#my knee hurts so fuckin much i don't know why it keeps fucking doing this

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A young, horny Lambert sets his sights on an older hunk of Witcher beef. CW: age gap, flirtation.

"I'm going for it."

"Lambert, don't be a fucking idiot. They'll laugh at you."

"They might, but he won't. You miss all the chances you don't take, right?"

"Your funeral."

Lambert licked his lips and smoothed his hair back as he stood. He hadn't torn his eyes away from his mark for a single second since said man had swaggered into the hall a few hours before. This was the winter he'd do it. He was a man himself now, which meant he had every chance of bagging himself the hunk of good-lookin' he'd been coveting from the moment his dick had started getting hard at night and hair had appeared on his jaw.

Eskel.

It wasn't just that Eskel had two decades on Lambert or that he was becoming a seasoned witcher. No other Witcher in the keep compared. Sure, some tried. They might step toe to toe during drills or try to outflame Eskel's igni, but they never could. The only one that outmatched Eskel was his pale shadow, Geralt. They even looked a little similar. But cream puff was a fucking bean pole of a man, and that shitty headband...

N'aw, Lambert wanted big. He wanted heat, and honey eyes, and that thatch of dark hair he'd seen on Eskel's barrelled chest in the baths, and that huge fucking d--

"You lost, Lambert?"

Lambert blinked. Gweld, the ginger prick, was frowning at him, ale tankard halfway up to his mouth. The others had paused their card game; Clovis looked drunk, Geralt was slouched back trying to see Clovis' hand and Eskel was watching Lambert speculatively.

Watching, with those honey-coloured eyes that turned Lambert inside out. The words caught in Lambert's throat; shit, fuck, why was he so fuckin' stupid the moment Eskel looked at him?

He took a breath, conscious of Clovis elbowing Gweld with a chuckle, while Geralt looked over with a smirk.

Lambert found his words. He folded his arms, thrust his chest out, widened his stance and put on his best cocky smirk. "Was just wonderin' whether Eskel wanted some better company. You losers can't handle your beer at the best of times."

They laughed. Gweld elbowed Eskel who cocked a half smile, eyes rolling not at Lambert, but his friends, proving Lambert's point. Obviously.

"Is that right?" Geralt asked, amusement turning his narrow face bright with a toothy grin. Lambert had been told that as witchers matured they honed their sense of smell, could identify a man's emotions from his body language, the flush in his skin. Lambert knew Geralt had him sussed. "And what kinda company are you offering?"

"Geralt..." Eskel growled in warning, and it went straight to Lambert's groin. Fucking hells.

"Whatever he wants. I'm a man of many talents."

More laughter--"little man has game, shit; fuck, I'm chokin, too funny"--but Lambert wasn't put off. Eskel's eyes were on him, warming him like the sun. The lines around those eyes were wrinkled with mirth, and damn if that smile wasn't snatching the breath right out of Lambert's chest.

"Does your master know you're out?" Eskel asked, placing his cards face down. He leaned back in his chair and slung his elbow onto the back of it, knee turned out while a hand tapped at his drink.

Lambert tried to keep his eyes level and resist the urge to... look. Eskel's codpiece put on an absolutely fucking heroic effort, but it could only hide so much and that was when Eskel was soft. "What he don't know can't hurt him. No business of his who else is in my bed as long as I am."

Eskel pressed his lips together to smother his smile while the others guffawed. More was said but Lambert didn't really hear; he was too focused on keeping his heart from beating out his chest and appearing suave.

Eskel hummed. "Aren't you a little young to be lookin' for that kinda fun?"

"Worried you won't be able to keep up, old man?" Lambert felt momentum. He could do snark, he could meet Eskel on this well worn ground, toe to toe, and the way Eskel's head tilted to the side and his eyebrow rose. It wasn't a no, right? He looked interested. Amused, but he didn't dismiss Lambert outright.

Gweld slapped Eskel on the shoulder with a bark. "Eskel here's got stories that'd make your balls shrivel up into yer belly, lad. I don't think he's a good choice for yer first ride, best drop your ambitions."

"Fuck off, Gweld," Eskel said, but there was no heat to his words. Just wry amusement.

Geralt snorted into his drink and Clovis made a vulgar gesture with his hand, but before Lambert could respond a familiar voice barked through the hall and sucked all the building sexual tension into a vacuum. "Lambert, get your arse to bed, you missed roll call!"

Lambert clenched his teeth, shoulders lifting towards his ears. For fuck's sake...

Three of the witchers in front of him groaned in mock empathy. "Oof, tough break, Lambino. Cock blocked by Vesemir," Gweld said, shaking his head while Geralt and Clovis snickered. "Don't worry, we've all been there. Ain't that right, Gerbear?"

Geralt guffawed in protest and smacked Gweld on the shoulder. It quickly devolved into a wrestling match on the floor, one which Gweld was definitely going to lose. Eskel watched them briefly before he looked back at Lambert. "Another time perhaps," he said, toasting Lambert with his ale. "G'wan, before he decides the target dummies are a little light on straw."

Lambert grunted, frustrated, but stalked away. He'd made inroads, and the way Eskel's eyes had shone, and that crooked grin. Eskel hadn't outright rejected him, hells, he'd--well, that smile... Eskel didn't smile at everyone like that.

Lambert laid in bed with that smile behind his eyes and a hand under the sheets, determined that it would be Eskel's instead of his own by winter's end.

#the witcher #tw3 #witcher eskel #witcher lambert #if you know what song inspired this you know

[here2bbtstrash]

look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 16k 🙈

contains: explicit sexual content 👀 literally jumps immediately into it (well.... you'll see 🤭) so buckle up!!! also features: hotel drama, reader being v dumb in classic reader fashion but she gets there, a whole lotta tension and angst and misplaced anger, some new friends!!! and yes they're 3 idols see if you can figure out who 🤪, erotic bed sharing and handholding lmfao, probably the most drinking that has happened in a chapter yet (which is saying a lot honestly), of course the GRAMMY RESULTS.... oh yeah and yoongi in glasses, yoongi in a suit, yoongi playing piano, yoongi almost getting in a fight, yoongi rapping, yoongi WEARING CAT EARS (yes these are all warnings!!!!!! 😩) - ok and here are ur smut specific warnings: semi-public sex (mile high club anyone ✈️), cunnilingus, fingering, sex dreams, nipple play, dirty talk, reader has a voice kink 🥴, clit stim, unprotected sex AGAIN 💀, she squirts again don't @ me lmao, aaaaand some lovely mouth/throat fuckin 🫡

A/N: i feel like i have nothing to say that isn't just overwhelming gratitude to you all for being here 🥺 so i'll keep it short!!! sit back and get comfy bc this one's a lot, here we go y'all..... you ready?? 💜

A/N 2: as of 5/27, this chapter has been updated to remove the instances of anti-asian discrimination. i want to expressly state how sorry i am to those who were hurt or otherwise upset by the original content. please know that i mean it when i say i am fully committed to listening and doing better moving forward. 💜

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for their help betaing!!!

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

~*~

You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.

You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.

The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”

You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?

“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.

“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.

You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.

“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”

Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.

“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.

You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.

“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.

Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.

Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?

Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.

But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.

Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.

“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.

~*~

Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.

Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.

She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”

“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”

The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”

Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.

“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.

She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”

You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.

“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”

There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I really do apologize, but a mistake on your part does not constitute an emergency on ours. No matter who the accommodation is for.”

It takes a second for your jetlag-addled brain to process the words, and their direct contrast to the forced sunny expression on her face. If you were in a better state of mind you might be able to take a breath, state your case more calmly, or figure out some other alternative, but instead all you can manage is a knee jerk reaction.

Because you can’t be in a room with Min Yoongi and only one bed.

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.” 

A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.

“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.

It feels like your heart is beating a mile a minute, enough that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.

Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.

“Look, I don’t know what you think is about to happen here, but I did not fucking book a single bed room.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I just want to sleep. Whatever that was about to turn into wasn’t worth the trouble.”

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you storm after him down the hall to your room as he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.

He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.

“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”

Of fucking course.

The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.

And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.

“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”

The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.

~*~

You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.

When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.

Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.

“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.

He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.

The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.

“You wear glasses?”

The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”

“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”

You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”

The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”

You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”

He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”

“Guess so.”

The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.

His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.

You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.

The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.

At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.

“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”

“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”

He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”

The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.

“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”

They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.

“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”

As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.

“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.

The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.

You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.

“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”

Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”

Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.

“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”

“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”

Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”

You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”

“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.

“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”

All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”

“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.

“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was a fucking bitch—”

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”

“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.

“Is it?”

“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.

“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”

A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.

“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.

Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.

You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.

And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.

A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.

You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”

He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”

“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”

You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”

“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”

“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.

“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”

The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”

Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”

You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”

“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.

“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”

“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.

After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.

“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”

“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.

“So, can I be honest?”

“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.

“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”

You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”

The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”

Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”

A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”

Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.

“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”

“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”

Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”

While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.

A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.

Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.

The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.

So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.

Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.

“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“I am?”

“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him. 

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue. 

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt. 

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older men you can only assume to be local industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Song of the Year, huh? You know we can cross-reference the nominees and figure out if you’re full of shit, right?”

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you have no problem cutting in. “You’re actually speaking to an incredibly accomplished producer and songwriter,” you retort without thinking. “He has over 100 KOMCA credits.” You don’t miss the smirk Yoongi tries to conceal behind the rim of his glass.

“KOMCA?” Another one of them speaks up, the question paired with a harsh laugh. “Never heard of it. That anything like payola?”

“Wild that anyone can just buy their way into the industry these days.” The first man shakes his head, eyes scanning Yoongi up and down as if the tailoring of his suit tells him everything he needs to know. “Guess that’s the way the world works now. Never had to struggle a day in your life, huh?”

Your response is immediate and far too loud. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A loud laugh ripples through all of the men, clearly more excited about evoking a reaction than the gravity of their claims. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.” 

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜

#yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #look down on me like that

[poisonsage808]

hi sorry i've never done one of these before but i LOVE the way you write and saw that your ask requests were open so i was wondering if you'd do "Stay still, I don't want to hurt you" with Sandor Clegane from the injury prompt list?

(obsessed with how you write Sandor you're amazing)

a/n: you’re amazing! thank you, this was fun to write!

Sandor Clegane x GN!Reader

When the Hound was on the loose people ran. There were a handful of reasons he wouldn’t be bound to his prince; off duty perhaps, on an errand, but wearing such a murderous expression? Brows dipping down in irritation, lips curled somewhere between a frown and a snarl and his eyes- though no one looked into them- were burning with rage. They pray it’s not because of them because for some, it would be the last face some poor, idiot fool would ever see.

And what would have Sandor Clegane, the Hound, so fucking pissed? Hearing rumor his.. well.. he didn’t rightly know what you were to him. A drinking buddy. Perhaps. A second question arose, why he would be so fucking irritated hearing you were rushed to a maester, injured.

You’d fallen off a horse, someone whispered. He knew better than to listen to rumors, pacing himself on his way to find you. Maliciously tripped, another said and suddenly he was on a warpath.

Only to find you weren’t with any maester. No, Sandor picked the fucking stubbornest of all Westeros to attatch himself to. Not that you knew any of this, of course. Sandor was careful to hide whatever it was— whatever this is that he felt for you.

“The fuck are you doing?” He asked through grit teeth if only to keep himself from snarling the question.

He sounded angry. Livid, actually, that you were limping around the keep and that people just let you? Still, he couldn’t help but feel the smallest amount of relief that he found you.

“Going to my room.” You replied, smoothing your hand along the wall with every pathetic step.

“Stop.” Sandor ordered, moving closer from behind.

“It’s not that bad,” You barely turned your head, “I don’t need your help.”

If you thought he was pissed before, he’s downright seething now.

“I wasn’t offering my bloody help, I told you to stop!”

“No!” You take another step and your leg threatens to drop you.

“Fuckin’ stubborn…” A string of colorful curses followed under his breath as he finally decided to close the gap between you.

Sandor’s massive hand snakes around your waist but before he does anything, you flinch. What he couldn’t see is that under your clothes, where his grip came to, the outer evidence of your injury was a bruise that traveled from your hip down to your knee. You’d indeed fallen from your horse, she reared up on her hind legs after she’d been spooked by a stupid guard and threw you off.

“Let go—!”

“Stop!” He shouts and you freeze.

You stop wriggling not because you’re scared but because his voice wavers. Dare you say it almost sounded like a plea. Him? No, surely you’re mistaken, the Hound does not plead, he does not ask; he commands! And yet…

“Stay still,” He mumbled, uncharacteristically soft. So soft you think your heart stopped, “…I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Sandor carefully shifted his grip around you until you were in his arms and fully off the ground. You were both silent after that.

He carried you like this once before when you were so drunk you could hardly lift your head. He carried you all the way from the pub in Fleabottom to your chambers in the Red Keep, like you weighed absolutely nothing to him. You remember talking his good ear off, slurring about everything you could think of only to earn grunts and small chuckles in return. You remember laughing, thanking him when he literally dropped you in your bed and you remember the look he gave you before he left, but you don’t remember what you said to earn that expression.

It was soft, much like now though his eyes were ahead. This didn’t feel like then. This felt intimate.

Sandor maneuvered you in his hold so he could carry you in one hand and open your door with the other. He placed you on your bed carefully and moved away slowly. Then he turned to leave and it was as if your heart started back up again.

“Wait.” You reached out to grab him.

“I’ll be back. Gonna get a maester.”

“Sandor.”

He stilled completely.

“Can you just,” You sighed with a tiny, nervous smile, “stay with me for a bit? I don’t feel like being prodded and poked at just yet.”

The beast of a man hesitated, something else you swear was impossible for him.

“What would you have me do? Sit here and be useless?” Sandor growled over his shoulder.

“You’d be comforting me.” You say earnestly, “We drink in silence most of the time, this wouldn’t be too different, would it?”

