“Yeah, you know. I’ve been busy with work and stuff.”

“Ah cool cool. I’ve been collecting your mail though.” You handed him his mail. He thanked you and held them under his arm.

You looked at two boys next to them and then gasped. “Oh its you!” You pointed between Sanzu and Rindou, who only nodded, asking how you’ve been. Sanzu was frozen again as you and Rindou gave each other basic small talk, only breaking out of his stupor when Rindou elbowed him hard in the stomach.

You bit down a laugh when you saw Sanzu clutch onto his stomach in pain. “Oh my god, are you alright?” Sanzu could hear the laugh in your voice, but didn’t feel offended the slightest.

“I’m good, yeah. Just distracted.”

“Oh. Am I boring you?”

He was too scared of the fact you thought that about him to notice the playful hint in your voice. “No! Not at all. I just have a concussion that's all.”

“No way. Does it hurt? Are you okay?” You hesitantly lift your hand up and press it on his forehead which is burning up. “You need to get some sleep right now.”

“It’s too late to drive right now.” Kakucho says. “You two can just sleep at mine.”

“Only if I get your bed,” Sanzu adds.

“Fuck that. Sleep on the couch.”

“But I’m concussed.”

“And who’s goddamn fault is that?”

Sanzu rolled his eyes. Kakucho sighed. “Fine. You can get the bed.”

“Let’s fucking go,” Sanzu grinned and started heading towards the elevator. The other two boys followed them and Kakucho looked behind at you.

“You coming?”

Sanzu pressed the button and turned to look at you and Kakucho as you shook your head. “No, I'm heading back out.”

“Right now?” Kakucho says and looks at his watch, “It’s almost 4 am?”

“I know,” you sigh exhaustedly. “My friend, well kinda friend, I guess wants me to come to his house. Just got his text a few minutes ago.”

“At this hour?” Kaku says sceptically.

“So a booty call?” Rindou says and gets elbowed by Kakucho, telling him to mind his business.

You laugh. “I guess if that's what you want to call it. I don’t sleep with him, he just uses me to impress his friends it feels like.” Your eyes slide over to Sanzu who has a scowl on his face and looks away almost immediately after you make eye contact. “I don’t wanna do it but he scares me so I feel like I have to.”

“What’s his name?” Kakucho asks.

“Why? You gonna hurt him?” you ask back. Though you and Kakucho are only neighbours at best, you’re well aware of what he does and his reputation around town. The Brawler is his nickname, or was, back when he was in Tenjiku. But you didn’t know what his role or job entailed, all you knew he was in some shady shit and you wanted no part of it.

“Depends if I know the guy or not.”

You roll your eyes. “His name is Osanai.”

“Wait a minute,” Rindou says, “Is he tall? Smokes all the time, blonde hair? Kinda tan?”

“Yeah…” you say slowly, sceptically, “how’d you know?”

“We’ve actually been kinda looking for that guy. Mikey wanted to see him, didn't he?” Rindou asks Kakucho who shrugs and points over to Sanzu who’s been awfully quiet the entire time. “Didn’t he?” Rindou asks Sanzu again.

“Oh. Yes he has.” He looks up and meets your gaze one more time before looking away.

“Where’s he at?” Rindou asks, approaching you.

“I dunno probably his house?”

“Okay but where genius.”

You give him Osanai’s address and he starts heading outside. “Wait! Don’t kill him or something.”

“Why do you care what we do? Doesn’t he scare you?”

“I mean yes but that doesnt mean I want him dead…”

Kakucho sighs. “Sanzu wait here with (y/n), me and Rindou will sort this out.”

Sanzu instantly looks at Kakucho. “Wait—”

“Just do it,” Rindou snickers before the two of them leave. Sanzu watches them go with a betrayed look on his face, already thinking of 101 different ways to kill Rindou once he got back home. You look up at Sanzu and smile at him.

“So…you can go home if you want. I don't need a babysitter.”

“No it's fine I'll uh wait here.”

“We can go back to mine?” you ask a little hopeful.

Sanzu opens his mouth to speak but the words can't seem to come out. He resorts to nodding and you smile, taking his hand in yours and walking up to your apartment.

~*~

Three hours in and you’ve been binging shitty movies together, laughing at the bad plot and horribly written characters. When you first saw Sanzu at the party, he was outgoing and the life of the room honestly. Maybe your opinion is a bit biased because you were focused on nothing but him, but he had this energy that attracted you to him. Now, in front of you, he’s nothing like he was a few hours ago, he seems shy and reserved, keeping to himself but he’s still funny and cracks a few jokes that make you cackle every now and then.

“Wait you got a little, i’ll get it for you,” you say, cupping his chin and turning his face to you. He watches you with wide eyes as your thumb comes up to his lip and wipes some tomato sauce off. you make continuous eye contact with him as you bring your thumb to your mouth and lick the sauce off the tip. Then, you almost give the guy a heart attack when you go back in with your wet thumb and wipe the remnants of the sauce on the corner of his mouth.

His pizza flops in his hand and something else rises in his pants as you pull back, sitting reasonably closer than you did before, resting your head on his shoulder, continuing to watch the movie. It’s hard for him to even focus on the TV with you sitting this close to him right now. He can smell your shampoo, your perfume, can feel your body heat warming him up and he’s actually going to pass out if you continue clinging to his arm like that. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat a little, hoping his boner goes down and praying you don’t see it.

Just to be on the safe side, he nonchalantly grabs a couch cushion and places it on his lap, claiming he's cold. You don’t buy it one bit but only smirk at the hidden implications. You let out a fake yawn and shift even closer to him, bringing your feet onto the couch, shifting into a lying position.

You look up at Sanzu and smile slightly. “Is this okay with you?” you ask, batting your eyes at him.

“Y-yea. It's fine. cool.” He swallows thickly and turns to look back at the TV.

The cushion gets in the way and you click your tongue, sitting upright and almost bashing him in the jaw with your head. You toss the cushion away and Sanzu's about to protest before you lay back down, your head only inches away from his crotch. His erection was going down slowly but now it might as well sprung back up.

“Oh wait a second,” you said, sitting upright and Sanzu almost panicked when you pointed down at his crotch. “You okay?”

“I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it's fine,” you laugh. “These things are uncontrollable, I know.” Sanzu sighs in relief. “Do you need any help?” you ask and he blinks at you.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” you clear your throat. “That was a dumb question.”

“No wait!” he says abruptly, making you jump. “I mean, yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Really?” you perk up a little.

“Yeah I guess.”

You move to sit next to him, your head only inches away from his. “This is gonna sound a bit creepy but,” your eyes drop to his lips, “I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you say absentmindedly, distracted as you ran your finger over his scars. “Thought you were so pretty.”

“Pretty…?”

“Yeah, you’re really pretty Sanzu.”

He bites his lip, fighting the urge to look away from your intense eyes in the dark. You’re leaning in closer and his eyes close and then he feels your lips pressing against his. It starts off with short pecks that linger a little too long before you're actively moving your lips against his. Your hand cups his face and you pull him closer, sucking on his lips and entering your tongue into his mouth. He moans softly when your fingers find their way to his hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

You pull away and plaster kisses to his neck, gently pushing him down onto the couch, your body basically straddling him as you kiss down his throat.

His body feels hot and he can't focus anywhere but your lips going down his body. Your fingers grab the seam of his shirt and your lips tickle against his skin as you mutter, “Take this off.”

He obediently does as he’s told and lifts his arms up as you help him remove the shirt. You toss it on the other couch and sit upright to examine his chest. His abs were faint but visibly and you bit your lip, running your finger along his chest.

He stares up at you as you look distracted at the sight of his bare chest. You make eye contact and smirk a little before lifting your shirt up and over your head. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in your bra. You go back down and kiss down his stomach, fingers moving to unzip his jeans and pull them down.

“Wait wait wait!” You freeze and look up at the boy in front of you, tilting your head in confusion. He swallows thickly. “I haven't…done this before.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”

“Shocking, I know.”

“Oh. It really is. I thought girls would be all over a guy like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said before, you’re really pretty Sanzu.” He instantly looks away and you laugh. “You’re shyer than I expected Sanzu. At the party you were really loud and stuff, I didn't expect this. It’s cute.”

“I’m not shy.”

“You said less than 100 words to me tonight and we’ve been hanging out for almost four hours.”

“...”

You laugh and sit upright, leaning back in to kiss him. “Do you still want me to…” Your fingers trail down his body, rubbing the outline of his cock in his briefs.

“If you want to.”

“I obviously do, that's why I'm asking you.”

“Sure then.”

You give him one last kiss before settling back between his lips. His cock has never felt more sensitive than in this moment when your fingers wrap around his cock, pulling it free from his boxers. It stands tall against your face and you lick the tip, not ceasing eye contact. He feels obligated to watch you suck his cock and desperately wants to look away because he knows he will bust in less than ten seconds if you keep staring at him like that.

You take him in your mouth and he moans so loudly, the sound soft and heavenly. You smile around him and begin to suction your cheeks as you take him lower. Your tongue swirled around his shaft every time you bobbed. He was throbbing inside you, your heavy eye contact and warm mouth making him grow harder.

He finally broke the eye contact to throw his head back, a long groan of “fuccccckkkkkkk,” leaving his mouth as he placed his hand on your head, bobbing you up and down. You moaned when his hips bucked up into you.

You pull off his cock and jerk him off, his words dying in his throat when he feels your tongue lick his balls, sucking gently on them.

He sits up and holds the back of your head, his fingers digging into your scalp as he pants heavily. Your eyes squeeze shut as you focus on pleasuring him, putting your mouth back onto his cock and taking him deeper than you did before, your fingers gently massaging his balls.

“I’m gonna—fuck, i’m coming,” he groans and without warning holds the back of your head, pressing you down and came inside your throat.

Honestly you were shocked he lasted this long. Your body felt so warm and hot hearing his pretty moans, and the sight of him with his mouth open, head thrown back was something you’d never forget. His grip on your head ceased and you pulled off his cock, eyes teary and watery and mouth full of cum.

“Oh shit,” he mutters, watching you take a minute before swallowing. His dick twitches again. Without thinking, his thumb comes up to the corner of your lip and wipes a stray drop of cum. Before he can remove his thumb, your head turns and you suck the tip of it. “You’re actually trying to kill me, aren’t you,” he groans and you giggle around his thumb.

“Are you a virgin too if you’d never gotten head before?”

He nods shamefully and you can’t help but kiss him again. “Want me to take it?” you ask, forehead resting against his.

He blinks at you before not-so-subtly dropping his eyes down to your cleavage. “yeah.”

You grin and push him back down onto his back, slipping off the couch. He watches you strip down naked, your bra and panties are tossed to the opposite couch. Thanks to the help of the tv, your body is still a shadow but the outline of your body makes him instantly hard again. You climb back on top of him.

His hands migrate to your hips, and with absolutely zero confidence with what he’s doing, his hand slides towards your clit and you gasp when his thumb snakes its way to your folds. “You’re really wet.”

You squirm, slightly embarrassed but bite your lip, amusement in your voice as you say, “Yeah…that’s supposed to happen.”

“I know that,” he grumbles, still rubbing your clit in circles, wetting his fingers with your arousal. “I’m not an idiot.”

He pulls his hand away and you grab his wrist, guiding his finger into his mouth, watching him suck your juices off his fingers. “God that’s hot,” you pull his fingers out and lean back down to kiss him.

“I'm going to get condoms,” you say against his lips before pulling away. He nods and watches you head down the hallway when his phone buzzes.

rindou: we found osanai so we’re heading back right now

sanzu: hell no just go home

rindou: ???? walk home then tf

sanzu: don't think that's an issue honestly think i might be sleeping over if you know what i mean ;)

rindou: what? you’re getting laid? YEAH RIGHT

sanzu: IM NOT LYING

rindou: i never once ever in my entire life found you funny but you’re telling some good jokes right now

sanzu: 1) im always funny, 2) im serious. i would send you proof but then you’d see my dick and thats gross

rindou: would rather bleach my eyeballs honestly. you could barely look this girl in the eye and you really expect me to believe you’re fucking her?

“I’m back!” you call out making sanzu jump. “What’re you doing on your phone?” you ask, snatching it from his hands and reading the messages.

It’s a miracle it’s dark right now because Sanzu doesn’t know what he’ll do if you saw him blushing from embarrassment right now.

“He’s fucking rude. Why doesn’t he believe you?” you huff, handing him his phone back before your face lights up. “Wanna show him?”

“Show him what…” He hopes you’re not heading in the direction you’re so obviously going.

“You know what I mean, c’mere.” You sit back against the couch and pull up the camera app on his phone. You hold the phone out in front of you, “Stick your tongue out.”

He does so and you stick yours out also, just barely grazing his as you snap a bunch of pictures. You take a couple more in different poses, putting your lips in a kissy face and kissing his cheek, his lips and resting your forehead against his as you smile at the camera.

You sit upright and scroll through the photos, smiling at each of them. “Send these to me after yeah.” You toss the phone behind you and rip open the condom. You reach behind you and slip it easily down his shaft before aligning it with your pussy. “Ready?”

“Yeah…” The tip nudges your clit before slipping inside, warm heat instantly engulfing the tip of his cock and his mouth falls open, panting breathily as you continue sinking downwards, watching the pleasured look on your face as your pussy squelches trying to accommodate his entire length.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, fixing your hands onto his chest for support. You bounce experimentally, ripping another moan from your throat it sinks you a little lower.

“Shit, shit—wait,” He digs his nails into the fat of your ass cushioned against his thighs.

“Sanzu,” you moan, collapsing down onto his chest, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He can hear your breathy pants beside his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“You feel so fucking good,” He huffs against your ear and you sit upright, pushing your arms behind you to his knees and start swiveling your hips in circles that turn to full on bouncing on his cock.

