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1kook · 3 years

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new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming.

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education).

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way.

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms.

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries.

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable.

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows.

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.”

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum.

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close.

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed.

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin.

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone.

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress.

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt.

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite.

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up.

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks.

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.

It’s your turn to mope.

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand.

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses.

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh.

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels.

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad.

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down.

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome.

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities.

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about.

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest.

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover.

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.”

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee.

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite.

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now.

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.”

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold.

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes.

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon.

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her.

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown.

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead.

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear.

It’s the hardest thing about parenting.

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is.

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show.

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years.

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight.

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now.

A second later, “lemme join.”

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick.

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.”

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions.

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit.

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky.

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home.

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts.

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now.

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back.

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice.

Then, and apparently, now.

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck.

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together.

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper.

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt.

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time.

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips.

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you.

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long.

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body.

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him.

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line.

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could.

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you.

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist.

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore?

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?”

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it.

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you.

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat.

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt.

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time.

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully.

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole.

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything.

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure.

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt.

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time.

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone.

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped.

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas.

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever.

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling.

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence.

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out.

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach.

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys.

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever.

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.”

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer.

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off.

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again.

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific.

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position.

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds.

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him.

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt.

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip.

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh.

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you.

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace.

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out.

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you.

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones.

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year.

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace.

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car.

“What’s up?” you ask.

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—”

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well.

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway.

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy.

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news.

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you.

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #namjoon fic #kim namjoon fic #knj fic #bts fic #bts smut #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader smut #mine

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ynscrazylife · 3 years

Note

i’m a simple gal...... i like seeing natasha being overprotective and a little homicidal SO could i please request some cute mentor!almost itherlynat x reader? maybe reader gets badly hurt during training or someone on the team hurts her feelings? mamabear stabs? 🥺

More Than A Mentor | n.r fluff fic

Summary: After an accident, Y/N realizes her and Natasha’s relationship goes beyond mentor and mentee.

Authors Note: Thank you for requesting! I’ve missed writing Marvel/Natasha.

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PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/marvelocks

Natasha was not an easy mentor, and Y/N learned that quickly. She was understanding and patient, yes, but she also knew when to push Y/N and went to be a little stricter.

The thing was, Y/N was never completely sure what side she’d get of her mentor at what time - though she found herself not having to worry about it after . . . The Accident.

That disastrous day would go down in the team’s history, yet no one liked to talk about it. It was a day Y/N would never forget: it changed . . . everything.

It was one of the rare days that Y/N wasn’t training with Natasha. She had a meeting with Fury so Steve filled in for her. Y/N was not accustomed to training with a super soldier, and had to quickly adjust (it didn’t make it any easier that he had his shield, too).

She was doing well - at least, she wanted to think that she was - and so far had deflected almost every punch from Steve, managing to get one or two punches against him herself.

Nonetheless, the air was knocked out of her when Steve slammed her against the mat. She grunted, angry only fueling the pain when she saw that stupid smirk on his face, and used that to her advantage; he wouldn’t expect her to recover so quickly (and in truth, neither did she) but she did it anyway, throwing all her weight against the Captain. She secured he legs around his waist like Natasha taught her and, using the strength in her legs and pushing his broad shoulders, just about managed to get herself out from being pinned on the mat. Now, though, they were both sorta sitting on the mat, so Y/N kneed him in the chest, pushing him down.

“You’re good,” he whispered, just slightly out of breath, before he - seemingly without using any strength at all - threw her to the side where she rolled.

Y/N cursed under her breath, getting her feet. It was impossible to win against a super-soldier! Think, Y/N, think, what did Natasha teach you? Cmon!

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve grabbing his shield, and got in a stance to either catch it or evade it - she hadn't decided yet - when yells distracted her. In her hyped up, adrenaline-pumped state, the first thing that came to Y/N’s mind was that someone was hurt. She was about to call of the training when a large, solid force smacked into her stomach, sending her flying into the air where she hit the wall, losing consciousness.

Steve's eyes widened, not thinking it’d actually hit her, and jumped into action. “Who the hell screamed?” The blonde yelled as he ran to his fallen teammate. He carefully turned her on her back and looked her over for injuries, seeing bruises and bleeding starting to form on her stomach and ankle and her head bleeding.

Bucky and Sam practically crashed inside the room, trying to beat each other.

“He threatened me!” Sam exclaimed.

“He tried to steal my metal arm!” Bucky defended.

Both men came to a screeching halt when they digested the scene, though. Steve rolled his eyes at his idiotic friends and tried to put pressure on Y/N’s head wound. “Sam, get Bruce, please. Tell him to prepare med - and Bucky, get Natasha. She’ll want to be here,” he ordered, and the men nodded, guilty.

Steve carefully picked Y/N up in his arms and hoisted her into the air, carrying her to med where Bruce and Helen were, Sam explaining the situation to them. Instantly, Helen jumped into action. She instructed Steve to lay Y/N down on one of the med’s beds and then ushered the men out of the room, where she then began grabbing various medical things and assessing Y/N’s injuries, instructing Bruce to hook her up to an IV.

Steve and Sam stood outside, not saying a word to each other, both pacing back and forth. They did not have to be silent for long, though, because pounding footsteps soon approached and the men looked up to see a very furious Natasha with Bucky trailing behind her.

The redhead’s eyes fell onto the closed med doors and huffed, turning back to Steve. “I leave her with you for training one day and she gets hurt?!” She demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

Steve swallowed. “Nat, I-” He began to say, but was cut off.

“What happened?” Natasha asked.

Steve glanced up at her, first irritated when she asked him a question and then interrupted him whilst he was answering, but backed off when he saw the urgency, the nervousness in her eyes; she was scared. Scared that Y/N was really hurt and guilty.

“We were training. I threw my shield at her, expecting her to catch it or duck . . . But Sam and Buck distracted her and it hit her,” he said, not wanting to throw his friends under the bus but also knowing he had to be truthful.

Natasha stood in place, processing the information. She took a breath, and had almost completely calmed down when Bucky decided to open his mouth.

“Y’know, if anything we tested her. What if someone yelled during a mission? Is she gonna get distracted then?” He mumbled, not really meaning it but wanting to spare him and Sam Natasha’s wrath.

Karma’s a bitch, though, because it did the exact opposite.

If you blinked you’d miss it: Natasha swiftly turned and pushed Bucky against the wall, pinning him there with his hands above his hand.

“Don’t you dare start blaming this on Y/N, you hear me?” She said in a low tone, glaring.

Bucky quickly nodded and Natasha released him. When she did, the door opened and Helen appeared.

“She’ll be okay—” Helen began, and Natasha let out a breath of relief, “—but she does need to be off training for at least a month. She has a concussion, broken ankle, and . . . the shield sort of stabbed her in her stomach.”

It took a couple moments for all four to digest this. Steve paled and Natasha’s crossed arms for tighter as she bit her lip. “Can I see her?” She asked.

“She’s still unconscious, but yes,” Helen answered, nodding.

Natasha almost failed to contain the gasp lurching to leave her throat when she saw Y/N, all bandaged up. The spy gulped and sat down beside her, not knowing what else to do other than sit there, and had no clue what she’d say when Y/N woke up because she sure as hell wasn’t leaving her. Thankfully, Natasha had some time to think it out.

Almost a day later and Natasha hadn’t left — Clint had convinced her to go sleep and eat for a couple hours, but that was it — and now, Y/N woke up.

“Ms. Romanoff?” Y/N murmured in a haze of confusion, squinting her eyes to see her mentor curled up in a chair, reading a big book.

Natasha snapped her head up and immediately sat forward, a smile covering her face. “Y/N! You’re awake? How are you feeling? And how many times have I told you to call me ‘Natasha’?”

Y/N blushed but nodded. “I’m fine, probably the painkillers’ doing though . . . How long was I out?” She said.

“Around a day,” Natasha answered.

“Did you . . . Did you stay here?” Y/N asked again, a little smaller this time, playing with her blanket.

“Most of it, yeah,” Natasha murmured, relaxing into the chair.

“Really? You’re-you’re not mad?” Y/N said, eyes wide and jaw dropped in surprised.

Natasha scrunched her face up. “What? No — of course I’m not mad! You’re like my daughter! How could I be—?”

Natasha was cut off by Y/N’s loud, yet thankful gasp. The teenager sat up and wrapped her arms around Natasha and, after a moment, Natasha smiled and wrapped her arms around her too.

Y/N truly was like her daughter, and mothers were always protective over their children.

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quantumlocked310 · 3 years

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Bjørnekram

I’m a super newbie to the Vikings fandom (better late than never?), but I saw @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie post about writing fluffy Bjorn. And, like my Hvitserk fic, the idea wouldn’t leave my brain. This is my second published fic ever, so I hope it is enjoyable.

Warnings: Heavy petting, bear hugs, fluff, ignoring the entire Vikings plot

Crossposted on AO3

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When the envoy came, you didn’t think it would change your life. Your father and Ragnar had been close friends when you were young. At that time your family had lived in Kettegat, but when your grandfather died your father was called to return to the village so he could be Jarl. Now, Ragnar requests your father’s presence at the Solstice feast to talk about raiding together in the spring.

It has been a few years since you’d played with Ragnar’s sons, but hearing the envoy talk about Kattegat thrusts you back to your memories of running around the town square, playing hide and seek between buildings. Always trying to hide Ivar with you, or getting Ubbe to carry you on his back.

Of course your father accepts the summons of his oldest friend, and decides to bring you and your mother along, leaving your elder brother in charge of the village.

During the journey to Kattegat you thought about how you’d changed. You’re no longer a tiny child to be carried around. You’re a woman with wide hips, large breasts, and the larger squishy middle of a person who is well cared for, and has the luxury of being a Jarl’s daughter. Your mother always says your body is made for children, but you’re not so sure about that just yet. “I need a man for that first, Mother” you usually respond, but no one in your village has caught your eye or even tried to pursue you.

Your family’s arrival is a celebration. After the long journey all you wish to do is lay down on a bed of furs and sleep until the next full moon, but your mother’s look says your presence is necessary. There is food and mead, and you fill your belly sitting with the sons of Ragnar and hearing of their raiding adventures.

The boys have all changed too. Now they are handsome young men, with beards and longer hair than you remember. You’re next to Ubbe, and tug on his impressive beard saying “When did this come about, hmm?”

“Probably around when those did for you, love.” He cranes his head as if to look down your dress. Then winks and laughs nudging you with his shoulder.

You turn bright red and cross your arms, returning his nudge with a hearty shoulder shove of your own.

“We have all grown up in the years we’ve been gone, no?” A voice rumbles from your left.

You look over to see Bjorn has sat next to you. And he seems to have changed the most of them all. Even sitting he seems to tower over you, and his shoulders take up almost two spaces themselves. You nod over your cup of ale and giggle saying “Hello, Bjorn.”

His returning grin is playful as he responds “Hello, Y/N.” Your early time in Kattegat was spent while Bjorn was with his mother, but clearly he knows who you are. If you’d heard tales of Bjorn Ironside from his brothers, perhaps they were telling tales of you too.

Another guest captures his attention from across the table, and you’re all swept up in the feasting and conversation. Over the course of the night you get closer and closer to Bjorn and he takes the chance to wrap an arm around you, resting his hand on the bench. You’re wrapped in warmth and all you can smell is him. He smells soothing, like home fires, cooked meat and the mead you’ve been consuming. Soon your head is resting on his shoulder and you’re nearly falling asleep at the table. After a massive yawn you feel his chest shake with laughter as he says “Maybe I should take you to sleep, Y/N.”

You hum and close your eyes, burrowing further into his soft tunic. He laughs again and starts to move. Dislodging you a bit he climbs off the bench, but starts to anchor a hand around your hip. You realise he is meaning to carry you to bed. Your eyes shoot open and you start to protest.

“Bjorn, no. I am too heavy.” You say though he continues to scoop his other hand under your knees. “Nonsense.” Is all he says as he lifts and suddenly you are in the air. He stays still for a moment, and you wriggle a little then nestle your head under his chin and close your eyes again. No one has attempted to carry you for many years, and you don’t want to stare at him in awe the entire time he is holding you.

The walk to your room feels like seconds as you start to drift back to sleep feeling supported, wrapped in his scent and his arms. Between the long journey, delicious food, and copious amounts of mead and ale there was no way you could stay awake for any longer.

Bjorn sets you gently on your bed, but you whine as he pulls away. He huffs touching his forehead to yours, and covering you in furs. Before he leaves, you feel him press a gentle kiss to your head and his massive hand pushes a few strands of hair away from your face. “Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispers, and it is the last thing you hear before a deep sleep takes you.

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In the morning you are embarrassed at your behavior. Falling asleep at the table, and on Bjorn no less. You thought that would receive endless amounts of teasing from the brothers. At least he was sweet about it, and as you get ready for your day you touch your forehead remembering his gentle goodnight kiss.

When you arrive in the great hall there is only your mother and Aslaug who tells you, “The men have gone hunting.” You nod and sit at the table to eat your morning meal. The rest of your day is spent with your sewing tasks and learning about the village from Aslaug.

Close to dinner the great hall doors thrust open and your father and Ragnar burst in with their arms around each other laughing uproariously. Those who are in the Great Hall stand to greet them.

“We will have to hold another feast to eat the meat we’ve caught this day!” Ragnar shouts. “No, Brother! Food enough to salt and keep for raiding England!” Your father returns, rejoicing. They continue to the head of the table where your father presses a kiss to your mother’s brow. You smile gently at their affection, before letting out a horrific squeal!

“Y/N!” Bjorn bellows as he lifts you up and spins you around. “Come see what we have caught!” You can smell the ale on his breath. They must have been drinking while hunting.

He places you next to their palette of slaughtered animals. They’ve got rabbits and fish, but the most impressive is the large buck whose antlers reach out from under the smaller prey. You try to step closer, but don’t move an inch. Bjorn holds his hands fast around your middle and pulls you back just a little so your bodies are aligned. You stiffen slightly before turning to look up at the big man and see his incredible blue eyes inches from yours. Blushing, you nod just a little and turn to look back at their haul.

“A magnificent array indeed! We will have to celebrate.” You turn your head to look around the room and loudly suggest “Some mead for everyone, perhaps?”

“Mead!” All the men shout and the thralls pour in with jugs and cups, and soon another feast has begun.

You smile widely and tip your head up to look at Bjorn, your hands coming to rest over his and you squeeze just a little. “Mead?” you ask him, and he starts to lower his head. Your heart starts pounding, thinking perhaps we will kiss you in the middle of the newly crowded great hall.

But alas he only rests his forehead on yours, inhales, and says “You smell like home,” so quietly you almost think he didn’t say it. He presses a quick kiss to your brow before tightening his arms and lifting you gently to the table where he sits and places you on his lap. Your heart is in your throat and you know your eyes are wide as saucers as you realise Bjorn has no intentions of letting you off him as you feast.

Hvitserk pushes a mug of mead toward you, and you’re grateful to try and hide your blushing cheeks behind it. You grab the nearest plate of meat and begin to eat. Meanwhile, oblivious to your pounding heart and warm core, the tale of the great hunt begins.

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As the evening winds down you start to move off of Bjorn, getting as far as moving your butt to the bench before he catches your knees and holds you to him. “And where are you going?” he asks.

“I wish to sleep, Bjorn” you sigh.

“Then I will take you.”

“May I walk on my own this time?”

He seems to think over your question, before staring you straight in the eye saying “No.”

You furrow your brow and stick out your lower lip, pouting.

“That trick won’t work on me, maiden.” He releases your knees to tap you on the nose, and you cross your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him. His laugh is deep and hearty, and your heart soars to hear it.

You can’t help but smile back, and he pulls you with him to stand from the bench. The table whoops and hollers at the two of you, his brothers the loudest of all. You wrap your arms around Bjorn’s significant shoulders as he adjusts his hold on you, fingers brushing your thighs and sides causing heat to rush through your body.

You’re both quiet on the way to your rooms, and his hands are so warm where they press as if branding your skin through your dress. It is hard to think of anything but how his body feels against yours and how you wish he had kissed you in the great hall.

When you get to your room, he doesn’t lay you on the bed as you expect. Instead, Bjorn wraps both arms around you and holds you so you are eye level. Both his hands are pressed tightly against your hips and butt, and he is just holding all of you. It feels special, like nothing you’d ever experienced before.

Slowly he lets you slide down his body, your eyes never breaking contact. As your toes touch the floor he leans down and presses his lips to yours. His lips are softer than you imagined and they feel so gentle. Slowly you press back against him, keeping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you.

His mouth opens against yours, and you nip at his bottom lip. He groans into your mouth and those massive hands travel across your body, one hand grabbing at your full bottom and the other taking a handful of your breast. Your fingers scratch against the soft shaven parts of his hair, and you moan into the kiss.

He bends his knees and lifts you up again. “Bjorn!” You exclaim as the kiss is broken. “Why in Odin’s name do you lift me so much?” He stares at you, eyebrows raised, while he just keeps you in the air, your legs wrapped around his hips. “Not... not that I am complaining. You’re so strong, but no one has lifted me since I was a child. And I didn’t think... well I didn’t think anyone could.”

He lays you gently on the bed and climbs in after you, all the while keeping you in his embrace. “You’re a beautiful woman, and I want you in my arms. Is that reason enough?”

You stare at him for some minutes, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the strong arch of his brow, his patrician nose, the stubble forming on his cheeks. He lets you look your fill, as you feel his hands travel up your back and around your stomach, skimming your mound over your dress. You’re exploring him with your eyes, but he is worshiping you with his touch. You nod and kiss him again, taking the opportunity to press your body to his. He is scorching, pressed against every inch of you as the kissing continues.

His hands travel further across your body, lifting your dress and squeezing your bare ass. In return you reach to shove his tunic off. The next thing you know all your clothes are on the floor. His naked body feels soft against your chilled skin and the hair on his chest is pressed tight to your bare breasts. Your kisses are lazy, tongues dancing as you explore each other’s newly exposed skin.

After what feels like hours with his hands cradling your thighs and playing with your breasts you interrupt the kissing with a large yawn. Bjorn chuckles as he rubs his nose against yours.

“Sleep, maiden. I will make you scream my name tomorrow” he says quietly.

“I suppose that will have to do,” you reply, and push yourself up to blow out the candles next to the bed. He takes the opportunity to fondle your exposed breast, and you giggle dropping your body down to squash his hand between you. He hums, pressing a kiss to your temple and you kiss his chest, moving to tuck your head under his chin. You both settle together as he pulls out his trapped hand to pull you ever closer.

And that is how you fall asleep. With Bjorn’s heartbeat in your ear, wrapped in the warmth of this unexpected gift from the gods.

#bjorn x reader #plus size reader #vikings #bjorn ironside x reader #bjorn ironside #bear hugs #fanfic #fanfiction #Yes the name means Bear Hugs in Danish #no i’m not sorry #this time I made a moodboard!#pics are from pinterest #no i’ve never made a moodboard #so many new things #I’m a Hvitserk girl all the way #but there’s something about being smothered by a big man that’s just alluring #now I can get back to my Pirate!Hvitty fic

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caught-in-the-filter · 3 years

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My Bad, Bad Devil, You Put the Angel in You

—an angel!Killian/demon!Emma AU PWP for CSSNS21

A/N: A huge shoutout and thank you to ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this for me, and to the mods of @cssns for giving us another year of this event!

Heads up that this has some sacrilegious uses of Biblical references, and I totally understand and respect if that's a big nope for anyone for any reason. Most of my life, it would've been a nope for me too. I mean no attack or mockery or other ill intent toward Christianity/religion or anyone who practices any form of it.

I grew up in church but I've been questioning a lot for a long time now, and this sort of became my own little personal rebellion. (I guess writing smut in general has been, but this one is on another level.) I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this fic; it was fun when I started it, but then I got frustrated and stuck, and now I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. And maybe I'll regret it in the future if I ever see the light again or something, but for now, I've resigned to the fact that if I'm gonna go to hell (if I even believe there is one anymore), then I might as well have a little fun with it while I can.

So if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, dl,dr, and no hard feelings.

Also, I know the title is a little long, but I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference.

Rated: E; Words: 2904; AO3

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“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

“Then you’re going to let them watch you fall from grace.” Emma gestured at the window in front of them, guiding Killian’s eyes to gaze out at the possibility of unwitting passersby spotting their activities, before taking him in hand once more. “You’re going to let them see you give all of yourself to a demon.” The guttural groan he made only spurred her on as she continued to pump him. “Unless you can’t handle it.”

Killian’s head fell back when Emma interrupted her stroking to grip his balls with a taunting squeeze, and he muttered under his breath, “God, forgive me,” as his eyes fluttered closed. Bucking his hips, he tried to coax her to go faster, “Yes, Emma, please yes,” but she smiled as she removed her hand and relished the whine that left his lips.

“An angel eager to sin.” She slipped her hands beneath the back of his trousers, kneading his ass for a moment before stripping off the leather, trailing kisses down his spine as she sank to the floor with the material. “Step.” With a tap to the backs of his knees, she removed the trousers completely and tossed them aside.

Emma ducked between Killian’s legs and twisted her body in one fluid motion so that she sat with her back to the window, greeted by his cock pointing right at her face.

“I want to taste you,” she said and lifted his cock so she could lick a slow stripe from base to head, swiping her tongue over the sensitive tip. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she cupped his ass and pulled him toward her as she took him into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. The staccato sounds that left his lips convinced her to hold him there as long as she could, flexing her tongue along the length of him, until she had to lean back to take a breath.

“Delicious,” Emma sighed and took him in again, and again, this time guiding him back and forth, in and out, her tongue darting out to tease his balls with each plunge.

Killian panted her name amidst a slew of encouragements, lost in the way she licked and sucked and consumed him. Her grip on his ass tightened, and he bit back a moan when her finger made its way to the center and circled its find before dipping just barely inside.

“Ooh, sounds like you like that,” she parted from him long enough to tease, continuing her carefully intrigued prodding as she asked, “shall we sodomize an Angel of God?”

“It wouldn’t—” he gritted his teeth as she gave his cock a particularly strong suck, straining against the curtains holding him at her mercy, or lack thereof, “—wouldn’t be the first time, love.”

“Oh?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment before bringing him into her mouth once more, staring up into his eyes as he watched her intently.

“Aye. Though I much prefer to give than to receive.”

Of course you would, Emma thought, the pun of angelic nature not lost on her. She hummed her assent around him and sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through his body.

It was too much and not enough. As Emma relentlessly devoured him, Killian fought against the material holding him back. With one forceful downward motion, he tore the curtains in half and freed himself as he sought his glorious ascension.

His fingers laced into her hair, and for once, he allowed himself to take. His frantic thrusts were met with surprised and hungry moans, the vibrations of which sent him soaring over the edge.

“Ohh fuck. Fuck,” he cried as he spilled himself down her throat. He felt it when she swallowed as he held her still and his cock continued to pulse.

“Such a dirty mouth for such a pure being,” Emma remarked as she caught her breath when he at last let her go. She got to her feet and stood facing him, using her tongue to trace the lines of the cross tattoo on his chest as she rose, and she yelped when he pulled her flush against him, his arms tight around her.

“Oh, it can be much, much dirtier,” he growled, making her gasp as he gave a harsh tug to her hair and attacked the exposed skin of her neck with sloppy kisses and less than gentle nips and searing hot breath. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to pin her against the glass. His hand and hook frantically tore at her blouse while his mouth continued its expert assault as it made its way to hers and along her jaw until he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Would you like that, demon?” he asked, slipping his hand beneath her waistband and trailing his lips down to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like my mouth on you where you’re warm and wet and wanting for me? Teasing you as you’ve done me, making you long for my cock as much as I long for the feel of you around me?”

Emma suddenly couldn’t find the words, too caught up in the thrill of hearing him, an angel, her angel, talk like that. Hoping to get the point across, she threaded her fingers through the haphazard locks on his head and shoved him to his knees.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he grinned, holding her gaze as he lifted her incredibly short skirt and ran his thumb along the already soaked strip of lace she considered panties before pulling it down to her knees.

Emma leaned forward to allow the remnants of her blouse to fall to the floor before reaching for the support of the window once more as he canted her hips toward himself with the curve of his hook pressed to the small of her back.

Killian’s wing curled forward to assist with holding up the material of her skirt, the feathers tickling the top of her thigh, so he could focus his efforts on her aching core. Too eager to taste her, he wasted no time, choosing instead to start right with his mouth at her clit. She jumped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, and he steadied her with his hand splayed against her inner thigh, inching his fingers toward her center.

“How can you be from Hell when you taste so divine, Emma?” he praised. “I could spend eternity quenching my deepest thirst between your legs.”

“Then shut up and quench it,” Emma barked. She didn’t really mean it, not completely. She loved his silver tongue, especially when he used it to talk dirty, but right now she craved him putting it to a different use.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” As he gave one more suck on her clit, Killian plunged two fingers inside her, soon increasing it to three as he stretched her and coaxed out more of her arousal onto his expertly explorative tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” Emma sighed, tugging his hair as she rode his tongue and fingers, relishing the warm vibrations his pained groans and hungry moans ghosted over her sensitive skin.

“Oh no, love,” Killian said without relenting, looking up at her as he continued working her between words. “Don’t blaspheme. I’m not Him. I worship at your altar, Emma, and there’s no better place to be on my knees.”

“I like your Word better, anyway.” Emma’s head tipped back as her hips began to buck, but her moment of near bliss quickly turned into one of frustration. “No,” she gasped, shocked and almost offended as he pulled away with a smirk and stood to his feet, leaving her clenching on nothing and far from sated. “Come on, Killian, please! I thought you were all about giving! And how is this worship?”

“I meant what I said, love. I adore you, I do. But I am an angel, after all.” Killian chuckled. “We tend to enjoy when someone is brought to the edge before they’re granted their salvation. I need you begging for it.”

“Fucking tease,” Emma huffed, turning away from him with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Mmm,” Killian mused, “perhaps you are ready to receive more.” He nudged her legs apart with his own, a soft blow with the side of his foot kicking one out to the side, and Emma scrambled to reach her arms out in front of her for balance, her hands slipping on the window as her legs spread. Snaking his arms around her, he set his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his embrace and mused, “What do you think, love? Shall we bare you to them as I take you and show them what they can’t have, or should we keep this sinful skirt on and show them how eager you are to be ravished by an angel?”

“On, off, I don’t care which you’re into, just fuck me!”

“A bit of both then.” Killian pressed the side of his hook to her stomach and pulled her to him, holding her so that her back pressed against his chest. Lifting the front of her skirt, he handed her the bottom hem. “Hold this up for me, love.”

With a smirk, she took it between her teeth, stretching the waistband higher and pulling the material taut between her breasts as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and winked at him.

“There’s a good girl.” He smiled and raised the bit between them with the tip of his hook, taking himself in hand. “You pretend you like to rebel, but you behave so well for me. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” Emma answered, slightly muffled by her skirt, frustratedly trying to swivel her hips in the hopes of getting him inside her.

He draped her skirt over his hand and wrapped his hooked arm around her once more to still her. Her annoyance encouraged him to tease her all the more, and he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds agonizingly slowly as he said, “I need you to be more specific, love. What do you want?”

“Fuck, Killian, I want your cock inside me.” Emma almost dropped her skirt when he filled her in one smooth slide, her jaw instinctively ready to fall open, but she caught herself and clenched it instead, biting down hard on the material with a groan at the sudden stretch.

“Very good.” The tip of his hook dimpled her flesh, dangerously close to piercing her, as he held her against himself and slammed into her from behind. His fingers laced themselves between hers and he caressed up the side of her body as he brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Emma raised her other hand in kind, and Killian moved his to her breast, kneading and squeezing it as he lost himself in the feel of her.

“Fuck, you feel fucking amazing around me, Emma. Not even heaven compares to the feel of you.” Killian licked a stripe along Emma’s collarbone and clamped his mouth over the spot, digging his teeth into her flesh. She moaned at the thought of the mark she’d wear tomorrow.

Bringing his arm back, Killian pressed it across Emma’s shoulder blades, pinning her chest to the glass in front of them with an arch in her back that jutted her ass out at him, and this time Emma did drop her skirt as her mouth opened on a loud moan at the forceful change of angles. Killian grunted and tucked his hook beneath the waistband, ripping it apart with the sharp tip and watching it fall as he pounded into her.

“I told you to hold that,” he growled against the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you are a naughty little minx after all.” Killian swatted Emma’s ass with an open palm before grabbing the reddening flesh and massaging it, in theory to soothe the sting but so roughly that she thought he might leave a bruise if he continued, one she’d be more than willing to bear as a reminder of their time for several days to come.

“Forgive me?” she teased in a mocking tone as she met his thrusts with each backward roll of her hips, almost inclined to make prayer hands at him if moving them wouldn’t risk her falling.

“Not exactly a sincere repentance, is it, love?” Killian struck her ass once more before grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head backward. “But it is rather tempting to grant you reprieve nonetheless.”

“Ah, so why don’t you give into that temptation, angel?” Emma gritted.

“Don’t try to persuade. Ask me for it.”

“Please, Killian, I’m so close.” Emma couldn’t take it anymore. “Make me come, angel. Please!” Emma sighed through a string of curses as Killian moved the curve of his hook to her clit, pressing the brace against her flesh just above it as he rubbed quick circles over the swollen nub.

“What say you, demon?” he asked, breathless himself as he brought them both to the brink. “Shall we chance our own breed of Nephilim?”

“Yes please,” she panted desperately. “I’ve already tasted you. I want to feel you. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“I’ll give you what you want, demon, but I want to hear you scream my name when I do, not God’s.” Killian’s mouth travelled from Emma’s neck to her shoulder and back as he pistoned his hips with abandon. His teeth scraped her flesh before he moaned against her cheek as he found his release, “Emma, fuck yes, Emma,” filling her with it and pushing it deeper as it dripped down the length of his cock.

With his brutal thrusts and relentless teasing, Emma granted his request soon after, crying out, “Killian!” at the top of her lungs as her knees buckled beneath her.

He practically lifted her off the ground when he caught her with his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly as he drew every last drop of ecstasy from within her before he slipped from her core and spun her into a lightheaded kiss, caging her against the window with his arms once more.

“Well, that was fucking hot.” Emma smiled against his lips as she pulled one into her mouth to bite it playfully, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Who knew you had it in you, angel?” One hand anchored in his hair as the other clutched at his ass, and she pulled him closer to her so she could rut against his leg, letting their releases spill down her thigh onto his and making him groan.

“It was the other way around, love,” he joked with a certainly devilish smirk, “but I concur, it was fucking hot.” Tucking his arms beneath her legs, Killian hoisted Emma into them and carried her to the bed, tossing her not so gently onto the mattress.

Emma giggled as she taunted him with one curled finger, beckoning him to her as she spread her legs wide, an invitation he happily accepted as he knelt between them and crawled above her body with a guttural growl.

“You might just convince me of the divine benefits of your side,” Emma purred, running her hands down his sides to grip his waist, “but I think I need to witness a bit more firsthand to make sure I believe, if you’ve got another miracle in you.”

“Angels are eternal, darling,” he said. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what it takes to really fill you with the spirit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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A/N: "Glorious ascension" to describe an orgasm? Yeah, I'm going to hell.

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Tag list ❤️: @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

#cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs smut #captain swan #angel!killian #demon!emma #cs ff #cssns 2021 #cs pwp #pwp #angel/demon AU #kayla writes #my writing

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pies-writes-and-more · 4 years

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Dinner and a Show

Word Count: 6, 638

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: a cheating son of a bitch, a very real realization that fancy restaurants charge so much for food, Bucky stealing the show of this fic, and Steve being an impulsive dumb shit lol

A/N: PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! (Reblogs are totally okay!) I know I’ve been MIA, so sorry! This is for @anika-ann‘s 500 followers celebration challenge! Congratulations darling, you totally deserve it and more! Anyways, I hope you guys like this fic, I had a blast writing it!

PROMPT: “This is one of those moments when I tell you something isn’t a good idea and you ignore me, isn’t it?”

(Not my gif, creds to the original creator!)

It wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t gone on dates before. Sure, it had been a while since the last guy (…Braydon? Brandon?… Steve’s forehead was riddled with wrinkles as he tried to remember the loser’s name), but Y/N had gone on dates before and Steve had been totally fine with those guys. He hadn’t spent any time sulking around on the couch and complaining about couples or romance, nothing like that. (Even if Bucky had insisted that he had). He was perfectly fine with Y/N dating, why wouldn’t he be?? Besides, it wasn’t about Y/N going on a date, it was about who she was going on a date with. There was something about this guy in particular that Steve was just not okay with. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself (and Bucky) for the last few hours.

“You need to get over it, punk,” Bucky shrugged away Steve’s tense shoulders and furrowed brow, too busy fiddling with his long brown locks to note the annoyed twitch that Steve’s face gave in response. Bucky fingers pulled on the section of hair he’d been working on for the last few minutes, tugging it away from his head enough so he could examine it properly in the mirror, only to realize that he hated it and quickly ran his fingers through a very messy looking braid. “Stupid fucking Sam. Why did he have to volunteer the only evening that I’ve actually needed him?,” the winter soldier grumbled, mumbling out some more choice words before letting out a breath and trying to separate the section of hair into threes once again.

On any normal day, Steve probably would’ve found it oddly amusing how Bucky wanted to learn how to braid his hair. He could’ve sworn that the Barnes sister used to have braids in her hair often and wondered why Bucky hadn’t ever learned from her, though he wasn’t going to mention it to such a frustrated Bucky. Besides, this wasn’t a normal day and Steve had his own worries to pace around about.

“Just ask Nat to do it,” Steve suggested, and even whilst rolling his eyes, he could see Bucky huffing and puffing stubbornly.

“I did and then she told me, ‘James Barnes, if little girls the age of 4 can braid their hair using youtube videos, so can you’. But she didn’t tell which youtube video to look at! There’s so many! And none of the ones I do turn out like that time that Sam did it,” Bucky growled, scowling into the mirror he was sitting in front of. His hands were starting to grow tired of holding up his hair, and his fingers weren’t exactly trained to do these small plaits.

The corner of Steve’s lips turned up at the memory of Sam insisting that he would look damn nice in braid. He even pointed out that a bun might stay better in his hair with a braid laced in. “You look softer this way too,” Sam had pointed out with a smile, swatting at Bucky’s hands when he had tried to stop him from touching his hair. “Stop being a baby and let me show you.” He hadn’t been wrong. Bucky’s hair looked nice in both a braid behind his back and with a bun encircled by a braid.

“How do you know how to braid hair, Bird Brain?” Bucky had pouted, but sat still with his hands in his lap.

“This guy at the VA once brought his daughter because he was going through a rough time but it was his weekend to see her. I told him that I’d look after her while he went to his meeting so we sat and talked about the life of a 3rd grader. She gave me one of her dolls and showed me how to braid their hair. And honestly? She did them much nicer than I could dream of, but it’ll do,” Sam’s fingers had worked effortlessly even through Bucky’s slightly tangled hair.

Now here was poor Bucky on his own, trying to figure out how Sam did it. His fingers got all twisted in the locks and his mind played tricks on him when it came to which strand crossed over next. “I’m doomed,” he whined, finally giving up and throwing himself backward onto the floor.

“Buck?” Steve blinked, watching his rather dramatic friend close his eyes as his head thudded gently against the floor. His dark hair sprawled out around him as if he had just given up on living, and not just given up on how to properly do his hair.

“Hm?”

“Could we get back to my crisis?”

“What crisis?” One of Bucky’s eyes opened and noted Steve’s desperate expression before grinning. “Oh you mean how you’re impossibly in love with Y/N and only ever realize it when she’s going on a date, but you’ve never had the guts to tell her so you just sit and mope in your room while she’s getting ready? That crisis?”

There was a moment of silence in the room where Steve’s eyes glared a hole into Bucky’s rather amused looking grin.

“I hate you,” Steve huffed, going back to his pacing around his room. If there wasn’t such hard ground underneath the wood of his room, there would’ve definitely been a racetrack imprinted underneath him from how often he had traced his own steps round his room. “I’m not in love with Y/N, don’t be crazy. I just don’t understand why she agrees to go out with such… idiots. Like that guy? The one who was some lawyer? Roger? Rupert?”

“Richard,” Bucky interrupted, sitting back up to watch his best friend spiral. Steve spiralling about Y/N was both pathetically sad and entertainingly interesting to watch, he had learned.

“Him! With his stupid smile and cocky attitude. Like wow look at me. I’m a lawyer.” There was a snide undertone to Steve’s words, one he couldn’t really say he had ever heard coming out from his lips before. But he pressed onward with a tight frown, his mind outrightly confused about Y/N’s dating life.

“I thought Richard was actually kinda nice. I mean, he was a lawyer, but the only time he ever brought it up was when people asked what he did for a living,” Bucky shrugged, brushing his hair from his face before deciding to throw the strands into a half assed bun to flop against his neck. “What’s wrong with this guy again? The new guy?”

Steve scowled at the mere thought of

Kyle.

Steve wondered if he could strain his eyes from rolling so hard the 5 minutes that he had met Kyle. There was this air of privilege that just seeped off of him but Steve couldn’t point out exactly why it seemed that way. No one else had been around when he had dropped by with an insane amount of roses in his hand, proclaiming his utmost interest in Y/N.

“There’s just something about you, Y/N, babe. You aren’t like any other girl I’ve ever met,” Kyle’s words came off so smooth, so eloquent, and Steve felt himself actually gag a little. But Y/N, with her arms carrying the roses like a newborn babe, eyes shooting around the room like she did when she was embarrassed, didn’t seem to note that this guy was just too smooth. She seemed… to like it?

“So what? The girl likes to be complimented and swooned,” Bucky pointed out as Steve explained all this to him. “Why shouldn’t she? She’s an attractive girl and she doesn’t nearly get as much appreciation as she should.”

“I know she’s attractive,” Steve snapped, feet finally stopped in their pacing, arms folding across his chest. “It’s just the way he admires her. Like she’s a piece of meat on a hook.”

Bucky nodded slowly, somewhat understanding why Steve would be worried. Normally, he would be right behind Steve’s first impression of people since he had a gut feeling about crazy weirdos. But whenever it came to Y/N, Steve let the green-eyed monster step in for him. “So you’ve told her right? That you’re worried?”

Steve blinked at him in confusion, his frown tightening on his tense expression, “Why would I tell her?”

