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#edit for a word: convicted
lover-of-mine · 8 months
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911 Hiatus Rewatch:
2x04 - “Stuck”
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childofaura · 11 months
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LittleKuriboh’s being a virtue-signaling moron on Twitter and I’m just-
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It’s the whole “Minorities should ALWAYS voice their respective races” argument and like... It’s the most shallow thing for him to say for ass-pats.
At least people are tearing his ass apart in the QRTs.
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jewishvitya · 19 days
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I remembered this essay from years ago when I was unlearning what I knew of Israel and zionism and I couldn't find it again, and now I see it in a Shaun video, with the source.
Ze'ev Jabotinsky, "The Iron Wall." I downloaded it from the Jabotinsky Institute.
These are the titles he gave this essay:
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I said that Zionist leaders explicitly talked about Zionism as a colonialist movement. This is an example of what I was talking about.
Some quotes:
There can be no voluntary agreement between ourselves and the Palestine Arabs. Not now, nor in the prospective future. I say this with such conviction, not because I want to hurt the moderate Zionists. I do not believe that they will be hurt. Except for those who were born blind, they realised long ago that it is utterly impossible to obtain the voluntary consent of the Palestine Arabs for converting "Palestine" from an Arab country into a country with a Jewish majority.
My readers have a general idea of the history of colonisation in other countries. I suggest that they consider all the precedents with which they are acquainted, and see whether there is one solitary instance of any colonisation being carried on with the consent of the native population. There is no such precedent.
He's saying openly: no land was colonized with the consent of its indigenous population. So we have to do it without that consent.
Every native population in the world resists colonists as long as it has the slightest hope of being able to rid itself of the danger of being colonised.
That is what the Arabs in Palestine are doing, and what they will persist in doing as long as there remains a solitary spark of hope that they will be able to prevent the transformation of "Palestine" into the "Land of Israel."
He said that any zionist who depends on the Arab population accepting a Jewish state on their lands, might as well withdraw from zionism because that's impossible.
Zionist colonisation must either stop, or else proceed regardless of the native population. Which means that it can proceed and develop only under the protection of a power that is independent of the native population – behind an iron wall, which the native population cannot breach.
And then he says that this Iron Wall is the British Mandate and the Balfour Declaration - they're the power that stops Palestinians from resisting us.
He says that despite this, zionism is moral and just, so justice must be done, zionism must move forward. He just wants to be honest about what it takes. He wants to discourage talks of an agreement to avoid signaling to the British that they must try to reach one between us and Palestinians. Just stop them from fighting us, we'll colonize the place.
Zionism was openly colonialist until this language was no longer politically useful.
Editing because I was kinda shocked by the response this got, in several moments. When the slavery of US founders was brought up to dismiss this whole thing. When First Nations reservations were brought up on the same list as the United States as equivalent to Israel, because I said I oppose the existence of a country that prioritizes one ethnic group at the expense of others, and I support democracy that protects everyone equally.
But another thing that's still nagging at me is the idea that this whole essay can be dismissed based on semantic arguments, like sure this uses the word colonialism, but is it actually the colonialism that we talk about and oppose? And what if this word is only used to appeal to the British for support?
This isn't the the first time that prominent zionist thinkers talk about zionism as a colonialist movement. I saw it in old publications, things like magazines, I'd be posting them too if I found them again. I did my own deconstructing years ago, I don't remember where I found all my sources.
I do remember that they talked about the two concepts together - the idea that we're here to colonize, and that we're here to come home. So nowadays there's the arguement that people can't colonize their own homeland, but to them there was no contradiction. I saw it again looking at Herzl's diary last night.
I say I define colonialism through actions and tactics, through the harm that's done to the victims of colonization. Because if we knowingly repeated the actions of colonizers and used the help of an imperial force to conquer a land, having a historic connection to it shouldn't absolve us.
Jabotinsky didn't write to the British in this essay. He wrote to other zionists who wanted to aim for something more collaborative with Palestinian Arabs. And it's true that word choice can mean different things in the context of the time, but there's a reason I chose those quotes. What is he actually saying in this essay?
Consider colonization throughout history - the native population never agreed, so we must do the as colonizers did in the past.
Palestinians will never agree to a Jewish state - so we must do it by force. We should use an imperial force as an "iron wall" to prevent them from resisting. Stop talking about an agreement because then the British will try to reach one instead of holding them back and letting us do our thing.
He's comparing the zionist movement to other efforts of colonization, to talk about emulating them.
This isn't a game of semantics. I'm not just bringing this up just because he used the words.
What he's describing - conquest by force, preventing a Palestinian state, forcibly creating a Jewish majority - is what happened. And it's still what's happening.
This is the branch of zionism that went into practice and founded Israel.
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fillinforlater · 1 month
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On her jeans (Part 2 of 3)
Male Reader x Kim Minji, Pham Hanni (ft. Jisoo, Seungyeon, Seolhyun)
Length: 8.018 words
Tags: You know what? How about no tags. Yes, really. This is very similar to the rest of the On her series, especially cuz it's a Part 2. Go have fun, I know you will have it ;)
TW: rushed editing, a terrible friend, nothing but sex matters
Inspiration: @sooyadelicacies
Credit: @sooyadelicacies for being a fantastic co-writer!
-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part3-
(A/N: This fic has it all: from three cameos to rapid fire scene changes to betrayal to an all-time threesome combo. Have fun with these grown-ass women!)
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"What the fuck, Unnie?" 
"What?" Kazuha says, not even bothering to turn her attention to the young girl. 
"He… I—" 
The ballerina then turns around to see tears forming in Minji's eyes. This is how so many of them must have looked when the realization came crashing over them like a merciless tsunami. Did I really just do this? Is it worth it? Will he ever have enough?
"As he should." Kazuha's expression turns cold, uncaring.  "I did exactly what you asked me to. I sent you to him. It looks like you weren't good enough for him. That's on you. If you can't stick it out, maybe you aren't cut out for all of this." 
"What—do you really feel that way? Is that why you do it?" Minji sobs.
"At the start sure, but now I know: he is my whole world, all that I could need or want. 
“I love him," Kazuha says with unflinching conviction.
"Really?" Minji shouts and Kazuha quickly shuts her up with a palm on her sore lips.
"Yes, really, and if you screw this up, I swear, I'll make your life a living hell." Kazuha looks around the long corridors of the Hybe building. She then removes her hand from Minji's lips and unexpectedly dives straight to the younger’s ear. "You can be a good girl for him, call him Master or Daddy and get your brains fucked out—but don't ever get in between us. When the time is right, I'll be the only one for him.
"Is that clear?"
"Y-yes, Zuha-unnie."
"Good. Now, what did he say you need to do?"
#
A seemingly never ending, vicious cycle starts for Minji. She works her butt off, dances the entire day, goes through hours of meetings, recordings—and instead of going to bed every day, she takes every conceivable measure to go straight to your office. 
She walks in, lays on the table and waits for you to finish a call. At first, it's a mystery who you are talking to, but she finds out that it's all kinds of producers, managers, executives and most importantly—idols.
"So how is everything going?" Jisoo dreamily asks from the other end of the line.
"Well, I almost fucked up,” you respond in all honesty and drop your pants. “I almost slipped and told one of the new prospects they reminded me of you." 
Jisoo's face softens and smiles. It’s like you can hear every movement of her facial bones. "Oh? Care to tell me who? Is she prettier than I was back then?" 
"Impossible," You say sincerely. 
"You're sweet, but don't think you're off the hook for that little quick tryst you had with Jennie. Rosie's sad about it. You need to make it up to her. And you need to make it up to me too." Jisoo says the last part a bit forcefully and you imagine scrunches on her face to show you her seriousness.
"I know,” you sigh and rub a finger along Minji’s throat and cheeks without thinking about her or the incredible sensation of her skin. “I will, I will. I miss you." 
"I know you do. You tell me every time we talk. I miss you too, Daddy.” That’s always how Jisoo finishes a long distance conversation. She wishes you were there, with a hand in her panties. She wants to moan your name into your ear, your actual name, and not scream it out when rubbing one out under some hotel bed sheets. But Jisoo will have to wait.
The moment you finish the call, you start to pull out your hard cock and press it into Minji’s wide open mouth. She makes sure to keep her lips moisturized at all times, but she can never be ready for the strong impact of your hips hitting her head and rocking her back and forth on the desk.
With every single one of those meetings, Minji's clothes become more revealing, to the point she gasps whenever she sees herself in a public mirror. People on the train start to watch her round ass bounce in short shorts, then in very short shorts, then in a miniskirt.
Minji wonders how she is able to push through this. Her sleep gets shorter, the training rougher, the meetings more intense—worst of all, you become more violent too. It all reaches a peak when Minji is unable to shower because otherwise she would be too late. 
In her dirty, sweaty state, she sprints to your office and bursts through the door, just to be greeted by the sight of you roughly fucking—destroying—the huge ass of a familiar idol.
"You are fuck-ing late!" you growl and slam the bendover idol against the desk a final time. Minji hurries around the wooden monstrosity to get into her, by now well-known position. It is then that she realizes who you are fucking: Seungyeon, the former dancer of CLC.
"What are you?" you shout at Seungyeon and smack her ass hard.
"Your stupid, bubble-butt bitch, Master," she wails in a weird mix of pain and euphoria. She gets a tap on said bubble-butt with your cock.
"How do you want it, bitch?"
"Harder, Master."
"What are you going to get?"
"What Master wants."
"Exactly."
Minji lets her head hang off the edge, only a few inches away from where you annihilate Seungyeon's dignity and her asshole with your inches. Both you and the idol grunt like animals in heat, but for her it sounds blissful, for you more like work.
And so Minji lays there, drenched in sweat, and the weirdness of being forced to watch other people fuck never really fading. It's stranger the more she has seen or admired an idol. No matter who, everyone she saw has folded to you, and Seungyeon might be the most submissive. How she degrades herself and begs for you to ruin and spit on her—
"Good bitch, keep your ass gaping!"
Suddenly, the cock is on Minji's face and she looks past it in shock. Your expression, though a bit exhausted, remains stern.
"Open fucking wide, Minji," you command and Minji gulps. This cock has just been in Seungyeon's ass, maybe for hours, and though it looks spotless, she can't bring herself to—
Minji gasps and that is enough. You push against her lips, into her mouth and start to use it to 'clean' yourself—really, it is just training for Minji to trust you and accept your commands.
Though her first reaction was a gag of disgust, Minji has to admit to herself quickly that Seungyeon's ass on your cock tastes great. It's an embarrassing secret which she will never tell anyone.
You switch between the holes a couple more times before creaming Seungyeon. While Minji has her final cleaning session, you order the older idol to clean Minji's feet and calves off sweat.
No hesitation, Minji realizes, as Seungyeon does not leave out an inch of her skin.
Seungyeon isn't the only one showing complete devotion to you and your every order. You've had a few other idols over before or after Minji's throat-stretching. The young soon-to-be idol knew them, but they weren't the stars yet she saw in your profile list. The thought that you might have been bluffing with controlling the likes of Blackpink, aespa or Red Velvet crossed her mind, but they faded whenever she thought of Kazuha's success.
She wants that too, no, Minji wants to pass Kazuha and so she comes back to you, no matter how hard the companies’ training is fucking her. Then finally comes the day—actually, the day before the day. 
The not-yet NewJeans member lays on your table. She returned from the final pre-debut meeting and was ready for you to quickly walk in and fuck her face, but you never came. For endless hours, the entire fucking night, Minji had to lay there and wait. She could've left at any time, but the gravity of this situation, this presumed test, pulled her down to the flat, wooden surface. 
No matter how uncomfortable it got, she did not stand up. You could be around the corner at any second. The thought of her giving up right as you walk in gave Minji a weird mixture of fear and arousal, further amplified when she had to keep herself from falling asleep. A hand in her soaked panties, Minji played the fantasy out in her head:
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You would walk in and find her asleep. Angry by her inability to follow orders and service her Master, you decide to punish her. When you find her panties wet, the desk covered in girl juice, you wouldn't hesitate to plunge into Minji's tight, virgin cunt and fuck her awake. It would hurt, but Minji wouldn't stop cumming!
She can't stop cumming, her fingers rub her clit to completion and now real juice runs down your desk. Minji is wide awake, but an hour later, she does it again, again, again, until you finally enter the room. Casually, as if Minji isn't completely spent and almost fully naked on your work desk.
The sparkle in her eyes is priceless. Out of all the crazy shit you pulled on this formerly innocent virgin, this was the task that broke her. You don't know the exact moment, but you will never forget this moment where you see her orbs and know that she is past her prostitute stage.
"This is actually impressive," you say with a coy smile while gently caressing Minji's forehead. "I see you... had fun last night?"
"Sorry, Master," Minji carefully apologizes and kisses your hand. "I made a mess."
"Don't worry, I'll call someone to clean it later. Now, get on your knees and show me what you have learned."
She is dizzy, barely able to stand, but luckily, Minji's place is at your feet, hands wrapped around your length. Her strokes are soft, careful, and she does not wait to use her tongue on you. After a minute, she sees the impatience in your look and uses her mouth. Quickly it’s wrapped around your tip and for the first time ever, Minji fucks her face on your cock.
"Oh, fuck!" you exclaim. There is some actual joy in that, especially when you can lazily put Minji's hair in a makeshift ponytail and watch her go down on your crotch in surprisingly quick succession. "This is good, this is fucking—great!
"Hold still."
Your heart pumps like crazy, but it's nothing compared to your hips which start to obliterate Minji's throat. Your cock bulges her visibly and she starts to shake. Usually, she'd have her teeth at spots where they don't belong, but at long last, she has learned. 
She takes it well, like a slut should. Not yet one of your perfect sluts however. It's all a bit rushed; her debut, the training, the stretching. Considering this, she is definitely good and her gags sound delicious. 
You pull out of her mouth. Minji triest to catch her breath, instead catches three of your fingers which you also use to fuck her mouth while locking eyes. The salty tears that stream from hers look so delicious and you love how, no matter how many chokes you force out of her, there is no fight or flight response. She takes it.
"Become sloppy, slut, get your drool out. I want to see you become a mess for your Master!"
Minji twitches. She is dazed, your fingers become glazed; then an avalanche spurts forth, of more tears and drool that starts to cover her chin and stain your floor. You want more, so you replace your fingers with your cock and fuck her throat again, never slowly, only hard and fast. At this point, the poor girl beneath you is dehydrated and the pool on her thighs and the tiles excessive. You stop.
"Fuck, this is what I mean. This is how you suck cock, Minji."
"G-glad you l-like it—Master."
"Go clean up your mess."
"Yes, Master."
When Minji goes down to lick and suck her saliva from the floor, you rest your shiny, polished shoe on her cheek and bask in the faint sun, dawning right before your office window.
"You will go home and sleep," you order firmly. "The only contact we will have is when you send me a video of you masturbating in your debut panties. Send me those panties in the mail, and you'll soon lift your first music show trophy."
Lean down after Minji has collected all the slick and press an unmistakable love bite right under her right breast. Minji mewls as you do so.
"The-they'll probably try to hide the mark, Master."
"Good." Pat her head. "No one can know what happened here."
"Of course, Master."
"You've been a good girl, Minji. Now go out there and become a bigger star than you could've ever dreamed of."
"Thank you, Master."
#
Months go by where Minji is mostly a concept for you, some asset to be discussed in meeting with your connections in HYBE. Rarely did she send a direct message to you—except for the video you asked for. It's nice that she didn't totally forget about you. After a busy day that calls for vacation and a nice, warm pussy on your cock, you turn on the TV to watch the most important year-end award show. 
A quick scroll down your contact list, you pick someone you know is nearby, obedient and definitely warm. The calls with Seolhyun are never longer than ten seconds, because she knows she's got to be there for her Daddy.
"You ever miss this?" you ask her when she sits down on your cock, panties still around her ankles, jacket still hanging from her shoulders.
"The awards? Sometimes, but—oh fuck!” Seolhyun is interrupted by you thrusting upwards while you care more for the TV than her. “Yes, more Daddy. They are nothing compared to your cock, your touch, your love!" 
Seolhyun tightens when she moans these words and you give her more of your touch, your thrusts, your cock. Soon she is bouncing in rhythm with it and begs for you to rub her clit. You won’t do so yet, would be boring if she’d get all the things that make her cum so easily.
"What do you think of her, Seolhyun?” You nod towards the screen as it captures Minji in all her beauty and on stage charisma. “Think she can capture the nation's heart like you once did?" 
"Minji, right? I think so."
That is the first time Minji has been in your sight since when her face was pressed to the floor. She looks like a proper star, close to being a super star (their next song will guarantee it) and her attitude reflects that. Don't touch me, I'm better than you, get out of my way, who even are you? - you imagine how she feels towards these other, lesser known people around her. 
Minji's dream came true and you were the pixy dust. Now you deem it the right time to get a hold of her. In between comebacks, right after all the award shows, she will have no excuses. Time to pay up, you text her, with a location, time and date while your finger disappears in Seolhyun’s asshole.
#
The day comes and you've checked into your favorite spa-hotel with excitement. The security and privacy here are top notch, or at least they are for you. See, it’s all about connections and here you have the best connections and can make sure that no rumors spread and that all information comes to you in no time. Minji will be here shortly and you've already painted the pictures of her naked body in your head, scenes where she undresses, spreads her legs and folds, begs for you to part her—
You hear the door open. From your seated position on the bed, you look expectantly at the entrance to the bedroom which Minji finds shortly after, her fluffy, thick jacket already falling from her shoulders.
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"Hello, Master," she sultrily says with a smile. You reciprocate it.
"I see you've been doing great," you skip the greeting and walk over to her. A gentle push and the jacket fully falls off. Minji's outfit underneath is surprisingly thin for this season; there could be snowfall outside any day now and she runs around in a white crop and skinny denim.
"Those jeans look good on you." Stare down at her eyes while you check the quality of those mentioned jeans by fondling her butt, then her thighs and lastly her crotch. "Very expensive, HYBE is already paying you?"
"It's all the ads we do," Minji quickly responds, her breath halted while she does the unthinkable and moves your hand away from her crotch. "I... I never thought it would work so quickly."
"Yeah, it feels surreal, almost too quickly," you say with careful annoyance, unsure how to judge Minji's hand on your wrist holding you back from getting to feel more of her body.
"I couldn't have done it without you, Master, thank you very much~"
"You see, Minji..."
Her shoulders in your firm grasp, you move Minji to the next wall and position her in such a way that she is trapped and your knee is able to gradually push up against her covered pussy. The young girl tries to resist, she is suddenly flustered, oh how this should remind her of her success.
"... no one was ever this successful without a big commitment. Your commitments until now were nothing."
"Tha-that's why I'm here. Master, I'll suck your cock as much as you want, I'll let you deepthroat me hard, even for the entire night!"
You scoff and give Minji's cheek a quick, small slap. Your knee has now become the only pillar that keeps her upright. She has to balance and rub her slightly moistened folds on them so as to not to fall over.
"Sucking? Deep throating? Oh you're still so naive. No. You, Minji… belong to me. All of you, which means any hole. You are mine to use however I want."
"Wha—no!" She puts a hand on her cheek and looks at you with puppy eyes that beg so pathetically, like the thought that you took this deal seriously is a shocking reveal. You roll your eyes at her and find the top button of her jeans, but Minji starts to fight back with a loud, whiny voice.
"No, Master, you don't understand! Un-unlike all those other idols, I'm... I'm still a virgin. I don't want to lose it now, not here, not—"
"That is not up to you!"
Your shout halts time and space, only Minji's facial expression matters. She looks honest, absolutely in dread that it might happen at not the moment she wants it to. She cannot fathom giving you or anyone that control, she wants it special and precious and all those nonsense illusions. It's gut wrenchingly annoying but you will not go too far to break her now; you're too fond of her for that. 
Call it your weakness and curse you for that.
"We had a deal."
"I-I know."
"And you don't want to fulfill it?"
"I'm sorry, Ma-Master, please don't—"
"Then offer me something equally valuable." Minji looks at you in confusion. You drop her from the wall and hand her your phone. "Put in the number of someone whose virginity I can take. They have to be your sacrifice, your warrantor, and they have to agree to the same contract.
"You will then come with her to me and will watch how I take her virginity. You will watch every fucking pump I put into her pussy. She will testify, she will call me Master and she will love it. That's your only way, you better bring me someone."
Minji clutches the cell phone, her life-line, her lever to the trolley problem, except the train that was about to hit her can only be directed at another girl.
"And Minji,” you add in controlled yet uncontrollable rage. “I want her here, now. I want someone worthy of my time and touch. Or else. You will call them and then you will be on your knees sucking my cock while we wait."
Sweat comes pouring down Minji's forehead. You can hear the inner workings of her brain scramble, trying to find someone she can push in between you and her. There is no submission to you and there is no urge to flee and break your deal. 
Minji genuinely tries to sell you someone. Despicable, everything for success.
"D-do you know Hanni?" she suddenly stutters, quietly, ashamed but her fingers are already dialing up her friends number.
"I have never met her." You laugh in disbelief and turn your back to Minji. "You're really going to sell your bandmate? Are you not friends?"
"I—she's the only one I know who is a virgin but not... not... not unwilling."
You cock your eyebrow and listen to Minji's call which is surprisingly short. No mention of you or your arrangement, just the location and some details. Definitely no one is allowed to know of this and yes, Hanni has to be swift.
Minji ends the call and you immediately throw her to the ground, her head on the cushions of the nearby bed, your belt already loose, a hand on your pants.
"Pull them down and open your fucking mouth." Minji does so, the shock in her eyes is wonderful when you push past her lips and against the back of her throat in one go. Violent choking. "You are terrible, the worst friend, but at least you know how to make that mouth-pussy of yours work. Go on! Fucking use your tongue."
Minji starts to gag, trying to adjust to your cock, not realizing you weren't even fully hard yet. You never were with her. 
"Good, all the way. Use your tongue and saliva, let me fucking feel it."
You kick off your trousers and put more force in your hips so that your long shaft may fill Minji's deepest depths. It pushes out a lot of saliva, a waterfall that tumbles down her chin and covers her top. From your point of view you may not see it, but you know that Minji's aroused nipples poke through her bra and show that no matter how hard you fuck her face or belittle her, she's yours.
Minji's mind shall only be occupied with satisfying you, so even her still lacking tongue and lips do their best to suck you from tip to base—you make sure she never slacks by pistoning in and out of her.
After about 30 minutes of slowly thrusting in and out of here and replying to texts on your phone, you receive a message from the hotel staff that someone has arrived and come to see you. Minji tries to tap on your leg, indicating she wished to be freed of this position. You shake your head, no. 
"Oh, you don't want your bandmate to see you like this? That's not an option."