His eyes are focused on your tits that swing in motion with your movements and he can’t help but lift you up and down on his cock. “Fuck,” He gropes and squeezes your cheeks as you whimper, clenching around his cock with every bounce.

“Touch me please,” you whimper, looking down at him, grabbing one of his hands and bringing them up to your tits. He squeezes it and runs his thumb along your nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through your body, giving you more motivation to continue bouncing.

“Wait, slow down— oh fuck.” His body was tense, and you were sure he was leaving fingernail shaped dent marks on your hip with how tight his grip was. His cock felt so good, having a slight tilt to it that hit that spot no other guy had been able to reach. You couldn’t stop bouncing, his words falling on deaf ears.

“Wait wait wait stop,” he gasped, his grip getting tighter, bringing you to a stop. Wasting no time, you lean back down and begin kissing along his jaw as he catches his breath, impatiently wiggling your hips just to feel something. “I just came,” he admitted.

You froze and shot up, looking down at him. “For real?” he nodded, wiping a shameful hand over his face. “That's so cute,” you giggle and kiss him.

You lifted yourself up and off his cock and laid down on top of him. “Did you like it?” you ask, tracing your finger along his chest.

“Yeah, it felt so good.”

“Yay,” you smiled bashfully.

“You didn’t finish though.”

“Eh it's not a big deal. I wanted to make you feel good.”

“Still though…” he mutters, pouting at the fact he didn’t make you feel as good as he felt.

His phone buzzed and he sat upright to grab it.

rindou: having fun loverboy??? u busy humping her pillow to text me back? asshole

Sanzu scoffs and you lean your head against his shoulder and read the messages. “Send him the photos.”

He turns to look at you, your lips almost brushing against his in the process. “You sure? You’re kinda naked in them.”

“I don't really care. It’s just a boob. You can crop it out if you’re that worried.”

“Okay…” He crops your chest out of the photo and stares down at the photos once more. He's never deleting these. He sends three different photos to Rindou, not even bothering to caption them and turns his phone off, waiting for his response.

“Oh wait! Gimme your phone!” You hold your hand out as he hands it to you.

“What’re you doing?”

“Adding my number,” you hum and add your number to his contacts, adding a heart after his name. You’re never usually this forward, but you knew you wanted Sanzu from the moment you saw him, and you weren’t going to let him slip away. “Call me when you get home. okay?” Your forehead brushes against his and your eyes dart down to his lips, fighting the urge to kiss them.

“Okay.”

You give into temptation and kiss him slowly. Your thumbs traced along his jawline as you hum, almost lazily enticing your tongue with his. His hands ran teasingly along your body, cupping your ass and pulling you back on top of him.

The doorbell rang and you sat upright, cursing under your breath. “I’ll get it.” You press one more kiss to his lips and slip off the couch to re-dress. Your shirt was backwards and your pants were inside out, but you didn’t care as you answered the door with a cheery, “yes?”

Kakucho rubbed his forehead with a world heavy sigh and you instantly felt all colour drain from your face. He was with Rindou and probably saw the photos. “How can I help you Kaku?”

“Just…just tell Sanzu to come on, let’s go.”

Sanzu appears behind you,redressed, and gives you a hug goodbye, his arms lingering around your form for much longer than Kakucho considered friendly. You pull away and whisper in his ear for him to call you when he gets home. He nods and you plant another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Sanzu is about to deepen the kiss before Kakucho grabs him by the back of his shirt and tugs him out of your apartment.

#sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokrev x reader #tokrev #sanzu smut #tokyorev smut

1K notes · View notes

hecateslore · 2 months

Text

💌

Supervisor!Simon

cringed a bit writing this.

“The job’s all yours. You just have to say when.”

“Why’re you being nice?” you ask, “not this again.” he rubs his eyes. You narrow your eyes, “Seriously Simon,” he chuckles, “Seriously Simon’s a good one,” he jokes.

“I’m serious about what I said.” you cross your arms, “So you’re coming back.” he shrugs with open hands, “no,” you draw out the word, squinting your eyes, earning an eye roll from simon, “So are we done here?” he claps his hands together. You think for a moment, this would be a good time to bargain for a higher pay, better schedule and maybe a shorter lunch with more breaks.

Simon sat across you with his hands crossed. “You know, I knew you were gonna do this” you admit looking at the man before you. SImon says nothing, looking at you, waiting for you to continue. “I need a better job,” you continue, “that, I know. You were mean and you made me hate coming to work every single day.”

“I know, That’s why you’re here. Because I’m sorry. Truly sorry.” Simon’s heart aches at your statement, concern and regret on his face. “Why? What made you start hating me?” You wish you could pick apart his mind, why was he so hot and cold, why’d he decide to pick and nag on you. You had him right where you wanted him. “I don’t hate you.” he says softly, “I just had expectations of you, and I thought you were aware of them.” he explains. “So you punished me?”

“Maybe, I don't know.” he says uncertainly, “Is that what it felt like? Punishment?” You nod, “Maybe worse.” He only frowns (god i’m horny.), “I’m sorry.”

“Say something else.” you say tired of his apology, “Let me hire you, I promise to be better,” he pauses, “I’ll even let you wear your headphones.” He smiles softly. You look at him, and see the way his dimple shows, even sometimes when he would purse his lips it would show. He looked handsome today, and every other day.

Even when he was annoyed or being a dick. He’s a dick. And now he wants you back.

Maybe you could arrange something. Maybe you could come back until you find something better, maybe you could go back to school. They have that one schooling program here.”you’ll drop your weird expectations?” you raise your brow, “all of them.” he sticks his hand out, you only look at it. “No more yelling?” you push even further, “can’t promise I won’t yell at anyone else.” You bite back a grin at his stupid responses.

You shake his hand, it’s firm and warm. It’s large and his fingers are long and thick. You let out a sigh. “If I do this you have to do something for me,” he declares, “ we start at zero, as if we never knew each other.”

“I never knew you.” You shake once more.

You sign a couple of pieces of paper saying you’ll never quit abruptly again, and to give a warning. You were officially hired, again. Now you have to call your other boss and let her know you’re never coming in again. And when you do all you get is a “Figures” (she gagged you a bit lmfao).

You felt bad, some teenager probably needed that job and you got it and dicked off.

You and Johnny have lunch together at the cafe in the strip, “So you’re back now?” his eyes light up, “Mhm” you hum taking a sip of your drink. “He’s being nice,” you muse and Johnny raises his eyebrows. “That’s weird. Why’s he nice all of sudden?”

“Well, he called me on thursday.” you say. “Why on thursday?” he cocks a brow. “He asked if I was still coming today, And we had a conversation, it was productive for the most part.” Johnny nods surprised, “He called me into his office on thursday.” you furrow your brows, “For what?” he takes a sip from his drink, “Talking to you,” he shrugs. “He said if I did it again he was gonna fire me.”

“He told me he wouldn’t fire you?” you say confused, “He said you were his friend?” Johnny only sighs, “You can’t believe everything Simon says.” he mentions. You nod and brush the thought off. “So you two aren’t friends?” you question, “We just know each other, but we’re not close anymore.”

Monday you walk into the office, back in your regular apparel, no apron, no black jeans and no polo shirt. You felt back to yourself. You left your belongings in Simon's room for the weekend saying you’ll set them up on Monday, which is the first thing to do on your list this morning.

Saying hello to Linda, you go back and forth talking about what you got up to this weekend, she asked a couple of questions about why you quit the first time, which you tried your best to avoid answering, saying things like, “personal stuff.” or “It was just an irrational decision.” . Which eventually got her off your back .

Simon came in sort of late, wearing a hoodie over his work clothes, the shoulders covered in droplets of water. “Is it raining out?” you ask immediately, “Well Good Morning” he chuckles. “Morning, but it’s raining out?”

“Yes it’s raining," he says, pulling the hoodie over his head. “Why’re you standing out here?” Simon wonders, “My stuffs in there” you point to his office door. “Ah.” he nods, “Forgot about that.”

It was nice speaking to Simon cordially, he’s kind of polite. When he wants to be. But besides that, he’s quiet, and also very pretty. “Still on my desk.” he says quietly, while throwing his coat on the empty chair. You give a polite grin and go to set your desk up once again. Putting new photos in your old frames, color coding your pens. You bought some new things for your desk at the discount store. Throwing the old decorations out along with their bad energy, so you believed.

You get two taps on your desk looking up to see Johnny's blue eyes staring right into your eyes, “Hello” you say with a smile, “Want to grab some breakfast?” he asks and you frown playfully, “I brought some.” you reply.

“Who brings breakfast?” he jokes, “Me” You say with fake sadness, “Guess i'll buy something from the vending machine,” He shrugs. “I’ll go with you. I need a drink.” you get up from your chair following him to the break room.

Simon walks out of his office, taking note of your absence. Johnny’s stuff was on your desk, his phone and bag. He held his eye roll back. Simon had his mug in hand and a packet of tea. Walking to the break room he could hear you laughing at whatever Johnny was saying. It was loud, like he’d said something really funny, Johnny wasn’t funny. He’s attractive, you can’t have it all (supervisor!simons words not mine js).

“Simon you have to hear this,” you say in between laughs, Johnny and Simon eye each other, “It’s nothing,” Johnny says, your laughter dies down, “No it is, he’ll laugh,” you say placing your hand on Johnny's forearm. Simon looks at the friendly touch, maybe you did like him more than he thought.

Nah, he was just jumping to conclusions.

“I’m sure it’s hilarious!” Simon says and looks at Johnny, “It’s dumb.” Johnny waves it off. “Oh c’mon, you’ll laugh right Simon?” You urge and Simon picks up on Johnny’s discomfort, “If it’s funny.” Simon emphasizes the ‘if’. “I forgot it already,” he waves, you roll your eyes and Simon almost screams out of excitement, you’re finally seeing Johnny for the loser that he is. “He was just telling me some story about how he fell out of a helicopter and he was swinging upside down.” you sigh from the laughter,

“That wasn’t you.” Simon points out, “That was Kyle.” Confusion on Simon's face. “ I would remember if I was thrown out of a plane.” Johnny chuckles, “Yeah but the helicopter was going down, and there was no throw, “you” fell. ” You look at Simon, “You were there?” He shakes his head no, “We worked together, you were with me, in Mexico.”

“It was a different time.” Simon looked around the room, “Okay, johnny.” he raises his brows.

You stood next to them, Snapple in hand, chewing the inside of your cheek. Trying not to die from secondhand embarrassment. “You get everything?” you ask. Johnny nods and you both walk back to your desks, “I hope you know I flew out of a plane. Simon just likes to show off.”

“I know.” you try your best to reassure him, You go back to your seat quickly and start clocking in . You hear footsteps near your desk and look up. Simon stood with his cup of tea, “I was actually a machine gun back in the day.” Simon winks at you and walks into his office with his head back cackling to himself.

You peer over your shoulder and see a very annoyed Johnny behind his screen. You do your best not to bust out laughing from the stupid joke Simon made. Closing your eyes trying to contain yourself.

Lunch time comes around and you plan on going to the supermarket. By yourself this time, no Simon, No Johnny, just you. How it was before. Johnny walks past your desk, “Taking lunch already?” he asks a stack of papers fresh off the printer, “Yeah.” You nod. “Want some company?”

“No thanks, I think I’m gonna head out alone.” you grin politely. “Is it the helicopter thing?” he exasperates, “No, no,” you wave,”I just want to make a quick trip.” you assure him. He sighs and pats you softly with the paper, and you watch him walk back to his desk, the stupid machine gun comment still in mind you can’t help but to chuckle to yourself.

You walk to the supermarket alone, with one headphone in, thinking of buying an umbrella. The rain had stopped a couple of minutes before you walked out of the building. You wouldn’t want to be caught in it walking back or later when you have to walk to the parking lot.

In the store you say hello to your old coworkers for all of two minutes, and head to the back to get your sandwich. Passing the aisle full of herbs and tea, Simons stood in the aisle looking at two different boxes, one that was on sale and the other that he regularly got. He saw you stride past the aisle in your own little world. He noticed that your pet (Johnny) wasn’t following behind you; he couldn't help but smirk. So he followed you quietly and waited until you were done ordering to approach.

“Boo!” You flinch at his voice turning around sharply and there Simon was, having a loud ass laugh at your reaction. “Jesus christ..” you put a hand on your heart as his laughter dies down. “You scare easily?” he asks casually, and you give him a “are you deadass?” look. A loud chuckle comes from him.

“What are you doing here?” you ask and he holds up the two boxes of tea. “I like that one.” you point at his regular and he lifts his brows, “me too.” he nods, “you drink a lot of tea?” you shake your head no, “not as much as I would like to.” you add.

“Johnny didn’t come with you?” he looks around, acting oblivious. “No, just wanted to be alone.” you shrug. “You want me to go?” he asks, hoping you don’t answer. “You’re fine.”

“Was it all the helicopter talk?” he chuckles and you let out a laugh, a genuine one. “No, he’s just been hovering a bit.” you clear your throat. “That’s a bad thing?” the older man lifts your sandwich at you and you take it, saying a small thank you. “It’s not bad, but we’ve been talking almost every day.” Simon makes a face of fake shock, Johnny’s a kiss ass, he knows this. “That’s Johnny, alright.” he lets out a breath.

“What do you mean?” you ask while looking at the small selection of umbrellas. “He’s just a little odd.” he says reading the label on the back of his box of tea. “Is this the pot calling the kettle black?” you raise a brow, Simon playfully rolls his eyes, “I can admit to my… unique traits.” Now it was your turn to chuckle. “Johnny’s just a weirdo.” he puts the half price tea box down in the canned goods aisle. “He says the same about you, you know.” You both walk to self check out.