“Because if you’re worried about her for genuine reasons, she’d believe you. Any normal friend would,” Bucky explained, the smile on his lips turning into a smirk. “That is, unless, you also don’t like him for another reason. Maybe you don’t want her going on a date with someone… that isn’t… you?” Bucky teased and Steve rolled his eyes in response but his childhood best friend just laughed it off. “Come on, you two are practically made for each other. You’ve never had this hard time of admitting that you liked a gal before, so why Y/N? Why are you so afraid to admit your feelings for her?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, hoping he didn’t actually have to answer that question. Lucky for him, he didn’t. A knock came at the door and Steve gladly took it as an opportunity to dodge the situation.

“Hey! Do you mind if I use your mirror? You’ve got better lighting in here,” Y/N beamed, dressed head to toe in her finest outfit. The two boys shared a look before Steve nodded and moved out of the way for her to enter the room, Bucky scooting on the floor slightly so he could sit next to her on the floor in front of the mirror. “Thanks! You’re a lifesaver, Steve! I just don’t want to get there and realize that I put too much highlighter on because my lighting in my room is so different,” she explained, setting down her makeup on the floor next to her and patting down the products onto her skin as she examined her reflection.

Bucky looked over at Steve and jutted his chin out in her direction, eyes widening in their madness to try to get Steve to say something.

“Uh, excited for your date?” Steve asked, and Bucky noted the lack of enthusiasm in his tone. Y/N shot him a smile from the mirror and nodded eagerly.

“I told him I’d be okay with like tacos or something, cause I’ve been craving tacos lately, but he insisted he wanted our first real date to be a fancy restaurant downtown! He told me he wouldn’t tell me which one, just to dress nice and look my best.”

Steve’s lips parted to interject that she always looked her best, but held his tongue noting how excited she was. He could almost feel how his stomach dropped a little, how his insides were twisting in discomfort at just how happy she looked. She deserved to be happy, he reminded himself.

“So he’s picking you up then?” Bucky smiled, leaning against the nearby dresser as he watched her pat some powder into her under eye area.

Y/N shook her head and gave a sort of half smile, “I know, that’s what I thought too. Cause how am I supposed to get there if I have no clue where I’m going,” she laughed, and Steve noticed just how nervous it sounded. “But he’s sending a cab for me! Already arranged it to pick me up in a half hour and everything. He said he wanted to come get me but he had an evening meeting he couldn’t pry himself away from.”

A little whisper in Steve’s ear made him wonder was it really an evening meeting? Or did this guy just not want to drive all the way out of the city to pick Y/N up from the complex and bring her to dinner? If he didn’t want that, why wouldn’t he just pick something closer to the two of them? Steve’s jawline tensed as he thought about what he’d give to intimidate the shit out of this Kyle dude but quickly relaxed as Y/N’s eyes caught his.

“You alright, Steve? You look all strung up. Something going on?” Y/N turned away from the mirror to look at him and Steve had to catch his jaw from falling to the ground. He had watched her apply her makeup numerous times, tonight wasn’t anything different or anything, and she was wearing a dress that Steve had seen her in multiple times… but…. Steve felt his insides lurch a little, almost begging to be the person she was dining with, looking like the most gorgeous being in any existing universe.

“Yeah, Steve, why don’t you tell Y/N what’s bugging you,” Bucky egged on, his eyes clearly trying to send a signal to his slightly stupid and oblivious best friend. Y/N was busy facing Steve, watching his eyes and facial expressions so she didn’t see Bucky very aggressively mouthing out, “TELL. HER. HOW. YOU. FEEL!”

Steve’s lips twitched a little, chewing on the inside of his lip nervously, “It’s nothing, really-” he started, glaring at Bucky for even bringing it up.

“I think Y/N deserves to know how you feel. You know. About this date,” Bucky continued and Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she moved her gaze between them.

“My date? Is there something wrong?” Y/N asked, tilting her head slightly as she looked up at Steve with those gorgeous eyes of hers. Look at her, Steve thought to himself, she got all dressed up for this punk and he might not give two shits about her.

“Just… don’t want you to get hurt, doll,” Steve finally managed to get out and Bucky’s head tilted back in exasperation, while Y/N gave Steve a smile.

“You always look out for me, Steve, but I promise I can do this on my own. Besides, I kick alien ass along the rest of you. A mere civilian date can’t go too wrong,” Y/N pointed out with a twinkle in her eye. Steve simply nodded to her, trying to force a smile that said really no I’m happy for you.

He cleared his throat a little, quickly shifting the conversation to Bucky’s lack of braiding skills. Y/N laughed at the thought of Bucky Barnes trying to braid his own hair but her fingers moved quickly to pull his hair into a nice bun with a braid looping around it, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek afterwards.

“It’s perfect, Y/N, thank you!” Bucky grinned, smiling ever so innocently at Steve as if to rub it in his friend’s face that he got a kiss on his cheek. Steve wanted to roll his eyes again but Y/N stood up and he held an arm out to steady her as she slipped on her heels.

“Alright! I’m going to wait near the front for FRIDAY to let me know the taxi is here! Wish me luck, boys!” Y/N’s voice was so light and airy, something that Steve rarely heard when they were busy shooting down bad guys or tackling mission prep. He couldn’t help but just wish she would be that excited about seeing him too.

Bucky watched his best friend for a moment, raising an eyebrow at the look of puppy dog love on Steve’s face, “You do realize that she would be that excited and more to got out with you, right?” Bucky informed him, as if he was able to read his mind.

Steve blinked in surprise, glancing over at him, “How would I ever know that for sure?”

“Simple. Ask the girl out.”

It hadn’t been more than half an hour before Steve burst into Bucky’s room, where he had been skimming through some memes the Peter boy had sent him via the Insta-gram.

“Hey Steve, did you know there’s this new app called TikTok-” Bucky started, not at all phased by the bursting of his friend into his room.

“I’ve got a plan!”

There was a twinkle in his eyes, a sort of mischievous glint that told Bucky he wasn’t going to like this plan at all. “What is it?” He asked, almost regretting it as soon as he did.

“We have to protect her, Bucky, she’s too good for most men of this world. I can’t let this Kyle dude take her out when he’s not nearly good enough. So, we have to go there and make sure he doesn’t hurt her!”

“Mhm. Yeah. Except, we have no clue where she is. She didn’t even know, remember?” Bucky shrugged, hoping that this plan of Steve’s would crumble and he would end up sitting in his room sulking until he got the balls to go tell Y/N how he felt.

“FRIDAY can track her phone!” Steve proudly proclaimed and Bucky wondered if it took him all of the past 30 minutes to come up with this ingenious plan. “I’ll just get FRIDAY to track her phone, we’ll go and set up a reservation, try and get seated near them, and just wear disguises and make sure that he doesn’t try anything!”

Bucky blinked slowly, fingers rubbing his temple as he noticed just how rash and insane his best friend still was, as if they were still kids in the olden days, “You do realize how creepy that is right? You want to track her phone for her location, sit near her and just… watch her? I- You can see how that is creepy right?”

He didn’t.

“Hold up, and what do you mean we?” Bucky asked with a groan, knowing full well he wasn’t going to like the answer.

But Steve was already going through Bucky’s closet to find the most inconspicuous looking clothes that were still fancy enough for a fancy restaurant, too busy throwing clothes at Bucky’s bed to answer.

“This is one of those moments when I tell you something isn’t a good idea and you ignore me, isn’t it?” Bucky whined a little, throwing his head back onto his bed and closing his eyes, wondering how his best friend managed to lose all sense of rationale when it came to Y/N.

And that is how, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, dressed in suits matched with baseball hats and sunglasses (“this isn’t how you blend in, Steve, especially at some fancy restaurant,” Bucky had tried to warn him) ended up in line at

L’ailment,

trying to pretend like they weren’t sticking out of the crowd like a sore thumb.

“Sir, I’m sorry, without a reservation, it’s almost impossible to be seated-” the front of house insisted but Steve pulled off his sunglasses, glancing around nervously.

“Any chance you could make an exception for two superheroes who are good friends with Tony Stark?” Steve begged, practically on his knees pleading to get in.

Turns out, she could.

The lady had another server lead them into the dining area, and Steve quickly asked if they could be seated in a booth that just so happened to be near a gorgeous black dress-wearing girl who was giggling as she sipped the liquid from a wine glass.

“-you have the most gorgeous laugh I have ever heard,” Kyle was saying and Steve had to keep himself from choking on his gag reflex. Y/N laughed some more, and there was a glow to her skin that Steve found himself wishing he had caused instead of… Kyle.

“Sir?” The waiter was tapping Steve’s shoulder and Bucky chuckled a bit, noting that Steve had just been standing there, staring at Y/N and Kyle longer than would be comfortable.

“Sorry, thank you,” Steve blushed, slipping onto his seat and kicking at Bucky’s leg as he continued to laugh at him.

“So much for not being obvious,” Bucky whispered to him, throwing his hat and sunglasses away, much to Steve’s annoyance. But before he could convince his best friend that these disguises were highly necessary on their mission, Bucky had become too concerned with how much the restaurant was charging for food, “How much???? For pasta???”

“Bucky!” Steve hissed with a glare, “Shut up, I’m trying to listen!”

“-looking for just someone to be my best friend,” Kyle was saying, swirling his wine around in its glass. “Here I was thinking that I didn’t want anything serious and then you walk into my life… and I can tell that if I don’t do this right, I’d be missing out on something amazing.”

Y/N’s giggle told Steve everything. That crazy line worked, Steve couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t she tell he was lying? Steve’s hands curled into fists against his thighs, tensing at just how fake the guy sounded to him.

“I mean, he seems pretty genuine. Sure it’s a bit cheesy, but he didn’t actively change the subject or anything and it’s not like he’s avoiding being seen in public with her,” Bucky pointed out much to Steve’s discontent. He waved him off, straining his hearing to hear the rest of the conversation over other people at nearby tables.

“Come on, you can’t tell me that you’re surrounded by good looking dudes who are superheroes all day and you haven’t gone to bed with any of them!” Kyle was laughing and Y/N joined in, but Steve watched as she shifted somewhat uncomfortably at what he was insinuating.

“They’re the closest things I have to family, sometimes I’ve thought about dating members of the team-” Y/N admitted and Steve’s heart fluttered a bit, wondering if she was talking about him… before it fell at the realization it could be someone else. “-don’t think they could be all that interested in me anyways. But enough about me, tell me more about what you do at your job, how was your meeting earlier?”

“Ah you know, late evening meetings, same old, same old,” Kyle smiled, brushing off the topic quickly and glancing at his phone that happened to be on the table. “Give me a second, won’t you, darling? It’s the office. If I don’t get it now, they’ll just keep calling.”

Y/N smiled at him and nodded, waving him off, “I get it. Work is busy, go ahead.” Kyle grinned in response and took off to the back, Y/N sipping on her wine some more as she was left alone at the table.

“Who the hell leaves a pretty girl at the dinner table by themselves to take a work call?” Steve grumbled with a huff, shifting in his seat.

“You would,” Bucky pointed out with a shrug, glancing at the drink menu. “If the Avengers called, you’re telling me you would finish dinner?”

“That’s different, Buck, we’re talking a violent threat versus some office call,” Steve rolled his eyes, glancing at the direction that Kyle had taken off at. “I’m going to the bathroom, hold on.”

He excused himself, Bucky eagerly whispering in his trail, “What do you want if the waiter comes?” He didn’t answer, leaving Bucky to grumble that he just wouldn’t order him anything. But food wasn’t exactly on Steve’s mind right now anyways.

Steve maneuvered himself around Y/N’s table, quickly hiding himself behind a few waiters and other guests so she wouldn’t recognize him, before swiftly walking to the back of the restaurant. He glanced around near the bathrooms, raising an eyebrow as he caught Kyle’s stature near one of the corners.

Half pretending to be looking at the art displayed on the wall and half pretending to be listening to something on the phone he put up to his ear, Steve managed to duck his face away from Kyle who seemed to be chuckling over something the person on the other end of his call said.

“-I know sweetie, I wish I could be home with you right now but I’ve got this meeting… I know I’m tired of last minute meetings too but I promise it’ll be worth it when I get this promotion,” Kyle was saying and Steve could feel something burning inside of him. “Love you too, dearest. Best wife ever, hm?” And with that, Kyle made a kissing sound to the phone and hung up, straightening out his jacket and smoothing out his hair.

Steve wasn’t sure what came over him but he couldn’t deny he saw red. Here this guy was, at dinner with one of the nicest, most honest, amazing human beings that Steve had ever met in his years of living, and this bonehead had a wife at home? Before he could think through the situation, Steve’s arm shot out, grabbing Kyle as he walked by and slamming him hard into the wall.

“What the fuck, man?” Kyle screeched, eyes widening when he realized who was under the baseball hat. “The hell? She brought her superhero boyfriend around?” He scoffed, wincing a little as Steve tightened his grip. “Damn she must be real good in bed for a guy like you to be all riled up about her,” Kyle chuckled, as if his joking manner would ease the tense situation.

But Steve’s eyes just got darker, “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that right?” Steve wished to god his glare could burn a hole into Kyle, his face going red with the boiling rage running through his body. “She got all excited for this date. She’s been talking about you non-stop and you’re going around two timing on her?”

The sound of Kyle’s body against the wall must’ve surprised some of the restaurant’s patrons, whispers growing louder around them. Steve didn’t need to look around for his peripheral to catch the workers coming closer.

“Sir, please, you’re causing a scene. I must ask that you bring this outside of our establishment,” someone was saying but Steve stood exactly where he was, firm in his anger.

“What’s going on here? Is everything okay?” This was the only voice that made Steve jump back slightly, his eyes immediately catching breathtaking ones that he had always admired. “Steve?” Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked between the two of them, trying to decipher the situation. “Wh-What’re you… why the hell are you here?”

“Your coworker’s got some crazy anger issues here,” Kyle huffed, pulling himself together and brushing his shoulders off. “Grabbed me for no goddamn reason.”

Steve shot him a glare and almost prided himself on the fact that the boy in front of him winced a little, “No reason huh? You want to tell her who I heard you talking to?”

There was a flutter of fear and guilt in Kyle’s eyes, even though his chest puffed out in arrogance, “I have no clue what you’re talking about, I was talking to my work-”

“Bull shit.” Steve took a step closer to him and Kyle immediately took one back, his back hitting the wall again. Their gazes went unwavered, Steve challenging him to say one more lie.

“Steve, stop this,” Y/N insisted, pulling on his arm slightly. “The hell are you doing? What are you even doing here?”

But Steve ignored her questions, eyes still steady on Kyle, “Tell her. Or I will.” There was a pause and Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time. Kyle couldn’t even man himself up to admit what was going on. “Fine. Your date here just got off the phone with a girl who’s waiting for him to come back home. His wife. He told her you were just a business meeting.” Steve turned to look at Y/N, who just looked hurt and confused. She pulled her hands away from the grip they had on Steve and he could see her swallowing down the embarrassment as people shuffled awkwardly to see what the outcome of the situation would be.

Steve felt a quick moment of pride, his ego boosting a little as he confirmed his own suspicions that this was the reason why he had had an issue with Y/N going out on a date tonight. Here this guy was, sleazy and clearly not a good enough guy for Y/N, and Steve had been absolutely right. But almost immediately after the small burst of celebration, Steve felt his heart sink slightly at the look in Y/N’s eyes.

Although her posture was still stiff, her jaw clenched as she looked at Kyle, as if waiting for him to explain that it was all a misunderstanding. That the woman at home was actually his mom or some relative and Steve had just heard the whole phone call wrong. But Kyle just puffed his chest out some more, acting as if nothing had happened. As if he had done nothing wrong. Her gaze then turned to Steve, confusion filling her eyes as she tried to understand why he was even here. Why had he followed her to this date? And for that matter, how had he followed her?

Embarrassment filled Y/N’s whole body and she could feel her nails digging into her palms as she tightened her hands into fists. “Fuck you, Kyle,” was all she said after a moment, turning around and walking quickly out of the restaurant. People gave her empathetic glances as she rushed away but her pace quickened all the more any time she caught their eyes.

“Y/N!” Steve called out to her, his shoulders slinking down slightly as he watched her disappear. People’s murmurs were growing, whispers and assumptions flying to his ears and making him feel smaller than how he was pre-serum. He even caught a few people trying to film the whole situation. A small piece of guilt started to grow in his stomach as he realized how much embarrassment he had just caused. He could’ve handled the whole situation better, he knew that in hindsight.

“How’d that go for you, punk?” Bucky asked slowly as Steve rushed past their table, hoping to following Y/N outside this now claustrophobic-feeling restaurant. Bucky got up from the table, whisking himself away to Steve’s side as the man frantically tried to chase after the girl,“I gotta say, I love a night filled with dinner and a show, but that was terrible entertainment.”

It was at this moment that Steve had not only wished that he hadn’t come in the first place, but he especially wished he hadn’t brought Bucky around. As soon as they had burst through the doors, Steve wasn’t sure if he was relieved or even more panicked to find Y/N standing there, tears falling from her face.

“Get the hell away from me, Rogers,” she warned with a shaky voice, her eyes shooting him a glare as she desperately tried to wipe her face.

“Y/N, please, let me explain,” Steve begged, walking towards her and reaching out to her but she flinched away, a stern look on her face even with sobs shakily leaving her lips.

“You ruined everything, Steve, why couldn’t you just leave me alone? You followed me to a fucking restaurant! I didn’t even know where I was going so how did you-” she paused as she thought about it and Steve’s eyes moved to the ground in shame. The anger built up in her quickly than he expected, her foot stomping on the ground in frustration, “You had FRIDAY track my fucking phone? God, Steve Rogers, you piece of shit, I can’t believe you!”

Steve opened his lips to insist that it was for a good reason but gave up, knowing there really wasn’t a good enough reason to explain, “I-I’m sorry, doll, I know I was an idiot. But I couldn’t let him take advantage of you! I knew there was something wrong with him!”

“Then why the hell didn’t you tell me beforehand? Did you just magically have this realization while I was already on my way here? Why didn’t you say something?” She demanded, arms crossed in front of her.

“I-I-” Steve stammered out, his mind suddenly drawing a blank of all those excuses that seemed like such good reasons earlier. “I’m sorry,” was all he could manage out.

Y/N huffed exasperatedly, shaking her head and pacing around on the sidewalk, ignoring all the glances of people passing nearby, “I cannot believe you, Steve. And then to top it all off, when you found out, you didn’t even just tell me privately. Ha! No, you had to show it off, dangle your new found knowledge in my face in front of everyone as if my dating life is any of their business! You had to go shove him into a wall like some macho alpha asshole!”

Steve’s shoulders shrunk as she yelled at him, knowing he deserved it with the way he ignored Bucky’s warnings (and his own conscience, for that matter), “I-… I know I fucked up, doll, and I’m sorry, and I’ll keep apologizing for however long you want. I just couldn’t let you go out with that asshole. You deserve so much better than all these guys you bring around, don’t you know that? You should be with a man who’s so much more than the others. Someone who wouldn’t treat you like a business dinner,” Steve told her, as if pleading for her to see that she was so many leagues better than the rest of the world.

Y/N hesitated, tears still sliding down her cheeks and ruining that perfect makeup she had put on only hours earlier. Her eyes watched him as he pleaded, eyebrows tensing as if in confusion, “Someone like you?” She asked quietly, almost in a mocking tone. Her words felt so harsh in the heat of the moment but she couldn’t take them back once they were gone.

But the scoff that she expected never came. The we’re just friends, Y/N never left his lips. The look in his eyes wasn’t a look of but you’re just like a little sister to me. There was a pause and even Bucky, who was standing a few feet away, was holding his breath as the two of them stood there.

“I-I dunno,” Steve grumbled out nervously, eyes quickly dropping from Y/N’s gaze, which was quickly becoming a look of confusion. Steve fidgeted under such a tense situation, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought about all those times he had just wanted to be around her. Just wanted to listen to her talk about that hobby of hers that she thought no one cared about. How he longed to lay next to her and just play with her hair, watch as she slowly dazed away. Steve could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he thought about her, thought about all the feelings he had pushed down so eagerly from the moment they met. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter. I said someone better,” he pointed out shyly.

He wanted her to agree. He wanted her to scoff and laugh bitterly. He wanted that anger that was in her voice so long ago to drown him in his guilt, he wanted her to throw him away so he could confirm the fear that kept his feelings at bay for so long. She couldn’t ever want him, he was being foolish. Look at the guys she brought home, they were normal. Deliciously normal with 8 to 5 jobs and a retirement plan, and here he was. The only reason he was even able to breathe properly without wheezing is because of some serum running through his body. He wasn’t normal, he couldn’t give her normal.

There was a furrow in Y/N’s brow as she tried to piece together Steve’s behaviour and his half-confession. Her eyes moved to Bucky, who was watching with half a smile on his face. The two of them shared a silent conversation, her questions answered by a single nod of his head.

“Steve, did you come out here and follow me because…because you were jealous?” Y/N asked him, still confused. There was a little light humour to her voice because of course Steve was not jealous. Steve is Captain Fucking America. Why would the literal god of all things perfect be jealous of anything coming near her? No, it had to be that he wanted to protect her. It had to be that they were just friends because if they weren’t just friends, then everything that Nat, Wanda, Pepper, and even Tony had said was correct. That would mean that maybe Steve did brighten a little whenever she walked into a room, maybe he did start wearing that blue shirt more often because she had commented how much she liked it, maybe he had bought that way-too-expensive cologne because she enjoyed the scent… maybe all those longing glances across the room, the lingering touches of their hands… maybe it hadn’t all been in her head.

Steve felt his heart start crawling up his throat, clutching at the dryness and making him regret he hadn’t at least drank some water earlier. There was a part of him that wanted to deny it, to throw his heart away as far as he could and insist that no good could come from this. But the look on her face, what was that in her eyes- was that hope? Steve cleared his throat slightly, shifting his weight on his feet as he sheepishly looked up at her, “Would that be bad?” He asked her softly. “Me… Me being jealous, would that be a terrible thing?”

Y/N’s lips turned into a small smile, a gentleness touching her tearful eyes, “No, I don’t think it’d be terrible. Actually, it might be… a good thing.”

Steve’s posture straightened as she spoke, the lines smoothing on his forehead while his heart still beat aggressively into his chest, “R-Really?”

“But this doesn’t excuse your poor behaviour, Steven,” Y/N scolded him again quickly, wagging her finger in his face. “Feelings for me or not, you should’ve told me! You shouldn’t have followed me to the restaurant or embarrassed me publicly!” Steve’s head ducked again as he nodded along, knowing she was right and he really did fuck up a lot tonight. “But,” she smiled a bit, her heart fluttering a little at the mere thought that Steve fucking Rogers was jealous over her dating, “maybe if you keep apologizing and work on that irrational behaviour of yours, we can consider making sure this never happens again.”

Steve nodded quickly, smiling at her innocently, “I promise I won’t ever be this kind of idiot again. I can’t promise I won’t be another kind of idiot, but I promise I won’t have FRIDAY track your phone and follow you on another date every again.”

Y/N laughed at how puppy dog he seemed, eagerly begging for love so quickly after being scolded, “I mean, it would be pretty awkward if you didn’t come to my next few dates.”

Steve blinked at her in confusion, trying to follow her thought process, “S-Sorry?”

“Well if you’re going to take me out, you can’t just not come along,” Y/N pointed out with a small stifled giggle, Steve’s eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Thank fuck, that took so long,” Bucky yelped out from behind them, lazily wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders and rubbing his knuckles into the blond’s head, who just groaned and tried to shove him off. “Honestly, next time at least feed me if you’re going to take this long. Can we go home now? I’m seriously hungry for some pasta that’s not going to cost me a second mortgage.”

“Do you even have a first mortgage?” Steve asked with confusion and Bucky swatted at his head quickly, insisting that that wasn’t the point.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she watched the two, biting down on her lip as Steve met her eyes and smiled that same heart-melting smile. After climbing into a cab that she had waved down, Bucky told the story of tonight’s events from his own perspective (exaggerating details, Y/N was sure of it). She knew one day she would laugh at how impulsive Steve’s thinking was, but for right now, she was just happy with the fact that he had taken her hand in his as they drove home.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Hi hello, just a quick other author’s note to big a huge thank you to @wxstedhexrt (aka the love of my life). Thank you for always reading my fics and being excited about my writing, thank you for helping me when I’m stumped and for giving me the title of this fic. Thank you for being fucking amazing and the best human ever <3 I really don’t know if I would’ve put this out without you so thank you so much <3

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empyreanwritings · 4 years

Text

Over-Protective

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Udaku!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Language (as usual), blood and gore, mentions of death, some sexual tension in between

Summary: You’re on a path of discovering all of Hydra’s secrets, but a certain someone keeps interrupting you when you least expect it.

A/N: This is my fic for @buckysknifecollection for the giveaway! Again, I am so sorry it took me so long, I have been struggling to keep up with all the fics I gotta write. Hopefully this is going to help push my motivation along. Ily so much, I really do hope you enjoy it! x

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated :) x

Hydra. A mob run by some of the most vile people in the city. No one could ever seem to get them under control, and anyone who tried ended up fired - or dead. While some politicians denied it, everyone knew they had their hands dipped in Hydra's honey pot; it was the only way they managed to stay in power so long. Pierce, who had more blood on his hands than the entire U.S. military, was the greatest example. No accusation ever seemed to stick.

Your family did its best to stay out of mob business, until Zemo killed your father. Your brother joined Steve Rogers, the only man who was willing to cross Hydra and take Zemo out. He became one of Steve's closest advisors when it came to business deals and expansion; he had a knack for ruling behind the scenes.

And your cousin, while you didn't agree with his methods, built his own world within the city. He seized the dock's out from under Hydra's control and made a new name for himself: Killmonger. Most of the family didn't approve of what he did to avenge your father, but you didn't mind much. The only time you actually despised seeing Erik was Thanksgiving because he always managed to swipe the last piece of pumpkin pie before you could. That was a worse betrayal than joining the mob could ever be in your eyes.

Despite everything, you still felt like it wasn't enough. You wanted to see Hydra burn. Everything they built, everything they stood for, you wanted to watch it crumble.

You slipped through crowds of people, doing your best not to be noticed by the man you were following. Working for The Daily Bugle taught you how to go unseen in order to get a good story. There were times you weren't always successful - like the first time you met Steve and managed to knock pipes all over the ground - but the longer you worked, the better you became. You tailed this man for miles, and he hadn't noticed you yet.

He stopped in one of the cafes, and you were just about to follow him in when someone grabbed you by your elbow and yanked you into the alley. The surprise of it caught you off guard, giving you no time to reach for your pepper spray before your attacker pinned your arms against the wall.

But you were surprised to look up and see it wasn't an attacker at all - it was Steve.

"What the hell are you doing?" You pitched your head forward to get him to stumble back, and once he let you go, you put a few feet between the two of you. You trusted him, but you were pissed he made you lose your only lead.

"Nakia called," he replied casually. "She said you were digging into things you shouldn't have been."

"Exposing Hydra's sex trafficking ring could be the biggest story of my career! And it can help us take them down once and for all!"

Steve huffed, a slight flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "There is no 'us' in all of this. You know your brother wants you to stay out, and I have to agree with him. Anyone who digs into Hydra's work disappears and gets recovered in the river a few days later."

You rolled your eyes. Every time Steve tried to use the "Your brother said so" excuse, you knew it wasn't just your brother. Steve let you sit in on a few of his interrogations, so you could work on your mob series. He didn't have to, but as soon as he found out you were T'Chaka's daughter, he knew you weren't going to just give up on what you were doing. Your entire family was filled with stubborn people. He figured if he gave you a little insight on what his life was like, you wouldn't feel the need to dig deeper. But he should have known you weren't going to stop until you uncovered the truth about Hydra and why they ordered the hit on your father.

"Stark said-"

"Of course Stark is behind this," he grumbled. "That man would be willing to sacrifice everyone that works for him in order to get a good scoop."

"Hey! You might not always get along with him, but he's actually on your side. He doesn’t want me to do this piece either because he knows what the repercussions can be." You shifted from side to side, Steve's piercing gaze suddenly making you feel like a bundle of nerves. "But he agreed to let me do it by myself, so I'm not dragging anybody else down with me."

"How does that make it better?"

"You will try to find something negative in everything I say, won't you?"

"Maybe I do because I'm the only one using common sense here!"

"Common sense?" You barked out a laugh. "You manage to have common sense in that thick skull of yours?"

You weren't sure how - or when - it happened, but you were suddenly very aware that you stood toe to toe with Steve. Your chin stuck out defiantly, and he rolled his shoulders back. Neither of you made a move to stand down, and it made your heart hammer inside of your chest.

It was a terrible time to notice, but you never realized how blue his eyes were. When he was angry, one of his eyebrows twitched, and you had to suppress the feeling to reach up and make it stop yourself. It was an urge you never had before. The feeling of being this close to him suddenly made you feel too hot, so you were the first one to step back. Reluctantly.

You pretended not to notice the disappoint flood his features because if he enjoyed being close to you, that meant everything was going to change. You weren't ready for something like that.

He sighed and ran his hands down his face. "I'm trying to look out for you. Your family doesn't need to bury another person this year."

You hated that he was right, but it wasn't his decision to make. You refused to let your father die in vain after all of the good he did for this world. He didn't deserve to meet his end the way he did, and if something happened to you while taking them down then so be it.

"I'm a big girl, Steve. I can handle myself."

You didn't give him a chance to argue with you again. You warned him that you would start screaming for help if he tried to stop you and took off out of the alley in hopes of finding your mark. He was long gone by the time you made it to the entrance of the alley, but you had a feeling you knew where he was going. You'd be able to catch up to him before the end of the day.

Steve watched you go, irritated that he couldn't convince you to stop digging. Your stubbornness was sexy when you weren't using it against him, but even then, he couldn't help but feel a little impressed.

He quickly dialed Bucky's number and moved back into the alley, so no one could hear him. He never knew what strangers were secretly involved with Hydra, and he didn't want anyone ratting him out to get into their good favor.

"Hey, Buck, I need you to do me a favor," he mumbled. "Y/N was looking into James Winderfield. Get his schedule and find out where he was going around this time. I need to get to him before she does."

---

Charming your way into a building with strong security was a lot harder than you expected it to be. The front desk workers weren't impressed with you slinging around titles. Who cared if you were supposedly the wife of a prince overseas? They saw couples like that all the time on TV, so they weren't fawning over you, but you got lucky because they just didn't want to deal with you. You imagined they had to deal with a lot of stuck up clients, and they were bending their last straw.

You made your way towards the elevators past security, slipping the fake rock off your finger and sliding it back into your purse. Not a single person was looking at you, and yet it felt like everyone was aware of your presence. Sneaking into a rival mob made you more paranoid than usual. You ended up working yourself into a small panic attack just as you made it into the elevator.

You were about to let out a small sigh of relief when a familiar, annoyingly smug, face stepped in and made sure no one got in after him when the doors closed.

If Steve Rogers was anything, he was a persistent man. You wanted to knock that persistence right in his nose, but you had a feeling you would break your hand before you did any real damage to that chiseled face of his. And it really was chiseled.

The two of you rode in silence for a few moments. He waited until you were two floors away to your destination to hit the emergency stop button, which made you throw your hands up and groan in total frustration. His lips twitched at the corners, and you knew right away he was enjoying this - and that irritated you more than actually being stopped.

"Oh, don't worry, the elevator will get fixed eventually," he assured you. "I won't be late to my meeting with Mr. Winderfield." You looked up at him, eyes growing wide and your chest beginning to heave. He furrowed his brows in mock confusion, and you knew he was gearing up to say something slick. "What's the matter? Was that the man you were trying to follow this morning?"

You ground your teeth together. "You knew that already. How the hell did you find out so quickly?"

"I have a feeling my sources are better than your sources."

"You can't call Bucky intimidating people a good source," you quipped.

Steve shrugged and leaned his hands back against the small railing. He clearly had no intention of letting you speak to Mr. Winderfield alone; why else would he show up here and let you get this far? If he set up a meeting, he was willing to entertain your plans but only on his terms.

You reminded yourself to thank Nakia for making your day a lot harder than you wanted it to be, but you understood where she was coming from. She wanted to keep you safe. She had been there the day you and your family found out about your father, and she didn't want them to go through that again. It wasn't entirely a bad thing. It really wasn't. Her protectiveness just made everything that much more difficult to obtain.

"Fine. What will it take for you to let me sit in and speak with him?" You asked, trying your best to hide the frustration in your voice.

"You don't speak with him at all." You opened your mouth to protest, but he stepped forward and pressed a finger to your lips. "You don't speak to him at all. I will make this seem like a casual conversation about Hydra encroaching on my territory, and you will take notes because you're my secretary. Write down names and locations, anything you may need to work your way up to Pierce. You will not say a word about who you are; you are just a secretary. Do you understand?"

Your mouth felt dry. The assertive tone to his voice made you understand why women seemed to fall at his feet when he called. His hands were so close to you, they could easily reach down and grab your chin or your throat and make you listen to every word falling from his lips. The words "I understand, Sir," were dancing on the tip of your tongue, and you wanted to slap yourself silly for even thinking it.

You quickly blinked and cleared your throat to recover. "Fine, fine, but don't skip any hard questions just because you don’t want me digging, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Steve hit the button again, and the elevator instantly sprung back to life. Once you stepped out, the cooler air of the floor hit your face and brought you back down to earth. Being that close to Steve made you feel hot, and it was the second time it happened today. You weren't sure what would go down if either of you ever made it to a third.

---

The meeting started off well. You understood how Steve managed to build his empire; he was a charming man, full of life and control. He commanded a room the second he stepped in. Not a single person would dare to take it from him or speak over him. Sometimes his control wasn't in words alone but in his body language as well.

Steve never sat down when he spoke. He kept his shoulders relaxed, but you could see the guarded expression on his face. He wasn't worried about losing control of the situation, but he was always prepared for the worst. You couldn't help but wonder if he was more on edge because of your presence. He didn't need to say it out loud - you could tell by the way he acted - your protection was most important to him. Your family didn't deserve to lose another person. And maybe he didn't want to lose you either.

Unfortunately, even with Steve trying his best, the meeting did go south. Winderfield knew who you were before you walked in. He played along for a little while, pretending he didn't know who your father was. It was when you tried to leave that you were greeted by the barrel of his gun. Neither of you knew, but an order was put out on anyone who tried to get information about T'Chaka's death - higher reward if the person taken out was family.

Steve should have predicted something like this, and he kicked himself for not doing so.

He looked between you and Winderfield, carefully and silently calculating his next move. The office was too wide. He knew he wouldn't be able to push you out of the line of fire before a bullet hit you.

"Don't even think about moving, Rogers," Winderfield hissed. "She'll be dead before you blink an eye."

"Wouldn't I be of more value to Hydra alive?" You piped up. Steve looked over at you as if you had two heads, and he wanted to yell at you to keep your mouth shut, but he didn't. Mainly because he worried that you would kill him as soon as you got the chance for doing so.

Winderfield scoffed. "What the hell are you going on about?"

"You want Killmonger's territory, right? Newsflash: I'm his cousin. He'll be willing to make a deal if there is sign of life." Erik loved you, but Steve didn't believe he'd give up his own territory for you. He was too unpredictable to trust, yet you spoke as if you believed your words wholeheartedly. "It would be a waste to let me die and not consider those possibilities."

There was a moment of hesitation in Winderfield's eyes, and Steve used the opportunity to draw his gun and shoot. The impact of the bullet made him drop his gun, but not before he got one shot in. Steve heard you yelp, and he turned to make sure you were okay. You were clutching your arm, streams of red pouring down your white sleeve. He was thankful it wasn't anything fatal; Mr. Winderfield couldn't say the same. Steve knew he landed a good shot. The man wouldn't survive the blood loss.

He dashed to your side, murmuring promises of patching you up once the two of you made it out of the building. You had to take the stairs since security was coming up the elevator. He practically had to carry you down the last few flights - partly because you were out of breath, but also due to the dizziness that started to settle in. You weren't sure if it was the thrill of everything going on or the blood still pouring from your arm, but you would have passed out if it weren't for Steve.

As he held you up, you noticed the way his muscles flexed under his shirt. It was a terrible time to notice something like that, you knew it, but you couldn't stop yourself from giving his bicep the slightest squeeze. If he caught on to what you did, he didn't make it known. Which you appreciated. If he thought you were feeling him up, his ego would never let you live it down.

A car was already waiting for you at the back exit, as if Steve knew something like this would happen. Ever the prepared man. Bucky sat in the driver's seat, his eyes going wide when Steve lifted you into the back. There wasn't time to question what happened; a small security group burst through the door you had just ran through and started firing at the car.

"Go!" Steve ordered, half a shout and half a plea.

He grabbed the back of your neck and forced your head down into his lap to avoid any of the shots. The tires of the car squealed to life as Bucky sped out of the alley. Your stomach lurched when he swerved into traffic, and based on the honks you heard, drivers weren't too happy about it either.

"I think I'm going to be sick," you whimpered. You started to loosen the pressure on your wound, and Steve instantly pressed his hand against it for you.

"Where should we go?" Bucky asked once he knew no one was tailing the three of you.

"Natasha's. She's far enough out of the city that we'll notice if someone is still following us."

Bucky sucked in a breath. "You know she's not going to like us showing up unannounced. With Wanda being pregnant and all-"

"She owes me," he quipped with such a finality in his tone that Bucky didn't bother to argue.

You didn't care where you ended up, you just silently hoped it would be somewhere with a suitable first aid kit. And maybe a bucket for you to finally throw up in.

---

Bucky was right, Natasha wasn't happy to see Steve on her doorstep, but she ushered the three of you in anyways. Steve was lucky looks couldn't kill because Natasha glared daggers at the back of his head the entire time. She only looked away when she realized you were going limp against his side. You thought you heard her mumble something about 'talking about this later' but you weren't entirely sure.

Steve guided you upstairs to the master bathroom. Droplets of blood hit the white tile, and you flinched at how disgusting it must have looked. You also felt bad because it was clear Natasha and her wife did a lot to keep their house looking clean. And here you were, walking through it with a trail of blood coming from you.

He helped you onto the counter before he started rummaging through everything for the first aid kit. You leaned back, resting your head against the mirror, and took several deep breaths. The wound couldn't have been too deep, but it was enough to make you feel queasy. Other people's blood didn't affect you as much as seeing your own did. Your blood was supposed to be inside your body, so when it wasn't, your brain worked overtime to make you feel faint.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as he cleaned you up. You managed to hold in your groans even when he started to stitch the wound. Every time you flinched, Steve would pause and let you get used to the pain before continuing on. He was gentle. And attentive. He paid attention to even the slightest change in breathing to gauge how you were doing and continued on accordingly.

