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jiminrings · 2 months

Text

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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steddielations · 8 months

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Dom Steve Fic Recs

Strange as Angels (soft dom steve) by @munsonkitten

Eddie hasn't been able to get himself off in months, and now he's high, sweaty, and horny, thinking about the very man sitting in his room in nothing but a wife beater and a pair of tiny athletic shorts, and he thinks he might die. Steve notices. Of course, Steve fucking notices, what, with all the squirming Eddie's doing. Steve offers to help get Eddie off. As friends do. (As long as those friends are completely in love with each other.)

Like The Hero Who Never Ran (dom awakening series) by callmejude

While Steve and Dustin are searching for survivors, they're surprised to find Eddie alive, hiding out in Rick's cabin. Steve takes up the task of caring for him while staying in his trailer.

Practice Makes Perfect (soft dom, blindfolds) by @mixsethaddams

“I need the practice, right?” asked Eddie. “Need to know what people might try to do.” Steve swallowed. “You’re able to quit the performance whenever you want, yeah?” asked Steve. “When you’re out there for real?” Eddie nodded. “I can say stop any time I want,” breathed Eddie. “Good,” said Steve, a familiar feeling creeping through him. Or Eddie signs up for a performance art piece and Steve helps him to practice.

Genius Loci (dom bottom, magic steve) by @sayesayes

It’s 1986, and Steve falls in love with a boy who is leaving. It’s 1990, and Eddie comes back home. The fic where Steve is a selectively mute, homesteading, truck-driving witch with head injuries and also somehow it's canonverse.

(Don't) cream your pants (soft dom steve awakening series) by @corrodedbisexual

“Don’t know how to cream your pants, huh?” Steve asks, unable to conceal a smirk. He hears a quiet whine as Eddie seems to try and make himself disappear inside the couch. “Want me to show you how?”

Gilded (dom steve, blindfolds, ice play) by @cheshiredogao3

Steve and Eddie are looking forward to a weekend all to themselves, but it doesn’t go as planned.

Trouble Looks Good On You (wip, spanking, kink discovery) by me indelicate

It happens like a fever dream. The first time Steve gives Eddie a swift smack on the ass, it’s obviously just an old jock habit that’s stuck with him. It wasn’t meant to have Eddie’s knees going weak, or turn his blood hot under his skin, or give him a brand in the shape of Steve Harrington’s hand, or— Nope, because Eddie’s not even into that. But then, it happens again. Or, Steve keeps accidentally awakening Eddie’s new kinks.

You Make Me Feel Like I Am Whole Again (wip, dom top and dom bottom steve) by @munsonkitten

Eddie has never felt like his body belongs to him. It gets worse after he's nearly mauled to death, left with scars and healing wounds, a lopsided chest, and more trauma stacked on top of everything already wrong with him. Steve Harrington finds out Eddie's trans by accident after the bats, and Eddie finds out Steve's surprisingly okay with it. More than okay with it.

The Bartender Was a Trap (soft dom) by @mixsethaddams

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Steve was just naturally amazing at DND? Like he can see the strategy clear as day and can’t understand why the other players are taking so long to decide on their next move. He’s never caught by surprise by the story. He built his nearly flawless absolute weapon of a character in less than twenty minutes. Eddie fucking hates it but oh boy does it turn him on Or Steve rails Eddie while talking about D&D

Bite Through These Wires (soft dom steve's strap game series 🤭) by @steves-strapcollection

“Wouldn’t you be Ken, though?” Steve had hoped Eddie would ask a question like that and he had to refrain from punching the air and ruining his punchline. “I come with all the coolest accessories, so clearly I’m still Barbie,” Steve retorted, his voice going just a bit deeper as he leaned closer to Eddie.

Relax (Lay it Back) (soft dom yoga instructor steve) by @wynnyfryd

Five times yoga instructor Steve teaches Eddie how to chill the fuck out, and the one time he learns his lesson.

Melt Me On Your Tongue (soft dom, bathing) by me indelicate

“This okay?” “Yeah it’s— shit, it’s more than okay, Steve.” “… you’re crying, Eds.” Eddie can’t hold back a choked off noise then, somewhere between an overwhelmed laugh and a sob. “No one’s ever done this to me before.” He doesn’t know if he means no one’s ever given him a bath, or braided his hair, or just any of the things Steve does for him, really. Eddie's never had a Steve before.

Kiss Me (Beneath the Milky Twilight) (pleasure dom steve, virgin eddie) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x

Eddie has never been kissed. Steve apparently would very much like to volunteer to fix this.

