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persphonesorchid · 2 years

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Auburn Skies - MYG

Summary: Everyone knows that if your best friend has a little sister, she's off limits. That, and the fact that your best friend will probably kill you if you even think about going near his sister. Yoongi knows this. There's no way he could tell Namjoon that once upon a time you kissed him, drunk in his living room after a break up. So much time's passed since then, too much time to bring it up now, but Yoongi still thinks about it, he's still a little hopeful. Now you're here at the lake house because Namjoon brought you and you clearly have something you want to say to Yoongi.

Namjoon's gonna kill him.

Genre: 18+, fluff, angst, humor.

Word count: 12k

Warning(s): 18+, smut, oral (m+f receiving) unprotected sex, porn is mentioned. Yoongi and Y/n are BOTH stupid and they need help. Taehyung's trying his best, Seokjin is also trying his best but subtler. Yoongi's convinced that Namjoon's out to get him at every turn. Slight jealousy. Y/n and Yoongi have no idea how to actually hold a conversation like adults, until they do.

Notes: My addition to the Autumn Leaves Collab, hosted by the beautiful @bangtansmauyeondan !! I had so much fun working on this, and I met so many beautiful people that I'm so grateful for, so happy to call my friends 🥺 I love y'all! Please check out the other authors' fics on the Collab Masterlist! Everyone worked so hard, give my girls some love! Shout out to @blog-name-idk and @xpeachesncream for being absolute aNGELS, beta reading and helping me out when I panicked over this lol, and @madbutgloriouspond for helping me brainstorm. I hope you guys enjoy!! Please leave feedback, I'm nothing but a poor soul seeking validation (and motivation!) to keep going.

If you like my content, please, consider donating if you're able - Here

"You're staring." Seokjin nudges Yoongi's arm with his, snapping him out of his daze. He catches Seokjin's smirk, and there's a twinkle in his eye that promises nothing good. Yoongi pulls his eyes away from your form, sitting in a chair on the dock away from everyone else with a book in your hand. You're bundled up in a thick sweater and cozy sweatpants, completely lost in your book.

"Was not." Yoongi feels the need to deny it, distracting himself with cutting up onions, focusing on the way the blade of the knife cuts through the vegetable and definitely not the way Seokjin was wiggling his eyebrows at him.

"Sure. I believe you."

Somewhere inside, there is music playing. A Lo-Fi beat that plays softly under the sound of rain. It's kind of sad, if Yoongi is being honest, but he supposes that autumn is a sad season. Nothing but changes all around. The leaves change colours, mixing like paint on an easel in the hands of a melancholy artist drowning in his own solitude. They shift and the vibrancy of summer fades until they die, falling off their homes to go drifting in the wind, or land on the ground to become everyone's problem.

He doesn't really like autumn, when winter is right around the corner and he can feel the cold seeping into his bones no matter how many layers he wears. Always leaving his cheeks and his nose red, and his fingers hurting when the chill gets to them.

You enjoy it though, even reminded him when he picked up you and Namjoon this morning. You were kicking at the pile of leaves in front of Namjoon's apartment complex like a kid, laughing like you didn't have a worry in the world. You greeted him like you hadn't seen him in years, running up to him with Namjoon's scarf wrapped awkwardly around your neck like you were in a rush.

Namjoon is currently skipping stones with Jungkook near the lake's edge, and Yoongi can see he's halfway to giving up because Jungkook is on his competitive streak again.

Namjoon is one of his closest friends. He met him in college when they were both fresh out of highschool and riding on shotgun dreams of being more than what they are. He remembers meeting you during spring break of his junior year, and you were blabbering about getting accepted into the same college as Namjoon; determined to follow your brother to the end of time.

The only word to describe your first meeting was awkward, to say the least. He'd only ever heard of you, with Namjoon going off about you whenever Yoongi lent his ear. His baby sister who was doing so well in school, his baby sister, who to Namjoon, practically hung the moon in the sky. Now, Yoongi thinks he's naturally awkward when meeting new people, he can't help it. Getting to know someone is hard no matter how much you hear about them, even though you've got a pretty good impression just by word of mouth. There were shy 'hi's' and the most soul crushing 'See you later's' when there's little to no chance of ever seeing that person again. Sweaty, nervous hands meeting in shakes and straight lipped smiles.

Now, Yoongi was sure he wasn't too bad at it. And you were good, smiling brightly, not looking as awkward as he felt. What was awkward was the way Namjoon had excused himself to his parent's kitchen, pretending to get a glass of water. Yoongi had followed him with his eyes, because why was he leaving him standing in front of his sister alone?

Yoongi still remembers the chill that went down his spine that morning, as Namjoon watched him dead in the eyes over your head. A look Yoongi had never once received from him before, one that simply said: "If you think anything about my sister that isn't innocent; you will die."

As a best friend, Yoongi respected that. As a man, Yoongi valued his life. He wouldn't dare. It's the code, do not, under any circumstances, think about your best friend's sister romantically or less. You were off limits from the day Namjoon showed Yoongi that picture of you.

Off limits.

Yoongi heard that loud and clear and Namjoon hadn't said a word that day.

You were off limits, still, when you'd called him at ass o'clock in the morning - not Namjoon, your brother who trusted with everything - about some smarmy asshole who thought it was funny to break your heart. When he picked you up outside a bar where you were supposed to meet your boyfriend of a year, standing in the rain, soaked to the bone, crying and slightly drunk.

Looking beautiful even when you had stumbled your way to his car, asking what did you do to deserve getting cheated on. He didn't answer you then, he had too much to say and it wasn't the time, not when you were drunk and wouldn't remember a thing when the sun came up. So he cranked up the heat in his car, and white knuckled the steering wheel the whole drive to his apartment, because yours was too far and it was late.

Off the whole damn table, when you'd kissed him on the mouth, still drunk, still crying and clinging onto him in his living room. He pushed you gently away, even as he licked his lips to chase the taste of you. Keeping the distance between you both wide as he watched you shatter like glass in his hold. You apologized through your sobs, and Yoongi's own heart broke as he tried and failed to pick up the pieces of yours scattered at your feet.

You asked him not to tell Namjoon, and Yoongi never said a damn word. You slept in his bed that night, in his clothes that were way too big for you, and left the next day like nothing happened.

You're still off limits now, even as you've grown up and are going into your senior year. Now that Yoongi finished college and had a job like a responsible adult, now his biggest worry is the price of bread climbing up and whatever the hell was on the news.

"Namjoon, we agreed that you weren't gonna come within 10ft of this space."

Yoongi looks up to find Namjoon wandering aimlessly towards them, holding a bowl of something in his hand. He stops dead in his tracks though, frowning, "I'm not that clumsy."

Yoongi and Seokjin share a look, before raising an eyebrow each at Namjoon. He sighs, lifting the bowl in his hand, "Hobi told me to tell you that Jungkook told him..."

"For Christ's sake..." Seokjin sighs, "Just get over here."

Namjoon grins like a kid, hobbling over to place the bowl next to Yoongi's busy hands. The bowl filled with slices of pork belly that Yoongi forgot he told Namjoon to fetch for him a long while ago. Too distracted to ask about it when he was skipping stones with Jungkook, he didn't even notice when he'd moved to get it.

He wonders what else he missed, lost in his own thoughts, and his eyes dart around to catch sight of you. Of course, you were no longer in the spot you'd claimed, now standing next to Jungkook. Both of you are laughing at Jimin, who was struggling to reach a branch of a tree that Jungkook could easily reach without stretching. You attempt it, jumping to reach, but you just don't make it and it's Jimin's turn to laugh, all crescent eyes and round cheeks.

At least someone's having fun.

Seokjin was mumbling something as he pokes at the coals in the grill, and Yoongi avoids looking at Namjoon because he realised he's staring again. He's awfully quiet, and Yoongi isn't sure if it's because of him, and he really doesn't want to risk his life here.

"'Autumn is the season that teaches us that change can be beautiful.'" Namjoon says, and Yoongi finds that he wasn't even looking his way. Instead, he was watching the lake with an odd look in his eyes, distant, like if he was thinking about something too hard and struggling to grasp it. At the same time though, he looked like he knew exactly what he was talking about; smiling to himself. He pats Yoongi cryptically on the back - a little forcefully - catching him off guard, and says nothing more as he walks away.

"We all know what it means when Joon starts quoting." Seokjin snickers, "You're so screwed."

Yoongi hums, and Seokjin gives him a knowing look, a look that says way more than what Yoongi is comfortable with, and he wonders, briefly, if he was being obvious, or if Seokjin was more observant than he gave him credit for.

"I hope the weather holds up." Seokjin mumbles, head tilted up and leaning slightly forward over the table to see past the awning above, he watches the sky with a small frown, "Said it was gonna rain sometime today."

Yoongi is grateful for the subject change, dumping the seasoning he chopped up into a bowl. He glances at the lake, at the reflection of the clouds on the water, they look a little gray with the promise of rain. He doesn't mind the rain, though, if it does, Taehyung's plan of sitting around the fire with marshmallows on a wire would be completely dashed.

Yoongi's not sure he could deal with the kid pouting all night because of it, and he hoped that the weather held up, too.

When lunch was ready, it was a little after two pm. The picnic table was clear of leaves that were raked to the side and into piles to deal with later. Hoseok finally crawled out of the bunk room, hair sticking up in odd angles and eyes sleepy still as he helped set the table with you and Jimin.

Yoongi walks over to the table with the small cooler he'd brought with him, packed full with ice and cans of beer, because what's lunch without it?

Seokjin walks behind, still prattling on about the weather, hoping for a little sunshine later on so he could get in the rowboat and swing his fishing rod around. He may have asked Yoongi if he wanted to come with him, but Yoongi was once again distracted; your soft laugh tunnelling his focus.

He sighs, internally, because God forbid anyone hears and starts asking invasive questions. Taehyung, of course, was clinging to you, not letting you move two spaces out of his orbit. Which of course, wasn't strange, Taehyung was just clingy that way; always stuck to someone like a kitten that hasn't yet learned to regulate its temperature.

The sight of it though, makes Yoongi's chest ache in a way that wasn't unfamiliar to him. The kind of ache that squeezes tight and knocks the air out of him, the ache he felt that night in his apartment living room when you kissed him. Thinking about it now makes the ache worse, because Yoongi knows what that kiss was, he knows what it meant and exactly where it came from. You were reeling that night, fresh out of a relationship that ended in a way you never saw coming, and that's where it came from. You were drunk, hurting, and attached yourself emotionally to the first person to treat you nicely.

It just happened to be Yoongi at the time.

He hates to think about it that way, as though it meant nothing when he wanted it to mean something. Yoongi likes to take things the way they came, there's nothing more than what it was, nothing to decipher or to sit and mull over. Not like he did that night, sitting up late on his couch, long after you'd passed out, then beating himself up about the whole thing because he was this close to laying his heart out at that moment.

He's glad he didn't. When you left the morning after, he wasn't even awake, woke up to his empty bed and quiet apartment. No note, no text - not that you owed him anything - so he left it as it was; unspoken.

He passes everyone a beer, avoiding your gaze when your hand brushes his, ignoring the soft smile on your lips that brightens your eyes and makes his chest hurt. He moves around the table and takes his seat in between Seokjin and Hoseok. He's sitting directly across from you, and to his rotten luck, Namjoon sits to your left, which puts Yoongi within his direct line of sight. He wonders if he'll be able to keep his eyes to himself, not get caught staring at you, even if your brother wasn't even paying him mind. Yoongi is cautious, still.

The chatter that fills the air is gentle, with laughs and catching up with each other. It was hard to find the time to do things like this, everyone was busy with their own schedules; the younger ones had school, the rest of them had work. Shit always get in the way.

Yoongi eyes Taehyung, who sits to your right and was poking at your arm more than he was eating. He had half a mind to tell Taehyung to quit it, the little devil on his shoulder telling him that he should; poking at his cheek and pointing. It isn't his place, though.

There's a twinkle in Taehyung's eye when their eyes meet, something mischievous that Yoongi would normally see from him when he was up to something. He turns slightly to you, whispering something to you with a hand covering the movement of his lips.

Yoongi's curious, he wonders what he's saying that makes your cheeks flush a pretty shade. Wonders what it is, when your eyes meet his for a second and you swat at Taehyung's hand. The younger man was clearly pleased with himself, smiling eyes meeting Yoongi's for a second too long, and Yoongi busies himself with stuffing his mouth with food.

"Think the water's cold?" Jungkook was looking out at the lake, doe eyes curious, his tongue absently fiddling with the ring in his lip.

"It's still early in the season..." Jimin answers, piling a spoonful of rice onto his plate, following Jungkook's gaze a moment after. "Wouldn't risk it though."

"I mean, you can if you want." Yoongi shrugs, "Just don't complain when you catch a cold."

Jungkook pouts, leaning his weight against Hoseok with a groan. Everyone knows Jungkook well enough to know that's exactly what he'd do, and then abuse his position as the youngest for the rest of their stay at the lake house.

The table was silent for a while, everyone occupied with stuffing their faces with the food, interrupted when Namjoon laughed at something Jimin said and choked on the rice in his mouth and is now nursing a bottle of water.

Yoongi missed this, just hanging out with his friends like they were back in college sneaking beer into the dorms and laughing over their drunken rambles. Just being.

Once lunch was over, they cleared the table of the bowls and plates, carrying everything inside to be washed up.

"I'll do the dishes," Hoseok says, balancing the large pot with plates and eating utensils in his hands.

"I'll do them, Hobi." Yoongi takes the pot from Hoseok's lax fingers, not giving him room to complain before he takes everything to the kitchen.

Yoongi misses the way Taehyung pokes your side, he did hear the smack of you hitting the offending limb, though. "I'll help you."

Yoongi feels his shoulders tense, and he tries to ignore it, setting the pot into the sink, while the boys place the other dirty dishes. He watches you for a moment, as you busy yourself packing away the seasoning and packets of spices back into their rightful places. He starts on the dishes, hyper aware of your presence somewhere behind him, but tries his best to keep it as far from the front of his mind as he could.

At some point, you switch places, and Yoongi takes up the task of drying the bowls and plates, packing them where they're supposed to be. He doesn't question it, just grateful to have something to do with his hands, mindful, to keep his head empty, because if his mind strays just a bit, he'll be thinking of things he really shouldn't. Off limit things. Like how he wished he'd just suck it up and kissed you back that night instead of pushing you away like he did. But, that would've been wrong of him, no? It wasn't the time and you weren't in the right frame of mind.

Yoongi skirts by you, packing the bowls back into the cupboard. This is awkward, maybe he should have let Hoseok do it when he said he would.

"Can I ask you something?" You suddenly ask, and Yoongi almost drops the bowl he's holding, not expecting you to speak because you've been so quiet. He glances over to the living room, where Namjoon and Jin are starting up a game of Mario Kart before he turns to look at you. Why does he always do that? It feels as though he's sneaking around for no reason whatsoever, always looking to make sure that Namjoon isn't looking at him.

"Uh, sure?" God, is it just him that's awkward? You look perfectly fine, elbow deep in soap water, scrubbing away at something in the sink, a small smile on your lips. Yoongi wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans, bringing them back up to stuff them into the pockets of his sweater. Play it cool, Min. "What's up?"

You turn your head, looking at him, and he swallows. The sink slowly drains, making that odd sucking noise as the water goes down and you look like you're struggling to grasp your words. There's a cute furrow between your brows, and Yoongi doesn't miss the way you bite your lip and look everywhere but at him.

Jin swears at Namjoon in rapid fire, in that way he does when he's got too much to say and not enough breath. Yoongi could see his arms flying up and swatting at Namjoon's shoulder, yelling about the blue shell he threw.

You take a breath, eyes settling somewhere above his head, clearly trying to block out Jin's racket, "Well...um..." You glance at him and look away, and Yoongi's just a little hopeful.

You look nervous, for once, wringing the life out of the dish towel in your hand as you press your lips together. There's a crease at your brow and Yoongi wonders what's bugging you. There were times when you'd freely spill your thoughts, up with him all ungodly hours just talking because that's what brother's best friends do, right? Offer comfort and a space to vent that isn't in the viewpoint of your sibling? He wonders what changed.

He knows though. It was that night, after that, things have been tense between you both, Yoongi just wishes it'd stop. He misses you texting him to tell him how your day went, or you constantly reminding him that he's way cooler than your older brother. He watches you now, if just to see you get even more flustered, even though he didn't know why.

Hope is an evil, never necessarily a good thing, if all it does is make you believe that something would work even though there's a slim chance that it actually would. Yoongi hates that he's hopeful right now. Hates that he's hoping that the flush of your cheeks and your nervous fidgeting has something to do with him, he hates that he wished you'd just spit it out already and stop his mind from coming up with all these things.

"Okay." You sigh, nodding more to yourself in a self-assured kind of way. Your eyes find his, briefly, before darting away, "Okay, so, I wanted to-"

"Hey, Y/n. Wanna play a round of Mario Kart with me?" Taehyung asks, walking into the kitchen with a smile, eyes filtering between you and Yoongi before they settle on you again. He pauses when you snap your mouth shut, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and slowly look at him. You and Taehyung share a look that Yoongi's not too certain he wants to know what's about; the silence between you three is too loud.

"What?" the younger man asks, "Did I interrupt something?"

"No."

"Yes."

Yoongi stares at Taehyung, trying his hardest not to glare at him, because what you wanted to say was clearly important. You were staring at him, Yoongi could feel it, but he's giving you an opening to say what you need to.

"No, Tae, you didn't. I'll play." You smile a little forcefully, finally giving the dishcloth a break and laying it down on the island counter. "I'll tell you later?" You tilt your head at Yoongi and he can only nod, hopeful again, that you really would and not find an easy out.

"Okay."

"Tae, can't we do this later or something?" You frown, speaking lowly as he wraps his arm with yours and drags you away, "I was actually really close this time."

"Yeah, no. You looked like you needed saving. So you're welcome." Taehyung shakes his head, curls swaying, "One day, little butterfly, you'll be free to spill your feelings." He sits you down on the couch next to Namjoon, who thankfully, has his earphones in his ears. Jin had already wandered off to do God knows after his defeat, leaving your brother to fiddle mindlessly with his phone.

You can hear Yoongi moving around in the kitchen, probably still packing away the dishes. Taehyung plops next to you, throwing his legs over yours and almost knocking Namjoon's phone out his hands. He starts up the game after passing you a remote, smiling at you, "He'll probably come over here to watch the game, so I'll lose and he could play against you, yeah?"

"Tae..." You groan, tilting your head back, and he pats your arm in a friendly manner, though a little firm in his delivery.

"If you don't tell him now that's fine..." He points at Namjoon with a tilt of his chin, trying to remind you of your brother's presence without being obvious. "But at least you could spend time with him. Never know what could happen." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Evidently, Taehyung's the only person who knows about that night with Yoongi. He was the one who picked you up from his apartment after all, firing question after question and not giving you room to breathe. Though he was a tad upset that he wasn't your first call when you were stranded, he understood why you'd called Yoongi. At the same time, he gave you an earful about just leaving the man hanging after you kissed him. Something you shouldn't have done in that moment, lord knows what Yoongi thinks of you now.