The sound of a door opening echoes through the hotel room and Minji panics, flailing wildly, her eyes tearing up and begging, begging so well—maybe she can finally grasp what she has gotten her friend into—
"Hello? Minji, are you here? Is everything okay?"
—but she still has so much to learn. Smack her cheek a final time, loud enough for Hanni to gasp at the front door. Before she can enter the bedroom, you pull out of Minji's mouth and push her towards the door. 
"Minji?" Hanni asks again and rushes towards her. Minji stops her, both of them shriek in shock. "Oh my Gosh, Minji, it is you! You scared me!"
"I-I'm sorry, I—"
"You look... messy. Is everything alright? I'm sorry if I took too long, you sounded so sad and terrified."
"Hanni, I," Minji stutters, hesitates, maybe even contemplates. It all makes her seem as if she has a heart and does not want to use Hanni to keep her virginity, but deep down everyone has to know that she is not a good person. No one would sell their friend for something like this. Minji is cold hearted when it comes to her career and things she believes she rightfully owns. "I have to ask something crazy of you."
"Okay? Look, you need to calm down first, maybe clean your face up and then we can talk ab—"
"Hanni, please." You hear some uncertain steps, as if someone is almost falling over and is ultimately pressed to a wall. You hear a wet sound, then a moan. Your cock is going crazy at all the possible things that might happen right around the corner and later in this bed. "Do you trust me?"
"Why did you kiss me, Minji?"
"Do you trust your leader?"
"Yes, of course. I'm a bit scared though, what have you gotten into?" Hanni's voice is full of concern and so is her face which you see for the first time when Minji guides her into the bedroom, arms around Hanni's tiny waist.
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Hanni is in complete shock. 
"Minji, what is this? Who is this man?" You still have your pants down and cock out. 
Unfazed, you smile at the girl. "Minji, tell your friend what you did."
"Have you never wondered," Minji starts right away and tightens her hold on the younger band member. "Why so much changed before our debut, why the success was imminent, why it didn't stop? Have you never questioned all the blessings we received?"
"I-I... what was I supposed to think?" Hanni weakly laughs and tries to avoid the sight of your erection, but she can't because Minji is slowly inching her closer to it. "We are in a gr-great company, smart managers, pro-ducers... so who are you?"
"He is the reason, he is why we did not fail. Look, Hanni, I had to do it, okay?"
"Do what? Sell your body?" Hanni looks over her shoulder at the glassy-eyed leader of her group who gives her the tiniest nod. In those large, round orbs of the young Vietnamese woman you see the realization kick in bit by bit. At first she does not want to accept it, then she cannot believe it—but at last, she has to put it into words.
"You sold your body... and now he wants more."
"He wants something only you can give him," Minji whispers and pecks Hanni's cheek. You are astonished at how she manipulates her dongsaeng, Minji truly is ruthless; but Hanni's calmness deserves an award. She seems to surrender to this idea easily. There is no flight, there is barely any fight—she accepts her situation. 
"Will you give it to him? Your virginity?"
"Minji, I—"
"That's not the entire truth is it, Minji?" You smirk coldly. "You are a pretty thing, Hanni. She's right, I do want more. It's not something only you can give me, rather, it's something Minji refuses to give me. So instead, she offered you to me. Your precious group leader sold you out."
Put her tiny chin into your hand and for the first time, Hanni locks eyes with you. Minji's manipulation roots deeper, as there is not a hint of belief in the words you say. Rather, Hanni listens to the girl in her ear, at her ear, that licks her ear and tells her sweet lies:
"He is playing with you. He likes to play. But don't worry, he will help us.
"Don't you want to be a star, Hanni? The most successful foreign idol?" You hear Minji opening Hanni's belt as she melts in between your thumb and index finger. Her lips look so full and perfect. You'd bet your career that she is already a great sucker, maybe even better than Minji is at this point. "My sacrifice can't be for nothing, and yours won't be either."
Hanni's pants drop to the floor, while you work to get rid of her jacket. She is like a Barbie doll: pretty, clear skin, obedient, ready to be undressed and played with. No matter what you do or where you touch, she just obliges while her features become redder and hotter. Soon, she wears nothing but her undergarments.
"You have an amazing body," you compliment her. She just nods. You order Minji to put Hanni on your bed. For now, you'll not reveal the whole story, the truth: yes, you play games, but Minji clearly is lying to Hanni, trying to get away with more than questionable methods.
You respect Minji for that. Yes, in this dedication, the lies, you see devotion for you. She is willing to sacrifice herself and even her friend for your satisfaction. It wouldn't be long now until she would truly be turned into a loyal one for you. 
You have a suspicion and you would test it out here. 
"Hanni Pham, a bright star plucked out of Australia, a Viet idol with international appeal. And a lovely voice too, dare I say even prettier than Minji's..." 
You smirk, sensing the hurt from Minji without even looking.
"Will you tell me your name?" Hanni asks as you crawl on top of her. Minji placed her in a missionary position and still rubs her hand all over her exposed thighs so she would open her legs for you.
"You don't need my name, you just need to know what I can do and what I want. My deal with Minji benefits you a lot. Tell me, how does it feel to hold a music show trophy or one of those MAMA awards?"
"G-good, Sir, it's quite the," Hanni gasps when you push her legs open and place a finger on her white, innocent panties. You search for a bit until you find her clit and rub it from side to side. "Thrill."
"Drop the Sir, with me Hanni." Lean down to her pink lips, those round, moisturized and smooth lips. "Call me Daddy."
Minji's eyes widen and she almost lets out a whimper as if to object to you. A first encounter and you already let her call you, Daddy? Did you already like Hanni more than her when you haven’t even received pleasure yet? 
"Daddy?" Hanni responds unsure. 
"Yes, Hanni. You'll be a good girl for me won't you? That's all I want. Good, loyal girls. If you do that, you can have anything you desire."
"Daddy, I want to be successful and I want to give you what you need for that." She whimpers when you put more pressure on her nub. "B-but I'm a bit scared. I have never put something inside."
"I think your friend here can help you with that. After all, she got you into that situation." You glance at Minji and she gets what you mean, though the envy at Hanni's preferential treatment is clearly visible on her wrinkled forehead.
Minji leans down and gives Hanni a firm kiss while replacing your hand on the clit that has steadily hardened and is now aroused to the point Hanni's panties become stained with wet spots.
You glance at Minji in thanks. 
"Oh and Minji: no more kissing Hanni unless I command it. Her lips and your lips, belong to me only. Is that clear?" She can only meekly nod. "I hope you haven't been touching anyone else during our time together, Minji. That would really upset me." 
You already know the answer. Given how easily Minji’s and Hanni’s lips connected just this evening, you know it's something they are comfortable with. That would end now. 
Before Minji can answer you, you focus back on Hanni and the sticky sensation spreading over your fingers.
"Already wet for me? You're taking to my touch a lot better than your leader. Tell me, Hanni, you're not afraid of me, are you? Just ask me to touch you more. Tell me what you want."
Hanni is still hesitant, though there is shyness only in the way her mouth doesn't move and admit to her body's obvious reaction. She leaks onto your fingers, her chest heaves heavily, faster. You insert a finger, as well as part of those drenched panties inside her and finally, the right words slip out.
"Your fingers feel so good, fu-uck."
"That's what I wanted to hear." You smile and lean down to Hanni's face. Her lips instinctively pucker, her eyes fall shut, oh, how incredible: she is already yours. You let her wait there, finger twirling, pretending to push aside her panties and go for the real deal, but you're all teasing. Hanni mewls.
"Please, D-Daddy, kiss me."
"I will, when I put it in."
"W-will it hurt? Will you hurt me Daddy?"
"Only if you want me to, baby girl, but you want what Daddy wants, right? It might hurt to begin with, but it will feel so good for both of us." 
The chemistry between you two surprises Minji as she backs off, her hands away from the young women for the first time. Hanni nods. 
"Make me feel good, Daddy. I trust you."
Hook your fingers in Hanni's panties and at last, her soaked entrance is exposed, for your eyes only. You stroke your cock a couple of times, get the fresh girl juice all over it and gaze over the insanely well-trained body you're about to ravish.
Hanni's abdomen is to die for. The muscles on her midriff are absolutely stunning, the same goes for her navel perfectly resting in between them and then further up her subtle boobs, which Minji frees from the bra after your command. It all ends with Hanni’s chin, the sweat that runs down her throat, the faint sparkle of perfection—to sum it up, Hanni is incredibly beautiful.
You take hold of her hips and bask in the way your cock and her hole are magnetically attracted and connect. Hanni throws her head back at the impact and with every inch you stuff into her, her breathing becomes more erratic. Funnily enough, the same goes for Minji, who quietly scoots back and rests at the headboard of the bed.
As you slowly pump half of your cock in and out of the tight cavern, Minji goes for the same rhythm and rubs her clit, hand buried in her pants. She even goes and opens the first buttons. Is it really this girl that wants to keep control over her virginity? Let her have it for now, she'll be yours soon enough.
"Daddy, just focus on me!” Hanni whines out her first words after becoming a full blown woman. “You-you didn't need her, right?"
"Then make me forget, baby girl. Squeeze my cock with your pink little pussy." You go and have a taste of Hanni’s fat lips again, wishing they would suck your balls right now. Hanni could become a whore who would worship your crown jewels like no other. Better than Minji, whose eyes beg to be involved in the action. "Spread your legs more, I want to fuck you harder, Hanni.
"Oh and Minji: Go and suck my balls! That's what you're good for."
"O-okay, Master."
"Be grateful for it. But remember, no cumming."
"Thank you, Master."
"Daddy?” Hanni whimpers softly. “Why does she call you, Master? Is one better?" 
"Oh baby girl. Daddy is more affectionate. It's what you deserve. Minji still has to learn, her heart isn't in this yet."
Minji's heart might not be in the right place (rather the place you intend it to be) but her lips surely are. She gives your swinging balls a good suck and slows done the pace at which your fucking Hanni's pussy. 
It's amazing how well she adjusted to your size, even with your length and girth growing continuously at her fantastic heat and texture. Hanni handles you like a pro, and like one of your pro girls, she is already more drool than straight thoughts.
"Does it feel good, Daddy's hard cock in your virgin pussy? Get used to it because it's the only thing your hole will know. I will be the only one to use your holes, is that clear?"
"Oh Daddy, oh Daddy," Hanni moans and her body rocks violently on the bed sheets. "You-you are so much better."
"Better than what, baby girl?"
Hanni puts both her weak hands on the back of your head and pulls you down to where her lips meet your ears to tell you lewd things that Minji must not hear.
"Better than Minji's fingers."
You take this as a cue to grab Hanni's thighs and angle her in such a way that you can slam into her cunt harder. You let gravity do the work while the force of the entire bed frame shaking has Minji trembling in awe. She rubs her thighs together and tries to keep her hands busy with other spots of her heated body.
You can see that she wants to rub her clit while you make Hanni cum during her precious first time. She is probably projecting, wants you to go softly, then harder, but that is not your game.
"Hanni, no more of that, no more Minji's fingers. Only Daddy shall touch you from now on. You are mine and I'm going to go as hard as I want." You growl out slamming into her even more. "Take it all, Hanni, prove your fucking worth to me."
"Thank y-you, Daddy," Hanni begins her way down the rabbit hole of subjugation towards only you. The new life she will enter, all the changes, challenges and benefits will overwhelm her, but first you overwhelm her with your rod. "Thank you, for help-ing us, thank you for the wins, thank—ah, Daddy, I'm cumming! My pussy is cumming! Thank you for your cock, Daddy!"
You enter a nirvana drilling into Hanni's tight cunt. 
"Good girl, yes thank me, beg me, need me. This is the only cock you will ever have from now on and—" You kiss her with wanton lust, shoving your tongue in her mouth. The next whisper in Hanni's ear is out of Minji’s reach, though she might be too distracted from your delicious balls to get what you were saying either way. 
"Daddy! I understand, yes." 
Without losing focus of your hammering, you give a dismissive order to Minji, who is not worth your eyes on her.
"You can go Minji. I don't need you here. In fact, we can end our deal. You got what you needed right? Wins and fame. I won't meddle with your group in anyway. You are free to go."
"What?" Minji shrieks, completely offended that you could say such a thing.
"You heard me. Fuck. Off." Every word is empathized by a huge thrust that bulges Hanni's tummy. She stares at it in infinite bliss, then throws her head back as you knead her small tits and make the nipples hard like steel.
"B-but Master, you can't just do that."
"You did not keep your part of the bargain and still got what you wanted. Why the hell are you still here?"
"But I did!” Minji argues and climbs in front of you on the bed. “I brought you, Hanni, Master! I—" 
"Hanni, turn around and get in position, I want both of us to look at Minji. I'm going to fuck you from behind.
"What's wrong, Minji? You never truly wanted me in the first place. We both got what we needed from our deal. You don't need my help, your group will be successful. I made sure of it. I am releasing you from our contract with no punishments. Take the fucking deal, Minji."
Minji sits there, on the bed, not moving from her position. In utter shock as she watches Hanni smile and moan as you take her from behind, her pussy stretched again. God, how good she must feel, that face says it all. The pleasure, the desire, all the praises for your cock and it's only because she has her tongue sticking out like it's numb.
Suddenly, it all seems so clear to Minji, so easy to comprehend. She takes a deep breath and learns towards you, her upper body prompted up. All that just to throw her dignity away, to throw herself underneath you.
"Daddy, please! Give me your cock too! Take my virginity, don't push me away!"
You stop thrusting into Hanni right away and pull out for a moment to look at her. 
"Bullshit. I told you we were done here. You don't mean that. You just want my power and connections like everyone else."
"No, I mean it," Minji reassures, but words are nothing when it comes to her current state. She has to follow it up with more, significantly more. You doubt that she can deliver, but low and behold, she unbuttons her jeans and peels them off to show her long legs and the thoroughly drenched panties.
"Mi-Minji, what in the," Hanni moans and goes silent when you smack her ass. It's unbelievable that she is already so obedient and well-trained without training. The more she impresses you, the more Minji has to follow up. Soon she is on her back, jeans on the floor, shut legs turned towards you.
You put your hand on her thigh and though it's tough on her, Minji spreads her trembling legs wide. You poke her lips through her panties and when she squirms you give her a quick slap on her face. 
"Look at me, Minji," you order and she does. "Beg me, call me Master until I have given you, no, until I have taken what is rightfully mine."
"Please, Master," Minji cries out. "Please take my virginity, y-you own it."
"Louder," you growl and smack her covered pussy. Minji cries out, her pleas louder and louder with every new hit you give her cunt. Oh the way her eyes sparkle and body jerks is addicting, you don't realize that you have started to fuck back into Hanni who might have seen Minji naked before, who might have had sex with her—
—but this is new. Minji is a brainless mess, her pussy red from the beating, her face fully in tears. 
"Master, fuck my pussy, please! Fuck this pussy, my worthless pussy, it's yours! Make me full, make me full, I don't deserve it!"
"Now we are getting there," you viciously laugh and grab her chin to aggressively tonguefuck her wet, silly mouth. Minji is such a mess, dazed to the point Hanni's hands undressing her top after your order doesn't even faze her. Her top is gone, her bra as well. All that's left are her panties and Hanni has her fingers already hooked in them.
"Wait, Hanni, she should do it alone."
"Yes, Daddy."
"Ma-Master?"
"Lay down, Minji.
"Pull them to the side.
"Show me your pussy.
"Say it.”
Minji slowly and clumsily works on pulling and getting her wet panties off of her. There is an unfathomable amount of embarrassment in the way Minji’s eyes cannot hold your strong, charismatic gaze for long.
"Shall I feast on your pussy, Minji?" You ask with a smirk and hunger in your eyes.
They all turn eventually. It sometimes sounds so sudden and drastic, but it's all more or less the same. It builds up over time, like an orgasm. Some girls are quiet, until it bursts out of them in a heavy gush that has the entire floor wet. Some are loud the entire way through and what was once only lip service becomes reality, a reality they adore.
They all turn and they all get your cock. So does Minji, with her finger still spreading those sore, red folds and you ignoring her pleasure just to find yours in this wet, messy hole. Minji's cunt is remarkable, cute in the way it ripples and tightens and incredibly lewd in the way it sounds when you slam yourself in and out while holding onto her slim waist.
Now she is part of the loud girls, those idols that suddenly come to worship you more than the career that they fought so hard for. It will be later that they realize that this is the way they get approval from their company, their sponsors, their fans. You are success, the Queen maker for the outside world and a toy maker in your bedroom.
Minji is a great toy. She is euphoric now, the pain already gone. She makes sure to adjust to your will, lifts her hips off the ground when you need to slow down, shows you her tongue when you go for a kiss, and always says the right things. It was so hard for her not long ago, but now she is willing to do it despite Hanni laying next to her and admiring both of you fucking like animals. 
"Hanni," you groan and hammer your cock balls deep into Minji, who throws her head back in another (accidental) orgasm. "I know you want to fuck both of us so bad, but if you don't touch yourself until I'm finished with her, I'm gonna cum on your pretty face and tell you how good you are, okay?"
"O-okay, Daddy," Hanni mewls. Not that she would have touched herself, but you can't blame her for considering it. Caress her cheek softly for being so good, then fucking destroy Minji's cunt because she has been so bad.
"Master, more, pl-please, fuck!" Minji howls with pleasure. 
"You're going to be my good girl from now on, right?" 
"Yes, Master, use me however you want. I-I just want to live to fulfill your desires. Master!" 
You stare deeply at her and pause right before the next spike rattles Minji’s brain. 
"Really? With every atom in your body. Tell me again, Minji."
"Every-thing." Minji can barely talk but does so for you, despite you, despite the large dick that is reshaping her insides. "You own everything, Master. You c-can use me daily, everywhere, any-time. I-I mean it!"
You lean down to her and give her a simple, hard thrust to make sure she gets your point.
"You're a good girl?"
"Yes, Master."
"Then call me Daddy," you whisper into her ear and put a hand on her throat, ready to press down on it.
"Thank you, Daddy," Minji rasps before you choke her hard and fuck her absolutely senseless. Orgasm after orgasm shoots through her frame, her existence becomes numb, she is a fleshlight now. The vibrations of her climax become your stimulation and at the last possible second, you pull out of that twitching hole. 
"Get on your knees Hanni," you order in time. Hanni kneels before you as you somehow slide off the bed, legs a bit shaky and with her head thrown back because you could not resist pulling her raven hair, you cum all over her features. "God, you are such a pretty girl. I can't believe such beauty loves cum on her face."
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"It's Daddy's cum," Hanni moans and sucks on your tip to get more on her lips. The rest has mostly covered her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. "Of course I like it!"
"That is right, baby girl, well said," you compliment her and pat her head while she instinctively cleans your cock with superb care. "Did you ever service someone else?"
"No?" Hanni asks and collects your cream off of her stupidly gorgeous face.
"You, I swear to God, you can't be that good right from the start."
Hanni pouts her lips and puts them under your cock. She truly is one in a million, the rare idol who barely hesitates and immediately knows how to do the right things. In many regards, she reminds you of Kazuha, who told you it was her kinks that made her adapt so easily. Maybe this is the case for Hanni as well. Should that make her devotion less impressive?
"Daddy?" Hanni cutely asks and waits.
"Open your mouth, I need to fuck it now."
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ki-yomii · 1 month
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beg | myg
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➥ pairing | min yoongi x f!reader
➥ word count | 1.2k
➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, mild degradation, mild praise kink, established relationship, rough oral (m receiving), throatfucking, teasing, pet names, throat bulge, studio sex, wet & messy, reader wears a necklace with yoongi's initial
➥ summary | requested from this - "Oh no, not until you beg." & "Relax your throat." With Min Yoongi :3
➥ notes | for anon~ hope you enjoy 🧡 un-edited, I’ll come back to fix things when it’s not 2 AM lol
masterlist | ask box | AO3
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The low hum of the A/C unit overhead and the whir of the computer fan kicking on is almost enough to drown out the wet gags and gargled breathing but only just.
Not that it really matters - the hours had long since crept past midnight, and Yoongi was meticulous when it came to the design of his studio.
Key pad, double doored, soundproofed to hell and back; the whole shebang.
Millions of won poured into the construction of the four walls that made up his altar, his church. Furthermore, not only did others give a wide berth when he's on-site at HYBE, but even fewer have the special privilege of being granted access to his private sanctum.
You're one of the lucky ones.
Mind, it took several (long) months of veiled suggestions and cajoling to get you to where you are now, but it was worth it in the end.
Watching a man so thoroughly married to his work set aside his convictions to give attention to your relationship doesn't sit right with you. Plus, it wasn’t sustainable in the long run - even though you appreciate the effort.
No, this arrangement is much better - the best of both worlds.
Not only do you get to spend time with him, he gets to share what he loves. A win-win for everyone involved, but especially for you when Yoongi is horny and agitated.
“Mm, come on, baby,” Yoongi husks, wicking away the mascara clinging to the swell of your cheek with a rough thumb, “I know you can take me all the way. Now, stop playing, and relax your throat.”
Burning eyes fluttering open, you take in the blurry upside-down view that greets you through clumpy lashes; a sea of dark wood, the pale stretch of his legs, the pool of black basketball shorts puddled around his ankles.
Propped up as you are, head dangling over the thin leather armrest of the couch, you can't get a good angle without giving yourself a crick. Little spasms are already shooting through your neck, and down in between your shoulders because of the lack of proper support.
Something you'll definitely be paying for later.
But you're not about to stop Yoongi.
Not when he has you laid out on your back with his cock in your mouth, both of you working towards stuffing it down your throat. Even if your lips are fucked raw and swollen, your chin slick with spit and pre-cum.
Your tongue stretches out to flick over the fat head of his cock when he slides free with a sticky pop. “Fuck yeah, just like that.”
You hum low in the back of your throat, threads of arousal shivering down your spine as your belly swoops at the low rumble of his voice, the delicate trace of his fingers along the sides of your neck.
He grunts when you dig the tip of your tongue into his weeping slit, lapping and swirling around the spongy crown.
“Heh, you’re such a filthy bitch for me, aren’t you,” Yoongi says, his voice breathless and cracking around the edges. “Now, are you ready to be a good girl and swallow my dick?”
Inhaling deep, you let your breath shudder from you on a shaky moan that teases the insides of his thighs, the base of his cock, “Yes, please. Want it, Yoongs.”
Yoongi hums, satisfied.
“Watch those teeth,” is the only warning you get.
Then he's cradling your jaw with his thumbs and nudging his hips forward to grind against your lips. Eyes sliding shut, you drop your mouth open into a relaxed circle for Yoongi to fuck into.
The initial slide is smooth, aided by the strings of spit and pre-cum clinging to the lower half of your face. Though trouble begins the deeper Yoongi presses towards the back of your throat.