He shakes his head and scoffs but it turns into a chuckle, “You wouldn’t know silence if it hit you in the forehead. Talk too damn much.”

You roll your eyes, “Well this is the first I’ve heard of you complaining about it so you must not mind that much.”

Sandor shakes his head again, offering silence as his answer. He watches the way you pat the unoccupied space on your bed, on the opposite side of your injured leg. Sandor rolls his eyes to let you know how begrudging he is to do this for you, but he still does it.

You may not remember but this is what you asked him that night you were belligerent. ‘Please.. stay with me?’ you’d asked so sweetly, your eyes already closing when he made it to the door, ‘Sandor.. stay.’

He chalked it up to you being drunk but you were sober now and probably in pain. Pain you believed he could soothe? Sandor wished he could scoff at the idea. However your head rested on his armored bicep, eyes closed with a small smile on your face. He very well couldn’t deny it now, could he?

He may not know what you are to him just yet but he can confidently assume.. no, he doesn’t mind at all.

♡ do not enter is written in the doorway. why cant everybody just go away? except you. you can stay. ♡

#game of thrones imagine #sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones #sandor the hound clegane #poiboidrabbles #x reader #imagine #writeblr

[softlyspector]

If you’re still taking the physical intimacy prompts, how about piggy back rides with Jake Lockley??

a/n: maybe jake is so fun to write actually. let me know what you think!

"I told you not to wear those shoes, mi vida," Jake gripes at you, muttering something in Spanish under his breath immediately after.

You roll your eyes at him, holding onto his arm where you're paused on the sidewalk. "You love these shoes. Which is exactly why I have them on!"

Jake doesn't answer you, turning his hand to clutch your elbow, steadying you as you bend to fiddle with the straps of your shoes. You can feel his eyes on your legs. "Yeah, well," he grumbles, "that was before I knew about the fuckin' blisters they'd give ya."

"Gonna beat up my shoes for me, Jake?"

"Thinkin' about it," he snarks.

You straighten and wriggle your feet a bit, trying to decide if you'd readjusted the shoes enough to be able to continue to walk and not have the fabric rub against the forming blisters quite so much.

Despite Jake's waspish comment, his eyes are concerned when you turn to look at him.

"What?"

"Just wondering if you're gonna make it home like that," he says, looping his arm with yours as you start to walk.

Your feet immediately begin to smart again, nerves alight with pain, but you try to walk as normally as possible. Jake would only rib you for being sensitive.

But fuck do your feet hurt.

It was worth it though, to get to go dancing with Jake, to let him take you to some club he apparently loves, to watch him show you off with pride.

If your shoes had not betrayed you, the night would have been perfect.

You're determined now not to say anything more about it. The flat is only a few blocks away and you can handle it.

Jake is asking you something but you've missed the question, so focused on blocking out the sharp pinch at your toes and heels. He pulls you to a stop and huffs out a sigh. "You hurtin'?"

"No," you lie.

"You're so bad at lyin' to me, princess."

"And you're so bad at listening when I tell you I'm fine, Jakey."

"Don't call me Jakey."

"Don't call me princess."

Jake shucks off his jacket, pulls off the flat cap on his head, and hands both to you. He's muttering in Spanish again, something that sounds suspiciously like stubborn to you.

"If I'm stubborn, then what are you Jake Lockley?"

"I'm right," he says only a little bit smug but mostly worried. It's cute, how protective he is of you, even against something as benign as shoes. "C'mere, cariño. 'm gonna carry you back."

"What?" You ask, horrified. "No."

He turns his back to you and bends his knees. "Piggy back." You don't move. "I know your feet hurt. C'mon. We're wasting time here. Wanna get back and order some pizza. That place that does New York style closes fuckin' early, so move your ass."

You only hesitate a second longer, the pain arching up your legs now too, even as you just stand there. "Sure?"

"Just do it, will ya?"

You tuck his hat onto your own head before carefully clambering onto his back, Jake's broad, warm hands, hooking beneath your thighs as you wind your arms around his neck, his jacket clutched in your hands.

"Not so hard to listen is it?"

"Shut up," you huff into his neck, enjoying the way his hands feel on your thighs.

You lean your head into his, press a kiss to the space behind his ear softly. "Thank you, stubborn man."

Jake laughs, a sort barking huff. "Want me to drop ya here?"

"No, thank you, my feet feel so much better, heart of hearts."

"Layin' it on thick now," he says, squeezing your thighs. "Keep going."

You laugh, "Oh honey, baby, Jake, I love you so very much. Thank you so much for saving me from these horrible shoes. I owe you my life."

He hitches you higher, turns his head so you can give him a little kiss. "They make your ass look good though."

You bury your face in his neck, enjoying the scent of him, the warmth of his back along your front, against the insides of your thighs. It's nice, and you almost feel like you could fall asleep.

You don't notice you're home until the elevator dings at your floor. "Home sweet home, sweetheart. Steven said to tuck ya in if you fall asleep."

"'m awake," you say groggily, like maybe you did fall asleep, as Jake unlocks the front door and deposits you gently back to your feet.

He catches you when you stumble. "Knew you wouldn't want to miss out on pizza," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before sauntering away.

"Nice ass!" you call after him.

You catch the middle finger he sends you before the bathroom door closes, and you bend to take off the offending shoes with a smile.

#jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight

[corazondebeskar-reads]

wip wednesday!

thank you for the tag @janaispunk 🖤🖤

step one: post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet

ok so some of these are really rough and have no titles and I didn't include things like "of rage and ruin" because that's already got a priority order, but here are these:

"I'll take care of you" mini-series

very dark!Din x f!reader

yes, I have a problem, and I'm turning it into a mini-series. no snippet yet, but here's a teaser

You meet the Mandalorian for the first time in an alley. You meet the Mandalorian for the first time in your home. You meet the Mandalorian for the first time in a bunker. You… aren’t sure how you met the Mandalorian, anymore. But you know, now, that no matter how far you get, no matter how much you forget, he’ll always find you.

patrol partner!Joel

ft. switch!Joel but mostly sub!Joel x f!switch!reader

You pull off with a soft pop and look up at him, setting the cool, damp cloth back over his cock. His hips jerked when it made contact, the cool breeze through the window exaggerating the sensation. “How’re you feeling, baby?” you say. “Frustrated, ma’am,” Joel grunts. You smile. “Thank you for being honest. Do you need a break, or do you want a little more?” “More, please,” he says immediately, cheeks flushed. You don’t respond, running your hand across his stomach while you let him squirm from the chill. Not after long, you move it and take him back in your mouth. He gasps and moans, muscles tightening and straining against the ropes. When you shift to warm his balls with your tongue, he whimpers. You take that as a sign to pull back and replace the cold cloth.  “No,” he says, desperate and breathy. He squeezes his eyes tight against the prickling of tears. “Please.” 

soft!Jackson!Joel

Joel grimaces. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll just have to figure something temporary out.” You stop and put your hands on your hips. “We? What is this we business?” “What’re you gonna do, keep wandering through the woods on your own? I’ll help you.” “Why would you want to do that?” You’re on alert again. “Didn’t you say you had to get back to your brother?” “He’s not goin’ any place. He knows I can handle myself out here. Why, you got somewhere else to go?” His eyebrow raises. It’s really infuriating. He fucking knows you don’t. “Oh, you know. So many places to go, things to do.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.” “Well, I haven’t even started my taxes this year.” You fix him with a look. Fuckin’ try me, old man.  But Joel just laughs. “You’re right. Finding somewhere safe from Infected is way less important than taxes. My bad.”  “It is. It is your bad, Joel. I could get arrested for tax evasion.”   “Right,” he shakes his head. “You’re more afraid of the IRS.”  “Yeah, we are talkin’ about the American government here. You think the fuckin’ apocalypse is gonna stop them from getting their money?” Never mind that the world ended twenty-two years ago. You know he’s letting you play up the bit because he thinks you’ll let your guard down.  You’re hoping it works in reverse.  “Alright, well, let’s find you somewhere safe to do your taxes.” “Agreed. You’ll go back to your brother and I’ll find the nearest H&R Block.” 

"the art of decay"

(a working title for the sequel to "the art of breaking"; don't hold me to it lol)

“You get wet from that beating earlier?” he asks. You nod, even though he’s already reaching down between your legs and shoving his fingers in your cunt. He brings back his shiny hand and strokes his cock.  “Look at me, baby,” he says, shifting onto his knees so when you open your eyes, you’re faced with his fist pumping away at the red, angry head. “Coulda been you. Shoulda been, but bad girls don’t get what they want.”  You whimper. It really does hurt your feelings, but you know you have nothing to say for yourself.  “Open. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and get some fresh.” You obey immediately, squeezing your eyes back shut as soon as he starts to cum. A little bit lands in your mouth, which you hold open.

step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on

no pressure tags: @kewwrites @tightjeansjavi @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @covetyou @toxicanonymity @mountainsandmayhem @alwaysmicado @ozarkthedog

#wip wednesday #wip game #toni's wips

[brandnewhuman]

You're favorite angst boy

Pairings: bo sinclair x gn!reader

Tw: emotional abuse, hints of depersonalization, toxic relationships, mention of blood and injuries, angst, mature language. And there's probably more that I didn't notice so please be careful

Summary: There's only so much someone can take before breaking down. Bo always had a talent in taking people to their breaking point, only this time he did it to the only person he shouldn't have

A/N: I've been trying to write something but everytime I do everything feels cringy and stupid lol. First time writing bo and im sure he's going to be ooc but I tried to do my best. I've been at the verge of tears almost three times this week trying to write something that doesn't look like a fucking dumpster on fire.

Ps: english is not my first language and god thought it would be funny to give me dyslexia too, so im fighting for my life to make my only two working brain cells use proper grammar. Please be nice or I will cry

Not proofread

You've now been living for a year with the Sinclair twins and during this time you've managed to see about every side of Bo Sinclair. He was...something really, since being here you've rarely had a boring day. Best way to describe him and his moods is to compare him to the weather, at cost of sounding a little bit cliché. He always feels too much all together and no one has ever gave him a healthy way to deal with that. If Bo would've been good at communicating his feelings he would describe it as a big wave coming for him, every time he manages to get to the surface and stand up the wave drags him down and drowns him. Unlike Vincent, who seemed to struggled with the opposite sometimes, Bo's temper and emotions were always difficult to deal with, for him and for everyone around him.

You never had it in you to give him a hard time for the bad things he says when he gets angry. At the end of the day those were only words said in the heat of the moment, you knew that he would eventually feel as much guilty as you feel hurt. The lows with him are really fuckin low but the highs...those highs are enough for you, cause no matter what you know that the real Bo is never going to be the one that comes out during the bad times.

Even now after being harshly pushed away again before attempting one last time to tend the wound on his side you kept your patience. He was already in a bad mood to begin with and now that a victim has managed to hurt him is even worse.

"For God's sake Bo! Stop pushing me away!! Im trying to help you!!" You shouted sounding more annoyed than what you intended. You were still holding in your hands the wet cloth with which you intended to clean the wound.

"I don't recall asking for you fucking help. Why don't you make yourself truly useful by fucking off of my face uh?!" He snapped at you while painfully gripping your wrist before you could try to help him again, just to roughly shove you once again away from him.

He leaned against the kitchen counter using one hand for support and clutching the other on his side. His forehead was full of cold sweat, his face getting more pale as blood kept dripping through his fingers. Even breathing was painful as he felt his skin tingle from pain. When he was sure his legs were steady enough to walk he took a few steps towards you, snatching the cloth from your hands and before exit the kitchen giving you a death glare when you started to trailing after him.

With a grunt he lowered himself slowly to seat on one of the armchairs in the living room. With shaky hands he began putting pressure on the wound, tilting his head back and hissing from the pain.

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?... i know you're upset but you're taking it too far" you forced yourself to keep a more soft tone while you lowered yourself in front on him, using his knees to keep you from losing balance. You're gaze full of concern as you watched him run his fingers through his hair.

He can't exactly say if it is the sentence or the already feeling of annoyance at your never insistence but he can't stop the anger bubbling up from his core. Lately both of you are always fighting (more like Bo getting worked up about something and then proceeds to take it out on you, snapping and saying the most hurtful shit he can think of)

You have never once been any less patient or gentle than usual but he could see the look in your eyes everytime. That loving and understanding gaze you always held for him was being tinted by a light shadow of pain from each word he snarled at you in the heat of the moment. You were wilting away under his eyes and he didn't knew what to do to stop it. You were so happy when you first came into his life, even after knowing what he and Vincent really were. He knew it was all his fault but he couldn't help it, he was always so angry but couldn't get himself to try to talk about it.

For a while you seemed to understand that and you actually saw through his though act but he kept making it harder for you to do so when saying certain things that he just knew were plain cruel. He really was being a monster, as his parent would say. He was being a monster with the only person, outside of his family, that was willing to put up with his bullshit. He saw too how lately you've been spending more time with Vincent, letting him dry your tears while saying sorry from his brother's behalf since you certainly wouldn't be listening it from Bo himself.

He was trying so hard to be good but he knew you've started to see it too; how Vincent was better than him, how easier and happier days felt when spent with someone so much more gentle and calm.

He couldn't lie to himself saying it was your fault. It was his, it has always been. He felt overwhelmed by your unconditional love, it was too much and too good. The thought of getting used to it, to take it and accepte that it was really for him felt simply wrong. It scared him to think how painful it would be if one day you were to snatch it away from him forever. He's always been one to get his head overworked with negative thoughts, sabotaging everything nice he has going for himself before something or someone does it for him. Not one single day pass by without Bo remind himself that he's not like Vincent who creates and has it within himself to build good things, that he was always meant to be destructive and toxic to anything around him.

So when he hears you voice the same sentence that his parents have told him countless time in a much ruthless tone, he just freaks out. Letting his temper get the better of him.

He gets up suddenly ignoring the pain and making you lose balance, watching you as try to steady yourself before getting up too while holding his gaze.