You've tried and failed so many times to tell Yoongi that you weren't as drunk as you seemed that night three months ago, you knew what you were doing. You were hurt, yes, but it was more out of realisation. Your relationship with your ex had been rocky at best, you'd given into his advances to hopefully put your crush on Yoongi behind you. It was easy at first, to have someone to put your focus on and give yourself to rather than to waste it on someone who didn't see you the way you saw him.

Yoongi has always seen you as his best friend's sister, nothing more. And you'd kissed him that night hoping that even for a second he'd realise, but he pushed you away and you knew there was no use hoping.

Even now, embarrassment still burns at your chest when you think about it, because what were you thinking? You'd left without saying anything to him because you were positively mortified. There were hundreds of unfinished texts that started and ended the same, with you contemplating if you should tell him or not.

More often than not, a tipsy night would find you huddled under your sheets with your finger hovering over Yoongi's contact.

It was more likely that he still saw you as the fresh out of highschool kid who followed him and your brother everywhere.

You groan loudly at your own thoughts, and Taehyung turns his head, looking between you and the TV screen, "Uh....You can play Toad if you want.."

"Huh?" The choose your character screen is up, idle, waiting for you to move your joystick around. Taehyung's already picked, "No, it's not that. I don't even like Toad, you can play him."

"That's the rudest thing that's ever come out of your mouth." Taehyung pokes your side with a finger, "What's on your mind?"

"Everything." You sigh, scrolling around to pick a random character. Don't get it wrong, you love Mario Kart as much as the next guy, but right now your mind was far, far away from this moment and the game.

Taehyung pats your thigh, "Maybe losing will help." He snickers, just as the game starts up.

"Oh, you're on." You're not gonna lose, no matter how confident Taehyung is, no one could beat you at Mario Kart.

"Cheater! TaehYUNG. Joon tell Tae to stop do- You're cheating!"

"It's literally impossible to cheat at this game!"

Yoongi leans back against the island counter, content to watch you crash and burn as Taehyung wins yet another race. His victory laugh is deep, almost unheard under the sound of your indignant screeching. The rest of the boys gathered to see what you were yelling about, finding the sight of your losing streak more than entertaining.

Yoongi had paused only for a moment, making a light snack that everyone could enjoy if they wanted to, though, it was only an excuse to make your favourite. He watches as you scoot to the edge of the couch, he can't see your expression, but he doesn't doubt that you're pouting with the cute furrow of your brows that comes with your concentration.

"Namjoon." You whine to your brother, though Namjoon's hands fly up into the air, phone and all.

"Nope, leave me out of this."

"But he's cheating!"

"I'm not! You just suck."

Yoongi picks up the tray of Hotteok as soon as everyone calms down, carrying it over to the group. He rests the tray down on the coffee table, careful to move quickly so he doesn't block the screen for too long.

"Oh! Sweet! Thanks Yoongi." Namjoon is the first to move, leaning forward to grab one.

"Wait, Joon. They're ho-" Yoongi snaps his mouth shut as Namjoon has already picked it up. He promptly drops it, pulling air through his teeth before blowing on his fingertips.

"Ow." Namjoon pouts at his fingers, rubbing them against the material of his grey sweats.

Yoongi sighs, "Be careful, would you?" He focuses on the TV screen, you're directly behind Taehyung, throwing a blue shell that sends him skidding off the road just in time for you to cross the finish line.

"Ha!" You push at Taehyung's shoulder in your excitement, sending him against Namjoon, who drops his Hotteok on the floor.

Namjoon stares forlornly at the pancake for a quiet moment, while you do a victory wiggle in your place, his misfortune ignored.

"Well there you go, who wants to play?" Taehyung asks, glancing around the room. Jungkook waves his arm, getting up from his space on the floor by Hoseok's legs to totter over. "Yoongi! Nice of you to volunteer."

"What? I didn't...?" Yoongi stares at Taehyung like he's sprouted a second head.

Taehyung ignores him.

"Hey I wanted to play..." Jungkook whines, Taehyung ignores him, too.

"Guys, let's go take a nap in the bunk room." He stretches his long legs over Namjoon's, pulling him up by the arms and shares a look with Jungkook who was likely, as confused as everyone else.

"I'm not tired, though. I napped when I got here." Hoseok pipes up, pressing his lips together when Jimin not so subtly nudges his side with an elbow.

"Let's go take a nap." Taehyung repeats, eyes narrowing slightly at Hoseok. He relents under Taehyung's gaze, sighing as he stands and drags Jimin and a complaining Jungkook.

Taehyung smiles brightly, dropping his hands heavily on Yoongi's shoulders. Yoongi doesn't know what the kid's playing at, but allows him to direct him to sit next to you.

Yoongi shares a look with Seokjin, who shrugs and stands to leave too, linking his arm with Namjoon, "I found a book I think you'd like Joon. But we have to look for it, it's lost in my bedroom somewhere..."

"Oh...Kay? Sure."

Their voices trail off as they head up the stairs, and Taehyung waves as he backs out of the living room, with a sweet - suspicious - boxy smile."Have fun you two!"

"Okay what the hell." Yoongi mutters, turning his head to look at you. You didn't look his way, staring dead ahead at the TV, fingers tapping lightly at the control.

He hears you take a breath, "Wanna play Toad?"

"Uh...sure."

A few minutes go by before Yoongi could finally relax, getting comfortable on the couch focusing on the game and not the fact that you're less than a metre away from him. You're nibbling on a piece of hotteok, a little too quiet for Yoongi's liking. He was expecting you to be yelling because he's way ahead of you.

"So...can I ask you a question?" Yoongi keeps his eyes on the screen as he asks, afraid to look at you because he might slip up or stop all together. He could already hear the little voice in his head screaming at him to shut up. "I just wanna ask about...what you wanted to tell me in the kitchen?"

Yoongi doesn't normally pry, people's business are theirs and not his. But curiosity is driving him up a wall and he just needs to know. Maybe he was being foolishly hopeful again, thinking that whatever it was had something to do with him. That's why you hadn't said anything when Taehyung interrupted, right?

Yoongi wonders what Taehyung's deal was, first he was being too clingy with you - not that it's any of his business - and now he's acting so painfully obvious; trying to get you both in a room alone. It didn't go over Yoongi's head, as not a lot of things do.

He purposely lets you win the race, though, your victory was unsounded as you set the controller aside. "Right... kitchen..."

"You know you could tell me anything, right?" Yoongi says softly, fingers just wanting to reach for yours, if just to offer comfort. He tucks them against his palm though, and into the pouch of his sweater for an extra precaution.

"Yeah I know," You smile faintly, "like old times right?"

"Yeah exactly, and I won't judge, you know that. So whatever it is, just say it."

Maybe his words were a bit harsh? You stiffen a bit in place, sighing through your nose before you turn to look at him. The determination from earlier is back in your eyes again, and Yoongi finds it impossible to hold your gaze, and he's the first to look away this time. Keep it together, will you?

He feels heat climbing his neck, racing to each of his cheeks and he hopes to god you just think he's going pink because it's cold in here. Seokjin really needs to get that crappy heater fixed so Yoongi can blame something if you ask about it.

"Okay so remember the time when you-"

"You two are being awfully quiet." Seokjin pokes his head into the room, staring at you both, but not too long, before his eyes find the tv screen. "Oh, Yoongi, did you win?"

"No..." Yoongi sighs, watching as you shut him out once more.

"Really? It was so quiet..."

You make an offended sound in the back of your throat, straightening a bit to glare at Seokjin.

"Yoongi, can you help me with the firepit?"

Yoongi follows Seokjin outside along the wrap-around porch, the sun was halfway in its descent, painting the sky in a flurry of soft colours. The lake glistens with amber crystals, catching the sun's sleepy gaze as it drifts slowly off behind the hills; almost out of sight.

The sunken fire pit was in the backyard, something Yoongi helped Seokjin install last year. He's quite proud of it really, he did most of the heavy lifting while Seokjin stood around telling him how and where he wanted things like a glorified dictator.

As Seokjin gathers the firewood and steps down the three steps to throw the logs into the firepit, Yoongi realises that he didn't actually need any help.

"Watching you try to talk to Y/n is so painful. Like that time I broke my arm but worse."

"I actually wasn't doing the talking." Yoongi grumbles, enjoying the satisfying crunch of gravel under his sandals as he walks over to the cushioned semi circle bench and sits to watch Seokjin do all the work. "You have terrible timing."

Seokjin scoffs, shaking his head, "It's a wonder Namjoon hasn't figured it out yet...you're so obvious."

Yoongi feels like Seokjin just isn't listening to him, continuing his mission of getting the fire going; his words completely ignored.

"Joon is oblivious sometimes."

"You are too."

"Here, this one's longer."

Yoongi watches as Seokjin trades wires with Jungkook, patting him on the shoulder as the younger man happily sticks his marshmallow on the end of his wire. As usual when they're all together, there's laughter in the air, and the lightness Yoongi feels in his chest is something he misses when he's alone.

He watches the moon rise behind the trees, full and glowing brightly in the cloudless sky. The fire was warm, the burning wood crackling softly, sending little glowing sparks up into the air. Everyone had their own bag of marshmallows for toasting, with chocolate and biscuits for s'mores.

"This is nice," Hoseok comments, smacking Jimin's hand away from the smores he was setting up, tucking them into the corner of a small bowl he brought. Jimin gets one anyway; sneaking it away while Hoseok wasn't looking.

"Yeah, we haven't done this in forever." Namjoon sticks the wire with his marshmallow a little too close to the fire.

"It's gonna burn if you do it like that." Yoongi reaches over and raises Namjoon's hand higher.

"When it's burnt it's the best, though."

"Are you a sadist?" Taehyung frowns at Jungkook, "it's better when it's just a little toasty."

"It won't melt inside if you play kiss and tell with the fire. You gotta burn it." Jungkook's marshmallow was just on the edge of charred and Yoongi watches with mild disgust as he smushes the thing between pieces of chocolate and unsweetened biscuits. He shoves the entire thing in his mouth and closes his eyes, moaning around the treat like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

"Um? There's no way you're enjoying that." Hoseok didn't try to hide how he felt about it, narrowing his eyes at Jungkook. "Stop moaning like that!"

"I wasn't moaning!"

"Yes you were!"

Yoongi shakes his head, turning to look at you, who sat next to him, eating out of your own bag of marshmallows. The wire Seokjin had given you is still in your lap, untouched.

"Want me to make one for you?" He asks softly, already sticking a marshmallow on his wire. He hangs it over the fire and twirls it so it gets nice and brown, "Do you want it with the cookies?"

"Yeah, thanks." You smile sweetly at him, and Yoongi feels his heart stutter in his chest.

Once he's finished assembling the s'more, he hands it over to you. You take a bite out of it, and Yoongi struggles to breathe the very next second at the sound you make, turning his head swiftly to stare into the fire as though it would save him.

"Dude, Y/n. That's gotta be the best s'more ever created." Taehyung says, snickering from across the firepit, "Yoongi make me one, too!"

"You can make it yourself." Yoongi's cheeks flush, passing you a bottle of water when you choke.

"I wanna make happy noises, too."

When the fire in the pit smolders and the embers of the wood burn orange, everyone is ready to call it a night. The younger ones escape to the second floor bunk room first, Seokjin and Hoseok right behind them.

Hoseok is trying to convince Seokjin to flip a coin for the master bedroom while they go up the stairs.

"Owner's rights, Hobi."

"You have any idea what it's like to share a bathroom with those three? Have a heart!"

Their voices fade, and Yoongi is left standing in the entryway with you and Namjoon, feeling awkward and not quite sure what he should do with his hands. So he shoves them in the pockets of his sweatpants, and drags his feet towards the kitchen, suddenly thirsty.

You and Namjoon are talking in hushed tones, too quiet for him to hear, but he pays it no mind, it isn't his business, really.

You come in a second later, moving to the fridge just as Yoongi moves past you, and he's a little curious, a little worried, because you look a bit upset. There's a frown tugging at the corner of your mouth as you crack open a bottle of water.

"Everything okay?" Yoongi asks softly, fingers just itching to reach out for you, but he holds his own bottled water a little tighter instead.

"Yeah...Joon is just..." You shake your head, "Are you staying up to watch the movie with us?"

Your change of subject didn't surprise Yoongi, you've been doing that a lot today. He lifts his shoulder in a shrug, "I might...do you want me to?"

Yoongi would give you anything you ask for right now, hell, he'd find a way to pull the moon from the sky if you asked it of him.

"Huh?" Your eyes seems panicked for a second as they dart away to stare off elsewhere. "If you want to, it's up to you really."

"Then I'll watch." He gives an easy smile, "Are you sure you're okay?" He steps closer, a hand meeting your cheek gently, unintentionally and without Yoongi's consent. Simply out of his need to offer you comfort when he can, and maybe it's his wishful thinking, maybe it's that stupid thing called hope again; Yoongi swears you lean into his touch. Your skin is warm, like cooling tea on a winter's morning.

"I'm fine," You're staring at his lips as you say this, and Yoongi's heart skips before it gallops, threatening to burst from his chest. Maybe he's imagining it, but you move a step closer, and he does too, leaning down a bit to meet your height, "I just wanted to.."

Just another inch, if he moves just an inch closer. You're so close now that your exhales mingles with his in the space between you both, he could feel the chill seeping off the bottled water you hold, pressed against his stomach where your hands linger.

Yoongi decides he's not going to be awkward right now, he's going to be brave and just do this. He's going to kiss you and pour everything he feels into it, and hope - prays - that you feel it too.

"Ahem."

You and Yoongi both spring apart like teenagers caught doing something they shouldn't. Yoongi's cheeks are heating up too quickly for him to stop it, and yours are too, and he doesn't want to turn around because he knows who's behind him.

Think fast, Yoongi. Think.

"I hope your eye feels better. You should kiss - rinse! Rinse with warm water. 'Cause you know...germs...could uh.... get in there.... "

Really? Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, already anticipating his death when he turns to face the grim reaper behind him.

Namjoon stands in the kitchen doorway, eyebrow raised, doing that thing he does with his jaw. Yoongi feels a little faint, looking at the ugly painting Taehyung convinced Seokjin to buy and hang up in the living room over his head.

"Y/n had something in her eye and I was just checking." He looks back at you and you look just as confused as he's feeling, smiling though, as if his misery is funny to you. "R-remember. Warm water, okay?"

With that he leaves, not looking at Namjoon, who's gaze he could feel at the back of his head.

"Joon, are you serious?" Your voice was a harsh whisper, a little loud in the silence of the kitchen.

Yoongi walks away, hands in his pockets, not catching Namjoon's reply as he makes his escape. What the fuck was that?

"Let's watch The Conjuring."

"Fuck that." Hoseok puts his palms up, "Unless you're willing to cuddle me to sleep, we're not watching that movie."

A chorus of groans fills the room, "For the love of God, just pick something already. Not you, Jungkook."

"It's not my fault Hobi's a coward."

Hoseok's reaches over Seokjin to smack the back of Jungkook's head, who immediately retaliates by hitting Seokjin instead. The three of them trade playful smacks for a moment, while Taehyung and Jimin argue about which movie would be best to watch.

"Okay let's just all pick something." You say, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers, "Rock, paper, scissors, whoever wins; we'll watch."

Terrible idea really, everyone knows Jungkook is going to win.

Yoongi opts out, not really caring what goes up on the screen. He's sitting with his hands under his thighs, trying to keep them warm but at the same time, keeping them from doing something stupid. You're right next to him on the couch, he's once again hyper aware of your closeness, the way your arm would brush his every time you moved, the scent of your shampoo, soft and fruit scented.

He focuses on the way a single tear slips from Hoseok's eye, the way he tries to make himself as small as possible on the other couch next to Seokjin with a white knuckled grip on the latter's sweater. Jungkook triumphs in his endeavour of beating everyone who played against him, laughing, carefree and malicious as he pulls up The Conjuring.

Hoseok keeps his head tucked behind Seokjin's shoulder for most of the movie, clinging to him and jumping at every loud sound from the TV; poor guy's going through it.

Yoongi is just barely watching, staring at the screen, but not really following along - he has no idea what's going on. Mind too distracted with the fact that you chose to sit next to him and not next to anyone else. He's still reeling from the incident in the kitchen, glancing at Namjoon who was stuffing his face with popcorn, form outlined in the glow of the tv.

He could feel the warmth of your thigh through his sweatpants, and every little movement you'd make at the jumpscares and the loud sounds.

Hoseok dips halfway through, going up the darkened upstairs hallway with his phone torch on. Jungkook had the audacity to fall asleep, drooling on Seokjin's shoulder and mumbling unintelligible words; unbothered.

"I'm going to bed." Yoongi says to you, not really sleepy, but not interested in the movie enough to stay and watch. You grab at his hand and he pauses, "What?"

"You're leaving me here to suffer?"

"You're a big girl, you can take it." He shrugs, patting your hand before getting up. "Night guys."

Yoongi lays quietly in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a frown, unable to sleep. He turns his head, looking at the clock that blinks sleepily back at him and sighs, it's getting later into the night and sleep continues to evade him.

The house seemed to have quieted, the sound of Jimin and Taehyung arguing about who gets to use the upstairs bathroom first stopped a while ago, though, the stillness only allowed Yoongi's mind to wander off. He wonders if you're sleeping yet, he knows you have trouble sometimes, a common curse you both share.

He wonders about what you and Namjoon argued about, if it had anything to do with him. God he hopes not. The last thing he wants is for you and your brother to fall out because of him.

There's a soft knock on his door, quiet enough that he almost misses it. Just almost.

Yoongi gets out of bed, dragging his feet to the door. He isn't completely shocked to find you on the other side, looking like you're two seconds from walking away. Your hand still hovers, eyes impossibly big when they meet his in the soft light of the downstairs hallway.

"Hi." You say, softly, hand falling and gripping at the hem of a tee shirt he's sure belongs to Namjoon.

"...Hi?" Yoongi's brows furrow, not quite sure what you're doing knocking on his door at one in the morning, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just wanted to talk to you..." He lets you shuffle into his room, and you walk over to the bed while he closes the door.

"What I wanted to tell you earlier..." You sit on his bed, a good distance away, enough to leave the space between you both cold and Yoongi longing for you to come closer. You seem to be struggling, staying quiet for a little too long.

"Hey." Yoongi calls, "Whatever it is, you can tell me, okay? You know I'd never judge you." He feels the need to repeat himself, just in case you need to hear it again.

"You will." You glance at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth, and you shake your head, "This was stupid..."

"Hey, hey." Yoongi grabs your wrist, stopping you from getting up. "How about I look over there?" He points at a random spot beside him with a thumb, "I won't look at you and you can just say it." He turns for good measure, staring at the wall on the far side of the room.