Your muscles tense as your mouth spreads wider and wider to accommodate his girth. An ache settles deep in your temples, little shocks of discomfort shooting down through the hinges of your jaw.
Tears leak past your clenched eyes, the renewed burn of mascara stinging your ducts as your sinuses clog. You whine - a raspy, muffled sound as your tongue wriggles along the underside of his shaft.
He hushes you, and anchors a hand on your shoulder as the other reaches down to twine with your fingers digging into his thigh. “Doing so good for me,” Yoongi said, “fucking perfect, baby.”
Your pussy clenches, your legs tensing against the leather. Sweat gathers behind your knees, your hips shivering with the need to twist, shift, and find a modicum of friction that’ll relieve the ache building behind your navel.
“Yeah, come on, that’s it. Just a little - shit - hah, that - oh fuck!”
His hips jerk forward as you hollow your cheeks to the best of your ability, hissing as teeth scrape along the sides of his shaft as he bullies his way deeper.
And then, with a pop richoetting down your spine, the head of his cock passes the back of your throat.
“Oh, baby,” Yoongi curses, his frame wracked with tremors.
His thighs shudder against your ears, his hips tense with anticipation as he holds himself still. Your throat rebels, rippling like a vice around his shaft, milking him for all he’s worth.
“Feel’s so - feels so good. You take me so well, knew you could. You always do.”
Gagging, your head goes light and floaty at the sudden lack of oxygen, tiny cavities peppering your vision.
Then you focus on breathing through your nose.
In - one, two, three. Out - one, two, three.
Over and over again until the mounting animal panic subsides, and you're left with tingling limbs and a throbbing cunt.
Yoongi groans, “Fuck, that’s so hot.”
Thumbs bracketing the sides of your neck stroke over the visible bulge of his shaft straining against the chain of your necklace, the delicate ‘Y’ charm branding your skin.
It'll leave a welt everyone can see. A little mark to stake his claim. To remember him by when you're separated.
The thought gets you hotter than you care to admit.
“Can see myself in your throat, baby.”
At the praise, liquid fire pulses through your veins, and warmth blooms in your belly. Settling between your hips until your clit twitches.
Slick soaks through the seat of your panties, and you feel all at once so full, and so, so empty.
The scent of his skin - clean and clear. The musk of his cologne - earthy and masculine. The salt of him heavy on your tongue, his cock throbbing in time with his thundering heartbeat as you swallow around him reflexively.
It's enough to send you reeling with the desperation, the desire to feel him cum down your throat, to taste his pleasure.
Half feral, you try bobbing your head, fingers hooking around Yoongi’s hips to drag him into the cradle of your face deeper, faster, harder.
Only to be met with resistance as he refuses to move, to give in to the frantic movements.
Standing stock still, he lets you tug and whine and writhe until your efforts fizzle to nothing.
And only then does he respond, bending over your body to slide a hand between your thighs.
You jerk, hiccup at the feeling of his fingers inching past the soaked hem of your panties. Brushing over the silken folds of your cunt, teasing, testing the slick arousal with his knuckles.
“Oh no, baby,” Yoongi says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest into yours, “You gotta beg me first.”
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prettyforwoso · 2 months
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Blossoming
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Leah Williamson x pregnant!reader
Summary: You and Leah share tears and joy as the pregnancy test reveals our long-awaited dream: a baby.
a/n: just something super short and cute while I finish editing something more...exciting, lets say. requests open!
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the living room as you sat there, nervously fidgeting with the pregnancy test in your hands. Leah Williamson, your partner, was in the kitchen, humming a tune while preparing dinner. The aroma of spices and laughter filled the air, creating a cozy ambiance that contrasted with the turmoil of emotions inside you.
Leah walked over, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What's taking so long in here?" she asked, her voice filled with playful impatience.
You bit your lip, glancing down at the plastic stick that held the answers to your prayers. "I… Leah, come here" you replied, your voice quivering.
Leah's expression shifted from playful to concerned. "What is it?" she asked, her eyes searching yours.
With a deep breath, you held out the pregnancy test, the two lines clearly visible. Leah's eyes widened as she took it from your hands, her gaze fixed on the tiny window that held the life-altering information.
Silence stretched between you, the weight of anticipation hanging in the air. You watched Leah's face, her features contorting as a wave of emotions crashed over her. Then, without a word, she looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks, and pulled you into a tight embrace.
"We did it," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "We're going to have a baby."
A surge of relief and joy flooded your senses as you held each other, the realization sinking in. "I can't believe it," you mumbled, your words muffled against her shoulder. "After all this time…"
Leah pulled back, cupping your face in her hands and wiping away tears with her thumbs. "I knew it would happen. I never gave up hope," she said, her voice filled with a mix of conviction and tenderness.
You smiled through your tears, overwhelmed by the love and support radiating from her. "I couldn't have asked for a better partner to share this journey with."
Leah grinned, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Our little miracle is on the way."
As the reality of your impending parenthood sank in, you found yourselves caught in a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement mingled with apprehension, and you began to dream aloud about your future as a family.
"I can't wait to meet our little one," Leah said, her eyes sparkling with a newfound sense of purpose.
"I want to be the best parents for our child," you replied, your heart brimming with determination.
The miracle that had finally graced your lives.
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rosettyller · 7 months
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some analysis of this scene from 2x02, because i am going absolutely insane over it:
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first up: it's 2 500 BCE. They've known each other for around 1500 years at this point, but they haven't been meeting up very often; it's implied at this point, that they've only met at the Garden, and the Flood, and now here (as well as in Heaven, but there's varying interpretations about how much they each remember of Heaven).
(worth noting that these meetings are all bible-related meetings)
So, they don't know each other very well at all. This is why Aziraphale approaches Crowley so cautiously (apart from the fact that he thinks Crowley's going around murdering goats and soon kids). He doesn't know what happened to Crowley when he Fell, how he changed when he fell in with Lucifer, how God's rejection has warped Crowley's perspective or changed his morals (their meeting at the Flood seemed quite short, not enough time to get a definite picture.)
Aziraphale is still seeing Crowley as demonic, although there's already that thread of doubt - can you really see him trying to talk Hastur or Ligur out of this the way he does Crowley?
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Aziraphale clings to the memory of Angel Crowley - Crowley gets quite defensive.
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Here, Crowley reinforces that he's changed - personally I don't believe that he did fight in the War, but his views of God's Plan definitely got more extreme than "thats terrible god should get a suggestion box".
But, I also believe that here, Crowley is reinforcing that he is no longer an angel, and therefore no longer has to play by angel rules. He can do what he wants. He's a demon, it's in his job description.
And of course, that he is a demon, and he is Evil, and of course he would kill goats.
(more under the cut, because I just can't stop talking)
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This shot is very yellow. Crowley's hair being the season 1 orange rather than red, the yellow walls, all accentuate the colour of Crowley's eyes, highlighting the physical reminder of Crowley's demonic nature.
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I couldn't be bothered to gif it, but here, Crowley leans forward into Aziraphale's face. There are two reasons for this:
Get his yellow Demon Eyes right in Aziraphale face, just to hammer home his point.
It's an aggressive action, moving into someone's personal space like that. Saying, I could hurt you, I'm violent and aggressive and dangerous, I killed those goats, the kids are next.
The way the light hits Crowley's eyes in the above shot and the below shot also make them a very bright yellow. (Edit: I think someone pointed out that Crowley is making his eyes glow, but the overall yellowness of the scene serves to highlight this)
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Clever wording on Crowley's part, because as we will find out, he faked the destruction of the goats to keep them safe, while making himself sound very evil.
You'll notice the repetition of "blameless"; this makes him seem even more evil, hurting the innocent, but also gives deeper insight into one of Crowley's biggest issues: hurting the innocent. What have they done to deserve this? Nothing.
This ties in quite nicely with what we have seen before of Crowley and free will; he gives people the option to sin. It's their actions that decide whether they end up in Heaven or Hell; they get what they deserve for their actions. He just makes it easier to choose Hell. (see: phone lines being down making people crankier and encouraging them to be horrible to each other, but it still being their choice, setting the holy water bucket above the door, so it's Ligur's choice to come in after Crowley that gets him killed.)
Note also the use of "long":
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Aziraphale says to "tell me you want to do this". "Long" has rather stronger connotations than "want", but also rawer, more fundamental. Crowley is reminding Aziraphale that he is a demon, and that he has the traits of a demon, this is what he is now. He longs for violence, for destruction.
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Aziraphale looks quite sad here. If you watch the video I linked, his previous conviction that Crowley doesn't want to do it is very strong. He fully believes in Crowley, that all he needs to do is reframe not killing the kids as within the rules of Hell, the way Crowley so often comes to do for Aziraphale ("Then you can't be certain that thwarting me isn't part of the divine plan too. I mean, you're supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren't you?" "If you put it that way, Heaven couldn't actually mind me thwarting you.").
Aziraphale believed Crowley was still good, that the angel he remembered was still in there. But Crowley rejects it - and it hurts. Crowley has become what a demon should be.
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Crowley looks quite sorrowful here, too: he already cares for Aziraphale (he fell in love at the Garden), and it hurts to decieve him, to disappoint him, to hurt him.
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I would argue that here, Crowley is scared.
He's in shadow, which dims the yellows; his undemonic nature is about to be revealed.
And that is not safe, because Hell does not send rude notes. And here, Crowley is not doing just any temptation, but trying to help Satan win a bet (supposedly). And out of every demon in Hell, Satan is the one you want to piss off the least.
But here, Crowley is scared because Aziraphale could reveal him - because Aziraphale is on God's side, and because it is revealed that Crowley is not nearly as demonic as he makes himself out to be. He's vulnerable. Aziraphale could scorn him, hurt him. But instead:
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Aziraphale is incredibly smug. "I knew I was right", he says. "I knew you were still good".
And here is another issue: Aziraphale conflates God/Heaven/angels with good, and demons/Hell with bad.
And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He doesn't want Aziraphale to see his angelic core past the demonic exterior. He's on his own side.
This, for Aziraphale, confirms that "the angel you knew is not me", is not correct.
And I think, out of the three minisodes, it's this one that does the most for fleshing out Aziraphale and Crowley's frames of mind this series, and why they choose what they choose in ep6.
Aziraphale has been proven right about Crowley's angelic nature, and that he wants to do good, but can't, for fear of Hell's retribution.
And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He recognises that being an angel again will not allow him the freedom to do good. (as Aziraphale had to try and talk a demon into helping him save the kids from God.)
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youunravelme · 6 months
Text
it's nice to have a friend
author's note: this is a little all over the place, but i saw a tiktok edit of seven by taylor swfit and then thought to myself, what if i ignore all my wips and wrote childhood friends to lovers with a hint of childhood trauma? and this was born. and if the timeline isn't perfect with reality, oh well. i'm but a human girl. also!! if you have ever experienced or currently experiencing abuse, please know that it was never your fault. you don't deserve to be treated that way.
pairing: mat barzal x reader
summary: wherever mat went, you were never too far behind or the one where you are childhood besties
warnings: cursing (as always), mentions of parental abuse and alcholism, tumultuous childhood, drinking, mentions of sex
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there was a saying that floated around in your elementary, middle, and high school days, surrounding you like a warm oversized cardigan.
wherever mat went, you were never too far behind.
the saying could also be flipped, the two of you stuck to each other like glue.
mat, despite not being one for fights, had a bad habit of running his mouth whenever you were concerned. in fourth grade, he used newly learned vocabulary words to berate a girl who made fun of your beat up shoes and nearly got detention for it.
and you had a nasty habit of squaring up with anyone who looked at mat wrong, even if they towered over you.
your friendship worked well because of it.
age eight
you could remember summer days swimming in the pool with mat and liana, laughing as you and mat teamed up against his little sister until his mother scolded the two of you when she started crying.
but there was always a darkness that sat in the corners of your memories like fingerprints that had damaged an old photograph.
you didn't have to try to remember your parents' screaming and yelling at each other, just like you didn't have to try to recall the smell of alcohol on your father's breath. it didn't take any effort to remember the way your hands shook when you locked your room at night and climbed out of a second story window to go to mat's.
you could feel the splinters digging into your fingertips as you climbed the trellis up to his window. you could still feel the way your stomach dropped when you slipped and fell halfway up in the pouring rain, nearly breaking your arm in the process. you could still hear nadia come out and usher you inside moments before mat's eight year old feet came pattering down the stairs.
he didn't even give you time to explain, he just wrapped you up in a hug.
it took you that long to understand it was never raining, it was just tears.
the next week, you found yourselves at the park laying on your backs in the grass.
"what would you do if a genie gave you one wish?" mat asked out of the blue.
the summer sun kept you warm as the breeze kept sweeping in and blowing strands of hair into your face.
"get far away from here."
"would you bring me?" mat asked.
you turned your head to look at him only to find him already staring. "i wouldn't go anywhere without you." and you meant every word, spoke them with as much conviction as an eight year old could have.
mat reached out and squeezed your hand in his own.
"what would you wish for?"
he shrugged. "to be bigger."
you furrowed your brow. "why bigger?"
"so i could protect you better."
age nine
at nine, you and mat were playing cards in your room when the front door slammed. it was like you were on autopilot. of all the times that had happened, mat was never home with you. immediately, you were locking your door and shoving things in your backpack, pulling mat towards the window and climbing out as quickly as you could. the two of you ran to your bikes and biked all the way to an empty field where you collapsed in the tall grass and cried.
mat immediately brought you into his arms, hushing you and running his hand down your braids.
"what if--" he started stopped abruptly to clear his throat. "what if you stayed with me and liana and mom and dad? we could get bunk beds and a night light, if you want, and you wouldn't have to lock the door."
you just sobbed harder into his chest and shook your head.
it's not that simple, you wanted to tell him. but i wish it was.
age thirteen
you never moved in with mat, never got to get the bunk beds, but by middle school, your mom moved the two of you out of your old house. it was then that he started packing two lunches, one for you and another for himself.
things hadn't changed much since leaving your dad in that shitty house full of demons. you still spent most of your time at mat's house (your mom was working). still spent your saturdays going to his tournaments and games. you still cheered him on and let him cheat off your homework on sunday nights.
things shifted though, regardless if you wanted them to change or not. time, you found, never gave a shit about your opinion, thoughts, or desires.
because it felt like just yesterday, you were riding your bikes down the street, racing each other back home.
now, you were helping mat draft msn messages to a girl he had a crush on in your biology class. there was an uncomfortable sensation in your stomach that was comparable to the time you got food poisoning, but you couldn't place a reason for it.
you could paint the pink on his cheeks as the girl replied.
and you would've given anything to be the reason for it.
maybe it was silly, a small crush for the sheer convenience of it all. maybe it was the fact that he'd saved you so many times from the darkness that always seemed to follow you. maybe it was because he was a tether for you, pulling you back when you went too far in your head.
so when he laughed at something she said (which wasn't even really funny), you wanted to go back to the times the two of you would cloud gaze in the middle of the day just so you wouldn't have to be home.
age fifteen
you knew mat was a kind person, knew he was handsome and a good hockey player, that was never in question.
you just didn't realize other girls realized it too.
mat always walked in front of you in the hallways because he could make way through the crowds in ways you couldn't. (he grew like a weed over the summer and while you hated how you couldn't reach things when he held them above his head, you appreciated the way crowds moved out of the way for him).
you were used to him being in front, his grip light on your wrist as he tugged you behind him. you weren't used to walking behind his new girlfriend, chloe, who had the honor of walking beside him.
mat used to tell you how much it irritated him that people would take up so much space in the hallway and make it impossible to move around them.
but there you were, an awkward moving triangle of your best friend, his girlfriend, and you trailing pathetically behind.
chloe was cool. she never felt threatened by your friendship with mat, which might've hurt your feelings if you were delusional. you knew you had no chance with mat, so you'd take him in whatever form you could get him.
lately, that looked like spending time with liana in the stands at mat's tournaments. you would both do your homework before dissolving into gossip sessions while you braided her hair.
chloe even showed up for some games, smiling and cheering as he played. at one game, he scored and came up and tapped the glass in front of you, pointing at you and smiling.
they broke up two weeks later.
age sixteen
you openly cried when mat left for seattle. you were used to times when mat had hockey camps and would be gone for two weeks, a month at a time. but he would be gone indefinitely now.
and leading up to the day he was leaving, you thought it would be harder on you, considering mat hadn't shown anything but excitement. but when it came time for him to leave, he wouldn't let you go.
both of your moms had to pry you apart with promises that he would call and text as soon as he got to seattle.
and he did.
he hadn't even gotten into his new home when he was facetiming you.
you did your best to smile as he showed you around his new place, but your eyes were watering still. he was indefinitely two and a half hours away from you.
"you okay?" he asked when you stopped responding.
you gave him your best smile, but knew he wouldn't buy it. "just miss you is all."
he nodded, eyes going blank for a second before you saw water appear in them. mat wasn't as emotional as you were, and he for sure wasn't as teary eyed as he used to be when you still lived with your dad, but his eyes were watering all the same. "let's just treat it like summer camp," he said. "i'll be back before you know it, and if you need something, you can always call me."
you had no intentions of calling him with your problems, but then your dad showed up at your house screaming and beating the door and calling for your mother while she was at work. the doors were locked, he had no way in, and the police were on the way, but your hands were still shaking.
you couldn't run to his house to hug him anymore.
so you called him sobbing.
he picked up on the second ring.
he was lounging in bed, playing call of duty or something like it. "hey--" he cut himself off and paused his game, jumping out of bed. "what's wrong?"
"my dad," you sobbed.
mat was back in coquitlam in three hours, holding you tight to his chest and rocking you back and forth. you were openly weeping into his shirt, clinging to him. you weren't gonna let him go, and mat wasn't willing to give you up either.
you and your mom spent the night at the barzal's, with her taking the guest room while nadia brought a twin mattress into mat's room under the pretense that you would sleep on it.
you didn't.
everyone knew that you got into mat's queen sized bed and clung to him all night long.
just like everyone pretended that mat wouldn't have to leave in two days to go back to seattle.
just like you pretended like you wouldn't absolutely shatter on impact the second he left your sight.
age nineteen
when mat was drafted to the islanders, you stopped breathing. sure, it was dramatic, but you only moved into vancouver for school.
mat was moving across the fucking continent.
but he came back to seattle, and for a moment, the world was right again.
until he went to new york full time.
and the full weight of his absence hit you like a damn eighteen wheeler.
you'd watch him on the tv, when you used to watch him live in much smaller stands. you used to use puff paint to make t-shirts with his name on it, now they were selling his jersey in the arena he played in.
he didn't pick up the phone as much as he used to. he would respond to your texts days later until you stopped texting him altogether.
you should've seen it coming, especially when you saw him hanging out with instagram models and going out to bars. were you really expecting him to sit at home and wait for you to call him with a panic attack?
you had to get a grip.
so you did.
you threw yourself into your studies, pretending you didn't know his game schedule or stats. and when a cute boy named thomas came along and took interest, you allowed him to get to know you better.
you told him you grew up in coquitlam, that you were an only child, and your favorite school subject growing up was english.
(you never told him that your favorite color was the shade of mat's eyes, that you haven't spoken to your dad since the night your mom left him, or that every night, you fall asleep to career highlights of the best friend you haven't spoken to in months).
you learned he was a business major, something that should've been a red flag, but you were so focused on proving to yourself that you could be loved, that you overlooked it.
you went on dates, had sex, made plans for the future, met each other's families.
but he never met the barzals, despite the fact that you could drive to their house blindfolded.
no, they felt like a precious secret. the world could have number 13, they could have the calder memorial trophy winner, but you would not allow them to have the little sister whose hair you braided, the mother who brought you inside after you wrecked her trellis, the father who covered your scraped knees with bandaids and neosporin when your biological one was drunk at 2pm.
you might have lost mat to the awful curse called distance, but you would not lose his family.
you couldn't afford to lose them too.
now thomas, you lost a month after you turned twenty when you found him balls deep in your freshman roommate.
you went back to your apartment and cried, because it hurt, but mainly because you realized how alone you were. you had no one to call other than your mom or liana. but liana didn't even know about thomas, and your mom was dating a new guy now.
your thumb hovered over mat's contact for five minutes before you locked your phone and just went to bed.
age twenty-three
you were single for a whole year before you met dawson. his brown eyes and salt and pepper hair captivated you.
you were hooked, despite the seven year age gap.
he gave you the number to a good psychologist to help you work through your past and was willing to listen to you talk about it or sit in silence when your therapy session was emotionally exhausting.
he remembered your favorite flowers and brought a bouquet of them to your college graduation and kissed you in front of your mom and the barzals (minus mat, but that was a given at that point).
and on your twenty-third birthday, he proposed.
you said yes while actively trying to forget the dreams you and mat had when you were six.
you were building a fort in his bedroom with thumbtacks and blankets and sheets you'd stolen from around his house. when the project was complete, the two of you found yourselves laying in it, staring up at the blanket canopy shoddily held up by thumbtacks pushed into the wall.
"do you wanna get married?" mat had asked randomly.
"only if i get to marry you," you replied.
mat smiled a toothy grin, it was the only time you remembered him having imperfect teeth, given that he'd just lost his two front teeth. "i thought the same thing!"
and it was the most honest you had ever been. though, that wasn't a strange concept, most people were the most honest when they were either children or drunk. and considering you stayed far away from alcohol (guided by the anxiety in your stomach and the advice of your therapist), your childhood memories held the most truth.
despite not having seen him in years, you still thought of him often. you tried to see if you could remember the sound of his laugh without looking up an interview. you tried to recall the way his hair felt through your fingers.
but you couldn't.
it was crazy how much he meant to you as a child, how you still remembered the order in which he ate his breakfast, but you hadn't spoken to him in years.
you found yourself sobbing at the kitchen table one night as you poured over who to invite to the wedding. liana was a bridesmaid, mike and nadia had to be invited.
but what about mat?
you felt sick to your stomach at not inviting him. when you were in high school, when you'd gotten a grip on reality, you believed he'd walk you down the aisle in lieu of your piece of shit father.
but you hadn't spoken to him in so long.
though you couldn't imagine which would suck worse, not inviting him, or mat rejecting the invitation.
that was how dawson found you, sobbing over photos from your childhood that you wouldn't let him see. and when you tried to talk to him about it, he suggested talking to your therapist.
he broke off the engagement two weeks later. he said he didn't feel "the spark" anymore.
age twenty-four
you'd been out of college for two years now and all you had to show for it was debt and a stupid piece of paper. you were working in a coffee shop ten minutes from your mom's house and wishing you could've gotten out of coquitlam like mat did.
maybe this was your cursed existence, going to the grocery store wondering if you were going to ever run into your father again.
you'd just gotten off your shift at the coffee shop when you stopped by your local grocery store to pick some things up for dinner. it was supposed to be a normal day, but you turned the corner out of an aisle and damn near ran into someone.