"You're a little too good at stitches," you teased quietly, not able to get yourself to speak much louder. "Should I be worried about your meetings always ending up in shootouts?"

Steve looked up at you, a small smile dancing at the corner of his lips. "You admitting you worry about me in general?"

"I'm worried about my brother, actually. Since you drag him along to all of them."

He hummed in response, not believing your words for a second. You weren't a terrible liar; you just weren't sure what the truth was right now.

Did you care about your brother's safety when he was around Steve? Of course you did. But your worry didn't stem from Steve's ability to protect him. He showed you today that he was quick to act when it came to protecting others. There was just a small voice in your mind that kept pushing you to admit you cared about Steve's safety too. Not because of your brother, but because you cared about him in general. Even if he was a pain in your ass.

"You saved my life today," you mentioned with a smile. "Thank you."

"I'd do it again."

You chuckled. "Because my brother would kill you if you didn't?"

"No," he paused, giving himself a moment to think about that answer, and shook his head. "Well, yes, but that's not the only reason."

"Oh?"

"Don't pretend like you don't already know what that is."

You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth. You did know, but was it wrong of you to want him to say it out loud? He was a man that made your stomach do cartwheels with a single look. His smile made any woman - yourself included - swoon. He could have anyone he wanted in this world, and all you wanted was for him to admit that he only wanted you.

You wondered if that was moving too fast, so you stayed quiet.

"I care about you too," you assured him.

He paused again. A beat of silence passed, and he leaned over to press a kiss on your forehead. He didn't say it, but you knew he was thinking it. He cared about you just as much.

And that was enough for now.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #mob!steve rogers #mob au #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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jobean12-blog · 4 years

Note

Hi sweetheart 💖 so my birthday is this Friday and I was wondering if I could request a fic where it's Bucky's and Y/Ns daughter's 9th birthday and she really wants a PlayStation 4 so she can play Spyro but Y/N's mom speaks for them and Bucky is not happy about it. Thank you my dear friend 💖

Best Birthday Ever!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (dad AU)

Word Count: 866

Summary: You and Bucky prepare for your daughter’s 9th birthday and your mother starts meddling...

Author’s Note: Hi lovely!!! HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Thanks so much for requesting something and I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful day! Writing dad Bucky is always fun and sometimes the struggle with the in-laws is real! haha Thank you all for reading! Much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: Fluff, some laughs, a kiss, Bucky being the best dad, little angst but it all works out fine! :)

“Just wait until you see the cake. She’s so excited but she wants it to be a surprise.” Bucky looks up from his coffee and smiles, “I’m happy she is, and it will be really nice having everyone together for the party.” You put a plate of pancakes, eggs and bacon in front of him and sit at the table, taking the syrup and pouring it on your plate.

“Thanks for breakfast baby, this looks delicious.” You blow him a kiss and dig in, chatting about the preparations for your daughter’s 9th birthday and what you’re going to get her. “She’s been asking for the PS4 so she can play Spyro.” Laughing through a mouthful of pancakes, Bucky shakes his head, “as long as I can get some games to play too, I’m good.”

You stand, bringing your plate to the sink but not before flicking him in the head with your finger. He doesn’t even flinch. “Oh great, that’s just what I need! The two of you glued to the TV all day and night.” The sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs stops Bucky’s sassy reply as you give each other a wink. The loud sniffles that follow, however, quickly get your attention and you look to your daughter, red eyed and puffy.

Bucky instantly gets up from the table and kneels in front of her, “what’s wrong baby girl?” She falls into his arms and buries her head in his shoulder. He picks her up and turns to you, mouthing, “what the hell happened?” You shrug and start to rub her back. “Hey baby, it’s ok. Tell us what’s wrong.” She hides in Bucky’s neck a moment longer before finally looking up, Bucky’s shoulder wet with snot and tears.

“Sorry daddy.” He chuckles and kisses her forehead, “I don’t care baby, now what’s going on?” She looks from you to Bucky, her sweet face contorting into a scowl. “I was on the phone with Grandma and she asked about my party and what I wanted and I was telling her all about the decorations and who is coming and that I’m going to get a PS4 to play Spyro and she said NO!”

She yells the last word and crosses her arms over her chest. “Wait, what?” Bucky asks, “she said no about what?” You drop your head into your hands and groan, knowing exactly what happened. “Grandma told me I can’t have a PS4! I told her it was for a fun game and she would even like it, but she said I shouldn’t get it I’m only 9.” Bucky brushes the hair from her face and gives her a squeeze before setting her down.

Bending down to get on her level he boops her nose, “listen, I don’t want you worrying about anything, ok?” Your mom and I will figure this out and you just have fun and enjoy the day.” She throws her small arms around his neck, “thank you guys. Can I go out on the swings? I’ll take Winter with me.” At the mention of his name the fluffy white dog picks up his head and thumps his tail on the floor. “That sounds great, baby, I’ll make more pancakes and call you in when they’re done.”

“Ok!” She jumps up and calls Winter, the two of them rushing out of the house and into the yard. When Bucky turns your way you already have your hands up in defense. “I know, I know, you don’t even have to say anything, I’ll call her right away.” Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, “I just don’t get why your mother would say that. She had to know it would upset her! It’s her birthday and we’re her parents so I think we’re the ones that get a say in what she gets as a gift!”

You shake your head, at a loss, “I agree with you babe, I don’t get it either. If anything, she should have said something to me first.” Bucky throws his hands up, “exactly! Talk to us before you upset the kid! And now I feel like we are doing something wrong, buying it for her!” You let Bucky get it all out, just listening and agreeing with him.

When he’s done talking you wrap your arms around his waist and lean your head to his chest. “I’m sorry, Buck. I know she can be difficult sometimes. I promise I’ll talk to her after breakfast and let her know how we feel and tell her to stop meddling and always talk to us first.” Bucky’s strong arms pull you close, and he kisses the top of your head, “thanks doll. I’m sorry I got upset, I just want our baby girl to be happy and have what she wants.”

You rest your chin on his chest, looking up into his beautiful blue eyes, “me too.” He kisses you, softly at first but it quickly becomes heated as he walks you backward toward the counter. “EW GUYS! Come on!” Your daughter’s shrill voice breaks through the moment and you laugh against his lips. “I love you,” he whispers, reluctantly pulling away. “I love you too.”

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @book-dragon-13 @bugsbucky @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-minty-breath @breezy1415 @chuuulip @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @imgaril-lindru @itsunclebucky @ikaris-whore @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @lorilane33 @loricameback @littledarlinhavefaithinme @lokilvrr @littleredstarfish @mushyjellybeans @marvelgirl7 @marvelandotherfandomimagines @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @tuiccim @the-wayward-robot @yansi1923 @tales-of-spring @buckys-henley @hopefuldreamers-world

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nastybuckybarnes · 4 years

Text

Bad Dream - Eight

Pairing: Dark!Steve X Reader

Summary: A year after wiping your memory and keeping you for himself, Steve Rogers is happy. Happier than he’s ever been. With you and your daughter, life couldn’t be any better. The only problem? You’re starting to remember things.

Warnings: Angst, Language

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: I might be posting this a little less (I hardly post it as it is) just cause it’s such a hard mindset to be in while writing this. So for my mental health I’m gonna be taking some breaks from my dark fics and finishing up my other wips

!!!THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!!

MADNESS MASTERLIST EDITED POORLY! BAD DREAM MASTERLIST

~*~

"This isn’t right, Buck. You know it’s not right. The way he’s been treating her... we have to do something.” The brunet shakes his head, sighing heavily. “He treated her well before she started remembering. I think we just need to wipe her again.”

Natasha groans, glaring at her partner. “And how often are we supposed to wipe her?! Is it gonna become an annual thing? Kinda like a birthday party? No! That’s expensive, it takes time, and it’s damaging. Every time you go in there and erase her memories, you’re fucking with parts of her brain that you don’t understand. You have no business doing that.” Bucky shakes his head again and stands up, heading down the stairs and opening the door.

You’re curled up in a ball on your side, eyes terrified and hopeless, Steve sits across from you, Sarah in his arms.

“Steve.” The brunet nods to the stairs and his friend sighs, standing up and following him out of the room, leaving you alone on the ground again.

“Pal, I think you and I need to have a talk, a real long talk. You know what I went through, how Fury... got me someone to help ground me. It wasn’t good but it worked. This? This isn’t good and it’s not working. We need to talk about this.” He hands Sarah to Natasha and follows his friend out of the cabin to give themselves some privacy.

Sarah starts fussing quickly, squirming around in Nat’s grip. Rather than go and disturb Bucky and Steve, she heads downstairs to where you are.

You look up when the redhead comes down, pushing yourself into a seated position when she brings Sarah over to you.

“She was getting fussy,” Nat explains softly, handing the baby to you. You hold her tightly in your arms, rocking her back and forth as she whines.

“She gets like that... sometimes. She just wants to feel loved.” You press kisses all over her face, cooing to her until she settles down then holding her close to your chest.

“What Steve’s doing... is wrong. You don’t deserve to be treated the way he’s treating you.” You furrow your brows at her words.

“Aren’t you his friend? Are you just testing my obedience?” She feels her heart hurt at the idea. “No. I mean, yeah, I’m his friend, but no I’m not testing your obedience. I realize that what he’s doing is wrong and I want to stop him. Or at least make it better somehow.”

You don’t trust her. How can you? This is the same woman who let Steve use you and defile you.

“I’m not sure what he plans on doing with you,” she admits softly, fingers hovering over Sarah’s cheek.

“But I know that if it comes down to it, I’ll fight to protect you.” You’re confused and she must be able to read it on your face because she sits down in front of you and sighs.

“I know what it’s like, to be held captive. To have no control over what happens to you. Granted, not to this extent, but I know enough to know that this is so wrong. You deserve so much better than this.”

You keep your eyes on your daughter, your voice quivering slightly as you speak. “If you only do one thing, could you... take Sarah to my father? He’ll know where to go and what to do. Just please, I don’t want her to be with... him. God only knows what he’ll do to her.”

Natasha knows that Steve would never hurt Sarah but it’s the only thing you’ve asked of her so she nods, agreeing and making a mental vow to do everything in her power to keep that baby safe.

~*~

“You can’t keep beating her the way you are. You’re taking this way too far. She’s a person, Steve. Not a punching bag.” Steve shakes his head and glares at his friend. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You don’t get it. She was so good before. So perfect. And now she’s just... misbehaving and pissing me off. I look at her and I see red. She makes me so angry.” Bucky scoffs and stares at his friend as if he’s grown a second head.

“Do you think that’ll stop just because you wipe her memory? No. You’re gonna feel the same damn thing every time you look at her. There’s nothing we can really do about that.”

Steve has a dark look in his eyes and Bucky actually laughs. “We’re not gonna fucking kill the girl, Steve. That’s extreme. Think about it this way: she’s the mother of your daughter. She can give you a family, a home. Everything you’ve ever wanted. She can be the normal that you need in your life. You’ve gotta get past your anger. Go hunting. Go fucking fishing. Just don’t take your anger out on her. You wanna put another baby in her? Go right the fuck ahead. You wanna have six kids and have her take care of all of them? Sure! Just don’t fucking hit her anymore. Stop associating her with anger because it’s only gonna end up badly.”

Steve’s silent for a minute, thinking about everything that his best friend has just said before breaking the silence with two words that make the whole situation change.

“She’s pregnant.”

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath of air and stares at Steve. “Again? You’re sure?”

Steve shrugs, “pretty sure. But she... she fell down the stairs the other day. I swear she fell, I didn’t push her, and... she hasn’t eaten anything...” he trails off, fear for his growing wild filling his heart.

“You care about the kid. The fetus inside her. You want her to give you another baby. You need to get back to your normal cycle. You can’t keep hurting her. If you want any chance at having a family then you’ll let me fix her. She can be the good little wife you want,” Bucky pleads, not wanting to see you or Steve get hurt any worse than you already have.

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he makes his decision.

“How long will it take?” Bucky sighs in relief, glad that his friend is taking the better path. A little voice in his head is disgusted with the fact that wiping your memory is deemed ‘the better path’ but he shuts it up.

“A day? Maybe less. I’ll need to grab the supplies and bring it back which will take about a day, maybe two, but then I’ll be back and we can wipe her properly.”

Steve nods, looking at his friend.

“Fine. Can you do anything about her now? Make her more... compliant? Just until you properly wipe her?”

Bucky rubs the nape of his neck, his face screwing up in slight discomfort. “I don’t know, Steve. She’s so afraid... it’ll be hard to really get her to calm down enough for it to take hold in her mind. You might just have to wait until I come back.”

Steve sighs but nods, making to walk back into the house when Bucky grabs his arm tightly, stopping him in his tracks. He levels his friend with a serious look, trying to get his point across.

“Steve. I’m serious. You can’t keep treating her badly. If anything, you should go in there and make her feel safe. Tell her you won’t hurt her again and then don’t hurt her. Make her trust you at least a little bit.”

The blond nods and tugs out of Bucky’s grip with ease. They come back in the house and Steve is intercepted by Natasha.

“Where’s Sarah?” He asks, his heart beating a bit faster when he doesn’t see his daughter anywhere.

“With her mother, being fed. Where she belongs. Don’t worry.” He nods warily, taking a few deep breaths as the redhead glares at him.

“If you touch her wrong again I swear I will make you regret it, Steve Rogers. That woman down there is terrified for her life because of you. She’s broken and has no idea what she’s supposed to be doing with herself. If you fuck this up... Steve, I’m not going to side with a monster. Not again. You need to fix this or I’ll take it into my own hands.”

Bucky steps forward, taking Nat's hand in his. “I talked to him. He knows what he needs to do and he knows that if he doesn’t do it then he’ll be forced to face the consequences.” The two watch as Steve stalks out of the room, Natasha’s words hitting him square in the chest.

He enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

‘What makes a monster?’ he wonders to himself. Is he really a monster? No, he can’t be. He’s Captain America, for fuck's sake. But then again, all the bad guys he’s had to take out, all the people who’ve been hurting other people, they all thought they were doing it for the right reasons too. Is he so different from them?

The line between monster and man is getting harder and harder for him to distinguish.

~*~

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im-in-love-with-pizza-bites · 3 years

Note

Oh oh you should do song number 2 (One of Them Girls) for the song fic?? that would be so good

Thank you for the request.. Suggestion idk what it would be but I do hope this is as good as you hoped! Also like first Charlie Fic I've written!!! Though he was actually my original choice for the Owen fic I wrote. Anyway the Songfic,

One Of Them Girls

Charlie Gillespie X Fem!Reader

Summary: You like to make them wonder if you're one of them girls 'cause he's one of them boys who'll trade his whole world, for one of them girls who likes to act all quiet sexy, not even tryin'

Warnings: none really? Mentions teen pregnancy.

Song: One Of Them Girls by Lee Brice

Are you one of them girls? That peels off the Bud-Light label

You were sitting in a booth at a bar and grill, picking at the label on your beer bottle. You were waiting for your childhood best friend, as well as one of his other friends. You looked over at the door, seeing Owen Joyner and his friend walk in. You smiled waving them over.

"Owen! I've missed you!" You said hugging him once he was near the table. "And you must be my replacement as his best friend!" You said turning to the other guy.

"I didn't replace you!"

"Or did you?" You asked laughing. "I'm y/n." You put a hand out to shake.

"Charlie." He smiled shaking your hand.

Just might run a pool table, roll your eyes if I call you an angel ain't you, one of them girls?

"What do you say? Game of pool?" You asked standing up .

"I'm down." Owen said. "Come on Charlie." Charlie up following the pair of you to the pool tables. After a while you won.

"Good job angel." Charlie said smiling. You rolled your eyes.

Ask you to dance, you say, "No" just to see how far I'll go

You walked out of the restaurant with Charlie and Owen behind you.

"Y/n come here." Charlie said pulling you by the hand to Owen's car.

"Owen help! I'm being kidnapped!" You cried out jokingly to your friend, but he just laughed. "Charlie let go of my effing hand." You said glaring at him.

"Sorry." Charlie dropped it before he pulled his phone out, then he started playing music.

"Owen... You replaced me with a dancing monkey." You whispered to Owen as Charlie tried to get you to dance with him.

"One dance. Please angel." Charlie said you huffed but gave in.

Your song comes on and your eyes closed that's when I know, yeah you got your heart on lockdown got a wall I gotta knock down

"Bye!" You gave Owen a hug, before you waved at Charlie and walked to your car.

"Is she single?" Charlie asked.

"Dude! That's my best friend." Owen said.

"It was just a question." Charlie laughed. "But is she?"

"Yeah... Good luck with that." Owen said pushing him gently before he got into the car.

Kinda wanna do a shot now, come on now and you're one of them girls that ain't tryna meet nobody

You walked into your apartment, tossing your purse down onto the floor. You walked in smiling as you heard small feet running to you.

"Mommy!" The little girl exclaimed. You smiled lifting her. Followed by the young girl was, your teenage neighbor.

"Hiya babygirl." You smiled at your daughter, before looking at the teen. "Hi hun, thank you for watching her how much do I owe you?"

"20 bucks." The girl said. You nodded grabbing the money from your wallet and handing it to her. "Bye!"

"Bye, liv say bye."

"Bye!" Your daughter waved at the girl.

You're just here for the party if I'm wrong then stop me, yeah

Owen had invited you and your daughter over to hang out. Owen was one of the few friends who stayed friends with you in high school after you got pregnant with Olive. You were in your senior year, being 18. You held the four-year-old on your hip as you let her knock on the door of Owen's apartment. You were always thankful when he invited both you and Olive over since you couldn't always leave her with a babysitter. The door was opened by Charlie, who you were almost positive didn't know about Olive.

"Whos this?" Charlie asked. You had met him the week prior, he was still in town hanging out with Owen.

"I'm Olive!"

"Hi olive I'm Charlie.

"Whatevwer where uncle Owen? Mommy said Uncle owen lives here!" Olive said pouting. You stepped into the apartment and sat the little girl down, she ran straight to Owen.

"How old is she?" Charlie asked you.

"4."

You're one of them girls that ain't handin' out your number

"Can I get your number?" A guy asked you as you were at the bar and grill with Charlie and this time Olive.

"Solid 3." Your daughter answered for you. You busted out laughing unable to control yourself, Charlie copying.

"You heard the kid get outta here." You said in between laughs. "Good job Baby girl." You high-fived her.

You like to make us want you you like to make us wonder if you're one of them girls 'cause I'm one of them boys who'll trade his whole world, hmm, yeah

In the two weeks Charlie was in Oklahoma visiting Owen, he got close with you. Which led to texting and talking over the phone after he went back to LA.

"Hey angel." Charlie said.

"Stop calling me that!" You said glaring at him through the face time call.

"I don't want to! Now where's the little princess? I want to say Hi to her!" Charlie said smiling. You smiled back.

"She's at preschool." You answered.

"Awe." He said disappointed. You couldn't help but feel happy.

For one of them girls who likes to act all quiet sexy, not even tryin'

"Why are you so quiet Angel?" Charlie asked. You shrugged.

"I don't know." You responded in truth, you were stuck thinking. You never thought about dating again after you broke up with Olive's dad when you were 18, but now being 23 and falling for the Canadian you thought about it a lot. You were almost positive he would never date you though. You had a daughter, you were a teen mom. You've known him almost a year at this point.

"Okay, so did Owen tell you Julie and the phantoms season 2 is coming out soon!" Charlie said smiling at you.

"Ooh olive will be so excited she loves seeing her Uncle Owen on tv." You said.

"What about me?"

"She'll love seeing you on tv too."

Yeah, you know I ain't lyin', damn right you one of them girls broke every heart in your hometown on the day you rode out

You leaned back in bed sighing. You wanted to tell Charlie you wanted to date him, and it seemed like a good time as him and Jeremy were coming to visit Owen, and in turn you. Jeremy hasn't met you yet, but he heard a lot about you from both Owen and Charlie. You lifted Olive from her car seat before you grabbed her hand and walked into the apartment building, and to Owen's apartment. Once there you opened the door which you knew was unlocked because Owen texted you.

"I brought a kid! Keep what ever your doing PG!" You hollered walking in.

"Charlie!" Olive exclaimed running over to Charlie giving him a hug. You smiled softly.

"Hi, I'm y/n." You said to Jeremy. "That is Olive."

"Hi, Jeremy."

"Olive where's my hug?" Owen asked.

"Hi uncle Owen!" Olive smiled.

Got 'em all wishin' on stars now if I find one of them girls that ain't tryna meet nobody

You sat out by your car looking at the starry sky. Olive fell asleep on Owen's lap when the five of you were watching Moana. You just came out for air. You didn't notice Charlie walking up behind you.

"Ah! Oh, you scared me... Hey Charlie." You gave him a smiled.

"Hey whatcha doing?"

"Thinking you?"

"Came to find you." Charlie said. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead." You nodded looked at him.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" He asked shyly.

"Yeah."

You're just here for the party if I'm wrong them stop me, yeah you're one of them girls that ain't handin' out your number

You smiled at Charlie when he walked into the kitchen of his apartment where he found you and Olive having a impromptu dance party. You were in LA visiting him for a few days, the long-distance relationship was hard but you made it work. Olive absolutely loved Charlie anytime she saw him she got excited.

"Can I join?" Charlie asked taking Olive's hand, spinning her. You smiled watching them dance.

You like to make us want you, you like to make us wonder if you're one of them girls

You took a deep breath as you began packing up the things in your daughter's room. You and Olive we're moving to LA to live with Charlie, you've been dating Charlie for a year, and finally tired of the long distance relationship you decided to move up to LA. Owen was over helping keep a eyes on Olive who is now 6 so you could pack.

"Woah." You sighed looking at the now empty room, you haven't see the room empty like this since you moved in 6 years ago. You moved away from home when you turned 19, going to make a life for you and your daughter, now at twenty five your farther then you ever thought you would be.

"Have you see Olive? We're playing hide and seek." Owen said peaking in the room breaking you from your thoughts.

"No."

Well I'm one of them boys who'll trade his whole world, yeah for one of them girls

You stepped into the new apartment you and Charlie got together. His was nice but it only had the one-bedroom, and Olive would not have been happy if she didn't get her own room.

"This place is nice mommy! Where's my room?"

"I'll show you Princess." Charlie said grabbing the girl's hand before the went down the hallway. You sat the box you had down on the counter smiling softly.

You're one of them girls I wanna put my lips on hold all night long write a little love song

There was movement in the bed before a tiny body found it's self situated comfortably in between you and Charlie.

"Hunny?" You yawned looking down at Olive who was laying there hugging her stuffed bunny.

"Cuddles?" The girl asked. Charlie who has woke up aswell rolled over pulling the girl onto his chest before pulling you into his side.

"Shh go to bed." He whispered.

For one of them girls that ain't tryna meet nobody you're just here for the party

"Olive! I need to asked you something big." Charlie said parking the car at a McDonald's.

"What?" She asked unbuckling. He looked back at her.

"Let's go get food then I'll tell you okay?"

After they got their food and were sitting at a table. He got ready to ask her.

"What would you say if I asked your mommy, to marry me?" Charlie asked before eating a fire.

"That would he so cool! Would that make you my daddy?"

"Yeah." Charlie chuckled.

"Awesome! I'm gonna tell all my friends my daddy is an actor!" Olive said happily.

If I'm wrong then stop me, yeah you're one of them girls that ain't handin' out your number

You were on a date with Charlie, a much more romantic ones then the usual ones you went on together. It was usually a picnic or adventure date, but you were at a fancy restaurant.

Charlie mustered all his courage before he dipped to one knee.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

You like to make us want you, you like to make us wonder if you're one of them girls well I'm one of them boys who'll trade his whole world (his whole world) for one of them girls hmm, one of them girls

A/n: first off when I was looking for a good name for Olive I kept coming across the names of my brother's crazy exes like I turned down at least 7 options just because of it 🙄 Again thank you for the ask!

#charlie gillespie x reader #julie and the phantoms #x reader #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #charlie gillespie #charles Jeffrey Gillespie #luke patterson #one of them girls #song fic

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ve1vetyoongi · 5 years

Text

Mic Drop | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

au: rapper!yoongi, photographer!oc

summary: when underground rapper min yoongi uncovers the dirty secret behind his biggest rival, your brother and hip hop champion kim namjoon’s success, he is determined to take home this year’s mic drop contest trophy no matter who he hurts along the way. you’re behind the camera, content with capturing namjoon’s picture perfect persona from the sidelines but when his hard-faced enemy Gloss, makes you realise you could be more than just the point and shoot, you start to feel your loyalties shifting.

warnings: multiple smut scenes, dirty talk, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex (both m and f receiving), lots of orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, cum play, cum eating, but also tender fucking lol, very brief mention of death.

word count: 29k (rip)

rating: definitely explicit

playlist: visit my playlist page and select “mic drop.” (all links to be added later)

a/n: ahhh you don’t understand how happy i am to finally put this out into the world!!! i started writing this fic back in july and after a few rewrites (more on this at the end of the post if anyone sticks around until then) she’s finally finished eee <3 also!!! this fic is brought to you courtesy of the love yourself collab! this project has been super fun to be a part of n i wanna say thank you to everyone involved who made it such a welcoming experience! you can check out the masterlist here (link will be added later f u tumblr) to read all the other amazing fics from the incredibly talented authors in this project (literally so talented??? it’s sickening???) (im so excited to finally read them all now im done w this monster lol). all the love as always <3

Introducing Runch Randa!

The host is barely audible over the chants of your brother's name as the lights dim and the arena is sent into a haze of strobe lights.

The air is already heady with body heat and fragrant with sweat from the thousands of bodies smushed together in the pit and beyond that thousands more seated in the stands, phone lights twinkling in the darkened arena like stars. A girl in your peripheral clutches a sign with MARRY ME RUNCH RANDA scrawled in sharpie, torso clad in one of the cheap merch hoodies with your brother's face printed on the front, just like hundreds of others around her.

It's a full house. No one's surprised. The Mic Drop semi-final always creates a buzz of anticipation within the hip hop scene. But this year, with your brother Namjoon returning to compete for the trophy again, there isn't an empty seat in sight.

A buzz pulses through the crowd when the bass kicks in. It makes hearts beat faster, blood run hotter, a crescendo of screams crashing violently through room, the sheer volume enough to make the walls shake in time with the stamp of impatient feet.

It's infectious. Almost. If you hadn't been here a hundred times before, countless nights the same as this one that all started to blur into one somewhere along the line. Different crowds but the same energy, the same hum of anticipation that used to get your bones rattling, your skin hot with suspense. Now it's just routine. Now you feel nothing.

Besides, you're just here to do your job. The photographer. To take pictures, not to enjoy the show. Just like always.

Five seconds. You know Namjoon's set list like the back of your hand by now. Five seconds until he takes the stage and the crowd goes wild.

One, two, three, four...

Like clockwork, the stage lights up and there he is, face blown up in painful detail across every screen. Runch Randa. His stage name pulses through the room, a mantra, chanted until throats turn sore and mouths run dry.

Dark framed glasses cover his eyes but his stance is enough to tell you that he came here to win, his presence immediately filling the empty stage with an energy that makes it impossible to look anywhere else, even for a moment.

He is already damp with sweat, neck glistening beneath the white lights. Like routine you snap a few shots when he taunts the camera with a smirk, brushing a hand through his immaculately gelled hair teasingly, mouth turning up into a grin when the audience roars.

Runch Randa walks across the stage with the ease of someone who lives and breathes for moments like these. Grabs the microphone with two hands, shiny silver rings glinting on his fingers beneath the harsh strobe lights.

You can see his opponents in the front row, nothing but rookies, the intimidation etched into their features visible even from where you stand side stage as they swallow the bitter pill that they stand no chance against him.

Once upon a time you were the same as the wide eyed fans in the pit, filled with an admiration for your brother. He was everything you wanted to be; a whirlwind of fearless, brazen passion when he got up on stage. But things changed once Namjoon won Mic Drop, claiming the trophy at the tender age of seventeen. After that he started filling arenas. Then stadiums. And you were left behind in the ruins of his whirlwind, feeling the Namjoon you once knew slip further away as Runch Randa took center stage, viewing his perfect persona through the lens of your camera with the same sour resentment as the rookies.

Because when a familiar beat permeates the arena, you can't help but close your eyes and imagine the name the crowd screams is yours. That it's you out there instead of him. It's you pouring your heart into the lyrics that you find yourself whispering unconsciously in time with your brother.

Your lyrics.

The lyrics you wrote especially for this performance. The same lyrics that would be streamed by millions, top charts and win Namjoon another stupid trophy to add to his already elaborate collection.

The only reason Namjoon still kept you around was because he couldn't write them himself.

The track ends and the Mic Drop host crosses the stage with a grin. Namjoon's arm is thrust into the air triumphantly.

"And our first finalist is...Runch Randa!"

You snap a picture of your brother smiling victoriously.

"He's gonna win. I know it."

Namjoon's manager Jimin sidles up beside you, grin plastered to his face. It's nauseating.

"Does he ever lose?" You murmur

Runch Randa! Runch Randa! Runch Randa!

Mic Drop. The most highly anticipated event in the music industry for its ability to make hip hop artists stars; as well as its tendency to break them just as easily.

Fame. Money. Glory. Just a few of the reasons why rap rookies from across the globe are desperate to compete in the ruthless battle of blood, sweat and rap that is Mic Drop.

They all think they have what it takes. That they have that special something the judges are looking for. Unfortunately, most don't even make it past the auditions phase.

When your brother, Mic Drop legend Runch Randa, announced he would be ditching his celebrity status and stadium concerts to return to his underground roots and compete for the trophy again, it raised a series of questions

Why now? What did he have to prove?

Once the press got wind of the fact that your parent's, CEO'S of the most prestigious record label in the industry Big Hit Entertainment, had run into a spot of financial trouble, everyone assumed your brother's re-entry was a master plan to win the lavish cash prize afforded to competition winners. Sure, you couldn't deny that it was partly true --- Big Hit's stocks were plummeting and a lot was at stake.

Truthfully, though, you knew your brother well enough to see that Namjoon's motives were far more selfish; to put it simply, he was greedy. Fame was his drug. Once he got a taste he could never get enough.

Of course, a cheque signed and delivered by your father's hand shut any rumors down very quickly. Your parent's were good at silencing people if it meant protecting Namjoon's reputation.

Even you, their own daughter.

The name tag labelled OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHER was nothing but a cover up for the true reason you spent so much time at Big Hit -- writing each and every one of Namjoon's hit songs. A secret you were forced to keep as you watched your brother through a camera lens.

Which is how you find yourself as his strictly-invitation-only after party, an attempt at building momentum for the big final in just a few weeks time, with a camera in hand.

You're sat in the corner of the A-list club Jimin rented out for the event, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass with a bored disinterest as you watch your brother shake hands with company investors and big buck producers, most of which you'd never even heard of.

These things always seem to drag on, the clock ticking slower with each agonising second spent smiling courteously to uphold the supportive sister persona. Your feet are starting to hurt in your heels and all you want to do is hide away in the Big Hit studio and scribble down the lyrics floating aimlessly in your mind. That's the only good thing about these events -- they give you time to think, a rare relief in between your brother's busy schedules.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite lyricist."

A cheerful voice jolts you from your thoughts and when you blink up through the flashing lights you're met with a lazy grin belonging to Hoseok, one of the producers at Big Hit. He's an ex Mic Drop contestant himself, coming fourth and just missing out on the semi-finals three years ago. He never had the stomach for it anyway, he always says, but you never miss the rejection in his eyes.

Hoseok is also one of the only people who knows about your secret. He was hired to help you work on tracks for your brother once he made it big after all, and although he would never admit it you knew he probably had to sign a hefty NDA. Still, you were grateful to have him around — you couldn't deny you made something of a dream team together.

"Mind if I sit?" He gestures with his glass towards the empty space beside you, and you move your purse so he can squash in on the leather couch. "At least some of us are having fun, huh?" You follow his gaze to Namjoon on the dance floor, hands all over some vaguely recognizable celebrity's hips.

You grimace and swig back the remaining alcohol in your glass. "Too much fun, apparently."

Hoseok snorts, wringing his hands. "Y'know, we could get out of here if you're as bored as I am..." His words slur just slightly and you figure his confidence is a result of the amber liquor in his glass. The shy Hoseok you know well returns quickly though as he averts his eyes when you raise a brow. "Not like that! I just thought maybe we could get a drink or something...if you want to?"

You shift awkwardly, having to shout over the booming club music for him to hear you. "I should really stay here. People might ask questions if the sister of the host just...disappears."

"Right!" Hoseok smiles sheepishly then slaps his own forehead. "Right. Forget I ever asked."

You shake your head fondly and turn back towards the dance floor just in time to see Namjoon whisper in the ear of the DJ, music cutting as he takes the mic and hops up onto the small stage to address the party.

Finally! A sign he was going to wrap up the evening for good!

He clears his throat and the huddle of mingling bodies below him fall into an expectant hush.

"Uh, so I'm not usually very good at these speech things --" He pauses and the crowd laughs. You tap your knee impatiently. "But I just wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your support. So, the next round of drinks are on me! I haven't won — yet — but its never too early to start celebrating, right?"

Namjoon raises his flute of champagne and the party-goers cheer just as a flurry of confetti drops from the ceiling. The music starts again and you're too busy picking the brightly colored paper out of your hair disgruntledly to notice the way the room suddenly quietens and the guests part down the middle like prey from a predator.

"Y/N. Look." Hoseok elbows you sharply and flies forward in his seat, whisky sloshing over the edge of his glass. "Shit! Is that--"

Is that really him? What is he doing here? He's back!

You look up just in time to see the commotion as a figure in a black hoodie weaves effortlessly to the front of the room. You don't recognise him but something about his presence gives you chills.

Namjoon is too busy throwing back his drink to notice as the man climbs the stage, his skinny jeans and high tops sticking out like a sore thumb against the sea of dress shoes and cocktail dresses. He clearly wasn't invited.

By the time your brother senses the change in the air, it's too late.

You feel your face pale, choking when the figure finally turns and lets down his hood, revealing a head of blue hair and a venomous smirk.

"Gloss?"

Namjoon turns and his smile dissolves. He just stares stiffly at the person in front of him like he's seen a ghost. In a way you suppose he has -- the ghost of his past. After all, the last time anyone saw this face was five years ago at the Mic Drop final.

It is him! It's Gloss! Why is he back?

The night that changed all of your lives. When Namjoon claimed the Mic Drop trophy and Gloss, his opponent, lost everything.

It's been years since the last time you saw Gloss but you still recognize the distinctive confidence in his gait, the way his eyes flash with something dark as he looks your brother up and down with a breathy laugh.

Namjoon is frozen, breathing heavily.

Gloss' voice is husky when he finally speaks. It makes you shiver.

"Runch Randa. Long time no see, huh?"

A beat of unbearable silence.

"What are you doing here?"

Gloss's chuckle makes Namjoon snarl. You see the way his jaw tenses and his fists clench. He's too wound up; he'll snap if you don't do something and fast.

You get to your feet but Hoseok pulls you back down sternly by the elbow. "Don't." You protest but his grip is too tight so you just fidget helplessly instead.

Something settles in the atmosphere; a nervousness that makes you itch, makes your heart pump into overdrive as you watch them draw closer, eyes narrowed like boxers in a ring, waiting for the other to make a move. Hoseok covers his eyes.

"I wouldn't start celebrating just yet, Runch. The competition has only just begun."

The crowd gasps when your brother's clenched fist swings at his smug opponent. The rapper ducks but not quite in time and you can't remember which comes first — the crunch that crackles through the speakers when Namjoon's ring-clad knuckles collide with Gloss' face or the ear splitting thump of his mic dropping to the ground.

The party ends abruptly. Your head spins with confusion as you watch the guests leave in shock. Seeing Namjoon up on that stage opposite his biggest opponent again makes your stomach sick, like you were reliving the events of five years ago all over again.

Deep down you had always expected this moment to come. For Gloss to return looking for revenge or something. After all, Gloss didn't just loose Mic Drop to anyone -- he lost to Namjoon, his former best friend and music partner. Namjoon and Yoongi. They were supposed to win together. But for reasons still unknown, even to you, Yoongi was disqualified moments before the final commenced, plummeting your brother into the world of fame alone.

After that, Gloss all but disappeared, his pitiful downfall nothing but a hip hop legend to those who heard it. No record deals or sponsorships or stadium tours like your brother. A legend in his own right, but for all the wrong reasons. Mic Drop banned duos from competing thereafter.

Eventually you gather the courage to head into one of the back rooms where the rappers had been hauled by security guards in hi-vis jackets after their scuffle. You can hear Jimin babbling before you even reach the door.

"What were you thinking? Punching him? You better hope the press don't get ahold of this or else you're in big trouble—"

"Let me go!" Namjoon grunts to Jimin whose face is almost as red as his own. "I'm gonna end this once and for all."

"You'll do no such thing," Jimin tuts, pushing him firmly by the shoulder so he slumps into his seat with a roll of the eyes, other hand pressing his phone to his ear. "Do you even understand the amount of damage control I'm going to have to do to? — hold on, yes, this is Park Jimin speaking..."

The room smells of disinfectant and medical gauze and you spot Namjoon instantly, surrounded by an abundance of medics. His breathing is still ragged, the vein on his neck standing to prominence, knee bouncing as he impatiently waits for his ruby knuckles to be bandaged, too engaged to notice your arrival.

To your left you're surprised to find Yoongi. He's the epitome of composure despite the heavy tension in the air. He grabs a roll of bandage and begins to patch up his own fist, eyes lighting up with something you can't put your finger on when you slide into the room.

"Well, look who decided to turn up. If it isn't Namjoon's little sister. Long time no see, Y/N."

You freeze. It's been years since you heard him say your name. It makes you feel funny.

"Yoongi." You swallow. "What are you doing here?"

His shit eating grin makes your blood boil. "I take it you haven't heard yet, then."

You roll your eyes. You should be checking on Namjoon not humoring whatever stupid motives his opponent has. "Heard what, Yoongi?"

"I'm re-entering the competition, too."

You stagger backwards. Yoongi? Re-entering the competition? Mic Drop?

"But--you were disqualified--I don't understand?"

"I was disqualified. Disqualifications are only valid for five years, according to the rule book. Who knew?" He smirks when your eyes widen. "And I think you'll find that my sentence is up. I'm gonna win this time, once and for all."

"I don't think you know what you're doing, Yoongi—"

"There's more." He licks his lips. "I know your secret."