You're silent for a moment, a long moment that has Yoongi wondering. Maybe he should stop pestering you about it, bury his curiosity - his concern - in a box somewhere to forget about. He's been on your back about it for most of the day, granted, the universe apparently didn't want you to say anything, not with the way you were constantly interrupted every time you tried to talk about it. He should take that as a sign and drop it all together.

"You okay back there?" Yoongi asks softly, turning his head slightly, but not facing you.

"I wasn't really drunk." You say

Confused, Yoongi's brows furrow, "Huh?" He turns to face you, "What are you talking about?"

"The night you picked me up outside that bar." You're not looking at him, instead, you're looking down at your hands in your lap. The events of that night comes rushing to the front of Yoongi's mind, the way you kissed him, how soft your lips were.

"Wait, so..." Something in Yoongi's ears was buzzing, loud and distracting, as realization dawned, he feels a heat rising from his toes. "You-" he stands quickly from the bed, now that he knows exactly why you've been trying to say all day, he thinks he just might lose it.

"Why'd you leave without saying anything?" It's the first thing out of his mouth and Yoongi wishes he'd just shut up.

"I was embarrassed that I just kissed you out of nowhere like that. And you pushed me away, what else was I supposed to do?" You say in a rush, "I know you only see me as Namjoon's little sister."

"I don't." Yoongi says, and at your pause, his palms start to sweat, heart kicking against his ribcage. "Why did you kiss me that night?"

"You probably think it was because I was drunk. That wasn't it." You look him in the eye, "I wanted to."

Yoongi takes a breath and a moment to think carefully about what he's about to say, "Y/n." He runs his palms against his thighs, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "You were drunk. Just out of a relationship and you only kissed me because you were hurting, that's it."

"That's not-" You sigh loudly, pursing your lips and staring at the ceiling, "Do you even know why I dated that idiot? It's because you..." You trail off, picking at a loose thread on your t shirt.

Yoongi waits, giving you the moment you need to gather your words.

"I dated him so that I could forget you." You say softly, not looking at him, and Yoongi feels like he's buffering, like a frozen computer screen. Just standing there as he processes your words, it's taking a while to sink in, or they have, Yoongi is only trying to understand them. "I thought that dating him you would..."

Yoongi sighs, "Tell me something, yeah?"

You nod quietly, waiting. Yoongi watches you for a moment, he's more curious now, "How long?"

He watches as you fluster, eyes darting around to look at anywhere that isn't him. The way your fingers pinch at the dark sheets on the bed, you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and Yoongi just wants to kiss you. But as he's been doing all day, he gives you a moment; Yoongi is nothing but patient.

"Since we met?"

Is that a question? There Yoongi goes buffering again. He blinks a couple of times, mind going through the motions of his forced epiphany. The moments when you used to follow him and Namjoon around, all the staying up late texting as though you both were more than you were at the time.

"I really really like you and I tried to show you that night, but well..."

You get up from his bed with a sigh and step towards him and Yoongi tries his best not to take a step back, he allows you to reach him, to stand close enough for him to touch. He's panicking, on the inside, a voice in the back of his mind telling him that this is a terrible idea and that he should probably stop you.

He can't bring himself to, words stuck in his throat.

You're closer now, Yoongi could feel the warmth of you, and he swears this time that he'll be brave. So he kisses you first, fingers tangling in your hair, a hand gripping your waist to pull you even closer. He feels your hands against his chest as his eyes close, your lips are warm and as soft as he remembers, and he groans at the taste of you. His tongue finds yours, slowly, sliding against yours and he wants to savour this, commit your every sound to memory. Yoongi groans when your hands slide into his hair, tugging lightly at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back for air, lungs trying to take in as much air as possible, too quickly, he feels lightheaded. But that could just be because of you. He presses a fleeting kiss at the corner of your mouth, nose brushing against yours lightly. He's pretty sure this is what being high feels like, the rushing of his blood in his ears and the tingling at the tips of his fingers.

"You're gonna end me." Namjoon will too. The thought alone was enough to make Yoongi pause, realise the grip he had on your hips. One of his hands is just shy of the exposed skin under your tee shirt, hyper aware of the way your chest is pressed to his, your lips on his neck.

Namjoon is going to kill him.

He feels your teeth nip at the skin of his neck and he hisses between his teeth, your tongue follows. He pulls away, pushing you from him gently to take a couple steps back. He sees the question in your eyes, the soft furrow of your brows. He sighs through his nose, thinking about how much of a terrible idea this was, and how Namjoon would very likely drown him in the lake.

"Y/n...we can't." This was the reason he pushed you away the first time. Yoongi likes to think ahead, think about all the outcomes of a situation before he walks into it. This could go two ways, and Yoongi's mind can only focus on the worst scenario. What if this goes wrong? What if doing this now ruins everything, he'd not only lose you, but Namjoon as well.

He sees your pout and he looks away, wondering why he can't just let it happen and deal with the consequences later. But Yoongi isn't like that. He likes to sit and over think things.

"Is this about Namjoon?"

Yoongi startles at your question, jolting a bit as he drops his hands from your waist, fingers curling against his palm. He's not as good at hiding his thoughts as he presumed, or you just knew him too well for his own good. He answers your question with a silent nod, not meeting your eyes in the darkness of his room.

"Yoongi. He wouldn't care. Namjoon can't do anything, what I do isn't his business."

Yoongi goes to argue that that's not the point. You were so off the mark that he almost laughed, Namjoon wouldn't care what you thought. He wouldn't be able to look past Yoongi even thinking about touching you. So much for being brave.

You sigh, and Yoongi catches the hurt in the sound.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't push me away again, please." You reach for him and Yoongi doesn't stop you, because he can; he doesn't want to. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to."

"Are you sure?" He asks seriously, catching your wrist, ducking his head so that he could meet your eyes properly, "Tell me now that this is okay because when I start I won't stop."

You barely got to nod before Yoongi was kissing you again, pouring everything he had into it, hands moving down to grip at your ass in your cotton shorts. He takes careful steps, walking you backwards towards the bed.

"Just let me take care of you, yeah?" Yoongi gently pushes you back onto the bed, taking his time to strip you out of your clothes. Not letting his worries and doubts stop him from telling you how beautiful you are, or from kissing every inch of skin revealed to his eyes.

He kisses his way down your thighs once your shorts and panties are out of the way, stopping every now and then to nibble at the soft flesh. Your little sighs and moans are something he wants to record and keep with him forever, even though he wouldn't need them to remember.

He touches you lightly, just to tease, sliding his hands down your thighs, eyes locked on your glistening pussy. He wants to draw this out, ignoring your impatient whine and the rise of your hips at his touch. He's waited so long for this, wanting to taste you beyond the kiss you shared so long ago, Yoongi wants to make you beg. Reduce you to a mumbling mess of incoherent words, but at the same time, he too is impatient.

He shushes you gently at your call of his name, fingers parting your folds and watching the way your pussy clenches around nothing at his gaze. "So pretty, baby."

It was your only warning before he dove in, licking a board stripe from your engerance to your clit, focusing the tip of his tongue at the bundle of nerves. You suck in a sharp breath, hand tugging at his hair and it only spurs Yoongi on. He sucks gently in your clit, tongue moving in slow figures and dips a finger into your wet heat. He groans at the way your cunt just sucks him in, arousal dripping down his hand and he adds another, curling them against the soft spot within you.

He looks up at you, past your heaving chest to your fucked out face. Your parted lips, furrowed brows, glazed eyes looking back at him.

"Yoon--fuck."

Yoongi groans lowly in his throat, pressing his tongue flat against your clit, mouth flooding with your taste. He'd stay there forever if you gave him the chance, listening to the way your breath hitches and the sound of your moans and the feeling of your fingers in his hair. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks harshly. He drives his tongue inside you, and the whine that leaves you has him rutting his hips against the bed. He can't get enough of your taste, the way your pussy clenches he's around his fingers.

"You taste so good, baby." Yoongi loves the way you grip at his hair, the way you tug sends tingles down his spine. He thrusts two fingers inside you, crooking them right, hitting the spot that sends your moans into a higher octave. He can't be bothered with how loud you're being, or if anyone's awake right now and would know exactly what you're both up to. You don't seem to care either, too lost in the pleasure; moaning his name.

"F-fuck, right there," you whimper, thighs tensing around his head. Yoongi groans as he obeys, crooking his fingers and rubbing at the spot that makes you sing so sweetly. His lips never leave your clit, tongue swirling around the swollen nub in figure eights. Dragging his fingers within the tightness of your dripping heat, he could tell you're close, feeling the way your thighs tremble. "Fu-"

Your back arches off the sheets, and Yoongi moans when your release gushes out of you and into his mouth. He stays there and takes it all, until you push at him instead of pull and Yoongi lets up, running his hands up your sides in an attempt to soothe as you tremble in the after wave. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," you squeak out and Yoongi chuckles, getting up to sit back on his thighs. He watches you for a moment, watching the way your chest heaves with your every breath, your hair a tangled mess against his pillows. His eyes trail your form, down to the mess between your thighs that twitched at his attention.

"Sure? You good to go on?" He asks to be sure, squeezing your hip gently. You nod, reaching for him and he goes without complaint, caging you within his arms and kisses you slowly. His tongue tangles with yours, and he grinds his hips down against yours, seeking friction for his aching cock, dampening the front of his sweatpants.

"Fuck that feels so good." He groans, sucking bruises into the soft skin of your neck. He angles his hips so that the length of his cock rubs directly against your clit, shuddering, it feels so good and Yoongi can't stop. He slows down though, because he could feel his release racing down his spine. "Fuck, baby."

"Wanna..." You push at his shoulders, "Wanna suck your cock." Your hands are at the drawstrings of his sweatpants already, tugging, "Wanna taste you, too."

"Fuck, okay."

Yoongi gets off the bed to shuck off his sweats, cock springing free, red and pulsing, precum beading at the tip. He chuckles at your facial expression, eyes surprised even though your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. He notes the way your eyes follow the movement of his hand, he grips his cock and squeezes, thumb catching the translucent drop and dragging it down his shaft.

"You're big."

"Good for you, then?" He pumps his shaft slowly, whispering curses under his breath.

You roll your eyes, "It wouldn't have mattered if-"

"Shh." Yoongi shushes and crooks the fingers of his free hand at you, "Come here."

He leans down to grab a pillow behind you, pausing, "Where's comfortable for you?"

"Wherever you want me," you say sweetly, and it would've been cute with the way you smile, if it wasn't for the look in your eyes. For a moment Yoongi feels like he's in for way more than he bargained for, with you looking so pretty, alluring, like a succubus ready to siphon his soul. Such a far contrast from the you of earlier, fumbling with your words and flushing under his gaze.

"This isn't about me." Yoongi swallows, "Are you kneeling or do you wanna stay on the bed?"

"I'll stay here." You make yourself comfortable, propping up on your elbows, and Yoongi passes you the pillow to help you reach his hips in your position. You slide the pillow under your chest, already reaching for him before he steps closer and Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath when your smaller hand wraps around his cock.

You mirror his motions from before, pumping slowly and Yoongi's not sure if you're teasing him or not. Tongue snaking out to kitten lick at the head, you swirl it around before taking it into your mouth.

"Ah fuck." Yoongi throws his head back, a hand finding your hair as you take him slowly to the back of your throat. He feels your exhales against his tummy, just barely, his mind too muddled to focus on anything but the warmth of your throat and the wiggling of your tongue under his shaft. "You're doing so good, baby."

You hum a gurgle of a word Yoongi would probably never decipher, the vibrations around the head of his cock has him tugging lightly on your hair and pulling out and away from your mouth, breathing hard. He'd be damned if he comes so quickly, that shit will probably haunt him for the rest of his life.

There's a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock, and you smile like the minx you are, not letting him get far enough away before you're taking his cock into your mouth again, bobbing your head at a quick pace. Yoongi could cry, he's trying so hard, there's sweat dripping from his hair, you're pulling him closer, taking him deeper and his eyes roll back.

"Shit. Slow down." His words trail off in a moan, and he's unable to help the rolling of his hips, thrusting his cock into the warmth of your throat, gently, mindful of your breathing. You swallow and he swears, thighs tensing and he stops, pulling away again to release a stuttered exhale. Leaning down, he kisses you, licking into your mouth with haste, tasting himself on your tongue. "Wanna fuck you." He breathes against your lips, releasing your hair for you to scoot back up the bed.

He's quick to follow, slotting his hips between your thighs, stopping to map bruises against the skin of your chest. He laves his tongue over a nipple, fingers toying with the other, he takes the pebbled bud into his mouth just to hear you make a pretty sound.

"Yoongi." You whine his name, and Yoongi doesn't waste another second, hooking one of your knees over his elbow, other hand guiding his cock to your wet cunt. He stays there for a moment, tapping his cock against your clit just to watch you squirm. You raise your hips to meet his teasing thrusts and Yoongi chuckles, easing back to slowly drag his cock down your slit until it prods at your entrance.

He slowly presses into you, watching the way your pussy sucks him in, arousal coating his cock. "You're so fucking tight." Yoongi stills, gripping your hips, watching you through a lust filled haze. He thrusts shallowly into you until he bottoms out and stills, free hand squeezing your hip gently. He swipes his tongue over his thumb, pressing the digit against your clit to rub in slow circles, "Relax for me, baby."

When he feels your body relax around him, he moves, setting a slow pace to start, leaning down to slot his lips over yours, swallowing the sounds you made. You arms wrap around his neck, nails scraping red, angry lines at his shoulder blades. The pain only heightens the pleasure he feels, crossing his eyes and curling his toes.

"Fuck." Yoongi bites gently on your earlobe, "You're so good for me baby. So fucking good. Taking my cock so well."

He knows you're getting tired of his pace. You're lifting your hips to meet his thrust, moaning helplessly into his ears. "Want more, baby?" He leans back in time to catch your nod, kiss swollen bottom lip caught between your teeth. He grips your hips again, keeping you from moving, and slows down just to watch you squirm and beg for him.

"Ple-fuck. Jus-" your words cut off with a gasp, hands gripping Yoongi's wrists where he holds you. He sets a punishing pace, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass loud in the quiet of the room. "Oh F-fuck, Yoongi."

"This what you wanted, hmm?" He tilts his head at you, one eyebrow raised, sliding a hand up your sweat slicked skin to cup your jaw, you take his thumb into your mouth and Yoongi's cock pulses with the need for his release. He smirks, pressing his thumb down on your tongue, pace never faltering, his nerves are on the edge of frying, orgasm tingling at the end of his spine. Pulling his hand away from your mouth and presses his thumb against your clit, looking down at the way his ccok, covered in your arousal, disappears inside you.

Yoongi groans, the sound rumbling in his chest, feeling your pussy clenching around his cock, squeezing tight as your breath hitches. "Ah--fuck I'm gonna-"

"Yeah? Come for me, baby." As your body tenses and tremble, Yoongi chases his end, hips stuttering and he gasps, cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat as his release spills into you. "Oh fuck."

Head light and ears ringing, Yoongi kisses you, it's more tongue than anything else, but he doesn't care. He does his best to keep the full weight of him off you, peppering kisses along your jaw. He feels your every breath and his sweat cools on his skin, "You okay?"

There's sweat burning his eyes and he squints at you as you push his hair back and away from his face, you're smiling and giggling shyly. Like if he told you a joke and didn't just fuck you nine ways to hell. "I'm perfect."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, leaning back up again to carefully slip his softening cock out of your still pulsing walls. His release comes flowing out not two seconds after, he watches with his bottom lip between his teeth, cock giving an interested twitch.

Yoongi gets up before he starts something again, because he just might die trying to go through a second round so quickly. "Don't move, I'll be right back."

He looks around on the floor for where he left his sweatpants, he puts them on and shuffles quickly to the door. He only realises just how quiet it is now that it's quiet, he realises how loud the two of you were being.

He goes back to you with a warm, damp washrag, finding you close to falling asleep. He cleans you up anyway, mindful of your sensitivity.

When he's done he watches you for a moment, fingers finding yours first. Mindlessly he fiddles with them and reaches for his discarded shirt and passes it to you, releases your hand only for you to put it on. "We probably could've done this sooner." You say softly, smiling.

Yoongi tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "What? The sex or...?"

You lightly swat his arm, "You know what I mean."

"I do." Yoongi presses a kiss to your wrist, sighing when you gently lay that palm against his cheek. He believes that action speaks volumes and there's no need for words, but he realises that he hadn't said it back to you earlier. Though, he was very much distracted and his thoughts were absent. "I like you too...alot...just in case that wasn't clear."

He shifts on the bed to be closer to you and leans his head on your shoulder, "I'm sorry it took me so long. It takes me a while to come to terms with things. I overthink and make things harder for myself, I wasn't sure if this was the right way to go."

You hum softly, breath tickling his ears, "It's okay. I suck too. We could've avoided the run around if I'd just told you."

"Yeah, you're terrible. I had no idea what to do with your smoke signals." Yoongi raises his head, chuckling. Leaning over, he presses a kiss to your forehead and tilts your chin to kiss you softly. "Can I take you out? When we get back."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Yoongi smiles, feeling like a kid and nudges you softly, "Go pee. I'll strip the sheets, go on."

He watches as you walk on wobbly legs till you reach the door and pause, turning your head to watch him with wide eyes, "you don't think they heard us, do you?"

"Nah, they're asleep."

"Dude, whoever was watching their porn so loudly last night, fuck you. Honestly, the lack of respect in this household."

It's the first thing Jimin says when he comes downstairs the next morning, looking like he'd slept on the wrong side of the bed. Eyes swollen as he takes the coffee Seokjin offers and the sympathetic pat to his shoulder.

Yoongi ignores the conversation, even though you looked like you were about to combust next to him. Seokjin was giving him a look from his spot by the stove, looking ridiculous in the pink apron he favoured.

"Yeah the walls are so thin in here it's wild." Seokjin wiggles his eyebrows at Yoongi and you choose that moment to choke on your sip of orange juice.

Taehyung pauses, fork halfway to his mouth with a strip of bacon hanging for dear life at the end of it. He looks between the both of you for a quiet moment, strong brows furrowed until something lights in his eyes. "Oh my god."

Jimin, who's slumping in his seat, looking like he wanted nothing more than to crawl his way back upstairs perks up at Taehyung's words, "What?"

Yoongi stares silently at Taehyung, daring him to open his big mouth and say exactly what he definitely wants to say.

"Nothing. Nothing...." Taehyung waves his hand with the fork, sending the piece of bacon flying off it and into his glass of orange juice. Jimin watches on with disgust as Taehyung fishes the piece out of the cup and tosses it into his mouth.

"The bin is right there."

"Are you drinking the juice?"

Yoongi runs circles into the skin of your knee, as Taehyung and Jimin bicker.