"sorry, my bad--"
you looked up and suddenly the earth stopped in its rotation. you hadn't seen in him years but you'd know him blind.
his hands were around your elbows, keeping you upright. his touch almost burned you. it was an uncomfortable feeling, like putting on jeans you loved and realizing they don't fit anymore.
you pulled away, ducked your head, and started walking the opposite direction without another word.
but you should've known he would follow you, like a moth to a flame. or maybe that wasn't the right analogy, you were used to being the bug while mat was the light of your life.
but he followed you like there was a string attached to your wrists and he wasn't used to you pulling in an opposite direction.
he managed to catch up to you in the self care aisle right in front of the menstrual products. any other man you'd known would've shied away from standing in front of the tampons and pads as you deliberated which products to get, but mat's eyes wouldn't even leave your face.
you should've known he was going to come back eventually. you'd avoided seeing him in the offseason pretty well considering you were off doing internships and working out of town in the summer.
but now you were stuck in a dead end job with no passion for anything anymore, feeling more alone than you had ever felt before.
and because nature or god or the universe hated you, naturally, that was when mat showed back up.
when you had nothing to show for the years you didn't speak.
you could see the wheels turning in mat's head as he tried to think of something to say. it was an interesting turn of events that simultaneously sent an ache straight through your heart. when you were kids, he never hesitated to say exactly what was on his mind. now, he was deliberating.
"you wanna come over for dinner?" he asked. "mom's making tomato soup and grilled cheese."
you wished you could've denied him, it would've been smarter in the long run. mathew michael paul barzal could get you to do anything, and you hated that even after all those years, he still could.
you found yourself sitting at his old kitchen table surrounded by his family, dipping your grilled cheese into the soup like you were six years old again.
except the difference now was you were laughing with liana, sitting next to liana, instead of mat.
you'd occasionally meet his eyes from across the table, but it wasn't the same.
when you were kids, you sat next to each other at every opportunity. when you were kids, mat pretended to steal food off your plate. when you were kids, you knew everything about each other.
but you were adults now. and he was effectively a stranger you knew too much about.
after dinner, everyone scattered. you tried to leave, but mat caught up with you.
"what're you doing tomorrow?" he asked.
"working," you replied.
he nodded and looked around. "can i see you?"
you wanted so badly to say no, that you were busy, but as much as you wanted to pretend that he didn't, mat knew you better than anyone else, even if he had been absent for five years.
you ended up going for a walk in the park the next day, deciding that getting dinner wasn't worth the headache of mat getting recognized.
his hands were shoved in his pockets with a baseball cap pulled down low over his face. if you were brave enough to look over, you could still see his eyes taking glances at you.
"how's your mom?" mat asked, immediately jumping into topics you'd planned on ignoring.
you shrugged. "fine."
he nodded and scuffed his feet along the sidewalk. "how have you been?"
"fine." you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. you didn't mean to be cold, you meant it even less when you looked over and saw mat desperate for connection with you again.
in the end, you could never really deny him anything he wanted.
"life sucks right now," you admitted. "feel like i've wasted my life away here."
mat nodded along. "didn't you say your genie wish would be to leave?"
"i think my words were to 'get far away from here.'"
"you know," he started. "new york is far from here."
you couldn't help yourself. you looked up at him and saw the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "are you being serious?"
he nodded. "as a heart attack."
could this be the moment? the moment your life suddenly comes back into color? things haven't felt right since mat left for new york, and maybe moving, being with him all the time, would fix whatever existential crisis you were currently having.
the two of you were packing up your childhood room a month later .
you were on a flight to new york city two days after that.
mat was bouncing on his toes when he picked you up from the airport, having come home a few days early to get his apartment set up.
"you have to meet tito," he said as soon as the both of you got in his car. "you'll get along just fine. my childhood best friend meeting my other best friend? things couldn't be more perfect!"
you smiled though you felt like dying inside. no wonder you two lost touch, you were too ashamed to message him and he was too busy befriending his entire hockey team.
the apartment itself was large. larger than you could've ever afforded, even in coquitlam. mat brought your bags to your room and gently placed them on the floor.
"do you need any help unpacking?" he asked.
maybe a bitter part of you wanted to say no, but you'd waited for this moment for years. you nodded and mat's face lit up like a christmas tree.
while he was putting your clothes away in the dresser, he told you about his team, about his career, and all that you missed. he tried to ask about your life, but you kept up the story that nothing much had happened to you. and for the most part, you weren't lying.
you hadn't spoken to your dad, you hadn't dated anyone seriously in the last year (you conveniently left out the failed engagement. you just got into town, and couldn't afford a plane ticket to fly back to coquitlam just to bail mat out of jail).
but mat was more than content to listen to your work stories from when you were working at the coffee shop. he asked questions along the way, and momentarily, it felt like everything was headed back to normal.
you shooed him out of the room so you could shower. it was kinda incredible how a nice apartment meant that his shower was better than any other one you'd ever had growing up. when you stepped out into the nicely updated bathroom and changed into some gym shorts and a t-shirt, you felt the full weight of your insecurities hit you all at once.
your mat lived down the road from you. he had a twin bed until he was fifteen when his mom could no longer ignore the way his ankles hung off the end. he had posters of sidney crosby hanging up on the walls of his bedroom.
but this mat had expensive bathrooms and egyptian cotton sheets. you didn't get to see it yet, but you were willing to bet he had state of the art kitchen appliances that he didn't fully understand how to use outside of making eggs.
you were fully ready to walk into the living room, where you heard mat clicking through what must've been streaming services (because he could afford all of them), and tell him moving here was a mistake. too much had changed, he didn't know you anymore.
but you walked out and saw blankets and sheets strung up, pinned to the walls with pillows on the floor.
almost on cue, mat's head popped out from the makeshift fort, a bright smile on his face. "i don't have bunk beds, but i thought this would be a nice alternative."
you could've cried. you almost did.
but you sat down on a pillow and watched a movie with him instead.
two months later
mat had introduced you to anthony the second week you lived in new york. anders and matt you met the next week. the rest of the team you met over the course of the two months you'd lived with mat so far. they were all nice, and you could see why mat was so enthusiastic about his job, his passion for the sport aside.
you met his "not-girlfriend" as tito called her the day before. ashley was nice enough, but clearly not in the same tax bracket as you, who had recently gotten a job working at an indie bookstore while you worked on grad school applications.
you pretended to be too busy to notice the ache in your chest when he held her hand, remembering chloe and the nasty sensation internally of insecurity bubble up. you weren't dumb enough to not know you were jealous, insecurity was a closer friend than mat was, you'd known her longer.
and if comparison was a sport, you'd be making more money than he was at this rate.
because if it wasn't the way ashley laughed, it was her smile, or her stomach, or the gap between her thighs.
or the fact that mat looked at her with something more than a savior complex.
you stupidly agreed to go out to a bar with him, ashley, and a few islanders that night. it was dumb, you knew that going in, but you were finally with mat again, why wouldn't you spend every free moment with him?
it turned out to be a mistake.
you were left sipping a diet coke by your lonesome while he was dancing with ashley. you knew you shouldn't have done it, it was a bad idea, but you found yourself at the bar asking for a shot of literally anything the bartender would give you.
but anthony slid into the seat next to you a beat later and fixed you with a knowing look. "where's your diet coke?" he asked.
your mouth dried up when the shot was placed in front of you. your heart was pounding and for a moment, it felt like you could've thrown up.
when you didn't respond, anthony nodded and stood up. "wanna go take a breather?" and he sounded so genuine that your eyes immediately welled up with tears as you nodded.
the two of you walked outside and stood in the cool air, letting the wind hit your wet cheeks.
you looked out onto the street while anthony texted on his phone. "do you want to go home?" he asked as soon as he slipped his cellphone back into his pocket.
you shrugged. "i don't know what i want."
that was a lie. you wanted to go back to a time where mat was just your best friend, before he was number 13 for the islanders, before he won the calder memorial trophy. you wanted your best friend, the one who raced you down the neighborhood streets on bikes, who drove three hours to see you when you had a panic attack.
you wanted a childhood that wasn't tainted with the darkness of your father's mistakes. you wanted to be able to go into a room and not immediately check if you could lock the door. you wanted to be able to fall asleep in a dark room without being deathly afraid.
mat was outside a second later, huffing and puffing like he'd just run a mile. his gaze was fixed on you almost immediately, while he ignored the way ashley hung off of him. "what's wrong?" he asked. he even went as far as to pry ashley off of his body so he could frame your face in his large hands.
in the corner of you eye, you saw anthony usher ashley back inside while you and mat had a staring contest. "what happened?"
you shook your head and tried to speak, but more tears spilled out. mat nodded and pursed his lips before grabbing your hand and walking you home.
he didn't say anything else until the front door shut behind you. you had no intentions of staying in the common area, you just wanted to curl up in bed and cry yourself to sleep out of shame and pity.
"what were you doing at the bar?" mat asked before you could go anywhere. "you still had diet coke in your glass."
your throat seized up at feeling caught, but you stood your ground.
"i didn't think you drank," he continued. "mainly because--"
"because my dad's an abusive alcholic? yeah, you don't need to tell me that, mat, i already know."
"so if you know that, why did tito see you order a shot from the bartender?"
you threw your hands up in the air and shrugged. "i don't know, mathew. why do you invite me to bars when you know i don't drink?" he didn't have an answer. "you don't get to shame me for considering having a drink when a bar is the only place i get to hang out with you during the season!"
"that's not--" but he cut himself off. "what're you talking about?"
"i hardly see you! why did i move across the continent if i have to go to a scary place just to spend time with you?"
"i--"
"i mean it's not fair, you left and now i have to pay the consequences of it--"
"i'm sorry, what?"
"you left--"
"i heard you. did you forget the part where you stopped contacting me?" you rolled your eyes to keep yourself from crying even more. "uh uh, don't do that. don't blame me without taking accountability for this friendship ending."
you blinked.
but mat wasn't done. "because i always called you back when i missed your calls. you were the one who stopped texting me."
"you were too busy!"
"i'm in the nhl! did you expect me to just be laying around my apartment all day? i have practices and meetings and games at weird times, but i always made sure to get back to you."
you said nothing, the tears welling up behind your eyes, but you kept them in. the verbal lashing from mat was enough, you didn't need to further embarrass yourself by crying too.
he kept going, yelling and waving his hands around, occasionally pacing and dragging his fingers through his unruly hair.
but you zoned out.
you could hear glass bottles rattling as your father came up the stairs. you sat on your bed, hoping to god he'd just keep walking. mat was out of town for a tournament, and you were grounded.
your dad stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at you. your heart was racing in your chest and you wanted nothing more than to text mat, but your mom had your phone. "what're you lookin' at?" he slurred.
it was only 1pm.
and your mom was still at work.
but he apparently didn't feel like bothering you because he turned into his bedroom and shut the door.
you could feel the air release from your lungs before you went back to reading your book.
but the peace never lasted long. thirty minutes later you could hear him yelling and screaming obscenities before he opened his door. you launched yourself out of bed and slammed your own door shut, quickly locking it with an efficiency you'd learned at a young age. the door handle rattled and you flinched backwards, nearly tripping over clothes on the floor.
but you weren't a stranger to this situation.
you opened the window and climbed out.
but he was ready for you this time because he was at the front door screaming at you as you rode away on your bike.
you didn't stop pedaling until you got to the park where you collapsed on the grass and cried.
something in your face must've changed, because mat stopped yelling and looked at you, really looked at you.
"hey," he said, voice much quieter than before. "where'd you go?"
you shook your head, tears falling down your face uncontrollably.
"don't do that," he said. "don't shut me out." mat took a step closer to you, but you immediately stepped backwards. he breathed your name, but something in his eyes shifted, like he could read your mind. "i'm not him," he whispered. "i'm not your dad, i'm not going to hurt you. you know me, you know i wouldn't do that."
"you left," was all you could say.
mat nodded. "i did, but i didn't leave you, okay? i would never leave you." he closed the distance between you and held your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the constant flow of water from the corners of your eyes.
"but--"
he shook his head. "no, you mean too much to me to leave you, okay? you're my best friend. if you had called me and needed me? i would've been there as soon as i could."
"you would've been too busy--"
he pulled back, a bit bewildered. "when have i ever been too busy for you?"
you held your tongue, knowing that it wasn't him per se.
"what is it?" he asked, his eyes searching your own. "what aren't you telling me?"
so you told him about how you hadn't talked to your dad, and even though you were thousands of miles away, you were still scared he'd find you and ruin your life even more. you told him about thomas, about how you thought he could be the thing that fixed you, but he cheated on you.
you told him about dawson, who was older and more mature. you told mat how dawson got you going to therapy which you thought was a good sign, until you realized he never actually wanted to talk about your bad days. he proposed, you said yes, and then he broke off the engagement when he saw you sobbing over invitations.
your eyes were too blurry to see the way mat's jaw clenched, but you could feel him pull his hands away.before you could even stop yourself, you stretched out for him, but he was just out of reach.
"mat, what," you weeped. "what's wrong?"
"you were engaged?" he mumbled. "you were engaged and didn't tell me?" you expected him to look mad, but the only thing reflected in those deep brown eyes was hurt.
"that's why he broke up with me, i was crying over childhood photos while trying to figure out if i should invite you even when we hadn't talked in years." you shrugged pathetically and gave mat a watery smile. "guess he thought it was too immature of me."
mat's hands were clenching and unclenching by his side, like he couldn't decide what he wanted to do with them.
"please don't hate me," you whispered. "i don't think i could handle it if you hated me." but he didn't say anything, mat just resulted to pacing the living room. "i think my dad fucked me up beyond repair." your eyes never left his profile. if he wouldn't look at you, that was fine, you'd continue to stare at him. "i think i'm too codependent and messed up for anyone to love me." mat's head snapped up at that comment.
"i mean," you continued. "i wasn't enough for my dad to get sober, i wasn't enough to not get cheated on, i wasn't enough for someone to marry me. maybe it's not them. maybe i'm the issue."
"no," he said immediately, shaking his head in the process, crossing the room until he could pull you into his chest. "no. that's not true."
"yes it is! my dad doesn't love anything more than alcohol--"
mat cut you off. "anyone would've been proud to have you as a daughter."
"thomas wanted my freshman roommate--"
"thomas was an idiot."
"dawson couldn't handle me when i wasn't happy--"
"fuck him too. he was thirty dating a college student."
"and you left and i--"
mat pulled you back far enough to look you in the face. "and if i could do it all over again, i'd take you with me." he pressed his forehead against yours. "here's what we're gonna do, we're gonna make a fort and watch the mighty ducks. and tomorrow, we're gonna find you the best therapist money can buy and set up an appointment because i don't like you talking about yourself this way." your stomach twisted at the idea of therapy, hesitant because of dawson-- "and i wanna hear as much as you're willing to tell me, okay?"
you nodded.
"now, i need to see you smile so i know we'll be alright." you gave him a watery smile right before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "there she is."
you held onto each other for another minute before reluctantly letting go to gather blankets and pillows.
four months later
you hadn't been able to make it to many of mat's games until tonight when they played the devils at home. you sat with sydney and grace and their kids.
earlier that night, you'd gone to your therapy session and cried your eyes out. after years of feeling like you weren't a human being worthy of love, you just started seeing value in just existing.
and mat was as supportive as ever. he gave you space after therapy sessions to process until you were ready to talk to him, if you wanted to. the two of you made plans to hang out at cafes and central park rather than at bars every weekend.
"look at your man go," grace nudged you with her elbow. "he's feeling good tonight."
"i'm sure it has everything to do with you being here," sydney commented. "i've never seen that man more in love than he is right now."
you could feel the heat crawl up your neck as you shook your head. "he's my best friend."
"a best friend who loves you so much, he's willing to keep things platonic for your sake."
almost immediately, an insecure thought popped in your head, but you stopped it in its tracks, imagining the thought on a conveyor belt, moving down the belt until it was out of sight completely.
your shoulders relaxed.
you deserved to be loved, and it if was mat, great.
if not, you'd still have him as your best friend.
a buzzer sounded through the arena and a quick glance at the ice told you all you needed to know. mat was skating into a cluster of his teammates, smiling wide before pointing up at where he knew you were sitting.
grace and sydney jostled you around a little while fans, male and female alike, screamed at the idea of the mat barzal pointing at them.
when the game ended (5-4 with the islanders win), you followed sydney and grace down to the locker rooms. you met up with the other wags and smiled when they greeted you. some chatted and passed time while others rocked babies in their arms. you however were anxiously looking through your photos on your phone, specifically the album labeled mat that you'd had since you'd first gotten an iphone. you didn't glance up until you hear the sound of doors opening.
mat was the seventh person out, not that you were counting. he wore a bright smile when he saw you standing there and immediately crossed the distance between the two of you to wrap you in a huge hug.
"how was therapy?" he asked.
you rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile. "why do we always talk about me?"
"because i care." he lightly nudged your shoulder. "so how did it go?"
"it was good, actually," you remarked. "figured out and accepted that i deserve love."
if it was even possible, mat's smile got wider. "yeah you do."
"and maybe there are people waiting around for me to figure it out..." you trailed off before shyly meeting his gaze. and before you could stop yourself, before you ran out of courage, you stood on your tiptoes (like you've been doing since he hit his growth spurt in seventh grade) and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips.
you lingered for a moment before pulling away and loooking up at your bewildered best friend whose mouth was wide open.
"what?" you asked. "did i read that wrong? sydney and grace said--"
"that's all i get?" he asked. "i've waited for this since i was six years old and i don't even get the real thing?"
you furrowed your brow. "what're you talking about? six years old?"
but mat was leaning in and capturing your lips with his own. "six year old mat had the biggest crush on six year old you," he said.
"and what about twenty-four year old mat?"
he kissed you again. "head over heels for you."
age twenty-six
after a less than stellar playoff run, you and mat headed back to canada for a portion of the off season, mainly to visit family.
but it was also nice to get out of new york, even if it was just for a short period.
in hindsight, you should've known something was going to happen. your mother, nadia, and liana took you to get your nails done and to grab lunch while you were out shopping. but you were so caught up in how nice it was to be back home (words you never thought you'd ever say), you paid no attention to the lack of mat time.
so when you walked into the backyard of his parents' house and saw a giant projector screen with blankets and pillows strewn about to make yet another fort, you almost cried.
mat's head popped out from the middle with a smile on his face until he saw the tears in your eyes. "why're you crying baby? this is supposed to be happy!"
"i love you" was all you could blubber out.
mat laughed to himself, taking your hands in his own. "i love you too baby." he knelt down and the tears kept coming down your face. "ever since i was a kid, i thought i'd be the one walking you down the aisle to the man you'd marry because i never thought you'd be crazy enough to fall in love with me."
you scoffed. "i'm definitely the one batting out of my league here, mathew."
"don't talk about the love of my life that way," he said before continuing on. "we've gone through a lot together, and i couldn't imagine getting through life without you by my side." mat took a deep breath. "so tell me, do you wanna get married?" mat asked.
you nodded through your weeping. "only if i get to marry you," you smiled.
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tossawary · 28 days
Text
I finished Volume 3 of SVSSS, which encompasses the main story, and currently have my bookmark sitting at the first chapter of the Airplane Extras in Volume 4. I took a bunch of quote pics but have yet to review them and add thoughts.
Every time I read SVSSS, I forget how... incredible... the inside of Shen Yuan's head is. He's fascinating.
Like, he's misogynistic (even while criticizing Airplane's own misogynistic writing), he's homophobic, AND he's transphobic. Not in a way where I think he thinks anyone deserves fewer rights than anyone else (I think he's generally a nice person, although, holy shit, I would not trust this man to craft policy of any kind) or would prevent anyone from living however they chose to live, a lot of his problematic bullshit stays inside his own head as he tries to understand the world around him using the stallion novel formulas he was given, but he's carrying around SO MUCH unexamined bias that supports his refusal to examine himself and his own desires.
Some of it reads (presumably intentionally) a LOT like the kind of conflicting, problematic bullshit a lot of queer people carry around inside their heads as they struggle to untangle themselves and their beliefs.
And while I do wish that Shen Yuan had been forced to confront and address his misogyny and transmisogyny even further than it does come up (in part because it is DEFINITELY affecting the way he thinks about gay men as well, including and especially Binghe), I do kind of... appreciate on some level that he thinks this way? From a character standpoint? Because I think it's probably realistic for a privileged young man spending a lot of time on the internet reading shit like PIDW to look at the world this way. And it's clear even through his own narration that his blindness in certain areas is causing him a lot of trouble. While I do have criticisms and personal wishes, I do appreciate the depiction of personal character development that is just... a cringeworthy mess of internalized bullshit the whole fucking time.
Also, it's SO funny to me that he reads as SO aro-ace-spectrum to me (probably gay, but generally detached from sexuality and possibly also partially from gender) AND he actually knows... the word asexual, I don't think he has a very broad understanding of asexuality... but he knows the word and yet doesn't personally identify that way. He mentally accuses both Luo Binghe (main story, before finding out Binghe is into him) and Liu Qingge (Succubus Extra) of being asexual for showing no interest in women, only to fail to reflect on how he ALSO demonstrably has no lasting personal interest in the women around them, which doesn't read as very genuine to me.
(EDIT: Again, I am not against a bisexual Shen Yuan interpretation either! I am willing to be persuaded by any author who wishes to tell a particular story. But Shen Yuan's attraction towards women often reads personally to me as very shallow and possibly insincere.)
"I willingly read PIDW, that proves I'm straight!" he sincerely thinks to himself, even though his favorite wife is the one without explicit sex scenes and he also admits to skipping over a lot of them.
"I'm able to tell when women are beautiful, that makes me straight!" thinks the guy who mentally censors nudity whenever demon women lose their clothes, and keeps telling us how "the average reader" of PIDW would react to these beautiful women instead of conveying his own attracted reactions. His actual reactions are generally centered on a woman's narrative significance. The only people he personally seems to find attractive are Luo Binghe and maybe Liu Qingge.
Though my interpretation was that he does probably experience sexual arousal and have a sex drive (see his username), which probably helps with his conviction of straightness, I'm not sure that there's any mention of Shen Yuan even masturbating at all in the entire main story of SVSSS? He never tried to hook up with anyone. Sex is apparently not a priority for him.
(EDIT: He does seem to enjoy sex with Binghe in the "Bing-mei vs. Bing-ge" Extra. He loves Binghe and likes the closeness and the physical pleasure. I appreciate the indication that they're working on moving on from the AWFUL intercourse pushed by Xin Mo's possession and possibly also the System's Scenario Pusher.)