Getting Lost in the Dark is My Favorite Part (wip, masochist virgin eddie, kink discovery) by queerontilmorning

After his near-death experience, Eddie decides it's time to get rid of his pesky virginity and heads to a gay bar. It leads to some... realizations... for both him and Steve.

You're a Sweet Shot of Kerosene (When I Threw it Back, it Poisoned Me) (wip, mob boss steve) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x

Whatever fucked up shit Eddie’s father had inadvertently roped him into simply by being what he was — a shit-stain excuse for a sperm donor who preferred sticking a needle in his arm to taking care of his family — well, Eddie’s pretty sure it’s about to be him that pays that price. And maybe Eddie’s delirious, because by the time it’s apparently his turn and they’re dragging him down some hallway (and yeah, it’s not like Eddie’s not trying to put up a fight, but it feels almost performative at this point considering he’s pretty much hogtied here), the only real thought he has when they deposit him on yet another cold, wet tile floor is this: Uncle Wayne is gonna be so pissed at me if I get shot in the head tonight.

closer to you (soft dom steve) by @natesfwl

“C’mon baby, where's my little rockstar?” Steve spanks him, groans when he feels Eddie tense up around him from the impact, “Perform for me.” “You let me penetrate you” Eddie stutters out the line as he lifts himself up with his knees. “There you go,” Steve whispers, watching as Eddie fights to keep his eyes locked onto Steve’s when he sinks back down. or the really self-indulgent fic of steddie fucking to the song closer by NIN.

Destroy The Silence (drummer steve) by @artaxlivs

Steve becomes the drummer for Corroded Coffin and Eddie can't handle his thirst

Trouble and Temptation (series wip, businessman dilf steve) by @heartharps

“Come on, Harrington. I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly.” When Steve looked up, he was glaring, as stern and serious as ever. “Eddie, let me remind you that as far as I'm concerned, nothing has ever happened between us other than of a professional nature.”

Sting, and Other Brainworms (series with switching) by @riality-check

“Do you need to go down, baby?” Eddie gets like this, sometimes. Stuck between overwhelmed and incredibly bored. Steve watches until he remembers that they have a way to fix this. Eddie calls it a hard reset. Steve calls it fucking him until he can’t see straight.

Edification (sadist steve) by aristal

“Alright Munson.” She bares her teeth and grins like a wolf. “Tell the class: what’s your biggest sexual fantasy?” A slow smile creeps into his features, and his dark eyes flash. “Oh, you’re asking the good questions, Wheeler.” He takes another long pull of his joint, dragging the moment out for dramatic effect. Steve doesn’t care. He wants to know the answer. He needs to know. Eventually, Eddie blows out the smoke, eyes a little hazy as he grins at the ceiling. “I’ve always liked the idea of being slapped around and choked in someone’s car.”

In My Boxers, Half Stoned (dom bottom Steve) by eddywow

"You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"

Insatiable (public, skirts, cages) by @cheshiredogao3

When their club ritual is rudely interrupted, Steve and Eddie make a point of proving their bond—rather publicly.

Done Deal (series with switching) by @morningberriesao3

Steve Harrington doesn't have any money with him, so he offers to pay Eddie Munson some other way.

Lovebite (sub vampire eddie) by hellcore

It shouldn’t feel so good, being tasted.

* The next few don't have the tag but in my opinion they have dom Steve vibes and I want to include them here (:

Cyclical (wip, time loop fic, rimming, switching, lots of smut with plot) by @cuips-not-cute

steve keeps finding himself back in the boathouse where everything started, wrapped up in the arms of a boy who can’t stop dying. he's desperate to rewrite the timeline, trying everything he can think of to fix it. including falling in love.

Dirty Words by @morningberriesao3

Steve gives Eddie a lesson on dirty talk, but things start to get carried away.

Memorize My Number, That's Why I Got A Phone (phone sex) by queerontilmorning

while on tour with Corroded Coffin, Eddie makes an important phone call to Steve.

My Right Hand Man (spanking, kink discovery) by @entanglednow

In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.

Shot Right Through (pierced eddie) by @entanglednow

Steve overhears a conversation between Eddie and Robin, and then spends a few weeks trying to think of anything else.

Pleased To Meet You (demon steve) by midnightdrive

Eddie accidentally summons a demon who is bound to fulfill his every wish. He, somehow, gets more than he had bargained for.