"You sure talk too much for someone who is not that fucking important to keep around uh" his voice was harsh and cold, his words making their way to your heart despite your efforts in don't get hurt by them.

"You act like you're suddenly part of the damn family. Like you give a actual fuck about us and you're not just trying to keep yourself alive." He paused for a moment seeing the corners of your eyes getting full of tears.

"You know that's not true...I care about you, Lester and Vin-" You're voice was almost a whisper before he cuts you off "yeah, I've seen how care for Vincent. Maybe he's too fucking stupid to actually see what you're doing but I'm not." When you finally left the tears run down across your cheeks he scoffed seemingly annoyed by your reaction. He turned your back at you just to stop the strong feeling of guilt that was starting to burn in his chest.

"You're so fuckin annoying, always complaining and fucking crying. You're lucky that i can tolerate you enough to fuck sometimes otherwise you wouldn't even be here so cut it with your caring partner bullshit. Save it for that freak you always run to when you're upset" he clenched his jaw, accepting the rage that made his words more poisonous instead of thinking about how much damage he was making.

As you listened to every word he said you felt your stomach twist in pain while your throat closed trying to hold back violent sobs, making breathing extra harder. Everything that could've possibly feel pain in your body was hurting right now, you've never thought you would say it but you wished he had hit you instead of this.

It's certainly not the worst fight the two of you ever had and this is not the first time he tries to make you question his care for you. But the way he said everything, so calm as if he was just saying something normal and acceptable, was what put you off. It was like feeling your whole heart being punched over and over and in your mind there was an echo of his voice repeating what he just said. You felt time froze around you, your own being detached from yourself to observe from outside your shaking body tried to process all those intense feelings you were experiencing. Your face was now pale and a empty expression was plastered all over it, matching perfectly with how dull your eyes looked with fat tears rolling out of them. In your own bubble of pain you didn't even noticed that Bo had left and that you were just standing as if you just turned too into a wax figure. In your mind your inner voice was begging you to just leave or at least move, trying to bring you back just enough to at least remove yourself from the living room. Your legs started to move on their own with your brain, in a act of self-preservation, giving instructions of a detailed plan to execute that you didn't really need to approve nor know to get it done. You went to your room, not the one you occasionally shared with Bo but the own where you kept all your belongings, closing the door behind you. Without even realising you've already packed most of your things (which weren't much to begin with).

You forced yourself to be as quiet as you could when getting out of the house after taking Bo's keys. He was going to get really mad when he'd realise that his truck was missing but you thought that maybe it wouldn't matter so much after finding out you were gone too. Only when you were already a good distance away from Ambrose you started to get the realisation of you've decided to do and how incredibly lucky you have been in actually succeeding.

Everytime guilt tried to claw your heart, making you think of possibles scenarios with a heartbroken Bo finding out you left, your mind reminded you of what not only he has said tonight but what he has done to you all this time too. You loved him so much that you were blinded by it, you didn't even noticed how even the nice days with him were somehow painful. You've tried so hard to do everything you've could for him, tried to turn yourself into something he could love more comfortably, did and said everything you've could imagine of to get to his heart but it wasn't enough. You were sure he loved you, that's about the only thing you would never doubt. But the reality of it is that it's not enough, love is not always enough. Him loving you and you loving him was not going to change anything, cause Bo doesn't knows how to love something without hurting it. He doesn't do it on purpose it's just the way he is and you could see how much pain that fact was causing him but in the end he was dragging you down with him.

You couldn't take it anymore cause you knew that if you stayed you would've ended up hating him and that's something you were not going to be okay with. You wanted to keep seeing him as someone flawed but lovable, you didn't want to start seeing him as the monster everyone thought of him. The only way to do that is to remove yourself now and make up a less painful reason as why you've left him.

It's safe to say that he knew he fucked up from the moment he left you alone in the living room after what was probably one of the most vile things he could've said to you. He knew it so well in fact that the guilt was eating him alive. The nauseating feeling was twisting his insides and clutching his heart painfully. It was ten times worse than anything he had ever felt, making him even forget about his wound. As soon as he reached his bedroom his legs gave up forcing him to kneel down. He felt his head spinning and the walls of the room closing on him while he clutched his chest trying to get some air inside his lungs.

He knew he fucked up and he was scared, for once he had no idea of what to do. He felt and impending feeling that something terribly bad was going to happen after today's fight. He prayed, for the first time in his life, that this was just another stupid fight, that he would have the opportunity to make things right with you.

Please, I know that I have no fucking right to ask this but they are the only nice thing I've ever cared for... if you let me I will do better. I will, I fuckin will please..

He couldn't stop the ugly sobs that started to shake his core. He shutted his eyes closed, trying to keep the tears at bay but failing. Little did he knew that this was definitely going to be their last fight, and in general the last thing they've do together.

Everything ended how it started, violently wrong.

#slasher community #slasher fandom #slashers #bo sinclair #horror movies #slasher fanfiction #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfic #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #brian van holt #house of wax #house of wax fanfic

[fictionalmanwhorehub]

Not requested <3

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem! Reader Angst to Fluff

(I will do a masc version in the near future)

Summary - Ghost has been much to closed off for you, and you're getting sick of how he leaves and never contacts you and comes back without a word. You get in a heated fight and he realizes how much he's hurting you and you finally break down his walls as he sobs into your chest and apologizes profusely you realize he hasn't trusted you enough until this point to truly let his guard down.

(Possibly more than one part)

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

You were sitting at the kitchen island, a glass of wine in your hand as you hear the door open and slam shut, causing you to jump slightly. Simon walked in and went to the fridge,

"Fuckin' hell, when was the last time you went to the store." he mumbled at the empty fridge.

He was met with cold silence as you sat there, mascara smeared from crying, he noticed but said nothing as he grabbed some crackers and started to leave,

"Why.. The fuck do you keep leaving without saying anything." you say, your voice quivering with emotion.

".. What..? Why should I tell you where I go." he mumbled, taken aback by the question.

"Because you're my fucking boyfriend." you say, standing from your chair and finishing your glass of wine.

"You don't need to know where I go just because we're dating." he growled as tears threatened to spill from your eyes again,

"Why did you even decide to fucking date me. Why did you take me out, pay for my dinner, MOVE IN WITH ME?! You leave without telling me, you ignore me for days when I did nothing wrong, you never join me when I go to bed, you're so fucking selfish Simon, I.. Can't do this anymore.. Not like this.." you say, your voice cracks prominent and tears streaming down your face.

Simons eyes widen at this sudden spill of emotion, ".. I'm.. Not selfish. You're just clingy y/n" he mumbled

your mouth fell open for a moment, "I should've known you would fucking react like that.. I should've known you would treat me like the person in the wrong. Soap warned me when we started dating that you were emotionally closed off, but I loved you to much to care. I wanted to help you. I wanted to be there for you.. but I needed you more than you needed me and I'm.. I'm done going on like this simon.. I called my mom/dad/sister/brother yesterday.. I'm.. Moving out.. this is to much for me.. It's tearing me apart to be treated like this and I just need to get away.. we need a break.. I don't know if I'll ever be ready to come back to this relationship.. I'm so sorry I just can't.." you mumbled through hics and guttural sobs as you looked through the holes of his mask.

You saw his eyes grow wet and he let out a soft sob,

"Simon are you.. Crying..?" you said softly as he falls to his knees,

"I'm so fucking sorry y/n god I'm so sorry.. I was so scared for myself I didn't even realize how much I was hurting you.. I was so scared you would leave me but I pushed you away while being a fucking pussy.." he mumbled through soft hics

You pull him up off his knees and bring him to the couch and gently pull him into your arms, "Simon.. You should've told me.. Honey I wouldn't leave you.. if you had told me I would've done anything to earn all your trust.." you said and gently rubbed his back, "Can I take off your mask Si..?" you say softly and he nods.

You gently strip off his mask and hold his face in your hands, "I'm telling my mom/dad/sister/brother that I talked to you and we're working this out. I'm not leaving, and you can trust me.. you say and softly run your hand through his blonde hair.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap and sobbed into your chest, holding the cloth of your shirt tightly, "Thank you.. I'm so sorry.. I'll be better I promise.." he said, his voice muffled from being pressed against your chest.

You smiled and kiss his head, "Thank you Si.. I love you.." you said and he looks up at you, his black face pain smeared and streaky,

"you do..? Still..?" he says in an almost whimper as you nod and place a soft kiss to the top of his nose,

"After all of what you just told me, I trust you'll treat me better, and that we'll be able to make this work, and make it work well. I'll stay with you and you'll stay with me, and now we can talk about things when they bother us. I love you, and we can do this. Together." you say and he smiled and starts crying harder,

"Happy tears?" you say and gently stroke his hair,

"Happy tears" he says softly and holds you tighter.

You both eventually fell asleep in eachothers arms, which you hadn't done since you moved in together.

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

Sorry if this is shit, I'll probably add more parts soon. PLEASE REQUEST COD MODERN WAREFARE 2 IDEAS 🙏🙏

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #ghost #angst #ghost x y/n #modern warefare 2 #angst to fluff #soap mw2

[straightupsickfics]

⛈ and 🤕 (thunderstorm and headache) for Ed bb?

ahhhh this is so cute, and i'm going to do it for the "let me help" square on my ofmd bingo card <3

****

Stede yelps as he walks into his captain's quarters into almost complete darkness, sending a pile of books crashing to the floor.

"Good lord, what on earth—"

A low groan stops Stede in his tracks before he can finish his question, and he turns toward the sound, emanating from the couch.

"Who's there... Ed? Is that you?" Stede calls, his voice just a measure softer than it had been before.

"Mhh?" Another half-hearted groan has Stede picking his way carefully across the room, following the sound, which, he now knows, is definitely coming from Ed.

"Are you alright? Why's it so dark, it's midday!" Granted there was a storm coming soon, but even so.

"Head...fuckin' hurts," Ed mutters.

"Oh. Oh. I'm sorry, and here I am making a mess and a fuss," Stede says quietly. By now he's reached Ed, laying prone on his couch, his face pale and his long hair pulled back and away from his face. He gives Stede a pained little look, which sends Stede's stomach into a nervous flutter. That happens sometimes, usually when Ed looked at him a certain way, or laughed loudly at something he said, or complimented him or —

Well, it's been happening a great deal more since Ed had joined The Revenge, that's for sure.

Now, though, Ed looks utterly miserable, eyes just barely open and peering up at Stede through the dark of the room.

"I wondered where you'd gotten to... Everyone's in a tizzy up there, I came to see if something was wrong."

"Weather fucks with my head I think," Ed sighs.

"You head?" Stede repeats, "not just your knee?"

Ed grimaces at this. "Both, m'lucky that way," he says.

Stede frowns. Ed can't be comfortable on the small couch, curled up the way he is, head resting on the hard arm of the chair.

"Here, why don't you let me help," Stede says before he can stop himself or really think it through.

Ed squints at him. "Nothin' t'do," he says, though his eyes linger on Stede a beat longer than necessary, a bit of hope shining through them, and Stede's choice is solidified.

"We can get you into bed, for one thing," Stede says. "Softer, and you'll be able to stretch out some. Your head and your knee will thank you," he says. "And I could have someone fetch a cold washcloth? Keep you company? Or, of course if you'd rather not have me blathering on I could leave you to—"

"No," Ed says quickly. "That sounds... good," he adds carefully.

Smiling a little and feeling a bit more encouraged, Stede helps Ed to his feet and over to the bed, helping him ease onto it.

"Should we... That is... D'you want to take this off?" Stede asks, gesturing to the brace at Ed's knee.

Ed sighs. "Hurts my head too much to bend down that way," he admits. "Tried it earlier."

"Well, that won't do," Stede agrees, bending down himself and undoing the clasps holding it in place, then holding it up, triumphant. "Ah, here we go. Better?"

But Ed's already sighing in relief, stretching out his knee and curling up into the soft, plush fabric of Stede's bed, and he decides to take that as a yes.

"Does this happen very often?" Stede asks once he's settled. He's not sure what to do now, surely he should find a damp cloth for him, be productive somewhere else before the storm rolls in in full, but...

"Depends on the weather, really. How much I drink," Ed rolls his eyes. "Million things really. This is the first in a while. Forgot how fucking unpleasant it is," he admits.

They're quiet for a moment, and Stede hears a distant rumble of thunder, somewhere further out but definitely growing closer.

"Well then," Stede says, "I should probably go see about, ah..."

Before Stede can finish the thought, though, Ed's hand curls around his wrist, soft but firm, and holding him in place.

"Y'could stay, if y'want," Ed says quickly. "Wouldn't mind the company. Just don't tell Iz, he always gets kicked out and he'll be pissy."

Stede grins, trying not to feel gleeful at that particular admission.

Ed's hand tugs him closer as he yawns hugely, finally relaxing, and Stede finds himself slipping onto the bed beside him, his hand working its way into Ed's hair and stroking carefully.

It should be strange, shouldn't it? Having someone else — a man, no less – in his bed, but it isn't. Not when that person is Ed, especially when he's in pain.

Somewhere, there's another rumble of thunder, and Stede definitely hears the soft patter of rain above them, but beside him, Ed gives a little sigh of relief, and curls himself in just that much closer to Stede.