Your heart stops, mouth running dry. You throw a glance over your shoulder. Namjoon is still engaged, swatting away a medic's ice pack with a scowl, thankfully too busy to notice when you draw closer, voice a harsh whisper. "W-what secret?"

Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle, wincing just barely when he touches a damp cloth to the cut in his lip, a red splotch forming on the fabric. "You know exactly what secret I'm talking about, Y/N. Wouldn't it be ironic if someone slipped a tip off to the judges panel about Namjoon's ghost writer—"

"Shut the fuck up Min Yoongi or I'll break your nose for real this time!" Namjoon's voice bellows behind you, making you jolt. He charges at Yoongi, lip quivering like he might make his threat a reality. "Leave her out of this!"

Yoongi's nostrils flare. "Everyone knows she's a part of this, Namjoon, whether she likes it or not!"

All eyes look your way, as if expecting you to say something, but Yoongi's words fall cluelessly on you. You hadn't so much as thought about him in years. What did you have to do with this stupid ongoing feud with your brother that he refused to let go?

You glance between them, settling for sending a blank look at Yoongi and shuffling over to Namjoon instead. Your brother seems prideful at your show of allegiance. Yoongi scoffs.

"Namjoon?" Your mouth is dry with the shock of the situation and it comes out sounding funny, like you're wary of him. A gash above his eyebrow starts to dribble crimson. "Shit, you're hurt..."

"Get off me." Namjoon shakes his shoulder violently and you gingerly remove your hand, brows furrowed at his rejection. He directs his attention to Yoongi. "And you. You want a fight? It's on."

"Joon!—" He waves you off. It's pointless anyway. When he gets this rash there's no changing his mind.

"You want to end this thing once and for all? Then let's do this. You and me. At the final."

Yoongi raises a brow. "Deal. I'd shake your hand but you might try and knock me into next week again."

Namjoon doesn't laugh.

A hoard of security guards bust into the room and head straight for Yoongi. "Finally. What the fuck do I even pay these people for?"

"Get off me!"

You place a hand on Namjoon's shoulder and find that he's trembling. Rage? Nerves? Adrenaline? All three, probably, if the vacant blackness behind his eyes is anything to go by.

You're already trailing behind your brother when you hear Yoongi's voice carry down the hall. "I'll see you at the final! When I win. Secrets always find a way to come back and bite you in the ass, Runch. You should know that better than anyone!"

Namjoon begs you to come as his plus one to some scummy gig Gloss is rumored to be performing at tonight. To check out the competition, he says, but you recognise the way he nibbles his lip as he does.

Fear. He'll never admit it but Namjoon is scared he’s going to lose.

You agree to join him because you think it may put his mind at rest.

As Namjoon's manager, Jimin has all sorts of connections, mumbling thank you's into the head set sitting around his ears like a permanent accessory and scribbling down the address of some club down town.

The driver your parent's hired to escort Namjoon around as a paparazzi safety precaution drops the three of you a block away; the car's black tinted windows and shiny number plate would be out of place in such a scummy part of town. The plan would only work if you went unnoticed. Namjoon couldn't risk running into a Runch Randa fangirl tonight. It was technically against the Mic Drop rules to have any intel on your opponents, after all.

You don't like to tell Namjoon that his disguise won't do much for blending in. He dons a designer cap pulled down low over his face, long black coat drowning his figure and expensive leather boots crunching against broken glass and cigarette stumps as you near the club. It's too put together to seem natural, a dead give away that he doesn't belong here among the sea of ripped jeans and septum rings and tattoo sleeves around you. Even with a patterned bandana covering half of his face, the sculpted cheekbones and piercing eyes smudged effortlessly with black eyeliner poking over the top scream celebrity.

Luckily for you, the plain dress and knit cardigan hugging your body doesn't alert the suspicions of the bouncers cross armed at the entrance.

Namjoon wrinkles his nose and prods a half empty solo cup discarded outside with his toe, Jimin practically jittering with nerves and barely avoiding a stumbling drunk as you approach the men who stand at nearly double your size. Namjoon said it was best that you acted as spokesperson tonight — the only reason he even brought you along was because nobody would know your face and your position at Big Hit allowed you to pull some strings.

Your fingers shake as you produce a photography license from your bag, heart pounding as one of the menacing bouncers raises his eyebrow beneath the deep red hue emanating from a tacky neon sign posted above the door.

Luckily the breath you're holding is leaving you in a relieved thank you as he nods, moves to the side and gestures for your entourage to dip inside with the rest of the crowd. Namjoon charges ahead into the darkness and you follow him with an awkward smile to make up for his rude demeanour.

No turning back now...

Music hits like a deafening wave, blasting from the speakers at a volume that makes the walls shiver and your head throb. The club is alive with reckless anticipation, a sea of sweaty bodies gyrating on the dance floor in time with the pulsing beat. The energy swallows you whole, knuckles turning white as you cling to Jimin's sleeve, letting him elbow through the throng of indistinguishable faces that glitter beneath the tacky disco ball dangling haphazardly from the ceiling.

The crowd eventually spits you back out in a quieter corner of the club, Namjoon already making a beeline for the seedy bar. "There's a whiskey sour with my name on it and it's the only thing that'll get me through this shit." He murmurs as he crosses the room and occupies a bar stool beside a couple mid heavy make out session, pulling the hat closer around his face.

With a sigh, you turn back to Jimin who is eyeing up the strip pole and the exotic dancers nearby with wide eyes. "I still don't think this is a good idea."

The italian leather couch you slump into is suspiciously sticky beneath your bare thighs. "He needs to get the apprehension out of his system," you counter. "Once he sees that there's no competition he'll be able to take him down."

"I hope you're right." Jimin is wringing his hands, not knowing what to do with them now his headset is sat on the backseat of the car a block away. "I'd hate for this to knock his confidence."

"What?" You snort. "You think Gloss might actually beat him?"

Namjoon is the best rapper around, there's no debate. Nobody could beat him. Not even Gloss.

"No." His pursed lips say otherwise. You raise a brow. Jimin lowers his voice. "Maybe. Namjoon's rash. Gets ahead of himself. If he doesn't pull it together he'll play straight into Yoongi's hands..."

"Shows starting." Your open mouth snaps shut when the cushions dip beside you and Namjoon throws his arms over the back of the couch, swirling his half empty glass with an overconfident smirk.

Jimin averts his gaze. He knows he probably said too much. Sure, you're technically his colleague but you're also Namjoon's sister, the daughter of his boss. If Namjoon had overheard his position at Big Hit could have been called into question.

You would have to grill him more about Yoongi's motives later. Namjoon was right; the show really was starting.

Lights send the club into a dizzying purple haze, a new beat rumbling through the club that makes your skin prickle. It's almost drowned out by the electricity in the air, the frantic stamping of feet, the brazen chants of a single name over and over that fills you with a funny tingly feeling.

Gloss! Gloss! Gloss!

Something about it feels dirty.

The crowd is packed tightly together in the pit now. Even from where you sit, avoiding club goers eyes on the opposite side of the room, you find your attention glued to the stage. The set up is nothing like the one your brother occupies every night; just a wooden structure, painted black at one point but scuffed and scratched by the soles of shoes that boast the history of the place. The speakers are propped on broken crates, no big LED screens or back up dancers like your parents hire out for Namjoon.

Though none of that seems to matter when your gaze falls on the sole microphone stand placed centre stage beneath a blinding spotlight. It's the only familiar parallel between the two performers. It's a symbol of an artist, of the passion that comes with being up on that stage — any stage. It belongs to a performer.

You have to peer through a sea of frantic waving hands on your tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the combat boots taking the stage in time with the music rushing in your ears, mouth dry at the silver rings glinting under the harsh lights as fingers curl around the microphone.

"Yoongi." Namjoon grunts beside you, back stick straight and alert now. The traces of his previous smirk have been erased, a line appearing at the bridge of his nose. "There he is."

Yoongi throws his head back, breathes in the stuffy air that carries the shouts and whistles of the crowd like it's the sweetest oxygen money can buy.

The stench of beer burns your eyes but you're scared you'll miss a glimpse of his messy blue hair, or the eyes drunk on the fierce energy pulsing through the club to stop watching even if you tried.

When his voice permeates the room it's husky, burning through you like a shot of dry whisky. Namjoon stiffens, loosens the bandana around his face so he can see better.

Is that Runch Randa?

"Namjoon..." You hiss. "People are looking."

"Shut up." He grits, jaw tightening as Yoongi's lyrics cut through the tension like a serrated knife.

The way he moves across the stage like he owns it is exhilarating, makes the blood in your veins pump hot, limbs turning to lead as the crowd hangs off his every word.

He's good. Great, even. His lyrics give you goosebumps and you realise you haven't felt like this about a performance in a long time. Passionate. Yoongi is exhilarating to watch and it shakes you to the core.

It's then that it dawns on you. The reason Namjoon feels threatened is because there is a real chance that he might loose everything.

Gloss might take the trophy once and for all.

You only rip your eyes away from the stage when you feel Namjoon stand up beside you, his body disappearing into the crowd.

You get up too. "Leave him." You watch Jimin mouth. "He's just angry, he'll calm down—"

You don't care about Namjoon, not when the air is suddenly too thick, too heavy to breathe. Not when your hands sweat and you heave with a desire to run from reality and the suffocating smell of stale cigarette smoke that made your throat burn, like you can't get your body to breathe.

"Y/N? Where are you going?"

You swear you're floating, feet never seeming to quite touch the ground as you battle against the hazy dizziness that makes the room spin, ignoring Jimin's exasperated shouts of your name as you push through the gaps between bodies and pray your sense of direction is still intact enough to pull your outstretched arms towards the exit.

It's dark outside when you spill out of the exit, spluttering and heaving for air.

The brick is cool against your back when you slide down a nearby wall, hugging your knees.

A deep breath. In then out. Your chest loosens, lungs begin to feel full enough again.

Until a gravelly voice rings out into the night, clearer than the thump of unintelligible music from inside the club that makes your head pound.

"So it was you I saw back there. Good to know I'm not seeing things."

Even before you lift your face from between your knees you know who it belongs to. The single person you want to see least in the world at this very moment.

"Go away." You grumble but all that follows is a low chuckle as Yoongi slumps down next to you, ensuring to leave a safe distance between your crouched bodies.

It's funny. You had been preparing yourself to see him all night but now he's actually here in front of you, your mouth is dry.

He looks the same as he always did; dark eyes that burn hot as they scan your face, cocky smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. His brow looks wearier than you remember though, too weary for a man of twenty three. The only indication that time has passed since him and your brother were best friends.

"I assume Namjoon sent you here, then?"

The mention of your brother's name offers you the courage you need to look at him directly. His forehead still gleams with sweat in the dim moonlight, hair slicked back with a red bandana. There's a ring around his eye now, black and bruised. He must have taken off the black hoodie he donned on stage, left now in only a white vest which exposes his arms and to your dismay makes your blood run a little hotter.

"He's inside. I just came along because I had to." You mumble. "I'm not his spy, you know."

"Sure as shit seems like it." Yoongi spits with an amused chuckle, head lolling on his shoulders to face you. "He worried I might tell everyone about his little secret? Or was he trying to find his own leverage?"

A hot anger boils beneath your skin, rising all the way to your cheeks. Namjoon wouldn't do that would he? He didn't play that way. He didn't need to get an upper hand on Yoongi. He just wanted to see what he was up against.

"What's your problem, Yoongi?" The smirk on his mouth never falters, something glinting behind his eyes that tells you he wants to get a rise out of you. Even so, you can't help the way your voice raises, staggering to your feet. He chuckles darkly in response. "You get off on being an asshole or something?"

"You're too naive. What's so bad about telling the truth?" He closed the space between you until he's hovering above you, breath warm against your cheek. Your heart starts to race."What's so bad about taking back what is mine?"

Your breath hitches when his hand presses into the wall beside your head, effectively cornering you beneath his chest. "You could ruin his career."

Yoongi snorts. "What? Like he ruined mine?"

A few beats of silence. His eyes scan your face and it makes your stomach feel funny. You push at his chest, sucking in a shaky breath when he backs off a little and you realise part of you is weirdly disappointed that he did.

"Yoongi I don't know what happened between you and Namjoon—"

"No. You wouldn't know." He scorns, slinging his hands in his pockets, face darker now at the mention of his feud with your brother. "Because Namjoon loves secrets right? Namjoon likes to use people, Y/N. Just like he's using you now, to get to the top. And then he'll throw you away just like he did with me, sweetheart."

"Namjoon wouldn't do that." You bite your lip, the words leaving your tongue sounding a little less sure than you intend.

"Why? What makes you think you're any different?"

"He's my brother."

"I was his brother once too, remember?" He swallows, shaking his head in disbelief at your denial. "The only blood that matters to Namjoon is the blood shed to get him to the top."

You wrap your arms around your torso instinctively. Yoongi's words cut too deep. Maybe something inside of you thought Yoongi was right?

No. You came here to protect Namjoon yet here you were allowing his enemy to get inside your head.

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi." You spit, enjoying the way his eyes widen at the venom lacing your tone. "I made a mistake coming here."

Before you could brush past him and escape the heat running through your blood stream which feels fuzzier than hatred should, a hand curls around your wrist.

"Shit. Looks like someone's on your trail."

A quick glance over your shoulder reveals none other than Jimin, face hidden by the visor of his black cap but recognisable none the less. He speaks a few words to the bouncer, probably asking if they saw you come out.

"Oh no."

The bouncer gestures in your direction. Jimin's eyes pause for a second as they skim across your form stood rigid with shock and your heart falls out of your ass when he starts in the direction of where you stand way too close to Yoongi unable to move a single muscle as you brace for discovery. To pay for your betrayal of your brother.

"You coming or what?" Yoongi snaps you back to reality with a tug on your arm, feet stumbling over each other as he drags you behind him further down the alley and around a nearly pitch black corner, too far away from the street lights to be basked in their orange glow.

"What the fuck, Yoongi?" You try to shrug out of his grasp, heart beating faster when you see the flat look on his face. "Let go of me!"

Yoongi comes to an abrupt halt. "Listen, I'm trying to save your ass here. You want to get caught? Go on then! Not my problem."

You nibble your lip, glancing one way at the dark alley and the other at Jimin pacing up and down the street with furrowed brows.

"Just trust me, Y/N."

Jimin's footsteps get closer and closer. It's now or never.

Tightening your jaw, you turn back to Yoongi and nod. The words feel foreign as they pass your lips. "I...trust you."

With that, Yoongi grabs your hand and breaks into a sprint

Turning the corner, the alley meets a dead end. The back of the club is just as run down as the front, littered with cracked beer bottles and cigarette stumps. The sign above the door labelled NO ENTRY doesn't offer any light and apparently Yoongi doesn't listen to directions because he fishes in his back pocket for a key, sliding the bolt and pushing on the bar to hold the door open with a small nod for you to go inside first.

With a deep breath, you do.

The door closes behind you with a jingle of chains, cutting off the slither of moonlight it provided and sending you into complete darkness. You hear Yoongi slide the bolt back across and then he fumbles for you in the darkness, your body pulled down next to his with a yelp so that you're out of direct view of the window which looks inside the room.

"I think they followed us." His voice is silk but there's an underlying insinuation. Be quiet.

Yoongi's eye level now, knees squeezed up against yours in the cramped space beneath the window ledge. Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, able to see the way he scans your face when he thinks you aren't looking. The way he grumbles and looks away when you catch him.

There's not time to dwell as you hear footsteps turn the corner, tracking all the way to the door where the bolt rattles, a sleeve wiping the window and pressing a cupped face to the glass.

"She's not here, man. You must have seen someone else."

It was Hoseok. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Countless all nighters in the studio together does that to a person. Had Jimin called him all the way down here to look for you?

Jimin chimes in quickly. "I could have sworn it was her..."

The voices trail off as they retreat back down the alley, around to the front of the club.

A sigh escapes you, head falling against the wall in relief. When you open your eyes Yoongi is looking at you again. There's something pained in his expression, unspoken words visible in the way he bites his cheek to stop them from spilling out into the darkness.

His fingers are still wrapped around your arm, an electricity buzzing through your veins when you feel him lean in closer, pulling you towards him just barely.

His lips. Chapped and so close to yours. God. You think you want to kiss them. Just to know how it feels. You've never seen them up this close before. Not close enough to feel his hot breaths puffing against your forehead. Not close enough that if you just lifted your chin a little bit...

Yoongi lets out an embarrassed cough, jolting you out of your thoughts. "That was a close one, huh?" The spot where his hand resided feels cold when he rips it away.

Yoongi's face is wiped of any emotion again. He's not completely slick though as when he finally speaks again he sounds husky, the betrayal in his voice surprising even him.

"Are you okay?"

What were you supposed to say to that? I almost got caught with my brother's enemy and then thought about kissing said enemy. No, I don't think I am okay.

"Fine. Thanks."

Yoongi offers you a hand, getting to his feet and pulling you up after him before he leans across your body to flick on the lights.

The yellowish stream burns your eyes but allows you to take in the room around you. There's a keyboard in the corner, piles of sheet music strewn across the wooden desk beside it. A pair of speakers hooked up to a worn looking sound machine. A mic and a pair of headphones slung over the back of the mismatch wheely chair tucked beneath a desk.

A studio.

He must notice the way you look around with wide eyes, redness creeping up his neck as he busies himself by kicking some of the clutter on the floor behind the desk. "Wasn't expecting guests."

It definitely wasn't the high tech producing set up you were provided with back at Big Hit, no hifi system or fancy computer programmes. The furniture was mismatch, like someone had collected a bunch of spare puzzle pieces and shook them up in the box until they made a picture.

Somehow of the pieces still manage to seem somehow inherently Yoongi; the basketball tee with GLOSS on the back draped over his chair, even the empty water bottles overflowing in the trash can. The tiny framed picture of a younger looking Yoongi next to a woman you think you recognise but can't quite put your finger on.

"Genius lab?" You snort, nodding towards the sign hanging haphazardly above the monitor.

Yoongi shrugs. "What can I say? It's true."

"Confident." You muse.

You share a smile. It's strange. Familiar. The way his eyes crinkle and even the husk of the chuckle that follows reminding you of when things were good, back when you considered Yoongi to be a sort of friend. Before things got fucked up.

"You'll take it back when I win."

Old habits might not die hard but the rational part of your brain registers the implication of his words, even beneath his playful facade. The studio suddenly feels cold. Nostalgia dissipates. You remember why you're here.

"Why didn't you just let them find me?"

"You know as well as I do that Namjoon risks getting disqualified if Jimin causes a scene and gets himself caught snooping around here."

You huff an exasperated breath. For all Yoongi's talk of having the upper hand he sure did seem reluctant to use it. "Isn't that what you want? What's stopping you? Want to drag it out or something?"

Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, crossing the room and ducking into a drawer in the far corner. He returns with two glasses and a murky bottle of something strong, already a quarter empty as he pours some out. He offers the second glass towards you but you wave it away.

"Suit yourself." He takes a swig of the dark liquid, squeezes his eyes shut. "Because I want to win fair and square."

You shake your head. "All of this. Just for a stupid trophy?"

He eyes you over the rim of his glass, swirling the liquid with an overconfidence that makes you grit your teeth in annoyance. "So Namjoon knows how it feels to lose something he loves." He looks you up and down then, coughing and turning his head when you notice it. "Yeah. I guess it's for the trophy."

Yoongi is despicable, you think. Is he really so fame hungry that he will destroy anyone standing in his way to get it? Even Namjoon? Sure, your brother has his faults but if there is one thing you know it's that he loves being on that stage. What happened between them that makes Yoongi think he deserves it more?

"So its a revenge thing, then. And what if you lose, huh?" The way your voice raises makes you wince. Yoongi slams his glass down and flashes you an are you serious face.

"Y/N don't you see? I have nothing to lose. Namjoon already took everything. My life, my family, my fame. Everything. You know how it feels to have it all dangled in front of your face? And then get it ripped away like it was never yours to begin with?"

Yes. You'd never tell him that, of course. But you did know. You had to watch Namjoon perform your songs every night through a camera lens. Snapping shots of him in his element and wishing those picture perfect moments were yours. What did Yoongi know?

"I see him on the big screen, on stages I dreamed of. Crowds screaming his name. It was supposed to be me, Y/N. Meanwhile I'm sat here," Yoongi gestures to the shabby studio you find yourself in, liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass. "In clothes I printed myself, making music in a shitty club for free because nobody will even listen to my shit."

He's panting by the end of his spiel, knuckles pressed to his eyes as he tries to regain his composure before he lets too many of his weaknesses show. Something resonates inside you, softening the anger towards him with what you recognize as sympathy.

"Then why do you still do it? Make music?"

"Because it's the only thing that never left me alone."

You sigh. While you're collecting your thoughts something catches your eye — a Polaroid picture, tacked onto the plasterboard behind his computer. It's of a smiling Yoongi and much to your surprise, a smiling Namjoon, arms wrapped around each other like nothing could ever break them apart. You briefly wonder why he kept it, if he hated Namjoon so much.

You turn to him again.

"Don't make me regret saying this but you're good, Yoongi. Like really good. Your performance earlier it was...amazing. I mean that."

Yoongi's stern eyes soften with surprise. He almost seems pained, like the simple compliment means more to him than you expected.

"So, you don't have to do this. Big Hit has connections, I could get in touch with a couple record labels--"

He stiffens again. "What? Are you my manager now? As if any record label would take a chance on the biggest Mic Drop loser in history, Y/N, don't talk shit."

You trail off. It's true and you know it.

He swallows hard. "You know what I think? I think you're here because you know that I might actually win this thing. As much as Namjoon knows how to play dirty he doesn't have the talent. He never did! That's why he's using you to write his material." His laugh makes you shiver. "How can he even call himself an artist? It's pathetic."

That's all it takes for your patience to snap. Is the way your blood boils with a sudden and insatiable rage because of the way he bad mouthed your brother? Surely you didn't actually believe him? No, everything he said was a lie -- it had to be.

Your hand curls into a fist, anger spilling over as you charge at him full force. Yoongi barley flinches, his fingers deftly curling around your wrist before it can meet his jaw and pulling you into him at the waist so he can slot his bottom lip between yours.

"Fuck yo— hmf?"

Your eyes widen as you register his slightly chapped lips moving against your own, remnants of the amber liquid he poured down his throat earlier sour on your tongue, a surprised gasp leaving you when Yoongi flips your bodies and slams your back roughly against the wall, settling himself between your legs.

"Gonna finish what Namjoon started, sweetheart?" When he pulls back you're panting, eyes trained to his parted lips with wonder.

He kissed you. Yoongi kissed you. For real.

His warm breath still mingles with yours as you try to choke a response, anything. Yoongi's eyes have a dark glint to them and god you should hate him for winding you up like this but being this close to him just feels too good.

Then, before you can think better of it, you grab his collar with your free hand and smash your lips together in a tangle of teeth and tongue that makes your entire body burn with relief.

The groan he lets out against your mouth tells you he wants this too. "Fuck, couldn't help myself." He pants. "You're driving me crazy."

You feel a dampness throb between your legs when his hands tangle in your hair, lips never leaving yours as he pulls you across the room and drops into his chair.

A whimper is pulled from your lips when his palms cup the flesh of your ass beneath your dress, though it's not in protest, dizzy with desire when he pulls you into his lap and bucks his hips so that his half hard cock brushes against your clothed heat.

"See what you do to me?" He pulls back to smirk at your swollen lips, a much needed breath entering your lungs, filling you with another bout of restless desire as Yoongi's eyes scan your face hungrily. It feels too good even though it should be so wrong.

"W-we shouldn't." Your mouth is dry, words coming out a little unsure which gives away just how much you want to keep going. "What if--"

A particularly harsh thrust of his hips makes you moan softly, head falling into the crook of Yoongi's neck. He growls when he catches sight of the growing wet patch on the front of his jeans, testament of his effect on you as much as you hated to admit it.

"What if Namjoon finds out?" His hand shoots between your legs, pads of his fingers tracing your clothed core, the coarse lace of your panties adding a delicious layer of friction against your folds. The delicate touch sets your body alight, skin burning to let go and submit to the feeling despite the voice in the back of your mind screaming no!

"What if Namjoon finds out that I make you this wet?" Your panties are sticking to your heat by now so it would have been futile to deny it. He smiles smugly when your legs shake and you throw an arm around his neck to keep your balance.

"S-shut up." It's meek and it only makes him laugh darkly, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer to nibble on the lobe of your ear.

If you didn't know any better you would think he was unaffected by this. Your chest heaves with desire and your hands itch with a yearning to touch him but Yoongi appears the epitome of composure, maintaining sinful eye contact as he pulls your panties to the side. The only give away is the way his cock twitches against your leg with each jerk of his hips, a funny sense of pride erupting in your chest knowing that he wants you too.

Open mouthed kisses drag down your jaw, lingering at your neck. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, tongue laving out to soothe the sting and it feels too good to worry about the bruises his sinful lips leave behind as a reminder of your weakness Namjoon could never know of.

"Look so pretty marked up, sweetheart." The pet name makes your clit throb, head throwing back as his mouth attacks the sensitive spot on your neck like he knew it was there all along. It's almost concerning how quickly he has you falling apart in his lap. How easily he turned you into a shuddering mess, barely able to form coherent sentences in between breathy gasps at the sensation of him making you his for all to see. "Show everyone that you're mine, hm?"

When Yoongi removes his hand from your core you slap a hand over your mouth to stop a whine of protest from escaping. Yoongi's eyes narrow, palming his bulge through his trousers as he watches you writhe in his lap with amusement, every twist of your hips falling short and providing no relief for your pulsing clit, already missing the feeling of his hand cupping your mound and considering how it would feel skin on skin—

Oh god. What am I doing?

You let out a groan, but not the good kind.

"What?" Yoongi seems to read your mind, snapping you back to reality when he pulls your panties to the side. He circles your entrance teasingly and you can't help the way you whimper. "Don't act like you don't want to sink down on my cock, Y/N. You could ride me right here and nobody would ever know."

"H-how can I trust you?" It would ruin Namjoon if he found out. He was already stressed, already growing distant from you. This had to stop before it went too far. Before there was no going back.

"Because I can make you feel like this." A lithe finger slides into your heat, easy because of how you drip over his hand. "Think about how much better my cock would stretch you out, hm?"

Each drag of his finger against your velvety walls has you squeezing your eyes shut. The sensation is overwhelming, and when he adds a second digit you feel your repose crumble. Lust seems to crash over you like a wave, clouding your thought with a hazy desire to just give in and let Yoongi take you, uncaring about the repercussions now as you push down to meet his thrusts so he hits deeper than before.

"Fine." Your words are slurred, too busy chasing the feeling between your legs to see the way it makes Yoongi's eyes light up. "J-just hurry up and fuck me Yoongi."

"Well well," Yoongi settles back against the wall, looking between your bodies to watch the way his fingers disappear into your soaking cunt with an expression almost primal, his own breathing ragged now as he tries to resist turning you over and fucking you into tomorrow then and there. "Never thought I'd actually get to hear my name on your lips like this. Say it again."

A sharp flick of his wrist has you falling against his chest, pulsing around him. "Yoongi!"

"That's right," He licks his lips, free hand unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure on his length. "Me. Yoongi." The way he mimicks your breathless tone makes a hot blush rise in your cheeks, aware of just how fucked out you must seem right now but too horny to care. "Been waiting for this. Ah shit!"

You take it upon yourself to hurry along the process by reaching into the waistband of his boxers to wrap a hand around the shaft of his cock. It pulses at your touch, the pace of Yoongi's fingers in your cunt stuttering as he flies forward, knuckles on the hand gripping your thigh turning white as he tries to regain some control while you stroke him firmly.

"Fuck your hands. Sinful. Knew they would be. God you're going to kill me if you keep this up, I swear." The worlds tumble from his mouth in one heaving breath as you twist your palm around his sticky head, enjoying the way his thighs twitch with a want to buck into your fist and his nose flares with the effort it takes to resist.

His cock feels girthy in your palm, hot and heavy as you help him shimmy his jeans around his thighs. When his cock slaps back against his stomach, impossibly hard and leaking with anticipation you feel your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" He almost taunts.

You bite your lip. "I don't think you're gonna fit."

It must have brushed his ego because the tip seemed to flush an even deeper shade of red. "Wanna sit on it and find out?"

A nod is all it takes for Yoongi to slide your panties to the side, slapping your hands away to grip the base of his cock and line it up with your entrance.

You both groan in unison when he pushes into your heat, the stretch burning with every inch, fingers clutching the fabric of his tank top at the sensation of finally being full.

"Fuuuck." You see his tongue snake out to wet his bottom lip when his hips finally join flush to yours, hair sticking to his already damp forehead as he allowed you to adjust. "So fucking tight for me, princess."

His cock throbs impossibly deep inside you when you unconsciously clench around it, feeling your face flush as you whimper for him to get on with it and fuck you already.

"Shh, patience." His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, setting it free with a pop. "Move."

At his command you do, bracing yourself on his shoulders. You raise up, feeling every ridge of his length until just the tip remains inside your heat. Then you are slamming back down and flushing at the groan which tumbles from his chest.

"Such a slut, taking my cock so well." His palms feel hot on your hips, dragging you up and down through the motion that has you panting.

Yoongi looks utterly amazed at the visual of you sinking down onto his length, unable to stop the satisfied grin settling into his features when you cry out after a particularly deep thrust. "Imagine if Namjoon could see you now. Falling apart on my cock?"

"Can we — hnng — not talk about my brother when you're in my fucking guts?"

"Why?" A whine leaves you when he slips out of your cunt, grabs you by the ass, and hoists you to your feet, roughly bending you over the desk until your cheek presses against the cold surface. Yoongi tugs your hands behind your back, cock already sinking back into your heat before you can protest at the emptiness. "Worried he'll think you're a slut for taking my cock when I'm the one whose going to fucking end him?"

"Yes!" You cry, unable to hold back now as you feel his cock hit deeper than before with every ram inside you that fills the room with the slapping sound of his pistoning hips, brushing your sweet spot each time and making the coil in your stomach tighten.

God, this is so wrong and you know it. You know it shouldn't feel so good when Yoongi's hands tangle in your hair, pulling you so that your back arches flush against his sweaty chest. Know how many people would be hurt if they knew how much you love it, how you push back into his thrusts, eager for more.

"Shit, you're squeezing so tight." His voice sounds strained now, thrusts turning sloppy as you feel him shudder. "Close, shit. Where can I—"

"Inside me. Want you to f-fill me."

"Holy sh— always wanted to hear you say that. Okay, fuck."

A few more pumps of his cock and he's spilling inside you, the feeling of his release coating your walls enough to have you falling over the edge unexpectedly too, vision turning black as you cum with a cry.

The only sound that fills the silence is your heavy breaths mingling with his as your arms give out. You're silently grateful, as much as you hated to admit it, for the strong arm around your torso that holds you to him when your legs turn to jelly.

Yoongi slips out of you, admiring the way his cum leaks down your trembling thighs. The emptiness makes you keen, clenching around nothing.

"Made such a mess of you, kitten."

The sound of his zipper makes your heart sink, stiffening as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants. For a second you think he's going to leave you like this, shame caressing your cheeks as you envision how fucked out you must look.

But then, Yoongi's palms are back on your thighs as he kicks the chair from under his desk and pushes you roughly onto the cushion. "Think you can go again for me, princess?"

"Wha--?" His swollen lips make you loose your words, the way his tongue tantalizingly caresses your bottom lip drawing a choked whine from your throat instead.

"Fuck, always thought you'd make such pretty noises." It's mumbled gruffly under his breath, like he's confirming it with himself rather than addressing you. He pulls back to stare at you spread out for him, lidded eyes widening at the visual of your skirt pooled around your waist, legs kept open by the rough grip around your thigh that exposes your swollen slit. The way your arousal drips down your inner thighs along with his own release has him swallowing thickly. "Like being filled with my cum, huh? Such a slut."

Yoongi traces his fingers up your inner thighs, thumb applying a gentle pressure to your clit, legs struggling to fall shut around his hand to escape the over stimulation. "P-please Yoongi, I can't."

"You will." It's growled against your neck, hot breath making you shudder. "I know you can take it."

A knee slips between your thighs, holding them open so his fingers can deftly continue their brutal attack on your sensitive folds. Each drag of his knuckle up your slit makes you whimper, the way the pads of his fingers rub firm circles into your clit making it pulse. The feeling is more intense than before, borderline agonizing as a warmth builds in the pit of your stomach again.

Eventually the pain starts to dissipate, turns into something closer to pleasure when you feel a single digit slip into your heat, the slide made easy by the fact that his cock had already stretched you out and his release lubed you up nicely. Each pump makes a lewd squelching noise that has you biting your lip to stop from groaning unabashedly, Yoongi's gaze fixed to the sight of his knuckles disappearing inside you.

When you buck up into his touch again, desperately circling your hips to try and grind your clit against the heel of his hand, Yoongi lets out a dark chuckle. The muscles in your cunt tighten, skin damp with sweat as you fuck yourself on his hand in search of a second high that burns ever closer.

"Look at you, all needy again from just one finger. All fucked out again even after I stretched you out."

With that Yoongi removes his hand from your heat all together, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing as your release falls farther away, unable to resist the groan of frustration that passes your lips.

"Don't stop!" Your head lolls back against the chair, thighs trembling with desperation to feel his touch again. "I was so close--"

"Suck." Yoongi raises his fingers to your lips. You notice the way they gleam, sticky and white in the studio lighting. The pads of his fingers smear the wetness across your swollen lips as he pushes for entry which you gave to him eagerly, humming around the digits. "Be a good girl, hm?"

He all but groans when your eyes flutter open and lock with his, tongue swirling around his fingers teasingly, enjoying the taste of your own arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cum, almost in sensory overload at the thought of how much better his cock would feel in your throat.

"That's it." A knuckle drags down your cheek possessively, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good girl."

A sticky trail of spit follows Yoongi's fingers when they leave your mouth with a lewd pop, your breaths coming out shaky and desperate as you watch his eyes zone in on your aching core.

The sight of him dropping to his knees is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation, whimpering when his hot breath grazes over your throbbing clit. "Wanna taste you for myself."

And with that his tongue runs a rough stripe up your slit, eyes falling shut as he hums against your folds contentedly.

"Fuck Yoongi!" Your eyes roll back as he laps a few teasing licks across your bud, body turning to putty when his hands roughly pull you down the chair so that he can attach his mouth to your mound fully.

A guttural moan rises from his chest when you grind your core against his face, knuckles turning white as you clutch he chair like it's the only thing keeping you grounded, stopping you from floating away and losing yourself to the feeling of Yoongi's tongue teasing your already wrecked hole. An impatience rises in your stomach every time his nose grazes your clit, pushing your hips more forcefully to chase the relief it brings.

"So eager." You knew he'd have a smirk on his face if his lips weren't already occupied, wrapping around your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have your fingers tangling in the blue locks that spill loose from his bandanna now, holding him to your core so that you can rock against his tongue easier.

"Close sweetheart?" The way your chest heaves and little gasps spill past your lips as you chase your high must give away the effect he is having on you. You nod breathlessly and to your surprise Yoongi places a chaste kiss to your folds before pulling back all together, leaving you writhing and desperate for him to make cum for the second time. "Did I give you permission?"

Your heart beats furiously as your release slips away once again. Yoongi only stares at you intently. His lips glisten with a mixture of both of your releases and the thought alone makes your core ache. A loose shake of your head makes his eyes darken, licking some of the dampness from around his lips. "Gotta use your words, baby. Did I say you could cum?"

Dizzy with arousal, your words sound slurred and alien to your own ears. "N-no."

"Good. Now ask nicely."

"Please." It comes out whinier than you anticipate but Yoongi's hands twitch against the flesh of your thighs, giving away the fact that he likes it despite the way his mouth presses into a tight and unforgiving line. "Can I cum? Please?"

A deep laugh leaves his bitten lips. "I don't think you deserve it." His head dips back down between your legs, sloppy kisses pressed to each of your thighs as he edges ever closer to your dripping core. "I want you to count, okay?"

"O-oh, okay." He attacks your clit again, tongue swirling where his teeth graze across the pulsing bud. You're so sensitive that you're sure just the light brushes of his lips will send you over the edge if he keeps going.

"G-gonna cum if you--"

"Don't." The authority in his voice makes you gasp. "Didn't I say to count? One."

"Fuck!" Hot tears streak your cheeks when he pulls back so just his hot breath ghosts across your glistening folds. "I..I was so close!"

"Hey, hey." His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, a strangely gentle action in comparison to the bruising grip on your thigh. "You're doing so good. Trust me, okay? Wanna make you feel good."

For the second time that night you nod, putting all your trust into him for reasons you are too fucked out to dwell on there and then.

When his tongue snakes out to tease your clenching hole again it draws an agonizing cry from you, the coil already tightening in your belly. You shut your eyes.

"Don't" The hand on your chin tightens, forces you to look down at where his face is buried between your legs, authority lacing his words again. "Keep your eyes on me."

As soon as you lock eyes he gets to work again, humming out a "good girl" before you're losing yourself again to his tongue and he has to plant your feet down roughly to stop your hips from bucking too much.

Before you know it your clit's throbbing again and you're about to fall over the edge but before you can even let Yoongi know he's pulling back with a pant, practically gasping for air but still flashing you a shit eating grin. "Didn't think I was going to let you, did you sweetheart?"

"Two." You manage to breathe. "Two!"

By now you're sick of the teasing, a hand coming between your own legs to finish yourself off, ready to come undone whether Yoongi likes it or not. Before you can get your way, Yoongi's swatting your hand away. "Desperate slut. Wanna cum that bad huh?"

"Please!" You practically whimper.

That seems to do it for him, his eyes glazing over with what you recognise as lust. As if the last of his self control just snapped. Anticipation makes your blood run hot.

"Then make it to three and we'll see if I'm feeling nice."

"Shit!" Yoongi's tongue plunges into your heat with a new found eagerness, thrusting in and out like a man deprived. You manage to maintain eye contact this time, falling apart at the way he groans in appreciation when he tastes himself, fucking your hole with his tongue mercilessly like he wants to get every last drop of his cum.

His thumb finds your clit and the coil in your lower belly tightens too rapidly for you to comprehend, tugging on his hair as you cry out. "Yoongi!"

"Cum for me."

His permission is all it takes to have you falling over the edge into a shattering orgasm that makes your vision turn black, mind wiped of any hesitation and guilt and replaced with a single word, over and over again: Yoongi.

When you finally take a gasping breath, he's there, rubbing encouraging circles into your hips and leaving kisses across your stomach that makes something in your chest warm, heart beating a little faster and not just from your orgasm.