"Oh, Joon. Come eat." Seokjin wanders over to the entrance and Yoongi just barely catches the sight of Namjoon passing by, saying that he was going for a walk first. Hoseok and Jungkook enter just then, finding their spots at the table as Seokjin sets plates for them.

"I'll be right back." Yoongi says softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, leaving Jimin sputtering into his coffee. He pushes his chair back and stands, catching the way Hoseok squints at you.

He points, not saying anything before he leans around Taehyung to smack at Jimin's arm, "I told you so! You owe me fifty."

"Bold of you to assume I came here with money."

"You guys made a bet?" You ask, incredulous.

"Yeah. It's either someone was watching porn, or someone was getting it. You and Yoongi are the only ones not sharing a room..."

Hoseok voice fades as Yoongi shuts the front door behind him. It's cold, mist and dew clinging to the world and Yoongi regrets leaving his sweater in his room. He rubs his hands over his arms, the long sleeves of his t shirt barely keeping him warm.

Namjoon's already walking, a good distance from the house near the lake's edge. Yoongi takes his time walking over, gravel crunching under his feet, he slots his hands into his pockets to keep them warm.

When he reaches Namjoon, the younger man is crouched down, cooing at something on the ground. There's a little crab scurrying around trying to get away from Namjoon's curious fingers.

"Just let the little guy be." Yoongi announces himself, "Thing's probably scared shitless."

"I just wanna pick him up, though," Namjoon continues to try, sighing when the little crab escapes into the lake. "Oh well.." He dusts his hands and stands up, finally looking over at Yoongi.

"Aren't you cold?" He asks, and remembering he's standing out in a tshirt and sweats, Yoongi shivers. Namjoon looks all cozy in his beige sweater and matching beanie.

"I wanted to run something by you." Yoongi says, looking out at the lake and the way the light of the morning sun glitters against the still waters. He shoves his cold hands into the pockets of his pants, rubbing his thumb over his curled fingers. He realised that this is going to be as hard as trying to talk to you, and Namjoon waits patiently, watching Yoongi with eyes that seemed to know too much.

"Uh.." Yoongi chances a look, glancing at Namjoon who's just as quiet as him, waiting. "Look man, Y/n and I had a talk last night."

"Right?" Namjoon gives him a look, a confused one, head tilting and all.

Yoongi takes a breath and decides to go headfirst, though he takes a step back from Namjoon to be sure. "I really like your sister and we talked about it and I just wanted you to know that."

The uncomfortable look that morphs Namjoon's features wasn't what Yoongi was expecting, especially since the look stays there for a while as Namjoon just stares at him. He raises a hand to scratch at his cheek, "Dude."

"What?"

"Are you saying that I owe Hoseok fifty dollars?"

"...Eh?" Yoongi's confused, and it feels as though he's spent this whole weekend running on pure confused energy. Namjoon shakes his head, laughing in a way that makes Yoongi take another step back.

"I know. You two are terrible at hiding shit." Namjoon points his thumb over his shoulder, back at the house where he glances. From where he stands, he could see Seokjin, Taehyung and Jimin peering out through the window. "I know my sister, and I know my best friend. You guys are adults, so, really, there's nothing I can do but watch it happen."

Namjoon shrugs, and Yoongi flushes, cheeks heating. "But when I met her...you...you gave me a look."

"I was trying to ask if you wanted water!"

"That was not a 'do you want water' look, Joon."

Namjoon reaches over and pats his shoulder softly, hand lingering, "You have my blessing, if that's what you came to ask for." He smiles, eyes disappearing, but Yoongi's relief is cut short when he tries to shift away, Namjoon's grip tightening. "Though, she's still my little sister. I know where you live."

Yoongi chuckles, a little scared.

"Good talk." Namjoon nods to himself, "I'm going inside. Get out of the cold!"

Tagging: @madbutgloriouspond @blog-name-idk @taestefully-in-luv @btsstan12 @hamsterclaw @allhobbitstoisengard @dontstoptime @doneimnida @here2bbtstrash

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nyyrami · 1 month

Text

HOW THEY PROPOSE. . .

ᡣ𐭩 synopsis. how the jujutsu kaisen men proposed to you in there weird and thoughtful ways.

ᡣ𐭩 tags. satoru gojo x reader, nanami kento x reader, suguru geto x reader. but suggestive but nothing more. crying. cursing. tooth rotting fluff because we all love it. nanamis a gentleman. gojos unserious.

ᡣ𐭩 a/n. ummmmmm what can I say except your welcome? if you got the reference you got it lol. if you enjoyed a like or reblog would be greatly appreciated <3

SATORU GOJO is unserious. anyone who knows him knows that. he’s a teen stuck in an adults body. when someone gets proposed you’d assume it would be somewhere romantic. at a dinner or a lovely sight. but looking back now, you wondered how you agreed to him when he proposed to you in the kitchen…

you stood in the kitchen, cutting at a vegetable in preparation for the dinner later that night. you were mulling over what to cook. maybe you’d make a salad for your self and order takeout today for megumi and tsumiki.

the door to the kitchen opened with a quiet creak but you didn’t need to turn around to see who came in. it was as if your body knew before your mind whenever your boyfriend was near you. after a few odd moments of silence, satorus voice echoed through the room. ‘‘baby, can you turn around?’’

‘‘what do you want now, gojo—’’

the words fell off your tongue and you were left speechless at the sight infront of you as you turned around. there on the marble flooring of the kitchen wss your boyfriend, satoru gojo, on one knee. he held in his hand a black velvet box, opened to reveal the shiniest diamond ring you’d ever seen and that was barely any.

‘‘what are you—’’

‘‘will you marry me?'’ you couldn’t find the words to speak. was this well and truly happening? did your boyfriend finally want to take that big step with you?

your mind was spinning as you nodded at him and on cue, his eyes lit up at your approval and before you knew it he had picked you up in his arms peppering kisses all across your face. how you agreed to his proposal in a kitchen, you didn’t know. but one thing you did know was that you definitely did love him.

‘‘ew, stop smooching.’’ satoru stopped his attack of kisses on you much to your dismay but you understood why when you looked over his shoulder.

standing at an open fridge with a horrified face was megumi an open biscuit packet in his hand. you’d practically forgotten others lived in this house in your glee. ‘‘get a room.’’

‘‘yeah, we definitely will—’’

‘‘shut up gojo!’’

NANAMI KENTO was a gentleman, he was respectful and knew how to deal with anything. especially you.. no on can deny this, so like the gentlemen he is, of course he would propose in a lavish dinner, the best for his beautiful girl, no?

you had an inkling as to why your boyfriend, nanami kento had arranged for such a lavish dinner. you were on a large balcony, candles alloyed in various places to light up the darkness. underneath you was a red carpet leading to the door. how romantic. your boyfriend always knew how to treat you right. he’d even gotten your favourite flowers that now lay inside a glass bottle, bright and fresh in the middle of the table. the only problem was that the seat across from you was vacant

suddenly, the lines that ran through the ground lit up revealing letters you’d only just realised were written across the ground. in your shock you stood up, hard over your mouth. you turned to the doors that now opened to reveal your boyfriend clad in a satin tuxedo.

‘‘kento—’’

before you could get the rest of your sentence out, he kneels down on the red carpet infront of you. in his hand is a dark box, opened to reveal a ring, encrusted with diamonds that shimmered in the light.

‘‘will you marry me, love?’’ nodding in yes, he stood up and cradled your face before leaning in. even though he was kissing you the same, it felt so different in so many ways. ‘‘I love you, Y/N.’’

‘‘i love you too, kento.’’

SUGURU GETO was a cult leader and a lover. there was no doubt he didn’t love you to the moon and back. but recently you were feeling that you both had entered the stage where you both could fully commit to eachother. turns out, after an intense love making session, you wasn’t the only one feeling that way…

your bare chest fell and rose in a feeble attempt to catch the breath you’d lost but to no avail. the tingling in your limbs was not leaving too and the adrenaline still pumped through your veins from earlier.

looking up you were met with your lovers closed eyes, sweat droplets sliding down the side of his beautiful face his black, ink like hair spread across the white pillows. you couldn’t help but think he was extraordinary in some light. inhumane. his beauty was foreign, something that was meant to be scary but was only fascinating to you.

‘‘will…will you marry?’’ had you heard him right? you sit up, pulling the sheets with you, only then did you realise you were trembling. slight tremors reverberated through your skin and bones. suguru seems to notice that and grabbed your hands pulling them towards his chest to lie where his heart was beating. ‘‘w-what did you say?’’

‘‘would you marry me, right now?’’ he looked away, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. his grip on your hands tightened but you couldn’t have cared less. your head was pounding with a million thoughts, a million questions but the only words that escaped were the the one syllable word he wanted to hear.

‘‘y-yes, of course. but why—'’

instead of answering, he cuts you off with a heartfelt kiss dragging you down until you were above him, smiling as tears lined your waterline and you hugged him in happiness. the happiest he’d ever seen you.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento x reader #suguru geto x reader #gojo satoru fluff #nanami kento fluff #suguru geto fluff

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leviathanspain · 9 months

Note

Any Carmy x Reader where the reader is struggling emotionally but hides it well from Carmy (due to trying to open the new restaurant) until they slip up? Can be stress from work or even their own family drama they’ve kept from him. Thank you!

the perfect storm

carmy berzatto x reader

synopsis: you can’t bottle it all up forever, can you?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

your chest felt tight. you couldn’t take a deep breath no matter how hard you tried, and you were unconsciously pulling at the collar of your shirt, clearing your throat in hopes to find the ability to breathe. your eyes felt tight in their sockets, and your palms were sweaty. but you continued to slave away with prep, cutting vegetables to prepare for the big opening night.

you were trying hard to focus on your work, but your heart was practically pounding in your chest, and you were sweating more profusely. you dropped the knife suddenly, and tried to take a deep breath.

you clawed at your collar and began to unknot your apron. you needed to get out of here, and the knot wasn’t coming undone-

“hey, hey-“ the permanently impatient tone of voice that carmy had echoed into your ears. you blinked, and you felt his hands grab onto yours, holding them in place, “what’s wrong, chef?” he looked at you, and you felt him trying to hold your gaze but you were stuck looking ahead, still breathing heavy.

you realized just how silent the rest of the kitchen got and you huffed, pulling away from carmy, you ran out the back door, feet squeaking as they ran over the wet floor.

your hands slammed hard onto the wood of the back door, and you panted hard as you finally inhaled the fresh, crisp, chicago air. you brushed your stray hair from your face with a hand and tried to hold onto the relief you were getting.

but it began to slip away just as you heard footsteps. you turned quickly and saw carmen, his face concerned and his brows knitted together as he saw you.

you held your hands up, “stop. just, stop right there.” you brushed down the fabric of your apron, now loose around your waist from your previous attempt at removing it.

carmy neared you, and he sighed, “what the fuck was that?” his curls fell just slightly over his forehead, and normally you’d take the time to brush it out of his face, but you were frozen.

you shook your head, and silence fell upon you when you tried to form the words. you felt like crying, there was a big, welling knot in your chest that made you want to cry.

“y/n-“ his voice again broke your thoughts and you wanted to scream, “oh my god! i don’t know! i don’t fucking know what’s wrong with me, carmen! i don’t know why,” you sobbed, “i feel this way..”

there was another beat, where all he could do was stare at you, his hand motioning in a circle over and over again on his chest. you looked at him and nodded, “no. it’s nothing you did, don’t apologize..” you exhaled, and stepped away from him, trying hard to collect yourself. carmy followed you and you inhaled sharply, “my parents are getting a divorce.” you dug your phone out underneath your apron and from your jeans pocket, opening the text thread to show carmy.

carmy looked down at it and shrugged, “so fucking what? they’ve hated each other their entire marriage, it’ll be okay-“ he neared you but you stopped him, holding a hand up as you sniffled.

normally you wouldn’t have cared, had it been any other little thing. but this, “they’re my parents, carm. no matter who hates who or how much..” you inhaled, concealing a sob, “they’re my parents.” you felt like a little kid, embarrassed to be crying so hard after trying to bottle it up.

carmy patted your back, but you exhaled, “i just need a minute. mhm?” you sniffled, and carm nodded, but he didn’t move.

you looked at him, and raised an eyebrow, “a minute?” you repeated and carmen nodded, “yeah.” but he didn’t move.

you sighed, and realized what he was doing. finally, you stopped trying to push him away and walked over, holding your arms out as he took you in his.

he held you, his chin resting on top of your head, you sobbed quietly, “this isn’t fair..” you muttered, “i-“

his hand drew circles on your back, soothing you, “it’s okay, bug. it’ll be okay.” it had taken him a lot of learning and healthy habits to be able to comfort another person. in the beginning, you had to teach him how to be there for someone, and all those things he learned from you had boiled down to this moment.

he kissed your forehead, brushing his thumbs just over your cheeks, the tears going with, “we’ll talk about this later. just promise me that next time something happens-“ he paused, “you’ll stop bottling it up. hmm?” you pulled away and looked up at him.

your eyes felt puffy, but you nodded, “yes, chef.” and you went to hug him again, needing the warmth of carmy one more time before you went in.

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x you #carmy angst #carmy smut #the bear #the bear angst #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader

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insomniac-dot-ink · 1 year

Text

Wolves at the Door

In a tidy well-built home on the outskirts of a village on the outskirts of the world, lives a doe in homespun skirts. MaryAnne lives in her ancestral home with antlers nailed to the mantle. Aged enough to be an old maid but not old enough for it to be charming, a howling comes for her.

Oh, the Beast Folk of the north know better than to live alone. Lighting candles in the darkest months. Hanging Evil Eye charms in their windows to ward off wickedness. MaryAnne, all the same, cuts her own firewood and pickles her own vegetables. She survives the winter.

That is until that howling comes. Wolves are at her door.

Claws scratch at the wood. A long snout snuffles at the windowsill. A voice croons, as they always do, in a plaintive song. In those long months, the villagers and MaryAnne bury their faces in their arms. Stuff their ears with wax. Cluster together if they can. That is how you made it through a winter in the north.

Yet, a howling comes.

That year, MaryAnne forgot to restock her wax. Too late to go out, she curls into a ball on the hard floor, buries her face, and refuses to look up. A voice floats through the cracks.

“Little doe.” A growl. “Why do you hide inside your nest?”

Mustn’t answer. A female wolf casts a long shadow through the window. Backlit by a yellow moon. She has a voice for turning wine to honey. MaryAnne squeezes her eyes shut tighter.

“You’ll turn to dust within these walls. Nothing left but bones.” The voice laughs, guttural and wind-rough. Heavy steps sound from outside, crunching in the snow. “The breeze is fresh. The snow is young. A night for running.”

Mustn't answer to the night.

“They have marked your door with Juniper. Tell me, what makes you so unlucky?”

A whine escapes from deep within MaryAnne’s chest. There is no escaping rumors it seems– even among wolves. A gentle sun-tanned face flashes through her mind’s eye. He is smiling there. The memory frays at the edges in an instant, like crumpling paper by the fire. He is frozen in that eternal melancholy look. Like he knew what was coming.

MaryAnne lets out a second hiccup of sound.

“There you are.” The voice laughs long and harrowed. A scratch drags down her door, rattling the hinges. “Why don’t you come out?”

“Leave me alone!” Her voice is hoarse from disuse. “Leave before I, before I. . . Leave!"

Oh no. She had answered. What a silly girl she was. The beast outside throws her head back and howls. And howls still.

—--------

Days pass in which MaryAnne doesn't hear the howling. She sweeps and mends and peels peas. Sometimes, the doe wakes in the predawn hours, half-frozen and shivering. She stokes the dead embers and looks out. Faded stars and quilted black look back at her. The night is quiet then, peeled to its barest layers and forgiving. An exhale.

But those aren’t most days. A howling comes at her door. MaryAnne's ears begin to ring with it. She dreams of fangs and rust-colored waters. In the light of day, MaryAnne rubs at her eyes until she sees spots and some curling grin remains. I won’t survive the winter, she thinks. My time has come.

MaryAnne goes to the village Wise Woman.

She trudges through the glittering snow and ducks behind trees when strangers pass. Mother Grace lived near the outskirts of town too. Though unlike MaryAnne, footprints ring her squat home– deep grooves of movement. MaryAnne follows the grooves and creeps forward like she might fade into her own shadow.

The house is dark evergreen and churns enormous plumes of smoke. Charms for luck hang in the window and MaryAnne averts her gaze. Some of them look like pawed feet. She hunches her shoulders, tugs at her sleeves, and lifts a hand to the entrance. A door thick as slabs of good brown bread swings open at her touch.

“Hello?” she calls into the gloom. “I am MaryAnne. Daughter of . . .” She doesn’t finish the thought. If there was one thing to know of Mother Grace, it is that she hates tedious things. “Mother Grace, I have come to ask you of the world. I’ve come to ask you what wolves fear.”

“Questions, questions.” A grumbling answers her. “For yourself, child? Or some grand cougar king. Conquering their enemies.”

“For me. Yes. Myself. I am, I’m a doe.” MaryAnne stumbles forward and eyes adjust to the dimness.

“I can smell that.”

An old woman sits before a stone shelf, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by books. An iron stove dominates the living space and the air shimmers with heat. Mother Grace rocks back and forth in her chair. She is entombed in pillows, waiting to remind the young that the winter is long. And bound to grow longer.

MaryAnne repeats her question. “Do you know how to rid yourself of wolves?” How to escape being hunted? She dare not speak those words into existence though. Hunted. Cursed anew.

The woman grumbles under her breath once more. Grey-haired and petite, her rabbit ears hang long and limp down her shoulders. Her milky eyes were unseeing and body bent forward. Yet, her bearing is steady and unflinching. MaryAnne wishes in some distant way she could embody the same self-assured air. A knowledge of herself, good or bad.

Unable to bear it any longer, she repeats herself. “Please. Wolves are at my door. You are the most learned Folk. What do they fear?”

Mother Grace doesn't look at MaryAnne as she speaks. Her voice creaks. “I cannot say. Fear is a shifting thing. Wolves, too, shifting creatures." The Wise Woman grunts a dry laugh. “Hard to separate the two.”

"Ah,” MaryAnne says like she understands, heart sinking to the bottom of her shoes.

Mother Grace sets her jaw and looks past her. "Go to the mulberry tree at sunset and bow your head. Speak true and earnestly.” The Wise Woman gnashed her gums. “It will show you how to greet a wolf.”

MaryAnne swallows. “Will that save me?”

The wisewoman does not answer.

—-------

The sun sets in in a purpling line, sending the towns folk scurrying behind their locked doors. The Beast Folk know better than to linger alone after dark. But MaryAnne is Juniper-marked and given a task. She approaches the Mulberry tree in the shadow of a hill. Red ribbons tied in its bare branches and framed by twilight.

MaryAnne bows her head and kneels on the snowy earth, her cheeks pinched with cold. The knees of her pants soaking through.

“How do you escape a wolf?”

The Mulberry bush sways in the wind. The ribbons turn a dull navy in the light and MaryAnne shivers.