And Shen Yuan seems to view women as being and behaving Fundamentally Differently from men and gay men as behaving Fundamentally Differently from straight men (as soon as he learns Binghe is into him, he thinks about how Binghe isn't behaving like the characters in his sister's gay, non-con, BDSM erotica novels), seeing everything through the lens of novel tropes, such that he seems to view sex and sexuality and gender as being deeply mixed with a person's personality. So he can't be a gay man, because he's too "Normal", in his mind at first, because he doesn't behave like his own mental image of "How Gay Men Behave" (or "How Women Behave / A PIDW Wife Behaves"), while also demonstrably not being anything like "the average reader" of PIDW and also apparently not caring too much about his own masculinity? Like, I do think he likes being the gentleman scholar of Qing Jing Peak, he does like appearing dignified and strong and cool, he doesn't like losing, he doesn't really like playing "damsel in distress" roles, and I do think he likes being gallant towards women, but he's not too concerned about seriously competing with figures like Luo Binghe or Liu Qingge? He's happy enough to back down and let someone else take the lead if necessary. He puts up with being put into the roles of female leads even if it embarrasses him and he rolls with the punches to his pride easily enough. He seems to have decided his Sexuality By Default, so it does make me have a lot of thoughts about whether or not he's potentially going with Gender By Default / Convenience as well.
Someone get this man some amateur and academic literature on gender and sexuality (and a lot of other stuff), stat, so he can ignore it, probably.
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shumidehiro · 5 months
Text
K-9 Problem
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🖤 Pairing: Yandere! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female! Reader
💛 Word Count: 0,5k+
❤ Warnings: -
[Edited]
Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission. Also, don’t ask for a sequel unless I like the story enough to write one. Please reblog so other people can see my stories!
***
I’ve never played CoD, although I’ve heard of it and reblogged a lot about him. Sorry if I use proper English instead of British accent when writing him, idk much about the latter. Also, the title is a pun bc I saw that police dogs are called K-9 too.
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“I don’t like dogs.”
Simon said nothing for a moment as you peered at the German Shepherd dogs beside you. While they certainly looked tough and cute, you wouldn’t deny that their purpose was to watch over you and fight whoever tried to help you. That was the extent of his protectiveness and selfishness.
“Give it some time. You’ll get used to their presences.”
“You already put cameras around the houses, and now, you want to put an extra watch on me?”
“Have you given me any reason to trust you?”
You sighed, burying your face on your knees. It was two nights ago when you were caught trying to pick the locks on the door and windows during his slumber, and he immediately rectified his mistake. That being said, aside from the dogs, Simon had now slept later than you and woke up earlier than you.
“What if I was allergic to dogs?”
Your question came out muffled, but as always, he heard it loud and clear. Not much escaped his notice.
“That wasn’t what you said earlier.”
“Yeah, but what if I was?”
“You don’t have that kind of allergy.”
Once again, you were reminded that Simon was more than a possessive man. He was obsessive, too, knowing you so intimately that you wondered if you knew yourself as much as him. If your parents knew you as much as him. It flattered you a little, before that spark was squashed by the grim reality of his conclusion that stated you were incapable of defending yourself. That you didn’t know enough about the horrors of this world.
Perhaps it was true. Perhaps you needed protection, after all, but not to this extent.
“Well, you never know…”
“They can sleep outside.”
You sighed, louder this time. Truly, his conviction was as strong as his body.
While you were busy wallowing in your natural albeit foolish mistake, Simon’s dark eyes observed you thoroughly.
“I’ll get you a cat once you behave.”
You tried not to let your excitement show, because being excited meant you were looking forward to whatever surprise he had for you. But it’d been a long time since you felt remotely happy, and this was the first time Simon had treated you ‘kindly’ too. The food, room, and clothes didn’t count because they were the bare minimum. Of course, there was a risk that Simon might take back one of them, but why reward him for doing the basics? It was his fault for kidnapping and confining you like a house prisoner.
Still, you chose to display the tiny skepticism inside you instead.
“And if I misbehave after I got the cat?”
“I’ll give it to someone who can treat it better.”
Swallowing down the indignation that burned your throat, you huffed.
“Fine, I’ll try to be a good little house prisoner you want me to be.”
Simon squinted slightly, but he remained quiet. He was always like that, not seeing the point of a conversation despite wanting a relationship as sincere and open as a healthy one. Then again, you either wouldn’t believe his story or wouldn’t care anyway. Whatever his past was, it didn’t change the fact that he still held you against your will.
Regardless, that night, you found yourself sleeping peacefully for the first time. So peacefully, in fact, until you didn’t notice him slinking into your room and sleeping with you. Not that you couldn’t fight him.
After all, you’d made a promise to behave for the sake of your new cat.
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georgiapeach30513 · 6 months
Text
Your Mark On Me, Part 5
Summary: Bucky and Shy Violet
Pairings: Bucky Barnes X Shy!Reader
Rating: explicit
Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, depictions of anxiety/panic attack, depictions of social anxiety, mentions of child abuse, mentions of death of a parent, arson, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 5.9K
Previous
Series Masterlist
*Bucky Barnes edits by Nix Akimbo
*Dividers by @firefly-graphics
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One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
You inhale deeply. Exhaling as you take another step forward. This was a bad idea. It hadn’t been long enough.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Blinking away the tears as much as you can, you look at the aisle in front of you. Grocery shopping shouldn’t be so difficult. And it shouldn’t hurt so much. You drank coffee. You needed things to make the perfect coffee, and it made you think of your father all over again.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
You’re not a particularly claustrophobic person, but the aisles are closing in on you. It is becoming difficult to breathe. Just reach out and grab the milk. It was right there, and you needed it. You were told getting out would help you. It wasn’t.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
There are eyes all on you. They are judging you. Whispering about you. They hadn’t seen you out since before your father passed. They were talking about his death. You hear someone even whisper something about a mercy kill.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Your lip trembles as you reach into the cooler. Grabbing onto the milk. You did it. Now to put it into the cart. Inhale. Exhale. One movement at a time. This would have to be all you got for for today, you are already exhausted thinking about checking out. A cart crashes into another, and you flinch, dropping the milk loudly onto the floor. Exploding the carton everywhere.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Dropping onto the floor, you hug your knees to your chest, counting to six way too many times. You messed up again. You failed again. You were being laughed at again. You were hated again. You were a joke again.
“Hey,” his voice is soft as he places your hand over his mouth. “Feel my breath,” you look up at him confused as he deliberately breathes onto your fingers. His silver eyes look at you with the utmost tenderness.
“There ya go. Just like that,” your breathing starts to regulate, and you feel your ass soaked in spilled milk. “Uh uh, keep feeling my breath,” his voice is soothing. Caring. You hadn’t heard a voice like that in years, if ever.
Your body slowly stops rocking as your breathing finally gets back normal, “There she is. Do you need help standing?” You give him a nod, and he pulls you up right along with him. “You want me to get you some more milk?”
“No,” you answer suddenly. He doesn’t question you. Just nods gently. “I’ll just make a grocery order, and pick it up later.
“Okay,” he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you walk towards the exit. You didn’t even thank him. You just walked away. You couldn’t turn back now. So you tell him thank you in your mind, and hope that with enough conviction, he will be able to feel it.
Bucky’s mouth turns up into a smirk as he follows you. Not close enough that you will notice him though. He had to make sure you were okay. Had to know that you would make it home safely. He’d even provide you with milk if that’s what you needed. But something tells him that approaching you would be too much.
He’d find out where you lived, and then find out more about you. It wasn’t weird, it was his duty to make sure you survived making it home. A panic attack could be dangerous. And he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.
Close enough to watch you, but far enough away that you couldn’t see him. That is his goal.
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Bucky leans his body up against his motorcycle. His eyes are focusing in through your window. He worried about you. You had left in such a hurry, and your driving had much to be desired. Dusty old truck. No way it was yours.
You pace around in your living room before sitting on the couch. Bringing your knees up to your chest, you start rocking back and forth. Whatever had caused your panic earlier still was causing havoc on your mind. He knows there’s nothing he could do without making you even more uneasy, but he can’t leave you unattended.
What if something were to happen, and you needed him? It’s a risk he wasn’t willing to take. So instead, he watches you out of the corner of his eyes, while he searches around for your story. So much was put out on the internet for people to find with very little research.
A few clicks and he discovers your veteran father had just passed away recently. Survived only by his daughter. You. Judging by the state of the house, you were the sole caregiver. A few more clicks, and he sees you are quite the prolific writer. You had taken a sabbatical, to care for your father, and you wrote under the pen name Violet Anne Bailey.
It wasn’t your real name, but there is something about Violet that suited you. A shy Violet whose power was in her words. He goes ahead and buys all your books, just to understand your mind a bit more. You are celebrated. Loved. And no one knew or cared that you had a tornado of emotions being worked out in your head.
It’s a shame to see someone who is able to weave and create worlds have her own world in shambles. He needs to know about your father. What was your relationship like? Was he a good man to you? Bucky would kill him again if he wasn’t.
His eyes scan over his phone, determining he was definitely going to have to kill him again. How many domestic violence charges were made and dropped against this man? How many CPS visits were made to this very house. No wonder you were inside of your head, you were still living in your own personal hell.
There were no convictions. Bastard. No one in your life ever put you first. Once upon a time you even had an apartment on your own, but it was short lived. Your dumb ass father had you crawling back here to care for him. He hates him. You had spent his dying days caring for him, but no one cared for you.
Bucky would. Bucky would stay right here just to make sure you were okay. Bucky would do whatever he could to ensure you made it out of here. And could finally relax. Could quit living in turmoil. You deserved better. You deserved freedom.
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You slam your computer shut, and rub the back of your neck. Three words. Three insignificant measly words. This place ruined your creativity. You lost your apartment. And nothing was available to rent, and now you sit on a stinky couch with cigarette burns all over the cheap fake leather.
This house smelled musty. Holes in the wall, light fixtures broken, the useless house phone was pulled out of the wall, leaving creepy wires hanging out of the sheet rock. Who even knew where it was. His bedroom was locked on the outside. It was your first act of defiance. Removing the latch from your own bedroom, and placing it on his. Even his stupid padlock was placed there. It stayed locked. His mean self would probably haunt you in your sleep if it wasn’t.
Sleep you hadn’t been getting. You catch your face in the broken mirror, and turn away. Haggard. You had never looked so rough. He was dead, and still you knew no peace. His final abuse of his power was to make sure you never forgot him. In death he still controlled your thoughts. You still tapped on doors three times before opening them. You still could only leave the sink faucet running for ten seconds at a time.
And the worst part is no matter how neurotic he made you, it didn’t matter how many times he shouted at you, or threw things beside you, you didn’t hate him. You made excuses for him. He didn’t throw things at you. He always missed. His words of anger were more directed to your mother who left him. And you. She couldn’t handle his PTSD. Or apparently you.
You wanted more than this crappy house. It received the brunt of the abuse. He never even bothered to fix the damages. How it didn’t burn down with him passed out on the couch, you’ll never understand. His liver. Of course it was his fucking liver. You got to see an alcoholic choose his death of withering away from his addiction.
You didn’t ask for this. And neither did he. War is not kind to anyone. Especially survivors or their families.
You slap your own hand out of your mouth, and stare down at the gnarled skin. Just how long had you been chewing on your finger? The cuticles were dry and ripped to shreds. You needed a manicure, but the thought of another human touching you, while everyone else giggled about their lives makes you sick to your stomach.
He was always going to control your life. You hated him, and pitied him, and still you are the one that suffers. This house wasn’t even worth selling. Perhaps the land would be. But this place was trash. It was begging to be burnt to the ground.
You wondered how many times your father’s cigarette fell on this couch that the walls of the house smiled in glee. Fire would cleanse this place. Fire would cleanse you.
Placing your hands on your knees, you push yourself up to a standing position, and look down the hallway. His bedroom door still had the padlock on it. The key was on a chain around your neck. You didn’t even trust your father’s ghost. He’d be pissed if he knew you locked his spirit up where he slept. You did care.
Taking a deep breath, your shaky hands lift up to place the key in the lock. Twisting it slowly before you push it open. Nothing had changed. And you didn’t try to work on improving anything here. You wanted a cleanse. Your wobbly legs carry you to his bedside table, and you pull out the matches. Your body locks in place as your father’s ghost screams inside your mind.
He is pissed. He knows what you’re doing, and you just didn’t care.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Taking a deep breath, you strike a match, and lay in gently on the bed. Lighting a few more, and repeating the process. His liquor. Cheap Canadian Mist whiskey was still hidden in the closet. Grabbing it out, you pour the remains onto the bed, watching a burst of flames that darken the ceiling. It is beautiful.
Some people describe fire as biting and evil. These tickled the air. Rejoicing right along with you as it eats up vile memories that your father left behind. You go back into the closet, and pull out the other bottles of whiskey. Pouring them onto the floor, and creating trails to other parts of the house.
You needed it all gone. Every bit of it. You didn’t want any more ties to this damn house. Finishing up in the living room you pick up your laptop, and hold it tight to your chest. The crackles from the fire feel almost cozy. Leaving you with a beautiful memory before you say goodbye.
You watch it as your fiery friend starts to travel to where you are. Greeting you with a big smile as it engulfs your surroundings. You whisper a silent thank you as sleep starts to cloud your vision. It will be a divine ending for this house. One it didn’t deserve.
Bucky bursts through the door, and you’re too enraptured by the cleansing of your childhood, you don’t take notice. “What the fuck!” He grunts, stomping over towards you. Grabbing onto you as he pulls you out of the house.
The further he takes you the more you start to focus again, “No! I wanna watch it,” you sob, trying to wipe the tears away from your face. You need to see this. It would heal you. “I gotta see, please!”
The figure behind you never removes his hold, but he stands still, allowing you to watch the house be swallowed up by hell. Just like it deserved. A sad smile creeps up onto your face when you finally hear the sirens. It was too far gone. They couldn’t save it.
An old high school boyfriend turned firefighter gives you a nod before rushing with his colleagues. There is nothing left but the bones of the house, and even those were slowly turning to ash. He was never going to be able to haunt you again. You gave him away to his demons. Right along with his favorite thing. Canadian Mist.
“You got somewhere to go?” Your ex says your name, but you’re too busy watching everything start to crumble. “You her boyfriend?”
“Not exactly,” Bucky extends a hand out to the man, “Bucky.”
“Jake. She uh…she started this didn’t she?” Bucky shrugs his shoulders. He assumed you started it. It happened so fast. He barely even finished pissing when he heard the blazing death trap. “I’m the one that investigates this. She talked about it being her dream for a while. I don’t want charges brought against her. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand, and if you need some monetary compensation for making sure she doesn't get charged, I can make that happen.”
Jake shakes his head. He looks down at you, but you are in a complete zone? Shock? None of the words seemed to fit. He supposes it's all the above. “She needed this. She’s cleansing. It’ll be wiring or something. That house has had its fair shares of small fires that the old man put out with an extinguisher anyways. No one will question it. I’m also pretending to be taking her, well your, statement. Just trust me. Can you tell me where you're taking her?”
“Are you her boyfriend?” Bucky’s eyes narrow at the younger man, but he shakes his head no.
“I’m just a friend. She’s a good one. Didn’t deserve these past few months. It’s…it’s changed her even more. Uhh…you’ll make sure she’s safe tonight? That she’ll be okay?”
“I’m the one that got her out of that house. She was standing in shock in the living room.”
“She’ll need her medication. Last I talked to her the psychiatrist prescribed some things. She told me therapy was helping. But she needed this. Just give me the address, and I’ll come by in the morning,” Bucky nods to the boy, and Jake jogs to his truck. It was a lost cause for the house, but they had to put the flames out. This would have been a decent place to live, but it seemed like a bad omen to build here.
“Violet?”
“That’s not my real name,” you respond, finally turning to look at who is holding you. “Y-y-your the guy that…from the grocery store.”
“I was coming to bring you milk. You never got it,” that was a bit of a lie, and you knew it. There wasn’t a car. Only a bike. And there was definitely no milk. “Do you have somewhere you can stay?”
Shit. This wasn’t thought through. You had nowhere, and nothing. Just the clothes on your back, and the laptop in your arms. A different kind of tears wells up in your eyes as you look between the house and Bucky.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
“Hey, hey, I gotta place. There’s two bedrooms, and a couch. I’ve got some clothes that don’t smell like smoke, a warm shower, and even Wi-Fi.”
“Do you have milk?” Bucky chuckles a bit, and nods his head. “You don’t want to kill me?”
“If I wanted you dead, I’d have left you in that house.”
“I don’t like people.”
“Good. Neither do I. It’s a small little house outside of town. No neighbors,” what other choice did you have? If Jake didn’t have a girlfriend, he might have been an option. Even though you would have felt obligated to sex. You didn’t want sex. You wanted to sleep.
“Do you have anything besides cheap whiskey to drink? I haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.”
“I have melatonin,” you scrunch up your nose, annoyed at his words. “I also have something that might be of comfort. Come on. Let’s get you somewhere out of the cold, and get a shower. I’ll make you some soup.”
“I like pizza rolls better.”
“I don’t have those, but I have pepperoni, cheese, marinara, and I can make it happen,” who was this man? When things are too good to be true they often are. “I’m Bucky.”
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The longer you’re on the back of his motorcycle the more you worry about yourself. Why are you here? Why are you with him? What if he wants to murder you? What could possibly be worse?
He smelled nice. He had kind eyes despite the piercings and tattoos he had. He never touches you more than necessary. His hand never drops to your thigh to make you uncomfortable, but who was he? Was he bad news? Was he your worst mistake? And you just left with him. This wasn’t good.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
“We’re almost there,” his head turns to the side, hoping that you hear him. You did. It’s tunnel hearing. It’s the only thing you heard. His voice is nice.
His bike pulls into a garage, and you take in your surroundings. Maybe he meant good, but maybe he was pure evil. Would he have saved you just to murder you? Maybe. It’s what they did to prisoners.
“Come on,” he holds his hand up for you, and you take it nervously. I’ll grab some clothes, and show you to the bathroom. Take as much time as you need. I think Jake wants you to send him your address. It’s 42 Cherry Tree Lane,” nodding your head, you sit your computer down on the nearest surface, and pull your phone out of your pocket. Thankfully it had been there.
“I’ve got a charger you can use.”
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Fluff takes you out of your mind space, and you look down to see the most beautiful fluffy cat staring up into your soul with beautiful blue eyes. It weaves its body in and out of your legs, and you look up at your savior with glossy eyes.
“I’m impressed,” he squats down to hold out his hand, but the kitty doesn’t move towards him. “Alpine, are you ignoring me? She’s normally a hater of new people. Baby, come see me,” his voice is still so soft, but she doesn’t attempt to leave your legs.
“She's a good companion. Alpine, baby girl, you watch our guest, I’m going to get her some clothes. You want to show her the bathroom, she smells like smoke,” Alpine purrs again, and sets off at a trot. Stopping to look back at you when you don’t follow.
“She’s showing you where to go, and it looks like my bathroom.”
“Oh, I don’t have to…”
“Alpine is the boss here. If she wants you in the big bathroom, that’s where you should go,” you chase after the kitty with Bucky right behind you. She jumps up on the counter, and sits up proudly looking at the bathtub.
“Here,” Bucky hands you a few clothes, and you mouth thank you, but no sound comes out. “You can take my bed,” he shrugs his head back into the bedroom, and then points to under the counter. “Just keep the bathroom door open. This is her bathroom, too.”
“Bucky?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you know how to make grilled cheese?”
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Bucky stands at the edge of the woods watching you walk around the house. Nothing on but your silk robe. He could see your nipples pushing against the fine fabric. Alpine was meowing up at you while you pace. She always worried about you when you got like this. He wondered how many nights you had been like this. You missed him. This was like your waiting game. Every night pacing the living room floor. Picking up your baby kitty to kiss over her fur.
And every night Bucky saw you on the cameras, he missed you even more. He shouldn’t make you wait, but there is something sweet in your routine. Your mouth moves as you count to six. Biting at your lip and looking out into the woods. You wouldn’t see him, until he was ready for you to.
He steps out of the shadows, and your face immediately lights up. Smiling so big as you pull the phone up to your ear, “Bucky, what are you doing?”
“Watching you,” he answers softly. Taking only one step closer to you.
“How long have you been watching me?”
“A while,” taking another step, he laughs when you puff out a bit of air in annoyances.
“Yeah, well, you could go ahead and come home. Seeing how you’ve left me here for weeks by myself,” there you had to go and put your fingers on the window. You are adorable, and he just wants to hold you. Rubbing up and down on the glass, like you are touching him.
“Yeah?” He whispers, taking one single step forward. “And just how do you think you’re going to get me in the house?” You hang up the phone, and pull apart your robe. Nothing else was on. There is only one person you feel comfortable with, and it was Bucky. You smooth your hands down the curves of your body, starting to laugh when Bucky sprints towards you.
Slinging open the door, you jump into his arms the second he crosses the threshold. Smiling up at him in your so sweet way, “Hey, James,” you giggle, kissing the tip of his nose. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too, my Shy Violet,” he bites at his lip just once, but his eyes never stray from your angelic face. He makes no comment about your cunt pressing up against his stomach, or your tits just below his eye sight. “What have you been doing without me?”
“I finished my book,” god, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on. “Want me to read you the last chapter?”
“Of course, Shy,” leaning towards you, he gives you the softest chaste kiss. Ghosting his lips down to your chin where he kisses up your jaw. Ending right behind your ear, “you want me to make us some hot chocolate?”
“Oh,” you give him a little pout, trying to wiggle out of his arms. “James, put me down.”
“I can multitask. I don’t have to put you down,” his nose nuzzles into your neck, and all the anxiety of him being gone melts completely away. You learned a long time ago to not worry about what goes on with the business, to just be happy he was with you. “Shy, why are you looking at me like that?”
“Tell me what she’s like,” Bucky gives you a bit of an eye roll as he sits you on the counter. You start to close your robe, but he shakes his head no.
“No, you…you keep that how it was. I need something pretty to help decompress.”
“Do you like her?”
“She’s a troublemaker, and also oddly perfect for Steve,” Bucky isn’t the most forthcoming with information. You had to prod him a bit. “You know how Steve is.”
“Just from what you tell me. He’s intense, he’s a brute, he’s passionate, and he’s quick to anger. He sounds like a terrible person for me to be around. Does he actually like her though?” Bucky waits until he pours out the milk before looking back at you, nodding his head. “How do you know?”
“He hasn’t killed her,” your mouth drops open in surprise. Surely Bucky was joking. “She has this bratty side that fulfills this need to control that Steve has. She’s a virgin, and it’s made him blind. So blind he didn’t realize what a target she’s become. People are beginning to realize Steve has a weakness. It’s wrapped up in this cute little packaging.”