"So fuckin' pretty when you cum." You're sure that's what he murmurs against your damp skin. "Can't believe I had to wait this long."

You furrow your brow. Yoongi sits back against his heels, wiping your arousal from his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you a lazy but satisfied smile, looking awfully pleased with himself. Like this was his biggest dream come true.

It dawned on you that it probably was in someways -- what better way to get back at an old friend than by fucking his sister?

You suddenly feel like an idiot for letting him charm you, guilt washing through you, flying forward when your chest aches with regret.

Yoongi notices how you pale. "Are you okay? If that was too much then I'm really sorry--"

"Too much?" You suddenly feel exposed beneath his gaze, shuffling around to pull your skirt around your thighs, eyes roaming the room hurriedly for your panties so you can get out of here and quick. "This is all too much, Yoongi."

"What?" He puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you brush past him but the way you jolt at the touch makes him rip it away like he touched a live wire.

"I...shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake."

Namjoon's face was embedded in your mind. The way his eyes would crumple with betrayal if he found out you came here at all -- let alone let Yoongi take you so intimately. And you hadn't even tried to stop yourself from falling into him, gave in to your emotions too easily and allowed Yoongi to use you as a swipe at your own brother.

"Why? Didn't seem so upset when you were coming on my tongue." The scoff in Yoongi's voice makes you freeze.

"I can't stop you from hurting Namjoon," Your lip quivers and you have to press your nails into your palms to stop the tears spilling over. "But do you really have to hurt me, too?"

"Y/N, wait--"

Your hands shake as you grab your bag and head for the door. "Shit happened between you and my brother, I get it. But we were friends once, Yoongi. Doesn't that mean anything to you? We can't see each other again."

Your tears are warm in contrast to the cold evening air as you take off into a run, needing to get as far away from Yoongi and the evidence of your own betrayal as possible.

By the time you stumble back into the Big Hit company building, the studio is empty. To your surprise, words seem to flow out of you easier than they ever had before, a heart shaped stain appearing on the formerly empty page of your notebook.

Sleepless nights were becoming your norm. You had barely slept a wink since that night, not when every thought was plagued with guilt, the same name running circles around your mind, the same dark eyes and swollen lips and messy hair tauntingly appearing in your mind whenever your head hit the pillow.

Yoongi.

That night with Yoongi felt something like a dream, a hazy memory, the only evidence of it being real the fact that every time you closed your eyes you could feel the way Yoongi's hands burned your skin, how his lips moved perfectly in sync with your own.

As much as you knew it was a mistake, something that should have never happened, you couldn't help the way your heart throbbed every time you replayed it over and over in your mind, repeatedly, until you felt like you were going insane with guilt. It was eating you alive. But sometimes you would remember the way you felt when he was pressed up against you and every ounce of regret felt worth it.

You hated yourself for it, and you knew your brother would hate you to, if he ever found out.

He could never find out.

So, you take to avoiding Namjoon altogether. It wasn't that hard really, you knew his schedule well enough to be a step ahead of him at all times, and it wasn't as if he was enthusiastic about your company to begin with.

Of course sometimes your paths have to cross, but you still can't look Namjoon in the eyes when you slip into one of the Big Hit practice rooms where you know you'll inevitably find him.

The music hits before you even open the door. Namjoon is dressed in casual clothes, cap pulled down low over his face as he raps into a mic, the way his voice husks a tell tale sign that this was not the first time he'd gone over the same verse.

He seems stiffer than usual, all elbows and knees as he scrutinises his own form in the wall to floor mirror. You've seen him perform this choreography flawlessly hundreds of times so your brow furrows with confusion each time his feet miss a beat or his knees literally buckle under the pressure.

On the far side of the room sits a row of men and women in formal suits. Investors, brought in to bet on the contestant most likely to win. They watch Namjoon with intent eyes, some shaking their heads in disapproval, others whispering insults below their breaths.

Is that really Runch Randa? Pfft, he'll never win with footwork like that.

Jimin stands close by, hopping from one foot to the other and wincing with every mistake Namjoon makes. He's been making desperate phone calls for the last week, pleading with any investor he could get ahold of to take a chance on Namjoon which was hard to come by after the royal media fuck up the other day at the after party.

This was Namjoon's only chance at a do over — he needed their money if he wanted to win this thing. The judges were expecting a show from him. Smoke machines and good lighting are expensive, after all.

Namjoon, however, only seems interested in the reactions of your parents sat in the back row, expressions grave. He's chastising himself, self loathing evident in his eyes every time he stutters over a lyric. He knows how hard they worked to establish Big Hit and the disappointment in their eyes as it slowly slips through Namjoon's fingers like sand makes even you feel jittery with nerves.

For a brief moment you're grateful that you are practically invisible in this room, no eyes even glancing your way as you join them. You're glad that Namjoon takes the brunt of the pressure. You never were the strong sibling after all.

The music cuts, Namjoon coming to a stand still. He crumples at the knees, forehead pressed against the polished linoleum floor as he tries to catch his breath.

Jimin slumps into a chair, head in hands. That tells you all you need to know.

Investors leave the room, some sending apologetic looks towards Jimin with a shrug. Others deposit their cheque books back into their briefcases, taking pity on the pleading smiles and firm handshakes from your parents when they apologise for Namjoon's lacking performance. One even pats Namjoon on the back, following the small crowd as they leave the room. "Take a break, buddy."

Nearly everyone has filtered out before Namjoon gets to his feet shakily, slumping down into a seat beside you. You don't acknowledge him, afraid of what you might let slip if you do, fiddling with your camera as a distraction.

It's him who breaks the silence.

"How's the song coming along?" He seems disinterested, clicking his knuckles with no real intention of listening to your response.

"Fine." Another lie. It wasn't coming along at all, really, but now is probably not the best time to tell him when his nerves are already heightened by his failure to gain any crucial investments.

His eye is still slightly swollen from the fist fight a few days ago, a permanent line forming at the bridge of his nose that wasn't there before. You almost didn't recognise him. He stares at his own broken reflection in the steamed practice room mirrors vacantly, like he doesn't even recognise himself.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass. Namjoon's heavy breathing slows to a regular pace.

"I know you went to see him."

It echos menacingly through the room and you stiffen, clutching the floor beneath you for support. Namjoon's hard eyes still don't look your way but you see him analysing your reaction in the mirror. The way your mouth gapes speechlessly tells him everything he needs to know.

"Not even gonna try and deny it?" His head shakes in disbelief.

You throb with guilt. "H-how did you find out?"

"I have people everywhere keeping an eye on him, Y/N. You're lucky the paparazzi didn't catch you, because it sure as shit looked shady. My own sister," He scoffs around the word, as if it tastes bad in his mouth. "Siding with him?"

You place a hand on his forearm, surprised to find him shaking beneath your touch. "I'm not siding with him, Namjoon."

"Then what are you doing?" He roars, ripping his arm away.

What was I doing? You don't even know yourself.

It takes everything inside you to keep the expression on your face neutral, to wipe away the regret and the sadness and the fear that makes your voice wobble.

"We just talked." You had to avert your gaze, scared that somehow your disingenuous eyes would give away what really happened with Yoongi — a little more than talking to say the least.

"About what?"

"The secret, okay? I wanted to protect you—"

"Protect me?" Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is meddling in business that doesn't even concern you protecting me, Y/N?"

"Have you forgotten that what you're — we're — doing is against Mic Drop rules? That you could be disqualified or...worse! Get your trophy revoked?"

"Pfft. Yoongi won't say anything.."

"What makes you so sure?"

"It's me he wants to hurt. I know him, Y/N. He'd never forgive himself if you—" He eyes you carefully. "If anyone else got dragged into this. It's between me and him, that's it."

Your head is spinning. You remember a time when things weren't this way, back when Yoongi and Namjoon were friends. Partners. What happened between them that made them so hell bent on destroying one another?

"There are things about Yoongi that you will never understand, Y/N. Things he did that can never be forgiven."

It briefly crosses your mind that if Namjoon could cut Yoongi, his best friend, out of his life, just how easy it would be for him to do the same to you if he found out just how unforgivable your betrayal was. A funny feeling pools in your stomach, a distance settling between you and Namjoon as, to your dismay, you realise just how much you have in common with your brother's enemy.

"But what about you, huh? Why should he forgive you? You took everything from him! I'm not surprised he's back to kick your ass. If you ask me it's him who should be holding a grudge—"

Namjoon's hands clamp onto your shoulders and you recoil from the contact. You're breathing hard, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over any second.

"Listen to me. He's trying to get in your head. You need to stay away from him Y/N. He's bad news."

"Tell me why! Help me understand!"

Namjoon's face is grave. "Some secrets are best kept that way. It'll only make it worse if I tell you."

Before you can protest he's striding across the room and hitting the play button on the boom box in the corner, music blasting from the speakers again.

"Joon—"

"Just stick to taking pictures and stop getting involved in business that doesn't concern you."

Then his body is twisting across the room in time to the music with an intensity he didn't possess before. Like a machine on autopilot.

You shove your camera into your bag and let the door slam shut behind you.

"We were a mistake."

The cursor flashing on the empty document on your computer screen feels like it's taunting you.

"Please don't tell my brother what we did."

You've been like this for the last week. Holed up in one of the tiny studios at the Big Hit company building, head swimming with beats and melodies and lyrics that just won't seem to fit together. Not when your mind is preoccupied with a more pressing issue.

"Are you thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about you?"

Yoongi.

God, how are you supposed to write this song for Namjoon when all you can think about is his enemy?

You don't know why you're still so hung up on Yoongi. It's not as if what happened between you meant anything. It was just a spur of the moment mistake. You were both tense and needed someone to help blow off some steam. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

You'll never admit that deep down, a part of you wants to see him again. To check that he's real and that you didn't imagine the whole thing. To see if he is going as crazy as you feel.

That's when the answer hits you. The only way to make this right is to end things once and for all. Tie up all your loose ends and tell Yoongi that you and him were a one time thing. Make sure you were on the same page.

Then maybe you'll be able to concentrate on helping Namjoon beat his ass.

A sudden confidence grips you, standing up abruptly from your desk, alerting the attention of Hoseok who up until now has been quietly engrossed in the track he's producing.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

There's an address burning at the forefront of your mind. You have the route committed to memory. How long it'll take to get there. How long it'll take to get back before anyone else at Big Hit notices your absence.

The only place you knew where you might find Yoongi.

"I won't be gone long. Cover for me if anyone sees I'm gone, 'kay?"

Hoseok eyes you curiously and pulls his headphones to sit around his neck. "O-okay but don't you think you should take an umbrella? It's raining and you might catch a cold — oh."

You don't hear him, the door already slamming behind you.

In hindsight, Hoseok was probably right. You're soaked before you even get half way to Yoongi's studio.

Not that you care. Not when there are so many things you want to say to Yoongi. So many questions only he knows the answer to.

Not when you're about to see him again and you're giddy and nervous and scared of the way your heart feels like it's about to bust out of your chest.

You don't really know why you're doing this. For Namjoon's sake? To ease your own guilty conscience? Both?

You shake your head before your confidence can deflate and focus on putting two feet in front of the other instead, trying to take your mind of your destination by focusing on your surroundings. You always liked this part of town, with it's bustling roads and street vendors and buskers. Here it's easy to forget, to just close your eyes and let the buzz of cars and the melody from a nearby street guitarist and the torrent of ice cold rain whisk you away, like life is operating at double the speed but you're too caught up in your own thoughts to care.

So caught up in your own thoughts that you don't spot the guy handing out flyers on the side of the street until your face is colliding with his shoulder.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!"

The guy lets out a groan as you helplessly watch his flyers flutter to the ground like autumn leaves, disintegrating on the rain dampened street.

"Does nobody look where they're going any more? My boss is going to kill me..."

The guy gets to his knees and starts grabbing as many flyers as he can by the handful.

"I'm so sorry, at least let me help?"

You hear him sigh deeply but he doesn't stop you when you drop down beside him.

You stamp on a flyer before it can be whisked away by the breeze. It's ruined. The rain makes the ink bleed into a black blotch in the center of the sodden paper, but if you squint you can just make out the barely legible print.

Live Classical Piano - 7:30 - 9:30 Every Wednesday At The Coffee House!

A throat clears, shaking you back to reality, and a nimble hand thrusts towards you, palm up, waiting for you to deposit the pile of flyers you collected.

"Just gonna stand there all day, sweetheart? Some of us have a job to do."

Shame heats your cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, I'll pay for these —"

Its then, as you let your hood fall down, that the boy stiffens. You look up slowly, meeting a widened pair of piercing grey eyes for the first time. The very same eyes you haven't been able to get out of your head all week.

"Wait...Yoongi?"

It's him. He's here? A coincidence surely but it sure as shit doesn't feel like one.

Just seeing him knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Yoongi blinks a few times, eyes wide with disbelief. Then he's ripping the flyers from your slackened grip and grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you behind him to the side of the street where you're just out of view from passerby's.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He deadpans.

You take in the way his mint hair clings damply to his forehead, shirt darker in places where droplets of rain soak into the fabric. He's wearing one of those traditional pianist outfits with the funny tuxedo jacket and a little black bow tie strung around his neck that looks like it came from a bad Beethoven Halloween costume. It catches you off guard. No wonder you didn't recognise him before. Not exactly hip hop.

"What are you doing here?"

Yoongi glances over his shoulder warily. "Look, you can't tell anyone you saw me here okay? Did Namjoon send you?"

"What? No--?"

"Just leave, Y/N. Before someone sees you here and tells your precious brother that you've been hanging around with scum like me." He spits, drops your arm and starts in the direction he came from.

"Yoongi, wait!" You blurt, throwing your hands up in frustration. He freezes."Can we...can we just talk?"

Yoongi nearly does a double take. He's usually full of jibes but this catches him off guard. "Talk?"

He backtracks, though you notice the way he keeps a safe distance between you. It feels silly considering how much...closer you were just a few days ago. You wonder, as his eyes look you up and down, if he's thinking about it too. If you crossed his mind as much as he crossed yours.

"Listen, I don't have time for this, I need to go get some more of these flyers..."

Your heart drops, embarrassed for even entertaining the idea that he would want to see you again.

"Please?"

He hesitates. You're sure he's going to blow you off again but then his eyes fill with something scarily close to concern. "Shit, you're shivering."

Your hair hangs in heavy tendrils around your face, droplets of cold rain caressing your cheeks. Your knees knock, arms wrapped around the damp hoodie clinging to your torso to retain some warmth.

Yoongi shrugs off his jacket, despite the way his own teeth chatter. "You're going to catch your death dressed like that."

You stand there dumbly as he holds it out to you. He kicks a stone with the toe of his sneaker awkwardly when you finally wrap it around your shoulders.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again." It's almost accusing but you're sure you hear a trace of a pout in his voice.

"I...I didn't want to." Yoongi looks up. "But I think we should talk about you know...us."

Yoongi bites his lip, like he's having an inner debate. Like he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't.

"Fine. Let's talk. I, uh, guess I have some things I need to say to you too." He scratches the back of his neck. "But not here. Could I—would it be weird if we got coffee or something?"

Definitely weird. That's what you should say. But you don't.

"Okay."

You don't miss the way Yoongi's cheeks turn a little red.

The coffee shop Yoongi takes you to is a quaint little place, definitely not the sort of establishment you expected rough-around-the-edges Min Yoongi to frequent with its exposed brick walls and mint green espresso mugs with smiley faces on the side that give it a somewhat cosy appeal.

"I work here," He explains when he sees your eyes roaming. "Needed some extra cash."

You nod. Makes sense. The smell of pumpkin bread and coffee beans is still a welcome relief from the bitter chill outside.

The guy at the counter nods in greeting when Yoongi approaches, already grinding up coffee like he knows his regular order. Yoongi flashes him a tight smile. You figure they know each other, not that Yoongi seems the type to mingle within barista social circles but then again he is full of surprises today.

They share a few hushed whispers, staring not so subtly in the direction of where you sit hunched in one of the corner booths, but you just ignore it by watching a rain drop crawl down the window with rapt attention.

Words barely pass between you and Yoongi until you're both seated, him with a coffee you learn he takes black and you with a much too sugary frappe which you take to stirring with your straw nervously, chin in palm.

It's Yoongi who finally breaks the silence.

"What are you thinking?" He looks at you expectantly over the rim of his mug. For some reason it makes you nervous.

Guilt niggles at your repose. The cafe is alive with indistinguishable chatter, a coffee machine whirring loudly nearby. In reality, you merely blend in to the hubbub. But as you watch Yoongi fiddle with the rings on his fingers in anticipation of your response it's like a hush has fallen and all eyes are on you. Judging, like they know how wrong it is for you to be here.

He's been the only thing on your mind all week but now you're here in front of him it's like your mind is blank.

"Did you tell anyone?"

Yoongi blinks. "Namjoon's secret? I said I wasn't going to say anything—"

"No. Our secret. Us..." It feels foreign, referring to Yoongi and yourself as a unit. You hate to admit it makes your heart beat a little faster. "Namjoon knows."

Yoongi's coffee cup clatters to the table and words rise like bile in your throat, everything you've been bottling up inside tumbling out before you can stop it.

"Namjoon knows! He found out about us somehow and now everything has gone to shit and...I shouldn't even be telling you this! God I'm an idiot! I just don't know what to do—"

Your wailing is interrupted suddenly by a warm hand covering your own. Yoongi's hand. The touch is gentle, comforting, something about the squeeze of reassurance it provides calming your hyperventilating. It feels right.

Why does it feel right?

Yoongi must misinterpret the puzzled look you flash him as a warning he's crossing a boundary because he retracts his arm jerkily, a flush creeping up his neck.

He glosses over the weird moment hastily.

"Slow down, go back. He knows?" There's a lilt of surprise to his voice. Either he's a really good actor or he is just as panicked as you by this news. "And you think I told him?"

"Well, not exactly. He knows some of it — not everything! — he thinks that I just spoke to you after the show...I assumed you would have filled in the blanks by now."

Yoongi laughs breathily. Relieved. It flummoxes you. Shouldn't he be satisfied that his plan to get under Namjoon's skin was a success?

"Y/N, there were hundreds of people at the gig, anyone could have seen us. Jimin and Hoseok probably told him. You act like I tried to seduce you just to get revenge, or something." He gulps back the last of his coffee and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his expression suddenly turns serious. "You don't think that right?"

"Isn't that exactly what you did?"

Say no.

Yoongi opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn't deny it.

Something in your chest twists with disappointment. It scares you shitless and you know you have to end this — whatever this is — before there's no turning back.

"Look, it — we — were a stupid mistake okay? I need to know that you're not going to use this against him. It would kill him."

"Mistake?" Yoongi's face drops. "Didn't I say you could trust me?"

It sounds somewhat pained, like he wasn't expecting you to think so lowly of him. His eyes soften with a certain gentleness now and you almost feel bad for thinking they could ever look at you with sinister intentions.

"Do you regret it? What we did?"

You hesitate. You want to say no so badly. But that's not why you came here.

Pull yourself together!

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow. "You really believe that?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No." His eyes glint. You can't breathe. "Which is exactly why I'll never say a word. I don't play that way. Fair and square remember?"

You're speechless. All you can get out is a measly oh as you stare at the coffee in your cup and process.

"What did Namjoon say anyway?"

Your fingers find the patterns carved into the surface of the wooden table top, feeling the grooves as a distraction from the embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He told me not to come back and find you."

A wry smile creeps across his face. "But you did?"

Even Yoongi is accusing you now? God, you played right into his hands. He's probably enjoying this. That you broke Namjoon's trust again, all for him.

The worst part is that you can hardly bring yourself to care. Sitting with Yoongi still feels deliciously indulgent — seeing his face again, feeling the heat of his body where your knees brush under the table finally satisfying a craving that had been growing inside you since that night in his studio.

"He doesn't control me."

He just nods. "I get that." His fingers tap in time with the sickeningly happy radio tune that plays overhead, eager to change the subject, like he's aware that he already said too much. "How is Namjoon anyway? You written him a song yet?"

Not allowed. If any information gets leaked about Namjoon's Mic Drop stage the first person he'd blame was you. You had to keep your lips tightly sealed.

You shrink back into your seat. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Okay, then." Yoongi throws his arms over the back of his chair, a cheekiness in his voice, like he's testing the waters to see how you'll react. "Ask me something instead. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Shoot."

That's allowed, right? Where's the harm. If it doesn't involve Namjoon then it can't hurt him...

"Okay..." You purse your lips, eyes travelling around the dimly lit coffee shop. "Why do you work...here?"

Yoongi nods to the stack of damp flyers beside him. Live classical piano. "I play piano here sometimes." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. It's kinda cute. "Needed some spare cash and this was the only place that could take me at such short notice."

"You play piano?"

He nods and you follow his gaze to the grand piano stood unoccupied in the corner. You imagine how Yoongi would look bent over the keys. How his fingers would move across the instrument with concentrated precision. How the tune would mingle with the warmth of the coffee shop on a cold evening.

"I didn't know you like classical music?"

"I don't. Not really." He cocks his head, finding the right words. "Namjoon has investors right? People who just throw money at him?" You nod, somehow ashamed. "Teaching me to play piano was my mom's investment in me. She always said it might come in handy some day."

You nod. "And do you have to wear that stupid costume every time?"

"This?" A snort leaves you when he shoots you a look, a shy smile finding the curve of his lips. "Don't mean to brag but it's a huge hit with the older ladies."

You can't help but laugh when he smugly tugs at the bow tie around his neck, unable to miss how his eyes light up. You share a smile that makes you feel light headed.

"I'd have to see it to believe it."

"Well, you know where to find me if you're ever bored and need a good laugh on a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday evening." He shifts in his seat. "Or you could just come back to my place, y'know if you wanted to —" You frown, the easiness that had settled between you dissipating as you both sense the inappropriateness of his suggestion. "I know I shouldn't ask, it's just I have a piano and—"

For some reason the rational part of your brain taps out and your heart says fuck it.

"I'd love to."

"So, where do you live?" You ask when you finish your drink and nervously copy Yoongi who is already getting to his feet.

"Oh about that...I live in the apartment upstairs actually." He chuckles sheepishly."Cheap rent, you know?"

It takes you by surprise but you don't press.

"Oh. Right."

Yoongi extends a hand towards you. The thud in your chest gets faster when you slide your palm into his and he pulls you behind him to the foot the stairway you had disregarded upon entry, the distressed baby blue door at the top labelled RESIDENTS ONLY seeming strangely inviting.

Yoongi gestures for you to go first and you've barely ascended three steps before a voice rings out behind you, making you freeze like a child caught in a mischievous act.

"Use protection you two! And close the door so that Odengie's innocence isn't compromised this time!"

The barista from before rounds the corner, a tray of empty mugs in his left hand and a cloth for wiping down tables in the other.

You suppress a laugh. "Odengie?"

"His goddamn sugar glider—" He says it more to himself rather than in response to your query, flashing the tousled haired boy an exasperated look. "Really, bro?"

The other man either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "What? He's too young to learn how baby sugar gliders are made." His eyes suddenly flit to you and, as if remembering his manners, he deposits the cloth onto a nearby table and reaches a damp hand through the staircase to shake yours with a friendly smile. "I'm Jin, by the way."

You take it cautiously, wiping your now wet hand on the back of your jeans. "Nice to meet you?"

"Come on," Yoongi is flushed red as he pushes you up the rest of the stairs with a pressure at the small of your back. "We'll be back down in a minute, chill okay?"

Yoongi shoulders his way into the apartment, pulling you across the threshold alongside him, but not before you catch a glimpse of Jin's teasing grin poking around the staircase, words reaching your ears before Yoongi could slam the door shut in time.

"Oh, so it's a quickie? Have fun!"

A laugh escapes your lips, Yoongi pressing his back to the door with a sigh of relief. "Sorry about him. He's my roommate. Kind of came with the apartment, you know?"

You glance around at the small maisonette that unfolds before you curiously. It feels more like a dorm room, a mismatch pile of shoes piled at the entry way, a pair of beanbags substituting a couch surrounding a small gaming set up littered with empty pizza boxes you presume belong to Seokjin.

"Ah. He's part of the furniture then."

The other corner of the room is littered with an assortment of vinyls strewn out beside a pair of speakers and a record player, the needle still hovering over the grooves of an album by an artist you don't recognise. Yoongi's touch to the decor, you suppose.

"Guess you could say that. He's not so bad once you get over the uh...small rodents."

You trail behind Yoongi into what you assume is his bedroom, if the frameless mattress which lay on the floor in the corner beneath the window with sheets unmade and strewn across the floor messily was anything to go by.

He flicks on the set of fairy lights tacked to the wall, a surprisingly homely touch that makes you think Yoongi isn't as cold as you believe him to be.

Yoongi approaches a clothes rack stuffed with a variety of stage outfits. "Here." He pulls an oversized hoodie from one of the hangers, throwing it at you from across the room. "You're clothes are still wet. Wouldn't want to catch a cold. You can wear this until they dry."

"O-Okay." You stand there dumbly. He isn't expecting you to strip right in front of him, is he?

He seems to sense your hesitance, turning around so his back is to you with wide eyes. He plays it off by grabbing a selection of clothing for himself, shuffling past you with eyes trained to the ground. "I'll use the bathroom. Tell me when you're done."

You are soaked through to your underwear but you leave them on since Yoongi probably didn't have a spare pair of panties laying around you could borrow. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm when it slips over your otherwise bare skin and you breath in the woody scent that seems to embrace your entire body, ignoring the way it makes your head dizzy, and roll up the large sleeves to free your hands before calling to him that you are done.

When he re-enters the room, pulling a grey beanie over his head haphazardly to match the much more Yoongi appropriate outfit of a simple white tee and sweats, his breath hitches at your bare legs peeking out from the bottom of the garment. His lingering stare makes you hug your torso self consciously, eyes never leaving you even as he grabs the pile of sodden clothing you discarded earlier and lays them neatly over the radiator to dry.

You practically hear the way he swallows awkwardly when his eyes lock with yours, caught in the act. He's quick to lighten the mood.

"Well...here she is."

You turn as he moves across the room to the piano occupying the opposite wall, wood stained dark but bleached slightly in places by the stream of sunlight which washes its surface from the opposite window. The stool beneath it scrapes against the scuffed floor boards when Yoongi makes enough space to seat himself on top of the blue velour cushion.

"I know it's not much — nothing like you're used to I mean, but it makes music just the same."

He must take the way you hang back near the door frame as a sign of your distaste which couldn't have been further from reality; it's simply to allow you to study the way Yoongi sits with his back perfectly straight, fingers lingering over the keys like he knows the piano as well as an old friend. And, though you'll never admit it, the way your heart thumps at the thought of being in Yoongi's most private space.

"Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's." The breath you suck in is slightly too harsh. "Like I said earlier, she liked to play, before she..."

Died. The word never passes between his lips but it sits heavy in the air like a weight.

Yoongi's eyes avert yours so you don't press any further, instead focusing your attention to the pattern of scratches embedded into the piano's lid, unable to help the way your fingers trace the coffee cup rings littering the surface like rugged halos. "It's beautiful."

The side panel is littered with lines, carved deeply into the wood with a penknife; a makeshift height chart like the one you had on the back of your bedroom door as a kid. Your drop to your knees to squint at the nearly illegible words scrawled next to the markings that ascend almsot to the top of the instrument.

Yoongi aged 3...Yoongi aged 4...Yoongi aged 5...

All the way until Yoongi aged 7 where they stop completely.

You frown but he lets out a soft laugh, somewhat pained. "That's when she got sick. I grew up quickly after that."

Straightening up, you swallow thickly, unsure what to say, so you just settle for changing the subject instead.

"So, what can you play?"

Yoongi fiddles with the open sheet music book on the piano stand. His fingers tremble slightly as he turns the worn pages before finally settling on a sheet that is lightly crumpled and ripped around the edges and coffee stained and ferociously dog eared at the corners. Tell tale signs that he had played this piece before, over and over again.

His favourite, you perceive.

Sure, he had literally fucked you into next week already but your hands get clammy at the knowledge that Yoongi feels comfortable enough to share such an intimate tidbit about himself with you. Music means a lot to him after all. Anyone can see that.

You catch a glimpse of the piece over his shoulder.

Romeo and Juliet - Love Theme.

Yoongi notices how you raise a brow at his choice.

"I know I said I don't like classical music but this arrangement is different. You know the story right?"

High school had given you enough general knowledge about Romeo and Juliet for you to nod in confirmation.

"It's like you can feel the passion they have for each other in every note, you know? Like nothing could ever come between them."

His words are so earnest they make your heart ache. You hadn't put him down as the hopeless romantic type.

"I mean not really. They still die in the end." You counter. He frowns.

"But only because of their fucked up families. It's their feud that comes between them in the end. This piece comes before all the shitty parts. If you play it over and over again it's like they never stop loving one another."

His hands fold in his lap and he sucks in a bashful breath, nose scrunching with embarrassment at his dramatic outburst. "It's stupid. I know. Forget I said it."

"No, no I understand completely. Maybe if they weren't so busy fighting they could have listened to their hearts. Right?"

"Right." He scoots across the piano stool, patting the empty space beside him with an encouraging look. "Sit."

Like a magnet you find yourself drawn to his side, shivering when his shoulder brushes yours. His arms hover over the piano, poised and relaxed, concentration etched into the hard lines of his face.

"Ready?"

You can only nod. And then he starts to play.

Yoongi's fingertips eagerly caress the keys of his piano, eyes lifting from the sheet music to gauge your reaction while his hands carry the melody on autopilot, the pretty silver rings he dons glinting with every movement. His neck is bent slightly, allowing his head to bob and sway along with the rise and fall of the rhythm, eyes screwing shut as the composition reaches its most pivotal sequence.

He's practically raking the keys now, pure passion and violent emotion splashing every inch of the room. You shut your own eyes, hands clutching the bottom of the stool until your knuckles whiten, like you might float away with the beautiful tune if you don't ground yourself.

When he said you could feel passion with every note he wasn't wrong. You could feel his passion clear as day.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, wrists coming to a standstill. All he can do is take in heaving, ragged breaths, body slumped down, spent with the sheer effort expelled in his performance. Oxygen is lodged in your own lungs as you take in how how his bangs stick to the beads of sweat prevalent on his forehead

You recover before he does, unconsciously fumbling around in your tote bag, hands curling around the Polaroid camera you bring everywhere just in case a photo opportunity arises.

They never usually do. Until now.

"Stay like that." The viewfinder raises to your eye and you snap a shot of him with precision, the soft click that emanates through the room making Yoongi's eyes snap open.

The picture dispenses from the camera, black square fading out to reveal a hazy image as you shake it back and forth. Yoongi, face relaxed, lashes pressed softly to the tops of his cheeks with a lazy smile.

It's the Yoongi you remember. Your Yoongi.

He smirks when you slide it into the back pocket of your jeans, cheeks glowing with a contentedness you hadn't seen for a long time. "You always did like taking pictures of me."

"Shut up."

When your hand tentatively closes over his where it still rests on the piano, it's his turn to shoot you a curious look. With a shaky breath you flip his palm, slotting your fingers together perfectly, and lean across the piano to press your lips against his.

His mouth is softer than you remember, not attacking with the rich taste of lust but rather caressing your lips gently, sweetly. Taking your time to commit each tickle of breath against your nose, each slide of his bottom lip between yours, to memory. Everything other than the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing your bottom lip disappears. All your worries, reluctances, regrets, just dissolving like the setting sun.

Everything feels safe here with him. Everything feels right.

It barely lasts a minute, not much more than a delicate brush really, but when he pulls back you are already breathless, immediately starved of the satisfaction that came from finally feeling him against you again, tasting the spearmint mixed with something so inherently Yoongi you didn't quite realise how much you were craving.

Yoongi sighs blissfully. You need more.

Your hands tangle in the front of his T-shirt but before you can pepper his mouth with a series of further eager kisses, his free hand plants on your shoulder and pushes you back carefully.

"About what you said the other night." His eyes are wide with concern, trained to your lips, resisting the urge to capture them again with all his self control. It made your heart flip. "I don't want to hurt you Y/N. We don't have to do this—"

"I want to. So bad." His thumb caresses your knuckles. "I trust you."

In that moment, it's true. You trust him more than you've ever trusted anything in the world.

"But Namjoon..."

His words fade out when you lean in for another reassuring peck. Namjoon's name falling from Yoongi's lips doesn't make your skin crawl like it usually did. In fact you feel nothing at the mention of your brother.

"To hell with Namjoon. I'm a big girl. I know what I want."

Yoongi grins, hand coming to cup your cheek tentatively, eyes crinkling with what you could only describe as liberation. "And what's that?"

Your eyes narrow in on his parted mouth again.

"You."

His eyes darken and then his hands are tangling in your hair and pulling your chest flush to his in a kiss that is far rougher than before. No more beating around the bush. Just passion as you crawl into his lap and kiss him like it's the first time — or perhaps, more accurately, the last time. Like the world will end if you part for a single breath.

Fingers find the hem of his shirt and you're pulling it up his torso greedily, heart beating a little faster when you feel his warm skin beneath your fingertips. His chest is softer than you expect, a perfect contrast to the strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back to his lips.

It's not long before you feel his pants fill out underneath you. The feeling is all too familiar, reminding you of how it felt to be above him like this in his studio. That night feels like a life time away as his hands grab your hips and press you roughly down onto his crotch.

You both groan out at the feeling, something intense, something primal, heating up between your legs as you circle his clothed length, want and need blending into one as your core dampens with every twist of your hips.

Yoongi breaks away from your lips with a gasp when your fingers reach between your body and find the sensitive head of his cock, a wet patch forming on his sweats. His eyes are shut, head thrown back against the piano top as he bites into his thumb to stop little moans tumbling from his swollen lips.

He shoots upright when you slide down his torso, hardwood cold against your bare knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. When you finally get them open and slip your hand beneath the waistband, Yoongi all but groans at the feel of your cool palm grabbing his hot cock skin on skin.

You shimmy his sweats around his thighs, mouth practically watering as you eye up his pulsing length, unable to resist stroking it firmly with your fist. A hand covers yours.

"Wait!" A strangled noise of agony rips from his chest when your grip loosens, desperate to buck up into your touch but managing to stay firmly planted to the stool in favour of gaining your consent. "Are you sure?"

You scoff teasingly. "Would I be on my knees if I wasn't?"

His laugh is breathy, half a moan as you pick up your pace again. "Just nervous — ah!" A soft kitten lick to the reddened tip of his cock has him flying forward, knuckles white as they grip your shoulder.

"Min Yoongi gets nervous?" The precum that coats your tongue is salty, makes you itch to take him into your mouth fully.

"Shut up." His breathing is ragged, hands hovering over your hair. "Didn't think this would happen again. Needs to be perfect — holy fuck Y/N."

You give no warning before you sink down on his length, his hands finally tangling in your hair and tugging lightly when your nose presses to his pubic bone, groaning around him when you feel the head of his cock pulsing in the back of your throat.

"So warm, shit."

You come up for air, lips wrapping around his head and enjoying the way his thighs trembled when your tongue runs teasingly along the underside of his cock. His hand pushes at the back of your head, forcing his length further down your throat than you're expecting until you gag around his girth.

"Shit, sorry."

The groan that follows doesn't sound very apologetic though. The visual of your drool coating his painfully hard length mixed with the sensation of your warm mouth engulfing him whole nearly has him blowing his load then and there, utterly fucked out and oblivious to the string of groans leaving his lips when you finally come up for air. Tears streak your cheeks and Yoongi wipes them away with his knuckle tenderly.

"God, look at you." He's breathless, amazed. "C'mere."

A hand cups your elbow, pulling you to your feet so he can connect your lips again, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. His hands are all over you now as he wraps you in his arms and stumbles backwards your back is pressed to the mattress in the corner. It dips in the middle when he crawls over you, tucking away strands of hair that fan around your face like a halo before his mouth is on you again like he can't quite help himself.

A series of open mouthed kisses caress your jaw, then your neck, all the way down your chest. Yoongi's eyes flick up to watch your face, lips parted with want as his hands fiddled with the hem of his own much too big hoodie swaddling your body.

"Can I?"

Your hand threads into his hair encouragingly. "Please."

A gasp passes his lips when he finally pulls the fabric over your head, eyes following his curious calloused hands as they explore the expanse of skin exposed to him now you're left in just your bra and panties.

"So beautiful." He traces his fingers down your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts, across your stomach. The light and delicate touches have you shivering, writhing for more. Almost as desperate to feel him everywhere as he is to worship every inch of you.

His touch stops at the hem of your panties. You're already working on the clasp of your bra, a violent nod the only permission he needs to drag the fabric agonisingly slow down your legs, unhooking them from your ankles carefully.

When he looks back up you are completely bare, laid out beneath the stream of half-sun-half-moon bathing the room.

Yoongi pounces, lips wrapping around one of your nipples greedily, tongue swirling around the hardened bud until you're gasping his name over and over.

"Can't believe you're letting me see you like this."

Hands wrap around your thighs, legs falling open, the way he licks his lips as he takes in your glistening heat not going unnoticed.

Yoongi's head shakes in disbelief, mumbling words which sound an awful lot like so pretty and fucking gorgeous as his head dips and he continues his trail of earlier kisses, tongue laving over your inner thighs and edging ever closer to your aching core.

"W-wait." Yoongi freezes and comes up to meet your face. His breath is hot against your cheek, eyes scanning your face for hesitation.

"What is it? Are you okay?" He's frantic, swallowing nervously as his palms cup your face. "Want to take care of you this time. What is it? Tell me."

"I'm fine. More than fine." You brush your noses together. It makes him smile. "Just want to feel you, that's all. Now."

Yoongi lets out a dramatic sigh, voice high and whiny. "But I've been dreaming about how you taste for days, Y/N. Literally. Dreaming about it."

You don't mention how you've been replaying the visual of his lips wrapped around your clit and edging you over and over again since it happened, just stroke his cheek in mutual understanding.

"Too bad. You'll just have to wait until next time." His features light up at the promise of a next time. Another moment like this, just you and him.

His face falls into the crook of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin teasingly as a hand trails between your legs. When the pads of his fingers circle your entrance you whimper, clit throbbing with want when his hand pulls away nearly as quick as it came.

The want only intensifies when he brings two of his arousal coated digits to his mouth with closed eyes, guttural moan vibrating your flush chests when he savours the taste of your arousal coating his fingers.

"Next time." He hums and you are sure you nearly came untouched.

"Need you. Now."