#my fic #of//md #of//md bingo #anonymous

[walkeddeath]

cont. from here w/ @walkedfire - i am sorry

　　gen can't remember much of the time in between getting the call and him speaking. there was speeding through at least one red light, yelling and crying in the lobby, she might've collapsed somewhere in the middle of that, and then a long too long wait. when they'd finally let her back into his room, gen had nearly ran, only slowing when she got closer, suddenly terrified and not quite sure of how to react. they hadn't thought they'd get this close and they've never been good at this, facing mortality, seeing people she loves in a situation they can't get them out of.

　　it had taken her a solid minute before she'd gone into his room, they won't tell him that, they won't tell him about the screaming and the panic attack or the fact that she'd been thinking about every wrong thing that could have happened. that they blame themself . he doesn't know it could be true, they're remembering enough that the signs point to it.

　　the remembering is always the hardest part, not the telling, but the sudden rush of memories and the realization that this isn't the first time. none of it is. it's all some little game for bored and pissed gods and goddesses and it's her fault. it's on them and they know they can't tell him everything yet, not when he just almost fucking died. it has to wait and that's the even harder part. knowing and not being able to tell him for this that and the other reason. 

　　they've been crying again, wondering when the tears will just stop coming because she's run out of them, half hiding her face in folded arms on top of her knees. the hospital's chairs are shit and they hurt but gen doesn't care, won't complain, it's just an annoying little thing on top of it all. her eyes have stayed glued to him for hours and they've barely blinked, just waiting for him to show some sign that he's still there. that he hasn't fully left. it isn't time. not yet. it doesn't go like that and it's the waiting that kills them every time. 

　　she remembers all of those other waiting periods and they feel like they're suffocating on all of the memories. the guilt and the panic and the urge to run so he won't have to see all of it painted on her face. they did this it's her fault she's going to keep getting him half killed.

　　if you die it's going to be my fault, they don't know if he's able to hear them, doesn't really factor it in, it just comes out as she starts to spiral and fall back into memories in the silence and the beeping of machines. her eyes are distracted, distant, and they almost don't see his hand but they catch it in the corner of their focus and they almost yell . 

　　they want to get closer but they're scared, worried he's going to remember before them this time, know that it is her fault. all they can do is whisper a choked up "hey, shh, i know it hurts i know just don't talk okay, it's okay, i'm here and i won't go anywhere." , only moving closer so they can reach out and take his hand gently. 

　　gen puts all of her remaining energy into him, steadily, trying to get his pain to dissolve as much as possible. "hey, buck, you're gonna be okay you're not dead you're gonna be okay. i'm here, i love you, it's okay you're gonna get out of here. i'll be here until you do and after. just squeeze my hand, don't talk please save your strength, like please babe, please. "

　　she isn't going to run, she'll stay and stay and stay and help and maybe this time it means they'll really finally get out. they still don't know how it all works or why zeus won't fucking chill but they can't think about all of the extra bullshit. not yet. it will have to wait.

　　"i'll tell you everythin' when you get a lil more rest. do you need meds or the nurse or some water? just ––– don't fuckin' do that again or i swear i'm gonna kill you myself."

#i'm actually crying right now #im not okay at all #i'm really not #walkedfire #the night we met started playing and i lost it #injury tw // #death mention tw // #hospital tw // #we're in deep sad hours #long post // #⋆ no grave can hold my body down • w. walkedfire ⋆

[amidalashandmaidens]

SDC update: I have read Mariah, Alessi and the beginning of the older D'Arby's chapters ;)

Had a fuckin blast my guys 💕💕. I love Mariah, funniest lady ever. I'll put Alessi spoilers under the cut

ALESSI GOT BEAT UP BY A (PHYSICAL SIZED) 3 YEAR OLD AND A 7 YEAR OLD I AM LOSING MY MIND.

Fuckin wiiiimp.

I can understand why peeps think he's a creep w/the "good boy" thing but at least he also calls himself a good boy?? I dunno... Like he's fucked up for killing people by rewinding their way out of existence (THAT POOR WOMAN!! SHE WAS JUST TAKING CARE OF A LIL DUDE) it made me feel sick, the lack of control, losing your memories + motor skills...gah.

And it really showcases how much of a coward Alessi is, unwilling to fight people on equal ground + overkilling once they're vulnerable.

Very interesting character though I will admit. (I can't hate him all that much??)

And I wonder what fundamental part of his "soul" made his stand manifest as a thing which de-ages people?

(I could do some prolly super off base assumptions: like maybe Alessi didn't get much of a childhood? So his stand wants to help him experience something normal, but he uses it to...y'know kill people)

My brother read it before me and described Alessi's arc not concluding in the most satisfying way, and I agree it could have been longer (if it weren't for the fact that woman needed to get re-aged ASAP). But I'm not upset about it?

I just....keep coming back to the fact that either Jotaro was Super Strong as a child, or Alessi's made of putty and toothpicks. And that we Just get a glimpse of lil-taro. 🥲

Ah...what else do I wanna talk about...

Polnareff and that young lady?

I just, I know why Pol went with her (perceived safety + he has Silver Chariot worst comes to worst) but like...why wouldn't she ask him if he had parents? Maybe took him to a police officer instead??

It was very nice of her, but it just strikes me as off. I remember being 8 + scraping my knees (wiped out on my bike) and a neighbourhood lady took me inside her house to get patched up but my mom was Very Angry with me when she caught up. She told me I was lucky I wasn't hurt and to not go into strangers' houses even if they say they would help me. It was okay wait outside, since people could see, but not inside.

I just, I know it was to get Polnareff into a weird situation. Like "oh, all of his adult brain isn't ALL gone so he's Really Pleased for reasons he can't even remember" it's just....ugh. He's a KID goddamnit.

Anyways, I'm blown away that this happened while Joseph and Avdol's shit w/Mariah was happening.

Im gonna reblog this w/a Mariah addition don't worry 😉

#ash thoughts #ash reads sdc #the ONLY REASON i know terence d'arby's name is cause of kat + thats why i cannot for the life of me remember the others name #@kat LOOK WHAT UVE DONNNNNE #jdjsjsks

[alorz]

hrrggg ,.. anxiety high for no reason . lower leg refusing to stay in its socket.back hurt. arm hurt . i want to lie down in a bog.

#pers #why musteihdeghnjmfkyiedrjhfLooks in the mirror SIR I AM GETTING SICK OF YOUR ANTICS #my knee hurts so fuckin much i don't know why it keeps fucking doing this #complaining

[becca-e-barnes]

Becca... cant stop thinking about HEEEAVY and nasty humiliation and degradation and rough sex with best friend's dad bucky 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Oh god this has been on my mind 🤤

And like... Dbf! Bucky is definitely into degrading you when he's feeling nasty. The rough sex would be so fucking amazing

Bc the thought of him putting you on your hands and knees, fucking you ruthlessly. Maybe he keeps your head up too, either by gripping your hair or with a nice little collar and leash. Either way, you want to bury your face in the sheets in shame, desperate to hide just how much you're enjoying this but he doesn't let you.

"Shit, are you gonna cum again? Just gettin' off on me using you. God, you're such a slut. Y'like the way Daddy fucks you? Don't even know why I'm askin', I can tell you do. This stupid little cunt is droolin' for me. Cum so many times, you can't even think straight. You're pathetic and I love it. All stupid and cockdrunk. Losing control of yourself on this fat dick." He's loving this, tugging your head up and spanking your ass with every few thrusts.

Your own moans sound pornographic and he's not easing off in the slightest. You can't even blame him though, you're wetter than you think you've ever been, your pussy making the most obscene slick noises with each tiny movement of his dick inside you.

"D-Daddy, o-oh Daddy please, fuck please." You groan, not even able to string together a sentence.

"What's wrong, baby? This messy little cunt gonna cum again? You gonna milk Daddy's big dick like it's all you're good for? Bet you couldn't stop yourself if you tried. M'sure it feels so good. Got Daddy pressed so deep in that slutty cunt." He sounds so condescending, mocking you brutally and it only pushes you closer to your orgasm.

"God, you're stupid. This body was made for me. Gonna fuck you until it hurts for you to cum anymore. And then I'm gonna keep going." He gives one last tug, forcing your head up. You feel him gather some of your slick on the tip of his thumb and before you know it, he's pressing it to your asshole, slipping himself in to the first knuckle and you're losing it, cumming so hard you see stars.

"Good girl, that's it, keep cumming. Clinging to my cock like it's all fuckin' yours. Even tighter with your little asshole stuffed full." His groans are low and filthy, his own need taking over but you hardly even recognise he said anything. Your eyes are rolled back and you're groaning at the feeling of his cock filling you up and his thumb wiggling inside you. It's too damn much but so perfect at the same time and the only thought in your head is of how you can get more.

#asks answered <3 #buckysboobs #becca writes spice #dbf!bucky #dadsbestfriend!bucky #dads best friend!bucky #look... I know you sent this so long ago #I'm sorry ahahaha #I've been thinking about this a lot today #what I wouldn't give #for some of this

[shigarakislittlepet]

im so happy to find a blog with good nsfw content for literally all my faves lol we share the same braincell it seems! how about fluffy nsfw headcanons for Dabi, Shigi, Aizawa and Shinsou and well, Baku but I don't want to overwhelm you even if you don't have a character limit hhh, with a s/o that was completely inexperienced in sex before they got together? They grew more comfortable with the idea of sex over time as they used to be really shy about it but they're scared they'll mess up and disappoint their loves? If possible could you mention what kind of approach each boy would have for the first time with their virgin s/o? I'm just feeling some fluffy dick tonite ya know lol stay safe out there <3

Ohhhh my gosh, this whole thing gave me brain rot lmao, thank you for giving me this power <3<3<3

This also took me literal months to finish because life got crazy, so I’m sorry about that. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

TW: loss of virginity, gentelness, fluffy smut, unprotected sex bc I’m a whore (Y/N is on birth control), and as always all characters are adults especially Y/N

-Dabi-

> You are surprised by how patient he is with you. You were sure he’d have gotten tired of waiting, but he didn’t push. He didn’t make you feel badly about it, and the last thing he would ever want to do to sweet little innocent angel is coerce them into something they weren’t ready for. So, he waits.

> It happened so gradually. Over time, light kissing became making out. After a few months, you got more comfortable and it didn’t feel at all odd to fall into bed with him, cuddling and “swapping spit” as he called it, which always made you giggle like a schoolgirl at his crudeness. His hands would test the waters, but he was always feeling for nervous tremors and flinching, never wanting to go further than you were comfortable. At first, he only rested a hand on you lower back, drawing lazy circles into your waist, his other cradling your face gently, reassuringly. Eventually he could get his hand beneath your shirt, still just at your lower back, but he was content with his progress. Your skin was soft and you said he felt warm, and that was the first time he ever thought of his quirk as “sweet, comforting”, as you described the warmth from his hands.

> After a few months went by, he had progressed to the point of being able to freely roam your body with his hands, the warmth helping you stay calm and anchored to him.

> What continued to surprise you is how easy it felt, once you were ready. You didn’t even see it coming. He asked you, so gently, if he could take your shirt off. You told him he could as long as he promised to keep you warm. He went along slowly, constantly reassuring you, “God Angel, you’re so beautiful. I gotta see more of you, can I? Please?”, “You’re so soft, I need to feel more of your skin, angel, please?” You didn’t even hesitate, you didn’t need to. You felt safer with him than you ever had in your life.

> You realized, once you were both naked together, just how comfortable you were with him. And suddenly you felt like you needed to give him everything he ever wanted, and you knew he would do the same for you.

> It happens so slowly, or at least, it feels like it does. His hand slowly grazes down between your bodies until he reaches your core. You gasp, no one but you had ever touched you there, and it feels so foreign and wonderful. And warm. Once you begin bucking onto his fingers, an insatiable grin stretches across his face. He retracts his fingers, bringing them to his lips, and you watch as he sucks them clean. He calls you delicious and rolls on top of you, asks you if you’re ready for him. For the first time, you look down between your bodies and see just how huge and hard he is for you. When he sees your concern he kisses your forehead, then your lips. “I won’t hurt you Angel, I promise.” You nod and smile, and he starts easing into you, stopping every so often when he can tell the stretch is too much. He kisses your cheeks, your shoulders, your lips, whatever he can get his mouth on as he pants and mumbles little praises. “I love you”, “You’re doin’ so well”, “You’re takin’ me sooo well”, “God, you’re so beautiful, you know how beautiful you are Angel?”, “Ahh, you’re so fuckin’ tight and wet for me Angel, you want me that badly?”. The praises and teases help you considerably to keep you relaxed, and fuck, you DO want him. So fucking badly, you need him. When he’s finally seated inside you fully, he waits, clearly using every last bit of his restraint and self control to give you time to adjust. When you finally whine and buck your hips up on him, he loses it. “I hope you’re fuckin’ ready, Angel.”

>You find rather quickly that Dabi’s style is a beautiful mix of “fucking” and “making love”. He fucks you, hard and deep, so much so that it makes you see stars, but while he does it he’s caging you in-between his arms, holding you close while he pistons in and out of you. He looks you in the eyes, watching your reactions, quickly finding what angle makes you convulse and let out those beautiful moans and coos that he’s now desperate to hear.

>When he nears his end, he reaches down between you again to rub sweet circles against your clit, because no way is Dabi cumming first. It’s just not his style.

-Shigaraki-

>BRAIN ROT

> Shigaraki is definitely happy that you’re inexperienced, he’d kill anyone who had ever laid a hand on you before him. You belonged to him.

> It also means that you’re a virgin, which really gets him going because hes a pervert. ((He’s also secretly glad that he’s not the only virgin))

> He is touch starvvveeeeddddddd. We all know this. But at first, he’s so hesitant to touch you, for fear of destroying you.

> You are patient with each other, and together you find out what works and what doesn’t. He got some artist gloves so he could hold your fucking hand without hyperventilating about dusting you. He’s still afraid of you disappearing beneath his fingertips.

> You were never, not even for a second, worried that he would hurt you. You knew that he could, that he had the ability, but you knew that he wouldn’t.

> He wasn’t so sure, he was afraid of rolling over in the night and finding a pile of dust where you used to be. He wakes up from nightmares about it and has to wake you up to hold you while he shakes uncontrollably. He just has to know you’re alive.

> You both get more and more comfortable with physical proximity and contact together, because you both wanted it, you were both just so worried about fucking everything up.

> When the time came where both of you decided you were ready to have sex, you admitted to him that you were afraid of not measuring up to his expectations. All these “what if’s” kept popping up in your mind: “what if he doesn’t find my body attractive enough”, “what if I don’t know how to move right”, “what if I cant please him”, etc. etc. etc.