“Would…you’ll die trying to save her life, won’t you?” He walks over to you, placing his hands on either side of your body. Pulling his arms in closer until he’s squeezing you. His head lays down on your chest, and you wrap your arms around him tightly. “Who’s going to protect me then?”
“You don’t need protection anymore. You’re more of a fighter than you realize,” that’s not what you wanted to hear. “Shy, baby, what is it?”
“I don’t want to fight anymore. I fought my whole life, and when I’m with you I get to relax, and breathe, and I don’t have to count. You’re my safe space,” moving his hands on both your cheeks, he presses his lips against yours, and holds you. “I don’t like her.”
“You’re not going to meet her.”
“Can’t Steve just…he can ask anyone to guard her. Why not Scott or someone else? James, I need you. She doesn’t need you. I…do,” his cool blue eyes stare so deeply into yours. Such a bittersweet homecoming this was turning into. “You don’t want to burn the milk, Jamey.”
Exhaling slowly, he turns to tend to the milk, but holds a hand behind him for you to touch. You hated a woman you never even met. And hated that even more. “Is she nice to you?”
“She invited me in for coffee, and got her ass spanked.”
“What does her pussy look like?”
“You sound jealous,” you weren’t jealous. You just didn’t get Steve’s kink of needing to show his women off. “Shy, you know the only puss I want to look at is Alpine. And the only pussy I want to taste is you.”
“Don’t call our daughter a puss,” you scrunch up your nose, ready to call Alpine, just so you could hug her. “She’s beautiful. And perfect.”
“Just like her mama,” he smiles, turning back with two mugs of hot cocoa. “Here, my sweet little Shy girl. You want to read your chapter for me?” You shake your head no, pushing aside his shirt. “Are you jealous that you can’t see my titties, too?”
“Yep. You have nice titties, so let me see them,” setting his mug down just to remove his shirt, and you pull him right up to your chest. “I love you, bubba.”
“I love you, baby. Have you thought more about what we talked about?”
“Remind me,” you giggle, giving him quick little kisses to his chest, but he pulls you up to look at him. Holding you by the chin.
Bucky sighs, running his thumb over your lips. His voice is so soft, “I don’t want just Alpine to be our daughter.”
“We can get another cat.”
“I meant a baby. I want a baby with you.”
“Do you promise not to die?” With his crooked smile, he nods his head one time, “I’m ovulating, Jamey.”
With one twinkle of an eye to let the words set in, he scoops you up in his arms, carrying the two of you to the bedroom. His eyes still never stray. Ever the gentleman. Always. Laying you down on the bed, he spreads your legs wide, staring down at your glistening folds. Spitting down, his fingers gently massage your bundle of nerves.
“You didn’t need my spit.”
‘You have this ability to always turn me on. Mmm,” you sigh as your body starts to heat up. Relaxing at his ministrations. His free hand starts undoing his pants before he shakes himself out of them. Stopping his touch on you only to crawl on the bed, and uses your legs to pull him where he needs you.
“Remember what the doctor said,” you remind him, and he yanks you tighter against him. His cock laying flat against your body, and the salacious moan for what little he was doing rings into the bedroom. “We gotta let — let your cum sit me in.”
“I’ll fucking plug you up if I have to. I just want to see your cute little bump with our baby inside of you.”
“Shh, I’m supposed to be getting fucked, not having dreams of you holding a baby,” his hand adds pressure to his cock, and he slides it through your velvety lips. Getting right at your entrance when he smirks at you. He only thrusted hard one time, and that was entering inside of you. Bucky was someone who made love.
You brace yourself, nodding slightly, and he rails into you. The only thing stopping him are your bodies colliding. You were never going to get used to his size, and yet, your body always craved him. Always needed him.
He lets your back settle on the bed, and he drops his weight on you. Holding himself up by his forearms, “Hey, pretty Shy. Are you gonna let me know when you’re good?”
“Mhmm,” you breathe him in. Inhaling his masculine scent. Your fingers drift up and down his back. Going lower each time until your dainty little fingers grip the voluptuous spheres of his ass. “I’m…” another word gets stuck in your throat as Bucky draws his hips back.
His cock slides out of you before it slowly pushes back in. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just the two of you. Only you and him in a bubble of love and safety. You aren’t sure how Bucky was able to take every brick off your wall, and allow himself into your heart, but he did.
He was always surprising you. A man that everyone feared was the biggest teddy bear when it came to you, and your daughter, Alpine. He hadn’t ever raised his voice towards you. Your arguments were minimal. You two had created a good life. You had gone to his small little house, and never left him. Even made a big step in buying a house together out in the middle of nowhere.
Bucky’s lips pucker out randomly for a kiss. It’s like even though he’s closer to you than he can possibly get, he still can’t get enough. They’re just pecks, but they’re desperate and needy. Giving a roll over on the bed, he stares up at you as you readjust your body.
Getting settled, you bounce over him. Admiring your boyfriend’s dashingly handsome face, and a sinful body. Bucky was carved by the gods in the sky, and the underworld. A fallen angel completely. Intricate lines, and blacked out blank spaces covered him from the waist up. He would even let you color them in with markers during your writer’s block
He was all you had ever wanted, and even more than you could have imagined. Even your most perfect fictional boyfriend did not compare to the man that was whimpering below you. You loved it when got like this. Hearing him turned on by your movements, so much that he got vulnerable and made sweet sounds makes you melt.
No man should be like this, and yet there he is. You feared Steve was asking too much of him, and all you wanted was for him to start coming home every night like he used to. It wasn’t being selfish. It was protecting Bucky when he couldn't’ protect himself.
He grabs tightly to your hips, holding you still before he launches himself up inside of you at lightning speed. Eyes rolling into the back of your head as heat drains into your belly. That fuzzy feeling that only Bucky could create tickles every inch of your body. Right as you start to scream his name, that familiar high speeds through your veins, followed by his warmth painting your walls.
Thick ropes of cum shoot into your womb, and he flips you back on your back. The backs of his knuckles brush against your skin as he smiles down at you. “Shy, will you marry me?”
“Will you always come home to me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
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Bucky brushes your baby hairs off your face. Looking down at his fiance. You’ll notice the ring when you wake up. He hates himself for asking you that way, but it felt right in the moment. Alpine snuggles up against you, your own little heating pad. She once loved only Bucky, and now she just tolerated him.
He glances back down at your printed out manuscript. Reading the final paragraph for the finished book. He didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t a good enough man to come home to someone as perfect, and as smart as you, but he did. Every book you wrote amazed him at how you created worlds from nothing.
It was your way of escaping as a child. Fabricating fictional worlds, so you didn’t have to be present in your real life. The best part of your books is he could tell what part was influenced by him. The way you saw Bucky is something no one ever has before. You saw him as an innocent angel, and Bucky was more of a devil, and had no wings.
You stir in your sleep, looking up at Bucky, “How long have you been up?” You ask without opening your eyes.
“A while. Go back to sleep. It’s still dark,” you blink yourself partially awake as you stare at him. They didn’t make perfect men. They just made Bucky.
“What do you got?”
“Baby, this is perfect,” reaching out to hold his hand, you gasp looking at your own. The most pretty little diamond. It was just what you wanted. It wasn’t gaudy or flashy. It was just perfect. “You were so sleepy I was able to slip it on.”
“You had an actual ring? How were you going to propose? Surely it wasn’t while your sperm was trying to find my egg, was it?”
“No, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sliding his fingers over the pretty diamond. “I was going to cook us dinner, and we were going to walk to the river, and while you were busy trying to sit on the swing, I was just going to drop to my knees.”
“I like the way you did it better.”
“Oh, yeah, why’s that, you sex fiend?”
“Because we were together. Hopefully creating a life. Even if our daughter was fussing on the other side of the door. It was very us, bubba.”
“I’m going to talk to Steve about getting Dove her own bodyguard. You’re right. I think Natasha would be a good fit for her.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, and he pulls you in close to his body. He gets a short death stare from Alpine, but she falls back asleep soon after. “We can’t lose you.”
“We?”
“Yeah, eventually, me, you, and Alpine will have our little human.”
“Well, mama Shy, close your eyes, and get some rest. Grow our little egg. You’ve got me all weekend,” that sounds heavenly. You hate to waste it on sleep, but you were tired, and your baby was so warm and cozy. Bucky was, too.
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astrojulia · 8 months
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Astro Observations from the Deep Sea #2
~Aries houses edition
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Navigation:   Masterlist✦Ask Rules✦Feedback Tips
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♂⟶ Sometimes communication with relatives and neighbors can be challenging to 3rd house Aries, and it's important to keep everyone in the loop, especially if their interests are involved.
♂⟶ 8th house Aries have a strong and resilient spirit that has helped they overcome difficult times, they are determined to succeed and have a deep drive to win.
♂⟶ 9th house Aries hold their philosophical and religious beliefs with conviction, but they are open to hearing different perspectives and engaging in discussions with those who have opposing views.
♂⟶ The 8th house is a house that speaks of difficulties we go through, 8th house Aries difficulties can involve been bullied and mistreated by others and these traumatic events have left them feeling powerless and overwhelmed, causing them to act out in destructive ways.
♂⟶ Aries Rising may tend to view things subjectively from a self-centered perspective, they also maintain objectivity in their perception of things and give factual weight to them.
♂⟶ 6th house Aries generally very healthy and resilient, having a lot of energy and a strong body but they realize that they are sick when their body is already screaming, it's important to listen to your body's needs and avoid pushing yourself too hard since sometimes you are more focused in a mental schedule for your health them your body needs.
♂⟶ Aries Rising don’t wait for opportunities to come to them, acting a lot like “you already have the no” in other words, if you don’t try it's obvious that what you want won't work, but if you try, maybe you will.
♂⟶ Many individuals will be drawn to 5th house Aries because of their strong physical appearance and powerful physical appeal.
♂⟶ 12th house Aries believe in the power of new ideas to challenge and improve the world, but they also understand the potential for resistance and conflict, so they’re the first to see revolutionary acts, because there is always rebellion and dissatisfaction beforehand.
♂⟶ 9th house Aries have a natural curiosity and prefer to learn through hands-on experiences rather than traditional academic settings.
♂⟶ 7th house Aries are drawn to partners with a bold, go-getter attitude, finding attractive when your partner can pursue their desires with ease - especially when it comes to pursuing them.
♂⟶ 2nd house Aries, with the right mindset and a bit of careful planning, can achieve their goals while maintaining a healthy relationship with money like a truck.
♂⟶ 3rd house Aries are not always focused on execution, but rather on the big picture and the possibilities.
♂⟶ 8th house Aries have a strong will and inner strength, with them they have the potential to achieve great things and create a fulfilling life for themself and others.
♂⟶ Aries Rising has a great desire for fame in their lifes and maybe even being one of the best Risings to deal with it because reality is one, fame is lonely, a loneliness that this placement can handle.
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♂⟶ 5th house Aries creativity is a major strength, allowing them to live in the present moment.
♂⟶ Aries Rising vitality and character allow them to succeed through their own efforts.
♂⟶ Sometimes when things don't go as planned, it can be frustrating and stressful for 6th house Aries. Just remember to take a deep breath and approach challenges with a positive attitude.
♂⟶ It's important to 2nd house Aries strike a balance between their desire for financial security and their impulsive tendencies.
♂⟶ 3rd house Aries passion for building and design may lead them to pursue degrees in engineering or architecture.
♂⟶ Independence and freedom are extremely important to 2nd house Aries and their see these characteristcs as valuable in their friendships, relationships and work (to be honest, in their life as a whole).
♂⟶ 6th house Aries natural drive and determination will help them succeed in whatever they put theit mind to.
♂⟶ 5th house Aries enjoy discovering new games and taking on innovative tasks, often take the initiative to try them out on their own and something feeling lonely when the subjects are their hobbies.
♂⟶ While 2nd house Aries may make impulsive purchases, you also have a strong drive to reach financial security and are quite aggressive in your pursuit of it.
♂⟶ Some of the reasons that Aries Risings can be famous are for their ambition, courage, initiative, creativitu, audacity, drive… characteristics that if you think of someone you have as an inspiration in life, that person has.
♂⟶ 7th house Aries values their own independence and appreciate a partner who's self-reliant and active so both can do their own activies without being jealous.
♂⟶ 3rd house Aries don't like to rely on others to do their thinking for t,hem and they’re always eager to learn something new. However, they may find it difficult to commit to something long enough to truly master it.
♂⟶ As someone who is attuned to the dynamics of groups, 11th house Aries are quick to notice and address any negative behavior, such as dishonesty or insincerity.
♂⟶ 2nd house Aries might find that their thrive in fields related to construction, mechanical design, or architecture, as these industries can help you build a strong financial foundation. But professions such as police work, military service, firefighting, manufacturing,knit and crochet can be especially lucrative for you, as you have a strong desire to make money and are confident in your ability to do so.
♂⟶ As 4th house Aries get older, they might even start to feel more youthful, active, and playful.
♂⟶ While disagreements among younger family members may be common, 4th house Aries are often the one who coordinates family activities and assigns tasks as needed.
♂⟶ 10th house Aries drive and passion make you well-suited for careers in fields such as law enforcement, military, medicine, construction, and design.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries has difficulty to be open to compromise and listening to their family's needs and desires, thinking they know what's best for their family without consulting them and being authoritative in the family environment. It's important to remember to keep an open mind and be respectful of their opinions.
♂⟶ 6th house Aries brings a lot of enthusiasm and dedication to their daily routine, being able to infect others with this energy, as well as irritating those who are not very keen.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries have a lot of energy and stamina to manage their family and household responsibilities, making likely to take on a leadership role in family matters.
♂⟶ 7th house Aries can get pretty hostile if they feel like they’re being trapped or held back.
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♂⟶ 9th house Aries adventurous spirit drives you to seek out unique and exciting experiences, especially in new and foreign cultures. Traveling is a passion of them, and they eagerly embrace new opportunities to explore.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries home is a hub of activity for their family, making they like indoor activies and and being very domestic people (principally combined with Capricorn Rising)
♂⟶ Aries Rising has a natural tendency to use themself as a reference point for integrating other aspects of their mind and personality. They also uses a lot of first person vision to talk about their stories and life, trying to connect with others talking about similar life experiences.
♂⟶ 8th house Aries understand the importance to be positive,kind, undertanding and constructive with themself and others so the harming cycle can end.
♂⟶ 6th house Aries are determined and hardworking person, but they don't want to risk fatigue or injury by overdoing it that’s why they take a lot of care in their health.
♂⟶ 6th house Aries are always pushing themself to get things done, which can make it hard to relax and take a break, making they even more prone to burn out.
♂⟶ 12th house Aries prefer to keep your plans private until they're ready to be shared with others.
♂⟶ When it comes to sharing their opinions and ideas, 3rd house Aries are confident and comfortable expressing themself.
♂⟶ 12th house Aries value their individuality and prefer to maintain a sense of self, even in emotionally charged situations.
♂⟶ In a relationship, 7th house Aries tend to dive in headfirst, with a passion and intensity that can be exciting, even if it sometimes leads to frequent arguments.
♂⟶ 3rd house Aries are also people who enjoys traveling, especially by car, and exploring new places or revisiting old favorites.
♂⟶ Unhapilly Aries Rising self-referencing can lead them to a belief that the universe revolves around them. However, as their notion of self evolves, the integration of their mind at its primary focal point (the self) can lead to a robust and self-aware consciousness.
♂⟶ 10th house Aries is the type of person who surprises everyone with their professional choices, especially if the native also has Cancer Rising, as everyone think that the native will choose safer careers and actually no, they choose their greatest desires and dreams for their life path.
♂⟶ When a relationship ends, 7th house Aries may struggle to come to terms with it, but it's important to focus on the positive aspects of the experience and the growth that comes from it.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries values their independence and enjoys taking initiative in their life, trying thinks that others family members never did.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries were encouraged by a strong and determined mother or primary caregiver to pursue their dreams, and this has given you a bold and outspoken personality.
♂⟶ In everyday correspondence, 3rd house Aries may be somewhat unpredictable, but they’re always ready to respond to emergencies quickly.
♂⟶ 11th house Aries courage, resourcefulness, and determination are key strengths that can help they achieve their goals and fulfill their dreams and they will fight until their last breath to reach and protect their deepest dreams.
♂⟶ While their outgoing nature can sometimes create confusion about the nature of their relationships, 11th house Aries are always willing to lend a helping hand to those they care about and value their trust and loyalty in return.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries may have ancestors who worked in military, navy, or air force.
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♂⟶ In groups that are based on hierarchy, 11th house Aries can have a strong position of power and authority.
♂⟶ While this can sometimes be challenging, 11th house Aries have the drive and stamina to effect positive change and revitalize the collective spirit of their social circles.
♂⟶ 3rd house Aries need to be patient to see their visions become reality since their mind is always conjuring up new projects.
♂⟶ To achieve their goals, it's important for 7th house Aries to embrace and assume their assertive and driven personality. They’re more passionate and impulsive they might realize, which is why they’re drawn to people who exhibit unyielding and fierce traits.
♂⟶ 5th house Aries encourage their children to make the most of life and seize every opportunity, instilling them with bravery, strength, and competitiveness since this native children are highly influenced by Mars or Aries.
♂⟶ 10th house Aries possess a natural assertiveness and a pioneering spirit, qualities that can be an asset in their pursuit of t their goals. However, it is important to remain mindful of their impulsiveness and the potential impact it can have on their reputation and relationships, that’s why it is important to take the time to plan, seek out guidance from mentors and experts, and pursue goals that are meaningful and aligned with their values.
♂⟶ In their childhood, 4th house Aries may have felt stifled or embarrassed by a particular authority figure in your household, especially masculine ones.
♂⟶ 9th house Aries value diverse perspectives and are always seeking to expand their understanding of the world.
♂⟶ Building strong and lasting friendships may be difficult to 11th house Aries native, but it can also provide support and encouragement on their journey, even if this native really wants to, their journey is not to be walked alone.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries probably love playing games that require skill and bravery.
♂⟶ 11th house Aries can be more difficult if the native is a woman than a man, since aries nature is something negative for society when it is bound in a woman, their leadership, freedom and expression will be greatly pruned.
♂⟶ As a child, 5th house Aries were highly active and athletic and that passion for movement and challenge continues into adulthood.
♂⟶ People may be hesitant to offer Aries Rising help because they appear capable of handling things on their own and even sometimes refuses the help because they can do it faster and better.
♂⟶ Aries Risings are the type of people who seeks out their life’s purpose and act like what they do in life has a bigger meaner, a bigger mission that no one else can see.
♂⟶ 3rd house Aries loves to brainstorm as this type of communication manages to keep up with their taste for new ideas and fast thinking.
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♂⟶ While 10th house Aries are ambitious and confident in their abilities, it is important to remain humble and open-minded, recognizing that there is always room for growth and learning since when this native put their mind in something they’re unlikely to hear anyone, that's great when it comes to criticism but terrible when it's words of help.
♂⟶ 12th house Aries appear reserved in group settings, but in one-on-one situations, they can be surprisingly assertive and confident
♂⟶ Aries Rising personality are characterized by zeal, self-assurance, and initiative, which makes them a true go-getter!
♂⟶ 11th house Aries have a natural ability to connect with others and form meaningful friendships, and they enjoy spending time with people who share your interests and passion for physical activities, they’re the of people who will always have someone to talk whenever they go.
♂⟶ 5th house Aries impulsiveness occasionally results in less-than-ideal outcomes, causing them to get into many embarrassing situations that must be dealt with by their creativity.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries might have also had a few accidents or mishaps around their home, so it's always good to take precautions to ensure everyone's safety.
♂⟶ As 8th house Aries continue to heal and grow, they are discovering the power of channeling their passion and assertiveness in positive ways, building deeper and more meaningful connections in their relationships.
♂⟶ Sometimes 6th house Aries to-do list can weigh heavily on your mind, making it impossible for them to relax and do something else that hasn't already crossed everything off their list.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries need to be careful not to become too controlling or domineering in their household.
♂⟶ While 10th house Aries have a desire for recognition and success, they are mindful that patience and hard work are critical to achieving long-term success.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries leads to a busy and active life, making they neglect their needs for rest and self-care too easily, it's as if the need to achieve their dreams for a better future makes them forget about the needs of the present.
♂⟶ 7th house Aries partner and close friends are a big source of inspiration for them, and they enjoy helping others find their courage and determination.
♂⟶ When it comes to romance, 5th house Aries tend to be confident and forward,often taking the lead in flirting and the pursuit of someone they are interested in can be thrilling, but they may find that once the challenge is over, the attraction fades.
♂⟶ When 2nd house Aries are invested in a project, they have a strong work ethic and are willing to put in the effort to get the job done quickly and efficiently.
♂⟶ 2nd house Aries deal with their stress by buying things.
♂⟶ 12th house Aries prefer to focus on building positive relationships with others than getting into discussions and debates, leaving their sincere opinion aside for the group wellbeing. They prioritize non-violent means of advocating for change and seek to avoid causing harm or pain to others.
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♂⟶ Combining travel with business is particularly appealing to 3rd house Aries.
♂⟶ 5th house Aries have a busy social life and a strong desire to enjoy life's finer things. They also may have a competitive streak when it comes to spending time with family and friends, engaging in playful games and roughhousing.
♂⟶ 12th house Aries recognize that competitiveness can sometimes lead to tension and animosity, and they strive to avoid coming across as arrogant or pretentious.
♂⟶ 12th house Aries are highly empathetic, and while this can be an asset, it can also be overwhelming. Taking time to recharge and find inner balance is important to them.
♂⟶ Aries rising may pass as egotistical in their worst, and a strong sense of their self and their desires at their best.
♂⟶ Theirs positive outlook and determination make 9th house Aries believe that they can achieve anything they set your mind to.
♂⟶ 9th house Aries are independent and self-sufficient, which has given them a strong sense of direction and the drive to pursue their goals, they approach challenges with a warrior mentality, ready to overcome any obstacle in their path.
♂⟶ 8th house Aries actively works on healing and finding healthier ways to express their emotions.
♂⟶ When 12th house Aries are comfortable, they’re able to handle difficult situations with ease.
♂⟶ Aries Rising are quite willing to compromise in their relationships and care deeply for those they are close to.
♂⟶ 11th house Aries thrive in group settings and enjoy socializing with others, though they may find that some friendships lack depth and don't last long.
♂⟶ It's no surprise that Aries Rising likely had the role of the 'independent' child early on in their childhood, which has carried over into their adult life.
♂⟶ 7th house Aries interactions can sometimes be characterized by disagreements or competitions, but ultimately, these dynamics are meant to bring out their inner warrior.