Two knotted eyes blink and the nymph bows back. Her hair sticks straight in the air– naked branches reaching for sky. She considers MaryAnne for a long moment.

“Your father came to me once. Asking questions.” A pause follows that could suck the marrow out of bones. “He could not deter his fate. You may not be able to either."

“Please.” MaryAnne swallows over and over, suppressing the stinging in her eyes. “There is a wolf at my door. She will not leave. She has my scent.”

“Ah,” the Nymph says, pity trapped in her wispy vowels. “A Stray perhaps of their terrible rituals. The Bone Cities are far and often cruel. Come closer, girl. I may teach you to greet a wolf and thus defer her task a while longer.”

—-------

The wind whips against MaryAnne’s walls, battering the sides of her home. The dark wood was tightly joined and held. A syrupy silver light bathed the snow outside and MaryAnne’s eyelids grew heavy. She had been watching her door since she returned from the Mulberry tree.

And it had not ceased since the moon arose. A long cry mixed with the violent gusts of wind. A howling. MaryAnne’s shoulders set in a hard line, back aching and mood even more dour. Let it be over, she prays to the Great Mother Doe. Though, who knew if the starry mother listened. Let the wolf go home empty-handed.

MaryAnne’s head nods to her chest, jerking upright at the first sound. A scratch peels down her front door. Claws against wood.

“Little doe, why do you hide?” the wolf sings in that beseeching tone.

MaryAnne does not bother to curl into a ball. She straightens to her full height, nubby horns facing the door as if she might charge. Fangs flash in her mind’s eye and she takes deep breaths. MaryAnne forces her legs to work.

"Good evening," she booms. An imitation of how she imagines governesses speak to future kings. MaryAnne bows before the door, taking her time falling to her knees. Her chest tightens-- a thrum of terrible life. “I am pleased to meet you."

“Pleased?” The wolf sounds amused. Perhaps wolves can always afford that.

“Yes.” In slow increments, MaryAnne brings her wrists near the crack under the door. Bile rises in her throat and she pushes closer. “I see you've come to call on me. Perhaps I may have you over for tea. Do you take it with cream or sugar?”

The laugh is thunderous. A long snuffling follows and MaryAnne thinks she imagines whiskers under the crack.

“You smell like fear. Are you afraid?”

“Always,” MaryAnne says bitterly. “Is that not our nature? You, at our doors. Me inside my home. But you could knock.”

“I have a home too, you know,” the voice purrs. “Many leagues away and by the sea. Perhaps you might enjoy running to it.”

“You may have me over for tea,” she keeps her tone even. “Come back in the morning to exchange invitations. I have stationary you might borrow.”

Hot air blows against her wrist. The wolf audibly inhales. “You think yourself clever. Juniper-marked and clever.”

“What else could I be?” Her voice trembled and she didn’t like the way it broke on the last words.

“I can make a few suggestions.” The crunch of heavy paws against the snow. “Open up the door and I will show you.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” MaryAnne grits out despite herself. Run, run, run. her mind says. Her feet say. But the Mother Doe isn’t there to light her way. “My name is MaryAnne. I would like to invite you to tea.”

The door gives a violent shake, a weight thrown against it. Dust rains from the rafters. The hinges shrieks and the wolf lets out a howl to match. The door holds– as it was meant to.

Life spikes in her chest this time and fills her belly with warmth. MaryAnne holds herself perfectly still, wrists shoved to the crack in the door.

“I am Shier of the Northern Pack,” the wolf spit out the words. “You may keep your twice-damned tea.”

-----------------

Part 1 of 3

#fantasy fiction #fairy tales #sapphic #short story #part 1 of 3 #my work #anthro

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novasintheroom · 5 months

Text

A home for you and me

Combining these two asks since they both ask for the same line! Hope you don't mind <3

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: It's a new chapter in your lives.

Now part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s a hot day. Most people are avoiding the worst of it by staying indoors, where some have cooling vents from the Plant, and others just have shade.

Vash feels sweat drip down his back, his knuckles lightly cramping around the cloth handles for bags laden with food stuffs. He’s happy with the haul from the market. Fresh fruit and vegetables, with synthetic meat that didn’t look too grey. This town really was a good place to settle down. He’ll have to tell you again when he gets home.

Home.

What a strange concept. Over one-hundred and fifty years on No Man’s Land, and Vash could hardly call any place truly home. Sure, there’s the ship, Home. Luida and Brad are wonderful. But he never wanted to overstay his welcome there, always leaving within a few days to hoof it once again across the deserts and try to repent for his wrongs. And always being on the run as either an outlaw or just an unwanted or unwelcome stranger made it impossible to settle down anywhere.

Until now.

Home comes into view as he rounds a corner. Sitting along a row of similar houses, it’s small, built of metal and rock and precious few beams of wood to bend in the desert winds. Three painted pots sit near the door – a craft you’d insisted on doing to help brighten the outside with more than oranges and browns. The string lights sway in the slight breeze over the doorway, waiting to turn on once the suns dip lower and the shadows come.

Someone might say it’s not much. But give them a century of travel, and it’ll become the best thing a man has seen.

His left hand turns the handle of the door – unlocked, you probably saw him coming through the window – and goes inside.

He only has a moment to hear your squeal and drop the groceries before you launch yourself at him. He catches you, feels your legs wrap around his waist to keep yourself locked in place. He is pummeled by your lips on his jaw, his neck, his cheeks. “Mayfly – !” He’s already overheated, but this is making it worse. “What are you – “

“I’m so happy we have a house!” You exclaim, planting a big kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m so happy you get to get groceries!”

Ah, zoomies. You’d been doing this lately, just too happy to have a house to do anything but run around or kiss him. He lets out a laugh, pulling you into a hug to stop your onslaught. “Can I at least shut the door before you decide to pounce on me the moment I come home?” He walks into the hallway, gently kicking the door closed behind.

You snort and pull back with a look. “You know you love it.”

He hums. “I’m sure the neighbors love it too,” he says. Still, he leans forward and catches your lips in a full kiss.

When you pull back, you finally put your feet back to the floor and stoop down to gather the grocery bags. “C’mon, I’ve been rearranging the furniture and I need to get your opinion. Oh, also, one of the neighbors came by and gave us a casserole! Isn’t that weird? She was super nice, though. I think she said she lives a few doors down, but I’ll have to check again. I think she has those two teenage boys that we saw walking earlier. Looked a lot like her!”

You wander down the hall, expecting him to follow at your heels, just like when you travelled. But Vash has to take a moment. You’re carrying groceries instead of supplies for camp. There’s food in the house, a place to safely lay your heads. You cut a beautiful figure, knocking into the corner as you go to the kitchen with what he brought home. Already trusting he got the right supplies, that this is going to work. You want him to look at the furniture.

You pop your head back in the hall when he doesn’t immediately show up. Your face falls, and you’re rushing to him. “Birdie, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” You reach up, and Vash is surprised to feel tears being wiped away. He hadn’t known he was crying. “Did something happen at the market?”

Vash takes a moment to rein it in. Then he pulls you into a tight hug, a watery laugh spilling out. “I’m just…really glad we have a home.”

You coo and rub his back. It still has all the scars and metal plates under the shirt. All the reminders of where he’s been, what he’s gone through. You feel your own tears prick in your eyes. What you would give to make that go away. But it’s what made him the man he is today, and you wouldn’t have him any other way. Your sweet man. You rock him side to side with your feet and whisper, “Me too, sweetheart.”

Vash sniffles into your shoulder, glasses pressed into the crook of your neck. Then he pulls away, sighing and wiping his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m done.” He laughs. Then, looking down, he asks, “One more kiss? Please?”

With a smile, you say, “See? I knew you loved it.” You go to your tiptoes and press your lips to his.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #tristamp #writing #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #self insert #reader insert #nova writes #150 Bullets

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c-e-d-dreamer · 8 months

Text

And They Call It Puppy Love

A/N: Listen, I know the Rivalry prompt for @nessianweek was probably meant more for Nesta and Cassian as rivals, but I just think there's something so funny about Cassian having a rivalry and beef with an animal sooooo yeah :) Shout-out to the Anon who sent me this prompt! And also, I imagine Nesta's dog as a black Australian shepherd.

Read on AO3

“Who’s a good boy? That’s right. You’re a good boy.”

The voice floats to Cassian through the wood of the apartment door, light and sweet. It fills his chest with an easy warmth, but try as he might, there’s no stopping the grimace that tugs at his lips. He sighs softly and pushes his fingers up and through his hair, rolling his shoulders back once before he raises his fist to knock. He’s better than this. Barks echo around him for a moment, and then the apartment door is opening.

“Hey,” Nesta greets him, that small, private smile lighting up her face.

“I brought everything to make your favorite,” Cassian tells her, raising the bag in his hand for her to see.

Nesta’s smile widens at that, the sight sending Cassian’s heart skipping between his ribs. “You’re too good to me.”

“Not possible, sweetheart.”

Cassian presses a kiss to Nesta’s cheek as he steps inside the apartment, relishing in the pink he can see starting to bloom across her skin. He discards his leather jacket and shoes in her front entryway and walks into her kitchen, setting the bag down on the counter and pulling out all the ingredients he grabbed on the way over. Deft hands slip beneath the hem of his tee, sliding along his waist, and Cassian finally gives into his grin as Nesta presses her forehead between his shoulder blades.

“Can I help with anything?” Nesta asks, her voice slightly muffled against the cotton fabric.

“After last time? No.”

He feels more than he hears her quiet huff, and though he can’t see her, Cassian is sure that she rolls her eyes. “It was just one, small, tiny, little grease fire.”

Cassian chuckles and turns around in her arms, cradling her jaw in his palms and tilting her face up toward his. “I’ll cook. You can do the dishes.”

“Deal,” Nesta agrees, pressing up onto her toes and kissing him sweetly.

Nesta goes to pull away from him, but Cassian is having none of that. He curls his arm around her waist and tugs her right back into him, kissing her properly, languidly. She practically melts against him, fingers curling into his shirt, and when he finally pulls back, that pretty blush he loves so much is spilling across her cheeks again. Her eyelashes flutter for a moment and then that stormy blue gaze is on him. Cassian doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how beautiful her eyes are. How beautiful she is.

Nesta finally slips from his grasp, but she doesn’t go far, hopping up to sit on the counter, so Cassian gets to work. He grabs the pots and pans he’ll need for the dish, setting them on Nesta’s stovetop, and snags the cutting board he spots near the sink. He slides his hand along Nesta’s knees as he steps around her, grabbing the fresh veggies he bought and giving them a good rinse.

“Where do you keep your good knives?”

“The drawer by the coffee machine.”

With a nod, Cassian sets the vegetables down on the cutting board and steps toward the drawer in question, but his path is blocked. He tries to keep his smile easy and friendly, tries to keep his voice light as he says, “excuse me, Bingley.”

But unsurprisingly, the dog sprawled across the kitchen tiles and in his way doesn’t budge. In fact, Bingley merely lifts his head from his paws and narrows his eyes at Cassian, practically daring him to say something, to do something. The look has Cassian’s fingers itching with the urge to dig his phone from his pocket, to snap a photo as proof of a fact that Cassian has known since the first time he stepped inside Nesta’s apartment.

Nesta’s dog hates him.

He’s sure of it. The way his shoes are never quite safe when he stays over. The way Bingley will growl at him whenever Nesta slips out of the room and out of earshot. The way Bingley will tangle his leash around Cassian’s legs when they go to the park. The way Bingley straight up glares at him just like he is currently doing. Cassian swears on the Cauldron that the dog despises him.

When Cassian had informed his brothers of this fact on one of their boys’ nights out, Rhys had laughed so hard he nearly fell off the barstool. And when Cassian had pulled up Nesta’s Instagram to show Bingley to both of them, it had even pulled a laugh from Azriel. According to his brothers, the dark brown fur that was a bit wavy around the ears and the light brown eyes made Bingley look like the dog version of him, which to them, made the whole thing even funnier. Cassian hadn’t joined in their laughter. Instead, he had grumbled into his pint glass about how he would be best friends with himself if he was actually a dog.

And despite the months he’s been dating Nesta since, the animosity that Bingley harbors toward him hasn’t lessened, and no amount of friendly smiles or words, no amount of attempted and failed pets or scratches, no amount of treats seem to deter the Australian shepherd. Cassian is twice the dog's size, and yet he still feels like he’s losing the battle.

But he refuses to lose the war.

So with a soft sigh and a glare of his own that Nesta won’t be able to see, Cassian leans over Bingley, tugging open the drawer and grabbing the knife he’s looking for. Him, one. Bingley, zero.

It doesn’t take him long to whip up their dinner, Cassian sidling up between Nesta’s legs and stealing a kiss or two in between stirs, raising the spoon to her lips for a taste test after each step. And when they’ve finished eating and all the dishes are washed, Cassian and Nesta retreat to her sofa, scrolling through one of the streaming services to find a movie to watch.

Cassian slides his arm across the back of the sofa, his fingers curling around Nesta’s shoulder, but before he can tug her closer, Bingley decides to jump up onto the sofa too. Right in between them. He’s clearly undeterred by the lack of space available, moving and shifting around until Cassian has to scoot over to get away from the paw digging uncomfortably into his thigh. Cassian presses his lips together, forcefully swallowing down the sigh desperate to be released. It’s only the smile that graces Nesta’s face as she scratches Bingley’s ears that keeps him from requesting the dog get down.

Still, Cassian doesn’t miss the way Bingley looks over toward him before pointedly settling his head in Nesta’s lap. The message is clear. The only person who will be cuddling Nesta tonight is her dog. Bingley, one. Cassian, one. And later, when Cassian goes to slip beneath the sheets with Nesta, he finds Bingley already on the bed, leaving only a sliver of mattress available, the dog once again decidedly taking the spot beside Nesta.

Bingley, two. Cassian, one.

~ * * * ~

Cassian is just stepping inside his apartment after his morning run when his phone rings. He digs it out of his pocket and finds Nesta’s photo flashed across the screen. He can’t help but stare at it. The way her nose is scrunched adorably. The way she’s mid-eyeroll. The way he can see the first hints of that fond smile breaking through even in this captured moment. It’s his favorite photo of her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Cassian greets through the phone, pressing speakerphone and setting the phone on his kitchen counter while he prepares his post workout shake.

There’s a sniffle on the other line followed by a quiet cough. “Cass, I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our plans today. I woke up feeling like shit.”

The croak in her voice has Cassian’s heart squeezing, and he swipes his phone to press back to his ear. “You don’t have to apologize, Nes. You sound terrible. I bet it’s that virus that’s going around. A bunch of people at the office have been out sick all week.”

“Whatever it is, I hate it.”

“Do you have medicine? Some soup? Everything you need?”

“I think…? I haven’t found the motivation to get out of bed just yet.”

Cassian is already moving through his apartment and toward his bedroom when he speaks again. “I just got back from my run. Give me some time to shower and hit the store, and then I’ll be right over.”

“Cassian, you don’t—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”

Cassian can hear Nesta grumbling through the phone, but it soon turns into another coughing fit, and that solidifies his decision. After he hangs up with Nesta, he quickly showers and gets dressed, hopping in his car and stopping at the store before he’s finally walking up the steps of Nesta’s apartment building. He shifts all his bags to one hand so he can knock, and it takes a few moments before he finally hears shuffling on the other side of the door, the click of the lock.

When Nesta tugs open the door, she definitely looks worse for wear. She has a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the golden brown strands of her hair slightly mussed and falling out of her simple braid. Her skin looks pale and clammy, her blue eyes almost a dull gray. She offers Cassian a few slow, tired blinks and then steps back, allowing him to step inside the apartment. He makes quick work of unloading all the items he brought, refrigerating what needs to be kept cold and setting everything else on the counter.

“You really didn’t have to come over and do all this,” Nesta tells him, hovering just inside the kitchen.

“Nes,” Cassian chuckles softly, stepping over to her and framing her face with his hands. He frowns when he feels how warm her skin is beneath his palm. “Let me take care of you.”

Nesta peers up at him, a frown of her own marring her face, and Cassian hates it. He hates the skepticism he can see dancing across her expression. It makes him want to track down every single one of her exes and punch them in the face.

“I know I look like shit and that you could be spending your day doing far better things.”

“First of all, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen even when you’re sick. Second of all, I want to spend time with you. And third of all,” Cassian tells her, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Nesta’s face starts to scrunch up, but she steps closer and hides it against his chest. “I love you too.”

He can feel Nesta shiver against him, so Cassian wraps his arms tightly around her, allowing her to leech as much of his warmth as she can. But after a moment, he guides her out of the kitchen and onto the sofa, grabbing one of the spare blankets and draping that over her as well. A quick glance around and he spots Bingley watching him curiously, the dog’s head tilted slightly.

“Come on, Bingley,” Cassian requests, patting the cushion beside Nesta. “Come watch over our girl for a few minutes.”

Surprisingly, the Australian shepherd listens, ambling into the room and jumping up onto the sofa. The dog settles his head in Nesta’s lap, so, content to know that Nesta’s in good hands, Cassian heads out of the living room. He makes a brief pitstop in the kitchen before stepping into Nesta’s bathroom, running her a hot bath. When the tub is full, he adds some epsom salt and a few drops of eucalyptus oil to mix with the steam and help with the congestion. With a satisfied nod, he goes to retrieve Nesta, finding her right where he left her.

“Did you run a bath?” Nesta asks from beneath her pile of blankets. “I heard the water running.”

“Just for you, sweetheart.” He scoops Nesta up and into his arms, carrying her down the hall and into the bathroom. “You soak, and I’ll make you some soup, okay?”

That same expression from before starts to take over Nesta’s face again, but a pointed look from him has her swallowing down any words of protest with a sigh. She drops the blanket from around her shoulders, so Cassian presses one last kiss into her hair and retreats back into the kitchen.

He whips up some chicken noodle soup with ease, the family recipe like second nature as he moves about Nesta’s kitchen. Bingley lays on the kitchen floor and watches him the entire time, but Cassian tries not to pay the dog any mind. He’s too focused on Nesta, on finishing this soup for her, on keeping his ears pricked for any sounds coming from the bathroom to worry about going another round with the dog.

He’s just ladeling some soup into a bowl when he hears quiet sniffles, turning to watch Nesta shuffle into the kitchen. She’s changed into an oversized crewneck and sweats after her bath, some of the color having returned to her cheeks.

“A bath and homemade soup?” Nesta teases lightly, scrubbing her sleeve beneath her nose.

“Only the best for you.”

After Nesta finishes the soup and takes some medicine, Cassian presses the back of his hand to her forehead. She’s still too warm for his liking so he coaxes her back into bed, tucking the blankets tight around her shoulders.

“I still have to take Bingley for a walk,” Nesta protests, looking adorable with her cheek squished by the pillow.

“I can take him for a walk,” Cassian promises, sweeping her hair away from her face. “You just try and get some sleep.”