#for the baddies that get it #i'm sure i missed some great ones please feel free to add on <3 #steddie #steddie fic rec #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #dom steve harrington #sub eddie munson

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asscoups17 · 2 months

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Some of my Favorite Seventeen Fics

s- smut a- angst f- fluff

One shots ~

Anteric ~ s a f @smileysuh (Mingyu & Wonwoo x afab!Reader) (wc: 16.6k)

Always Only You ~ a s f @honeyhotteoks (brothers bestfriend! Cheol) (wc: 14.2k) (FAVORITE)

Good Luck, Fermata Tower ~ s a f @beefboyandbabygirl (fire-lookout!seungcheol x female!fire-lookout!reader) (wc: 13.9k)

Clowns ~ s a f @smileysuh (S.coups & Jeonghan & Joshua & Wonwoo & Mingyu x afab!Reader) (wc: 13.3k) (FAVORITE)

Creep ~ s a f @smileysuh (Mingyu x afab!Reader) (wc: 9.1k) (FAVORITE)

it’s all fun and games ~ s a f @dontflailmenow (Mingyu x fem!Reader) (wc: 8.9k)

Dare You ~ s f @dontflailmenow (bf!Mingyu x fem!Reader) (wc: 6k)

Fuck, Marry, Kill ~ s @bitchlessdino (fem!reader x ex!mingyu x shitstirrer!seungcheol x innocentbystander!wonwoo) (wc: 5.6k) (FAVORITE)

Vices and Virtues ~ s a f @lovelyhan (bodyguard!mingyu x fem!reader) (wc: 5.4k)

Do I Want to Hit You or Do I Just Want You? ~ s a f @dontflailmenow (Mingyu x fem!Reader) (wc: 3.9k)

The cake in the back! ~ s @toruro (dilf! Cheol) (wc: 3.8k)

Baby Fever ~ s @cheolhub (pussy-drunk-bitch-in-heat cheol) (wc: 3.4k)

Control Me ~ s @duhnova (gamerbf! Wonwo) (wc: 3k) (FAVORITE)

rules! “do i make you horny, baby?” ~ s @teeskz (gamer!seungcheol x fem!reader) (wc: 2.7k)

Practice Makes Perfect ~ s f @wongyuseokie (c.s.cxf!reader, j.w.wxf!reader, k.m.gxf!reader) (wc: 2.6k)

In The Dark Corners ~ s @sanakiras (fem!reader x ex!mingyu x bf!seungcheol) (wc: 2.2k)

gamers do it better ~ s @sluttyminghao (c.s.cxf!reader, j.w.wxf!reader) (wc: 2k)

On My Worst Behavior ~ s @sluttywoozi (rough Vernon) (wc: 0.6k)

Series ~

Challenge Me ~ s a @seokgyuu (Pairing: OT13 x afab!Reader) (All Separate) (Total wc: 94k) (10000/10) (FAVORITE) (Messy to say the least)

ice cold, cabin fever ~ s a f @smileysuh (Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader) (wc: 25.9k) (FAVORITE) (Part 2)

Hits Different (…’cause it’s you) ~ s a f @gyuswhore (brothers bestfriend! Mingyu x Fem!reader) (wc: 20.2k) (FAVORITE) (Emotional to say the least)

Bloodily Safe ~ s a @starlightxsvt (psychopath!wonwoo x fem!Reader) (wc: 18.5k) (Game On! pt2 : 6k)

Push It Down ~ s a f @dontflailmenow (ex bf’s bestfriend! Cheol) (pt 5(last part) (wc: 16.6k)

Getting Closer ~ s a f @milfgyuu (Wonwoo x Fem!reader x Mingyu) (pt 1: 10.8k)

Cat & Mouse ~ s f @wonusite (bad boy au; Wonwoo) (pt 2: 5.6k)

After Class ~ s f @rubyreduji (professor! Cheol) (pt 1: 1.6k) (4 parts in all)

Still adding to this list!

Last Update: 4/12/24

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Cabin Fever 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, age gap, drinking, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home from college for a family trip at your neighbour’s cabin, but not all is how you remember it. (a sampling of dad’s best friend and best friend’s dad in one)

Characters: dilf!Bucky Barnes

Note: Another unexpected update for this one.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all. Take care. 💖

A thin line of light glimmers along the edge of the trunk, the darkness around you consuming as you bounce with the motion of the tires. Thick bungee cords chafe the skin on ankle and wrist, your legs bent painfully in the confines of the space, your head fragile from the constant rattle. The engine whirs softly beneath the blare of Bucky’s classic rock, the oaky voice of Seger drifting through, muffling your struggles smothered behind a cloth wound around your mouth.

In the summertime Mmm, in the sweet summertim

We weren't in love, oh no, far from it We weren't searchin' for some pie in the sky summit We were just young and restless and bored Livin' by the sword

He's been driving for an hour at least. Time skews in the endless black that enshrines you, drifting with his out of key singalong.