♂⟶ 10th house Aries possess a strong drive and a go-getter attitude that has propelled them towards great accomplishments, they enjoy exploring new opportunities and experiences, seeking challenges that will push them out of their comfort zone.
♂⟶ 2nd house Aries financial situation is tied to their self-esteem, and achieving financial success can make they feel even better about themself.
♂⟶ 4th house Aries may find rest anywhere that's not their house.
(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved
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nolita-fairytale · 9 months
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don't want to walk alone | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter one: june/july
summary: you and carmy plan a wedding like it's the opening of a new restaurant.
warnings: swearing, eventual smut, lots of tooth rotting fluff, marriage, no use of y/n, second person pov
wc: 3.4k
listen to: let's get married (bleachers cover) - mitski
a/n: the long awaited wedding FIC!! welcome to part four of the 'make my heart surrender' universe (four part series). this takes place a month after the end of 'still into you' but before the carmy as your baby daddy headcanon series (my carmy masterlist is organized chronologically, if you'd like to read in order). anyways, i truly adore writing for these two and feel it important to note that after watching season 2, i've realized this has just become an animal of its own -- its own universe/timeline/entity which also means there AREN'T any SEASON TWO SPOILERS! this chapter was inspired by a conversation from two months ago between me and @carmensberzattos so courtesy of us, enjoy some healthy relationship-future husband!carmy. also don't worry syd will be starring in the next chapter. i missed her too. lmk if you wanna be added or removed from the taglist.
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masterlist | part two
"let's just get married, don't wanna walk alone, so let's get married, 'cause we don't wanna walk alone or runaway." (bleachers, let's get married.)
'I just want to be married to you' are the words uttered (first by you, you think, but maybe he said it first, you really can’t remember) that lead you and Carmy to the decision that you should elope. Sooner rather than later, preferably, is what you both agree on. It’s not like you’re planning on having a big wedding anyways. How much work can a civil ceremony at City Hall and a nice dinner party afterwards be to pull off?
Famous last words. 
You’re not sure how you’ve gotten from there to here, locked in a heated debate over menu edits with your fiance in the middle of your shared apartment when the sun’s just barely come up, but here you are.
“I’m just saying that we should be open minded and leave room for his artistic integrity!” Carmy passionately argues, winding you up as he makes his case. 
“Artistic integrity? Carmy, are you kidding me right now? I-!” you fire back, shaking your head incredulously. “We said we were gonna keep everything chill.”
“It is chill!” he defends, matter-of-factly.
Oh, he’s just looking for a fight.
“There is nothing chill about a parm espuma and it certainly doesn’t belong anywhere near the carbonara!” you scoff, stubbornly. “I mean, the only reason he even brought up the idea of a goddamn espuma in the first place is because he was trying to impress you.”
Carmy’s jaw twitches in response as he grinds his teeth, a display of discomfort at the mere thought.
“He-he was not,” he denies with the kind of conviction of a five year old toddler who's sure as can be.
You shoot him a look. 
“Carmen,” you warn him. 
Sure it’s a silly thing to fight about, but there’s no malice in this argument. It’s all passion, artistry, and for lack of a better term, foreplay. You let out a sigh, softening before you rise out of your chair. 
“Baby, when are you going to admit that you’re kind of a big deal and that people want to impress you?” you level with him, making your way over to your very stubborn and very insistent fiance. You settle down onto his lap, before tucking a stray curl behind his ear as you break, giving the sweetest smile.
He laughs dryly, averting his eyes from you because he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to stand his ground (especially when you’re looking at him like that). 
You’re right. And he knows you’re right. 
And Carmy’s never been able to resist you for long anyways. 
A fox-like grin spreads across your lips and you know you’ve won the argument when you feel a pair of hands snake around your waist. 
“Don’t push it,” he warns you, seeing the look on your face as he shakes his head, finally returning his eyes to yours. 
You raise an eyebrow, “You like that I push.” 
He nods slowly in surrender, his face softening as he asks you:
“You really want to fight about this?” 
You shake your head with a laugh. 
“No, of course not! Of course, I don’t want to fight about this!” you exhale, sliding your hands over his shoulders to wrap around his neck. “But I do think that your new buddy is trying to impress us and that it may be wise for us to reign him in – clear the air on what it is we’re looking for.” 
A beat. 
“Don’t get me wrong. Of course, we can leave room for creativity… but I don’t want our wedding party to turn into some pretentious fine dining fancy party.”
“Well, we did meet because of some pretentious fine dining fancy thing,” he points out, giving your hip a squeeze. 
You giggle, “How could I forget?”
You shake your head once more, leaning in to press your lips against his. Carmy inhales deeply, enjoying the feel of your lips on his, your arms wrapped around his neck, the weight of your body on his lap. 
You indulge him for a moment, deepening the kiss as you feel your future husband relax against you, because you really are happy that Carmy’s made a new friend. 
Carmy had met a private chef a few months ago and had been trying to hire him for the restaurant for a while now. Wanting to work for himself, the chef had respectfully declined all advances, but he and Carmy had kept in touch, and it looked as if the relationship could potentially extend outside of the four walls of a kitchen. Since you both agreed that no one from the restaurant should work the party, it had been good timing (making a new friend and the fact that he was a private chef) and the right move for Carmy to ask his new friend to cater the wedding.
“Fine,” you resign yourself, pulling away from the kiss. “Derek can keep the liquid nitrogen but that is as far as it goes.”
Carmy shoots you a look – one that says he’s not quite convinced. 
“And I will be more open minded in the spirit of… artistic integrity. But I’m not changing my mind about courses. Family style or bust, baby,” you negotiate, a serious look in your eyes. 
Carmy thinks it over for a moment before finally coming to a resolution. 
“Deal,” Carmy nods with the same intensity as a ‘yes, chef.’
You nod too, completing the agreement. 
“I want it to be real, Carm. I want it to be us,” you reiterate, your voice soft as you make your condition loud and clear. 
“I know,” he returns, just as determined and committed to the idea as he is to you. 
You’re satisfied with the resolution – even more satisfied with the fact that you’ve come to it together. 
“You know…” he starts, something in his voice that you can’t quite make out, unsure if you’re going to like what’s about to come out of his mouth. “... it could be a perfect menu if you just let me-.”
“Don’t even finish that sentence, Carmen!” you interrupt, knowing exactly what he was going to say. 
You are so not playing this game today.
“You don’t even know what I was-!”
“Yes, I do! You are not catering your own wedding party,” you protest, adamantly.  
You know him too well. 
He laughs, shaking his head as he leans back against his chair, like he’s in high school again, and you’ve just caught him sneaking back into the house. 
“God, I love you! But sometimes you drive me up the wall, Carm,” you groan out of frustration, eliciting another laugh from his chest as you hang your head, resting your forehead against his shoulder this time.
“Such a control freak,” you sigh, against his chest. 
“Thought you like it when I take control,” he murmurs, beginning to leave kisses across your exposed skin. 
You giggle partially because it tickles, and mostly because of what Carmy’s said. 
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
You lift your head and Carmy kisses you again, this time savoring the way your lips feel against his for a little while longer – just long enough to remind himself that he wants to have the option to sneak away in the middle of your wedding party to have sex much more than he wants cater to be in control all the time. 
Sometimes, he thinks to himself, control is overrated anyways. 
Only sometimes.
“Okay, okay,” he mutters, letting go of the idea. “I’ll get back to Derek about final menu edits and make sure he knows that while we want him to be creative, we also want to keep it… you know….”
“Chill?” you emphasize. 
“Chill,” he confirms.
“Okay. Thank you, baby,” you smile softly, trying your best to enjoy the temporary moment of peace between the two of you. Carm squeezes your hip as you roll your eyes with a sigh, muttering an:
“Oh fuck.” 
“What’s up?”
You shake your head again, laughing incredulously before letting out another sigh. 
“Just wait till we go through this again with the cake.”
“Fuck!” Carmy shouts towards the ceiling, throwing his head back as you laugh. “Why did we say we wanted to plan a wedding again?”
“Well baby, I don’t think either of us can pass up on a chance to create a menu,” you giggle, leaving a few kisses along his jawline before you make your way up to his nose. “Can you imagine if we decided to have a full-on wedding? That’d be a freaking mess.”
He chuckles, “It’d be like opening another restaurant.”
“Yeah, pass,” you hum, so glad to have dodged that bullet.
-----------------------------------------
By the time you and Carmy are even ready to focus on the cake portion of said wedding-dinner-party it’s a month later. You’ve been through half of the bakeries in the city, you think, and something’s just felt off. You’re practically eating your words, as it dawns on you that you’re having the exact same thought as Carmy: that it could just be perfect if you were able to make it yourself. 
Then again, you remind yourself that a cake is an entirely different thing versus running a dinner service, so it can’t be that unhinged to have these thoughts, right?
But you and Carmy made an agreement, so in solidarity, you decide it’s only fair for you to make like Tammy Wynette and stand by your man. 
You’re grateful for the half day you have today (“Summer Fridays”, as it’s so fondly referred to around your office) – and the fact that you get to work from home. What it means for you is that today you can clock out early and pick up samples from the tenth bakery (okay, so maybe it’s the eleventh but truthfully, you’ve lost count) in the running for your wedding cake. 
You change out of your pajamas for the first time today, throwing on a slip dress and one of Carmy’s crisp, white Ralph Lauren button downs – worn layered and open like a cardigan – before you head to the bakery, and then eventually, The Bear.
The restaurant is closed for the afternoon, as they do a shift change over: some stay and take a break, others go home, let the dinner crew come in and take over. It’s different these days and while some days you miss it – the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, the sounds of an ‘all day’ shouted by the expeditor, the careful dance that is working in a kitchen – you remind yourself that you’re enjoying a half day, and that when you’d chosen to leave, you were ready for a change. 
After entering The Bear, you make small talk with Gary while he finishes turning over the dining room for dinner, catching up over the flag football league he’s recently joined – one, it seems, to be taken very seriously by all participants. You tell him that you’re here with wedding cake samples, and he’s more than eager to give you some space to set up, because who doesn’t love free cake? Mid-sentence, Gary gestures towards a table for you to set up on, as you begin to unpack your large brown paper bag. 
“Well, well. Look who it is,” Marcus calls out, as soon as he sees you. “Heard a rumor you were out here. You brought cake?”
“I brought cake,” you repeat as confirmation, turning to see your dear friend and mentee. “But don’t worry. I’ll be thinking about yours the whole time.”
He snickers, moving in for a hug. 
“‘S Good to see you, Chef. How ya been?” he asks, enveloping you in his arms for a tight squeeze. 
“Good to see you too, Marcus. I’m good. Had a half day today so… you know, we’ve just been busy with wedding stuff. But what’s going on with you? What’s new?” you answer, turning the focus back onto him. 
“Oh you know. The usual. Though, I’ve been workin’ on some new shit for Syd’s new menu when I’m not here,” he answers, a broad smile spreading across his lips as he talks about. 
“Jeez, Brooks. I know, Carm’s got ya busy. When the hell do you ever sleep?” you ask, as you shake your head. 
“I don’t,” he answers plainly. 
And just as you’re about to remind Marcus to get some rest, Sugar comes bursting through the front doors, her rounded belly full on display now that she’s had a chance to tell almost everyone the news of her pregnancy. 
“Hey! Sorry I’m running late,” Sugar says, announcing her arrival. “Got tied up running an errand and then I had to stop at the store for Tums. This baby is killing me with the heartburn these days. Fucking christ.” 
“Oh, no big deal. I haven’t even seen Carmy yet,” you shrug, as she mutters a surprised ‘oh’ and Marcus mumbles something about going to get Carmy. “It’s good to see you!”
“Yo, Carm!” Marcus shouts, heading back to the kitchen while you and Sugar exchange hellos. 
“Awww, it’s good to see you too, sweetie,” she smiles, pulling you in for your second hug of the day. 
This is something you miss about working in the kitchen: the camaraderie, the found-family, all the love. 
“Wow this is… quite the spread,” Sugar mentions, eyeing the cakes you’ve laid out on the table.
“Yeah… they had a lot of ideas, I guess,” you say with a shrug. 
Sugar shoots you an unconvinced look. 
“Okay, fine.  I had a lot of ideas…” you admit guiltily. 
“...aaaand no one is going to do it the way you want it to be done,” Sugar sighs in the middle of your sentence. 
“And they were more than willing to play. I couldn’t help myself!” you finish, defending yourself. 
“Well, your enthusiasm is one of the many things I love about you, but… yeah, this is a lot,” Sugar grins as she gestures towards the overwhelming amount of cake you’ve just laid out on the table. 
Regardless, Sugar really can’t wait to be your sister-in-law. 
“Speaking of… I thought this was just a small wedding. It looks like you’re preparing to feed the entire French Army during Marie Antoinette’s reign.”
“Oh it still is – small,” you answer, simply. “I went a little overboard, didn’t I?”
“Why go through all this trouble? You might as well have a small ceremony instead of-,”
“No!” you protest, hearing another voice say the same thing. 
“Sugar, we’ve already told you that we don’t want to do anything big!” Carmy adds, as soon as he enters the dining room. 
“Hey, babe,” he says, sending you the softest smile as he looks your way.
“Hey you,” you smile in return as he approaches you, giving him a short ‘hello’ peck on the lips. 
“Fak attack!” Fak cries out, as he enters the dining room. “Ooooh cake tasting!”
“Yeah,” you chuckle, as Fak is quickly followed by some of the line cooks that have just wrapped up lunch service. 
It’s then that you hear Tina’s voice, growling something in Spanish as Richie speaks way too loudly about god knows what, as Ebra follows behind, somehow in the middle of a story that has little to do with whatever Tina and Richie are going on about. 
You smile to yourself, because you really do miss this part. 
“I told everyone we were doing a cake tasting,” Carmy starts, gesturing towards the rest of the staff as they join you. “That cool?”
“Totally. We have more than enough to share,”
“That’s true,” Sugar says. "And I can't complain because the baby is reeeeaaally craving cake these days."
As everyone at The Bear crowd around the circular dining table where you set up the cake tasting, you all enjoy bites here and there, comparing notes, sharing reactions to each flavor combo. 
Earl grey & lemon. A classic red velvet. And of course, you had to get a little weird with the black sesame clementine combination you’d dreamed up with the pastry chef you’d been working with. 
“I think my favorite is the black sesame and clementine but I doubt it’s a cake everyone will like. Doesn’t have the crowd appeal we probably should keep in mind,” you murmur to Carmy as the two of you watch his staff go on about the tiramisu-inspired one. 
“Well, babe, it’s our wedding! We can do whatever we want,” he encourages you. 
“I don’t know,” you sigh, paralyzed with indecision. 
“The tiramisu one is good. I’m leaning towards that,” Carmy shares with you, eager to hear your thoughts. 
“Yeah, I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s a little too on the nose?” you reply, unsettled and unsure that any of these are right. 
“Why don’t you guys just let me make it?” Marcus interjects, asking the question he’s been wondering this entire time. 
“I-,” you start, unable to help the fact that your eyes begin to wet with emotion. “Really?” 
He laughs, glancing sideways at you. 
“Uh yeah. I’m a little offended neither of you did in the first place,” Marcus teases the two of you, though you know there’s some truth to it. 
You and Carmy exchange a look that says something along the lines of: ‘oh shit.’
“Well, we didn’t think you’d-,” you stammer, beginning to explain the why behind you and Carmy’s hesitation in the first place.
“We just thought you’d want to- that you should be able to enjoy the party,” Carmy adds, finishing your sentence, his eyes widening as he realizes that you both kinda fucked up. 
“Chefs,” he says, looking from you to Carmy once more, with a seriousness in his voice as he rises to his feet. “It would be my honor. And just because I’m makin’ the cake doesn’t mean I won’t be able to enjoy the party. I can do it in the days leading up to it.”
“Oh-, okay, yes! Yes!” you cry, leaping to your feet this time, as if you’re accepting Carmy’s proposal again. 
Richie rolls his eyes in response, groaning as he mutters something snarky to Fak, as Marcus pulls you into the biggest bear hug. 
“You all are a bunch of saps,” he scoffs, directing this next comment to Marcus this time. “You big softie!”
“Richie!” Sugar hisses, glaring the sharpest daggers from her eyeballs into Richie’s skull. 
“Oh fuck off, Richie,” you snort, with a laugh. “You’re just salty because… wait. Carm, you haven’t asked him yet?”
“Babe, I-,” Carmy whines, his eyes wide. “You just ruined the surprise!”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah ‘fuck’ is right,” he pouts, though he can never stay upset with you for too long. 
“What the fuck are you guys even talking about?” Richie asks, squinting as he looks between the two of you. 
You and Carmy share a knowing look, deciding that now is a better time as ever. 
“We want you to be our witness, Cousin. At the courthouse,” Carmy says, a soft intensity in his eyes as he answers Richie’s question.
“Jesus Christ,” Sugar snarks, with an eye roll as she realizes she’ll be stuck with him at the damn courthouse as well.
“Wh-?” Richie begins to ask, looking from Carmy to you, then back to Carmy again, tears welling up in his eyes as he realizes what Carmy’s just said. “You-? Really?”
“Yeah, of course,” you reply, in a well-duh kind of tone. “Plus you know I can’t get married without my Ava there.”
“And sign the marriage license and everything?” Richie balks, because he really can’t believe it. 
“Yeah,” you reassure him. 
“Yeah. I mean, fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!” Richie declares, even more sentimental than Marcus this time. “Shit, Cuz… Hell yeah, I’ll sign the fuck out of that marriage license as your witness.”
Tina snickers, exchanging a look with Sugar, and earning a glare from Richie. He lowers his voice, directing the question towards you this time: 
“Oh and uh… cool if Ava still sings “Love Story?” I kinda promised her she could sing a Taylor Swift song as part of my best man speech and she insists that one is about you and Carmy,” Richie asks, looking around suspiciously, afraid of someone else hearing. 
“Awwww, Richie. Of course,” you coo, only melting inside a little at the thought.
“What?” Richie snaps, realizing that he hasn’t been as discreet as he thought he was. 
Sugar snorts in response, earning a laugh from both Tina and Marcus. 
It’s Marcus’ turn to roll his eyes at Richie this time. 
“What?” Richie repeats, this time with a little more annoyance in his voice. 
Sugar smirks, firing back with a:
“Who’s the big softie now, Rick?”
758 notes · View notes
star-sim · 2 days
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how you hurt him ☆ ot7
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☆ non-idol! ot7 enhypen x fem! reader ☆ summary: all the ways that you hurt him (ft. song lyrics) ☆ genre: angst ☆ warning(s): toxic relationship, toxic! reader, mentions of cheating, this is practice for an english project so please bear with me, most of this is very figurative/abstract ☆ word count: 2.9k total ☆ aka enhypen boys as sad love songs, it’s like 1am i will edit later 😭
reblogs and feedback are appreciated!
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heeseung ☆
"why would you ever kiss me? i'm not even half as pretty" — heather, conan gray
was there something wrong with heeseung? what if he wasn't good enough for you? did you think he was ugly? disgusting? annoying? needy?
at the beginning of your relationship, you made it clear to heeseung that you weren't good with words.
"don't worry about it," heeseung had told you. "i'm not good either."
he thought you meant that you found it hard to say "i love you."
what you meant was that you were indeed good with words, just bad at saying nice things to him.
at first he thought he was being ridiculous, a prisoner of his own mind.
he knew you loved him— how could you possibly not?
but if you loved him, why did you say such nasty things to him?
"god, heeseung, you're so stupid."
"i can't believe i'm dating someone like you."
"i'm disgusted with you."
he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.
what had he done to make you repulsed by him? was he being sensitive?
he hated himself for all of it.
he hated the creeping feelings of jealousy that would suffocate him like a noose to a prisoner whenever he saw you talk to another man. did you like him more than heeseung? what if you wanted to leave him?
he hated how he craved what little kind words you could give him. it was so rare for you to compliment and speak to him gently, so when you did, heeseung was drunk on it.
he hated how insecure he got.
he hated how his mind was a gallow of its own.
he hated how afraid he was.
"you're so pretty," you whispered into his ear.
heeseung's stomach did flips. did you really mean it? was he as pretty as all the other men you entertained yourself with? was that why you kissed him and not them?
did this mean that you really loved him?
heeseung felt something tighten around his neck. not in that suffocating way that made him claw at his skin until he bled as he stared in the mirror asking himself what could be changed, but in the way that made him feel warm all over.
he’d wait at the gallows like a convicted prisoner, he’d stand there proud, ready to say his last words. he’d keep his hands behind his back, he’d admire the brass noose that would be his eternal necklace.
because for heeseung, to be with you, and to love you, was to be helpless.
to love you was to wait like a dog in the cold.
to love you was to eat your every word like it was his last meal.
to love you was to be your prisoner waiting for you to execute him.
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jay ☆
"pretend that we are more than friends, then of course I'll let you break my heart again" — let you break my heart again, laufey
it's not your fault, jay tells himself. it's not your fault that you can't love him.
but at what point does it become your fault?
you knew that he loved you. he'd told you multiple times, shown you a billion other times. anyone with eyes could tell that he was head over heels in love with you. everyone knew.
especially you— you who rejected him time and time again, laughing that he was just a friend to you.
but here you were, pressing yourself up against him, looking at him with lidded eyes and licking your lips like you wanted to eat him. you held his hand against your chest, whispering a soft "good night." jay knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, not with you so close to him, not with the ache in his chest.
it's not your fault that he loves you, jay thought. but it is your fault that you lead him on, that you pretend to kiss him, that you snuggle up next to him knowing that he'd lay down his life for you.
did you enjoy torturing him like this?
what pleasure did you take in constantly making him think that he had a chance with you?
was this how it was going to be forever?
were you always going to keep him waiting like this, just because you knew that he'd stay no matter what?
jay swallowed the lump in his throat.
he couldn't continue living like this, having you play with his feeling like this.
"jay..." you mumbled, reaching out for him. jay was pulled out of his thoughts, his eyes flickering to you. you looked so innocent and peaceful despite himself. how could he ever stop? how could he stop when it was you at hand?
"i'm here," he hummed, throwing an arm around you. i'm always here.
you were warm, and soft, and everything that jay could ever want in a person. your soft breathing brushed up against his cheek.
jay stared at your sleeping face.
would it hurt to pretend that you were more than friends?
he let his eyelids fall slowly.
he could imagine you and him dancing in the kitchen, laughing together as the scent of jay's cooking filled the apartment. jazz music would be playing, and you'd pretend to be an old flapper couple from the '20's, swirling around the cold kitchen tiles.
your words from earlier echoed in his head.
"i love you so much, jay!"
"you're the best."