He steps out of Nesta’s room and closes the door behind him with a quiet snick, but once he’s alone in the hall, he takes a moment to let out a quiet breath. He can do this. He can take a dog that hates his guts for a walk. Squaring his shoulders and cracking his neck, Cassian strides into the front entryway of Nesta’s apartment, grabbing the leash hanging from the hook there. As though the sound has summoned him, Bingley comes ambling in, pausing a foot away from Cassian and staring him down.

“Alright, Bingley. If you’re going to fight me at least wait until we leave the apartment. Nes needs to rest.”

Cassian waits for the growl, waits for Bingley to snap or try to bite him, but it never comes. Instead, Bingley closes the distance between them and dips his head, waiting. Cassian practically chokes on his surprise, blinking a few times to ensure his eyes aren’t deceiving him, that this is really happening. Slowly, carefully, he slides the leash into place, opening the front door and allowing Bingley to lead the way down the stairs and out of the apartment building.

The whole walk feels like a blur. There’s no twisting and wrapping the leash around his legs. No tugging against his hold and pulling him in every direction. No taking off as soon as they’re outside, which was Cassian’s worst fear. Instead, Bingley keeps an easy pace, pausing occasionally to do his business, until they’ve done a solid loop of the whole neighborhood.

Nesta is awake when they make it back to the apartment. She’s able to nibble and keep down some crackers, and Cassian makes sure she drinks plenty of water. He gives her some more medicine and gets her back into bed. This time, he slips beneath the blankets with her, tugging her into his arms.

“You’re going to end up sick too, you know,” Nesta points out, even as she shifts to curl tighter into his chest.

“Maybe that’s my plan all along,” Cassian offers, tracing soothing shapes up and down her spine. “We both end up sick and then we’re trapped in this apartment together for days.”

“You’re the worst.”

“And you need to sleep.”

Nesta hums noncommittally, but after a few minutes, her breathing evens out, her body relaxing fully against him. Cassian keeps his arms securely around her, turning his head and pressing a kiss into her hair. He stays like that, letting his own eyes flutter closed and soaking up the peace of the moment.

The mattress shifting and moving beneath him has Cassian’s eyes jolting open again. He peers through the dark of the bedroom, using the light spilling around the drawn curtains to see Bingley standing at the foot of the bed. Cassian’s arms tighten around Nesta, as if he can put off the inevitable, can stop the way Bingley will squeeze into the space between them, all but knocking Cassian out of the bed and taking up the space beside Nesta, just as the dog always does.

But his bated breath quickly morphs into bewilderment, as Bingley merely settles at their feet, curling up and resting his head on his paws. The Australian shepherd stares at Cassian a moment before letting out a quiet huff and shutting his eyes. It feels a lot like a peace offering, a lot like a truce.

“Good boy, Bingley.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

#nessian #nessianweek2023 #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

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crisiscutie · 8 months

Note

Fluffy Sephiroth’s reaction at the darlings little pregnancy waddle bc i been wanting fluff.

Sure thing! Enjoy this entry in the Crisis Cutie Collection.

Sephiroth slashed at the wooden training dummies, effortlessly cutting many of them down in a quick succession. He's going to need to come up with more creative ways to maintain his sharp mind and fighting prowess if he wants to cope with this new life. His decision to abandon Shinra with his darling was the best one he made, but now he's plagued with doubts if this new domestic lifestyle is a better alternative. He knew that living in a remote, peaceful village should be a fresh start, but restraints of the past made that difficult. He was trained and raised to be a killer. To search and destroy. He was never suited for normality.

While lost in thought, a hidden sense of his detected a special someone in the fields, approaching him; His darling. He swiveled around, his eyes fixed on her alluring silhouette in the distance. Of course, she was wearing her favorite sun hat... More of her figure became distinct by the second, and he felt some of his tension ease away. He knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he must adapt to this new way of life. It's necessary for his darling and their precious unborn child. The thought of losing them is unbearable to him. He wouldn't know what would happen if they were to leave him...

But something seemed off about his darling's gait as she came closer to him. His eyebrows furrowed, slit eyes narrowing in suspicion. ...She's waddling? For a second, worry and concern overtake him. Is his darling hurt!? No, no. No one would dare hurt her when he's around. Despair shall come to them if they did. His gaze then lingered on her baby bump, which seems bigger. ...Of course! It's her pregnant stomach that's making her waddle like that. His expression became eased as he continued to watch her with interest.

He couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight. Her gait affected by the weight of their love's fruit. A dreamy smile began to play on his lips as he fixated more on her swollen belly, yet his eyes still held a hint of sadness. Hopefully, he won't lose his darling, like how he lost his mother... If she can make it through, then maybe life in this village is possible after all.

"I was calling out to you, Sephiroth. Didn't you hear me?" His darling said, now suddenly in front of him. She caught him in his trance.

"My apologies... I was distracted." Sephiroth said, somewhat embarrassed. He looked down and noticed his darling was carrying a wooden basket.

"I know you don't want any distractions when you're sparring, but... I'm worried about you. I know you didn't eat all day." She murmured. He looked away from her briefly, a telltale sign of his guilt.

"I'm fine," Sephiroth said, attempting to appear stoic, but the slight quiver in his tone said it all. His darling reached out and touched his arm, her pleading eyes silently conveying her concern. Sephiroth didn't relent, though. He wanted to remain strong for both her and their child. After a few moments passed, she let out a deep sigh, breaking the tense moment.

"Well, at least let me feed you," she said. "This food shouldn't go to waste." With that, she lifted the basket, revealing fruits and vegetables within it. Sephiroth looked back at her with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "You heard me," she said, her gaze stern and maternal as she put her hands on her hips. "Now, sit down." Her maternal concern tempered the command in her voice. Sephiroth found himself obeying as he sat down on the stone bench near them. Satisfied with his obedience, she happily plucked a ripe strawberry from the basket and held it out to him, her fingers brushing against his lips. Sephiroth's lips twitched into a small smile, as he opened his mouth to accept this lovely gift. When he tasted the juicy sweetness of the strawberry, a wave of happiness washed over him. Perhaps, he thought, more activities like this can help him better adjust...

Sweet boy is struggling... but he's getting better.

#sephiroth x reader #sephiroth #ff7 sephiroth #crisis cutie #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #final fantasy x reader #fluffy sephiroth #domestic headcanons #domestic au #domestic fluff #domestic reader #the crisis cutie collection #final fantasy vii #ffvii #ffvii crisis core

189 notes · View notes

mixelation · 6 months

Text

i took a cursed evening nap so now im up at early af o'clock. have some reborn au. minato pov, him being a dad and also a wife guy

takes place while kushina is in iwa

****

Minato arrived home close to midnight. All the lights were on.

Maybe Naruto does need a babysitter, Minato thought, switching off the entrance hall light. Eight was old enough for a ninja in training to walk home alone and hang out for a few hours, but it was becoming obvious Naruto still wasn’t old enough to get himself to bed properly.

Naruto would throw a fit if Minato walked back on his assessment that Naruto was mature enough to take care of himself. He’d been so proud of himself. Minato wished Kushina were here to discuss the idea.

Naruto was, predictably, passed out on the couch, the TV still on at full volume. Minato switched it off, surveying the mess Naruto had left on the coffee table. Two comic books, half-read and left open. His textbook shoved aside with his homework, half done, pencils and his eraser strewn across the table. An empty instant ramen cup, because Minato had been having a lot of late nights and they’d gone through all the meals he’d prepped and frozen with Kushina before her departure.

Minato closed and stacked the comic books, lined them up neatly with Naruto’s textbook and set his half-finished homework on top. He tossed a blanket over his son, who shifted and pressed his face further into the couch cushion. Minato watched him for a moment, empty ramen cup in hand.

He felt guilty. Between a crisis with a patrol group disappearing near the Water Country border (now resolved), some drama with the Daimyo’s first son, Danzo trying to creep into ANBU control again, and the Iwa mission, he hadn’t seen Naruto awake in days. He didn’t want to get Naruto another babysitter. He wanted to come home and make dinner and check over his son’s homework and put him to bed himself.

Minato would never, ever pull Kushina from a mission she wanted to do, but he always struggled with her away. Together they were such a good team for Naruto, but Minato could barely keep up when he was by himself.

Minato moved to the kitchen, switching off the living room light as he went. When he tossed the instant ramen cup, there were two bell pepper cores in the bin, so at least Naruto had obeyed the rule that he had to have at least one fresh vegetable with his ramen. (He had, of course, picked the two orange peppers out of the multicolored pack.)

One of the peppers was still out on the counter, cut in half and abandoned with a paring knife on a cutting board. Minato sliced it into strips as he waited for water to boil for his own instant ramen.

He sat down at the kitchen table and heard shuffling from the living room. Naruto appeared in the kitchen doorway a few moments later, hair mussed and eyes bleary with sleep.

“Dad?”

“Hey, kid,” Minato greeted. “Wanna sit with me?”

Naruto crawled into the chair next to him, hand automatically going for the plate of bell pepper pieces Minato had set out.

Minato thought about chastizing him for not finishing his homework, or telling him he had to be more responsible or Minato would have to get a babysitter afterall. But Naruto was sleepy and Minato hadn’t had a real conversation with him in days, and this seemed unnecessarily cruel.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around this week,” Minato said instead. “Why don’t you come up to the office after class tomorrow?”

At first he wasn’t sure if Naruto was awake enough to hear him, as the kid just chewed, expressionless, for several seconds.

“Are you going to make me sit in that backroom and do homework?” Naruto asked eventually, shooting Minato a betrayed look.

“Well…” Minato said slowly. Ideally he’d have all his confidential meetings early, so that Naruto could sit with him while he did homework and Minato did boring nonclassified paperwork. But he couldn’t always guarantee that’s how his days would go.

In some ways, it was easier when Naruto was a baby. He never had to worry about baby Naruto reading over his shoulder or sneaking into the vents to spy on meetings. But now Naruto was big enough to have his own ideas and opinions, to have goals and hobbies and personality quirks, and Minato loved watching him grow and learn so much, but this also meant he sometimes had to banish Naruto to a backroom.

“Dad?” Naruto asked, squinting at him.

“Ah, well, maybe?” Minato admitted. “But we could get take-out for dinner, and… sneak away for a bit for training…?”

The Water Country border thing was resolved now, so he should almost definitely be able to swing that, barring some new crisis.

He smiled hopefully at Naruto, who still looked doubtful. Kushina was Naruto’s favorite parent for training, because Kushina was better at putting things in terms Naruto understood and was better at making things into games. But it wasn’t like Naruto didn’t like training with Minato, and Minato definitely had better and cooler kunai tricks. He just had to remember Naruto didn’t like hearing about the math behind them, nor did he really need to know the math no matter how interesting Minato thought it was.

And Naruto definitely liked Minato pretending they were very sneakily evading ANBU and secret guards when he’d teleport them to a training field.

“I want Ichiraku,” Naruto said finally.

“Deal,” Minato agreed. “Now go brush your teeth and put on real pajamas.”

Naruto scampered off, and Minato hand washed his chopsticks and the cutting board and knife. He could get them both up early and cook a real breakfast and make Naruto finish his homework, and ask him how school was…

Naruto knocked on his bedroom door some time later.

“Umm…” Naruto started, tugging at the hem to his shirt nervously. “I’m too big for nightmares, you know… but, um…”

Minato raised his eyebrows as Naruto continued to fidget. He’d left the kid alone for too many nights.

I have to do better, Minato promised himself. I could at least send Kakashi by to check on him…

“Do you want to sleep with me tonight?” Minato asked when Naruto continued to bluster.

“If you say so,” Naruto replied, ducking under his arm and making a beeline for Kushina’s side of the bed.

Minato took a quick shower, and by the time he was out, Naruto was passed out, sprawled across the bed like it was his own. Minato rolled his eyes affectionately as he gently moved Naruto’s arm so he had enough room. He leaned over his son, giving him a quick peck on the temple.

Minato laid awake for a bit, staring at the ceiling and listening to Naruto breathe. He missed Kushina. He missed giving her a kiss goodnight.

xXx

“Can’t you just give me a note?” Naruto whined. Minato had set out his homework for him at the dining room table and assigned Naruto to finish it while he cooked. “Sensei would never question it…”

“So you want special treatment?” Minato asked, spatula in hand.

“...no,” Naruto said after a beat. He scowled, but he picked up his pencil.

Minato didn’t have time to make the most inspired lunch for Naruto, but he was at least able to send him to school with a complete homework set and a homemade bento. He needed to find time to do another mass meal prep. Naruto was old enough to help him now; he could make it a fun father-son thing…

The day was more relaxed than the previous one, in terms of problems he was juggling. Danzo came in early and did not admit to overexerting control and interfering in the ANBU roster, but he told Minato his handling of the border thing was “adequate if not soft-handed.” Which was… nice, for Danzo? What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

Maybe trying to force him to retire had been a bad idea. For one, it hadn’t worked. For another, a bunch of older admin and some pockets of ANBU had threatened to walk and that had gone directly to Danzo’s head. So.

Ugh, Minato thought. Was he too soft?

A message from Kushina arrived late morning and cheered him up. It was an official missive from Iwa recognizing all three members of Team 4 had passed to the final stage of the exam. This was good news, but it also meant their mission would run another month. Iwa had very conspicuously not included the usual invitation for him as a Kage with participating genin to come in person and watch the tournament. Even though it was customary, that option had been off the table since they’d started negotiations.

They also included a note from Kushina. It covered the front and back of a page: a long, rambling report of how the exam had gone and what their accommodations were like. Halfway through she started speculating what Iwa ramen shops might be like, and Minato pulled the old academy textbook that matched the cypher from a bottom drawer on his desk. It was his own copy, and it had a note in the back from Kushina calling him a nerd and threatening to punch him in the nose. He smiled absentmindedly at it before he flipped through it for the right page. They used this code so often he didn’t need it, but it never hurt to be thorough.

Security high, Kushina had written. Nothing suspicious.

She hadn’t gone into her actual, secret mission, because there was no guarantee an Iwa codebreaker wouldn’t find her note. Instead it read like a normal assessment about their public goal of passing the exam. The fact that she raised no alarm was good, though. Kushina was still confident.

At the bottom she’d let her students write their own notes. Itachi had attempted to fit an actual report, written in tiny barely legible letters, followed by: Send regards to my brother.

Eloquent as always, Minato thought. He could see Itachi’s eye twitching as Kushina wrote the report without his input. Ah, well, this was good practice for him.

Deidara had written a cheeky note about finding out about Konoha hazard pay and insinuating this trip should qualify. Tori’s note was: You know the Junko vs Princess Hinamori fight? Like that.

Minato frowned. Princess Hinamori was the main antagonist from Jiraiya’s latest book, who agreed to let Junko honor-fight her for the love interest’s release if Junko met her at her winter castle. Princess Hinamori’s court witch had then used several manipulative jutsu so that Junko lost all her supplies on her journey, forcing her to fight exhausted and without weapons. Junko had won anyway, after she broke into her lover’s cell and had two chapters worth of inspirational sex with him. (And then, after she won, she’d had a threesome with her lover and the beautiful handmaiden who’d snuck her food to help her recover from her trip.)

So… had Iwa not given them the promised weapons? And why was a twelve year old reading Icha Icha? Kushina didn’t seem worried, but now Minato was.

By the time Naruto showed up, Minato had sent the report off for analysis and redacted a photocopy that he could give Naruto. Naruto, dragging his feet into the office with a look of great burden on his face, immediately perked up.

“Iwa doesn’t sound very fun,” Naruto concluded after reading the letter, puzzling over Kushina’s messy handwriting in places. “And she has to stay there a whole month?”

“I miss her too,” Minato told him. “And she probably can’t list all the coolest stuff she’s doing. You’ve learned about how you can’t say everything in written communications, right?”

Naruto’s nose crinkled in thought. “Because, um… someone else could steal your letter.”

“That’s right,” Minato agreed. “You know your mom. She’ll find the coolest parts of Iwa and come home and tell us all about it. And just think, she’ll have a whole month's worth of stories.”

Naruto nodded very seriously. “Sasuke says there’s no way his brother could lose to Iwa-nin.”

Minato laughed. “Itachi is… special,” he agreed.

“Itachi's a weirdo,” Naruto muttered. “He’s not going to come home and tell cool stories. Ugh, but Sasuke will talk about him like he did…”

Naruto whined, and Minato gently directed him at his homework. Minato had left organizing and reviewing D-ranks for the last task of his day, which was both boring and unimportant enough that it wouldn’t matter if Naruto spied on him. He cleared a portion of his own desk for Naruto to use, sitting across from him.

Naruto did not have any written homework today, but he was meant to read a chapter of his history book. Upon questioning, Minato realized that Naruto had skipped reading the previous chapter.

“It’s boring,” Naruto complained. “You’d think war could be cool, but the way the book talks about it is confusing.”

“First, war is not cool,” Minato disagreed.

“I want to read about the war with Iwa,” Naruto said, flipping ahead in the book. Minato reached over and covered his hand to stop him.

“It’s not going to make sense unless you read the chapters on the Second Shinobi War first,” he said. “Read that, and I’ll answer any questions you have when we go to Ichiraku.”

Naruto rolled his eyes, but he paged back to the chapter he’d skipped.

They ended up at Ichiraku late, and Minato would have to go in for a few hours on Saturday morning, but it looked like he might actually get a free weekend. Small miracles.

Naruto had been bored to tears by the causes and consequences of the Second Shinobi War, and he got grouchy when Minato quizzed him on it to make sure he understood. Naruto did have a lot of interested questions on the key battles section. Was Old Man Hiruzen really that strong? (Yes, he really was.) Were the Iwa Demolition Corps as scary as they sounded, and should he be worried about Mom? (Yes, they were scary, but Kushina was scarier, and she knew even more defensive fuinjutsu than Minato.) Why didn’t Konoha have a group of elite swordsmen like Kiri?

“That’s a good question,” Minato said. “Hey, I think your mom met one in Iwa.”

“Awesome,” Naruto declared.

Training right after a big meal was a bad idea, but they sat in the backyard with a plate of persimmon slices (a Naruto-approved orange fruit) and threw kunai at a target for a while. Naruto didn’t have a lot of natural talent with kunai, but at least for physical stuff, he’d never shied away from hard work. He reported gleefully that he’d finally broken into the top ten in his class for aim.

“Sasuke better watch his ass!” Naruto declared after his second bullseye of the night.

“Language,” Minato reminded him. “Also, watch your elbow when you throw.”