And we'd steal away every chance we could To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods I used her, she used me but neither one cared We were gettin' our share

He sings giddily and the lyrics make your insides churn. It's as if he actually believes the words. That the song speaks to some forbidden love affair. That's now what any of this is! You babysat his kid for three years. You're just the girl next door.

You feel the nerves cluster and ping off each other as your ribs ache with your heaving. You suck down air through your nose as the thoughts, the dread, winds you up. You close your eyes as they wet, dizzy as you struggle to take in a breath. The tight space grows warm with your panicked gulps.

You roll over as the car stops and you hit the wall behind the backseat. Your veins flood with terror and you shake uncontrollably. You feel the darkness seep through your eyelids and dull your senses.

You can't breathe, you can't breathe, you can't–

🏡

You wake, not all at once. There's a sliver of noise, a car door, footsteps, a cough, a long pause, the car door again. The weight shifts at the other end of the vehicle and you grumble as you kick the wall, only then remembering where you are and what's happening. Not that you're sure of either.

You growl around the cloth in your mouth and kick harder, a feeble act of resistance. You lean awkwardly on your elbow and whimper, uncomfortable as your body remains bent with your constraints.

The engine turns but there's a delay as the volume on the radio dims. Bucky clears his throat, "hey, Seth, how's it going?"

You blink and wiggle as the response comes, a voice you know. Another neighbour, "thought you were up at the cottage."

"Was. Had to drive back Ray's girl. Just dropped her off."

"She back to school early?"

"Ah, you know girls and their mothers," Bucky chuckles, "can't say my own is much better with Jules."

You kick the trunk again, this time harder and squirm like an insect as you try to make noise. To draw attention.

"Shit, sounds rough," Seth comments.

"Yeah, I think it's the tailpipe," Bucky sighs, "but I gotta head back up. Not exactly how I planned my vacay, you know?"

"Well, you be careful, hopefully this thing doesn't fall apart. Thise country roads really do a number."

"Looks better than she is," Bucky agrees and twists up the volume before raising his voice over the music, "see ya."

The car shifts and suddenly reverses. The motion once more sets you off kilter and you can only let it slide you against the back end. He steers down the next block before he lowers the music. He exhales loudly and groans.

"Baby, you're a clever girl but you still got a lot to learn," he taunts, "really is a pity how so many girls your age make all the wrong choices."

You can only huff around the wet fabric as he turns a corner.

"They'll trace the cell towers first and find your phone in the dumpster… that is if the collectors don't get it first," he laughs, not that fake one he put on for Seth, "they'll see the text to Jake… you wanted to meet him at the bar, get a few drinks." He sucks his teeth, "dont you worry though, you'll still get to do all the fun stuff."

You begin to pant again, your fear building with each word, a thoroughly plotted ploy. As if he's thought of this longer than a few days. As if he dreamed of it for much much longer.

He lets the silence hang, only the drone of the radio in the dearth. You try to calm yours, trembling before the finality of his promises.

"I wonder if they'll care," he intone, "I mean your parents. Maybe your dad… but he doesn't seem to care about much– you still awake back there, sweetie? You didn't pass out on me again, did you?"

You whimper and sniffle as the tears flow hotly along your nose. The futility locks up your throat and chest. You stomp your feet against the side of the trunk in frustration, knowing know matter how much you do it that you’re stuck. Your world is in that tiny compartment. Your life is entirely in his ruthless hands.

🏡

“Shit, babe, I don’t know what happened,” Bucky’s voice comes from outside and the rear end of the car dips as he leans against it, jostling you on the inside. “Seth said something about the noise but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Yeah, no, I called a tow– Jules, please, yeah it’s gonna take a few hours– yeah, hit a motel or something.” He quiets and listens, “Jesus Christ, yes I know that��s money. And whose money is it?”

He snarls as his own lies rile him. He hits the trunk and the axel bounces. You hear his head slide along the metal.

“Not even gonna ask if I’m okay? I could’ve crashed– You know what, I’m done. Go have some wine and have fun without me. Like you do every day.”

The car shifts as he stands and you stare into the darkness. It’s all you can do. All you’ve done for hours. He has every base covered. Every end is so perfectly tied up that whatever you say after won’t make a difference. No one believed you before and they won’t believe you after.

“Hotel sounds good,” he talks to the exterior, “but I had something else in mind. A little secret of our own. Does that sound good, baby?” He laughs and slaps the metal, “you are so talkative. Let’s get back on the road, daddy’s tired.”

You bite down on your disgust. Daddy?

“I’m kidding, baby,” he drags his fingers away from the trunk, “hold tight, alright? Maybe get some sleep…” his soles tread along the gravel, “you’ll need it.”