“Oh really, you guys talk about me?” he teases, a playful smirk on his face. “We have conversations.” you hint.

“I’m very fond of these conversations.” he winks .

#supervisor!simon #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley imagine #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #ghost fanfiction #cod

424 notes · View notes

kuromiiyuuu · 3 months

Text

"say it, you love me." genshin impact.

-genshin men with a shy but clingy reader.

thoma, wriothesley, and zhongli. (f)

warnings, genre. none! | fluff fluff fluff! |

notes. a request from anon, this was so fun to write. and i got carried away on the zhongli part huhu, not proofread as usual. also i wrote this in class lmfao.

Thoma.

•this cutie pie is like those service dogs that guide you around.

•he's so caring istg, my heart just melts thinking about him talking to you whilst you just figure out the words to reply and your cheeks warming up, he'd just hit you with the, "don't be shy, baby."

•he knows your capacity when it comes to talking and holding a conversation, he knows you like the back of his hand.

•and since you're more on the shy side, he talks for you like; "oh she doesn't like that." "she's allergic to that." "y/n would love this!" it's just so sweet T•T.

•this man understands you more than anyone, you can cling on his arm if you want to and he lets you, of course he would.

•despite your lack of confidence in talking, you still make up by your actions.

•and thoma is inloveeeee with that, he loves the fact that you'd just hug him out of no where without saying anything.

•and don't get him started by the adorable trinkets you make him! he adores every little thing you make just for him.

•this man is just the standard!

Wriothesley.

•now, this man loves it when you're so shy around him still. despite the amount of time you already spent together, you're still shy around him.

•it melts his cold heart when he sees you try your best to communicate with him.

•and there was this time when you both got into a misunderstanding and the cryo user would scold you, and when you just looked up at him with tears in your eyes feeling sorry for what you've done, and not uttering a single word.

•it shattered his worlddd

•istg he swears now that he will never ever scold you like that again. he knows already you're in a tough spot.

•and i have this feeling that this man is a sucker for physical touch so. whenever he goes home he'd see that sweet smile of yours, running up to him, and eloping him in a hug, that's comparable to any tea in the world.

•you're just so cute in his eyes istg, the fact that he'd tease you often and you'd just look away with a blush on your cheeks, god does he want to kiss you.

•expect a lot of teasing tho, he kinda loves it when you're flustered; "why are you so beautiful?"

•and those soft moments with your boyfriend where you'd just laugh together and leaning into each other.

•and whenever he's or you are doing something you love and you both just admire each other

•god i want this.

Zhongli.

•this man!!! give me a zhongli!!!

•he's a matured gentleman, he handles you with ease.

•he loves it when you're clinging in to him, you're just hugging him out of no where cause zhongli is the one good with words but he's not that open with physical touch.

•you on the other hand is the other way around, you'd be the one ruffling his hair, initiating to hold his hand, and you'd be the one to hug him longer than usual.

•you both are just a good couple and he doesn't want to admit it out loud but he loves the fact that you just can't seem to take your hands off of him.

•whenever walking in a crowded place you'd have your hand clinging onto the hem of his outfit or just the fabric in general just so you won't lose sight of him.

•whenever he comes home tired, he could just lay in your arms in silence and it's the best thing in the world.

•and let me tell you this, you won't believe it but trust me, zhongli is the type where whenever you lean closer in his face, his breath would just hitch.

•it was almost like a match made in heaven, zhongli never really liked loud noises and you were just the woman for him.

•your gentle touch is the only thing he ever wants in the world.

•and he'd give up everything for his shy baby.

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshinimpact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact fluff #thoma x reader #thoma fluff #thoma #zhongli angst #zhongli imagines #zhongli fluff #zhongli x reader #zhongli #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff

681 notes · View notes

avocado-writing · 3 months

Note

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his gn crush confessing to him while obviously waiting for rejection?

absolutely my love, here you go!

Astarion

Is not surprised you’re confessing (he knew how you felt it wasnt subtle lol), but is surprised that you seem so defeated about it

sort of annoys him? Upsets him? Of course he’s going to feel the same way, how can you think so little of yourself? He’s of the opinion that you’re wonderful. it’s so easy to fall for you.

but then he hesitates: he knows how easy it is to think poorly of oneself. He can’t judge you too harshly.

takes your hand, tells you that you’re lovely, and invites you out for coffee the next day. just the two of you. his heart skips a beat when you light up.

Gale

admires how courageous you are. can see you’re shaking as you admit your feelings.

”why do you think I wouldn’t feel the same way? you are one of the most spectacular people I’ve ever met. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I’d be lucky to have you.”

smiles when he sees how you start to grin, puts his hands on your waist and brings you in for a kiss.

if you’re a magic user dancing lights erupt from you because you’re so overwhelmed ✨

Wyll

Oh, sweet Wyll. Gobsmacked that you think he’d turn you down.

takes your hand and guides you somewhere where the two of you can be alone.

when you have your privacy he asks if he can kiss you.

you feel heat rise in your cheeks but nod, and he gives you the most astounding first kiss you’ve ever had lol

then he takes you out for dinner and holds your hand across the table the whole meal

(when you’re together properly he makes jokes the whole camp was asking “wyll they won’t they” about the two of you and you groan lmfao)

Halsin

another one who takes you to a private place to talk.

brushes your hair out of face and then cups your cheek in the same gesture, begins to wax poetic about how perfect the oak father made you and how you are without fault.

has echoed your feelings for a long time now and is glad you made the first move which takes a lot of the weight off your chest

he scoops you up in his big arms and swings you around until all the worry is gone and you’re laughing 💕

Dammon

his heart hammers in his chest when you tell him. he’s only a blacksmith!!!! he doesn’t know how to handle this!!

I imagine you confess to him while he’s working at his forge so that not all of his attention is on you, it’s better to soften the blow when he says he doesn’t feel the same.

puts his tools down, takes off his gloves, and holds your hands. tells you he’s admired you for a long while and is glad you feel the same.

you squeak when he kisses you but his soft touch keeps your grounded ❤️

Rolan

is offended how nervous you are (you don’t find him THAT intimidating do you?! He’s been trying to be nice because he likes you!) - and also a bit annoyed because he’s been working up the courage to confess for ages but you got there first

”Good, I like you too >:(“ “you do?” “Yes >:(“ “then why do you seem so grumpy about it?” “I’m not grumpy! >:( >:( >:(“

you kiss him on the cheek and he’s so flustered he loses control of the spell he was transcribing and magic missiles his office window to pieces lol

Zevlor

this is a battle of the least self-confident lol. you’re like “I don’t think you like me” and he replies “my dear you have so many better options than me”

so it turns 180, with you convincing him that you do like him and listing all his merits!

eventually youre at a stalemate. and then you just kiss each other, trepidatious at first and then getting more passionate as you relax 💕

569 notes · View notes

w2sology · 4 months

Note

cozy mornings w bog and baby bog

button nose, harry lewis.

summary: harry lets you have a lie in (somewhat) whilst he tends to your little one in the morning

warnings: literally just fluff overload.

notes: literally couldn't come up w a baby name to save my life LMFAO so this had to do 😭

"go back to sleep, i'll take care of her," harry mumbled, with a kiss to your cheek as he got out of bed and made his way to the nursery. it had just gone past 8 in the morning, but you had a long night prior so harry took it upon himself to do the mornings that you would usually have with your little one.

too tired to argue, you hummed in response, cosying back into your duvet as harry stretched out of bed, making the short walk to the nursery. the baby monitor was still in his hand, and he seemed to have forgotten that as he raised his hand to rub his eye. "fuck's sake," he mumbled.

slowly creaking the door open, harry smiled hearing the soft coos from his baby girl, seemingly making convo with herself and also wide awake.

"hi, angel," he softly spoke, leaning over into her cot to lift her out. upon seeing her father's face, her cheeks rose as she gave him a gummy smile, kicking her feet with excitement.

once in his arms, she clung to him like he would disappear if she didn't, and harry only cuddled up to her more. "you're such an early bird," he pointed out. "definitely didn't get that from me."

she was only a few months old, and you and harry were gradually getting used to the routine of having a newborn baby. recently, you both took her to your families, both of them gushing over her and making guesses at who's personality she'd take over.

walking back to the bedroom where you lay comfortably, harry snuck back in besides you, baby still in his arms as he held her ever so close to his chest. as he brushed away some fluff from her face, her mouth seemed to latch onto his finger, his unintentional hunger test working.

luckily, harry had grabbed a pre-pumped bottle from the bottle stand before coming back to bed, and he reached over to grab it.

feeding his little one had quickly become a favourite activity of harry's. he'd always be fighting you to do it, and you never understood why. "harry, you can rest it's fine, i'll feed her." you'd say with a laugh.

"and i said it's also fine, i can feed her. or what, you don't think i can? hm?

when harry was passionate about something, it was hard for him to back down. especially when it came down to his baby girl.

her small hand held onto his as he held the bottle up for her to drink from, her eyes blinking slowly as she looked up at harry, looking all over his face.

he couldn't help the wide smile that spread on his face at the sight of her, and she mirrored it, letting go of the bottle to let out a milky babble, eliciting a similar laugh from harry.

at the sound of his voice whispering sweet nothings to her, you turned around, slowly waking up to the sight that you've grown accustomed to — harry in his father state.

it was one that you'd never grow used to, having gone from "kids aren't for me" to "she'll say my name before yours" in the space of a couple of years.

harry's eyes diverted from the tiny human in his arms to your moving body when you shifted closer to them, using an arm to prop yourself up whilst the other travelled to gently tickle her clothed foot.

placing a kiss to your forehead and repositioning your daughter so she was in a more comfortable place, harry smiled down at you lovingly.

"morning, you."

"hi," you yawned, pulling the blanket up a bit. "i could've got her, y'know."

"i know," he answered. "as much as i'd like to disturb your sleep as i always have done, i thought i'd spend some more time with her."

you laughed at him not denying his methods of disrupting your peace, albeit receiving an earful from you.

your heart could burst from the way he looked down at her, eyes full of love and happiness as a copy of his own eyes stared back at him, big and wide and crinkled at the edges from the way she smiled.

you wouldn't trade it for the world.

#wroetoshaw #wroetoshaw x reader #sidemen x reader #sidemen #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw imagines #harry lewis #harry lewis x reader

409 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 11 months

Note

HII!! CAN U DO A PAVITR PRABHAKAR X READER WHERE THEY SHARE THEIR FIRST KISS (OR READERS FIRST KISS, WHATEVER YOU WANT!!!) AKISISSJSJ IDK WHAT TO REQUEST CAUSE ITS MY FIRST REQUEST LMFAO - 🧑🏽‍🔧

I hope this wasn’t absolute arse as I started like some of this late in the night so there are probs inconsistencies.

‘It’s so obvious that they like each other but due to their assumptions that the other will reject them, they look for the same love in other people, only to be drawn back together because there’s no one who could love them quite like them.’ Pavitr said from your side as you both were indulging in some much needed free time by catching up on episodes of a recent show that you’ve missed. It was a great way to pass the time when nothing else of interest seemed to entice you, plus it was made even better when you got to spend it with Pavitr and his commentary regarding the love interests that you’ve grown to find endearing overtime.

‘We’ve seen this trope happen so many times in the other shows we’ve watched before this.’ You replied, looking over at him, knowing wholeheartedly that you’ve just provoked the preverbal bear, but that didn’t matter as to hear Pavitr speak passionately about something he felt so deeply made you admire him in ways you didn’t know you could.

‘It’s a fail proof formula that wins out every time!’ Pavitr exclaims before sighing dreamily as his mind began to wander amidst his many thoughts, ‘besides who doesn’t want to experience a love like that? a love that your willing to go through trial and tribulation for because you could never truly give your heart to someone else when they had their name carved into the very essence of your being by just smiling, by just being unapologetically them in all their flaws.’ Pavitr stopped midway through his speech to smile softly to himself when imagines of you popped in the forefront of his mind, it made him feel nostalgic and in a way it made him miss your presence despite you being right next to him.

Pavitr was a romantic at heart and so too did he naturally speak from it also, but due to the fact that you were just really good friends made him a little hesitant in pursuing you under the pretences that you didn’t feel the same way that he had for while now. Pavitr knew he couldn’t control his heart the moment it began picking up it’s pace within your presence, only to gradually pick up even more with the slightest things you did that he adored or moved in closer proximity to him to the point he thought he was going to pass out; fortunately for Pavitr he didn’t, sitting on elevated structures was dangerous enough but sitting on elevated structures whilst on the verge of potentially passing out wouldn’t have made for a great combination.

Despite experiencing the universal fear of rejection, it never truly stopped Pavitr from being close to you as humanly possible. After all you’re his best friend first and he’d be damned to let his romantic attachment and his fear create a rift between you two, which is why the now tradition of binge watching dramas was created for it gave him the opportunity to spend time with you; being Spider-man was amazing in and of it’s own but what wasn’t amazing was the fact that he wasn’t given as much time with you as he wanted, Mumbattan needed it’s hero but he, Pavitr Prabhakar, not Spider-Man, needed you more.

‘It’s a love many people desire but don’t have willpower to go through with as it tends to possess the ability to overwhelm them and become suffocating but it shouldn’t be that way when you’re in love.’ He explained and you listened intently to every word that fell from his lips that you’ve been transfixed on for the majority of his speech. ‘Love is an all encompassing force that can make you feel a multitude of emotions but you know when a love is right when they make you feel as though you can do anything, be anything, become anything with unbiased judgment. Real love is accepting that they are human and are bound by mistakes, real love is being the others hero but most of all real love is just two souls growing a deeper affection for humanity’s inner beauty.’ He finished, looking at you with a smile.