> He just looks at you kind of taken aback and confused. He was worried about you not being able to see him as sexually attractive because of how he looked, he was just as self-conscious as you. “Darling, you’re the most perfect person in existence, how can you not see that? Look at me! I’m... I... Look like this! How could I ever hope that someone as beautiful as you could ever see me that way?”

>You didn’t immediately know how to respond. You were... heartbroken that he saw himself that way. You couldn’t image him being self-conscious about anything because in your eyes, he was a god. He was perfect and angelic and you told him as much. You looked at him with such adorably big eyes and your voice was full of so much honesty and adoration, he had to have you immediately. He’d never felt desired, he had never felt lovable. He always thought it would be a miracle if anyone would ever be able to even stomach looking at him without cringing away in disgust. But you were so perfect and you loved him so immediately and so much that it knocked him out. He launches himself at you and just kisses you for a while.

> You both fumbled around a bit at first, trying to find what felt best. You both quickly came to the conclusion that you were going to have to practice together. A lot. As much as possible actually, because even in your inexperience, you both felt more amazing than you ever had in your lives. When you were connected like this, panting, kissing, licking, trying your damndest to become one being, it felt like bliss. You never wanted it to stop.

-Aizawa-

> MORE FUCKING BRAIN ROT

> Aizawa has an innocence kink. There I fucking said it.

> When it comes to the person he’s with, he’s a shameless flirt, and while he would NEVER cross a line or pressure you, he definitely does his best to get you in the mood whenever he can, much to your naïve frustration.

> At first you genuinely don’t even realize he’s doing it on purpose. The heated looks he gave you that made your knees weak? You didn’t think he was doing that on purpose, it’s just because he’s... tired? And he always looks so gorgeous, so that’s why. He ALWAYS makes your knees weak. Yeah that’s all it is, obviously.

> And when he comes up behind you, hands on your hips gently, and lowly rumbling in your ear. Sometimes it’s just comments about whatever you’re doing, which was bad enough. But sometimes it was mumbled compliments. About your outfit, how good it made your ass look. About how soft your hair was, how good you smelled, the softness of your skin while he gently rubbed his stubble against your neck.

>YOU COULDN’T FUCKING HANDLE IT.

> He was so soft most of the time, cuddling you while watching movies, cooking together, dancing in the kitchen with you at 3 in the morning after he finished grading papers. The shift that happened when he would get flirtatious was dizzying.

> You were nervous though, Aizawa was a bit older than you, and obviously way more experienced that you. One night while you were curled up in bed together, you told him you were nervous about disappointing him when the time finally came. He sat up and turned a light on immediately and pulled you into his lap. He held you and stroked your hair and told you how much you meant to him, how you could never disappoint him, how much he wanted you, and how he was willing to wait however long you needed. He held you until he was sure you felt better about it, and then he held you until he was sure you were asleep. You were the most important person in the world to him, and he wasn’t gonna let you think anything was ever gonna change that.

> When you finally got tired of his teasing and felt like you were ready, you decided to get him back. Before he got home, you put on one of his long shirts as a dress and started getting dinner ready.

> When he walked through the door and saw that you were wearing nothing but one of his black button ups, he had to maintain every ounce of his self control to contain the rush of feral need that suddenly consumed him. Now it was HIS turn to assume you were being innocent. And man did you play it up. “What’s wrong Shota? Are you feeling okay?” And you bat your big beautiful eyes at him. He was going to have a stroke.

> It wasn’t until you bent over and he noticed you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt that he realized it was an invitation. He came up behind you, caging you in against the counter, and growled lowly in your ear, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He gently pushed his growing erection against your ass, making you gasp. Score.

> “W-what do you mean?” you looked up at him as innocently as you could. He took your hand and pressed it to the front of his pants. He groaned low in his chest, thankful for any friction. “Don’t play dumb with me, kitten. You know exactly what you’re doing. I think you should take responsibility.” You grinned.

> “Yes Sir,” he jolts at that, and you sink your knees and get to work undoing the fastenings on his hero costume. When his cock springs free, you eagerly give it kitten licks until he’s had enough. He grips you by your hair and gently guides your mouth down onto his cock. He’s big, bigger than you can take, but that doesn’t stop Aizawa from purposefully making you gag on him every so often. He really does get off on how innocent you are, the tears that hang in your eyes from gagging on his cock. He’s gonna cum soon if he’s not careful.

> After he’s had his fun making you suck him off, he pulls you up and carries you off to bed. No way he’s taking your virginity on the floor, he’s too much of a gentleman. And dinner, what dinner? Thank god nothing happened to be on the stove or in the oven.

> He sets you down in bed and kisses you, takes his shirt off of you and finishes ridding himself of his hero costume. He takes pride in getting you ready for him, relishing in your sweet noises and how wet you are for him. A fact that he teases you about. “S-Shotaaa~” you moan and clench down on his fingers. He smirks, “What happened to ‘Sir’, hmm? I liked that, you know...” All you can do is whine up at him in response.

> When you feel like you’re close to cumming, you whine louder and clench down harder and before you can reach your peak, he stops. You whine in frustration before he leans down and rumbles, “Oh no, kitten, the only way you’re cumming is if you cum on my cock.” You gasp and nearly convulse at his filthy words, but you’ve never felt like you needed him more.

> He fucks you gently, at first anyway. For as long as he can. He rolls his hips into you and angles his thrusts expertly, aiming for that spot inside you that’ll make your head spin. And he hits it. Every time. And your head DOES spin. And soon you can feel the pressure build again and you start whining again, “Sh-Shouta, please! I’m s-oh! So close!” He smiles, and decides to take pity on you. He pistons harder, faster, brings a hand to your core to rub circles against your clit and when you cum, you scream his name and he can’t take it anymore. He slams into you, chasing his own high and simultaneously extends yours. You’re seeing stars by the time he cums deep into you. He rolls over, bringing you with him. You lie on top of him and he strokes your hair, and you just hold each other for a while.

-Shinso-

> I wanna say this now, Shinso is Aizawa Jr. I’m so sorry, but its true. They’re both tired, overworked, cat lovers that just wanna come home and cuddle and pass out.

> He knows he’s your first boyfriend. You met at UA and pretty much bonded immediately. Now that you’re both pro-heros working for the same agency? It was only a matter of time before he made a move. And thank whatever higher power exists that you have the same schedule. More time for cuddles.

> HOWEVER! Don’t let the fact that he’s a cuddle-bug fool you. He frequently has to remember that you’re a virgin and you’ve never been in a relationship before, so you have no idea how much he’s affected by you answering your door on a Saturday morning you both had off wearing one of his hoodies that absolutely swallows you. Looking up at him smiling and yawning sleepily, rubbing one of your eyes and groggily asking, “What are you doing here so early? I thought we weren’t going out till tonight?”. He has to breathe deeply to stop himself from jumping you.

> Because much like Aizawa, seeing you so sleepy and soft and small and knowing how innocent and naive you are to all of the things you do that make him need you... is going to make him lose his mind. Quickly.

> Instead of an innocence kink though, this motherfucker has a corruption and a mind break kink. He wants to make it impossible for you to feel pleasure without him, he wants to make you need him desperately, forever. And he wants to do it without the help of his quirk. But that would all come in time, at the moment he has to stop himself from cumming in his pants because you’re bending over on your way to your room so you can change, stooping to pet your cat and his hoodie rode up your ass and he can see your lacy black panties and you were GOING to drive him insane long before he ever got the chance to make you his, he was sure.

> He had brought you coffee and suggested you just stay in all day since you both had such a late night. Watching movies and stuff. You know, normal stuff. He told himself he wasn’t going to try and make a move. Right? Right.

> But when you emerged from your room 45 minutes later, showered and changed, your hair still damp and a droplet of water drifting down your neck and landing in the dip of your collar bones, all he could think of was licking it up. How good your hair must smell, how your skin was still probably warm form the water... He was staring, and you pretended not to notice.

> You were nervous about not measuring up to his expectations. You’d seen the women he usually went out with, and how comfortable they were with their bodies and their sexuality. How beautiful they were. As far as you were concerned, you were nothing like them.

> He could see the gears turning in your head and the downturn of your mouth, and he asked you what was wrong. He motioned for you to come sit with him, and it wasn’t five seconds before he pulled you into his lap. After some coaxing, you let him know what you were worried about. He assured you that the reason he was so happy with you is because you weren’t anything like the women he had dated before. Because, not only were you far more beautiful than they were, they had also been conceited and cold, only dating him because he was an up and coming pro-hero that could get them into events so they could dump him for the first bigger hero they’d meet. He liked that you were soft and warm and he could trust you, that you had always trusted him, even despite his quirk.

> You talked for awhile, and as the morning sun drifted higher into the sky, you decided it was time to door dash some food. While he ordered it, you excused yourself the restroom. You needed to think. The heaviness of the conversation still weighed on you, and you’d never felt closer to him than you did now. It was time, you were sure. You wanted to give him everything he’d been waiting so patiently for, he deserved it. And so did you damnit, no more of this scaredy-cat bullshit! You gave yourself your best war face in the mirror before you exited the bathroom and going back to the living room where Shinsou was reclined on your couch. Head tilted back, resting on the pillow behind him.

> He was so beautiful. Lavender hair a wild mess, eyes closed and lashes fluttering softly. You wanted to kiss his neck suddenly, and unlike when urges like this usually happened, you didn’t shove the thought away. You quickly straddled him and, before he had the chance to question you, you began kissing up and down his neck softly. “K-kitty...” he groaned beneath you, gripping your waist, his hips jerking up against yours.

> After a while of your explorative kissing, he growled impatiently and flipped you over easily, pressing you into the couch. He kissed you like he might die if he didn’t, deep and slow and desperate. When he finally broke for air and looked at you, he felt his heart and his dick jump. Your flushed face and your eyes that were looking up at him through your eyelashes heavily, your mouth hanging open gasping and your kiss bitten lips, your brows softly cinched at the effort it took for you to remember you needed to breathe.

> He asks you if you’re sure you were ready, and when you nod dazedly up at him he doesn’t need any more convincing.

> He takes his time, he’s slow and methodical. He wants your first time to be an enjoyable experience. Something you can look back on fondly and remember how much he loved you, how good it felt, how comfortable you were. He wanted it to be better than his first time, drunk after a hero convention, with some woman who didn’t remember his name in the morning and never called him back. He pushed the thought away. He focused on you, on how perfect you were.

> When he finally thrusts into you, you think you want to feel like this forever. You tell him so, and beams with pride, pushing your pleasure further. Kissing your neck and praising you. Telling you how perfect you are, telling you all the things you do that drive him crazy, telling you that he’s never going to let you go, that you’re his forever and he’s yours.

> You cum together, and you think that everything in the world must have always been this beautiful. You spend the rest of the day cuddling, eating, and making love.

-Bakugo-

> No thoughts in this mans head. None. At least when it comes to romance. When you first start dating, you had to make the first move cause his oblivious ass just thought you were challenging him. You had to explain to him that what you were actually doing was called “flirting”.

> So when it comes to your first time, you know you’re gonna have to make the first move there too. He fears rejection, so he avoids the things he really wants the most. Which in this case is you whining on his dick.

> But he also knows you’re a virgin and he doesn’t wanna scare you, so he leaves it be. Trusting his fist to get the job done when he really needs to let off some steam. Either by punching shit or jerking off.

> One day, you do catch him jerking off, and you immediately start to (stupidly) think that you’re not enough for him, that he might leave you for someone who can give him what he needs. You don’t think he notices you having a mini panic attack in the hallway so you sneak back to the kitchen to catch your breath and think. Why HAD you waited this long? What were you waiting FOR? You guessed you had just been worried about not knowing what to do, about him getting impatient and annoyed with you for your lack of experience.

> Making your final decision, you square your shoulders and march yourself back to your shared room. You confidently open the door to find him ... waiting for you?

> “Tch, took you long enough. You done freakin’ out now?” He grumbles from his spot on the bed. You nod meekly and he opens his arms for you, an invitation you gratefully accept. He pets your head and continues grumbling, “ just as bad as shitty-hair, nobody ever knocks anymore. You shouldn’t be surprised when you just try to walk in like that...”

> He keeps petting your head until eventually you hit him with it. “‘Tsuki, I wanna... uhm...” you look up at him with pleading eyes hoping his quirk somehow suddenly allows him to read your mind.

> It doesn’t. “ You wanna what? C’mon, spit it out.” No thoughts, remember?

> You huff and blush and finally squeak out, “Wanna make you feel good, ‘Tsuki...”

> His brain stops working momentarily. When he catches back up, he smirks. “Seriously? It just took you gettin’ jealous over my left hand for you to be ready?”, he teased. You stick out your tongue and he grabs your jaw, looks you dead in the eyes when he says, “I have something much more important for that cute little mouth to do.”

> Your eyes go wide at his suggestion, even though it really doesn’t surprise you. When Katsuki wants something he wants to go all out, no half-assing it. You nod nervously and he laughs at your apprehension, allowing you to shift down his body until you were face to face with his fly. You undid the button and zipper with shaky hands, and gently guide his dick out of his jeans.

> Beautiful is the first word to come to your mind. Beautiful and massive, just like the rest of him. He was easily over six feet tall, and built too so it really shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. For a moment all you can do is look up at him from your place below him, your big strong hero. You melt a little and you notice him smirking down at you again, “What ‘ya lookin’ at, princess?”. He gently strokes your cheek while you admire him, “You.” you reply dazedly. His smirk widens to a bear malicious grin, “Me? How come?”. A feeling you’re not totally familiar with, but you’re pretty sure is called submission, fills you suddenly and you feel warm and content. “You’re perfect,” you bat your eyelashes and bite your lip as you gently start to stroke your hand up and down his length.

>He controls his breathing, because he really can’t handle you looking so cute with his cock that close to your pretty little face. “‘Tch, and? What’s got you so worked up about it?” You giggle and nuzzle your face into the base of his cock and look up at him innocently. “I’m just glad I’m yours,” you smile and lick him from base to tip before gently taking him into your mouth. You’d read enough smut online to at least have some idea how to do this.