He gets back in the car. You languish in grim resignation. You blame him. You blame your parents. You blame yourself. It doesn’t matter who you blame, you can’t change it now.

Each time you manage to doze, a spike of anxiety wakes you again. You don’t know how long it’s been, it hardly matters. If anything, the waiting, the promise of what comes next is worse than the thought of the end itself.

Crickets chirp and the tires crush twigs and sticks, the uneven incline of a hill has you against the door. The car stops at last, rolling noisily into the wild dine of buzzing night creatures. The engine dies again and the door confirms Bucky’s exit. His feet kick pebbles as he comes around.

“Finally here, baby,” he speaks into a yawn, “all that driving’s got me stiff. In more ways than one.”

The trunk pops and the rush of cool air makes you shiver. His shadow looms black against the silky blue of the night sky, stars twinkling around the crescent moon. He lifts you out by your upper arm and sits you on the edge of the bumper.

“I think you’ll like this place. Buddy gave me a spare key for emergencies.”

You blink and look around. All you see are trees. He pulls you to your feet and you hop to keep from falling. He turns you as he shuts the lid of the trunk and leads you, leaping, around the car. A dark cabin stands beneath the canopy of leaves, the front deck on pillared stilts as the structure is built onto the hump of the land.

You take the steps one at a time, feeling as if you’ll fall back with each. Escape whispers in your mind but not for long. It’s dark, you don’t know where you are, and bound, you have little hope of doing more than pissing him off.

He stops at the front door and leans you against the wooden siding. He jingles some keys and pushes the door in after twisting them in the slot. He reaches around the doorframe and flicks on the outside light. You squint in the glare and he grabs your chin, looking at you as his thumb rubs along your cheek.

“Doesn’t matter if you scream out here,” he hooks his finger in the fabric and tugs it away from your mouth, “so if you feel like it–”

“Don’t,” you utter, not bothering to wail out to no one, “please, you don’t have to do this, Bucky. You have a wife, a daughter. My parents– please.”

His eyes fall and his lips thin as they straighten. His cheeks dimple and his hand rests on your collar bone. He pales and scratches his beard as he hums.

“You’re right,” he drags his hand away and shudders, “I don’t know… I guess I’m just lonely. You know, Jules is fucking someone else, my daughter wants nothing to do with me,” he steps away and hangs his head. You watch him uncertainly, “I guess I just built this all up in my head and got carried away.”

He swallows and lifts his face to the moonlight, “you’re so young, so sweet, so…beautiful, I couldn’t resist. And then I–” he covers his mouth and sniffs. He trembles and for a moment, it seems like he’s crying. Then he snorts and drops his hand, guffawing as he spins back to you. “Was it convincing?”

Your lips part. He’s psycho. Absolutely crazy.

“I gotta practice, you know? Once they notice you’re missing, I gotta really play that up.” He comes back to you and grabs your arm again, “‘I had no idea. She didn’t tell me she was meeting a boy. I just dropped her off and headed back. Yeah, I got the receipts for the brakes. Had to get those checked since I almost skidded into the other lane. Fuck, I can’t believe–”

He’s convincing. Very convincing. No wonder you fell for it.

“Please stop,” you beg, “please, I get it.”

“Took you long enough,” his tone dulls as he turns on another light. It lights up the entryway, the walnut walls yellowed by the bulb’s tint.

You look down and wiggle your nose. You don’t want to cry, not in front of him.

“Baby, please, I’m gonna treat you right,” he grabs your wrists, hands around the thick cord, “you’re smart. If you run, I’ll catch you and even if I don’t, something worse would.”

“I won’t,” you gulp, “you know I won’t.”

“I know, baby,” there’s a patronizing tinge to his voice, “you’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’re gonna real good for me.”

You nod and flick your lashes. Don’t cry. He slowly unwinds the cord then bends to remove the other from around your legs. Your feet and hands tingle from the sudden flow of blood and your bones ache from their former confinement. You rub your arms as you watch him peer around.

“If only…” he sighs as he puts his hands on his hips, “me and you could be real happy, huh? A cute little thing like you would look good in an apron. And a ring. I’d take care of you. We wouldn’t have to do the whole kid thing, too much work.”

You stay against the wall as his steps creak over the floor, “waking up to you everyday, how sweet. It’d be hard to get out of bed for a whole new reason.”

He shakes his head and tuts as he blows out whimsically, “but it’s gotta be this. Best I can do for you, baby.”

You pinch the inside of your lip with your teeth. It’s hard to fathom this is the same man who lived next door for all those years. That this was Mr. Barnes who always paid you on time and always a bit extra when he was late. Just another suburban dad in his khakis mowing the lawn with a smile, driving his daughter to her soccer games, and firing up the grill for the entire block.