Naruto barely fought him about going to bed on time. Minato spent a little time alone, leafing through the Princess Hinamori saga in bed. He thought the conclusion of this book was some of Jiraiya’s best writing, but the start of the book was slow. Kushina had hated it and never gotten through the first few chapters. Naruto really took after her…

Minato sighed and set the book aside, leaned back against the bed’s headboard. Could he really go another month without Kushina? More than a month, even, because of travel time, and that was assuming everything on her side went smoothly. He hadn’t been away from her for that long since the war.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on his Hiraishin marker network. He couldn’t sense what was around them or distinguish them by anything but geographical location, but he didn’t have any other markers that deep into Earth Country. There was Kushina’s, nestled into her bijuu seal and hidden, further away from him than she’d ever been…

He was tempted to go check on her. It would be so easy to go see her, hold her, kiss her goodnight just for a moment. This was a stupid idea, of course, because spontaneously appearing in Iwa could ruin everything. Plus, Kushina had already communicated very strongly to him that she didn't want special treatment on missions. She’d vetoed both visits for goodnight and morning kisses years ago.

And if he did it once, he knew it’d get harder and harder to resist in the future.

He scooted down under his covers, rolled over and buried his face in Kushina’s pillow. It still smelled of the conditioner she used on her hair.

Maybe when she was out of Earth Country on her way home, he could go to her. He knew she must miss him too. Surely no one would mind if he showed up. He could offer to teleport her genin home early, and then he could have all the time alone with her that he wanted… like Junko’s lover letting her ravish him as part of her victory…

#reborn au #my writing

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inhydrogreens · 1 year

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403tarot · 8 months

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. . . ㅋ KPOP READING: WHAT KIND OF DATE WOULD ATEEZ TAKE THEIR CRUSH ON?

seonghwa + san + wooyoung edition

SEONGHWA

seonghwa's ideal date to take his crush is not just a simple date but a day trip. a warm place with a sea breeze and the scent of the ocean. open and sophisticated locations, natural landscapes, and people who are not easily distracted from the company of those they enjoy, just like him. seeing the cards i got i thought of jeju island, of course.

right at the beginning of the afternoon he would like to take you for a walk by the seaside, holding hands, just the two of you, listening to the sound of the waves breaking on the sand, and then dip your feet in the sea. a quick stop at a souvenir shop before the sun goes down would be great, just so you could take home a special memento from the day you spent together. to wrap it up, a restaurant with delicious regional cuisine would be part of his plans, preferably open for a fresh breeze and near the beach.

SAN

on the other hand, san has a somewhat simpler type of date in mind. as night falls, he would like to take you to a place with many people so that you could blend into the crowd and go unnoticed. something outdoors, like a small but nice amusement park.

he's the type who would like to walk hand in hand with you as you stroll and look for something fun. i can see that he might avoid intense rides or those that generate a lot of adrenaline (like roller coasters, for example) and would prefer to go on gentler rides, like the carousel or the Ferris wheel - especially the latter one because san is such a romantic guy, and there's nothing more romantic than being at the top of the ferris wheel, holding hands with his love while looking at the tiny people and lights down below. to wrap it up, street food for you to share, like popcorn, bungeoppang, corn dog or hotteoks (real ones, not people)

WOOYOUNG

wooyoung is the king of great ideas for romantic dates, but here he seems to have something more homey to do with his crush in the ideal date, like simply cooking together and spending the night enjoying each other's company. he's the type who offers the complete experience: you go to the market together and pick out the ingredients (after changing your minds 5 times about the main dish and finally deciding to make simple pasta or dumplings) to get in the mood.

he puts on some background music and wear aprons just for the aesthetic while cooking with you, "chef wooyoung and his assistant". he kisses your neck and hugs you from behind while you cut the vegetables he asked you to and when you're all done, the amount of dishes to wash is freaking big but it doesn't really matter.

deck used: white numen tarot

you can also know how would be a date of woosanhwa (or any other trio) specifically with you ! book an energy tracing with me <3

#kpop readings #ateez tarot #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #park seonghwa #choi san #jung wooyoung #woosanhwa #— duckie notes ⪩♡⪨

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omgsuperstarg · 27 days

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Market Day- Toto Wolff x Black! Caribbean Reader

Author's Note: This one shot is based on another function of Caribbean Life. Going to the Market or Farmer's Market to get fresh food for the household is a normal occurrence and Toto decides to tag along with you and assist.

Saturday mornings are usually a staple of your household. That's the day when you head down to the local farmer's market and pick up the much-needed fruits, produce (ground provisions), & seasoning herbs for the meats and fish. Today, you wake at the crack of dawn to get ready. Toto was fast asleep during the summer shutdown taking the much-needed rest from flying for weeks at a time. This is usually a solo trip, so going out and returning in record times is an art form for you.

All that you needed was in your car, you proceed to leave a note so that he knew your whereabouts and with that, you're off for another fruitful Saturday morning.

Mini time skip..........

You're already halfway through your list when your phone begins ringing.

Hello

"Good Morning darling, I see you've left me all alone", your love speaks playfully.

"Morning to you as well Toto. I decided to let you sleep in because GOD KNOWS you need it and market trips have always been a solo task for me. Plus, I'm getting all the ingredients for SOUP SATURDAY!!", you state matter of factly.

"So where are you?", you inquire.

Turn around.

What!?!?", your voice

In doing what's instructed, you observe your boyfriend in some dry-fit shorts, a t-shirt with silver arrow logos, and some aviator shades with sneakers completing his relaxed outfit. Knowing Toto he always wore the love for his team on his sleeve in both figurative and literal senses. He jogs up to you with a bright smile on his face, one that you've come to love in your three years together.

"Im surprised to see you here, I thought you would be sleeping in since Saturdays' are usually my day", you profess as you hand him one of your market bags.

"Well, I couldn't let my darling do her shopping unaccompanied. Not only that it's a perfect way to catch up and spoil yourself with the florals you admire soo much", the statuesque man states with his accented speech seeping into your bones.

"Well, there's still a few more things that need to be purchased and since I already have meat seasoned for cooking, I say when we arrive home I can make us some soup. Judging the clouds it's going to be a heavy rain shower." you speak observing the bleak sky.

"Ahhh yes, soup is always comforting on a rainy day," he says smiling.

A fruitful trip was completed, you both were now home and cutting up vegetables for a hearty lunch. Dancehall and Soca music is blasting throughout the kitchen which is typical of a Saturday Morning. Toto observes you dancing along to the music and even finds himself nodding along to its infectious beat.

"So its always this noisy when you're back home?", he inquires as he sits near the granite countertop.

"Yes, this is a pretty normal vibe for a Caribbean household. Sometimes I would do my Saturday chores on a Friday so I wouldn't have to and the second Saturday or whenever the funds arrive would be market day. After coming home, I would assist my grandma in making soup, my favorite is Chicken foot and I would add ramen noodles to it as well. Early afternoon we would either bake homemade bread or coconut bake'', you profess wistfully as you think of your island home.

"I think that's quite sweet and I'm glad that you're able to share this part of your life with me,'' he confessed.

"I hope I can drag your butt for Trinidad & Tobago Carnival, get some seasoning in you as well as a little more colour, the fangirls I know would appreciate it, me being a major one," you say as you shut the stove off and begin to distribute the food.

The rain finally came down as you both began to eat, the warmness of the soup filling your soul, and the man sharing his love making you feel even more cozy.

#toto wolff #mercedes amg petronas #f1 #toto wolff x black!reader #Caribbean Life #f1 x black!reader #SoundCloud

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seenoversundown · 5 months

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It's The Most Wonderful Time Of Year

Warnings: Mentions of minor injury, Fluff otherwise!

Word Count: 2.2k

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year - Andy Williams It's the most wonderful time of the year There'll be much mistltoeing And hearts will be glowing When loved ones are near

Daniel POV:

“Ah, YEP. There it is,” I practically growl as the breaker trips, shrouding my apartment in darkness.

I should have known better than to try to mash potatoes with a hand mixer when I already have three crock pots plugged in, warming side dishes.

“Fucking ancient wiring,” I mutter to myself as I rip the plug from the wall before heading into the laundry room to flip the breaker back on.

The breaker is just the latest bit of misfortune that has derailed my plans for a traditional Christmas dinner.

First, I severely overslept. Melody and I wanted to wake up at 7:00 to do presents with Iris. Imagine my shock when she strolled into our room at 9:30, questioning why Santa came and we didn't wake her up.

Then, after we opened our presents and Iris was sufficiently tuckered out and down for a nap, I started preparing for dinner.

Because I wanted to be fancy, I obviously bought fresh vegetables, which led to me nicking my finger while cutting the green beans.

After Melody played nurse and left me with one gloved hand, I managed to grab the handle of a pre-heated cast iron skillet with my other hand. Melody was not happy with me when she had to play nurse for a second time in under an hour.

It had been smooth sailing after that, up until the breaker issue.

I’m pulled out of my reverie by a tiny hand tugging at the hem of my shirt.

I look down to see a freshly awoken Iris rubbing her eyes. She lets out a big yawn before meeting my eyes.

“Can I have juice?” she signs.

My heart melts as I nod and rush to pull down a Big Girl Cup from the cabinet. I opened the fridge and pulled out the super-special organic apple juice that Uncle Sammy bought for Iris. The glass bottle slips in my hand, but I catch it before it drops.

HAHA! Not this time!

I pour her juice and hand it over.

“Be careful,” I ruffle her hair, “Now go play.”

I look up and see Melody standing in the doorway, watching on with a fond smile on her face as Iris skitters past her.

She walks into the kitchen and wraps her arms around my middle, “You’re a good dad, Daniel,” she presses a soft kiss to my chest as she nuzzles into my sweater.

I breathe out a sigh and drop a kiss on the top of her head.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” I chuckle, “If stuff keeps going the way it is, I might not even be able to feed our kid tonight.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic, babe,” she pinches my side, wiggling out of my arms, “It’ll all work out.”

I pop the turkey in the oven and check my watch. 2:00pm

Perfect! Everything is back on schedule, and I finally feel like I can take a breath.

I lean against the counter and feel a smile creep over my face. My dinner is coming along. I can hear the tinkling giggles of my girls coming from the living room. I haven't made too much of a mess in the kitchen.

I start to put away the dishes I’d left on the drying rack and spot the crystal wine decanter on the top shelf.

Bingo!

I pull the decanter and two glasses down and glance over the bottles of wine sitting out on the counter, trying to determine which varietal Melody would appreciate most right now.

Settling on a Merlot, I pour the bottle into the decanter and leave it to open up before venturing into the living room.

Melody has her back to me, helping Iris change the dress on one of her new dolls, and I tiptoe up behind her. I catch Iris’ eye and bring a finger to my lips, signaling her to be quiet.

She flashes me a toothy grin and tries, poorly, to hold back her giggles.

Melody stiffens almost imperceptibly, and I already know she will be faking her reaction for Iris’ benefit.

Regardless, I continue creeping up and grabbing Melody’s shoulders, gently shaking her in the process.

“AHHHHH,” Melody drops the doll and lets out an exaggerated shout, “YOU SCARED ME, DANIEL!”

She whips her head around and gives me a little wink.

Iris giggles again, “That was funny.”

I grin and waggle my eyebrows at her, “More juice?”

She nods, holding her cup out for me to take.

I squeeze Melody’s shoulder again before heading back into the kitchen.

I fill Iris’ cup with more apple juice, diluting it with water. I can’t have her getting an upset tummy on Christmas. Then, I pour some wine into one of the glasses and carry both back into the living room.

“Thought both of my girls might be thirsty,” I say as I pass the wine to Melody.

“You thought right, my love,” she grins.

Iris’ eyes flit between us for a moment, “play with me?”

And how can I say no to that?

An hour and a half later, I’m back in the kitchen checking on our slowly progressing dinner.

Turkey is coming along perfectly. The sides are looking good. I’m incredibly proud of the way I’ve turned this day around.

Since we’re in the home stretch, I finally decided to pour myself a glass of wine.

As I reach for the decanter, it slips from my grasp and shatters into a million little pieces. Merlot paints nearly every kitchen surface: the walls, the floor, the fridge, everywhere.

“FUUUUUCK,” I scream at the top of my lungs. I’ll be shocked if we don’t get a noise complaint from one of the neighbors.

I hear footsteps walking up the hallway.

“Please stay out of here. There’s glass everywhere,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

“I’m slipping on shoes, then I'm coming to help you,” Melody replies.

We clean up silently; I’m on sweeping duty while Melody comes behind me with the mop.

I finally set the broom down, confident I had swept up all the tiny crystal shards.

“This day keeps getting worse,” I sigh, and Melody pats my arm, “I’m going to text Josh to see if he wants to come get Iris until dinner’s finished. At this point, I’m worried that my bad luck will rub off on her, and she’ll be the next victim of some inexplicable accident.”

“Okay, big guy,” Melody lets out a small laugh, “I’m sure Josh would be happy to hang out with her solo.”

Thirty minutes later, I let Josh in. Iris has practically been vibrating with excitement since we told her Uncle Josh wanted to see her.

“Where’s my favorite little girl?” is the first thing out of his mouth as he steps over the threshold.

“Well, hello to you too,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, forgive me. HELLOOOOOOOO DANNY!” he claps back immediately, “Now, where is she? Quinn and I have a whole afternoon planned for Iris, and that's more important than your ego.”

“Jesus, dude,” I say, rubbing my chest in mock hurt.

“I’m just being honest,” he flashes a massive grin at me.

“Well, thank you so much for your honesty,” I roll my eyes again, “Melody’s helping her get ready. Now, I know I don't need to tell you how to take care of her. Buuuuut, bad luck has been plaguing me all day. So, be extra careful with her.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. I’ll be on the lookout for any falling pianos or trap doors,” it’s Josh’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I know you're making fun of me, but with the luck I’ve had today, nothing would shock me at this point,” we share a laugh that’s interrupted by a bundled-up Iris rocketing herself into Josh’s legs.

I watch as he quickly scoops her up and spins her around before setting her back down.

“Ready to go, Petal?” he asks Iris with a cheesy grin.

The second she nods her affirmative, they're out the door.

Unfortunately for me, not even a minute after they’ve left, the smoke detector starts going off. I sigh for the trillionth time today and head back to the kitchen.

Walking through the doorway, I see Melody standing in front of the open oven. She’s using an oven mitt to fan smoke away from the turkey.

“Babe, stop. It's fine,” I start, “we both know that Christmas dinner is pretty much fucked at this point. Just turn the oven off.”

I lean against the counter and hang my head in my hands, ultimately defeated.

“It’s okay, babe. I have a plan!” Melody says as she takes my burnt Turkey out of the oven, trying to keep my spirits high.

I fight the urge to scoff as I watch her open the freezer and pull a Pyrex dish out.

“What's that?” I eye the dish in her hand.

“It's a lasagna, Daniel. I always keep one on backup,” she grins at me, dimples on full display, “I know it's not traditional, but who’s gonna be mad about pasta?”

“You’re a genius, dear,” I gently kiss her temple.

She shrugs off my praise, “HA! No, not a genius. Just a mother. Moms always have to have at least three backup plans ready.”

Melody greets our first guests at the door as I put the finishing touches on everyone’s place settings at the table.

I vaguely hear them laughing together as I walk into the kitchen to add one final layer of cheese to the top of the lasagna.

“Please make yourselves at home,” I can hear the genuine smile in Melody’s voice, “Daniel is likely in the kitchen if you want to go harass him.”

The goofiest laugh follows her statement, and I know it’s Sam and Willa.

“Oh, Daaaaaaaniel,” Sam calls out as he pops his head in the doorway, “it smells phenomenal in here, but nothing like turkey.”

“Yeah, yeah. Last minute change of plans,” I reply flatly.

“Josh texted me earlier and told me you were being a ‘Drama Queen,’” he adds air quotes before quirking a brow, “but I didn't assume you’d throw in the towel, buddy.”

“Oh, get bent, Sammy,” I threw the towel draped across my shoulder at him.

He whips his head around, facing Willa, “Did you see that, Birdie? The fucker proved my point.”

“I think it's lovely that you were able to solve your own problems, Danny,” Willa adds before smacking Sam across the chest with a smirk, effectively shutting him up.

They make their way to the living room as our other guests show up.

Jake and Charlotte show up next, popping in for a quick hello, not wanting to distract me.

Obviously, Josh, Quinn, and Iris are the last ones to show up.

“Oh, Iris just got so distracted playing. Sorry, we’re late.”

“That line doesn't work on me, Josh,” I let out a laugh, “I know you. You can't blame my kid for your chronic lateness.”

“I resent that, Danny. I always arrive precisely when I mean to,” Josh scoffs indignantly.

“Well, why don't you arrive in the living room and tell everyone dinner’s almost ready?”

I lock eyes on Charlotte as I set the final dish on the table.

Her eyes flit across the table, and the confusion on her face grows as she mouths the name of each dish she sees.

Mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, LASAGNA?

Jake is patting her thigh comfortingly as he holds back laughter.

I see her confusion mirrored on everyone else as I look around the table.

Jake pulls himself together long enough to break the silence, “Wow! What a delightful array of food you have for us, Danny Boy! You even have rolls!”

“Hey! I put garlic butter on them, asshole.”

“Oh, then, by all means, they belong. Not a single thing out of place here.”

That gets a round of laughs from the entire table.

“Yeah, Danny,” Quinn starts, “I’m not trying to be mean, but wasn't this supposed to be a traditional dinner?”

“Now, Bug, who can really say what ‘traditional’ means,” Josh ponders.

“Ya know what, thank you, Josh,” I nod in his direction.

“Oh, I’m not trying to help you, Danny. I’m just getting philosophical.”

“Okay, everyone,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, “After the day I had, I’d like to see you come up with something better.”

Melody nods with me as she opens a bottle of wine and passes it to Sam, “He really did have the most unfortunate string of luck. You all are lucky we even have dinner at all.”

I grab her hand and gently kiss her knuckles in thanks as everyone finally tucks into their meals.

“I do have a question,” Charlotte whispers, setting her fork down.

I nod for her to go on.

“What happened to the decanter we got you for your engagement party? This seems like a perfect time to use it.”

I let out the loudest groan, “I love you, Charlotte, but please never ask me that question again.”

“It’s a sore spot for him,” Melody pats my hand, “I’ll tell you later.”

“So, on that note,” I say, gesturing for everybody to start eating, “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

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bqluvr · 2 years

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On Set - (1/2)

Warnings: none!

Words: 1.7k

Summary: You work on the Impractical Jokers crew, and you can’t deny your feelings for Q despite knowing how wrong it is.

—————

“Y/N, can we get you on the left side?” Pete, the director, called out. You swiftly scurried to the left and adjusted your chunky headphones along with the sound equipment, trying to get everything in order as quickly as possible. The headphones were admittedly too big for you but that hadn’t been dealt with yet.

You watched as Joe, Murr, Sal, and Brian all situated themselves on their marks. Brian and Murr swapped places and filming began.

The job you had was simple. You were in charge of audio; you made sure the mics weren’t rubbing against anything but still invisible to the public, you recorded audio and cut it accordingly, and so on. You were good at your job, and being in the presence of the Impractical Jokers for hours out of a day made your job that much more fun.

After around 20 more minutes of filming, Pete called a break and everyone left their equipment to grab a bite to eat and stretch their legs, you included. You preferred filming in warehouses rather than having to hide in the bushes in public because the warehouse was always stocked with food. Pete would get the interns to run out and make sure that all of the crew, as well as the Jokers, were well fed.