‘That was beautiful Pavitr.’ You tell him, ‘I know your a sucker for romance but that was especially impassioned,’ you nudged his arm in an act of playful banter despite hearing the sound of your heart breaking over having lost the boy you liked who wasn’t yours to have feelings for because like he said you could never truly give your heart to someone else when they had their name carved into the very essence of your being. ‘So…who’s the lucky person that’s made your heart sing like a canary?’ You mentally applauded yourself for being able to made it through that entire sentence without cracking from under the inevitable heartbreak you were about to experience.

Pavitr, ever the opportunist, saw the chance to admit his hearts deepest desire, sure the setting could’ve been a little better that what he had in mind but Pavitr was willing to work with whatever he was given to his advantage. So he grabbed ahold of your hands and given them a tight, comforting squeeze as he made sure to keep eye contact with you when he said his next words over the sound of his racing heart; ‘it’s you, you taught me how beautifully terrifying love can be when in the face of rejection but once upon a time you told me that it’s better to have tried then to have never have tried at all.’ You did in fact remember telling him that when he once asked you what he should do if he ever developed a crush and wanted to ask them out, which at the time only slightly stung in comparison to the overwhelmingly excruciating pain of self deprivation along with ever other human emotion attacking your sense.

Despite the verbal confirmation, you still were in a state of doubt and insecurity that it made it hard for you to believe the reality of his words no matter how hard your heart was telling you to. ‘Why me though? I’m not that special.’ Is your response and the way Pavitr’s face seemed to drop only made your fears all the more real, here he was bearing his heart out to you in a way that you could’ve only conjured up in your dreams and yet you still had to find some way to ruin it by doubting his genuine feelings. ‘Not that special?’ Pavitr repeated, his upset becoming more evident but it wasn’t in due to you but more so towards the fact that you didn’t hold yourself to the same standard that he did; which was pretty damn high. ‘Not that special?’ He repeats again, ‘you’re more then special! To me, you’re the reason the stars are hung in the sky, you’re the reason flowers bloom, birds sing in the morning and why I awake with a smile upon my face and fresh breath in my lungs. To me you’re the reason for my happiness, for my hope for the future and for my beating heart that quickens upon seeing you.’

Pavitr then went onto prove this point by pulling one of your hands that he has in his grasp towards his chest where you could feel it’s quickened pace branch your fingertips. ‘See?’ He tells you, keeping your hand against his chest, ‘that’s because of you and you still don’t think you’re special when your everything I could ever think about? I miss you when your not here but miss you even more when you are because we’re not as close as I’d like us to be but that’s not something I wish to put upon you if it’s not what your heart desires.’ He finished and you couldn’t help but start to tear up, from his impassioned speech to his unwavering acceptance to the possibility of you not feeling the same, only further proved to you how much of a beautiful soul Pavitr Prabhakar was and how fucking lucky you were to be able to know him as deeply as you did.

There was so much going off inside your head that the only response that you could come up with was; ‘Just kiss me already.’ And within a matter of seconds Pavitr had both hands cupping your cheeks as he leant in and pressed his lips firmly against yours, which had you both smiling giddily at the warmth spreading throughout your body as your lips continued to press and weave against one another in such sweet tandem; that at some points you almost forgot to pull apart for air but when you did remind yourselves that you had lungs that were in desperate need of oxygen. You didn’t dare stray too far from one another as Pavitr pressed his forehead against yours, eyes stilled closed and a dopey, lovey smile gracing his lips.

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to top your confession speech but I hope something as simple as this is enough because I like you too Pavitr Prabhakar.’ You whispered against his lips, ‘I like you a lot that when you’d talk about your crush it’d hurt but now knowing what I do now, the brief moment of pain I felt pales in comparison to the light, warm, comforting sensations I get when I’m only with you. For it was all worth this very moment.’ You finished before stealing a cheeky peck from his lips; causing him to whine when you pulled back. ‘No, give me a proper kiss.’ You chuckled but obliged to his requested and gave him a proper kiss to the lips, though this time Pavitr’s hands moved to your waist and your hands took to cupping his cheeks and soon you were back to feeling that lighthearted and warmth place.

#spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv imagines #spiderman atsv x you #spiderman atsv fic #spiderman atsv imagine #across the spiderverse #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr prabhakar imagines #pavitr prabhakar imagine #pavitr prabhakar fic #pavitr prabhakar x you

1K notes · View notes

spamgyu · 4 months

Text

ONE LAST TIME // Seungcheol x Reader oneshot

DESCRIPTION: It's Christmas and Seungcheol was bored... Who better else to bother than Kkuma's mom? PAIRING: Seungcheol x Reader GENRE: Fluff MASTERLIST

Merry Christmas to all my Cheol Apologists. Here is a quick unedited drabble/oneshot for you guys – a little something for making me laugh.

"Merry Christmas 🎁🎄😉"

His thumb hovered over the send button, chewing at his lip as he contemplated whether he should go ahead and allow his intrusive thoughts win.

He had seen countless of twitter posts about exes doing this same thing, laughing at each one.

After the fifth one he scrolled past, Seungcheol decided "why the hell not" and scrolled to the bottom of his messages — clicking on the one conversation he had yet to delete.

Along with the name he had yet to change.

He wasn't hanging on to her, no definitely not.

Just didn't think it's that important to delete messages when his phone storage was completely fine.

And why go as far as changing her contact name back to her government name. The honey emoji was cute anyways.

Fuck it.

Holding his breath, he hit send and waited for the screen to flash the words delivered before swiping out of the app.

It was just in good fun, he wasn't expecting a reply — he just wanted to be as annoying as the other men on social media who reached out to their exes after months of no contact..... for the laughs.

He knew there was a higher percentage of her leaving him on read than replying and telling him off; she was always the bigger person.

But Seungcheol was oh so wrong.

In the midst of replying to Jeonghan's instagram story of his family's Christmas feast, her assigned contact name appeared.

"Lmfao stfu" She replied.

But she also hearted the message.

Letting out a soft chuckle, he quickly typed away on his keyboard.

"Damn, not even going to say it back?"

He was just joking.

And he knew she found it funny.

Within seconds her chat bubble appear — she was typing.

"Merry Christmas, Cheol🎄"

"What about my family?"

He was pushing it.

But with all his other friends far too busy with their own family activities to reply to his texts, he was going to keep at it.

"Texted your mom this morning dumbass."

He wasn't aware she was still in contact with his mother.

Though, he should have figured.

They were together for three years.

And his mom had always wanted a daughter.

"Dumbass? At least be nicer to your favorite ex."

"Who said you're my favorite? 🫵🏼"

"I just know 😉"

"You're currently at the bottom on my list. At least my other ex got me a present."

Bottom of her list.

She had only one other ex.

And he didn't count.

High school boyfriends don't count. Especially if they broke up right after graduation.

Those were just test runs.

More importantly, it was Seokmin. And he gives presents to everyone.

He had a big heart and wants to be everyone's friend.

"Was it a tea set again?"

"Shut up lol"

"Send me your list, I'll get you something."

"Dyson Airwrap 😈"

He knew she was joking.

But wouldn't it be funny, if he actually did it?

Switching apps, Seungcheol typed into his search bar, clicking the first result that had pooped up.

He still had her address memorized.

Seungcheol hit the complete button, and locked his phone as bounded for the dining room — checking to see if his mom and dad had finally set up tonight's feast.

He was just about to pick at the cheeseboard his mother set up on the table when the familiar sound of a facetime call blared from the phone in his hand began to ring — it was her.

She must have gotten the confirmation email.

"Wassup?" He swiped the accept button — throwing a cheese cube in his mouth.

It had been a while since he had last seen her, being blocked on all her social media accounts and all.

She was really persistent on keeping the no contact rule after the break up.

Even when they took turns taking care of their shared dog, Kkuma — opting to use Wonwoo as their puppy's form of transportation and point of contact.

He protested each time their non-government assigned custody switch off was set to happen — trudging to his car with Kkuma in tow.

Wonwoo claimed they were far worse than actual divorced parents — complaining more considering Seungcheol technically had custody of him and the dog.

Seungcheol couldn't help but bite back a smile as he watched her from behind the screen — making note of how cute she looked when she was annoyed.

He's allowed to think she's cute.

They were broken up but that doesn't mean she wasn't attractive.

"You're joking, right?"

"What are you talking about?" Seungcheol blinked.

She could see right through his act, giving him the finger.

"Hey, that's not nice." He laughed.

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"Am I your favorite yet?"

"No!"

"I'll buy you another one." He threatened.

"Cheol!"

"Yes?" He answered sweetly, making her lips curl in annoyance.

He always did enjoy getting her nerves.

Seeing her huff and puff had always been his favorite part of his day.

Especially when she would pout after taking a joke a little too far only for him to kiss it all better — not that he could do that now.

He's allowed to reminisce on old memories. At least, he'll allow himself just this one time during the holidays.

"Fine, what do you want?"

You.

Seungcheol shook his head. "Nothing."

"Come on, let me get you something."

He pursed his lips, thinking — he had almost anything he could ask for.

And if he did end up thinking of anything, he could simply swipe his card and purchase it himself.

There was one thing he did want, but be knew it would be a selfish thing to ask of her.

Settling for the next best thing, a smile crept on his face."What perfume do you use again?"

"You want my perfume?" She raised her brows.

He missed the way she smelled.

The remaining item he had that held traces of her no longer had that signature scent — having it been nearly a nine months since she had lounged around his place in his hoodie.

He would have purchased it himself, but the thought of him going out of the way to purchase her scent only for him to spray it on her favorite hoodie and her side of the bed seemed pathetic.

But considering she offered....

"Why not? I like the smell." He shrugged.

Sighing, she swiped out of their call — allowing for his face to minimize and settle for a corner in her screen as she quickly typed away on her phone.

She still had his address memorized as well.

Seungcheol couldn't be more grateful that Apple had changed their phone setting and no longer pause the person on the other side of the line's video when they swiped away — watching as she brought the device closer to her face, her brows naturally furrowing as she focused in her task.

"Done." She sang, clicking back into their call.

It wasn't long before he got the confirmation email, his eyes widening at the transaction breakdown.

"Why the hell is your perfume $250!?" His mouth hung in shock.

It was no wonder she had always scolded him for spraying a little too much when she allowed him to have some.

Curse Le Labo and their damn prices.

"It's worth it."

"I would hope so, it cost almost as much as a hairdryer!"

"You asked for it!" She laughed.

It was music to his ears.

"Is that y/n?" His mom's scurried over to him, wiping her hands on her apron. Seungcheol moved the camera to fit the both of them on screen, the smile on his face growing larger – as if it could get any more since their call began.

"Merry Christmas, mom!" She waived.

Mom.

When he had first introduced her to his parents, it didn't take long for them to warm up to her – insisting that she referred to them as mom and dad because "you two will be married soon, anyways."

Oh, they were so wrong.

"Stop by tomorrow for leftovers yeah?" The older lady asked.

"Mom..." He trailed off, not wanting to pressure the girl behind the screen – although, they did agree that Kkuma was to ring in the New Year with her because he had a snowboard trip planned with his friends.

She can pick her up early instead of having to ask Wonwoo.

"I'd love to." She smiled warmly.

How was he going to find someone who got on well with his mom?

Trick question.... he didn't want to.

"Perfect." His mother clapped, before excusing herself back into the kitchen.

"Guess I'm picking our daughter up early." She mumbled.

Our daughter.

"Guess I'll be seeing you too."

"That can be arranged."

"Come on, it's been months. I think we can see each other now." He half-heartedly teased.

The anger had subsided and the wounds that once kept them up at night had grown numb – the only memory of their past were now re-runs of the good times. It was as if their brain completely disregarded the fighting and the heartache that they had gone through in the last few months of their relationship.

They were now.... okay.

"I don't know, Cheol."

"Come on. One last time."

It was almost like he was pleading for her – the playful tone between the two have shifted.

He watched as she nervously switched holding her phone from one hand to the other, chewing at the skin inside her cheek.

He shouldn't have mentioned it.

But he was already far from the line they had drawn between them – swearing to never cross.

"I miss you." He continued. "It's a neutral setting. We can have breakfast with my parents."

"One last time?"

"Promise."

He broke that promise within a few weeks – picking up Kkuma at her apartment instead of his friend. She nearly stumbled back when she swung the door open and saw his smiling face – holding a paper bag containing her favorite pastries.

It wasn't long before he would show up at her door again and again; and she wasn't complaining.

They swore they were just friends.

Two exes who were coparenting – remaining cordial for the sake of their dog.

That was, until she had agree to spend Christmas with him at his family home – one last time.

They should have known his mother was scheming, she was a little too cheerful when she had greeted them at the door.

"Oh, will you look at that!" She gasped, pointing up above them as they kicked their shoes off.

The two exchanged looks before looking up at the doorway where his mother taped two leaves – a chuckle escaping his lips in an instant.

"What do you say?" He raised a brow at her. "One last time?"

"Or maybe a couple more," Y/n copied his playful tone. "if... you want."

"Oh, I definitely want." Seungcheol wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer – planting a quick peck on her lips.

His mother was there.

And so was their daughter.

"Merry Christmas." She giggled.

Thank god for that damn twitter trend.