“Well, we’re both tired,” he says as he turns to you. He offers his hand. You look at his thick fingers as you hesitantly part from the wall. “Aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” you answer, hoping to stave him off just a little longer. “And thirsty. Hungry, too. Is there a bathroom?”

He pauses and looks at you, “you’re right, it was a long drive. Well, I guess we can eat before we head to bed.”

“If it’s not too much trouble–”

“I’ll have to go grab the stuff out of the car,” he says, “the bathroom is behind the stairs. Why don’t you go and take care of that as I run out.”

“Sure,” you say, “thanks.”

He smiles before he leaves you. You wait until he’s at the door then tiptoe down the hall. You find the light switch as you enter and look around. A toilet and sink. There must be another bathroom. You shut the door and lock it.

You open the cabinet behind the sink. Ointments, mostly expired, some cotton swabs, some gauze. You close it and look under the sink. A few mini bottles of lotion and soap but mostly empty. This isn’t somewhere you stay, no it’s for those passing through.

You give up. Nothing sharp or heavy. You use the toilet, if only to ease some tension and wash your hands. As you emerge, you hear rustling. You follow the noise to the kitchen where Bucky unpacks paper bags on a large wooden island. Above is an iron chandelier with bulbs like flames.

He looks up as you enter and grins as he pulls out a box of marshmallows cookies, “I remembered you like these. There were always a few missing after you were over. They only had raspberry though.”

You let out a breath and go to the other side of the island. It’s a good distraction, the only one, and your stomach growls as you try to remember the last time you ate. The night before… before he did all this. Before…

Well, it’s now and you’re there. Forget about all that. Hindsight can do nothing for you but make it hurt more.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #series #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #au #dilf au #captain america #winter soldier #avengers #cabin fever

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nataliesscatorccio · 7 months

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Dead cabin guy and his technicolor dreamcoat have haunted me since the wardrobe reveal in season two, and today im going to make it everyone's problem.

Travis wears the coat first. He and Natalie take the blessing and go out to look for Javi. Travis hallucinates (prophesies?) that Javi is dead and buried beneath the snow, but Natalie shows him it's only a fox. Travis finds the strange, mossy tree stump. The next day Travis has strong feelings about which direction is best to search for Javi in, and we don't see more of him until Nat reveals the bloody pants. Not that weird, all things considered. New season, new wardrobe additions. Hiking on a caloric deficit with PTSD, you'll probably hallucinate. Pretty standard stuff.

Then Nat wears the coat. She takes it to lay Jackie's bones to rest at the crash site, and while she wears it she sees (hallucinates? prophesies? I'm not sure!) the white moose that they'll later lose to the lake (ergo the hunt, ergo Javi dies for real but more on that later).

We get to Old Wounds, the hunting competition, and Lottie wears the coat now. You see where I'm going with this but just to be thorough: she enters the realm of death dreams, talks with Laura Lee, almost freezes to death.

Episode five. Melissa wears the coat. Maybe that's not important! Maybe it's just to show that they all share the wardrobe, and that the side characters are as equally All In This Together as the main characters are. Or it could mean something that a peripheral character, wearing important wardrobe, framed in antlers (not unlike Travis in 2.01), has the line "maybe he did die, and that's his ghost." It's a little suspicious, and at this point starts to feel like a pattern.

Who wears it next, who wore it best!? That's right baby, it's Paul! For his dreamworld drifter, hallucination hunk Coach Ben Scott. Nicholas Urfe himself. Ben spends almost all of his time in a dream, until *drumroll please* Paul, very pointedly, takes the coat and walks out the door. "Where do you think you are, Ben?" he puts the coat on. "You had to have known you couldn't stay here forever. [...] What matters now is that you aren't welcome here anymore." Following Paul means committing to death (to dream), and until interruption that's the choice Ben makes. Because letting Paul (and the coat) go would mean committing entirely to reality.

Of course, the pièce de résistance is something I didn't even notice until I went looking for it. The first dozen times I watched, I thought that after Lottie's beating Shauna brought her a blanket. "Lottie's cold." But she doesn't. She brings her the coat. Lottie is laying with it when, in a fever dream, she witnesses/hallucinates/prophesies parts of the hunt.

It's there again (on the back of the chair) when she sits by the fire and speaks for the wilderness, appointing Nat their queen. Ben watches, having woken from the dream himself, as they all bow to Natalie and leave reality behind for good.