He wastes no time taking his achingly hard cock into his fist, placing a supportive hand on your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. You whine when he drags the tip up and down your slit, giving some brief but much needed stimulation to your clit.

Before he can push inside though you place a hand on his chest to stop him. He doesn't have time to dote on you again though because without further ado you're whipping off the beanie that still sits snugly around his head, throwing it across the room with a smirk.

His eyes glint fondly. "Whoops."

The room has grown darker by now, only lit by the gentle sparkle of the fairy lights and Yoongi has to feel around in the sheets to find your hand. In the same moment he tangles your fingers together beside your face, he pushes inside with a gasp.

Unlike the first time in his studio, Yoongi is in no rush. He wants to savour it. He fills you slowly, so that you can feel every ridge of his length dragging against your velvety walls. When he finally bottoms out and your hips press flush together, you squeeze his hand. Tight. It's this small action that tells him everything he needs to know. Explains the funny feeling in your chest without ever saying the words.

Your legs wrap around his back automatically when his hips begin to rock, angling your body so that he hits so deep with every thrust it steals the breath straight from your lips. Arousal drips from your heat down onto the bed sheets, making each slide deliciously smooth.

"Yoongi I.." It almost slips from your lips. The deepest, darkest secret that you haven't quite admitted to yourself yet.

Yoongi just ups his pace, exchanging words for actions to show you he feels the same. Fucking you a little harder, a little deeper. More sincerely. It compensates for the words neither of you know how to say.

"I know." You feel so full, so warm when he places his forearms at either side of your head to press you into the mattress. "I know."

All the yearning inside you disappears. All that matters is you and Yoongi now, nails scratching up his back, his forehead pressing to yours so that your moans mingle together until you can't tell whose was whose any more.

With a fucked out moan against your lips he's spilling inside you, sending you over the edge with him, hissing as you clench tightly around his cock.

All thoughts are wiped from your mind. Apart from the sensation of his cheek pressed to your chest, hot breath against your collar bone. How you can't believe you lived in a world without Yoongi in it. How you never want to go without him again. How you don't think you can deny how Yoongi makes you feel anymore even if you tried.

The stars behind your eyes fade, and when you come back down, Yoongi is hovering over your body, lips parted and eyes blown out, mesmerised. He's sweaty and smiling and you can feel the way his heart beats in time with yours.

"You okay?"

"Never better." His smile stretches into a grin when your words slur together. "—'m so happy."

A soft, chaste kiss is pressed to your forehead and before you know it Yoongi is tangling your legs together and wrapping the sheets around your bodies, entwined as one.

Me too. You knew that's what he meant. You'd dwell on it another time. For now your eyes are falling shut, satisfied as you inhale Yoongi's scent on the sheets...

Before a blissful slumber could take you away, you're interrupted by a series of knocks against the bedroom door. Both you and Yoongi shoot upright, exchanging a puzzled glance.

"I thought you said it was gonna be a quickie. Come on man, I need to use the bathroom!"

Yoongi groans into the pillow.

"That's it. I'm getting a new roommate."

As the weeks go by you start spending less and less time at the Big Hit office, turning up late to your shifts or clocking out before they were up. The perks of being employed by your parents is that they can't fire you in good conscience, you suppose.

Instead you increasingly find yourself at Yoongi's apartment, writing lyrics at the piano when he was around (sometimes even when he wasn't) or down in the coffee shop, helping yourself to hot chocolate refills on your work breaks. Jin joked that you'd need to start paying rent soon.

Just like how you were able to pick apart each of the boys' influence on the apartment the first time you went there, your own presence was becoming ever apparent.

In the way you spilled sugar on the counter when making tea and always forgot to clean it up, much to Jin's dismay. How some of your own hoodies and pyjama pants had begun to smell like Yoongi's washing powder, ending up folded neatly in his laundry basket and stowed away on his clothing rack like they belonged there. The way his piano top was littered with open notebooks filled with your messy scrawl and pens with the caps lost and half empty mugs stained around the rim with your chapstick.

Yoongi seemed wary at first, cautious to let you get too comfortable around him, dropping you home late at night once the lights in your house switched out and you knew it was safe to go inside.

But eventually he started to crave the little things that reminded him of you, unable to stop the smiles which crept onto his face as he loaded the dishwasher with the mugs and carried you to bed when you fell asleep at the piano stool.

Your bed. That's what you'd taken to calling it now.

Yoongi hated to admit that he was weak. When he got up on stage he was Gloss, hard faced and brazen and ruthless. But here with you, the facade he tried to uphold seemed to crumble into nothing. And the worst part was that he loved it.

Even when he was performing at the club or practicing for the competition, his thoughts always ended up wandering back to you. There were times when your schedules clashed or it was too risky to see each other or times you were simply too exhausted once you got home, falling into bed as soon as you crossed the threshold. But the knowledge that you were always there waiting for each other became the only safe place he knew and that was enough.

Of course you still had to oversee Namjoon's Mic Drop stage, it was your job after all, but that never seemed to come up when you were together. Just watching movies on his laptop or laughing at ungodly hours while you filled each other in on anecdotes that happened in the time you were apart, retreating beneath the sheets when Jin banged on the wall because it was four in the morning so would you please shut the fuck up.

For the first time in a long time you felt happy. Like you belonged somewhere that was all your own. No more answering to Namjoon or your parents. Just your own heart. And it always seemed to lead you back here to Yoongi, straight into his arms.

And as much as you hated yourself for it, you could feel your resentment for Namjoon growing. You'd be damned if you let him take this away from you, like he'd taken everything else.

Eventually, you stopped crawling through your bedroom window like a goddamn teenager and your parents stopped questioning why you never came home anymore. The cracks between you became a chasm. And right now, Yoongi was the band aid holding you together.

When Yoongi returns home later than usual, he's not even surprised when he ascends the stairs and find you and Jin laid out on the bean bags, already tipsy on red wine and giggling at his disgruntled expression.

That is until you take in the weary lines that had etched their way into his forehead, how his eyes look sunken and puffy. How his hands tremble against your waist when you pull him into your arms, body swaying back and forth lightly in your grasp like he could topple over any second.

You know what overworked looks like — after all, you had tended to Namjoon plenty of times when he refused to stop at his limits, barraging through them instead, a habit Yoongi also seemed to possess.

Ordered to stay on bed rest, Yoongi slumps face down into his pillow, letting out a long groan of relief when the mattress cushions his aching limbs.

You're already tucking him in, half way to the door to prepare him a hot cup of honey and lemon to soothe the husk in his throat from rapping too aggressively when his arms loop around your waist and pull you down to snuggle into the crook of your neck contentedly.

"Yoongi, let me go." It's futile, his grip is firm and he is already kicking the sheets over your body and pressing his cheek to the left side of your chest where you're sure he can hear how your heart races, a pout evident in your voice. "I want to take care of you."

"Mmf you are.." Words already slurring with the beginnings of sleep, he smiles groggily when you fall slack in his grasp and press your cheek to the top of his head in defeat. "Stroke my hair please?"

As soon as your fingers tangle in his blue locks he lets out a sigh of relief, like he'd been waiting to feel the touch all day.

Watching his face relax as he drifts off, you bask in the warmth of fulfilment singing your very nerve ending and silently wish that you can stay like this forever.

Just you and Yoongi against the world.

At some point your own eyes fall shut.

You're awoken by the sounds of muffled sobs.

The dark room momentarily disorientates you, heart quickening as you realise you're not in your own bed. Eventually your eyes adjust to the blackness, taking in the piano stood sturdily in the corner, breathing in the scent lingering on the pillow beneath your cheek and you're washed with a wave of comfort.

"Yoongi?" You croak.

The sheets are ripped from your body as Yoongi's form shoots upright. His bare back is damp with sweat, visible in the moonlight creeping through the slanted blinds, mattress rocking slightly with every sob that wracks his frame.

"Go back to sleep." His voice is gruff , but forcibly so and you hear the tremor lurking below the surface.

You sit up beside him. His face is buried in his palms. The sight makes your heart ache.

"Are you okay?" You're still new to this. Sure you're tangled up in his sheets most nights but you're still learning the ropes, unsure how best to comfort him. You settle for gently patting his shoulder, wincing at how cold and distant the action feels.

"I said go back to sleep." When his face emerges from between his hands you see the tell tale tracks of tears streaking his cheeks. Even when he wipes his face with the back of his palm there's a steady stream of them dripping down his chin.

"Is that what you really want?"

Yoongi presses his mouth together in a tight line, eyes black and empty as he tilts his head back and takes a shaky breath. That's when he crumbles. "Please stay."

"Oh, Yoongi." It's barely a whisper, afraid that if you speak too loud he'll shatter into a million pieces. He's like a scared kid, knees hugged to his chest as he wipes the hot tears from his eyes with a hard rub of his knuckles.

Yoongi stiffens when you fumble under the sheets to find his hand. You think he might pull away as you link your fingers with his but to your surprise he pulls your interlocked palms into his lap and squeezes so hard you feel the circulation in your fingers cutting off. The way he chokes back another sob stops you from complaining though, already cupping his cheek and tilting his face towards yours with your free hand.

"Why are you doing this?" His eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears sliding down his face and doing nothing to hide the slight tinge of red beneath them that tell you he's embarrassed to be seen like this. Vulnerable, so unlike the hard faced Yoongi you had come to know.

"Because I want to." You squeeze his hand and feel him squeeze back weakly. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Pressing his forehead to yours, Yoongi leans down and captures your lips between his own. I know, it says.

This is different to the way he usually kisses you. There's no hunger, no hands on your neck and your thighs that set you alight with desire. Just a sense of yearning, like he wants to be closer to you, the plump flesh of his lips slotting between yours like a perfect puzzle piece, slightly salty from his tears. It makes you ache all over, like you're somehow connected and sharing his pain.

He pulls away, sharp exhales tickling your face as he scans your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you're going to leave him here alone. This is side of Yoongi that you have never seen before. He always said he isn't good with words and you know better than anyone that he hated admitting that he needed someone. This was is his way saying he needs you.

And in that moment you feel a piece of your heart flutter into his hands.

"Nightmares." He mumbles, swallowing thickly and tipping his head back against the headboard, expression pained "Just nightmares."

"Want to talk about it?" You sit back next to him, and when he rolls his neck to face you. He looks unreadable again. Eyes void. You half think he's going to push you away, turn over and fall back asleep and leave you to stare at the ceiling alone with the silence.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head at himself as he pulls you into his arms, stroking your cheek fondly when your head comes to rest on his chest, burying his nose in your hair.

"Why can't I say no to you?"

"Guess I have that affect on people."

He snorts lightly, the first proper reaction he'd given you and you're pleased at his amusement. Pleased you were able to comfort him somewhat.

Unspoken words cloak a heavy silence for what feels like hours, just tracing mindless patterns on his arm and listening to the way his heart slows to a normal pace beneath your cheek, grip around your torso never faltering. When his breaths dwindle to soft puffs against your temple you think he's already drifted off.

Until, "Do you remember when I convinced Namjoon to sign up for Mic Drop the first time. The day after my mom died?" His voice is gravelly, both with sleep and a sign of his withheld tears.

"Of course I do." You swivel in his arms to blink up at him curiously. Sure you remembered. After the funeral, your parents had taken Yoongi in — a repayment they called it. For helping Namjoon achieve his dreams. Of course, that was before you realised just how much Yoongi would help.

Yoongi became a part of the family for a short while. An extra seat at family dinners. Another pair of shoes by the front door. Another bed in Namjoon's room.

"Back then, I was too trusting. I thought that they wanted to help me...I thought that they saw me as their son." He spits the word with the bitterness of a man who was stripped of the title of 'son' before he knew what it really meant.

You think back to how Namjoon and Yoongi used to be. Joined at the hip, everyone used to say. Brothers.

"I think they did—"

"No." He stiffens. You bite your lip. "Namjoon never cared about me. He just saw me as a way to get to the top. And it worked."

You feel a pang in your chest.

"I'm sorry, he's your brother. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."

Yoongi almost turns away but you stop him by pressing your lips to his briefly. Telling him its okay. You understand.

"The nightmares." You say with an eagerness to change to subject before you could dwell on it too hard. Before you could admit to yourself that Yoongi was right. "You didn't say what they were about?"

"I'm getting there." He lets out a strained chuckle and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action makes you shiver.

"The last time I saw my mother she said that she wasn't scared to die. She was just scared that she'd miss seeing me on the stage. She was the only one who believed in me." The next words come out choked. "She said that if she couldn't be there to see it then I needed to make as many goddamn people watch me lift that trophy as I could."

Mic Drop was never about the fame for Yoongi after all. It always ran deeper than that; a need not a want. A vulnerable promise left unfulfilled.

The realisation makes you blanch. All this time, all these years, you hadn't been able to see the real greed right in front of your eyes; your own brother.

The image of Yoongi, crumpled and broken on that fateful day all those years ago makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

The same anger flashes across his face now. "Namjoon took that from me. I don't care about the fans or the money or the trophy — none of that shit! He took my dream Y/N. Do you understand how that feels?"

You find yourself nodding, slowly at first and then with vigour as the dam inside you breaks and your own tears flood. "I do. I understand."

And you do. You understand why Yoongi is so determined to win Mic Drop. You understand why he hates Namjoon as much as he does. You understand how it feels to always fall second best to Namjoon, to be outcasted.

"I keep forgetting her face. I can't hear her voice in my head anymore." Yoongi's crying again now, heavy sobs no longer able to be contained. "But in the dreams she's so clear. The disappointment in her eyes, its so clear, Y/N." His words are interrupted by hiccups that leave him gasping.

"I'm sorry." You whisper once he calms. It's all you know how to say.

"Not your fault." He flashes you a watery smile, wiping away the tear on your cheek with his knuckle. It makes your heart flutter, even despite the guilt weighing on your shoulders.

You feel useless. It wasn't your fault directly but you couldn't help but feel like you wronged Yoongi. All of this happened right in front of your eyes but you were too blinded by Namjoon's broken promises to see it. All this time you had let Namjoon make you think Yoongi was the enemy.

"I'm here now." Hands plant on either side of his face, eyes meeting his. "I believe in you."

He doesn't need to say anything. The way he kisses you speaks louder than words.

All you can do now is hold him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the covers over your intertwined bodies, stroke his cheek with your thumb and pepper kisses to his strained forehead which relaxes beneath your affections.

"I'll make this right." You whisper into his hair after his eyes flutter closed and the sun starts peeking through the window, watching dust particles floating in a stream of light in the room's golden glow through lidded eyes. "I promise."

"I like this." Jimin nods enthusiastically along to the track playing through the headphones Namjoon placed over his ears. "Sounds like a hit to me."

Namjoon's face contorts into a scowl. He disagrees, obviously, if the disgusted shake of his head is any indication.

Mic Drop is just a few days away and Namjoon had decided to scrap his entire stage after Jimin scored a couple big last minute investors who suggested he do something new, something exciting. Something that pushed Runch Randa's limits.

It was a bold move, this close to the big day. But Namjoon was cocky, said that he had enough experience in the industry to win in his sleep. Practice was a waste of time anyway.

"Next one." He waves his hand, barely even glancing in your direction as you press a button that cuts off the track and makes another one start playing.

The bass is louder in this one and it makes Jimin startle backwards, the headphone jack slipping loose so the music plays through the speakers instead.

"Hoseok and I still need to put the finishing touches on this one but it's pretty catchy—"

Namjoon cuts you off with a sharp no, it was too upbeat for his Mic Drop performance. Said he needed something with grit, something that would make the judges feel something.

"Let me see that." He gestures for you to get up, slumping down into the chair you occupied and slotting himself beneath the studio desk to scroll through the open folder on the computer screen.

He skims through countless tracks, demoed and ready to be recorded at Namjoon's disposal — you were something of a writing machine, always scribbling down lyrics on receipts from the store or on the back of your hand and paired with Hoseok you were a dream team; he always seemed to find a beat that fit perfectly. Unfortunately Namjoon's straight face gives away his disinterest in any of them.

"None of these will work." Namjoon throws the keyboard down with a force that makes you wince, jaw tightening as he presses his knuckles to his eyes in frustration. "I'm going to fucking lose."

You are about to tell him to write the fucking track himself like everyone else if none of yours were good enough for him but Jimin flashes you a glance. Don't make things worse.

You settle instead for a hand on his shoulder. He tenses at your touch. It had been a while since you'd been in the same room for longer than ten minutes and when you take in the gauntness of his cheekbones you briefly wonder if he's been eating properly. He always did forget when you weren't around to remind him.

You suck in a breath to give you strength. "There must be one that you like."

His lips purse and he disgruntledly goes back to scrolling again, clicking on a couple titles that draw his interest. You and Jimin let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

"What's this?" Namjoon's eyes narrow as he presses play on a track that sends you flying forward, heart in your mouth and colour leaving your face as a song plays that you swore to never show to anyone.

Yoongi's song. The one you wrote after that night in his studio. Probably the best song you had ever written.

"That's not — I was supposed to delete that one." The heat in your cheeks as you push him aside roughly to wrestle with the pause button has you hiding behind your hair, as if he would somehow know this wasn't just an ordinary song. That it was a song about his enemy, for god's sake.

Namjoon's slaps you away from the computer, head bobbing to the beat and you fall back into your seat in defeat, fingers crossed behind your back that he would hate it as much as the others.

"I love it."

Oh no.

"This is the one!"

Shit shit shit!

"A-are you sure?" You're rambling now, words slipping out way too fast and Jimin seems puzzled at your lack of elation at Namjoon's decisiveness. "I'm sure I could write something much better if you just give me some more time—"

Namjoon's arms pull you into a tight embrace before you can finish, your nose ending up smushed against his chest as he practically vibrates with excitement. Your body goes stiff, hands dangling at your sides awkwardly. Considering Namjoon's coldness towards you as of late his sudden display of affection takes you by surprise. Mostly because despite your physical closeness it only makes you feel even more distant from your brother.

A sigh of relief escapes when he finally sets you free, only to be replaced with pure horror as you watch him stick a USB drive into the computer and load up the song before sliding it in his back pocket with a grin while you have no choice but to stand there helplessly.

"I'm totally gonna win!" His change in attitude is abrupt but seems to soothe Jimin who nods enthusiastically. You feel sick. "I can't wait to see the look on Yoongi's face when he hears this shit."

The smirk on his face washes you with dread. If only he knew.

Yoongi was right. Secrets always find a way to come and bite you in the ass.

Every rap of your knuckles against the run down studio door seems to echo ominously through the alley like an omen.

"Y/N?"

As soon as the bolt wrangles across and the wooden panel flies open to reveal a disgruntled Yoongi, a warmth seems to thaw through the icy evening chill that, along with your nerves, is making your knees knock together.

His chest is warm against your cheek when he pulls you into his arms, the smell of cologne and black coffee consuming your senses. It's enough to make your tense limbs fall slack, curling into his firm frame instinctively. Finally. You can breathe again.

"Hey." He mumbles sweetly against your temple, a trace of a smile in his voice like he was happy to see you. You silently wonder if he'll still be so happy once he hears what you have to say.

The studio is basked in darkness, the contours of his face barely visible in the blue glow emanating from his desktop monitor. There's a dent in the cushion of the adjacent chair, Yoongi's hair sticking up at the back where the pair of headphones slung around his neck had sat moments ago.

"I can go if you were working, wouldn't want to interrupt." As the words are leaving your lips you cross your fingers, selfishly hopeful that he would send you away and you could avoid the conversation that was about to follow. Blame it all on circumstance, leave saying that you at least tried.

But that would be keeping a secret. It would make you just as bad as the rest. And the thought of him finding out from someone else was enough to make your palms sweat and enough to keep your feet planted against the carpet determinedly.

Yoongi's hands find you like he can't bare to keep them away, dragging you across the threshold without hesitation. "S'fine. Work better with you here anyway." He smiles and you try to return it but your lips are pressed into a permanent line, like they're scared the daunting words you have to say will come spilling out before you were ready -- if you ever would be ready. As you slump into a chair and watch him wheel another one around to face you with his arms slung lazily over the back, you realise there is no going back.

Considering the countdown to Mic Drop was nearing its end, less than twenty four hours to go before Yoongi would be stood opposite Namjoon on stage in front of thousands, he looked the epitome of relaxation, unlike the nerves in your chest making you jitter.

"Jin's on his way with takeout, I would've asked him to get more if I knew you were coming but I'm sure we can share— babe, are you alright?"

Babe. The endearment had started slipping from his lips frequently recently. At first he tried to cover it up with nervous laughter but now he was brazen, enjoying the way the word tasted on his tongue. It would be so easy to force a smile, to push "the right thing" to the back of your mind and let the selfish part of your heart accept his affections, even knowing you're about to hurt him.

But the clock ticking away on the wall sounds deafening with every beat of silence that follows, twisting the rings on your fingers until you could no longer distinguish the sound from the sinister thrum of your heart.

You can't hold it in any more.

"I need to tell you something." It comes out a hoarse whisper, nearly unintelligible beneath the stream of hip hop from the hifi system in the corner.

"What is it?" Yoongi's concerned eyes never leave you as he reaches over to switch it off, the room now draped in a shroud of quiet. The reality of the situation seeps into every dark corner and right into your bones.

"It's about us. Kind of."

Yoongi rolls closer, stopping your teeth from nibbling your cuticles by slotting his fingers between yours like a perfect puzzle piece. It seems to ground you, like you're filled with helium and he's the weight stopping your feet from floating off the ground. For a second you think everything will be okay. Nothing, not even this betrayal, could come between what you had.

"Did Namjoon find out?" Even in the dim light you see the panic stricken raise of his brows. When your head shakes in a violent negative they smooth back down, relieved, as if nothing you could say next would be worse than that. No matter how hard you try to meet his eyes you can't.

His hand squeezes gently then. You muster up the courage to squeeze back. Perhaps it would soften the blow that was about to follow.

"His song. The one I wrote for Mic Drop...it's about you. I thought you should know. Before you hear it for yourself."

Nothing but an immeasurable silence followed. "Oh."

Yoongi is unreadable, almost as if he didn't hear the words hanging like heavy storm clouds over your heads. You expected him to be angry, to shout -- even cry, maybe. Not knowing how he was feeling was even worse than any scenario you had imagined. Made you feel like you were back to square one and he was shutting you out of the window into his soul you'd worked so hard to wriggle through.

For a second you think the sudden cold against your palm is a result of the numbness coursing through your veins like you were dunked in ice water, but then you see his hand retreat to his lap, eyes wide and staring at it in disbelief like he'd been scalded.

"I...I don't understand." He sounds choked, face contorting with pain. Like it does when he wakes thrashing in the night with a bad dream. Unlike those times though, he doesn't levitate towards you for comfort, just stares at you vacantly like he's far, far away despite being physically close enough for your knees to brush.

"It was written after the first time we...y'know...here--" You glance around, convinced your mind is playing tricks when you see a vision of you in Yoongi's lap across the room, lips attached like nothing else in the world mattered. It feels far away and out of reach when the real Yoongi gets to his feet, creating a distance between you that is foreign, his form staggering across the room so that you could see the way his back tensed beneath his t-shirt when he grips the edge of his desk for support, processing.

"I don't understand."

"I was emotional. It just happened--"

"No. What I don't understand is why you're letting him perform it?" Fists send a stack of sheet music flying to the ground. His lip trembles, face red, with anger or affliction, you can't tell which.

"Yoongi--" You reach for him, fingertips barely grazing his arm before he's smacking you away with a violent shake of his head. He'd never resisted you before. Not even in the beginning.

"You expect me to just sit back and listen to Namjoon of all people rapping the lyrics my girlfr-- that you wrote dissing me? This has to be a fucking joke."

"It's not that kind of track!" You hug your body pitifully. It's the only thing you can do to stop yourself from falling apart as his mouth spits a venom that makes your heart shatter. His eyes fill with one thing. Betrayal. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't keep choosing between you anymore, Yoongi. He's my brother."

"And what am I, huh?"

Every second that passes, every stutter or attempt at explanation that leaves your mouth makes Yoongi crumple. You see it in the way his adam's apple bobs, how his shoulders slacken.

For some reason you can't open up. Tell him he means more to you than anyone ever had. That you thought your heart might really break and bleed out on the carpet if he didn't feel the same way.

Instead you settle for, "Why are you so mad? It's my job! I had no choice."

Without warning he's rushing at you, trembling palms capturing your face and pressing his forehead to yours. His breaths shake, chest heaving as he battles internally with the words flying from his lips like a ghostly breath across yours.

"Because I fucking love you, Y/N! Can't you see it? I fucking love you and your bastard of a brother always finds a way to ruin things between us!"

His admission stuns you, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over in a silent stream down your cheeks.

He loves you. He loves you.

"Yoongi--" Words just won't come. Nothing feels right.

Because you love him too. It had taken you this long to admit it to yourself but it was clear now. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every fucking song you would ever write was for him. It scared you before but now, stood here in front of him, you know it's true.

Something hopeless niggles at the back of your head, stops you from spilling everything to him. If he loves you, how can he expect you to choose?

If words couldn't make him see the truth then you'd just have to show him the only way you knew how. Straight from your heart.

You're crying as you dig around in the bottom of your bag to retrieve a USB, pressing it into his curled fist firmly and begging him with your eyes to understand. "Just listen to the song. Please. It'll explain everything. I promise."

You begin to back up and his hand shoots out to stop you, pulling you roughly into his chest which only makes you cry harder, tears creating a wet patch on his T-shirt.

"Please don't leave me. Not again." It's a fragile whisper.

It's all too much.

"I can't choose any longer, Yoongi. This has to end."

With one last look at his crumpled face you flee from his studio with eyes just as watery as the first time you'd walked down this very alley. Except this time it takes all of your strength to resist running back into his arms.

Yoongi can only stand there and watch you go, the USB hot against his hand.

This has to end. The words make his chest burn and he hates it. Hates feeling weak. You always make him feel so fucking weak.

If he can't have you then he had no choice but to do everything in his power to make sure he got the next best thing.

Suddenly it all seemed clear. Yoongi knew what he had to do.

The arena is almost desolate when you creep inside.

Just a sea of empty seats stretching out from both sides of you where you sit in one of the stands, nibbling the skin around your thumb and watching Namjoon pace the stage below.

It's gone midnight by now. Most of the crew went home hours ago. Not Namjoon though. He stayed to practice some more. Said he couldn't get the choreography quite right.

You tried going home but you couldn't get the fight out of your head. Everything reminded you of Yoongi and your thoughts started to wander. Did he hate you? Was he listening to the song right now? Why hasn't he called? Why is your own bed not as comfy as the one you shared with Yoongi?

It all got too much eventually. Something told you that you weren't welcome at the apartment so you ended up heading towards the only other place you knew, surprised to find your brother had the same idea.

A single spotlight illuminates the stage as Namjoon twists his body in time with the one, two, three, four he unconsciously mumbles under his breath, face contorted with a stark concentration that flits to impatience when his foot slips and he misses the beat. Again. It just about sends him over the edge.

"I can't do this anymore!" A microphone squeals and hits the ground with a thump. It reverberates through the arena, your hands flying to your ears as you watch Namjoon let loose all his anger on an innocent amp stand before collapsing into a heap at the edge of the stage. "Fuck this shit!"

You're flying down the stairs to his aid before he can do any serious damage to the stage equipment — or worse, to himself.

Namjoon scoffs when he hears the stage creak under your feet. "Nice of you to show up."

It stings. You snap.

"What happened to you, Namjoon?" You look at his sunken cheekbones, his curled fists, the blackness behind his eyes. "I don't even recognise you anymore."

He just sniffs and says nothing. The distance between you feels bigger than ever.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

A secret? Since when did Namjoon abide by a policy of honesty?

He takes your shocked silence as a yes.

"I'm calling first thing and dropping out of the competition."

Your world stutters to a standstill, breath knocked out of your lungs.

Dropping out?

"Shit Joon...if this is about Yoongi—"

He waves you off. "No. This is about me."

You can't breathe. This can't be real. "I don't understand..."

"I've made up my mind. I can't do this any more. I used to love being up here you know?"

You follow his gaze, out over the empty arena. The last time you were here every seat was filled. You were down there, part of the crowd, packed into the cramped space with barely enough room to breathe.

Imagining how it must feel to be up here comes easy. If you close your eyes you can hear the screams, feel the body heat. Smell the sweat and the anticipation. See thousand faces looking up in awe. At you. It makes your blood run hot.

You much prefer being up here, you decide.

Namjoon brings you back down. "Now it just feels like a chore. I look out and all I see is disappointed faces. I can't pretend for them anymore."

"People travel miles to see you Joon! No one is disappointed."

"Not the fans. They love me. Well, Runch Randa, at least." He cracks a half smile. "It's me whose disappointed. In Kim Namjoon."

You always thought your brother was sure of himself. He's cocky, confident and above all fearless. It's his biggest strength (and his most irritating quality sometimes) but it's what you always admired most about him.

Clearly you didn't know your brother as well as you thought you did.

You bite your lip. "Why?"

He turns to face you, leaning back into his arms while he searches for the right words and, little to your knowledge, gathers the courage to confide in you.

"Because I re-entered Mic Drop for all the wrong reasons. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? Win for real this time, not just by default." He swallows. "But then I saw Yoongi perform. And to be honest? I saw you. I saw how much you care about the music. How you come alive when you're writing lyrics or when you're in the studio." His smile is woeful. "Im supposed to feel like that. But I don't. I never did. It's like I'm always asleep, y'know?"

You did know. Every time you lifted a camera. Every time you pressed the shutter and snapped another shot of Namjoon on stage you felt your soul grow exhausted.

It makes the distance between you and Namjoon close a little. For once you understand each other and you don't have to hide how you feel any more.

"I can't stop thinking that it's your name the fans should be screaming. Not mine. They deserve better than me."

"But you're the best performer I know!" You rush. It always seemed like he wanted to keep you out of the spotlight at all costs. "Why now?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "I'm a selfish person, Y/N. I thought I was protecting you from... all this." He gestures around him. "The late nights and the paparazzi and the criticism and a fucking manager on your back all the time." His eye roll makes you snort, sharing a brief smile at the image of hardworking Jimin mumbling into his headset like a man posessed.

He's quickly serious again though. "Fame comes with a price. But I realize now that the price is worth it if your hearts in the right place and...what I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that mine never was."

You let your chin fall into your palm. Huh. "So that's the big secret?"

"Actually...there's something else." He shifts nervously. "I know about you and Yoongi."

You freeze, scrambling to your knees with wide eyes. "Wait, Joon, let me explain—"

"Let me finish!" Namjoon brushes you off with a breathless laugh, nodding to himself, as if finally coming to a solid conclusion about coming clean when his eyes meet yours. "He's in love with you."

This time it feels like the whole world goes into overdrive. You forget how to breathe.

"What...how...huh?"

It's Namjoon's palm squeezing your knee reassuringly that brings you back down.

"He always was. Even back before things got messed up." A deep breath. Something was coming, you could tell by the way his eye twitched nervously. "That's why me and Yoongi fought. That's why I...I lied and said that I wrote the song the night of the Mic Drop final...accused him of plagiarism—" Your mouth gapes. "I know! I know. Don't look at me like that. I can see the irony."

It all makes sense now. She's a part of this, Namjoon, whether you like it or not.

The reason Namjoon sacrificed his best friend wasn't for fame but for your sake?

You want to fly at your brother, scream at him for keeping this from you for so long. For turning you against Yoongi. For keeping you from the only person to make you feel safe. Feel Happy.

But his eyes are void of anything other than regret and you can tell his betrayal had been playing on his mind all these years.

"Point is, I didn't want you to get hurt." He shuffles awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your silence. "That's not an excuse, I know. Do you hate me?"

"No." Your voice sounds small. His chest heaves with relief. "I just wish you had been honest with me before. Saved us a ton of trouble."

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was a shitty brother in the end anyway."

It's strange. Even after all the fights and the resentment and the goddamn secrets, you don't think Namjoon is a shitty brother. Sure, his actions and intentions were shitty there was no denying it. But now it's like the puzzle pieces finally click into place and the full photograph comes into view, crystal clear.

All this time, he just wanted to protect you, when you should have been protecting him. He was hurting too, you just never knew it.

"It's not too late, Joon. Just be happy for me okay? I think..." If Namjoon plucked up the courage to tell you his secrets then it was only fair that you did too. "I love him too."

A pinkish tinge caresses your face when you finally admit it, both out loud and to yourself.

You love Yoongi. And now all the cards are on the table there's nothing holding you back from it.

Now you just need to tell Yoongi.

"I know. You think I don't know who that song is about?" The grin that spreads across Namjoon's features is sincere."And I am. Happy for you, I mean."

Now the truth is out in the open it feels like your wounds are already beginning to heal. You place your hand over his and squeeze it tight. It was time to forgive.

A thought suddenly strikes you. "So what are you gonna do now?

Namjoon fumbles in the back pocket of his jeans, thrusting something towards you. A polaroid picture. The same photo you'd seen at Yoongi's studio.

He kept it, too?

"This kid." His finger jabs at the innocent face of a younger Namjoon, arm wrapped around the shoulders of his best friend. "I didn't get enough time to live as him before I became Runch Randa. I think it's time to just live as Namjoon for a while."

"But what about Big Hit? It'll fall apart and mom and dad will kill you—"

"No it won't. They have you. I already talked to them, in fact. There's a stage with your name on it right here." He pats the ground. "If you want it, that is."

You blink, stunned. You? "I...I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you." Namjoon says. "And I'll be cheering you on from the front row."

You'd have to think about it long and hard but you can't help the grin that appears on your face. Things were going to be okay.

An urge rises in your chest to tell Yoongi this news. To see the way his face would light up as you started the journey to following your own dreams, like he always said you should.

You and Yoongi were going to be okay.

"Hey! Maybe I should try photography now I have some free time." Namjoon tugs at the camera strap around your neck, lifting his eye to the viewfinder and laughing when you cover the lens with your hands. "Damn I'm kinda good!"

You bump his shoulder teasingly, the belly laughter that spills into the arena feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

You're only interrupted by approaching footsteps. Jimin bursts into the arena.

"Namjoon," he pants. "I have some bad news."

It's compulsory for all competitors to attend the crowning ceremony. Even those who get disqualified.

RUNCH RANDA BLACKLISTED FROM COMPETING IN FUTURE HIP HOP COMPETITIONS AFTER PLAGIARISM SCANDAL SURFACES.

Just one of the devastating headlines that hit the media after the judges panel received an anonymous tip in the form of a USB stick that exposed Namjoon once and for all. The same USB that you pressed into Yoongi's hands just hours before Namjoon's disqualification.

RAPPER GLOSS TO SNATCH MIC DROP TROPHY IN SHOCKING REVENGE FOR HIS BRUTAL DEFEAT.

Namjoon reads it aloud in the back of the car. He laughs at the end but it does nothing to lighten the mood.

The windows are tinted but you can still see the hoards of fans lining the streets, eyes steeped in betrayal.

You should hear the way they boo as your brother drives past. You should hear the way they chant his name instead.

Yoongi! Yoongi! Yoongi!

But you don't. You don't hear anything. You don't feel anything. All you can think of is the same three words, throbbing in your chest over and over again.

I love you.

Did he mean them at all?

"Y/N? Did you hear me?"

"Hm?" You look up. Namjoon's staring at you with concern.

"Your phone's ringing again."

It's no surprise when you pull out your phone and see a contact picture of yourself and Yoongi gracing the screen. He's been calling all morning. It takes every strength inside you to tap the red decline button.

"Aren't you gonna talk to him?"

Another call lights up the screen.

"Not like this."

With trembling fingers you shut your phone off all together.

Paparazzi cameras flash brazenly as you step out of the black company car, following Namjoon with your hood pulled tightly round your face. A hoard of body guards usher you through a back door to the arena. The main entrance is reserved for notable guests only, you learn.

While Namjoon's presence usually makes the room buzz with an electric energy, there's no excitement when he enters now. An awkward hush falls like a shroud as he elbows his way past pitiful stares. It's like someone died. In a way it's true; there's no trace of Runch Randa in Namjoon's hunched stance. Here, the dead still walks for everyone to see.

Jimin's waiting by the stage door. No words are exchanged as he slips passes into your hands. Namjoon's has a big red strike through the word TALENT, "guest" scribbled all too generously below it to match your own.

It's nearing show time. They're just waiting for you to take your seats, Jimin says, though you barely hear him. You're too busy imagining what you would do if you bumped into him right now, heart pounding whenever you catch a glimpse of blue or hear a laugh you're convinced you recognise.

Deep down you know exactly where you have to go to find him. To find Yoongi.

"I'll join you in a second, okay?"

Namjoon looks nervous, the first time you've ever seen him with such a severe case of the jitters. His smile is empty when you rub his forearm reassuringly. "Don't be too long. If I'm gonna do this I want you by my side."

You manage a smile. "Always."

With that, Namjoon takes a deep breath and pushes out into the life of the arena and you find your feet numbly carrying you down back corridors you know by heart until you reach his dressing room.

Your heart is blind, you think. Even now the shattered fragments ache for him, beat a little faster knowing he's just behind this door.

Why can't you go back to hating him, just like you did before? Deep down you know it's because you never really hated Yoongi. You don't think you ever could.

Forgiving him, though? Some wounds never heal, no matter how badly you want them to.

You pause outside the door. The stupid gold star that used to be there has been scraped off, replaced with a new name tag. Gloss. You put your ear to the wood. Nothing.

A deep breath and you find the handle. Should you burst in and give him a piece of your mind? Knock and enter politely? You can't help but scoff. Shouldn't he be the one coming to find you?

He calls your name before you can do either.

"Y/N?"

Fuck. Is hearing his voice supposed to hurt this bad?

You don't know what you're expecting when you turn around. Something different about him perhaps. A sign that he isn't the person you had grown to know. Grown to love.

But there he is. All messy blue hair and bitten lips and eyes a little red around the edges. Your Yoongi.

Your arms curl around your body like a band aid, holding you together. You can't crumble. Not now.

He looks stony but his eyes flicker with tender remorse when he sees the tears staining your cheeks.

His hands reach for you instinctively. The same hands that make love to his piano in the shitty apartment above the coffee shop. The same hands that could make you fall apart with even a delicate touch. You want to run into them so bad it hurts. But now they're stained red with betrayal and he chokes when you recoil.

Seconds feel like hours as you just stand there taking each other in like it's been years. It's only been a day or two. Maybe three? You can't remember. They all rolled into one meaningless blur of angry tears and insomnia.

You had a whole speech prepared for the moment you finally faced him again. But there are no words that feel right. You just need to know. If he meant every touch and every inside joke and those three words that make your heart soar despite how badly you want to hate him. And there's only one way to find out.