#TO MY TEAM MINGYU GIRLIES: i swear im not paying favorites #this is me trying to restore peace #i swear #scoups x reader #choi seungcheol #seungcheol fluff #seventeen fic #seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fic #seungcheol x you #seventeen seungcheol #seungcheol x oc #scoups #scoups scenarios

417 notes · View notes

qwimchii · 7 months

Text

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 4) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 12𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘴 & 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘨𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 😞

note: oml. i cannot thank you guys enough for your patient. this took me a lot longer than i thought it would (i've been writing the whole day LMFAO). your patience and support has been literally amazing and i love each and every one of you. thank you so much 😭💐💞 please enjoy <33

you gasped, scrambling back into the bed.

the girl just stood there. stock still. like a ghost. eyes so shadowed in the darkness that they looked like two black pits staring at you.

your heart beat out of your chest, blood thickening to a slow gurgle, as you reached slowly for something solid on the nightstand. you made contact with the glass cup.

you were surprised by the amount of force in your voice. “are you here to kill me?”

she just stared, unblinking.

a roiling turmoil of heat built right in your chest, and you snapped, “are you one of Turner’s men?”

she scoffed, and it only added to the flame of your ire, before you heard the soft click of her gun cocking.

“no,” she said, defiant, turning her chin up at you. “but you do have a nice ransom on your head.”

her head tilted, taking you in with a dark look that raked across your body. “and i recognized that man you were with. Ghost, is it?”

oh.

your eyes narrowed. “how do you know him?”

the better question was how did she recognize him?

your heart sank.

“i’ve done business with him,” she said cooly, and your heart just sank further.

it made sense now. why she was standing at the door, her attention trained on Ghost, marching away when the other man told her to leave. she was expecting a customer.

maybe even a regular one.

then, she frowned at you. “not in ways that you are thinking.”

curling relief soared in your chest, and a weight lifted from your shoulders as you released a shaky breath.

she threw down the gun onto the floor and it skidded across the wooden floorboards, hitting the post of the bed with a thunk. mind clouded with confusion, you looked up at her with a furrowed brow.

she straightened her shoulders. “i’m here to save you.”

you blinked. save you?

“save me?” you squeaked, and her face twitched with annoyance.

“yes,” she said, striding forward to the bed, “we have to hurry. come.”

you scurried further back into the bed, yelping when you almost fell off the side.

she stopped in her tracks, watching you struggle in the sheets with flushed cheeks. quickly, you drew the yellow robe that was discarded on the floor around your body, hoping she didn’t see anything in the dark, and turned to her again, fumbling with the knot of it.

you were still holding the glass cup.

she looked down to it in your hands and then back up, mouth in twisted line.

embarrassed, you put the cup behind you on the nightstand.

“your father?” she chewed out slowly, “he has a ransom. he wants you alive.”

“what?”

“your father. he wants you—”

a thick cloud of confusion settled in your furrowed brow, and you shot out, “i thought Turner wanted me dead.”

the girl gave you a long look, face twisted and hands clenched into the fabric of her dress. “he does. your father doesn’t.”

your mouth fell open, tongue heavy, then closed again.

“are they not working together?” there was a little flicker of hope deep within yourself.

“they are,” she said with raised brows, “they are working to come to an agreement over you.”

your stomach twisted. you felt like puking.

you flattened yourself against the far wall of the room to stop the nauseating swirls of dizziness racking your mind, creating a marginal distance from the girl who loomed with a veil of impatience over her face, hands clenched by her sides and shoulders braced. a roil of fear boiled in you.

“you can’t take me,” you whispered, voice weak and trampled.

her frown deepened. “you want to stay with Ghost?”

“i am waiting for him,” you said carefully, and the girl scoffed, turning on her heel.

“do you think he will come back?”

your throat felt closed up. “what?”

“do you think he will come back?” she asked again, slowly, like you couldn’t understand her words. she pointed towards the low table in the room—there was a drawstring pouch you didn’t notice before.

“he left that for you at the front desk before he left. i came in to deliver it,” she explained, and you followed her line of sight to the gun at the foot of the bed.

ah. she came in to deliver them as well as threaten you. or save you, in her words. maybe both.

your eyes narrowed. “what are you saying?”

in the darkness of the room, you could see her roll her eyes.

“he left you money and that revolver.”

your head swirled, a pulsing headache building right in the base of your forehead. he left you these items—why? to protect yourself?

he said the brothel was safe.

a sour taste filled your mouth. why would you need to protect yourself if it was safe?

unless you left the brothel.

you fought the droop of your head with a sharp twinge of your heart, deflating from the inside out.

“he wasn’t planning on coming back,” she gritted out, sounding more impatient than anything.

“you don’t know that,” you snapped, “it’s not dawn yet. he promised me he’d be back by dawn.”

she grew very still. “why do you want to stay with him? has he not been using you for…?”

her eyes roamed down the revealing nature of your robe, then flitted back up to your eyes. her face was stoney cold. serious.

you stiffened. Ghost had promised you he would never bed you again for revenge. had he been telling the truth? you didn’t know.

“i don’t know.”

she scoffed again, muttering under her breath, “she doesn’t know,” and turning away, rubbing over her face.

you swallowed down the growing swollen tightness in your throat, a familiar burn building at the waterline of your eyes. “you don’t understand. if you give me to my daddy…”

she turned back to you and your voice faltered. “i don’t want to be a mistress.”

her stoney face crumpled, eyes narrowed with unease, but you pressed on, “my daddy. he owns a saloon chain and made a business deal with Turner—investment and protection.”

your voice dimmed, quiet and low. “i was part of that deal. my daddy was going to give me to Turner as his mistress.”

the girl was silent, stark still in the darkness, mulling over something in her swirling eyes.

“alright.”

your eyes snapped to her. “alright?”

“i don’t work for Turner. i don’t work for your father. i don’t work for anybody but myself,” she said.

you nodded slowly, trying to digest that, searching her eyes for a twisted lie, but only finding a blank stoney void and truth. instead, you asked, “what about Ghost?”

she paused for a moment, looking apprehensive, before explaining, “when Ghost was younger, and when the law used to be trouble for him, he would hide here in this brothel. he paid for my services for a week but didn’t touch me once. he wanted something else.”

something else? you thought, hands growing clammy and cold.

she turned her head from you. “he wanted my secrets. powerful people tell me too much in the midst of an intimate night. now, i recognize Ghost’s gesture for what it was. he was not being kind to me like i believed him to be.”

her voice was eerily void. “he wanted to use me.”

then, she said, “i was sold by my father for fifty american dollars.”

you flinched. it made you wonder how much Turner had promised your daddy in exchange for you.

her stare was glazed over, dark and unnatural. you suppressed a shiver and listened to what she had to say, clutching at the wall tighter when she slowly stepped forward towards you.

“i know what it is like to want to be useful. i, too, once believed that it was necessary for my father to sell me to feed my brothers. i told myself that the entire way by ship from china. then, i told myself that helping Ghost would give me purpose.”

her voice was stronger, and she drew so near you could see the swirling pattern of her crimson dress. “now, i am not of use to anyone except for myself. i worked hard to get here. this is one of the kindest and most well-paying brothels in the city. most girls only last for five years after being sold into prostitution.”

her words were icy cold. “i worked hard to survive.”

“i’m…” your voice failed in your choked up throat, pangs of heaviness breaking your heart apart. you wanted to apologize but that didn’t feel like enough.

she pinned you with a hard look. “i do not want your pity.”

you slowly sunk down the wall, till your backside hit the cold, hard floor, and you wrapped your arms around your knees. all your problems felt dwarfed in front of this girl, but you still shook with fear.

“i won’t go back to my daddy,” you whispered, words trembling, but defiant nonetheless.

she got on her knees, creeping towards you till she leaned against the wall in the spot beside you. the proximity of her body felt warm in the crisp morning of the room.

she was insistent, expression fierce and strong. “i will not give you over to him for money. ”

your eyes snapped to hers, and her hand slid over the floor into the space between you.

desperate, you searched for the right words but couldn’t find them. “thank you.”

you took up her hand, and she squeezed yours with a strength that shocked you for her thin, petite frame.

“i will help you,” she insisted, and a curl of despair wrung your chest.

“you cannot help me, miss,” you said weakly, truthfully, “i need to wait for Ghost.”

she made a noise of deep frustration. “you do not.”

you closed your eyes, nose buried into your knees. “i have to.”

you felt her draw your hand into her lap, holding onto it with a powerful grasp. “he will not return. i prayed many nights for him to return too. but still, i will wait with you.”

the certainty in her tone felt soul crushing, and a truth from her own experience, but the tightness of her grip was an anchor that held you through the nauseating, racks of unease that pulled you like a tide.

you waited for the sun to peek up through the far windows of the room, overlooking a dip in the city that revealed a stretch of chinatown twinkling in the early, blue hours with loud ruckus, shouts, and clatters.

when the first bruised pinks and purples stretched the morning sky, and beams of orange had cast over your body, your head perking up as you squinting into its glare from over your knees, Ghost had still not come.

you moved through the city like a ghost—like nothing was anchoring you down to the ground except for the girl’s iron grip on your hand. she had almost never let go of you when you roused from your light slumber, letting her drag you from the room, pocketing Ghost’s money and his revolver.

you left behind your shattered heart in that room. you felt like you died in that room.

the girl had forced you into one of her few western-style, yet airy, dresses that still felt too revealing from the wardrobe of her small room in the upper floors of the brothel. but nobody stared at you as she pulled you down another avenue through chinatown, considerably cleaner and better groomed than the ones you had been on before.

you did not know where you were going—you weren’t sure if you cared. the girl had only said with a determined ferocity, i will help you, when Ghost had not come.

Ghost had not come.

it was like a splintering realization every moment.

she hauled you into the back of a busy shop, barely squeezing through the small frame of the door, opening it to a whirlwind of more women shouting in mandarin and bent over desks strewn with cloths, silks, garments, and clunky sewing machines that packed in the room. that same sweet smoke tinged the room and you resisted pinching your nose against the searing smell.

an older woman with grayed hair and a wrinkled face like a plum stepped into the girl’s path, shouting something at her, though not unkindly, to which the girl shouted back. the old woman stepped back with a nod, and you curled closer to the girl as many of the women in the room turned from their stations to stare as you passed before busying themselves once more.

the girl took you into the front store room, marginally more quiet than in the back, and adorned with a plush red carpet and racks of colorful clothing where some wealthy women perused.

then, she pulled you towards a raised platform in the corner of the room, where a red curtain hung by it and pushed you onto it. you stepped up, feeling uncomfortably light without her hand around yours, and she tugged the curtain around the platform without a word and a stricken face, shrouding the rest of the room from view.

you stood there for a moment, clutching against the wall and listening to the faint screeches of hangers dragging across their racks, light footsteps, and the bustle of the city from outside the store.

you jolted when she yanked open the curtain and quickly jerked it close behind her once more.

her face looked more serious than before—face screwed up in a tight expression and deep frown. you bit back a gasp when her arms flew to your shoulders and tugged her towards her, almost falling off the platform.

“listen to me,” she grit out with a clenched jaw, and you nodded quickly. “i cannot help you for long. tell me, what do you want?”

what do you want?

the question ran bated circles around your mind.

in a panic, you choked out, “i don’t know.”

she looked disappointed, but her grip on your shoulders only tightened, and you winced from the painful pulse in your injured joints. “you need to decide. now.”

she pressed something hard and cool into your hand and you looked down at the revolver in your open palm. the steel of it was engraved with trumpet vines.

you were reminded of several nights ago—when Ghost had first asked you the question.

“what do you want?” his hand moved to stroke at your cheek, your brow, your hair.

you never had the luxury of pondering the question. your path was always laid out before you by your mama and daddy. there was no choice. only lingering, bitter feelings of resentment as you fought yourself to believe that tending Daddy’s saloon and entertaining businessmen was the life you wanted.

“i dont know.”

“tell me.”

you had said you wanted him. now, you weren’t sure.

what did you want?

you looked into the dark swirl of the girl’s intense gaze, the inky hair that went down her shoulders in unfurling waves. did you want independence like her?

instead you asked, “why are you helping me?”

her face flitted with a tenseness but she held fast, unmoving and unshaken.

you pressed on, “what about the money? don’t you want the ransom?”

you felt eerily calm despite what you were alluding towards—her selling away your last flickers of freedom.

she shook her head. “i will not use you like my father used me.”

you stared at her. maybe, for the first time in your life, you’d met someone who didn’t want to use you for an advantage. maybe this girl was lying and would lead you straight into your daddy’s embrace again, and once your daddy smoothed everything out with Turner, you’d be in Turner’s bed every other night, satiating an old man with the warmth of your youthful touch.

or maybe, she was telling the truth.

“i don’t believe you,” you said, voice soft, and her grip slackened.

“you have to. tell me what you want.” she reached into the neckline of her shirt, and pulled something from her undergarments, revealing the drawstring pouch of the money Ghost left you.

she pushed it into your hand with the gun and closed your fingers around the heaviness of it, the clink of coins and rustles of paper feeling too loud in your ears, your mind swirling with effort.

you mulled over everything for the past week—only just seven days total. when you had met Ghost, one-four-one, their outlawed antics, los vaqueros. Kate’s expression when she left you at your train door, when you had challenged her about the truth of their revenge ploy, when you had escaped on horseback from the leather crafts shop.

the fullness of her eyes. the sadness of them.

you thought of john when he had an arm circled around your waist as he galloped on that chestnut through the small town, saving your life, and the blinding rush when you turned over your shoulder and shot that man gunning for John. you saved his life in return.

you thought of Soap’s kindness in the hallway of the train, the thick swell of his accent, the delight that bloomed across his face whenever he saw you. the vicious sober look that twisted his smile when he promised to get revenge on Turner.

you thought of Gaz and his proposal, the origin of his poor childhood that he had disclosed in hushed murmurs, and the warmth of his polite touch grasping your hand and pressing it to his chest. the youthful earnest in his face.

you thought of your daddy and your mama—preparing you for a life that you had never chosen. Turner’s mistress.

you didn’t know who to hate more.

you thought of Ghost.

maybe you should hate him.

your skin prickled in remembrance of his soft, warm lips, and gentle touch, the way he held you, his even softer words, his empty promises. the perfect lies he created with a smug look and twinkle in his dark eyes, more charming than his infamous reputation led you to believe.

more charming, terrifying, mysterious, and guarded than you had ever seen in a man.

he lied to you time and time again. you closed your eyes against the weight that dragged your entire body down—so heavy it was like it never wanted you to stand properly again.

the girl’s tight grip steadied you.