> He almost cums when you say that you’re glad to be his. His, he grins. He doesn’t get to think about that for too long though because your warm, wet tongue is sliding up his shaft and then your pretty little mouth engulfs him and he thinks he might hyperventilate if you keep looking up at him like that. He’d almost say it wasn’t fair, but then you start moving and he thinks that he could actually die happily from the warm bliss that fills him while he watches you try to take more and more of him down your throat.

> This is much more fun than you thought it would be, especially because Katsuki keeps letting out those little sighs and groans, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You hollow out your cheeks and suck a bit harder before taking a deep breath and relaxing your throat as much as possible. You lower yourself down as far as you can, pushing past the ring of muscle in the back of your throat before moving down further. You feel him lay his hand gently, encouragingly, on the back of your head. You’re surprised when you find your nose nestled in the light blonde fuzz at the base of him and you stick your tongue out to lap at the underside.

> He jolts when you begin your descent. You’re not really gonna try to deep-throat him, are you? He watches you, mesmerized. No ones ever even tried, always saying he was way too big. It felt way too good. He laid a hand on the back of your head to ground himself, quickly realizing he had to control himself so that he didn’t clench his fist in your hair or shove you down all the way and hold you there. When you reached your goal, he sighed. Your throat felt perfect wrapped around him, just like he knew it would. When he felt your tongue sneak out of your mouth and lick, he thanked whatever creator there was that your tongue was long enough to reach his anchor. when you start to move your head up and down, he can only take it for so long before he’s thrusting up into your mouth. When you gag on him, that’s it, he has to pull you off him before he grips your head and suffocates you on his cock.

> He’s nearly at the point of begging, but thankfully, mercifully, you seem to get the idea. You wipe your mouth and lie back on the bed, giggling at his abruptness and he growls in response. He kisses you, and praises you, telling you how good you are, how much he needs to be inside you as he undresses you. You’re surprised at how automatically your legs open for him, and you tell him how much you need him inside of you as well. You feel so empty all of a sudden. Until one of his thick fingers finds your molten core and gathers some of your slick before sinking into you and you gasp.

> He continues to kiss and praise you as he works you with his fingers. You whine and moan and beg, it’s like music to his ears. When he thinks you’re ready, he lines himself up with your entrance, sliding up and down, grinding against your clit briefly before continuing. “I wanna hear you beg for it, princess.” and fuck, did you beg. A beautiful litany of filthy fucking words fell from your mouth, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He sinks into you fully in one thrust, gripping your open legs for stability.

> At first you can’t speak, you can’t make any noise at all. You feel so unbelievably full, and you look up at him and his eyes are clenched shut and his jaw is set. He’s holding himself back. He’s trying to be gentle with you because it’s your first time. He really is very sweet when he wants to be. You raise a shaky hand to his face and he leans into it. He met your eyes and you watch as his control falters when he sees you bent in half like this. You smile, “Katsuki, please”, is all you can say. It seems to open the flood gates. For all his self control, he pounds into you mercilessly and it fills you with the most intense feeling of ecstasy. “F-fuck ‘Tsuki, you feel s-so fucking good,” you moan and gasp brokenly.

> He cums hard. Grunting, growling, and near snarling the whole way through. You’re seeing stars, even though you haven’t cum. It had felt so fucking amazing, and you’re more than content with that. Katsuki is definitely not however, and is intent on eating you out until you beg for mercy. He always takes such good care of you.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #shinsou x reader #shinso smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut

[pog-sad-muffin]

Vilbur and Reader pt 2

-

!tw! Cursing, implications of death, angst, implications of dying, implications of blood/gore !tw!

----

Y/n's POV

It was dark, the only warmth coming from something in front of me I wanted to get closer. Why can't I move, is someone saying something I can't understand anything. It hurts. I let out a whimper, I didn't mean it, it just hurt so much. The noises stopped, why did they stop? The warmth was fading away. I don't want it to it was so nice. Oh well there is nothing I can do about it. Where is Wilbur I miss him. I'm scared. Techno, tommy, Fundy someone anyone. Please it just hurts so much.

-

Fundy's POV

"NOOO! SOMEONE DO SOMETHING PLEASE! GOD THEY'RE DYING!" I throw my head at Phil, "HOW COULD YOU THEY WERE YOUR KIDS! YOUR CHILDREN!" I collapse into Niki crying as she comforts me. She is crying too. No this wasn't supposed to happen. Y/n… dad why did you break your promise.

-flashback-

It was bright out today. It is my eighth birthday. I jumped out of bed ready for the day. Papa and Y/n said they had a surprise for me since it's my eighth birthday. I got dressed in a blue overall and yellow shirt, dad said yellow was mama's favorite. I heard a knock on my door. I was on the floor getting my boots on, "come in!" I yelled. Struggling with the boot.

"Hello my little champ, how are you on your big day?" I hear papa say. I smile and shoot up from my position on the floor, boot still only half on. I run at him and hug papas legs. "Woah there buddy you could hurt yourself with your shoe only half on." Papa says with a chuckle.

"But dad, I wanted to give you a hug." I pout my ears flattening onto my head, looking down at the ground. I feel dad pick me up.

"It's alright champ I just don't want you getting hurt." Papa says, I smile and hug his neck. He was thinking about my safety silly papa, I'm a big boy now. I'm eight after all. As he sets me down. He says, "now come on Y/n is making breakfast." My eyes light up. Y/n always makes the best pancakes, I just hope she made my favorite cranberry pancakes. My mouth starts watering at the idea. Papa looks at me and I look at him. "Race ya!" Papa yells already on his way down the stairs.

"Hey that's not fair!" I yell running after him. Once we get to the kitchen I see Y/n with a frilly orange apron on making, yup my favorite, cranberry pancakes. "Papa that's not fair you cheated!" I whined.

"All is fair in love and pancakes." Dad says.

"That's not the saying, idiot also don't go teaching Fundy those dangerous things." Y/n said, Turning around and smacking papa on the head with a spatula. I giggled at Papa's sad face. Hearing me Y/n says , "hello my favorite nephew. Happy eighth birthday bud!" They say with a smile.

"Thank you Y/n!" I smile with all my teeth, even my sharp one. The other is still growing in, I lost it a week ago. Papa says I'm getting grown up teeth.

"Wow, would you look at your canines they're so sharp! Don't bite your tongue buddy." They grab a plate already filled with pancakes and add the last on the top. Y/n drops all the pancakes in papa's arms. "Be a doll and put those on the table for me." They smirk at papa.

"Yes ma'am…" I hear papa mumble. Y/n tunes and gets on their knees to give me a big hug. They always had nice hugs. They were so warm and welcoming. I hug back with my paws. We let go when we hear papa whine. He is standing at the door frame pouting. "Come on I want a hug tooooo!" He syasy with a high pitched whine near the end.

I see Y/n roll their eyes but open up their arms. "Come here and join the group, hug you oaf." They say holding back a smile. Papa grins like one of my friends who just got the bouncy ball during outdoor time. Papa takes a running start and launches himself at Y/n. Y/ns eyes go wide as saucers just before they are hit, I duck down. So I don't get trampled. There is a satisfying thud as they hit the ground.

"You idiot ! You could have hit the birthday boy!" I hear Y/n say as they start hitting papa with a newspaper. I giggle and jump on top of papa.

"Dogpile." I yell only for Boots to jump on top of us as well.

"Boots, not you too!" Y/in yells while laughing. Eventually everyone is off of Y/n and we are all laughing.

"Ok while this was fun, I do believe that my little champ has pancakes that he doesn't want to be cold." As papa starts helping me up.

"Yeah pancakes!" I yell running at the table. Once we all are there I look around, "Y/n Papa, can you promise me something?" I ask.

"Of course bud/champ." They say at the same time. We laugh a little. 

"Promise me that you will never leave me like mama." As soon as I say that I see a pang of sadness in papa's eyes.

"We will never leave you right Will." Y/n says.

"Never ever." Papa says.

-flashback over-

"You didn't keep your promise." I choke out, my head still buried in Niki's shoulder, unlatching from Niki, I reach out and grab their hands.

-

Tommy's POV

"why." I ask staring at Phil tears falling freely down my face

"I had to, you don't understand…" Phil says, sorrow and regret evident in his voice. I scoff you better be regretful.

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING! PHIL!, YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO!" I yell at him pushing my finger into his chest, making him stumble back a little. "God damn it." I say quietly starting to cry. I look away from Phil and at my now dead siblings. "Why god, is this what you wanted. IS IT WHAT YOU FUCKING WANTED!" I yell the later part. Balling my fisted and punching the stone walls. I hear a crunch of impact, my hands are for sure broken but I can think of anything other than the good times with them.

-flashback-

"We did it,WE FUCKIN DID IT! HAHA!" Will and Y/n yell, "WE GOT OUR INDEPENDENCE! WOOH!" People all around are hugging each other. The injured are crying with joy and the hope of being healed in peace. Everyone all around is celebrating. After three long years. We finally did it. Tubbo and I are cheering and running around our flag I'm my hands. Y/n and Will are on their knees hugging each other and sobbing either joy. Later everyone is gathered around the van.

"As the now president of L'manburg…" Will starts writing down as he says.

"I officially declare…" Y/n says, voice wobbly with a little smirk adorned on their face.

"YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! SUCK IT GREEEEN BOIIIII!" The twins yell at once, everyone is either cheering or laughing. Tubbo and I are on the ground out of breath from running around earlier but still laughing hysterically.

"Tubbo - are you cry-laughing!" I yell out between laughing myself.

"Don't - say it like that- big man look at yourself!" Tubbo chokes out.

"WOOOOH" the twin yell then jump off of the van and start running, clearly having the time of their life while they are at it.

-flashback over-

"Why N/n, Wilby… W-we were supposed to r-un L'manburg together." I choke out falling onto my knees holding one of Wilbur and Y/ns's hands. "I need you. Please."

-

3rd POV

Slowly people started moving and mourning the loss of the twins, the light of L'manburg, extinguished for the time to come.

A permanent eclipse surrounding the once joyful nation.

-

Wilbur and Y/n's POV

Ah finally the warmth is back. As they lay down and die peacefully.

----

Thank you for reading let me know if you have a request🖤🖤🖤

#vilbur #lmanburg #mcyt x reader #dream smp x you #wilbur x y/n #mcyt fanfiction #dream smp x reader #philza x reader #sbi x reader #fundy x reader #tommy x reader #dream smp angst #character death #mild swearing #sbi x y/n #Spotify

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Lost Years

Summary - After spending five years in LA, Dean comes back to Lawrence and meets up with his bestfriend or rather his then bestfriend. Y/N isn't exactly happy on seeing Dean either. Will he be able to fix his strained relationship with her?

Pairing - Rockstar!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - Cheesy fluff, angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of divorce, parents separation, drinking, bad dates, kissing, unprotected sex 18+ (wrap it before you tap it), p in v smut, oral sex (fem receiving), sex in the Impala.

WC - 5.3k+ (....oops)

Square filled - Angst ( @girl-next-door-writes ) and “Why the fuck would you laugh at that?” ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N - This is my submission to @downanddirtydean's 500 followers writing challenge (Congratulations again, Lyd). Prompt is in bold.

This is an AU. Flashbacks are in Italics.

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 (Thank you so much, hon) and thank you to @whatareyousearchingfordean for giving this a read and leaving some valuable comments❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Fuckin’ brilliant!” A weary exclamation left the woman's mouth as she read the text displayed on the device's screen in her hand.

There was a very significant reason why she didn't believe in blind dates, but Jo had been stubborn and insistent. And with Valentine's Day approaching, Y/N didn't want to spend the day in her pjs, crying over The Notebook again. So she had agreed to give a chance to Jo’s friend, or to be more precise, her friend's cousin. His name was Gabriel, and from what she had heard from her mutual friend circle, he seemed to be a decent guy.

But now all she wanted was to go back in time and change her decision to give into Jo’s request, because looking at the empty chair in front of her, she regretted allowing her friend to even try to interfere in her love life.

She signaled the waiter to bring over her check after downing the entire glass of wine. The restaurant was quite busy tonight. It was packed with people on this fine Saturday evening - from lovestruck couples to families with crying kids, Y/N found herself feeling quite lonely as she had stupidly waited on her date to show up for such a long time. Heat crept up her neck in embarrassment when the waiter showed up, the latter’s eyes filled with sympathy as Y/N paid the price of her drink.

Within no time, she was out of the restaurant.

Glancing down at her green dress, she swore under her breath. She tried to book a cab to return to the comfort of her home when her eyes caught the glowing signboard of The Roadhouse right around the corner of the street. The only thing she could think of was to get black-out drunk now. Y/N, still in her high heels, trudged down the path to Ellen’s bar.

Dressed up all for nothing. Rolling her eyes at herself, she went inside the establishment, heading straight towards the counter and taking a seat there. Like any other weekend nights, the place was stuffed. Y/N let her eyes trail over the many patrons of the dingy bar, landing finally on the middle-aged brunette who ran the place

“Ellen!” She called out to the woman.

“Hey, honey,” she approached Y/N, all the while glaring daggers at the drunk she had just previously been arguing with, “A bit overdressed for this place, don't ya think?”

“Your daughter is officially fired from matchmaking services,” Y/N sighed.

“Boy troubles, huh? What can I get ya, hon?” Sympathy was evident in Ellen’s eyes as she spoke. Y/N was as much of a daughter to her as Jo was. The girl had been through so much heartbreak, all Ellen wanted was to see a smile on her face.

“The usual,” Y/N gave a sad smile.

“Rough night indeed, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. The woman in question shrugged defeatedly. Ellen patted her arm in comfort before she left her to arrange for her drink, leaving Y/N to wallow in self-pity.