Today was no different. There was a large table with an even larger spread of food on it, and you didn’t know where to start. You weren’t hungry enough to grab a wing out of the bucket of chicken, but you also were not in the mood for vegetables.

“Have you tried those sandwiches?” You heard from your right side. You looked over and smiled when you saw Q who was holding a plate just like you.

“Are they any good?”

“Not the chicken salad one,” he grumbled, pointing with his thumb to show you which sandwich he was talking about, “turkey and cheese is alright. But the ham and cheese? Haven’t lived ‘til you’ve tried it.”

“But ham and cheese is so boring,” you giggled which in turn put a smirk on Q’s face.

“Can’t beat the classics, darlin’. Ham and cheese never let a man down,” he gently bumped your shoulder with his. You laughed again, your face turning a bit red at his casual pet name. You knew it wasn’t odd for him to call the ladies on the crew pet names, but when they were directed to you, you felt special.

Brian Quinn had always been the Joker that caught your eye. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence among the crew, of course. You’d often be involved in conversations with the other women about Q’s handsomeness, or his puppy dog eyes, or his general flirty demeanour.

“So, are you gonna try the ham and cheese?” Brian’s accent cut through your thoughts. You shot him a look and he grabbed two sandwiches, holding one out to you.

“Fine. But if it’s bad,” you warned teasingly, taking the sandwich from his hands and ignoring the way you felt butterflies when his skin brushed against yours.

“If it’s bad, I’ll let you tie me up and put spiders all over me.”

You both laughed at that, but your mind immediately went to tying him up. You couldn’t lie, that episode was difficult to film for you just because you kept getting distracted by the way he looked so helpless when he had handcuffs on.

“I’ll let you know if I like it,” you lifted the packaged sandwich in the air as a silent ‘cheers’ with a slight nod and a smile towards Q. You wasted no time in turning on your heel and abruptly walking away from him, trying to contain your thoughts and not cross any professional boundaries.

You sat and ate the sandwich near a couple of your coworkers, who were chatting away with full mouths. One of the disadvantages of working in the warehouse was that it always grew unbearably stuffy after the first hour or so, due to the cameras and dozens of bodies moving to and fro.

You decided to take the chance when you could and slip away from the productions, making your way outside and taking a deep breath of fresh air. You were alone so you reached into your pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, feeling as though your smoke break was well overdue.

The cigarette hung between your lips waiting to be lit, but you couldn’t find your lighter. You patted down your pockets and sighed when you didn’t find anything, leaning your head against the wall and taking the dart out of your mouth in defeat.

“Need a light?”

You turned your head towards the voice and slapped yourself mentally when you saw Q standing a few feet away. He looked adorable; his hair was down and covering his forehead, he had his signature scarf on, and a lost-puppy sort of look plastered on his face.

“Yes, please,” you agreed against your better judgement. You knew you should minimize your time spent with him, especially alone, but you had been craving this cigarette for the past two hours.

Brian approached you cautiously, as if he was afraid he’d make a wrong move and you’d run away. His worrying was reasonable, though. You never tried to hide the way you avoided him. Though you knew he noticed that you’d never talk to him for more than a minute at a time, he never mentioned anything (you assumed) out of fear of making you more tense.

You placed the dart back in your mouth and leaned towards him when his warm body was only a few inches away from yours. He sparked the lighter with one hand and protected your cigarette from the wind with the other hand, allowing the smoke to finally fill your mouth and give you a small sense of relief.

“Why do you have a lighter?” You asked. You knew he smoked weed occasionally, but that was very rare. You had never seen any of the guys smoke cigarettes, and you couldn’t think of any other reason why he would have a lighter handy like that.

“I smoke,” Brian looked at you, “sometimes.”

“Would you like to share?” You offered, knowing it was a bad idea. He nodded and you handed him the cigarette, watching as he held it between his thick fingers. Your eyes trailed down his right hand, passing the ring and tracing a vein that was popping out slightly.

“Everythin’ okay?” He mumbled, giving you the dart. Your gaze snapped back to his and he smirked a little, huffing out the smoke he inhaled while he watched you take a drag.

“How did I not know you smoke?”

“I don’t do it all the time. Just when I’m feelin’ stressed and need a quick break,” his brown eyes stared into yours, “why do you smoke?”

“It feels nice.”

He laughed at your answer and accepted the cigarette again, his eyes scanning the bit of lipstick that you had left on it. After he took a deep hit, he glanced back over at you, his eyes dropping down to your lips.

“I like that colour on you,” he rasped out, clearing his throat a bit. You felt your face heat up at his compliment. He had never complimented you like that, especially not on something as insignificant as the shade of lipstick you were wearing.

“Uh, thank you,” you replied. You took another drag and sighed when you saw that the cigarette was almost out. You were sort of grateful, though, because it meant you could get away from Brian and recollect your thoughts.

“Why do you always run from me?” Brian whispered, and you would’ve missed it if it wasn’t for the fact that the space around you was deathly quiet.

“What are you talking about?”

“I feel like I’m always havin’ conversations with the crew, but never with you,” he looked at you but you looked away, too embarrassed to make eye contact with him, “do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not that,” you sighed, not exactly lying to him but trying your best to avoid answering his question. You couldn’t tell him how attractive you found him. How his smile always made one appear on your face. How his laugh was the best thing you had ever heard, and sometimes you’d rewatch certain episodes just to hear it over and over. You’d cross every line, breach every boundary. It’d ruin your professional relationship.

“What is it, then?”

“I don’t know, Brian,” you huffed out, growing frustrated. It was hard bottling up what you felt, but you didn’t have a choice.

“I think you do, sweetheart,” he quietly murmured. You shot your eyes to him and watched him drop the cigarette to the ground, lightly stepping on it to put it out before turning to face you.

He stood in front of you now, his tall figure intimidating you slightly. Your heart was racing, and you felt like you were going to throw up, but you also couldn’t help the way your hands moved to grip the lapels of his jacket until your knuckles turned white.

“Is this the reason you never look me in the eye properly?” He teased, his right hand engulfing one of your wrists as you hung on to him for dear life. Brian leaned in a little more, his nose bumping into yours. His left hand travelled down your side until it attached to your hip, giving you a light squeeze that left your knees weak. It felt like you were winded and you couldn’t think straight. You wanted to kiss him, but you knew you couldn’t.

“Brian, we shouldn’t -fuck- I can’t,” you stuttered, using your hands on his chest to push him back slightly and give yourself room to breathe. He looked confused but backed up, his face flushed due to embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, did I read that wrong?” Brian quickly apologized, looking at you with concern.

“No, I mean yes, but no,” your words came out randomly, desperately trying to form proper sentences but your mind was too scrambled to do so. The proximity between you and Brian was too close.

“Y/N, are you out here?” You heard Pete call out your name as he turned the corner and you didn’t dare to give Brian another glance before responding to the director and hurrying in his direction.

If Pete saw anything at all, you’d be absolutely fucked. You had to stay away from Brian to prevent anything like this ever happening again.

God, you hated him in that moment.

#brian quinn #brian quinn imagine #brian x reader #quinn x reader #q x reader #sal vulcano #joe gatto #james murray #impractical jokers #the tenderloins

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oftenwantedafton · 4 months

Text

Vent - Steve Raglan/William Afton/Springtrap x Female Reader

Chapters 25-27

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content and blood kink

Also available on AO3 Chapters 25 | 26 | 27

Chapter 25 ~ kindred ~

The yellow rabbit has returned.

Not fully; not actually physically there, but his voice is present once again, his image now adorning the shining surface of a butcher knife. Through the sliver of steel one lamp eye regards the new mark upon William, seeing right through the layers of his clothing. Eventually it will be another scar to add to the collection of mementos and keepsakes that map across his body.

Afton stares at the rabbit’s reflection in the blade now lying next to the cutting board, the vegetables he’s been chopping already forgotten.

“You’re going to have to let me out sooner or later.”

William knows this. It’s how it’s always been. He only kills when he’s in the costume. It’s part of the ritual. He has to be inside the mascot suit for it to work. But it’s risky. He doesn’t want to lose control again; doesn’t want to give his alter ego the chance to warn you away again. To poison you against him.

“I don’t have to do anything,” he says, but the lie is heavy on his tongue and they both know it.

In truth, the former killer craves the feeling of being enshrouded within the suit. Surrounded by matted, fading fur and corroding metal and overloaded circuits and frayed wires. The two of them aligned. Moving as one. The rabbit’s body and his mind. Opening the gateway, steel meeting flesh. Harvesting. Transference. Pushing through, material to immaterial. Transcendance. An accidental discovery that he’d gotten addicted to. He still doesn’t understand all the details of it, only knows the procedure.

“You’re starving,” the rabbit observes, startling William from his musings. He’d nearly forgotten the other was there. His assessment is correct. The hunger gnaws at him constantly. Not for sustenance in any traditional sense of the word; rather, an incessant drive for the other, darker things. He reaches for the laceration you’ve created together. Imagines you carving another. Taking you apart and putting you back together again. Filling up the empty space. Sated. “You’ve tried that before. A wife and three children and it still wasn’t enough to fill that void.”

William frowns at the rabbit. “It’s different this time. She’s different. Special. We’re kindred.”

“What if it’s still not enough? What if she can’t give you what you need?”

Silence. He does not want to think about the implications of that failure.

“You can’t keep me away forever. I always come back.”

Of course he does. Crawling through the vents, oozing around like a cell though a vessel. Hidden deep where no one will see, concealed beneath the shiny new layers of the restaurant, fresh paint and replaced flooring masking what lies inside, at the heart of the establishment.

William grits his teeth. A bead of perspiration forms on his brow. “Not yet.”

He wipes the knife clean and puts it back in the block on the kitchen counter.

Chapter 26 ~ symbiosis ~

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

At the cut William’s inflicted, visible now that you’ve peeled away the gauze and showered. It’s a clean scabbed line, near surgical precision. As if he’s had practice.

You don’t want to think about that.

You don’t want to think about how it had felt, being cut and slicing him in return; how terrified you were, yet how exhilarating it was at the same time. The intimacy of him tasting your blood; of his own upon your lips. It was sick, twisted, depraved, you know it, but there’s always been something off about the older man and you’ve grown to tolerate it. No, far more than tolerate it. Be honest now.

There’s always been something off about you, too. Ever since…ever since…

You almost have it, the memory skittering around at the far reaches of your mind.

What had happened at the pizzeria that day nearly nine years ago now?

You think about your friend saying how much he needs you, how special you are. His only. And…

Your cheeks flush. You wonder if it’s always going to be like this now, or just when the mood strikes him. There’s a new light in his eyes now that the restaurant has reopened. As if he’s more alive; as if something has awakened inside of him.

You glance at the bathroom clock. He’ll be there soon. A long day ahead of you. A longer night.

You finish dressing and return to him.

***

No candy today. Just William sitting in his sedan, waiting. The air is dry and hot. It will be the start of a stretch of arid days, the state you live in notorious for receiving the least amount of precipitation.

He’s watching you intently. Waiting for you to speak. Perhaps he’s uncertain about what happened the other night.

“Hi,” you greet him softly.

“How are you?”

Such a loaded question and he doesn’t even know it. Floodgates open and you recount everything that had happened since he’d dropped you off two nights ago. “I had a fight with my parents when I got home the other night. Both complaining about me coming in so late. All of a sudden they’re talking about a curfew. They want money for rent since I’m working so much. My stepmother opened one of my acceptance letters. No congratulations for getting in, of course. She’s already complaining about the expense, as if financial aid and scholarships don’t exist. I haven’t even decided where I’m going yet.”

William frowns. “Suddenly parenting and in all the wrong ways,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I can speak to them if you want.”

You shake your head at the offer. “No. It would probably just make things worse. I hate living here.” You haven’t vented this much since…well, maybe since the yellow rabbit.

The yellow rabbit.

William. You should avoid him at all costs.

Avoid the only person who’s ever really acknowledged you even exist? Who helps you and cares for you and…

…and likes the taste of your blood. Is far too familiar with a blade. Wants you to be his protégé. He needs it. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it, considering all he’s done for you? When he fills you up so full of that feeling of being wanted and desired, makes you feel smart and pretty, full of purpose, belonging. A symbiotic relationship where you both feed off of each other, provide for the needs in one another. Mutually beneficial.

“You don’t have to stay. You’re almost nineteen. You can move into a dormitory at college, depending on where you decide to go, or…perhaps in the future you could stay with me.”

“What, you mean move in with you?” You blink, surprised, focusing back on the conversation. You try to wrap your head around the thought of what he’s offering. What it would be like to wake up in his arms every morning. Your kitchen daydream returns. Going to work together, coming home together, sharing a meal, he’ll help you with your college coursework and you’ll read to him in the library and then, and then…

“It’s certainly an option.”

There’s an ache in your chest. “You really want me to live with you?”

“The idea of it isn’t unpleasant.” He rewards you with one of those secret smiles of his and that fluttering feeling in your stomach returns. “Not to trivialize these other matters, but I want to know how you feel about…this.” He reaches out, tracing the cut through your tshirt.

Your pulse quickens. “It looks okay.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m…I’m not sure. It scared me. But I also liked it,” you admit quietly. You lick your lips, determined to plow your way forward before you lose your resolve. You want to hear him say it again. You want to say it yourself. What’s stopping you? “Did you mean what you said about…am I…do you really feel that way about me?”

“Would I have offered to have you move in with me if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know. I mean…”

“You should know how I feel by now. We’re already together almost daily anyway. We’ll just be filling in the rest of the time now, too.” He leans over and kisses you. “You really liked it? You’re not just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

“No. I would never do that.”

“Good. Best friends shouldn’t lie to one another. And yes, before you mention it, I did lie about my name, but those were very specific circumstances and I would have told you the truth in time. Even still, I’m sorry I had to do it, for your sake.” His face moves to kiss over your wound. You touch his hair and close your eyes, focusing on the feel of his warm breath through the thin fabric of the shirt. He wanted you. You were his. You had something to look forward to now. A future with him.

Did anything else really matter?

Chapter 27 ~ dorian gray ~

High school graduation draws closer.

Hurricane’s community steadily expands. New residents, new employees, new visitors. And there, at the center of all of it, the pizzeria with its enigmatic owner and you, the dutiful assistant.

William sets a hot fudge sundae down in the center of the table. His sleeves are rolled up now that there are no prying eyes. Only one spoon is tucked into the dessert. He scoops some of the chocolate and whipped cream and feeds it to you. Bends and licks the remains off your lips. You both want more.

You’re pressed against the side of his car. Pressed down into the nearby field scattered with new flowers. The air is filled with the scent of grass and the hum of insects, the epitome of an early summer evening. His kisses are fire. He sears you inside and out. You kiss the healing mark you’ve made on him and he says your name and you come undone beneath the open sky.

***

It’s senior skip day. The perfect excuse to spend more time with your best friend.

You’re seated in the recliner tucked into the corner of William’s study. He sits across from you and watches you with hungry eyes as you read aloud The Picture of Dorian Gray. Your sketchbook lies open on the table nearby, your latest drawing of your lover’s face nearly finished. You enjoy drawing him from memory, but there’s something special about having him pose for you in person, so still and quiet, watching you with those ravenous eyes.

You finish the last page, glancing up at the older man.

“What do you think? Would you do it, if you could? Sell your soul in exchange for being young forever? Letting something else-or someone else-bear the burden of aging, of sin?”

He unfolds from the couch-there’s no other way to explain how that long, lean frame of his moves-tugging the book gently from your fingers. Kneels before you. You touch his cheek, stroke over the hairs of his beard, mulling over the questions. “I don’t think the trade off would be worth it in the end. I’d rather keep my soul.”

“Would you?” He murmurs, turning his face to kiss the inside of your wrist. The morning sunlight filtering through the window nearby rests in a warm band across the exposed springlock scars on his bare forearm, the fine hairs surrounding the taut skin lit with gold.

“I’d give it to you if you asked.”

He smiles, stroking the inside of one thigh, most of which is exposed since you’re wearing shorts today. Your core tingles in anticipation, your legs parting. He traces the line of the prominent adductor muscle before it disappears beneath the hem. “I know you would. I want to taste you,” he says, lidded eyes meeting yours, and you know he’s not just talking about the liquid arousal flowing from your entrance.

Your breath stutters and you nod slowly. It has been a couple of weeks since the day of your induction into this new part of your relationship. You’ve wondered when he’d ask again; been too afraid to inquire about it for yourself.

“Take these off. I’ll be back.” He pats one thigh, pushing off of the arm rest of the plush chair to stand. You unbutton and unzip the denim shorts and shrug out of them, your panties following suit, the clothing lying in a rumpled pile on the hardwood floor. You try to relax, to calm your breathing, but your anticipation is building.

Why did you like it so much?

William returns. You catch a flash of silver from a single edge razor blade tucked between his fingers. He kneels again, one calloused hand wedging between your legs and you spread them wide for him, one leg hooked over each arm rest. He licks a stripe from one knee all the way to your groin. A soft kiss is planted there. Another. So gentle. So at odds with what you know is coming. A lick between your folds. A circle drawn over your clit. You arch against him and his tongue drives inside of you. Your fingers knot in his hair. He pulls your sex into his mouth and sucks. You whimper.

“Are you ready?” His eyes are black. A pure bottomless void to drown in. You want to succumb, let it wash over you.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

You feel the slight weight of the sharp metal resting against your inner thigh. Another place no one will ever see. You can’t stop staring, waiting for the bloom of crimson.

A sharp hot pain and the deed is done. Precise once more, a clean line. He pulls the soft flesh into his mouth and you moan. He thrusts a finger inside of you, his thumb caressing your cluster of nerves. Adds another, his palm slapping roughly against the curve between your legs. You’re soaking wet, aching inside and out. You grasp his forearm and squeeze, grinding yourself against him. You feel his teeth sink into the skin he’s suckling, biting around the wound, bruising you. More pain but it’s lost in the pleasure. The coil within loosens and you gush over his thrusting fingers, crying out his name.

He lets you choose where to cut him, deciding you want to mark him along the winged crest of one hip. You do better this time, not needing his hand to guide you or lend you strength. You see his cock twitch when you make the mark. The taste of metal fills your mouth. Then soap from the morning’s shower. The musk of the honeyed early spill, clear precum leaking onto your tongue. You don’t need guidance for this either anymore. You’re no longer a novice. Your mouth engulfs him and you shove him down your throat. Pause only long enough to have another taste from the laceration before you’re back to choking on his erection. He’s making those needy sounds you’ve come to love.

Love. That’s what this feeling is, isn’t it? He’s yours and you’re his. You’ve given your body; he owns your soul. He is your mirror, your own portrait.

You drink his blood and his cum and crush your mouth against his, letting him taste everything you’ve gathered.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #william afton #fnaf movie #fnaf fanfic #steve raglan #springtrap

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