“i want to be wanted,” you said weakly, eyes fluttering open again to see the grim look on her face.

her jaw was clenched tight. “i did too. but that is not an option.”

your whole heart shattered all over again.

“i want…” you mind spiraled, “i want revenge.”

the smile that twitched into her lips was malicious.

“against who?”

you felt like you were floating. “Turner.”

your voice darkened. “my daddy.”

she nodded, a pleasant look on her face now. “good. i will help you.”

before she stepped away and off the platform, you shoved the pouch of money back into her arms.

when she shook her head to refuse, you pressed, tone cutting and vicious, “take it. or take me as a ransom so help me god.”

when she realized you would refuse to let her go uncompensated, either from the harsh tone of your voice, your words, or the twisted tightness in your face, she relented, and disappeared from the changing room again.

you steadied your breath, looking into the full-length mirror hung on the wall.

you didn’t look like the girl you were a week ago.

you were different now—sinful, vengeant, a murderer.

you thought that it suited you better.

the girl came back and took you to a different area of the store: through the compact kitchen, where she fed you something greasy, savory, and foreign that you consumed in mere bites, then you swallowed down a steaming cup of tea, and she helped wash in a tub.

rubbing and lathing up soap through your hair as you scrubbed down your body. she was unashamed of your bare state, and the newfound rush that boiled in your veins left you uncaring for it.

after you dried off, she took you to the upper floors of the store to a bedroom—the old woman’s, you recognized later on, when the elder woman brought in several elaborate dresses with a wry smile on her face. the bedroom smelled herbal and picante, you noticed, as you were stripped of your clothes again and redressed in the undergarments the girl lent you.

the old woman said something to you—pleasant with a bellow of laughter—before she trudged out the room with heavy steps.

when you looked at the girl in confusion, the only thing she offered was, “she was very happy the day her husband died. she hopes you can find that same happiness.”

whether it was an ominous omen, or a cruel joke, you couldn’t shake it as she laid out a pale evening gown of silk with patterned lilac flowers up the front. your breath hitched as you smoothed a hand over it, the beads adorning its hems, and the lace gathered along its short puff sleeves.

“i think it would suit you,” the girl said, face lax and fond as she picked it up from the bed and pressed it into your hands.

“how could i accept this?” you asked weakly, and she held up the drawstring pouch, jingling its contents lightly in your face, though not unkindly.

“i know my worth,” the girl said with a deadpanned simplicity that made you smile at the sheer absurdity of it all.

she helped you slide on the dress, over your corset and drawers, and sat you down at the chipped vanity by the windows where the natural light of mid-day came streaming through that aided you as she drew up your hair into a loose updo.

you used the powder, eyeshadow, and rogue on the vanity and painted your lips with a careful hand. the girl’s hand came to rest on your exposed nape, and you shivered, not used to the exposed air along your bare arms, neck, and chest due to the low bust of the dress.

the girl placed the revolver on the vanity beside you and you pocketed it through the slit-opening between the layer of your petticoat and dress.

you looked into the mirror of the vanity and the girl’s reflection stared back, expression placid and cool, easing your own nerves.

she said with confidence, “you look lovely.”

you winced at the word, grateful that it went unnoticed to her.

she continued, “tonight, when you reach Turner’s party, there will be violence and bloodshed.”

she slid a box of matches onto the vanity. “wreak havoc. he has run these streets for far too long.”

you pocketed the box with a nod, the box knocking against your revolver, watching her head tilt in the mirror.

“maybe one-four-one will run these streets in time.” a smile flashed across her face before it was gone. “i think things would become better.”

you reached back to grasp at her hand on your neck. “i will make sure you are better compensated when it happens.”

she blinked, eyes flickering with a curiosity. “you will work with one-four-one even after all they have done to you?”

with a sigh, you nodded. “they are all i know. i care too much for them.”

“and Ghost?”

you released her hand, looked away from the mirror, and trained your eyes on the bustling street through the window. “him included.”

you heard her shift behind you. “i cared for him once too. i hope it ends happier for you than it did for me. maybe in marriage.”

you grimaced. “you think i should marry him?”

she was silent for so long that you looked back at her from over your shoulder. she sat with an impeccable posture and a sad tightness in her expression.

“he has used you. he has hurt you. maybe he did not come this dawn to protect you. from Turner and from himself. although he has failed time and time again, maybe his intentions are with a good heart.”

good heart. you didn’t know if you could use those words to describe him.

“albeit, he did not know i would betray him like this. i stole his lover away,” she said with a mischievous look and an air of accomplishment that made you smile.

“are you not worried that one-four-one will punish you for it?”

she only shrugged. “what will they do to me? with this money—” she held up the drawstring, “—i will run away and buy property to live off myself. or i will marry a rich, powerful old man and wait until he dies like the old woman did.”

you laughed at that, remembering the pleasant look on the old woman’s face as she left the bedroom, full of delight and fondness at the memory of her own husband’s death. maybe, you could imagine yourself running a successful clothing boutique like this.

the image soured. you realized you could much better imagine the girl maintaining her own business rather than you.

you could better imagine yourself married with children—their blonde heads bobbing and dark brown eyes twinkling with delight. your chest deflated with a heavy weight.

she pulled you from your thoughts, a new stoicism to her face. “whatever you do with Simon, make sure you use him twice as much as he used you.”

you flinched at the proposition, but her resolve was like steel. you knew she meant it from the way she pinned up the last of your hair with steadied hands and a wall of iron over her elegant features.

for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed up in that bedroom, exchanging stories of your girlhoods. how you grew up in a small town embedded in the dusty, desert west, manning saloon bars and entertaining your daddy’s business partners. the girl told you about her childhood in china, the impoverished peoples in her town, and the ships that came to the nearby big city port that offered families sell off their young girls for services in america.

you had never been impoverished and you had never gone hungry. you listened with horror to the way she described the malnutrition in her town—the way her ribs hung over her sunken stomach, and the cavernous hunger that felt like shooting pains all over her body.

you were surprised when she was so stricken by the way you described the neglectful nature of your daddy and mama that you used to see as a different avenue of affection unique to your own family. she described her tight-knit relationship to her mother, how there was no veil of secrecy between them, only a flow of transparency unlike her and her father.

then, she described her first years in america. how she was starving more than ever with almost no pay, manipulating the managers of each brothel to transfer her, running from establishment to establishment until she found the wealthy brothel chain associated with one-four-one where she met Ghost.

she described him when he was younger—“bearing a quiet, devouring hunger for power,” she had said with such simplicity it almost made you grimace. he was brash and rash fighting the law until he bribed them out of it, she explained, growing his influence through the west through bigger investments and bigger bribes.

she admitted that in her naivety, she had seen his indifference to her as a kindness, and fell in love. she waited earnestly for months until his next return when he would give her a large sum and she would spill all her secrets of illegal business syndicates reinforced by politics within the largest western hub for organized crime—san francisco.

they would mule over long nights together, piecing together motives, crimes, big players, moving pieces, in a never-ending chess game of control over the western frontier between gangs. he had trusted her all with it.

“and i never betrayed him till now,” she reminded you with a wink. “i wonder what he would do if he knew i was leading his little lamb right into the lion’s den…”

you didn’t want to know the dark thoughts that churned in her head as you watched her ponder in silence, a hand to her chin.

soon, she was drawing a shawl over your shoulders and leading you down the steps of the shop, passing through that crowded room where the seamstresses worked, shouted, and trained their attention to you with a curiosity for mere moments before they looked down at the fabrics between their hands again.

you only saw a flash of the old woman’s dark smile, an impish look in her eyes, before she was turning away and disappearing into the fray.

the girl led you out of the shop and into the street where a horse and buggy waited with a coachman at its head. it was the manager of the brothel. he grinned at you, sinister and eerie, gold tooth flashing.

when you faltered, she explained easily, “i organized it for your arrival at the party. it needs to look convincing.”

she helped you up into the carriage and you slid into it, smoothing over your dress and tugging at the shawl to keep any of your exposed skin from showing in the light of the early evening. she handed you a pair of white gloves that you slipped on and then a pearl white mask with light purple feathers.

“you have done too much for me,” you said, feeling guilty as you peered down into her face, but she shook her head.

“i told you i would help you. i have. now, you owe a debt to me,” she said, voice low and laced with threat. you suppressed a shiver but nodded eagerly nonetheless.

“i thought i was saving you from one-four-one. then, i thought i was saving you from your father. mostly, i’m saving you from yourself,” she mused, and you felt stumped as you pat your knee with a softness.

“what do you mean?” you asked with a furrowed brow, jolting when she closed the door of the carriage in your face.

you heard the coachman hitch the horses with a shout, and the carriage began meandering slowly up the road.

you hung out the window with a panicked alarm, but she only grinned at you.

“we are the same in many ways, sister!” she shouted over the clop of hooves and the wheels churning over stone as the carriage pulled away.

sister. you had never had one of those.

“what is your name?” you called, and she shouted back, “Yue-Yi!”

the big grin on your face made your cheeks ache as Yue-Yi waved, wishing you could say so much more as she grew smaller and smaller in the distance, a shorter figure joining her by the sidewalk to wave goodbye. when you squinted your eyes, you could make out the frizzy grayed hair of the old woman.

turning back into your seat in the carriage, you tied the mask onto your face and steeled your nerves, grasping the revolver and matches through the layers of your gown with a eerie calm that settled over you like a thick veil.

as you neared Turner’s estate, more carriages coalesced into a line, queuing up to its large, sprawling and trim lawn, adorned with hedges and fountains that twinkled in the low light of the evening.

you craned your neck out the carriage window to get a glimpse of the sheer architecture of the residency—massive and victorian, with pointed roofs and limestone carvings. you had always thought your home was impressive in your small town but this mansion dwarfed it.

the carriage lurched to a stop, horses whinnying with a stomp. you waited with bated breath in front of the great, arched entrance of the place, listening to the coachman walk over to the door of the carriage and open it, offering a polite hand.

you took it, ignoring his gold-toothed smile and tossed your shawl back into the carriage quite rudely. with the new exposure of your skin, and the growth of his grin, you jerked your hand back from his and gave him a rushed thanks.

but before you made your way up the steps to the elegant entrance, lined with guardsmen in black three-piece suits and fashionable bowler hats, where more guests lingered for admission in fancy attire, you turned back to the manager of the brothel, puffing up your chest with a new confidence.

“you,” you snapped. his brows rose in reply, sly smirk only growing more, much to your discontent.

“yes?” he said, stepping forward. you stepped back.

“Yue-Yi is one of your best workers, no?”

his mouth open and closed before nodding, that greasy smile never leaving his lips.

“you should increase her pay,” you said, impressed by the cool indifference of your own manner.

turning on your heel, you spoke over your shoulder, “or else she might find better avenues of self-employment.”

he paled slightly at that, smirk dropping from his face, and you smiled sweetly, making your way up the steps before remembering yourself. you turned back to him and his pale, stiff disposition before curtsying with the most properness your mother had ever taught you, then continued your ascent to the doors.

you didn’t look back to see if he still lingered with that dumb, pale look on his face. the very thought made you grin bigger.

the line slowly trickled through the entrance as the guardsmen checked names off a list. a new nervous fervor built in you. looking around the lines, and at women and men who lingered together in their own parties, you sidled closer to a loud, unsuspecting woman and her two other female friends, all donned in light yellows and dark magentas and fanning themselves.

when you were just steps from the entrance, the women gave the guards their names, and you craned your neck to see the interior of the residency. lavish, loud, overly decorated in golds and marbles. nothing you would expect less from the old, obnoxious Turner.

“good evening, miss,” one guardsman said, and you jolted from your thoughts, eyes snapping to his. he tilted his head. “your name?”

“i…” you felt stupid, mouth opening and closing, not sure of what to do when—

you crept closer to him, hoping it went unnoticed to the distracted parties around you, and his brows rose slightly, a strange look crossing his face.

you snuck a gloved hand onto his arm, his gaze lingered at your touch, to the exposed skin of your low-cut dress, neck, then your eyes. you cocked your head, sliding your hand up his arm.

“mary smith,” you lied with an ease, and he nodded dumbly, looking through the list. you knew that he wouldn’t find that name and he knew it too.

he cleared his throat, shifting under your touch. “no chaperone, miss?”

you wanted to curse yourself. you had become so accustomed to running off through the west without a chaperone that you had completely forgotten an unmarried, young lady needed one at all.

“maybe you could suffice, sir,” you whispered with a light giggle, and watched with amazement as a slow pink flush crept up into his ears and cheeks.

he cleared his throat again, gesturing to the entrance and avoiding your eyes, “i’m sure our boss wouldn’t mind one extra, lovely young lady.”

you smiled at that, sliding your hand very lightly across his chest as you glided past him, biting back a snort at the way he stiffened under your touch.

crossing the threshold, you stepped into the grand entrance hallway filled with people and you almost melted with relief. making an effort to get lost in the crowd, you snaked in between bodies and conversing groups, their faces adorned with feathered masks and glasses of wine between their gloved fingers.

gliding through the rooms of the residency, you wondered how you would ever find your daddy or Turner in this mess. you stiffened at the thought of crossing paths with one-four-one by mistake.

wringing your hands nervously as your head whipped around between the loud, noisy surroundings, you realized for the first time how utterly alone you were in this mansion.

hundreds of people may have been stuffed into the place, but you were the sole person on this mission, and whether one-four-one had shown up to this party or not, you were the sole person who knew your own plans to kill the party host and turn tail.

with his death, hopefully, you could carve a good chunk of your daddy’s money out of his business. you quieted any alarming thoughts about your mama.

a large drone of partygoers began moving slowly towards the opposite side of the room, and you followed the crowd into the main family room that dwarfed the houses of your small town. looking up into the curve of the ceiling adorned with paintings, a large chandelier hung down into the cavernous room littered with tables of food and colorful banisters.

at the head of the room, near a fireplace, a man stood in a crisp black suit and bow-tie with a curling black mustache and greased black hair flecked with grays on a platform. Turner.

you hadn’t seen his beady, blue eyes and grim, twisted face since dinner with him, your daddy, and mama since months ago along with that haughty wife of his, who stood proud and arrogant by his shoulder.

your mouth soured at the sight of them and you felt around the skirt of your dress, feeling the handle of your gun through the layers.

if you shot him now, could you run away in time? and if they caught you, what would happen?