Of course, there are a lot of times when characters hallucinate strange things in the cabin while not wearing the coat, because they're all starving to death and traumatized. Mari. Shauna. Akilah. But in addition to that, it seems like a pattern worth noting that in each instance where a character wears the technicolor coat, the line between the real and the imagined seems to blur with more ease. Does dead cabin guy's technicolor dreamcoat help the Yellowjackets connect to the dream realm?

I'll be brief here with the biblical parallel: blah blah Joseph is the favorite son (you were always its favorite), his father gives him a technicolor coat (they're nothing special, they don't change color in the cold or anything). blah blah Joseph starts having prophetic dreams etc etc his jealous brothers throw Joseph down a pit (the wilderness chose) and bring his bloodstained coat back as false proof of his death (hanging on a branch. a couple miles back). You get my drift.

Does it mean anything? Who knows. But in a series where wardrobe is such an integral part of the storytelling, it felt worth paying attention to.

#yellowjackets #long post #travis martinez #lottie matthews #natalie scatorccio #melissa yellowjackets #paul yellowjackets #yellowjackets meta #javi martinez #shauna shipman #ben scott #akilah yellowjackets #mari yellowjackets

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writingoddess1125 · 6 months

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HI I LOVE UR EVERYTHING AND PAPA BUGGY WAS SO CUTE AND IF YOU CAN DO ONE WHERE HE HAS BABY FEVER PLEASE 🙏🙏 I'M ON MY KNEES 🙏🙏 (I love ur work it's so cute and sad, funny)

Lucky Winner to get Part 2!!

Fever pt. 2

Buggy x Femreader + Buggy Twins

Also PSA everyone Wrap it before you tap it!

Support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

Check out the rest of the Old Men series

"YOURE PREGNANT!!"

Buggy shouted in total joy, Jumping around the room as his body looked almost like an accordion at his odd movements- you sitting there in total shock.

You'd expected that the twins would be your first and last, not that you would accidently get pregnant again especially by the same idiot who had done it by accident the first time.

Your hands went over your face as the reality of 9 months of this set in- For Fuck sakes... You could t help but giggle and hug Buggy there in the doctors office, Both happy and in total shock by this all.

After this things moved all too quickly it seemed. Of course you two told the boys who had been both excited and apprehensive- Like most kids worried the new baby would replace them or take the father they just gained from them, which had to be explained wasn't the case and you and Buggy created a gameplan to help the biys adjust. Then came the crew, who decided to have a 3 day celebration and get absolutely shit faced- Buggy included.

Why you were indeed happy, incredibly happy infant you knew what was about to come. HORRIBLE PREGNANCY SYMPTOMS! WONDERFUL-

Your first trimester was filled with morning sickness, Poor Buggy being as kind as possible as he helped clean you up and find foods that wouldn't make you puke your guts out. The twins even doing their part to find nice teas and things that smelled nice for you to also not throw up.

During this time Buggy bought so much stuff- Most likely boosting the economy of the village single handedly as he had the nursery built in the cabin and on the ship, You and the boys having a fun few weeks decorating both areas.

By your second trimester the hormones kicked in horribly, that and cramps. However that's when something magical happened as well-

Buggy and you were laying on the bed, both of you quite exhausted. Buggy was tired from dealing with the twins all day while you were tired from the baby and fatigue that was hitting you like a fleet. Since the start of your second trimester when your baby bump had become far more noticable Buggy always has his hand somewhere on your stomach rubbing the growing bump.

"I need to find a better way of tiring them out..." Buggy grumbled, You nodding in agreement leaned against the man and truthfully you both without single damns. Buggy in some pink boxers while you leaned against his naked chest in a large shirt rolled up over your stomach and underwear.

"They are still worried- Maybe take them out sailing or something? I'm sure they would enjoy tha- Oof!" You yelp as a sudden jolt hit you, clearly aimed right under Buggys palm which make both of you jump in surprise.

"What the hell was that?" He questioned as he pulled his palm away from you quickly and looked at your stomach. You shifting and rubbing the exposed skin smiling at him.

"They kicked, ive been feeling 'em move but not kick yet. Here I'm sure they will give you another little kick" You say calmly. Buggy sitting infront of you quickly and placing his palms back on your skin, You shifting his palms to the perfect spot before another jolt ran through you and Buggy giggled like a child at this.

"Thats so weird feeling!"

His eyes sparkled at this as he sat infront of you rubbing your stomach and feeling his child move under his palm and occasionally kick. It was a truly precious moment for the both of you.

As for the final trimester... Pregnancy was never too kind to anyone- Especially you. It wasn't with the twins and it sure wasn't now-

Leaned against the counter you glared hard at Buggy- 60 damn days you're ass! Try 8 fucking months trapped in this God forsaken cabin with your mentally unstable partner, two 12 year old boys and your bladder being utterly destroyed by little feet.