She thought back to when her life had taken such a traumatic turn. All her friends were either getting engaged, married, or popping out kids. But not Y/n... she was in her late twenties now, and she couldn't even find herself an eligible man.

Ellen pushed the glass towards her. Sighing, she picked it up as she admired the liquid in it. She drank slowly, every sip creating a burning sensation at the back of her throat. Fingers still wrapped around the glassware, she set it down, looking around the bar. The place was filled with mad chatters and howling laughs along with the music blasting from the stereo placed on the deck inside the room, a stark contrast to how lonely she felt. She signaled Ellen for another round, who nodded before giving her that sad understanding smile Y/N was now starting to hate. Frowning, she dropped her head and exhaled.

“Sweetheart, where did that pretty smile for yours go?” Y/N was quickly pulled out from her daze by a very familiar voice; a voice she hadn't heard in a few years. It couldn't be him, he was supposed to be in LA!

“Ella?” The term of endearment brought back dozens of memories, some good and some bad, but all were about him - the freckled face teenage boy with dirty blonde hair and eyes as green as the forest in the summertime she had once fallen for. It brought up the painful memory of their first meet which she had tried to forget so hard.

She remembered the day of their first drama practice when Dean had grudgingly walked into the room. He had reluctantly agreed to play the Prince in the Cinderella act after Cas who was supposed to be the Prince had accidentally ended up with a broken leg. He didn’t know her name, so he had called her ‘Ella’ to get her attention which was the start of their epic friendship.

Y/N didn't dare to turn around to look at him, after all, he wasn't the scrawny teenager from Lawrence anymore. He was now the lead singer and guitarist of a popular rock band with a fancy name and songs that were in the top ten of Billboard music charts. Yes, she did keep up with his rising fame, sometimes even listening to one of his songs before she was once again reminded of the heartbreak he had caused.

“You can't even look at me.” His voice was barely a whisper but loud enough for her to hear as he slid into the stool beside her.

Gathering enough courage, she raised her head. “Dean.” His name rolled off her tongue so easily, but her heart ached for the past. Dean cracked a smile at her as his emerald eyes did not leave hers once. It was as if he was memorizing every tiny detail of her face and if anyone would've asked him, he would've replied that he was.

Y/N hadn't changed much over the years he had spent in LA. She was still the same girl he had first met in school and the last time he had seen her at their graduation. She was a shy girl but they had clicked instantly. Growing up, she was his best friend, his person, his escape.

“Dean Winchester has walked into my bar. Must be my lucky day!” Ellen’s voice thundered across the room, grabbing the attention of a few intoxicated people. “How's LA treating you, boy?”

“Ellen! It's awesome to see you again.” A grin broke out on Dean's face as he jumped out of his seat and pulled the lady into a bear hug. “LA’s pretty okay. It is as good as the industry can be.”

“Heard some of your songs, I knew you had the talent,” Ellen said, jabbing her finger into his chest to prove her point. “Now what can I get ya? On the house.”

“A beer will be just fine. Don't want to show up to the Winchester house drunk!” He chuckled.

“Alright, coming right up. Y/N, honey, you want another round or a glass of water?” The lady asked.

“I'll be leaving in a few. Glass of water it is, El.” She replied but was then interrupted by Dean.

“One drink, with me. It's on me, Ella.” There it was again, that fucking name. A few years ago, that name would have made her cheeks heat up but now, it just made her blood boil. She clenched her hand into fists, tears pricking at her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Do not call me that.” She hissed, surprising Dean. Y/N turned towards the man, finally taking a good look at him. He had changed a lot, had become more handsome but LA had not modified his clothing style because he was still wearing his signature flannel and jeans accompanied by a jacket. She wondered how many girls had stopped him for a picture or an autograph on his way back to Lawrence, jealousy seeping into her. She hated the way he still had that effect on her.

“Y/N-” She knew what he was going to say. ‘I am sorry’, but she wasn't ready to forgive him now, if ever.

“No. Don't.” She stopped him mid-sentence, hands digging into her purse as she pulled out the money for her drinks, dropping them on the counter.

“El, I am going home.” Ellen, who was silently watching their whole exchange, nodded her head before asking, “Want me to call a cab for you?”

“No. I'm going to crash at your place. I need to have a word with Jo.” Y/N said since it was near impossible for her to walk back to her house, considering she was quite tipsy and still in heels, but she also didn't want to wait until the woman called a cab with Dean Winchester anywhere nearby. After getting her belongings, she got out of the barstool and left the place on wobbly legs. Her feet would no doubt be screaming in pain the next day.

Stepping out, she inhaled deeply, letting a few tears fall as the cool air hit her face. After their graduation, Y/N had sworn she would try her best to forget the older Winchester. She wasn't quite successful in her aim, because many times she would come across his gorgeous face on the cover of a magazine or his song would be playing on the radio, striking up old memories of their time spent together in high school.

Still lost in her thoughts, she took a step forward, only to misjudge the cobblestone path and end up losing her balance. She braced herself for the impending fall but was saved by a pair of strong hands wrapped around her waist.

“Watch your step, sweetheart,” Dean said, letting her down gently. “Lemme see, did you hurt your ankle?” He went down on his knees in front of her, pulling a low gasp out of her as he examined her feet.

“Were you following me?” Y/N gritted out those words.

“No.” He shook his head but she clearly saw through the lie.

“I’m fine. You can go now.” She said, her eyes looking everywhere but the man.

“Come on, don't be so stubborn. Get in the car, I'll drop you off at your house or Jo’s place if you want.” He said looking up, trying to catch her eyes but she was adamant about not giving him that satisfaction. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, lips quivering before she answered.

“Leave me alone.” She muttered, a tear running down her cheek. All that preparation for not breaking down in front of Dean and her body still betrayed her. The man got up. Y/N noticed that he was now wearing a cap, probably to hide from any bystander who might recognize him.

“Y/N/N, I-” Dean was at a loss of words. He hated seeing her so heartbroken and he loathed himself for being the cause of it. He tried to reach out and hold her hand but she recoiled back, making him wince. “Please, Ella.”

“Stop calling me that, Winchester. How many times do I have to repeat that?” Her voice came out as a little whine, making Dean chuckle. He missed it - her tone, the timbre, the intensity in her pitch, and the words it said, which used to be his voice of reason; he missed his best friend. “Why the fuck would you laugh at that? I am not doing stand up comedy out here.” Y/N was still the strong-headed girl he adored.

“You'll probably hurt yourself if you walk in those heels again with how tipsy you are right now. Get in the car, I know you missed cruising around the town in Baby because she missed you for sure.” And that thankfully got the exact reaction out of her that he had anticipated. She finally looked right at him, her face lit up at the pretense of seeing the beloved black car again.

“I thought she was in LA with you.” Y/N said and then it dawned on her, “Did you drive across the States?”

“Damn right I did!” He beamed in reply like he had won a trophy, his heart swelling with happiness when he saw the smile forming on her face mixed with awe and surprise. He still had to go a long way to get her back, but he had to take baby steps. At least he managed to make her smile. “So? Want to go out, just like the old times?”

The smile instantly disappeared from Y/N’s lips and Dean knew he fucked up right then. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the good ol’ days. “Sweetheart, I'm sorry-”

“Just drop me off at Jo’s. That's it.” She said, lowering her gaze. He waved her over to the direction where his car was parked. Y/N started to walk along as Dean wordlessly followed her.

Y/N felt a wave of nausea hit her. She didn't do well in social gatherings and this was her graduation ceremony. One wrong step, one wrong word, or a wardrobe malfunction, and the day could turn into a disaster in an instant.

“Honey, you're gonna be excellent out there! We're all very proud of you.” Mary said while hugging Y/N tightly as they both waited on the former's older son to come downstairs who was running late, as usual. She had grown incredibly close to the Winchester family over the years. They were her rock, especially Dean who was there with her at every step as she went through the separation of her parents.

“Are you and John going to join my parents at the ceremony? Someone needs to stop them before they end up killing each other.” She grimaced.

“Isn't this going to be the first time they are together in one single room, since their….you know-” Sam asked as he came out of the kitchen, a green smoothie in his hands. Dean might have been her best friend, her confidante, but Sam was the little brother she never thought she needed.

“First get that green drink outta my sight, I already feel like I'm gonna throw up. Second, you can speak about the divorce. It's not taboo and it was a long time coming. Everyone knew that.” Y/N reluctantly said. The separation of her parents might have been foreseeable but, nevertheless, it still hurt her to see her parents walkout in two separate ways once the divorce was finalized. The house had become much quieter these days which she was thankful for but she also felt the evident absence of her father.

“Mom and Dad will definitely be there!” Dean announced loudly as he came down the stairs. “Come on let's go. Don't wanna be late for our own graduation ceremony!” She could always count on him to make her day better.

“I should have told you.”

“W-what?” Y/N asked dumbfoundedly as Dean’s gruff voice broke her out of the reverie and pulled her back to reality. A minute passed when she noticed even if his hands were on the steering, he wasn't driving anymore.

“This-” she looked out of the window, “this isn't Jo’s place.”

“No, this is our place,” Dean said.

“Dean.” This was the last place she wanted to be at, let alone be here with Dean. It had taken every ounce of her strength to not run back to this place over the past few years whenever she missed her best friend, only to realize that he had left her in the dust on his path to fame and didn't care about her as much as she used to think. Too many memories were attached to this particular place.

“I missed this, Y/N.” He said, killing the engine and slowly opening the door on his side. Y/N understood what he was trying to do and her mind screamed at her in protest to not follow him but her heart told her to follow the man it belonged to.

Dean finally stepped out of the car and walked over to the closed door on her side. She opened the door herself before he could and stepped out as well with a huff. The place was the same as it ever was. “I haven't been here since graduation.” She blurted out.

“I should have told you,” Dean said as they started to walk to their spot. Y/N chose to remain quiet. “Ella, please say somethin’.”

“I am not your Ella anymore, Dean. Stop calling me that.” She said but this time it wasn't a whine, instead, she yelled it out. She was sick and tired of yearning for the man who had broken her heart several years ago and now she was scared that he was gonna leave her once again.

“You'll always be my Ella.” He said.

“The Prince didn't lie to Cinderella and leave her behind but you- it hurts me to remember how close we were then. You left me without even a simple goodbye, so no, I am not your Ella anymore.” She flinched when he reached out for her.

He had stopped walking now and so had she. Dean moved closer to her before standing exactly in front of her. His hands lightly traced her jaw as she looked up at him. She looked just as enchanting under the moonlight as he remembered. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs gently caressed her cheeks. She had given up fighting herself now, driven only by instinct. All the walls that she had put up came crumbling down with one touch of his.

“Why do you think I didn't say goodbye to you?” Dean whispered.

“Maybe all the years that we spent together meant nothing to you.” Her voice was like a melody to his ears but the words broke his heart even further.

“Because it was too damn hard. When RC Records called me up three days before graduation, you were the first person I wanted to tell, but I couldn't, ‘cause if I did, I wouldn't have made it to where I am right now.” He said, not a trace of mirth on his face.

“I wouldn't have held you back.” It was simple. Y/N always wanted to stay in Lawrence and look over her mother's bakery shop, and that's what she ended up doing. She now owned the shop and her business was thriving. Dean had wanted to become a singer ever since he was ten when he was forced to play the Prince, opposite to Y/N’s lead. He had found his passion and she had always encouraged it, even when John had strongly protested against him choosing music as his major. “You know I always supported you.”

“I know that, but thinking about not seeing you every day made me not want to go. I kept imagining you upset and that's why I didn't have it in me to tell you about my break.” He said. Y/N grabbed his hands pushing them away from her face.

“You ended up making me sad anyway. So why the fuck are you back?” She was enraged.

“Ella-” Dean tried to come closer but she stepped back, “I came to see my family.”

“Then why are you wasting your time here with me?”

“Because you're the most important person in my life and every day I spent away from you, you were the only person on my mind.” Dean smiled.

“What?”

“You were the first thought when I woke up and the last thought when I went to sleep.” He said and pulled her close when she finally stopped fighting. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I know I am late and probably missed my chance, but five years in LA have taught me to take the risks. I love you, Ella.”

“I can't-” Dean’s smile felt but he quickly recovered.

“I-I understand.” He let out a dry chuckle, “You got a man back at home waiting for you. He sure is one lucky bastard.”

“No. You do not fucking understand! You are just so in your head, it's just-” She flailed her arms around in utter frustration. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to move on? I have been on so many dates but no man was ever enough for me, all because of your sorry ass! The Graduation Day - I knew you always thought of me as your best friend, so I had decided to ask you out myself,”

“Y/N-”

“No, let me finish. You have to fucking listen about how much pain you put me through these five years! The next day, I went to your house only to hear from your parents that you were on your way to LA. I fucking hate you!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I fucking hate how much I still love you, Dean!”

His eyes widened in surprise as he kept opening and closing his mouth like a damn fish. He was unable to form a coherent sentence and so he cupped Y/N’s cheeks in his big, warm hands once more, but now he dipped down, tilting his face and pulling her in for a kiss. His teeth grazed her bottom lips, making her moan into his mouth. She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks as she found herself completely enamored by him. Her hands snuck to the back of his neck as she steadied herself. Her knees buckled under his hypnotic touch as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, her whole body tingled and toes curled up as his tongue explored every inch of her mouth.

“De,” Y/N tried to catch her breath when Dean finally let go of her lips, already missing the feel of her on him.

His hands traveled down her body, making her gasp aloud at the feel. He lowered his mouth as he started to leave a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “Dean, please. Don't.” Her three short words made him stop.

“Alright.” He gulped.

“I don't want to get my heart broken again, Winchester, I don't think I can survive it again.” Y/N knew he would return to LA within a week, and so she didn't want to take this any further. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, right?”

“I won't. I am not going back.” Y/N looked at him, surprise evident in her eyes, “I don't care about my career anymore. Five years without you was like living in hell and my bandmates are probably so tired of hearing how much I missed you. I will write my songs from here in Lawrence if it means that I'll be closer to you.”