"Why did you do it?"

Your voice sounds timid and scared, like you feel. He winces.

"Y/N, let me explain—"

"Explain what?" Your voice raises shakily."How you lied to me? How you used me?"

He rushes towards you and it takes all of your strength to draw back, especially when his eyes look so frantic, so desperate. Like he's having one of his nightmares. It tugs at your heart because this time the nightmare is real and you're living in it.

"It's not like that—"

"Did you ever even want me? What about all that fair and square bullshit you told me huh?"

"Of course I wanted you Y/N...want you." His eyes fill with pain. "This wasn't meant to happen. I know how this looks but I just panicked!"

You rush at him, fists curled like that day in his studio except this time he doesn't stop you when you start hitting his chest, vision blurry.

"He was going to pull out! Namjoon was going to let you win! So that I could -- we could be happy!"

"What I...I don't understand?" His mouth gapes, processing. "But you didn't..." He swallows, like remembering is painful. "When I confessed, you didn't say it back. I thought we were over! I thought I had nothing to lose, Y/N. He had already won..."

You remember your words. I can't do this anymore. A misunderstanding that would never have happened if he just—

"Did you even listen to the song?"

His face drops at the mention of the song. "No." He looks like he might cry. "I was angry! I...I acted impulsively. I never got the chance..."

You bared your soul in that song in ways you never thought you could. He wasn't supposed to find out how you felt about him this way. Not here, when you're falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop it. But it all comes tumbling out before you can change your mind.

"I wrote that song because I love you, Yoongi!"

Silence. He has to grip the wall to steady himself.

"Y-you love me?"

"I love you." The words feel indulgent on your tongue and even now as they hang heavy in the air and you're overcome with an indescribable combination of grief and longing, you mean them with every bone in your body.

You rush at him. You can't help it. Can't resist how your head falls into his chest and how you cry harder when you breathe in his scent one last time, sobs muffled by his hoodie. But he hears them, you know he does, because his hands are trembling when they pull you closer like you're fragile enough to break.

"I love you. So fucking much it hurts, Yoongi."

You're weak. You're so so weak.

You don't know why you do it but you grab his face with both hands and then you're kissing him. Showing him how much you need him, how much you mean your words. His hand cups your jaw like always and his lips press back with a tender desperation and you believe him. You believe that he loves you. Whole and true. Because in that moment, with his lips on yours, everything is okay. He's your Yoongi and you're his Y/N and he loves you.

But then you pull back and he's crying too and everything's broken and your heart goes numb.

"I'm sorry. God, Y/N I'm so sorry. If I could take it back I promise I would."

You muster up all the strength you can. You know what you have to do.

"I'm giving you a choice, Yoongi. You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over. For real."

He tries to kiss you again, grabbing at you frantically when you turn your cheek.

"Y/N, don't do this. We love each other. That's all that matters right?" He musters up the closest thing to a smile he can manage, like he's convincing himself more than he is you. "You don't have to—"

"No." You pull away from grip. It feels cold and wrong. "I have to do this. If you love me like you say you'll...you'll understand."

You turn but he grabs your wrist, pins you in place.

"I can't lose you to him again, Y/N. I...I already lost you once and I don't think I..."

The hard faced Min Yoongi you once knew is gone. All that's left is the vulnerable man in front of you who holds your heart in your hands with a grip so tight it scares you.

"He can't win...please."

You suck in a final breath.

"Please what? Don't make you choose between me and that stupid fucking trophy? You did this to yourself, Yoongi." You turn and this time he lets you. "The only person pushing me away is you."

"Y/N please, wait!"

You don't dare turn to look at him as you walk away. Not even when he pleads or you hear him fall to his knees, a strangled sob echoing down the hall. You're scared you might run back to him if you do.

You don't let yourself break down until you turn the corner. Yoongi doesn't follow.

"I'm okay." You assure Namjoon as you take a seat beside him inside the arena. It's a lie, of course. No amount of cold water splashed on your face in the bathroom could prepare you for this moment.

You're just in time. The ceremony is already starting. The host is taking the stage and the lights are dimming but you're too numb to care.

You go out on that stage and pick up that trophy and we're over.

Your decision is final. There's no going back. You've cried all your tears. You've said all that needed to be said. All you're left with now is a sickly feeling in your stomach as you look down at the trophy sat in a display case center stage.

We love each other. A slither of hope tugs at your heart strings. You barely manage to suppress it.

"Sorry! Excuse me!" The empty seat to your left sinks under the weight of Hoseok as he clumsily stumbles into the arena, late as always.

He offers you a smile which turns to a frown when you only stare past him vacantly, straining your neck to keep an eye on the stage.

A hand covers yours. You freeze at the contact, only relaxing when you peer through the darkness to find Hoseok staring at you gently. His voice is a whisper. "Whatever happens I'm here for you, okay?"

A wave of emotion crashes through you and you think you might cry again. You can't make your lips sound out a response but Hoseok understands and you feel a little stronger when you turn your attention back to the ceremony knowing you have someone by your side.

"As you all know there have been some...complications with this year's finalists." The host coughs and fiddles with his tie awkwardly. "But we are glad to announce that we do in fact have a winner here with us today!"

The crowd chants Yoongi's name again. Namjoon stiffens. Your free hand grabs his and he squeezes it tight.

"So without further ado, I would like to welcome this year's winner, Gloss!"

The crowd goes wild but the sound is drowned out by a ringing in your ears. It's like you're underwater, holding your breath as you wait and wait for him to take the stage and all the oxygen to slip away.

One...two...three...

You get to ten seconds, then twenty seconds and then thirty and by the time you get to forty you feel yourself break the surface, take a heaving breath.

You're floating. He chose you.

He loves you! Yoongi loves you! He—

No.

You're seeing things. You must be. That can't be Yoongi's face lighting up every screen in the room. That can't be him crossing the stage and taking the trophy from the hands of the host with a smug grin. That can't be Yoongi holding it up in the air like a martyr.

That can't be your Yoongi. This is a stranger.

You crash back to reality when Namjoon wraps his arms around your waist and you realise your sobbing. Sobbing so hard it hurts your chest and your lungs burn with misuse and you're sure the tears will never stop.

"It's okay! Shh."

Nothing is okay. Nothing.

Yoongi's face is still blown up on the big screens in painful detail. The smile on his face falters when he looks out into the crowd and spots you instantly. Sees you crumple.

There are two things Min Yoongi ever loved in this world.

His music and you.

The trophy feels cold in his hands. The crowd gasps as he rushes to the edge of the stage and calls out to you.

"Y/N wait! I'm sorry—"

You hear his voice through the speakers but it's too late. You're already running.

Yoongi's mic drops to the ground.

Yoongi's nightmares are back. Except this time they're different.

When he closes his eyes you're there. Smiling and laughing like you used to. His heart warms and he reaches for you...

And then he realises it's not you. Just a picture, blown up on the big screen as you cross the stage at the front of the room he's suddenly aware he's in.

He glances around at the indistinguishable people around him, all smiling and clapping ferociously. Why isn't he happy?

The bottle in his hand is half empty. He's realises he's screaming. So hard his throat burns and his lungs beg for air but you don't even look his way. He screams your name, over and over again. Nobody seems to hear him.

Namjoon's there too. Bouncing a baby on his knee, maybe one or two years old if he has to guess.

"That'll be you one day," He whispers, but its deafening to Yoongi. "Only the very best for my niece." The baby giggles up at him, stubby fingers wrapped around his thumb.

She has your eyes. The very same eyes Yoongi would look into like they held everything in the world. The very same eyes Yoongi saw fill with pain on the last day he saw you before things got messed up.

She has Hoseok's nose. And his mouth, too, small and heart shaped. The resemblance is uncanny as Hoseok appears beside Namjoon, takes the baby girl into his arms and places a sweet kiss on her forehead.

Then there you are. The same old Y/N. The same smile that makes your eyes crinkle and the same laughter than makes his heart melt. The same girl who used to love him.

Though it's clear that that much is no longer true. Not when you lean up to kiss Hoseok on the cheek, Namjoon drawing you into a hug when you present the trophy in your hands to them with an elated laugh.

A family.

It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.

Yoongi always thought winning Mic Drop would mean he had everything. Fame. Money. Glory.

He didn't need family. He always got by on his own.

It took holding the whole world in the palm of his hand to realise none of it meant anything if he didn't have you by his side.

You were his everything. But he was too stupid to see it and he let you slip away.

It's too late now.

A hand appears on his shoulder. It's cold, grip bruising. The voice that comes next gives him chills every single time.

"So was it worth it?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi tries to answer but his vision is blurred with hot tears now and he's on his hands and knees and he's screaming.

And when he wakes up at ass o clock, sweaty and gasping for air, he still finds himself reaching for your warmth beside him.

But all his fingers find are cold sheets and bitterness.

extended a/n: okay so if you have reached this far then you are a TROOPER. a trooper who i love and appreciate endlessly for reading 30k of my waffle lmao im so sorry <3 ksksksk so this fic has been in my head for the longest time and in my drafts for almost five months so im super attached to it and putting this out is like the scariest ever?? i really put my heart into this piece, like y’all don’t understand how many times it’s cropped up in my dreams and I’ve woken up like MUST WRITE. it’s far from perfect but i tried my best!! i can’t tell you how many scenes had to be rewritten until i was happy enough with them bc this fic is literally my baby in every sense of the word and i wanted to get it right :( although that just made the ending even more SOUL DESTROYING to write for me ugh i had the ending set in my mind before i even started writing but there were moments where i jus wanted yoongi and oc to be happy ever after :( but alas, I feel like this ending was far more realistic for them and i couldn’t go against my gut sigh. there may be a few drabbles planned in the future tho to make up for the angst :) Anyway!!! I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for reading this far, if anyone has. TROOPER. love you <3

updated 12/01/19: drabble #1 | drabble #2 | drabble #3

#ksmutclub #bts #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi imagine #btswriterscollective #btsguild #kwordsmiths #thebtstown #yoonkooknetwork #yoongi scenario #my writing #fic: mic drop #love yourself collab

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itisannak · 4 years

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CEO!Michael x President’s Daughter!Y/N (Michael Clifford Smut Fic)

Summary: (Y/N) is the daughter of the company's president Michael holds the CEO position. They dated a few years back until they broke up due to the long distance. Now, (Y/N) is back, and her father has plans for her. Plans that Michael is absolutely opposed to. (Smut / Unprotected Sex / Oral; Female Receiving) The fic contains 2 scenes where marital rape is mentioned. The mentions are not graphic and there is no description of the incident. I have put the scenes in Italics and they are marked with asterisks (****) at the beginning and end of the paragraph. I actually saw this story in my dream once and I simply had to write it. I hope you like it, I put a lot of work into it. (Words: 15.9k)

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/L/N). Welcome back." My father's secretary greets me as soon as I step out of the elevator. I take off my sunglasses, looking at her with an ironic smile; such a kiss-ass. "Good morning, Mrs. Venable. My father is waiting for me in the board room. You must be aware of that..." I reply and she nods. "Of course. That's why I am here. I have specific instructions for guiding you there. You see, we had a little bit of a floor remodeling while you were away." She states, gesturing for me to follow her. "It was about time we had one." I mumble, following suit behind her. My high heels click against the marble floor, covering whatever chatter talk the secretary has been mumbling as we walk. "Your father made sure no one is going to bother you during the meeting." She comments, opening the door for me. I nod my head before walking in, being greeted by my father who opens his arms for me.

"(Y/N), sweetheart. Thank you for being here on time." He comments as I hug him. "Was I ever late when we had a meeting? Let me pour myself some coffee and then we can talk about the important matter that is so important that we couldn't talk about it at home." I sass, reaching for the pot in the center of the table. "Cutting straight to the matter, I see." He states with a chuckle, making me smirk. "Learned from the absolute best. Now, let's talk about business. Is this meeting about me being hired on the legal team of the company? Because you really didn't need to make that announcement all fancy like that." I brag just a little, bringing the mug to my lips. "It is not about that, darling. It is far more important than that." He assures me, making me look at him with furrowed eyebrows. "Then what is it, dad?" I ask, causing him to clear his throat. "Remember the Jophersons?" He asks me and I hum. "How couldn't I forget? What about them?" I ask, sitting up straight. "We have been bargaining a partnership. Their company and ours becoming one. It would be huge, we would take over the world market." He explains, far too passionate about it. "This is exciting, daddy. Do you need my approval as a shareholder? Because you know I would agree with that, even if you didn't ask." I smile at him, patting his hand. "Well, not nearly. The thing is... Jophersons' youngest son, Edward... You remember him, right? Well, he set a condition or else they pull the offer." He states, making me even more confused. "Ugh, of course, he would, that sleazy bastard... What did he ask for?" I ask, cringing at the memory of him. "You know that boy always had a crush on you... He asked... He set a clause that he would allow the partnership under the condition you would agree to marry him." He explains, making my stomach spasm. "No, not him. No. He has been trying to get me for years. It is a vanity project for him. I am nothing more than a trophy. Daddy, there has to be another way. Not Edward. Not Sleazy Eddy. Please, dad." I panic, feeling the temperature rise. "(Y/N), listen to me... It is the only way. Please, take a deep breath." He says, standing up and patting my shoulder. I tear up at the thought; he is the typical rich white guy, the type you see on the Bachelor show. He thinks that looks and money make the world revolve around him. He has been 'flirting' with me at every party, always trying to push on the boundaries, always being way too suggestive. It makes me sick, he makes me sick. My father can't really ask me to marry someone I don't like, can he? "Dad, no... This is inappropriate. This is unacceptable. We don't live in 1950. I am not some kind of exchangeable goods that he can demand on a contract." I hyperventilate, standing up from the chair I was sitting. "Sit down and lower your damn voice. All this year I have provided you with everything. It is time you finally paid back to the family. You know how important this is for me." He says, way sterner than before. "You can't be asking me to make that sacrifice. I don't love him, I don't even like him as a human. Please, dad. Anything but that. I will die if I marry him." I plead, feeling my throat convulse. I can barely breathe. "You are being dramatic. You will marry him and that's the end of it." He sounds way too determined as if he called me here to announce it rather than ask my input. "You are going to sacrifice my happiness on the money altar?" I ask him, making him scoff. "You make it sound like an Ancient Greek tragedy. You are not Iphigenia, sacrificing yourself for winds in your father's favor. You are marrying a rich guy, making your family richer and more powerful. You and your children, your children's children, and many generations after yours, are never going to worry about money. Stop pretending you are the victim here." He spits out, looking at me pitifully. "Not all that matters is money, dad." I state and he scoffs. "Please... It is easy for you to say that. You think money is not important because you never had to go a day without it. If you think money is not important, you are free to reject the offer and try to live without it." He announces, pointing at the door. I stare at him in shock, gulping down, and tensing my jaw. I nod my head, biting my lip. "Well, it seems like the decision has been finalized way before I was asked." I feel tears brimming in my eyes, sniffling as I try to stop myself from crying. "Get yourself together and go get ready. We have a meeting at 4, and your engagement will be announced along with the partnership. Make sure you are not late, make sure you look happy." He orders, making me chuckle. "Of course. We would hate for people to find out I'd rather kill myself before laying in bed with the devil." I state before storming out of the room.

I walk into the bathroom, trying to calm myself before I have a panic attack. My clothes feel awfully tight, constraining my breathing. I feel awful, disgusted by myself, by my family. My father is willing to practically sell me to someone to gain more power. I thought that this is something only happening to girls in 3rd world countries. I feel powerless; my family can't disown me, I have practically nothing, plus their connections would turn their backs on me. And I really can't marry Edward. I can't, I won't. The thought of him disgusts me, to the point of actually feeling like throwing up all over his face. I certainly cannot hope for a white wedding; his intentions for me wouldn't let him.

I press my back against the cold tile wall, sliding down on it. I want to crawl out of my skin, I want to scratch my flesh off my body. I can't be marrying him, but I also cannot reject it. The decision has been taken, my agreement was just fine letters for them. I think I chose to stay in the bathroom because I felt powerless to move anywhere else. I take a look at myself in the mirror; it is like I am having an out-of-body experience. I don't recognize the woman in the mirror, she doesn't nearly look familiar. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before opening my purse and reaching for my little makeup bag. Just a bit of powder to make my eyes look like I haven't been crying my soul out and a little bit of lipstick to add some color to my washed-out complexion. I look better than my father and future husband deserve; had I have the guts, I would show up dressed in rugs.

"You don't look like you went home to change." My father comments as I take a seat by him on the big table in the board room. "It might be because I didn't. I didn't want to be late for the glorious announcement." I state sarcastically, taking my phone out of my purse. In walk the Jophersons, the father followed by the eldest and youngest son. Oh, my future husband... He has the stupidest smirk, the victorious kind he always sports. God, I will have to spend my life with this moron, whose only achievement is being born in a family of old money. He takes a seat across from me, giving me a side smirk as he settles. My stomach stings, every bite of my breakfast crawling up and threatening to fly out of my mouth. And then he walks in, looking like a million bucks. I haven't thought about the possibility of running into him here, like my brain refused to run down the scenario. Michael is still the CEO, he still runs the company. My father holds the founder position and the chairman of the board, but Michael is still the CEO here. My mind goes fuzzy around the edges, only focusing on him as his eyes lock with mine. Now my stomach fills with butterflies, my heart skipping a bit. I haven't seen him for 3 years now, ever since the breakup, but I would be damned if I said I haven't thought of him every day ever since. "Everyone's here?" My father asks, standing up from his chair. I press my hand against my temples, bracing myself for the impact. "Shall we begin?" He asks again, fixing the button of his blazer. "Before we talk about the business part of the meeting, I have an important announcement to make. My beautiful daughter, the most precious part of my heart, and Edward Jopherson are getting married. Everyone present is invited and welcome to the engagement party on Saturday." He announces, making the board clap and cheer, as Ed smirks smugly. I dart my eyes away, finding Michael looking at me in a state of shock.

I scrubbed and washed my skin away, trying to get rid of the dirty feeling that has seeped in under my skin. I want to lock myself away from the world outside, wishing to build a haven for me where I will be safe and all of this is just a bad dream. My hair has moistened the fabric of my romp, and my face is as blank as it has never been before. The only lights that I let in are coming from the big window that overlooks the city and the TV that has been playing for hours now, providing some noise that distracts me from going insane. I sniffle as I wipe my tears away, deciding that a good ol' sob-out is what I need. This is how my life is going to be from now on, I just know it. I don't want the only happiness in my life coming from materialistic stuff, but I know that marrying Edward is only going to give me this kind of happiness. I don't let myself get delusional, thinking that somehow Edward is going to turn out to be some decent guy, a guy that will love and respect me, because I know him for the douche he is. I am going to be a trophy wife for him. A sad, lonely trophy wife.

My doorbell rings, making me jump up from the couch. I walk to the door, fixing my romp and wiping my eyes before I peep through the peephole, finding Michael standing outside my door. "Who let you in?" I ask him as I open the door. "Yous still have the same pin. You still have my birthday as your entrance pin." He points out, making me huff. "Shit... I forgot to change it after coming back. What do you want? You shouldn't be here." I state, gulping the lump in my throat. "Can I come in?" He asks; it is more of a demand than a request, his tensed jaw moving from side to side. "You really shouldn't be here." I repeat and he hums. "Well, I am here." He states, cocking his eyebrow at me. I move from the door, letting him inside my penthouse before closing the door. "What do you want, Michael?" I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Why are you marrying him?" He asks me, making me roll my eyes. "Why do you care? We are not together anymore. We haven't been for years." I protest and he groans. "I still fucking care and you know it. You were the one who called the end." He snaps, making me chuckle sarcastically. "I called it quits because we were apart. I was away for my master's and you were here running the company. I was the one traveling to see you. Do you know how many essays I wrote on planes traveling back and forth? You were never visiting, I was tired of you finding excuses. It's been years since, Michael. Stop pretending you care." I shake as I let it out, making him groan at me from deep in his chest. "I still fucking care about you and you can't change it. Why are you marrying Sleazy Ed? Your stomach turned at the sight of him and now all of a sudden you want to spend your life with the douchebag?" He asks me, raising his voice. "Stop yelling at me. You know damn well why I am marrying him." I reply, prompting him to look at me a little disgusting. "You are marrying him for money? Doesn't your family have enough?" He asks. "I am marrying him to give my father his precious partnership. I am marrying him because there is no other way." I snap at him, making him drop his face and walk closer to me. "What? What are you talking about?" He asks, voice going soft. "Ed, set as a clause that I will have to marry him for him to agree on the partnership. You didn't know?" I ask and he shakes his head no. "He can't do that." He protests and I shrug. "Apparently he can and he already did. I was exchanged for more power, I was part of the deal. So please, spare me the dramatics right now. I have already maxed out on my tragedy for the day." I say, feeling hollow. "You can't marry him." He stutters, making me chuckle. "The other option was destroying the deal, and my parents disowning me and me being left with no one and nothing." I reply, throwing my hands in the air in frustration. "No, no... You can't marry him... I can't let you marry him." He exasperates, running his hand down his face. "Michael... It is too late. You were there when the contracts were signed. The partnership is about to start and I am about to go wedding dress shopping for my wedding with Sleazy Ed. It is over for me, Michael. It has been over for us for years, and now it is over for me as well, I will be sad and lonely for the rest of my life." I shrug my shoulders, feeling all my emotions choking me. "It's not over. It's was never over for us, (Y/N). I haven't stopped loving you and I know you haven't stopped loving me either. I know you haven't, I knew since the moment I saw you in the conference room. This can't be our end." He says, looking at me with the softest look. I can't really breathe; the only thought in my mind right now is somewhat ending up with Michael. "Don't say things you know that can't be true." I sniffle, causing him to walk towards me, grab my face in his hands, and pull me in for a kiss.

I respond to him, kissing him back as if I depend on it. I remember how much I liked kissing him, I remember every movement of his lips against mine, how warm they felt. I walk backward until my back meets the wall, and Michael's body presses against mine. I sigh in the kiss, just seconds before his teeth pull on my bottom lip. My hands move to unbutton his shirt, a little eager to feel him whole against my body. "You can't be marrying him to please your father when you know what I can do with my tongue." He mumbles, lowering his body and wrapping my legs around his waist. "Are you going to make me feel good?" I ask and he hums, bringing his face to my chest. "As always, princess." He mumbles, setting me on my bed. He kneels, undoing the belt that holds my romp together. I am left in the matching, silky negligee, which Michael just lifts its hem to my stomach. He pulls my panties to the side, bringing his mouth to my sex. "Oh, Michael..." I sigh, closing my eyes and throwing my head back. I always loved his lips there, he always knew how to make me cum. His tongue swirls against my clit, before flicking on it fast. My hand lowers to his hair, twisting and gripping on his locks. "Oh fuck..." I cry, pressing my core more on his face.

He sucks on my bundle of nerves vigorously, bringing his fingers to my entrance. His ring and middle finger circle around my entrance. I turn my head to the side, my eyes falling on the window running along my bedroom. The city looks better than ever right now, the lights reflecting on the glass of my window blurring in and causing lines of highlights to blend in the scenery. He hooks his fingers up against my spot, making my legs shake and my whole body writhe from pleasure. "Michael, please... Please, I need more of you, I need all of you." I cry out, making him smile against my core. "Want me, baby?" He asks, taking his mouth off my cunt, taking a breath as he plants kisses on the inside of my thigh. "Today... more than ever." I utter, stroking his hair. "Me too, baby." He smiles, crawling up my body and leaving a trail of kisses from my thighs, to my hipbones, and then all the way up to my neck. He reaches down to unzip his pants, lowering them until he frees his cock. He pulls me closer by my thighs, wrapping my legs around his hips and stroking his cock against my sex. "You still like it raw, baby?" He asks, nibbling on my ear lobe. "Only from you." I whimper and he chuckles. My hands go to his biceps as he tries to slip inside me.

When he does, he moves slowly, giving me time to adjust to him after all this time. His hand goes to the side of my face, stroking his fingers over it as I whimper softly and try to accommodate to him. "Please, make love to me... This might be my last time experiencing that." I plead, making him shake his head. "It won't be, princess. I won't allow it." He assures me, pressing his lips against mine. I part my lips, letting him slide his tongue in my mouth and deepen the kiss, just as he starts thrusting faster. I feel him stretch my walls as he moves, which makes me moan and moves against him. His thumb grazes over my cheek, soothing me while he pounds in me harder, angling up to hit my spot just right. I moan against his lips, throwing my head a little back and causing his lips to move on my chin. "Princess..." He mumbles softly, his voice huskier than before. "Don't stop." I beg, moving my hips against his. "I won't... I won't stop, baby. I missed you, I missed us." He breathes out, his breath fanning against my skin. "Oh, Michael... You know my body too well. I am so close." I whine, touching his face with my fingertips. I bring his face to mine, connecting our lips as he thrusts in and out of me, making my eyes flicker at how good he feels inside me. The knot in my stomach snaps, making me groan as I orgasm around him, twitching underneath him. "Fuck, I had forgotten how good you feel cumming around me." He hisses, tilting my head to the side, and latching his lips on my neck.

"There must be a way you can avoid marrying that douchebag and not breaking the deal." Michael comments as I walk back to my bed after cleaning up. "No, there isn't. And I don't want to talk about it right now." I reply, sighing as I sit on the bed. "This was a mistake..." I mumble, feeling tears forming in my eyes. "You regret it?" He asks me worried. "Not a second of it. I just... I will never be as happy as I was on this bed with you. And tonight only makes living with Ed seem harder. So, tonight shouldn't happen again. Because if it happens again, it will only highlight how sad my life with him is going to be." I sob, making him kneel in front of me. "Let me stay tonight. Let me hold you in my arms, let me take you in, one last time. If this is goodbye, we deserve a proper one, we deserve a soft one." He says, making me nod as my lips pout and twitch and my eyes fill with tears. "Hey, hey... Don't cry. Tonight we pretend all of this is not happening and that we will be alright." He says softly, peppering my face with kisses. "I always thought I would be marrying you. I always saw myself having children with you, living in a beautiful house by the sea, with a huge garden, kinda like a field." I state as Michael pulls me to lay on the bed, pressing my back against his chest. "The house sounds dreamy. How many children?" He asks me, strumming his thumb over my hip. "3. Two boys and a girl." "Two Michaels and one (Y/N), huh? Well, I want 4. And a bunch of dogs." He replies and I giggle. "This is just a dream." I say under my breath. "I know. But dreams do come true, you know..." He plants a kiss on my shoulder. "Rarely." I add and he chuckles. "I promise to make this one come true. Even if it means moving heaven and earth to make it." He tries to assure me, making me smile at how naive this is.

The house is full of people; people I don't know, people I don't care to meet. All I care about is the fact that Edward has been walking around, with his hand on my lower back and a smile on his face, introducing future Mrs. Jopherson to the invitees. I have been drinking the whole night, trying to numb myself, disassociating from all of this. I hate his touch, I hate the feeling of him close to me, I hate the sound of his voice. I hate everything, and this is supposed to be only the beginning of it. "I have to go freshen up... Excuse me for a sec." I remove myself politely from the company, walking away as fast as I can. I can't wait for the event to be over and I get to go home, lock myself in my apartment, away from everyone, away from my parents, away from my fiance.

I let myself into the upstairs guest bathroom, locking the door behind me before I sit on the lid of the toilet. I fidget with my fingers, trying to breathe normally; I didn't think of what I would do once I was away from the people in the party, only focusing on a way to just go away. The knock of the door startles me, making me jolt in my seat and gasp. "Occupied." I call, hoping whoever it is will fuck off elsewhere and leave me alone. "Michael." He responds, almost whispering. I stand up, walking to the door, and unlocking it to let him in. "What are you doing here?" I ask, closing the door. "I wanted to check on you." He says, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean at the engagement party. Why are you here?" I ask and he sighs. "It is painful. But it is way more painful for you. And I didn't want to leave you here alone. I know you are alone in this house tonight, and I wanted you to have someone here for you tonight. Plus, your father invited everyone and I think people would notice if I wasn't here." He replies, making me gulp the knot in my throat and nod my head. "I hate it here..." I sniffle and he cups my face in his hands. "Hey, hey... No crying. He doesn't get to make you cry. You are going to make it through this, I am going to help you any way I can." He mumbles, making me look at him. "You have to go. We agreed we wouldn't..." "I am not here to take advantage of you. I am here because I could tell from across the room you were about to meltdown... And I didn't want you to make anything stupid." He replies, making me chuckle. "I wouldn't. The deal would be off." I joke, laughing and making Michael join me in. "You are the love of my life. I love you, more than anything in the world." He says, looking at me in the eye. "It is time to stop. It is time you find someone else to love... It is ok, you can't wait for me forever." I assure him but he shakes his head. "You can't tell who to love or for how long. I gave you my heart way back, and it is yours to keep. I will be waiting for you because you are getting out of it." He states, pressing his lips on my forehead. "I'll go downstairs now. Try not to take too long." He mumbles, stroking my cheek before he turns away.

Sooner than I anticipated, the night before my wedding arrived. My parents and future in-laws through a big rehearsal dinner, where my future husband decided that PDA was essential. I nearly vomited 3 times during the hour-long dinner, really putting my acting skills to full capacity to avoid showing off how much I wanted to die. I could only feel gratitude the moment I walked into my apartment. My parents wanted me to stay at the family house my last night as Ms. (Y/L/N), my mother for sentimental purposes, so she could be there for her little girl on the final night she would sleep alone, and my father just to make sure I wouldn't run away. But he settled on me going to the family house bright and early, accompanied of course by a bunch of his guards. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, petrified by daylight coming in soon. I thought about escaping, I am not going to lie, but I have nowhere and no one to go to. At my father's command, everyone will cut me off if I disobey him. I thought about running to Michael; I know he will be there waiting with open arms. But he is going to lose his job and have a similar fate to mine, being turned down by everyone he asks for a job from. I know how hard he has worked to get where he is, and I would never, ever do that to him. He was at the rehearsal, looking at me silently from his spot, enduring the torture of seeing me with another man.

My doorbell rings and I rush to it, my heart skipping happily; I knew he would come. I open the door and find Michael behind it, just as I expected. I fall in his arms, making him wrap them around me tightly. "I knew you would come..." I mumble, refusing to let him go. He still holds onto me as we walk in, closing the door behind him. "I can't stay away from you." He replies, pushing my chin up so he can kiss me. "You are the only person I wanted to see tonight. No one else." I state in between kisses, making him hum. "I know. I could feel it." He mumbles, cupping my face in his hands. "Are you going to stay with me?" I ask, looking at him pleadingly. "I can't leave you... I can't..." He breathes out, picking me up to carry me to my bed.

His hands work fast to bare me of my clothes, while his lips trail my skin. His hands touch me everywhere, making me chill at the sensation. "I love you... I love you so much..." He mumbles, looking up at me. "I love you too... More than anything in the world." I reply, making him smile at me softly. His lips move to my neck while he thrusts inside me, taking my hands in his. I gasp, closing my eyes to focus only on how good he feels inside me. He kisses my jawline, breathing against my skin as he moves inside me. "I love you..." He repeats, bringing his lips on mine. He kisses me deeply, squeezing harder on my hands as he bucks his hips against mine, angling up to hit my spot. I kiss him back just as deeply, bringing my hand to twist in the hair on the end of his head. My thigh is pressed against his side, trying to hold my body closer to his as he thrusts harder, making me pulse around his length. "You feel so good." I breathe out, throwing my head back. One of his hands leaves mine, traveling down to my hip and tracing soft patterns on it as he holds onto me. "I will never get enough of you... All of you and all of me belong together." He utters, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. I moan in pleasure, eyebrows furrowing together as I bite my bottom lip. I feel warm and loved underneath him, something that my body has been aching to experience again. I buck my hips up against his, riding on him to meet his thrusts. "Fuck, do that again." He whines, face morphing into his familiar pleasure expression. "What? Move my hips like that?" I ask, rolling them against him. "Fuck... Fuck... I wanna cum..." He hisses, pounding on top of me. "Not yet... Not yet, please... I wanna cum with you. And I just need a little more to get myself there. Please..." I whimper, gasping as I feel his tip press against my cervix. His veins are pulsing against my walls, his thrusts are becoming sloppier and sloppier each passing second, showing me he is achingly close to his high. But he keeps himself from coming, biting his lip and digging his nails into my skin. I want him to leave a mark, I want him to mark me as his own so that I will have to walk down the aisle wearing his touch under my designer wedding dress. "You are pulsing around me... You are milking my cock, princess." He slurs, panting as he fucks me deeper with every move of his hips. "Michael..." I cry out, arching my back off the mattress. He scoops his arm under my waist, holding me close to him as he gives me a couple of final thrusts before I shriek and cum around him, screaming his name as I clutch onto him as if he is the most precious part of my soul; which he certainly has been, currently is, and always will be.

With the final thrust, he glues on me, holding me down and resting his head in the curve of my neck while he cums inside me, making me feel warm, full, and safe. "Go pack a bag." He orders as he calms down from his orgasm, flopping with his back against the bed. "What?" I ask, resting my head against his chest and taking his hand in mine. "Go pack a bag, just a few clothes, and necessities. Let's leave. Now. Please, let's leave together." He begs, making me hum bittersweet. "And where do you think we should go?" I ask, knowing better than him that there isn't a plan for this escape. "I don't know. We will get in a car together, drive to a different state, and take a plane elsewhere. I have qualifications, experience, I will find another job. And we will get a house by the sea, with a big garden, just as you pictured it. Please, go pack a bag." He looks at me like a puppy, his eyes sparkling. "My father is going to fight you, no one will hire you. He has power, money, influence. He knows politicians, he is going to make sure you and I suffer if we oppose and cancel the deal. No one is going to hire you, nor me." "I don't care, I will work at McDonald's, I will flip burgers... I just want to be with you. Run away with me." He presses on me, running his thumb over the back of my hand. "You are going to hate me for the rest of your life. You worked too hard to get where you are right now. If you throw it all away for me, you are going to hate me. Maybe not the first months, or the first couple of years, but 3 or 4 years in, when we will be staying in a tiny apartment and we won't be able to afford to have a baby, and the bills are going to be piling up, you are going to despise me, you are going to curse the moment you suggested we run away and I said yes. So, since I want you to remember me with love and not hatred, I have to say no." I explain and he sighs. "(Y/N), please." He begs, voice cracking. "Mikey, baby... I love you. And turning this down is even harder than getting married to Sleazy Ed tomorrow evening, so, please don't ask me again." I reply, leaving a peck on his chest. I am oddly calm while I let the words out, my soul feeling at peace as I realize I am doing what's best for everyone. "I could never hate you. Never. Even if we lived in a cardboard, underneath a bridge. And sacrificing what I have right now, it will be a lot easier than watching you become his wife." He replies, hugging me to his body. "Don't come to the wedding tomorrow. Putting on the whole show is going to be a lot harder if you are there. I don't want you going through that." I almost beg him. "I think everyone will notice I am missing. We did so well hiding our relationship while we were together, let's not give them suspicions. Plus, I can't leave you there alone." He says soothingly, rubbing down my arm. ****"I... Tomorrow night, he is going to..." I begin but he shushes me. "If he touches you, if he lays his hands on you, in any way, I will kill him myself. I swear to God and anything sacred." He looks at me in the eye, hissing a threat I know he can't bring to life. "We know the only reason he put that clause in the contract is just to get in my pants. He couldn't ask for a night with me, that would show his true colors to my father, to his father, to everyone on both boards. He has been trying to fuck me for years, I have been turning him down every time and that pissed him off. If I don't give him what he wants, he will only become more obsessed. So, tomorrow night, when he thrusts in me for less than 3 minutes, I am going to close my eyes and think of you, and all of the times you made me feel ethereal, like a goddess on Earth." I reply, smiling at him softly. "He is going to..." He begins but I press my finger on his lips. "He doesn't have power over me. I'll give him what he wants and he will be disinterested, move back to fucking everyone with a pussy between their legs." I reply and he groans; I feel his anger, his frustration, his helplessness, and I have been there when I first realized what would happen after the wedding. You see, putting on a dress and saying "I do" is going to be just the beginning. And the beginning is the easiest in this scenario. "You are the bravest person I know. You have bigger balls than any motherfucker I know." He states and I sigh. "Yeah, I know." I reply, raxing my back and yawning. ****

"A week from tomorrow, at 9 pm, you come to find me at the hotel we used to go when we were hiding from everyone. I will text you the room number at 8:30. Come find me." He instructs and I huff. "Are we running away from there?" I ask him, causing him to shake his head. "No. Not yet, at least. It will be just you and me for a couple of hours, a bit of sensitization for both of us, because I know we will both be out of our bodies until then. I will be your haven, your safe space for a few hours, and you will be my happiness, the only thing that will keep me from losing it." He explains, making me tear up a little. "We will meet weekly." I suggest and he hums. "More frequently if we need it. You will just text me, or I will just text you and we will meet at the hotel whenever we need it." He kisses the top of my head, breathing steadily. "I love you." I utter, lacing my fingers with his. "I love you too, pretty girl." He whispers, making warmth spread on my body.

"You look so pretty, (Y/N)... You are the most beautiful bride I have seen." My father smiles as he walks into the bridal suite. He is supposed to walk me down the aisle, deliver me to the douchebag I am supposed to marry in just a few minutes. "Stop, stop with this bullshit, we both know I look nothing like myself. Not even close. We both know that this facade is not pretty..." I rumble, feeling like giving myself one last chance to walk out of this free. "(Y/N), you are being dramatic. I swear to God, if you pull that crap in front of everyone, I will make you regret it." He threatens. My chest tightens and I decide that attack is not the best strategy. "Dad... Daddy... That man... You know that man is going to torture me. I don't love him, dad. He is going to make me unhappy. Please don't throw my life away. Please, dad... You are the only one with the power to stop it. Please, dad..." I beg, looking at him for a reaction. "Everyone is waiting for us, Mrs. Jopherson." He replies, linking my arm with his. I nod my head and wipe away my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm myself down. "Yes, sir. Let's go offer everyone a show." I say coldly, putting on my brave face.