Turner took a glass cup and clinked a spoon against it, grabbing the room’s attention as it diminished into a silence.

you grasped the gun tighter between your hands.

“thank you for coming,” he said, low, rumbly voice ringing out over the crowd. “we are here today—” he reached back and you watched with amazement as a little girl stepped up onto the platform, grasping onto his hand with a shy, meek look, “—to celebrate my daughter’s birthday.”

your stomach curled at his words, grip going slack against your dress.

if you had shot him right there and then, in the midst of this swarming crowd, maybe you could’ve slipped away easily in the scrambling panic of the crowd. but he would’ve dropped dead, blood oozing from his in a dark puddle, right in front of his own daughter.

the thought made you feel nauseous.

the tall, broad frame that creeped up beside you startled you with a jolt, and you looked up to find an incredibly tall and massive body of a ginger man with a black mask tied around his face. he had his hands behind his back, looking lax with an arrogant smirk on his face. he peered down at you from his shoulder.

“hello there,” he said quietly, under the words that Turner continued to bellow to the crowd. his accent was foreign. maybe german.

“this is an interesting party, no? with masks and such,” he gestured to the crowd, and you struggled to find words.

“i guess,” you croaked, voice scratchy and thick. his smirk only widened.

“what are you doing in this big crowd without a chaperone, little lady?”

you wanted to shrink away from him at that moment, feeling awkward and exposed under the burn of his gaze.

“i have business to conduct.”

he laughed loud and throaty, earning a few hostile glances from the people around you, and you winced, trying to step away and disappear into the crowd but his big hand came to rest on your shoulder and you went impossibly stiff.

“i do, too, little lady.”

he bent down closer to your ear and you shivered. “how do you know, Turner?”

your mouth opened and closed.

“family connections.”

his eyes widened beneath the mask—the color an exotic pale green that you had never seen before.

“really?” he shifted closer to you and you tugged at his grip on your shoulder, trying to move away but the strength of his massive body easily overpowered your own.

“can i tell you a secret, little lady?”

you shook your head with a strong, “no,” but he continued you anyways.

“i know you have a gun in that pocket.”

you went impossibly rigid, breath catching in your throat and he chuckled lowly in your ear.

“i don’t know who’s paying you, but they’re incredibly clever, hiring an innocent-looking little lady like you. you almost fooled me.”

you grit out through a clenched jaw, “and just who are you, sir?”

he released you with an, “ah, my apologies, i need to remember my manners.”

you turned to him, craning your head up to look up into his face, shoulders set with frustration at the prospect of somehow being… caught.

he sighed out, sounding disappointed. “you should know me if you’re in this sort of line of work, but i guess i’ll tell you my name.”

then, he gave you a lop-sided smile. “i’m Konig.”

you blinked at him. “okay.”

the smile slid off his lips. “okay? haven’t you heard of me?”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth as you shook your head slowly, and his face crunched into deeper disappointment. you almost regretted giving him the reply that you did, and you would have, if he didn’t start going on a tangent about himself.

“you should know me,” he insisted, putting a hand to his chest, “i’m Konig. i’m very famous in this line of work. i work under kortac.”

your brows pinched together, neck beginning to ache just from looking up at him.

he only sighed again. “i guess americans don’t know kortac. no matter. i’ll just have to kill you before eliminating Turner.”

at that, you jolted, beginning to scramble backwards as he reached out to you once more.

“wait—!” you shrieked, crashing into a trio of ladies that shrieked on impact, flailing as you turned to flee from the large man, but a loud, splintering shatter echoed through the entire room and the lights flickered overhead.

everything stilled and you stopped in your tracks. you looked up into the ceiling, at the chandelier overhead, stomach dropping when you saw the thing sway, then with more ear-rupturing splinters, in almost a slow-motion, began to crash down to the floor where you stood.

the entire room flooded with screams and shouts as the crowd scrambled out of the room. bodies pushed against yours and you almost fell to your knees, screeching when a hand hoisted you up and pushed you forward toward a narrow hallway stemming from the room.

a harsh german accent was in your ear, “fick mich—move, move, american!”

you did, as fast as you could, through the snaking crowd, and you clutched at your ears with a scream when gunshots rang through the room.

and when you turned to look over your shoulder, you saw a familiar broad body, clad in all black with a black mask, a tussle of dirty blonde hair shaved down on the sides of his head and pieces that hung down his forehead, and a silver scar on his upper lip with a revolver raised and aimed at Turner.

you couldn’t turn and go back with Konig’s massive body blocking your path and urging you forward. picking up the hem of your dress, you pushed through the squirming crowd and into the narrow hallway.

a resounding crash shook the entire mansion, and you almost fell to the ground again from the vibrations of it, but Konig picked you back up and pushed you behind a curtained area in the nook of the hallway.

when you were obscured from the rest of partygoers rushing through the mansion, Konig turned to you and put a hand around your throat, squeezing tight, and the other hand shoving a revolver right beneath your chin.

you clawed at his grip on your throat, glaring into the emptiness of his green eyes. with the last of your strength, you spit on his face, and he drew back his hand around your throat to wipe it away with a look of disgust. you scrambled away from him, gulping in breaths of air, but he only reached out and pulled you back with a tight grip around your arm.

you whipped your head back at him, trying to kick at him, but he pressed you to the wall with ease and a curiously amused look.

“you are not very good at this, little lady,” he admitted, and that only pissed you off.

with all your strength, you stomped as hard as you could on his foot, and he hissed out, reeling back but not easing his grip on you at all.

“i don’t even know what you’re talking about!” you shrieked, wriggling, and his brow furrowed.

“no? were you not hired to kill Turner?”

“no!” you almost screamed between desperation and frustration, and he released you. with a gasp you crashed to the floor.

“really?” he asked, helping you up with a tight grip that sent another flurrying panic through you, and you squirmed out of his touch. this time, he let you.

“yes,” you said, exasperated, fixing the dishevelment of your dress, and Konig stared at you, revolver laying limp by his side.

“oh,” he said, quietly, and you just glared at him, sending him a strange look when he began to fumble with his hands. now, he wouldn’t look at you, strangely awkward and apprehensive.

“sorry,” he mumbled, and you huffed, taking the moment to pull out your own revolver and dig it into his stomach.

he barely responded—just giving you that same distant, awkward look.

“you’re right,” you hissed, cocking the gun, and his brows only raised slightly as you continued, “i wasn’t hired to kill Turner. i’m doing this on my own accord.”

that seemed to pique his interest because he tilted his head, shoving his revolver into the breast pocket of his coat. “oh? pray tell, american?”

you rolled your eyes. “it’s none of your business, sir.”

you drew back the curtain and stomped into the hallway, looking around and unsettled by the eerie quietness of the place. most of the partygoers had emptied the mansion already, only distant gunshots and shouts and crashes of noise vibration through the place.

when you saw Turner’s men barrel past a couple corridors away, you rushed backwards with a squeak and almost screamed when you crashed into Konig’s big chest.

he looked down at you with a blank look and a steadying hand on your hip that you immediately swatted away. instead, you hurried down a corridor in the opposite direction of where Turner’s men had been headed, and felt an increasing annoyance when Konig started following you.

you turned to snap over your shoulder, “go away.”

the quiet thuds of his footsteps faltered and then picked up again and you huffed with annoyance.

turning fully to him with crossed arms and your revolver still in hand, he stopped a marginal distance from you with a hurt look on his face.

“what?” you asked, and his frown only deepened.

“let’s make an agreement, little lady.”

“why should i do that?” you asked honestly. “you’re a criminal and an assassin.”

the blank look he gave you only pulled you into self-reflection. technically, you were also a criminal, and mere steps away from a self-employed assassin.

“you want to kill Turner,” he said, and you jolted when more gunshots only got louder, maybe mere hallways away, but he continued without so much as a blink, “and i want to kill Turner for money. let’s make an agreement—i will let you kill him if you let me lie to my superiors and say that it was in fact i who killed him. otherwise, i will have to kill you for getting in my way.”

your stomach curdled at the easy way he said it.

when a smug smirk twisted his face, you winced at the sinister nature of it. “besides, you need me. i am very good at my job, no? my name is Konig for a reason.”

you mulled over his offer. what he proposed was reasonable and made perfect sense. although you didn’t know what Konig meant, you assumed he earned the name for a respectable talent in his profession. killing people.

but could you trust him?

you looked over the relaxed nature of his body, smug and arrogant and cocksure you would take up his agreement. you could trust him just as much as the devilish outlaw who earned his name for murdering without a trace—Ghost.

“alright, Konig,” you said bitterly, “let’s see how much you can offer me.”

his smirk only grew. “i can offer you a lot of things, little lady,” he sang, that arrogant look on his face only inflating as he turned on his heel and headed directly towards the gunshots.

faltering, you fell close in step behind his massive body and felt a panic when the gunshots and shouts sounded closer. he sent you a smug look and turned sharply into a different hallway, your head on a swivel for stray people as he led you into an immense library.

“why are we here?” you asked, turning in a circle to take in the multiple levels of the place.

he didn’t answer you, only walking up to a case of books on the far edge of a book-filled wall, and reached far back into its shelves where he searched around for something with a face of concentration. you watched with unease, looking over so often at the entrance of the library with your revolver in hand.

something clicked in the wall. your eyes widened in amazement as Konig stepped back and the bookcase shifted with a squeaking grown, slowly pulling pack and screeching to the side. behind it was a narrow, dim stone corridor lit with electric bulbs.

“see?” Konig offered, hand reaching out to you, “i can offer you much more than murder, little lady.”

rolling your eyes, you took his hand and scurried down the corridor quickly for fear of the vulnerable exposure in the immense library. Konig led you down the path blanketed with a thin layer of water, the corridor dripping water overhead, and a musk, dank smell in the air. his big back was the only thing you could see in the dim lighting of the narrow hallway.

you tried to quell any lingering thoughts of anxiety coursing through you—what if Konig had taken you down here to kill you?

what if he was actually one of Turner’s men posing as a hired assassin?

that almost stopped you in your tracks, and when he sent you a confused look from over your shoulder, filled with nothing but focus on the task ahead, you scurried forward again, closer to him than you had been before.

through the never-ending winding corridors, Konig seemed to maneuver them with an eerie precision and ease, sometimes stopping to observe the halls with a sweeping glance, and then continuing ahead without so much as a word.

soon, the winding path tracked into a sharp incline until you reached a dead-end. Konig searched over the surface of the stone wall with his gloved hands and pressed around till there was a soft click and the thing stuttered open with a groan.

he gave you another victorious smirk and helped you through the entrance with a polite hand that you took begrudgingly. you entered into a bedroom this time—one that looked untouched and picked clean.

probably a guest bedroom, you realized, then jumped forward with a start when the entrance of the corroder began sliding shut behind you. it was a bookcase like before, and you watched in awe as it dragged shut backwards into its nook, settling with a cloud of dust.

Konig waved at it with a cough and strode forward to open the bedroom door and into the hallway. you followed him quickly.

peering down the empty and deadly silent hallway, you spotted a carved wood banister of a staircase at the end of it and realized that you must’ve been on an upper floor now.

“we are near Turner’s bedroom now,” Konig said, and you cocked a brow at him.

“how do you know all of this?” you pressed, and he shrugged.

“i memorized the blueprint.”

you resisted rolling your eyes, and instead with a tinge of sarcasm said, “impressive.”

he puffed up with pride and a strong nod. “i know.”

you allowed yourself to roll your eyes.

creeping along the hallway, Konig neared a grand set of carved double doors and gold handles that no doubt looked to be the primary bedroom.

“how do you know Turner will be here?” you whispered, a sudden creeping apprehension coming over you. your hands twisted around the gun to ease a heavy feeling in your chest.

this felt rushed and not right at all.

you hadn’t even prepared yourself.

you swallowed hard. how were you going to kill this man when you knew him better than the others you had killed? more than Charles and his associate and Turner’s lackey who had chased you and John down on horseback?

“i don’t,” Konig said, placing a gloved hand on the handle, sending you a smirk, “just a good guess.”

he began to turn the gilded handle of the door when a loud gunshot ricocheted through the hallway, shattering a vase by your side as a bullet whizzed past your shoulder.

with a shriek, you scrambled back against the wall, seeing a dozen of Turner’s men rushing down the long, long corridor of the hallway, and suddenly the bedroom doors were kicked open, three guardsmen bursting through.

Konig was quick to move, shooting one in the face and the other in his leg, taking the third beneath his arm and crushing his neck in a quick jerk that had him falling limp to the carpet.

the man with the shot leg screamed in pain, clutching at his own leg and hobbling near you with a scrunched expression. you bit back any feeling of sympathy and wound up your good arm, punching him straight in the face.

he fell to the ground with a thud and Konig gave you an approving, crazy laugh, reloading his revolver and shot down the hall—two men fell in his wake.