Oh and of course- THE GOD DAMN CREW THAY DECIDED THAT THEY WANTED TO STAY WITH THEIR FEARLESS CAPTIAN TILL THE 'VACATION' WAS OVER!

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Buggy questioned feeling the heat of your glare on his skin.

"I-..." You wanted to start Biting his head off but truthfully he had done nothing, you figured you were just emotional to the max at this point and the cramping didn't help.

"...I'm in pain-" You admit with a sigh, Buggy setting down his drink and walking to you calmly as he looked you over like he could spot your pain.

"Your stomach looks different" He said calmly, You shooting him a warning look.

"No shit it looks-" Buggy shook his head to stop you, "No its lower I mean, I think it's best we call the doctor" He said calmly, A shot of embrassment going through you at this point. Buggy truly had been giving it his all and learned from the doctor. With a chick trip from the Doctor and Midwife they confirmed you were in labor and got you set up to give birth in the cabin, The twins being taken to the Big Top with Cabaji while they waited for their siblings arrival.

"How are you feeling?" Buggy asked, Gently rubbing your back as you smiled.

"Not to bad actually- I'm glad you're here with me.." You say softly as another contraction shot through you.

At first it was fine- You'd been through this before. So it should be shorter and less painful this time around- Yeah No. You went from fine to screaming in pain very very quickly. Buggy sitting next to you trying to comfort you and get you through it- However the last thing you wanted was him there..

Which landed Buggy outside the house awkwardly, his crew also seated on different patches of grass as they flinched at every cry and scream that echoed out from the house and into the silent garden outside. You had kicked out Buggy 20 minutes ago, clearly just in too much pain to handle him at the moment and the doctor recommending him to try to return in 30 minutes. Which he did.

Truthfully he handled it like a champ once back in, holding your hand despite feeling like you were crushing it into dust and wiping the sweat and tears from your eyes. After a seven exhausting painful hours a shrill cry cut through the air as you slacked onto the bed. The doctor happily placing a little girl on your chest, now tears of joy running down your cheeks.

The doctors starting to clean her up as you admired her, looking to Buggy who was also crying.

You held the little girl in your arms, seeing her pink little face she had your facial features and (Y/H/C) hair like you but a bright rounded cherry nose/cheeks and ocean blue eyes. She was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You saw Buggy stare in only awe as he felt tears hit his cheeks and he smiled.

"Shes.. shes.."

Your hand reached forward, Buggy thinking it was to caress his cheek or something gentle but instead you grabbed his neck in a iron grip- He squeaking in surprise as you pull him close.

"Buggy- This is the last... do you understand? Cause if the words 'I want another child' come from your lips ever again I am going to cut your dick off and throw it into the deepest part of the ocean. Do. You. Understand. Me" You said in the softest and kindest voice Buggy had ever heard, fear going through his system as he could tell you were dead serious.. maybe it was the lack of oxygen going to his brain or still the euphoria of the moment but he swore he saw literal hell flame in yours eyes.

"Clear- Crystal Clear" He wheezed, you releasing him so he could scoop up his daughter. He genuinely looked giddy at this point as he cuddled her close to his chest, you saw the anxiety just below the surface of his face as he stared at his daughter more her nose-

"Shes beautiful" You say softly staring at her from Buggy's arms.

"I won't let her go through what I did- I want her to feel special and perfect" He admitted, your eyes softening at his vulnerability as he kissed his daughters cheek.

"Im sure they will kn- Oof!- Fuck" You hissed in pain and flinched. The doctor peaked under the blanket quickly and called over the midwife who did a quick check. You wincing in pain as Buggy stared at you panicking and holding the now fussing newborn.

"(Y/N)?!" He said softly as another groan of pain left you. The midwife and doctor conversing quickly before beginning to prepare once again.

"It seems you're still in labor- Looks like another baby" He said proudly, Your eyes widening as you look at Buggy like you were prepared to kill him. The clowns face as white as snow making his face paint look dark at the realization of 2 sets of twins kicked in.

"Holy shit-"

"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!" You yelled as Buggy kept his daughter and rushed out quickly to show off his daughter and avoid your wrath of damning you to another set of twins.

Eventually he would return with your guys daughter and sat through another broken hand created by your labor. That night another little girl was brought in this world, the little girls being 8 hours apart and identical to her sister.

It was later decided after you had properly been cleaned up and not ready to murder Buggy their names. Buggy coming up with the names Ali and Ari respectively for his daughters.

Tag List-

@alastorhazbin @yuriwk

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader

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