I counted the seconds until the day I would see Michael arrived. I lied to the house personnel that I would be heading to the gym in case Edward asks my whereabouts and drove to the hotel as fast as I could, feeling jittery about seeing him again. There were mere seconds between me knocking on the door and him opening it, smiling at me. I fall in his arms, breathing in his scent to ground myself to reality. He is here, and I am here, and this is real, more real than what happened in the past week. He pulls me inside and I push the door closed with my foot. "I missed your pretty face... I missed you so much." He whispers, peppering my face with kisses. "Not more than I did." I assure him, cradling his face in my hands and kissing him deeply. ****"Did he touch you? Are you ok?" He asks after we pull away, holding me by my shoulders. "He was too drunk to do anything on the first night. We stayed in a hotel suite and the moment he was off, I went and booked myself a room. I stayed there all night and only saw him in the morning. We went for lunch with my parents and his, spent most of the day there. We got home at night and he... It lasted 3 minutes and 37 seconds... I know, I counted them. He rolled to the side, mumbled something to himself. And then he fell asleep. I slept in a guest room, woke up super early just to go back to his bed. After that, he didn't bother with me. He got what he wanted. I am sleeping in a different room than him now. He doesn't seem to mind." I state, making him close his eyes and draw a breath, trying to contain himself. ****

"Hey, hey... I am alright. Can we please, stop talking about it now? This whole safe haven thing is not going to work if we are constantly talking about him." I ask, stroking his cheek, as he nods his head at me. "I picked up some Asian food from the place near my house. I got you extra dumplings because I know you like them." He says, pointing to the bag that is resting on the table nearby. "You know, my excuse for tonight was that I was going to the gym. I can't go back home blotted from dumplings." I joke and he hums. "Well, if you'd like... I can help with burning the extra calories..." He smirks, making me roll my eyes at him. "I was really hoping you would... I have been thinking of you touching me nearly every day since the last time." I place my hands on the sides of his neck.

"I was thinking... Maybe... I don't know, the weekend after this one, maybe we could go on a little trip. On a little cabin in the woods, away from everyone... If you want to of course." He suggests, stroking my hair and twisting a lock of it between his fingers. My head is on his chest, his skin still a little damp with sweat from having sex a few minutes before. "I will have to find an excuse and we should definitely not meet during the next week, just for precaution, but it sounds magnificent." I state, supporting my body on my elbows to be able to look at him a little better. "We will leave on Friday afternoon. I'll pick you up from your old apartment. And we will drive there. Hopefully, we will make it there before night falls and we will have dinner under the stars. Just you and me, miles away." He states, running his knuckles down my back. "Why are we meeting here?" I ask and he looks at me with confusion. "What do you mean?" He asks me back. "I still have my old apartment. We can meet there, it will feel more... homey, I guess." I suggest and he chuckles. "Aren't you afraid of getting caught?" He asks me and I shake my head at him. "Ed doesn't know about the house, and my parents don't have keys. I have no neighbors, I live in the penthouse... Getting caught is no valid worry." I respond and he hums. "Ok then... Next meeting will be at your house." He replies, pressing his lips on my forehead.

The housekeeper leaves the plate before me, making me smile at her politely. Edward has been scrolling on his phone, which is a huge relief for me. He barely ever talks to me while he is at home, which is torturing. He married me to prove he could, and he plans on spending our married life just keeping me incarcerate in a life of nothing. "My best friend from college is coming from Spain next weekend. We are thinking of going to Miami for the weekend to catch up. Girls weekend out and stuff." I state, picking up my glass of wine. "And you are telling me this because...?" He asks, not raising his gaze from his phone. "Just to let you know I will be gone next weekend. Friday to Monday morning." I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "Yeah, have fun. Try not to make a big fool out of yourself." He replies, making me press my tongue against my cheek and swallow my anger. "Thanks. Try not to catch too many STDs while I am gone." I roll my eyes, sipping on my wine.

Friday came and I couldn't wait to get out of the house. If sneaking around with Michael in hotel rooms makes me feel free, that feeling of freedom becomes a thousand times intenser now that we are going away from all that. Michael pulls into the parking under my old apartment, making me jump in excitement. I skip to the car, throwing my duffel bag in the backseat before slipping in the front. "Hi, baby." He greets, smiling at me. I lean closer to him, pressing my lips against his for a quick peck, which he turns into a deeper, proper kiss by gripping onto the back of my head and prying my lips apart with his tongue. "Ready for our trip?" He asks as we part, making me squeal excitedly. "I have never been more ready about anything in my life" I reply, relaxing back into my seat. "The little cabin is absolutely beautiful. It has a fireplace and a cozy bedroom. And a little hot tub on the balcony, which has a breath-taking view. You are going to love it." He says, driving out of the parking. "Pity I didn't pack a swimsuit..." I pout, picking up the coffee cup from the cup holder. "You can go naked. I don't mind... Nothing I haven't seen before, nor I don't want to see... I mean. Babe, you have a body to kill for." He replies, cocking an eyebrow at me. "I packed a suit, unfortunately for you. Just in case... Plus, my whole excuse was that I will be going to Miami. I had to pack some bikinis for cover-up." I bring my hand to stroke his hair, making him groan in disappointment. "What do I have to do to convince you to go in naked?" He asks, making me lick my lips. "Well, did you pack wine with you?" I ask back, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Rosé and Red. I know my girlfriend..." He replies, bringing my hand to his lips. "Shall we put on some music? Let freedom begin?" I ask, bringing my phone out of my pocket. "Let the freedom begin, princess." He smiles at me, almost as excited as I am.

We reach the little cabin just before sunset, the whole scenery looking idealistic with the light surrounding it. "Let's leave the luggage in the car and go to the reception for the key." He suggests, parking the car as I stretch my body. "Didn't you make a reservation?" I ask and he nods. "I did. But we need to pick up the keys and leave some identification." He explains, opening his door and getting out. I follow his lead, walking by his side and locking arms with him. He leans in, pecking my temple softly. I smile and lean my head against his arm, feeling calm for the first time in a while.

We walk into the little reception, small enough to fit only the desk and the back room. "Hi. We have a reservation. Under the name Clifford." Michael says to the woman behind the desk. She smiles at us while he takes out his ID. "Mr. and Mrs. Michael Clifford, you reserved the house up the hill." She replies, checking Michael's ID. "That's us. Did the payment go through?" He asks and the lady nods. "Of course. Give me a second to make a copy and hand you the keys." She says, moving to the back room. "Mr. and Mrs. Michael Clifford?" I ask, making him shrug. "I like the sound of it. Don't you?" He asks me and I hum. "I love it. This weekend I am Mrs. Clifford." I state, my heart fluttering at the sound of it. I lean up, pressing a kiss on his lips while the smile still spreads on my face. "Well, Mrs. Clifford... What do you want to do once we are in our cabin?" He asks me, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear. "I wanna have some wine with my husband, in front of the fireplace. Little to no clothing." I reply and he moans. "It sounds like a plan..." He replies, kissing the tip of my nose. "A good plan, I hope." I place my hand on top of his chest. "The best plan I've heard in years."He assures me, taking my hand in his.

After picking up the keys, Michael and I got into the car and drove up the hill where our cabin is. It looks like a typical cabin in the wood, with log walls and a front porch with comfortable seats. I carry my bag inside after Michael unlocks the door, and I walk in the coziest little living room, with a big sofa and a perfect fireplace. It is perfect, the total opposite of where we usually go. I walk up the staircase, leading to an open-plan bedroom. It is rustic, to say the least, but totally warm and homey. I leave my bag in the little armchair across the bed, smiling to myself as I imagine my weekend here with the love of my life. I was right; this is absolute freedom and I can picture myself living here forever with Michael, even if it isn't the dream house by the ocean I always pictured ourselves in. "Are you ok, love?" Michael asks, standing behind me and wrapping his arms around me. "I have never been better. This is oneiric, my love. I feel free." I take a deep breath, feeling my body relaxing finally. "I'll go start the fire. Wanna take a shower and freshen up?" He asks, kissing down the curve of my neck. "I'll be right downstairs. Crackers and cheese with the wine... My stomach is grumbling..." I pout as I turn around, making him hum. "You are hungry, bub?" He asks, raising my hoodie before kneeling down to kiss my stomach. "Very... But also I feel filthy after all those hours in the car. So, I need to go clean up." I stroke his hair, smiling down at him. "Filthy girl..." He mumbles, standing up and pressing his lips against mine. "Go. I will need warmth after the shower. Go start the fire, pour the wine, plate the cheese and crackers. Maybe have a shower too after the fire and before doing the rest. The car ride made you greasy..." I press my thumb on his bottom lip, pulling it down a bit, enough to reveal his bottom teeth before I press a peck on it. "And what are you going to do if I do everything?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow at me. "Look pretty, smell great, be soft... So soft... Silky soft..." I say between kissing his neck in between kisses. "Fine... Go shower." He moans, throwing his head back.

Michael enters the bathroom right the moment I am wrapping my towel around my body. "Fuck, I missed all the fun." He sighs, making me chuckle. "We have a whole weekend to shower together." I remind him and he hums. "The fire is ready. I'll do the rest after the shower, just as the princess requested." He mumbles, stripping off his clothes. "You such a good boy for me... I will have to reward you for that..." I state, licking my lips as I watch his naked body. "What do you have in mind?" He asks, turning to look at me. "You know I am very good with my mouth... And not just for talking in court." I give him a wink, before walking out of the bathroom and letting him slip in the shower.

He was quick in his shower, soon moving downstairs to set up our little date and giving me time to dress up for him. Usually, when we meet in the hotel room, I am dressed in sports clothes, to cover my gym alibi. So now it is the perfect time for me to dress up for him, finally. So, I slip in my little babydoll, with the nice panties and garter belt underneath, tying it all together with my silky romp with lace details. I walk downstairs, finding Michael sitting by the fireplace already, 2 glasses of wine before him. "Well, that's quite the setup..." I comment, waiting for him to bring his focus on me. He averts his gaze to me, his face lighting up as he scans me. He stands up, walking his way towards me. He stares at me for a while, before his hands move to the belt of my romp. He tugs at it, looking at me for permission, which I grant by just nodding. He undoes it, letting the cover-up fall from my body. He looks at me in my babydoll, blinking a couple of times before running his hands down my sides. "Don't you look like a doll..." He comments, picking up my romp from the stairsteps. "You like it?" I ask, making him hum. "You look like a painting, my love." He replies, helping me walk down the remaining stairs. We walk to the fireplace, where he hands me a glass of wine. "If you get cold, you can always dress up. It is enough for me knowing what's under the romp."

He states, clinging his glass with mine while still staring at me. "It is actually very warm in here. Plus the wine is going to heat me a lot. So, I might strip down eventually." I reply, taking a sip from my wine. He breathes heavily, his chest moving visibly with every breath he draws in, while he gulps thickly. "Shit... I don't deserve you..." He shakes his head, running his hand down his face. "You deserve all of me." I assure him, moving closer to him, cupping his jaw in my hand before I kiss his lips. He tastes like his last gulp of wine, which makes me hazy, craving him more as I swipe my tongue between his teeth. He snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his body until I straddle him. "Wanna christen the cabin, princess?" He asks me, moving his lips from my lips to my chin and then down my neck. "What do you think, daddy?" I ask, breathing hard already. "You make me feel more intoxicated than all the wine in the world, my love." His breath fans against my skin, making me feel goosebumps spread on my body. "Michael..." I moan, feeling his hands stroking over my thighs slowly. "I know, baby. I need you too. Just as badly, if not more..." He whispers, kissing my neck hungrily. "Let me strip for you. I haven't done it in a while..." I ask, gasping under his touch. "Go ahead, baby. Do it slowly, let me take it in." He requests, leaning back as I stand before him. I watch the flames in the fireplace dance around, taking the tempo from them while I sway for him and touch my body, keeping eye contact as he drinks his wine and watches me as I toy with the straps of my babydoll.

I lower the left one, letting the garment drop a little from my chest. I watch him sit up a little, licking his lips as his face becomes a little redder. I drop the other one now, letting it fall completely. I am now standing bare-chested before him, left only in my garter and my panties, contrasting against my skin. "Let those on. I like them..." He says, moving near me. He brings me to lay with my back against the fuzzy carpet, hovering above me before he brings his lips to my chest. He kisses my body softly, every now and then bringing the tip of his tongue to lick the imprint his lips left as he trails them down towards my navel. He leaves a couple of hickeys, softly sucking on my skin to mark it in the prettiest colors. "Lower... Lower... Please..." I moan, feeling a tingling sensation between my thighs. "Lower? Here?" He asks, kissing an inch above the hem of my panties. "Lower..." I plead, tangling my fingers in the fuzz of the carpet. "Here?" He asks, lowering my panties and kissing my pussy, inches above my clit. "A little lower. Please, don't tease me like that..." I beg, becoming frustrated over the whole thing. "There... Fuck... There." I cry out, right as his lips wrap around my clit. He hums, pleased by my reaction to him, while he circles his tongue around the tip of it. "Oh Michael..." I moan, as his fingers trace down my outer lips. He parts them, slipping 2 of his fingers inside me and hooking them up against my post. He pumps them against it, making me tremor in surprise. "You taste so good, princess." He whispers, leaning his head against my thigh and flicking his tongue against my clit repeatedly and slowly, sending a wave of electricity down my spine. "You are so freaking good at this." I exclaim, arching my back as he goes back to sucking on my clit. He rolls it between his teeth softly, causing a little pain to mix with the pleasure. "Please, please, give me your cock. Fuck me, please." I plead, causing him to chuckle against me, sending vibrations all over my body. "Mikey, I am begging you. Enough foreplay. I need you." I stutter, trembling as he continues his sweet, sweet torture.

He swirls his tongue between my folds, moving his tongue slowly. I hate him for what he is doing oh so well. "Please, daddy. I'll do whatever you want. Please." I beg one last time, throwing out my final hope. His shoulders move in satisfaction before he kisses his way away from my core. He still pumps his fingers inside me, while his other hand works on freeing his cock from his clothes. He doesn't stop brushing my spot with his fingertips until they get replaced by his throbbing length. He thrusts deep inside me, holding onto my legs and pushing them closer to my chest to gain deeper access to my sex. My stomach rises and falls as I take him, whining at how good he feels inside me. "What, princess? I thought you wanted my cock? Now you are whining?" He asks cockily. My gaze falls on the way his cock thrusts in and out of me, which makes me mesmerized, totally indulged in the sight. "No, no... It feels good. It feels too good." I reply, bringing my hand to my face and biting onto it. He pulls it away from my face, pinning it by the side of my face. "You can scream all you want, baby. No one is going to complain." He smirks, bringing my other hand over my head and pinning it there along with the other. "The whole weekend with you, fucking me, sleeping next to me, spending all the time with me. I can just cum by the thought alone." I whimper, bucking my hips on his. "I know, baby. It makes me lose it too. Just thinking about sleeping in the same bed with you for 3 nights in a row... Fuck." He hisses, pounding in me harder. I shriek, pulsing around him, the need to grip onto him becoming bigger with each thrust. "It feels right. All of this feels right. I love you. Fuck, I love you so much... Oh, do that again." I rumble, toes curling and body arching completely off the carpet. "I love you too, dove. But I need you to stop moving your body so I can fuck you properly." He orders, putting his weight on me to stop me from moving. He still fucks me hard, fast, restlessly. He puts his all in every thrust, gasping as he moves against me. My hands twitch, trying to grip onto anything, really, but without any success. "Mikey, I might... Fuck, I wanna cum." I press my lips together, face tensing as I get closer and closer to my high. "Yeah, I can feel you, princess. Go ahead, cum for me (Y/N)... Cum around me, pretty girl." He encourages me, letting go of my hands. I instantly reach for his biceps, raking my nails down his skin, leaving red stripes on his arms. "Fuck." He hisses, giving me the strongest pound yet. My eyes roll back and I become undone, screaming in pleasure at the top of my lungs. It is like pure ecstasy running inside my veins, making my whole body alert, sensitive to his touch. "Baby... You are milking me dry..." He hisses, grasping my face and making me look at him. "Are you going to cum inside me, daddy? Are you going to fill me up?" I ask, gasping for air. My orgasm is only becoming intenser as he thrusts inside me in pursue of his own high. "If you call me daddy again, I might." He says through gritted teeth, making me smirk at him. "Daddy..." I moan, causing him to growl before cumming inside me after 2 short thrusts.

He is a sweaty, gasping mess as he collapses by my side. I look at the flames in the fireplace as I lay my head on his chest, feeling my body totally relaxed. "Well, Mrs. Clifford... What is in that pretty mind of yours?" Michael asks me as he kisses the top of my head. "Nothing. For the first time in a while, I have nothing to think of. Everything just... flows." I reply, tracing my fingers down his chest. "Well, to be honest, I am thinking of what to have for breakfast." He states and I chuckle, pressing a kiss on his collarbone. "Now I am thinking about that too... Definitely something loaded with cheese. Preferably Parmesan cheese." I suggest and he hums. "We will ask at the reception what's the perfect breakfast place in the area." He says, stroking my back. "Maybe we can go hiking after breakfast. And find a little store to buy stuff for dinner. I wanna cook for you..." I offer and he smiles. "We should do that." He murmurs. I cup his jaw, bringing my lips to his before sitting up and slipping my babydoll on. I pick up our glasses, leaving his on the floor by him as he pulls his sweats on. "I am famished. I need those crackers and cheese asap." I smile, taking a sip from my wine. "Did I wear you down, princess?" He asks, with a cocky smirk on his lips. "I could do this all night, pretty boy. I just need to fill up." I shrug and he hums.

Morning comes and I wake up in Michael's hug, which seems to be my happy place since I just woke up with the biggest smile on my face. He is still asleep, his lips parted as he snores softly. The sun hits the bed from the little circular window above it, making the bed a lot warmer now. I like to pretend that this is my everyday life, that every morning I get to wake up next to him, that we live in this cabin, and we make love by the fireplace, and no one else but us exists. But I know Monday will come and I will return home, to a man I don't love and doesn't love me, to a life I despise, to a life which sole happiness is my weekly meetings with the only man who loves me more than I love him.

It is no time to be sad, however. I have the whole weekend to take advantage of the fact I am Mrs. Clifford, live in my little fantasy. "Mr. Clifford..." I sing, trying to wake Michael up. "Mr. Clifford. Wake up..." I nudge him softly, straddling his waist as he stirs a little, groaning in his sleep. "Mr. Clifford, your wife is hungry, she needs you awake." I say softly, making him smile as he opens one eye. "My wife..." He says groggily, smiling at me. "Your wife. Me... I am registered as Mrs. Clifford for the weekend." I explain and he hums. "I would pay all my fortune for this to be real." He says, still between sleep and awareness. "It is real, and your very real wife is really, really hungry. So, up and let's get going." I suggest and he hums. "Can we stay in bed a little longer?" He asks, taking my hand in his. "No, I am hungry, Mikey. I've been up for half an hour now. And I need to fill my stomach. Please..." I pout, earning a groan from him. "Ok, go get ready. We will go get some breakfast, then hiking, as my lady requested last night, and then shopping for dinner. Dress warmly. Can't say no to my wife, can I?" He asks, sighing in defeat. "I don't think you can." I lean down, planting a kiss on his lips before getting up from the bed.

"Ah, Mr. And Mrs. Clifford... Up so early?" The lady from the front desk greets us as we enter the reception. "Oh, the wife is starving. We were wondering where in the area we could go for breakfast." Michael replies, running his thumb over my hip softly. "And any places we could go for a hike after breakfast? This scenery is worth exploring..." I comment and she hums softly. "I will give you a map of the area. There is a diner near a hiking trail, you will need to take your car and leave it there, but the hiking trail starts right after the diner. Here." She replies, marking the map for us before handing it to me. "Thank you." We say in unison, taking a look at the map.

I cradle the mug of hot chocolate in my hands while curling up on the little couch of our booth. "Why do you have to look so precious?" Michael asks me, leaning his face on his hands. "Someone has to..." I shrug, smirking at him. "Why do I sense that something changed?" He asks me, making me look at him with furrowed eyebrows. "What do you mean?" I ask him back, tilting my head at him. "Since we arrived... Something is different on you." He points out. "I don't know, Mikey. It might be... I was thinking last night, while you were sleeping. I will send the contracts to a friend of mine, ask him to weight in on the clause. There must be something. I don't want to live like that anymore, Michael. I will try to fix this, anyway I can." I state, making him smile at me. "Let's drink to that." He brings his cup to cling against mine.

The food is slowly cooking in the kitchen; I have at least 30 minutes until I will have to check if it is ready, so I grabbed my book and a glass of wine and head to the little balcony of the cabin. I am wrapped in a linen scarf, trying to protect myself from the chill that has covered the area since the sunset. "You are having second thoughts..." Michael comments, walking out in the balcony with me. "What? About what?" I ask as he takes a seat on the chair by my side. "About the house by the sea, with the big garden. You are thinking about a mountain house now, a little bit like this cabin." He states and I hum. "Well, it would be nice to have a little cabin. But just for me and you to escape in. The children will have to stay back to the house by the sea, with your parents to take care of them for the weekend. The cabin will be for me and you, a hidden little secret." I reply, reaching to take his hand in mine. "I love it." He mumbles, leaning in to press his forehead against mine. "I know you do." I breathe out, closing my eyes as I stay there, motionless, my forehead pressed against his as my hand leaves my book to travel to his cheek.

"Will I be seeing you this weekend?" Michael asks as I fix the buttons of my blouse. He is still naked, lying in bed with only the bedsheet covering just a bit of his body. "I wish. Saturday Edward is taking me to some investors' dinner. And Sunday, we are going to have lunch with the parents." I sigh, leaning down to kiss his lips. "I'll see you at dinner. I am going to be there..." He smirks, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. "Oooh... I am going to wear something nice then... Just for you." I reply, seconds before he pulls me in for a kiss again. "Can't wait to see you..." He mumbles against my lips, making me smile. "Will you lock the door after leaving?" I ask him, pulling away from him to continue getting dressed. "I always do, don't I?" He sighs, still staring at me. "Mikey... Don't be sad, please... You'll see me at dinner. And then next week, Friday as usual." I coo at him, earning a chuckle from him. "I miss our little cabin in the woods. I wish we could go back..." He pouts, making me sigh happily. "We will." I assure him, throwing him a smile. "Call me when you make it home, ok darling?" He asks me and I nod. "Of course, baby. I always do." I reply, leaning down for one last kiss.

The investors' dinner turned out to be way more interesting than lunch with the parents. Both families gathered in my parents' house, so the place is filled with obnoxious laughs and non-sense chatter. I hate it here, to the point it makes me sick to my stomach. The sight of the food on the table makes my stomach turn, a horrible taste crawling up my throat. "(Y/N), sweetheart... Are you alright? You look a little pale." My mother-in-law comments, making me whimper under my breath. "Too much champagne at the dinner last night... Why don't you go get some air, sweetheart?" Edward snarks, patting my thigh. I wince at his touch but cover it with a smile. "Maybe I should... Excuse me for a second..." I excuse myself, actually thankful for Edward's suggestion for once. I stand up from my chair and take a couple of steps before the room starts spinning and I collapse on the floor.

The smell of alcohol brings me back to my senses and I open my eyes to find everyone over my head. I am confused and disoriented, and I taste this metallic taste in my mouth. "Good... Let's get her to the car." My dad instructs and I am picked up, carried towards the front door. No one is talking, not while I am taken in the car nor during the drive to the hospital. And I decided that staying silent is the best thing I can do, at least until I exclude the possibility that the thought I have in my head since I was taken in the car.

I am seated on the Emergency pit, in one of the beds while some doctors take my vitals. "I will need you to give a urine sample." The doctor says, handing me a little cup. "We will take you to the OBGYN department. They will handle your case from now on." The doctor helps me off the bed, and I bite the inside of my cheek. "Please don't inform my family yet." I plead and the woman smiles at me. "I don't have anything to inform them on just yet." She replies, guiding me towards the OBGYN exam room.

I hand the nurse the urine sample, bouncing on my feet as she dips a strip inside the cup. We only wait for a couple of minutes for the test to show my results, but it is the longest I had to wait for anything in my life. "Doctor, we will need an ultrasound." The nurse announces, making a shiver run down my spine. I feel heat crawl up my face, my throat going dry as she doctor gestures toward the exam table. She gives me a paper gown to change into for my ultrasound, which I stare at for more than it is normal. "Sweetie, I need you to change." The doctor says softly. I nod my head and move behind the divider, changing into the gown.

Once I am on the bed, the doctor preps me for the ultrasound. "I will have to go transvaginally." She gives me a heads up to which I nod. "I know. Go ahead." I reply, fixing my gaze on the screen. It makes me feel some discomfort, only for a little, like every other time I have had an examination. The doctor twists the prob a little, fixing her eyes on the screen. "I would say you are six weeks far. Does that sound right based on your last period?" She asks me, while I look at the little bubble on the screen. "Yes... It does." I reply, smiling softly at the picture. Six weeks ago, I was in that little cabin with Michael, away from everyone, in our own little safe world. It sounds right that I got pregnant that weekend. "I suggest going to your regular doctor for a thorough check, but for now I can tell you that everything seems alright." She replies, taking the bubble's measurements. "Do I need to look at for anything right now?" I ask her as she turns off the machine. "Your doctor will tell you more. But I suggest you stay calm and watch what you are eating. If you are a smoker, consider cutting it, same goes with alcohol." She suggests and I hum. "Thank you. I will go get dressed." I smile at her, moving behind the divider.

"Love... Oh, you made me so happy today..." My dad is the first to hug me, making me panic at the realization they were told about my results. "They told you already?" I mumble. "They told me, my love. And I was so excited not to share the news with them... You are going to make me a father." Ed says cockily, giving me a look I can only translate as threatening. "Of course he told us. I can't wait to tell the whole company I am going to be a grandfather..." My dad cheers. "Maybe we shouldn't announce it yet. I mean, I am pretty early into the pregnancy, I don't want to jinx it." I rush to let out, causing everyone to gasp approvingly. "Of course, darling." Edward's father agrees, making Edward hum. "Of course. We wouldn't want anything to go wrong with our precious little baby." He smirks at me, making chills run down my spine. "We should all go celebrate." My dad is looking at me excitedly. "Father, if you allow it, I would like to take my wife back home. She needs rest and I want to spend some time with her." Edward steps in, wrapping his arms around my waist. I nearly puke, disgusted by his touch but also scared of the moment I will be alone with him. "The parents-to-be need some time together. Go. We will see you next weekend, for lunch. I am not taking no for an answer." My dad insists, making Ed chuckle.

The ride back to the house was silent, with Ed speeding up at times to scare me. I know that the silence won't last long, and I dread that moment. I am not only scared for myself, but the baby inside me as well. We walk into the house and he pulls me straight to the bedroom, dragging me by my arm. "6 weeks ago you told me you were with that classmate of yours... You were with him, weren't you?" He growls at me, forcing me to sit on the ottoman at the end of his bed. "I don't know what you are talking about..." I mumble and he chuckles. He looks like a mad person, making my heart skip a beat. "I am not an idiot, (Y/N). I've only fucked you once and it has been months since, nearly half a year. It's that Clifford dude, isn't it? You've been fucking around with him, and you were both stupid enough to get knocked up." He screams at my face. "Why do you care? You got what you wanted from me." I stand up, trying to walk out of the room. He grabs me by my arm, jerking me back to him. "You are hurting me." I protest and he chuckles. "I've let you do whatever you wanted until now. Now, listen to me. That bastard inside you is the best gift you could give me. Your father will be wrapped around my finger for giving him a grandchild. So, you break up with your little boy toy, he never finds out the mutt is his, or else I will destroy his life. I will make him so miserable, I will make him curse the day he met you." He says through gritted teeth, letting go of my arm violently. "You have a week to break up with him. Or else..." He threatens, tapping the underside of my chin. "Go... You need to rest." He orders, practically shoving me out of the door. I gasp as lock myself in my room, finally letting myself break down. I don't know what to think, or how to feel, or how to react to all of this. My mind is blank, totally empty at the moment. All I know is that I will protect this baby until my last breath. And that I will not let Edward hurt the only person I ever loved.

Friday came and I made it to the apartment way before Michael, in a way trying to practice what I want to tell him.

In my head, it makes no sense. But Edward always gets what he wants, so he will keep his word and destroy Michael if I don't comply with him. Punctual to the appointment, Michael unlocked the door at 7:30. He has the biggest smile on his face the moment he sees me lounging on the couch. "Baby, you are here already." He cheers, walking towards me. "I brought dumplings from your favorite place. Wanna start eating?" He asks me, lifting the bag to show me the food. "Michael, we need to talk." I pat the empty spot on the couch for him. He becomes more serious, leaving the bag on the coffee table. "What is it, love? Is everything ok?" He asks me, placing his hand on my thigh. "I've never loved anyone or anything more than I love you." I take his hand in mine, making him smile at me. "I know that, love. And I do too. I would do anything for you." He replies. "That's why we need to break up. I am trapped, but you don't have to be. I want you to move on with your life, find someone who is going to give you everything I can't." I state, making him sigh. "We have been through the same discussion before. I don't want anyone but you." He assures me but I shake my head. "Michael, this time I am serious. I want you to move on. I want you to go ahead and have a family, I want you to find a love that's going to make your dreams come true. I want you to build the house by the sea with the big garden for your wife and children, and the cabin in the woods for a little retreat. I want you to have 4 children and a bunch of dogs. I want you to grow old with someone you love and loves you back. I can't give you that. I am sorry." I tear up as I bring the words out of my mouth. Michael sniffles, shaking his head. "No. I don't care about all that. I want to be with you, this is enough for me." He insists, making my stomach hurt. "I thought you would take advice from a friend on the contract... I thought you wanted to fix this." He mumbles and I close my eyes, taking deep breaths. "I can't, Michael. I can't change things. Please, don't make this harder than it is. We can't get out of this. Well, I can't. But you still can. You can get out, you can build a life. Please. It's over for us." I sob, making him breathe out disappointed. "I'll leave. Since that's what you want. But I love you. And I will continue loving you. No matter what, forever." He murmurs as he tries not to break down crying before my eyes. He leans down to peck on my forehead, making my bottom lip quiver. I want to cry, beg him not to go. But I know that if I do, Edward is going to ruin his life. I watch him leave the key to my apartment on the table before he turns to walk out the door. I feel horrible, the worst I have ever felt in my life for breaking his heart and letting him down, but it is for the best. "Your father is a wonderful man. And he would love you so much if he knew you exist." I breathe out, placing my hand on my stomach. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, trying to calm myself down; stress is one of the forbidden things while I carry little peanut inside me. I reach for the bag on the table, picking the paper box out and opening it to dig in the dumplings. At least I get to eat my feelings away before returning home.

Edward is sitting on the couch, waiting for me to walk in. He has the sliest smile on his face, which gives me a headache already. "Your sweetheart just quit. Through email... Very unprofessional if you ask me. We are having a meeting Monday morning to appoint a new CEO... Guess who's the strongest candidate... The only candidate, actually. I love that bastard already." He cheers as I walk in, making my face scrunch up as I feel vomit crawling up my throat.

I have never felt as alone as I felt on the day I gave birth to my son. My parents and Edward's parents were there, along with Edward of course, who played the happy father and the loving husband, but the only person I longed for was absent, still in ignorance of our son's existence. I really dreamt of Michael just barging in the delivery room and holding my hand, even though I knew he wouldn't since he knew nothing. Since the day he quit from the company, he nearly vanished from the face of Earth, no one really knows where he left for. We named the baby Philip; at least Ed let me pick up the name. Philip sounds royal, fitting the little guy who as he grows he looks more and more like his father. Philip was and still is the only reason I am holding on. Edward stopped caring the moment he got the position he craved, only putting on the facade of the warm family guy whenever any of our parents were present, or someone he needed to impress. And Philip seems to not get along with anyone but me, always clinging to me. And to be honest, I am not letting him go, holding onto him all day long. I don't trust Ed; he seems disinterested, and at least for now he is not mistreating us, but I just can't trust that he will always be like that.

The two-year-old is fast asleep in my hug when my phone rings. I hope and pray he won't wake up as I reach for the coffee table to pick up my phone. I don't recognize the number, which makes me furrow; I don't get calls from people anymore, so this seems strange. "Hello?" I ask as I press the accept button. "It's me." I could recognize that voice amid a thousand others. I bite my bottom lip, leaving Philip carefully on the couch so he can continue sleeping while I talk. "I am in town for a few days. I really want to see you." Michael says after a moment of silence. "Michael..." I protest, seriously putting on an effort to turn him down once more. "Please. Just for an hour." He begs. I want to see him, for 3 years now since he's left, I have been dying to know how he is. "Where?" I ask him, giving in to my desire. "The penthouse. Tonight, at 8." He instructs. How does he know that I still have that house? "Just for an hour." I mumble, making him hum. "See you tonight." He replies before hanging up.

I can't stop myself from shaking in jitters, my body filling with anxiety. I haven't heard from him for 3 years, 3years that he could have followed my advice, gotten married, had children, bought my dream house for someone else. I am scared; I am scared that I will see him and he will tell me about his new family, or that I will admit we had a child. And that secret being revealed might cost him everything.

At 9, I unlock the door to my old penthouse. I haven't been here in years, but I paid for it getting cleaned twice a month, so it looks decent enough for two old lovers to meet. I know that the moment I see him, I will die inside, my stomach will fill with butterflies, and I will crave to be touched by him. And the knowledge I can't have him pains me, makes my head hurt. The ring of my doorbell makes me more anxious than before. He is here, behind this door. The love of my life is just milliseconds away from me. I open the door, revealing Michael who smiles at me. He looks better than ever, grown, more mature. And I feel my heart beating fast, my palms sweating. "I didn't think you would actually be here." He comments, walking further inside the house. "I said I would." I mumble. "You look great, my love." He comments, scanning me down. "You look... Well, I can't put it in words. But time treated you right." I smile, taking a deep breath. "Come sit. I won't bite, I promise. Well, only if you ask me to..." He says cockily.

I take a seat on the couch, keeping two cushions empty between us; I know it will be futile if I succumb, but for now, this limits me. "So, where were you all these years?" I ask, running my hands down my thighs to straighten my dress. "I left the night we broke up. Of course, you knew that. I had many job offers but I was staying here for you. So, when I lost you, I had nothing keeping me here. With the money I had in my account and the money I made from my job, I bought shares in the start-up company I was working on. Now I am the CEO and a shareholder. Pretty solid position if you ask me. The first few months after I left were difficult, I am not going to lie, but I managed to get through. I bought a house, overlooking the sea, with the biggest garden I could find. And I bought a cabin in the woods, made it just like the one we stayed at during that trip. I bought them in my name. But they will be titled as yours after you divorce Edward. Unless you prefer me passing them to Philip, our son." He says, pushing an envelope towards me. I gasp and look at him in shock, making him reach to take my hand in his. "You know?" I ask him and he nods. "I still have friends in the company. They told me your father threw this big party to announce it. I did the math... You got pregnant in the cabin, didn't you?" He asks me and I nod. "I couldn't tell you. He threatened me, he told me he would ruin your life." I begin explaining but he hushes me. "I know. Well, I suspected it. I battled with myself not to come and get you the moment I found out. But I knew I had to build a life for us, put us in a position where no one would be able to hurt us. So I did, and I hated every moment I wasn't with you and our baby. I hated every moment I imagined Edward holding our son." He groans, and I chuckle, wiping away my tears. "He didn't. He didn't care about us after he took your place. And Philip pretty much hates him, he cries hysterically every time Edward picks him up. And he only does when he needs to sell the image of the loving father and devoted husband." I reply and he chuckles. "I took the contract to a lawyer. She said that since you followed all the clauses, you can get a divorce from him without affecting the deal. The merge holds and you are free." Michael explains. "He will give us hell. And take us to the court about Philip." I point out. "Baby, you are a lawyer. Think about it. We will have a DNA test, prove Philip is mine. And he won't do shit. He knows that a court battle will harm him. He forced you to marry him, he abused you. He knows it won't look good on him. Nothing and no one is going to hurt us, baby. Not anymore, I won't allow it. Run away with me. Get our baby and run away with me." He says, moving closer to me to cup my face. "I was so scared that you would have gotten married, moved on as I suggested. So, so scared..." I mumble, feeling my cheeks become wet with tears. He presses his forehead against mine, stroking my cheeks and wiping away the tears. "Not yet, baby. You have to get divorced for me to get married. I had children, though. One, to be exact. Philip, who I can't wait to meet and hold in my arms." He whispers, making me chuckle softly.

Michael was right; Edward didn't say a word when I took Philip and packed my things. I filled for the divorce and Michael started the process to recognize our baby as his, the exact same day. Edward pretended to be deceived and heartbroken, to get everyone's good grace, but he didn't fight for custody. Everything was solved before Philip even turned 3. My parents practically disowned me after everything, which I didn't care much about. I didn't want a claim in a fortune that was built and grown on my unhappiness. Plus, (Y/N) Clifford sounds dreamy. The house by the beach surpassed all expectations. It has this vintage vibe that I love, with the prettiest garden ever, in which Philip and Michael run around all day on the weekends. I am pretty sure Philip doesn't understand much, so I will have to explain more when he grows up, but he adores Michael and calls him daddy, which makes Michael melt in a puddle.

I work with Michael now, in the legal department of the company, which is something that I couldn't do before since Edward wanted me to be a trophy wife. I have a pretty office with a view, friendly colleagues. But honestly, the best thing is working with Michael, getting to spend more time with him every day. We even got married, in a small vineyard, with a few people present, mostly his family and a couple of coworkers. It was magical, the best day of my life, truly. It's just me and him that matters. Philip also, of course. But everyone from my past seems to be muted, almost deleted.

And now I am sitting on the warm grass, with the sun hitting on my face and our dog laying on my lap, while Michael and Philip are dressed as superheroes, playing around, with Michael lifting Philip in the air to fly. He is an amazing dad already, and I can't wait to see him grow more into this role. "Hey, superheroes... Snack time. And you both need sunscreen." I shout at them, making Michael giggle. "Let's fly to mama... Come on." Michael cheers, running to me with Philip in his arms. He lets Philip on the blanket, making the toddler giggle. I hand him his cheese sandwich, planting a kiss on his forehead before standing up. "Hi, mama," Micheal mumbles as he helps me up. "Hi, daddy." I reply, cupping his jaw in my hands. "I am trying to make him tired and get him to bed early tonight..." He wiggles his eyebrows at me, making me chuckle at him. "I have my money on Philip spending you down before you do." I reply, tracing the hem of his cape. "We need to give him a sibling... Maybe a little sister." He mumbles, lifting my chin. "Yeah, that doesn't sound that bad, to be honest." I sigh, smirking at him. "Maybe we should go to our little cabin this weekend... Mommy and daddy retreat." He suggests, earning a hum from me. "It's been a while since the last visit." I cock an eyebrow at him. "Sounds to me like it is time for another trip there, Ms. Clifford." He licks his lips, leaning closer to kiss me.

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