“You would do that for me?” She asked sincerely.

“I would. I was a stupid kid back then but now I have realized that nothing's more important to me than you. I don't want to lose my Ella ever again.” He said, “I'm sorry for taking so long to understand that. There is no way-” His words were cut off as Y/N captured his lips with her own. The sudden kiss caught him off guard but he quickly pulled himself together to kiss her back. “Shit, Y/N-” he gasped when he felt his dick twitch. He picked her up in quick motion and went towards the car. Y/N giggled when her back lightly collided with Baby’s door. Dean dropped his head, nipping at the pulse point on her neck.

“Dean-” She moaned, which was better than any music he had ever made as his hands slipped under her dress, his fingers hovering over her soaked panties. Her thighs clenched in anticipation.

“You have no idea how long I dreamt of having you. You're soaked, sweetheart. ” He huskily said, his fingers hooking on the waistband of her cotton panties. “Tell me to stop and I will, in a heartbeat. No questions.”

“N-no. Don't stop.” Y/N cooed. Dean dragged down her panties which pooled at her feet. He picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Thankfully, there was no one around but the thrill of being out in the open with Dean got her even more hot and bothered. Her hands grasped onto his biceps tightly so that she wouldn't topple over when Dean slipped a finger into her tight pussy. Her mouth fell open, her head dropping on his shoulder as he started pumping slowly, every drag of his finger pushing her closer to the edge.

Dean felt his pants tighten as he heard the sweet moan of his name leave her lips. Her raspy voice was one he could hear all day long, her heavy pants tickling his skin. With one hand he unbuckled his belt, trying to relieve himself a little, but when a cry of pleasure left her lips as he slipped in another finger, he hoped that he wouldn't cream his pants like a freaking teenage boy.

Y/N felt the coil in her stomach tighten as she inched towards her climax. Dean quickened his pace, curling his fingers inside her and brushing her g-spot, each time eliciting a low moan out of her. “Dean….” She couldn't form any coherent words other than chanting his name over and over again and a moment later, the coil snapped as she felt herself coming undone. He delicately pulled his fingers out of her, which were covered in her juice. Dean reached behind her, yanking the door open as he nudged her to go in. She readily obliged and slid into the seat with shaky legs. He climbed into the backseat after her, closing the door behind him.

Her dress had ridden up her thigh, exposing her glistening pussy. Dean’s eyes darkened at the sight before him as he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere in the front. He pushed her dress further up. She raised her hands as he successfully got her out of the garment and unhooked her bra. Y/N moved further back into the seat, her back resting against the door on the other side as Dean started to leave kisses down her body.

“Have you ever thought about this? ‘Cause I did, every freaking day.” Dean asked, kissing the valley between her breasts, the rumble of his voice sending shivers down her spine.

“E-every time I touched myself, I thought of you.” She said, gasping out loud at every word when his mouth found her breasts and started to suck on the soft skin, flicking a nipple with his tongue and twirling the other within his fingers.

“Oh-” Dean raised his head to look at her before he moved south, “Did you think about me between your legs just like this-” He said as he left kisses along her thigh, his stubble creating soft burns on her skin in its wake that she would definitely remember. He finally stopped at her nether regions, his hot breath fanning against her throbbing pussy. “Did you think about me tasting you like this?”

Y/N threw her head back in pleasure when his mouth latched onto her sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue flicking at her aching nub. Her hands traveled down to his head, her fingers getting tangled up in his soft hair and pulled at the strands, making him groan.

“Fuck-” She exclaimed as Dean hungrily devoured her, his tongue repeatedly assaulting her sensitive pussy, sucking needily on her bundle of nerves. Y/N threw her head back in pleasure as she felt the coil in your stomach tighten before a wave of pleasure washed over her. “Shit!” She gasped as Dean’s tongue lapped her juices hungrily.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good.” He panted before he unbuttoned his pants pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his erection sprung from his confines. “Son of a bitch, I don’t have-” Y/N sensed his uneasiness.

“I’m on the pill.” She smirked as she stared at his toned body.

“Well, I’m clean.” She reached out to touch his stomach, hands then traveling down to his length. Dean dropped his head, biting down on his lips, “Y/N-” He pushed her hands away, smirking as he ran his hand along his hardened cock, giving it a few strokes, the tip beaded with precum. He looked at Y/N once and lined himself with her dripping entrance when she gave him a nod to go ahead.

His swollen tip teasingly nudged at her opening before he pushed himself into her.

“Shit Y/N-” Dean grunted, simultaneously as Y/N hissed out at the painful sensation at the beginning as he pushed himself into her, letting her adjust around his size before she told him to move. He circled his hips as he slowly pulled out, leaving only the tip of his engorged cock inside her, before pushing back in again, deeper than before.

“Holy fuck-” Y/N moaned out when he quickened his pace, hitting her g-spot repeatedly with every thrust as they both inched towards their release. Dean kissed her as he continued to thrust deep into her, their breathing growing erratic, the windows of the chevy fogged up and the car filled with their groans and moans as they both chased their release. She hooked her arms at the small of his back as he started to nibble at her sweet spot. His hand moved south, his thumb rubbing circles on her clit which further edged her.

“Shit De!” Y/N cried out loud as her walls fluttered around his pulsating length when she felt herself coming undone. Dean’s thrusts became sloppy as he grunted into the crook of her neck before he spilled into her with one cry of her name, painting her walls with his seed. He dropped his head, trying to catch his breath before he gently pulled out.

“Fuck sweetheart.” Dean panted, beads of sweat lining his forehead as they both laid in each other’s arms, basking in the post-coital bliss. “Was this better than your fantasies? ‘Cause, ‘twas surely better than mine.” Dean smirked, reaching out to grab a piece of cloth to clean themselves up. “We should have done this sooner.”

“If only you hadn't been such a coward.” Y/n teased with a giggle.

“Your dumbass could have called me up. I wasted five years being one, terrified to hear how much you hate me.” He grumbled, cleaning up the mess on the seat. Honestly, she could have but she didn't ‘cause she was scared to hear the truth as well; that Dean had truly left her.

“So, you’re sayin’ we’re both a couple of dumbasses.” Y/N chuckled, putting on her bra.

“Your words, not mine.” Dean gave her a sly smirk. “The Winchester household will be so delighted, once they know I finally got my head out of my ass and looked at the beautiful woman right in front of me.” He was right in every sense. The Winchesters, all of them had always believed that those two would end up together. Everyone saw how in love they were except Y/N and Dean.

“Isn't it too early for the introduce-the-girlfriend-to-the-family thing?” She asked which got an eye roll out of the man. “Panties?”

“I don't have them.” Dean sneakily raised his hands.

“I saw you stuff them into your pocket.” He grabbed her dress from the front seat, throwing it at her.

“Put this on, or preferably, just don't.” He gave her a boyish smile, getting a raised eyebrow in reply, “Oh I'm not done with you. Gotta make up for the lost years, sweetheart.” Dean's eyes darkened at the thought as Y/N gulped, knowing she wouldn't be able to walk properly for weeks.

Feedback is highly appreciated!

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[althephie]

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 - 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐢𝐣𝐢

to 100-0

like so sad

do i feel bad for doing this to yall yes. but i am curel to myself too! so have fun!

𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 - 𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐢𝐣𝐢

- akaashi took advantage of his childhood friend y/n knowingly, and ghosted her for someone else.

I got my driver's license last week

her e/c looked out of the front of her car watching herself drive past down her street.

Just like we always talked about 'Cause you were so excited for me

the female could feel her eyes watering as her tears stream down her face wetting it. reminding her of the day that she found the love of her life with someon else. oh how much she cried that day.

she wanted to punch his stupid perfect face

perfect eyes

perfect body

perfect everything

akaashi was just perfect.

that it was too good to be true

To finally drive up to your house But today I drove through the suburbs Crying 'cause you weren't around

y/n was so heartbroken when she saw him at their favorite cafe with someone else. he had ghosted her for the past 2 weeks and barely contacted her. they were dating still and it hurt her.

on a very cold winter day, she decided to go get some coffee. instead of happy memories rushing in the heartache did.

And you're probably with that blonde girl Who always made me doubt She's so much older than me

she was a pretty blonde foreign girl, who was tall and had beautiful green eyes. she was definitely older than y/n and akaashi. she was mature. she had a perfect body.

she was perfect.

perfect eyes

perfect body

perfect everything.

the blonde was also just perfect.

She's everything I'm insecure about Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs 'Cause how could I ever love someone else?

the h/c was driving mindlessly as despair surged into her body as if it was her only life support. the only thing that kept her alive was her own depression.

ironic isn't it?

the thing that killed many, made her stay alive.

And I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone

another round of tears flooded her eyes as a sinking feeling in her chest bloomed. she remebered confronting him alone.

he kept a straight face.

his once warm eyes were now cold.

he looked at her with such disgust and annoyance.

it broke y/n...it made her feel so insecure.

so useless

so stupid

all the dark-haired male had to say was....

" bye."

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

Lifeless e/c eyes looked and examined the house that he lived in remebering all the times they had in his front yard.

the small cheesy picnics

the snowball fights with their friends

the stargazing

the pictures they took of each other.

the warm feeling of the sun touching their skin while their hearts skipped a beat each time they touched or made eye contact.

And all my friends are tired Of hearing how much I miss you, but I kinda feel sorry for them

her friends

their friends

they did not know about his girlfriend, until they all reunited during spring break of her 2nd year of college. instead of seeing y/n and akaashi being lovey dovey. they saw akaashi and some girl.

who even was she?

y/n’s once lively self was dull and stoic. usually she would jump into bokutos arms and fangirl over how cute hinata was still, but instead they all received a fake smile. it broke their hearts and angered many.

'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do, yeah Today I drove through the suburbs And pictured I was driving home to you

bokuto, the one who introduced you two as children was offended. she was his cousin. he asked akaashi for his reasons without anyone knowing. akaashi just looked away and shrug.

And I know we weren't perfect But I've never felt this way for no one, oh

“ i didn’t feel the spark anymore, but when i met Kila. she became the sun in my eyes. she is so bright and gorgeous. she is just...amazing….”

“ y/n was just the moon during a winter sky. cute but dull and boring. she could be bright, but did not stand out, i guess ”

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay, now that I'm gone I guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

in that moment, akaashi’s grey-blue eyes widened when he saw a fist coming straight to his face. Akaashi fell to the floor and looked up at his senpai in shock.

he had never seen bokuto look that scary before. instead of going into emo mode, he went into pissed off mode. His eyes piercing into the younger males soul

the nerve

Red lights, stop signs I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

“ WE ARE ALL CHILDHOOD FRIENDS!! SHE LOVED YOU!! AKAASHI” the white-haired male shouted with tears running down, “ YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MY BROTHER!! YOU TOLD ME YOU WOULD NEVER HURT HER!! YOU ASSHOLE!”

“ Y/N IS NOT DULL!! SHE IS NOT JUST CUTE! SHE IS FUCKING GORGEOUS WAY BETTER THAN THAT STUPID BLONDE YOU HAVE NOW!! “

unknowest to them, y/n was sitting against the wall of the building the two had met up and cried silently.

“ YOU-Yo...You promised me...you promised.”

bokuto weeps falling onto his knees infront of his bestfriend.

he promised to take care of her and love her

to never hurt her

and he failed

“ i guess her light is to bright that it...*choke* it blinded you akaashi....it blinded you from seeing her beauty.”

Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

this y/n shook her head and woke up from her daydreaming. she did not know that she stopped the car in front of his house for a minuts. the s/c female sighed shakingly and pushed on the pedal to continue on going.

she needed to move on...but she knew she would never.

Sidewalks we crossed I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing

she continued on driving more hearing his laugh ringing in her ears as memories kept on flushing through. she hoped he was happy

she hoped it was worth it for him

losing all his friends

losing his bestfriend

losing her

Over all the noise God, I'm so blue, know we're through But I still fuckin' love you, babe (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

present y/n looked up with a microphone in hand as she watched the audience infront of her sing the lyrics.

they all looked at her with eyes of support

the same ones her friends and family gave her as she tried to move one

y/n broke down smiling and blowing kisses at her fans as she sang her song

I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one

she was letting it out

she finally moved one

she wanted everyone to know that she was inlove once to and that no one is alone.

she felt free and happy

and...she got her drivers license. yeah, she was 20 years old, and should have gotten it earlier, but she had him...she had him to take her away from here.

now she has herself and her license

one that they planned to get it together after akaashi said that she needed one even if she sucked at driving. it made the two laugh.

now that was just a memory

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay, now that I'm gone

she sung softly

not noticing a pair of grey-blue eyes staring up at her with awe. the girl he called “ dull and boring” was far from that, he was blind.

her brightest was so bright that it made him blind.

“ whoever broke y/n like that it stupid”

“ right? when she said that her ex ghosted her and left her for someone else it was so sad! they were childhood friends too!”

“ his lost.”

“ it was your lost akaashi.” he muttered to himsef watching the female laugh and cry at the song, she wrote about their love story.

'Cause you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

she finally felt free after writing this song, but her love for the boy was still there. first love is hard fo forget of course. it’s the one that hurts the most.

she was not perfect

he was not either

it took him to realize how much he needed her

when he let her go

akaashi was wrong

she was bright

she was not dull

he was just blind to it all...

blinded by her beauty

blinded by her personality

and her glow

that it made him ignorant to it all.

maybe his beautiful y/n was too bright for him

too bright for him to handle.

as i said sorry but not sorry T-T

i am also crying tbh. if yall are.

bc idk why i hate it when ppl cheat but i keep reading angsty fanfics about it bc they are so good. don't cheat ppl it hurts

i will be uploading more on my masterlist soon! so watch out!

#akaashi x reader #akaashi angst #akaashi keiji #reader #reader insert #akaashi oneshot #haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #bokuto #hinata #haikyuu #haikyuu oneshot #x reader #one shots #angst #haikyuu angst #fanfic