“go,” he urged, jerking his head in the direction of Turner’s room, and its doors that were swung wide open, “i will take care of these men, little lady, you just remember our agreement!”

“wait—” you called with an outstretched arm, a gripping uncertainty wracking you, but Konig was already gone.

at the conjoinment of another hallway, more of Turner’s men poured into the vicinity, and you heard Konig curse loudly as he rushed forward, before a new slew of people flooded into the opposite side of the hallway.

you recognized a broad, blonde male as Ghost and another smaller blonde form as Kate, Soap, John, and Gaz somewhere in the fray, and with Alejandro and Rudolfo and los vaqueros added to it, it looked like the real war Ghost had promised you days ago.

is this why he had left you at that brothel this morning? because a full-drawn out war would happen right here in Turner’s mansion? knowing you would refuse to stay away from the bloodshed if he hadn’t lied to you last night?

even now, with all his lies, you had refused to stay away anyways.

you clutched at your own chest, trying not to sink down into the floor and stay there forever, and pushed yourself from the carpet, heaving yourself up onto the handle of the doors and slamming both shut behind you quickly.

with heavy, panicked breaths that forced through your choked up throat, you fought back any tears that brimmed in your eyes as you pressed your forehead to the cool surface. you felt lightheaded and eerily light. you wanted Yue-Yi’s tight grip on you to ground you again. or Ghost’s arms to wind around you. or even the mean pinch of your mama’s fingers on your skin.

tears fell down your cheeks.

Ghost—would he be okay? alive?

even Konig, who you had just met, who had been so willing to help you, for no good reason, mirroring the way he seemed to work without much reasoning at all, had you doubled over with nauseating worry.

the soft click of a gun behind you had you stiffening.

slowly, you turned from the door, grip tight on your own revolver that you hid from sight behind the wide berth of the skirt of your evening gown.

you were met with the sight of Turner, standing poised and indigent, revolver trained on you. you didn’t miss the shake in his hands.

he looked so much less pronounced in person. graying and old and aging and just as wrinkly as you remembered him to be, but less sinister than your mind painted him. average and normal and face stricken with the same sort of roiling panic you were feeling in the moment. you took him in with a new ease.

despite being the west’s biggest gang leader, he seemed diminished in such a close proximity.

“you,” he hissed, lip curled with disgust, “i thought you were dead.”

you swallowed hard, tight throat and unable to produce a single sound.

behind him, you saw his wife cowering in the corner with his small daughter trembling in her embrace.

you narrowed your eyes at them and Turner stepped forward sharply in threat.

you found your voice, steady and strong, “where are my daddy and mama?”

he scoffed, looking away from you briefly before brandishing the revolver around at you. it only reminded yourself of when you had been scared and inexperienced with a weapon.

“afraid i killed them?” he asked with a sinister smile, and a roil of annoyance wrung through you.

you trained your gun on his wife and daughter who shrieked, the little girl shaking with sniveling cries. Turner stiffened.

“you wouldn’t,” he said, voice low and rumbling with a ferocity, and you just nodded.

“i wouldn’t, so i’ll let them leave before i kill you.”

his eyes flashed, lips twisted into a menacing scowl.

“fine.”

his wife and daughter skirted out the room, crumpled down and low to the floor as they scurried past you out the double doors of the room. as soon as you shut the entrance behind them with a shaky exhale, tuning back to Turner, he lurched towards you with a strangled shout.

you reeled back, back slamming against the doors as he swung for you, and you ducked, scrambling over the floor with a shriek. he grabbed a fistful of your dress and pulled you back towards him across the carpet, wrestling you down to the ground, and you punched and shoved at his face, rolling across the carpet and trying to squirm out of his tight grip. his hands found your neck and crushed down on your throat with a strength that pushed all the air from your lungs.

you jerked up your knee, hitting him straight in a sore spot that had him hissing and grip going slack, just enough to shove him off you with as much strength as you could muster, and he skidded away, landing against the floor with a thud.

you gasped for breath, light-headed but vision sharper than ever as you raised the revolver, just before Turner was reaching for something across the carpet—a small white box.

your eyes widened. you recognized it as the one Yue-Yi had gifted you—wreak havoc, she had said, and you watched with a curl of panic as he struck a match and threw it to the edge of the room, a blooming fire bursting forth with a rush of shocking heat that had you crossing your arms over your face with a scream.

you scrambled back from the fire that consumed the room with a terrifying speed, revolver trained on Turner’s crumpled figure sprawled over the floor a marginal distance away.

he picked up his head and gave you a sinister look.

“your daddy and mama are dead.”

a strangled, animalistic sound clawed through your throat, and you screamed as a sob wracked you, aiming your revolver and shooting him right in the knee.

he screamed, shifting away from you, the pristine white carpet pooling with a new crimson puddle and singing at the edges with an ominous black.

you struggled to breath in the room, the air tinged with a thick smog and flickers of strewn ash that felt hot when they landed on your skin.

“i doused this entire mansion with gas,” he rasped, coughing through the smoke, “if you try to kill me, you’ll burn with me.”

he laughed, body shaking violently when more coughs wracked through him, blood splattering across the carpet and painting his lips with an unnatural red.

slowly, you made your way towards your knees with a great effort, your exposed skin flushed painfully from the heat of the surrounding fire, a portion of the canopy bed behind him crumbling, fire spreading across the carpet with hot, swelling licks.

you tried to scream but couldn’t through the tight swollen soreness of your throat, edging from its path as it skirted around you.

you forced words out, a searing raw pain in your throat, “why would you do this?”

all of it? you wanted to scream, why would he try to kill you? your daddy? your mama?

then, you coughed, hand pressed to your mouth as the motion shook you to your core, tears spilling down your cheeks to dispel the smoke, and his smile only grew.

“i own you,” he whispered, barely audible over the loud crackle of the fire, curtains melting away from the windows as the carpet peeled up from the floorboards.

“i won’t let that bastard Simon Riley take you from me.”

you almost snarled at him, tempted to aim your revolver at his head and just put a whole round into his brain. but that felt rushed and not right at all.

you wanted him to suffer. painful and slow. the thought gave you a sliver of sanity.

you hissed out, “i won’t kill you.”

his eyes flashed, twitching against the carpet like he was going to tackle you again, but the stiffness in his bloody, soaked pant leg prevented him from moving.

you smiled—so wide that it cracked your dry lips.

“i’ll leave you to burn in hell,” you said, clambering to your feet, swaying in the open air, dizzy and nausea wringing through your head, because you just couldn’t really breathe, and Turner let out a strangled cry.

“you can’t leave!” he said, voice tinged with a ferocious desperation as he clawed forward suddenly, and the quick motion had you reeling backwards and tipping back to the world swung in front of your eyes.

you fell back down against the carpet, face narrowly missing a ring of fire, more furniture crumpled chunks of ash and blackened wood just beyond it.

“i own you,” he snarled, voice a throaty sinister rasp. his hand closed around your ankle and a new curling disgust bloomed from deep within your gut.

you looked down at him and thrust the tip of your revolver against his sweaty, red forehead. his eyes blew wide, bloody lips parting with a new fearful sort of shock that twisted your stomach in the most pleasant ways you didn’t know that you could feel.

“i choose who owns me,” you whispered, and you knew he heard you from the way his eyes just stretched further, and you blew straight clean through his forehead.

he fell completely limp against the carpet, lifeless and void of the crawling desperation you had just seen mere moments before.

more tears came pouring down your cheeks and you shoved your knee into the side of his face, biting back a scream when you saw the gaping, bloody gouge of flesh in his forehead and the cool, empty placidness of his blue eyes.

you killed him. his warm grip was still around your ankle.

scrambling back away from the dead body, you gasped when the exposed skin of your arm was enveloped with something unbearably hot, wet, and rippling in undulations.

pulling your arm away from the fire, you stared in horror at the new char of your skin and the way your silk gloves had half-melted into your arm with a goopy liquidity.

the scalding pain sharpened your senses, and you hauled yourself towards the double doors, raw skin flush to the carpet, and you strained up to the handles of the doors, fingers just wrapping around it when the door opened from beneath you.

you fell forward with your eyes screwed shut, trying to push yourself off the ground, and gentle hands hoisted you towards a broad, strong body low to the ground.

“princess, princess, princess—”

lips were against your ear and you immediately curled into his touch, eyes fluttering open to see his warmth and inviting just mere inches from your own.

face maskless and bare.

you had never felt so much relief.

“Simon?” you squeaked, voice meek and quiet and half as strong as you had forced it to be the whole day. you melted into him, muscles going lax with weakness.

he hissed when you leaned against him, and you pulled back slightly to take in the charred material of his suit stuck to an oozing wetness beneath it—sopping red with blood.

you choked on more sobs but he just shushed you, stroking a hand through your hair before pressing his face to your neck, then your hair.

“it’ll be alright, princess.”

you had never heard his voice so weak before. he leaned back against the ground, the walls still up in flames around him, and you watched his body fight to stay up before sliding slowly to the ground.

you pulled yourself forward, fighting back coughs as you laid next to him.

“you need to get up,” he rasped, pushing you away with a hand. the movement just made you hiss in desperate frustration.

“no. m’staying right here,” you said, curling closer to him, and he let you, face soft and relaxed as the entrance to Turner’s bedroom crumbled just beyond your feet.

you took in the curves of his bare face—the age and lines and scars that reflected only a shimmering honesty in the fragile moment.

with great effort you craned over him to kiss that silvery scar on his upper lip, and when you pulled back he only gave you a weak smile.

“you never listen to me,” he whispered, voice throaty and wrung through, and you could only smile back.

“never,” you agreed, intertwining your fingers with his.

“i was late this morning,” he rasped, nosing through your hair, “and when i arrived you were gone.

“i thought you finally came to your bloody senses and ran away—” he was cut off by a series of wracking coughs, and you pressed your forehead to your intertwined hands, shaking with sniveling tears.

“i thought you had abandoned me,” you whispered.

he kissed the crown of your head. “never.”

you melted into him.

he sounded stricken with anger. “i’ve lied to you.”

“i know,” you said, brushing a finger over the lightness of his lashes.

“you were supposed to run away,” he said weakly, “you were never supposed to stay. since the beginning, you were supposed to run away.”

“is that why you were late this morning?” you croaked, and he nodded against your hair.

“i was relieved when you were gone,” he said, “but i think it killed me.”

with drooping eyelids and a swirling smog clouding your senses, you distantly remembered how you felt that morning. like you had left behind your shattered heart in that brothel. like you had died in that room and you left behind your body and you were floating as a ghost through the san francisco streets.

“leaving killed me,” you said softly, through rough coughs, and he only pulled you closer.

“you weren’t supposed to be here, either,” he muttered, breaths shallow and weak in your ear.

you craned your neck to look up at him, taking in his face fully, and the droop of his tired eyes, before thumbing over the scars along his jaw.

“anything else to confess to me?” you asked, soft and he nodded.

“i lied to you.”

your brow pinched, another cough rippling from your throat. “i know that.”

he shook his head with a weakness that had your heart crumbling. “long time ago. that night on the train.”

the breath died in your throat and he pressed his forehead against yours, warm and solid.

“i said i bedded you for revenge. i lied.”

the floor fell away from beneath you and you felt like you were floating.

“why?” you croaked, and his smile was wistful.

“so full of questions.”

“always,” you said, pressing him further, but his eyes closed, breaths growing with a louder rasp now. a violent panic crawled up your chest and you nudged him, relieved when his eyes cracked open again.

“in time,” he whispered, and the strangled, frustrated sound that left your throat that only made his smile grow.

“i’m sorry i didn’t take you on that date,” he said, and you shook your head, the tip of your nose against his.

“i know why you didn’t,” you insisted, and he frowned.

“you’re supposed to be mad at me.”

you frowned back. “stop telling me what i’m supposed to be.”

at that, he only smirked, looking strangely satisfied as he stroked a thumb over the exposed, hot, raw skin of your neck.

you took a shaky deep breath, only swallowing down more smoke that had you coughing with a grimace. “just…”

his dark, swirling eyes that were so familiar now were dimmed but just as warm. you took your charred hand, ignoring the searing pain of it, and brushed it over his blonde hair. he closed his eyes at your gentle touch.

“please kiss me,” you whispered, and his eyes fluttered open, lurching forward with a stiff clumsiness at the awkward position, and suddenly his warm lips were pressed to your own.

you didn’t know what you were doing—just that the rhythmic movement of his soft flesh molding against yours had a honey warmth dripping through your chest and fluttering down your spine.

you tried to match him, flushing at the feeling of his every breath melding into your every exhale in a never-ending steady pulse. your hands snaked into his hair and gripped softly, and a low noise left his throat.

your head spun with the lack of oxygen, and more heavenly moments stretched on until he pulled back, licking over his lips like he had by the railway yesterday. like he was tasting you.

“not bad, princess,” he whispered, eyes fluttering close with a weakness. you pressed against him, unable to fight the droop of your own eyes anymore, a pleasant muffle filling your head, and a purpling black, splotchy glaze dancing from behind your eyelids.

the last thing you felt were his lips against your cheek, the sound of the fire consuming the splintering, crumbling house with loud crackles, distant shouts, and Simon’s soft breaths against your skin.

okay okay i know that this chapter doesn't have smut or much fun stuffff but i hope you liked konig's appearance LMFAO but i can confirm that next chapter there will be 1. the do 😵‍💫 like fr this time 😵‍💫 2. JEALOUS GHOST SDLFJSLEIFJ 3. and yea less angst pls and thank you

i love all of you. please have a wonderful weekend <3 next chapter will be uploaded tuesday (ON TIME TOO)!!

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

953 notes · View notes