"how could i ever be so lucky to meet you?"
it made his heart pound in his chest, unable to hide the lovesick grin spreading on his face.
he knew your words meant nothing, that you truly only saw him as a friend.
he needed to stop this delusion now, else he'd be even more hurt than he already was. you broke his heart over and over again, as if it meant nothing to you.
but as you and him twirled around his head, basking in each other's presence, jay couldn't bring himself to let you go.
he'd let you, jay thought. he'd let you break his heart.
as many times as you wanted.
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jake ☆
"the other man will always cry himself to sleep, the other man will never have her love to keep" — the other woman, lana del rey
of course jake knew that he wasn't the only man in your life.
how many times did he lay in bed at night, wishing that it was him that could hold you? how many times did he dream of being the man that could call you his? how many fantasies did he have of marrying you, of giving you the world?
and how many times did he have to remind himself that he couldn't have you— that you already had someone to love?
it made jake feel sick, seeing all the pictures that you posted with you and your husband, hearing all the chatter about your 2-year wedding anniversary, and forcing himself to smile as a tight-lipped "congratulations" fell from his mouth.
but what made him even more sick was how happy he felt whenever you showed up at his doorstep in the depths of the night.
jake couldn't help it.
he couldn't help how his stomach did flips when your hands slithered up his chest, wrapping around his neck as you pressed kisses against his jaw.
he couldn't help how his body moved on its own as he took in the scent of your perfume, his head filling with nothing but you, you, you.
he couldn't help how he craved you, how he was unable to pull away from you, even though he knew you had a husband waiting for you back home.
he couldn't help how for a moment, he could pretend that you were his; for a moment, he could live in the illusion that he was the one that you came home to every night, that he was the one that you woke up with in the morning, that he was the one that you sat at the kitchen table with to discuss your weekly grocery list, that he was the one that you laughed with in the depths of night, that he was the only man that you loved.
but as quickly as it started, you were already out the door, waving goodbye with a sweet smile as if you hadn't committed a crime against your husband.
jake knew the sight of your retreating back better than anyone, and as he closed the door, he'd suck in a sharp breath.
he would deny it over and over, until his words lost meaning.
but he knew the truth.
he was a fool for thinking that he could have you, for after all this time, he was the other man.
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sunghoon ☆
"i bet on losing dogs, i know they're losing and i'll pay for my place" — i bet on losing dogs, mitski
you and sunghoon were never meant to work out, and he knew this.
everyone said that you'd hurt him. he'd seen it with his own eyes, how you bore your bloody teeth and ripped into people like they were your prey, how you barked venomous words at people.
you were a losing dog to begin with, a losing dog that would never truly love him the same way you loved yourself.
and before he knew it, sunghoon realized that everyone was right.
you sunk your teeth into him, feasting on what love he could give you like a ravenous hyena.
but how could he resist you? how could he resist your touch, your warmth, your limited moments of compassion?
wounded, bleeding, scarred, sunghoon staggered away from the killing floor. yet, he was unable to stop himself from turning over his shoulder to see your face.
there was something disgusting he felt, something that made sunghoon nauseous. his stomach churned. and then he realized, he couldn't bring himself to leave you.
because you were a starving dog, thristy for a victim.
because you were a wailing dog, weeping over your kill as if it would atone you.
because you were a losing dog, a dog that sunghoon placed his bets on.
and it was time for him to pay the price of his actions.
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sunoo ☆
"i know who you pretend i am" —washing machine heart, mitski
sunoo wasn't stupid.
he knew it better than anyone, that your heart didn't belong to him. it never did, and it never will.
sunoo saw the way that you yearned, he saw the way that your eyes lit up, he saw the way that you gazed with love in your eyes— all for someone that wasn't him.
so why did you kiss him like he meant anything to you? why did you hold him like he could have you?
he knew why.
"i missed you so much," you breathed against his ear, pressing him against the wall. "so, so, so much."
the taste of your lips was addicting.
you liked to kiss roughly. you liked to run your fingers through his hair and pull it harshly, making him groan lowly against your lips. you liked to slip your fingers up his shirt, making him shudder.
sunoo liked to kiss gently. he liked it when your lips would melt against his. he liked it when you played with the clasp of the silver chain around his neck. he liked it when you pulled away and giggled softly at the lipstick smudge at the corner of his lip.
he didn't like it rough like you did.
but he took it all.
he took it all, because he loved you.
he took it all, even though he knew that you were kissing him pretending that he someone else.
it wasn't hard to tell.
you wore the gold necklace that he gave you, never any of the ones that sunoo got you.
you didn't even blink when sunoo's name was said, but the mere mention of his interests or career had you reeling.
and of course, he liked when you kissed roughly so you were a rough kisser, even though sunoo liked it gentle.
you don't even look at sunoo the way you look at him.
when you said "i miss you," sunoo could tell that you didn't mean it.
you didn't miss sunoo, you missed him. you just missed the attention that sunoo gave you.
he knew who you pretended he was.
but all he could do was look into your eyes, and be reminded of a tragedy: that while you couldn't love him back, he loved you.
"i missed you, too," he whispered back, swallowing the lump in his throat, swallowing his dignity.
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jungwon ☆
"if you need to be mean, be mean to me" — i don't smoke, mitski
to be vulnerable, to be at someone's mercy, to be someone's lamb for the slaughter, was jungwon's biggest fear. he'd die before he'd let someone take advantage of his weakness.
yet as you slipped out of his grip, your once loving eyes turning cold as hands that once held him in your arms became the hands that striked him, all he could do was sit back and take it.
words like daggers into his back, slashing him over and over like he was a sacrificial lamb for a god that could not save him. hot tears would line as eyes as you raised your knife at him, sending shivers down his spine that made him cower into his skin, chanting apologies like they were prayers.
jungwon should run. after all, that was all he spent his life doing.
but how could he escape you when you kissed his tear-stained face? how could he leave you, for when your anger simmered down you cradled his cheek, whispering that you loved him?
it hurt, it hurt so bad.
but if you must destroy him, if you must slaughter him until your killing floor was covered in blood, if you must cut him up into little pieces for your own pleasure, so be it.
he'd follow you into the slaughterhouse, knowing full well that the darkness was the last thing he'd ever see, and jungwon would close his eyes and thank the person that crafted your blade anyway.
you can kiss him, you can hold him close, or you can strike him, you can treat him like an animal. he wouldn't care. it would be the same either way; he'd be glad that it was you.
for he was your lamb, and you were his butcher; for if you needed to be mean, be mean to him.
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riki ☆
"even though she isn’t even really gone, but things are just different ever since she cut her blue hair off" — blue hair, tv girl
of course riki noticed. how could he not?
all those bored looks when he was talking, aimless nods when he asked you a question, and loveless kisses that you pressed against his skin. it took you hours to respond to his texts and calls, and when you did, you responded curtly. you stopped coming home, always having plans on weekends with no time for him.
riki didn't know what happened.
he thought that you and him had such a great relationship, filled with love and laughter.
but somewhere along the way, you seemed to lose interest in him.
he asked all your friends, but they said nothing changed about your behavior.
did riki do something wrong? did he make you angry? all questions that he'd never find the answer to.
the silence was piercing, ringing in his ears. he'd just asked you how your day was, and all he got back was a simple, vacant stare, before you turned back to your phone, scrolling mindlessly. his heart sunk so his stomach, brows crashing together.
had riki lost you? all he wanted was for you to look at him, for you to acknowledge him. was he being dramatic?
please, riki begged. please look at me, please see me, please love me.
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awarmcupofmilk · 8 months
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Gojo x reader "Broken Mirror"
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afab!reader
summary: you knew gojo was the one. gojo wasn't so sure.
content warnings: breakup/sad, angst, deviations from gojo’s past arc
word count: 1,226
note: hi lovelies, I'm back! I'm thinking of turning this into a series, thoughts?
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© 2022 awarmcupofmilk
please don’t repost, edit, translate, use, or copy my works on any platforms (if you’d really like to please reach out – reblogs are welcome)
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You’d known for a while Satoru was the one.
When he’d thoroughly humiliated the elders through cheeky comebacks and downright threats because Gakuganji made a remark about your way of dress off-duty.
When he called off classes for the day to host a hot dog eating contest, just because you were having a hard time with your sister getting engaged---fresh out of high school.
When he literally saved your life on that mission.
But what sealed the deal was this adorably clueless look on his face, set so vividly apart from his usual smirks and sneers, when he got daifuku on his cheek.
You were in love. And in it bad.
At first, you knew you were alone in your convictions. Satoru hadn’t ever prioritized love and you didn’t think you’d convince him otherwise. You told yourself it was fine, that you’d date for a few months, maybe a year and then move on for the better.
But you don’t move on from the strongest.
You couldn’t taste anything else once you’d had him. Nothing else held appeal.
You kept telling yourself it was fine. You were still young, you still had time to date without a future. But the smell of his aftershave, the way his hair curled behind his ear, his distaste for alcohol. It all drew you in, too deeply, and you wanted it too badly.
Satoru would stiffen when you brought up the future.
He was happy to make plans for Friday date night, but anything about revisiting the clan or moving in or god forbid, marriage had him giving non-answers and changing the subject at the first opportunity.
It was a stabbing pain, seeing the look on his face, and a few times after a particularly sobering conversation you’d almost considered ending it. But he was so sweet. By all other accounts he was a wonderful boyfriend. Chivalrous---opening the door for you, insisting on paying the bill, unfolding the napkin at restaurants to cover your lap. He genuinely listened. And yes, he had a slight habit of being a little too friendly with no doubt interested women, but he’d always own up and do better when you called him out. And you just clicked. So effortlessly, so seamlessly. So, you told yourself it was fine.
You had your whole life ahead of you at twenty-three. And you knew, any third party would tell you that you were being unreasonable. But you loved him. You were sure about him. Surer than you were about most things. Maybe anything. You used to be so cynical about marriage. You didn’t buy anything about soulmates or true love or the one. But Satoru was it for you. You just knew.
But the more you wanted him, the more anxious you were to hold on, to not lose him. You found yourself asking, “Are you going to break up with me?” As a joke from the outside but in truth a deep fear, seeking opposition or confirmation, you didn’t know.
And Satoru would always respond easily, with that trademark suaveness, “Not planning on it.”
You asked more and more often, and whether or not Satoru noticed, more and more anxiously.
And each “I don’t see that happening,” each “No” followed by a soft kiss sold it to you more. You stopped telling yourself it was fine. You’d be together forever. You were sure of it.
Things weren’t perfect. You two had your rough patches and fair share of fights. But you wanted each other enough to make it through anything. If the you from a few years ago could hear yourself, this madness probably would have been put to an end. But you loved him. You loved him in that cliché, film way that looks manufactured in hindsight. But it felt so raw, so pure, so real. You’d be together forever.
Soon, despite yourself, you began hinting. Rings. Nice houses. And even, though you were now appalled at the memory, babies. Not to be had then, of course, just for the far-off future. You could be patient if commitment was promised.
And for whatever reason, Satoru played along. He started engaging in talks about the future, even though he used to say he didn’t want to make these promises, didn’t want to plan so far. You had reminded yourself of what he used to say, that look on his face when you brought up plans. But for some reason hidden to him and you, he bought into it too. He started fantasizing with you. Of course, to you it didn’t feel like fantasizing. But he seemed to want it, almost as badly. You thought his face lit up picturing your lives together in the next few years. You thought he smiled a little wider, laughed a little louder.
He wants this too. You told yourself. We’ll be together forever. You said.
You told this to yourself like a mantra, and soon it became indisputable truth.
“Hey,” you started, leaning on Satoru’s shoulder. You snuggled closer to him on the couch and pulled the blanket over your shoulder. “Does it ever bother you that I ask about the future?” You said.
Satoru stiffened, and your heart dropped.
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“You know, like do you not like talking about plans long-term?”
You were fishing for an easy answer, some artificial reassurance, a “No, I like it fine.”
But he paused. You couldn’t breathe.
“I thought I told you I didn’t want to make promises.”
“Oh,” was all you could say. It sounded like you had let out a breath. A small cough.
“I mean, it’s kind of fun to fantasize,” he said.
You hadn’t realized how much the word “fantasize” bothered you. How seriously you took your “plans”.
“But I mean, I can’t promise what will happen in a few years,” Gojo continued.
You felt dizzy. “You don’t see us together in a few years?” You asked. It sounded like a whimper and you hated yourself for it.
“I just mean I don’t know what my life looks like in a few years.”
“Oh,” you said again.
There was silence. You’d stopped resting on his shoulder and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You pulled the blanket off and fidgeted, eyes glued to your lap.
“…where do you see this going?” You finally asked. Quietly.
He let out a breath. “Look, I’m going to be honest, I’m twenty-four, I can’t make any commitments right now.”
“Oh.”
You felt oddly calm. “Um, thanks for being honest with me,” (finally, you thought).
“Sure,” Gojo said.
“So we have an expiration date, huh?” You asked.
Gojo frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this is going to end at some point.”
“I mean, I’m not making a decision right now about the future,” Gojo said, you thought he shrugged. “I still want to be with you now,”
But he didn’t understand. That was the point. You’d decided on forever without a second thought, and he just let you. But sooner or later, when he decided it was time to experience life without you, he’d leave you behind. You didn’t want now if you couldn’t have the future.
You didn’t meet his eye. “Gojo, I think we should end things.”
It’s funny how the things you love the most can shatter in an instant.
✧ Masterlist ✧
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kingofbodyrolls · 3 months
Text
Learn to Love Again (m) | myg
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Summary: People always leave. They become beautiful stars shining bright in the night sky. When life hands you lemons, you’ve been told to make lemonade, but that is hard when your soul and heart is breaking apart. When you rescue a tiny cat and meet a handsome stranger in the cafe, you finally feel yourself healing – but when they too leave, how are you going to learn to love again?
Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, mainly called pet names so no ‘Y/N’).
AU + genres: Hybrid!au (shapeshifter!yoongi), strangers to lovers, slice of life, heavy angst, a lot of sadness and grief (I’m sorry!), dark vibes, smut and fluff and some humor sprinkled in there too. 
Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.
Word count: 19,4K
Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸
Warnings (general) + triggers: Heavy angst, extreme heavy sadness and grief, death of minor characters, mention of previous character death (parents and siblings), mentions of su*cide, mention of m*rder, su*cidal thoughts. Mention of past car accident. Mention of past domestic abuse. Mirrors 👀👀
Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please stay safe!), choking, oral (female receiving), nipple and breasts play, one-time use of a degrading word (otherwise petname), hair pulling – I guess it’s pretty vanilla with a slight sprinkle of spice 🤭
Author’s note  (1): I know it sounds hella sad (and it is), but it is also very sweet and heartwarming too 💜 I wanted to venture into the darker stuff again, and embrace all the feelings and sadness that I felt a few weeks ago (I’m fine, well I’m getting through it at least). 
If you are triggered by any of the warnings, I suggest that you skip this. It’s not that explicit though, but the heavy subjects are still there and they feature in it a lot.
Also, the quote “people always leave” features a lot in this and I only now realize why I find it so familiar – it’s a famous quote from Peyton Sawyer from One Tree Hill.
Author's note  (2): It’s only partly edited, so I’m so sorry about any mistakes or weird wordings (English is also not my mother language). When I read it again, I felt sad and like the whole thing is crap (why do I also feel like this adgadfjkhs), BUT, I still like it, it’s a piece of my heart in there… I can’t just let it sit in my docs to collect dust. So – I’ll just post it early and never look at the thing again (expect for the cover, because damn I’m so happy with how that turned out 🥹).
Taglist: @keshiadeija @viankiss @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad If you prefer to read on AO3 you can also find it there 🙂
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The heavens are weeping again, unleashing a torrential downpour that drums heavy on the windows. Just like the heavy beating of your heart and the tears that just won’t stop falling down your cheeks.
For days now, the world has languished in this disquiet, a foreboding atmosphere that has draped itself over every moment, casting a shadow even before the haunting ring of the call that echoed through the silence.
A searing, heart-wrenching call that etched itself into the fabric of your existence, standing out as one of the most agonizing moments life has ever dared to deliver.
Caught off guard by the unexpected twist of fate, it blindsided you, sending shockwaves through your core and leaving you utterly rattled, as if the very ground beneath your feet had shifted without warning.
Your conviction in her well-being crumbled as swiftly as a sandcastle against the tide.
In your last encounter, she radiated joy—her infectious happiness casting a brilliant glow over her words as she spoke about her new job, her blossoming romance, and her boundless love for life.
A tear, heavy with the weight of the contrast between then and now, traces a lonely path down your cheek.
The echo of her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, and the unbridled excitement that made her hands tremble with anticipation haunted your memories. 
It's a heart-wrenching juxtaposition between the happiness she projected and the sorrow now etched into the fabric of your own emotions.
She wasn't just a friend; she was your confidante, a steadfast companion through the labyrinth of years and experiences. Your best friend.
In the tapestry of your friendship, she emerged as the resplendent thread, the one who consistently outshone the rest. 
Even on her darkest days, she radiated a brilliance that surpassed the ordinary, a celestial glow that left an indelible mark on your heart. To you, she wasn't just a friend; she was a luminous star, a breathtaking celestial entity whose untimely descent felt like a cosmic supernova, casting a blinding light that left everyone in its wake awestruck and forever changed.
Like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, the day she chose to end her own life blindsided everyone. 
The abruptness of her decision, the finality of calling it quits, left a haunting question echoing in the hollow chambers of your soul—why? 
The puzzle remains unsolved, the enigma of her despair a perplexing maze you can't navigate. Outwardly, her life seemed like a canvas painted in hues of contentment, yet the invisible struggles eluded comprehension. 
Despite the deep conversations that usually wove through the tapestry of your friendship, the darkness she harbored never surfaced in her words. Her choice to shroud her pain in silence remains an unfathomable mystery, a tragic paradox that still elicits a profound sense of bewilderment.
The haunting ‘what if’ lingers, an elusive specter of regret—what if she had shared her struggles with you? 
The possibility that your words could have been a lifeline is an uncharted sea of sorrow. The uncertainty, the unfulfilled potential for intervention, claws at your conscience like a relentless tempest.
In the wake of this unanswered plea for connection, tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop bearing the weight of unspoken conversations. The dampness on your collarbone, where your shirt clings uncomfortably, is a tangible reminder of the storm within. 
A mere few days have crawled by since that fateful call, the kind that alters the very fabric of reality. 
The echo of your friend's voice reverberates through your memory—a seismic revelation that shattered your world. As the words unfolded, you crumpled to the floor, the phone nearly slipping from your trembling grasp.
A gasp caught in your throat, a palpable surge of emotion crashing over you like a tidal wave.
In that harrowing moment, your heartbeat quickened, each thud resonating with the weight of sorrow and anger. The air itself seemed to constrict, tainted with the bitter aftertaste of an impending storm. The onslaught of emotions clawed at your chest, a tumultuous dance between sadness and anger, each one vying for dominance in the chaotic symphony of your soul.
Powerlessness wraps around you like a suffocating shroud, the absence of your brightest star leaving a void that seems insurmountable. 
In this moment of staggering loss, the future unfolds as a vast expanse of uncertainty. How do you navigate a world without the radiant glow she once brought to your existence?
Yet, as the weight of grief presses down, a resilient ember flickers within. Acknowledging the inexorable march of time, you realize that her memory, like a cherished constellation, will be a guiding light in the night sky of your life. 
In the tapestry of your emotions, she, alongside your parents, becomes one of the celestial beacons you look up to during moments of sorrow or when life's burdens become too overwhelming.
You step out onto the balcony, enveloped by the velvety embrace of the dark blue sky. 
The resplendent moon takes center stage, surrounded by a constellation of bright companions that twinkle in the vast expanse of the night. The beauty of the cosmos is a bittersweet solace, a celestial dance that captivates your gaze.
The night sky has always held a captivating allure for you, but in the wake of the profound loss of your parents, it transcends mere beauty. 
It becomes a sanctuary, a cosmic tapestry where memories linger among the stars. Each celestial beacon now carries the weight of cherished moments, transforming the night into a sacred canvas where the brilliance of your loved ones continues to shine, casting a radiant glow that lingers in the quiet moments of contemplation.
The subtle hum of your phone reverberates in your hand, a clandestine messenger that disrupts the tranquility of your thoughts, setting loose a cascade of emotions. 
The screen lights up with a message from a friend, its arrival like a seismic tremor in the landscape of your contemplations, shaking loose the delicate balance you've tried so desperately to maintain.
Yuna [20.31]: Iseul’s funeral is on Saturday. We’re all going. U coming?🌹
Dread settles in the pit of your stomach like a heavy anchor – the thought of attending the funeral feels like navigating a tempest of emotions you're not sure you're prepared to weather. 
The prospect of confronting tears, raw emotion, and the grieving presence of her family looms before you, casting a shadow over the already somber occasion. 
Yet, duty intertwines with reluctance; you were her best friend, after all. 
The expectation to pay your respects becomes an unspoken mandate, tugging at the seams of your resolve despite the storm of discomfort that brews within.
Tears have become an unwelcome torrent on your phone, transforming the smooth surface into a slippery terrain that complicates every attempt to type. 
The screen blurs beneath a watery veil, mirroring the tumultuous cascade in your own eyes. Distraction clings to each droplet, making it not only challenging to navigate the phone but also to see through the emotional downpour that clouds your vision.
But against the deluge of sorrow and the weight of grief, you summon the strength for a brief reply, a fragile lifeline tossed into the turbulent sea of emotions.
You [20.46]: Yes🌹
With a heavy sigh, you gently lay your phone face-down on the nightstand, as if shielding the illuminated screen from the weight of the world you've just momentarily set aside.
How do you navigate this desolate landscape that life has become? 
The void feels more palpable now, a haunting echo of emptiness that had lingered even before.
It's as if the very essence of existence has been drained away, leaving you grappling with the profound question: What is the point when the world around you continues to crumble, and people around you just keep dying?
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At Iseul's funeral, you navigated the somber scene alongside your friend group, bracing for the emotional maelstrom that awaited. 
The atmosphere unfolded exactly as you had anticipated — a tableau of tears, grief-stricken family members, and the embrace of mournful hugs. Conversations echoed with memories of Iseul's radiant spirit, each word a bittersweet tribute to the bright and bubbly soul that once graced your lives. 
Amidst the collective sorrow, the air hung heavy with the weight of loss, weaving a tapestry of emotions that spoke to the indelible impact Iseul had left behind.
It was agonizing, bidding farewell in the harsh reality of acceptance. The harsh truth of life unveiled itself – an unrelenting cycle of departures. 
Yet, amidst the crushing finality, you find solace in the enduring promise that even though everyone leaves, the stars above will forever bear witness to her presence, a cosmic constellation of memories that will continue to illuminate the canvas of your nights.
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Work persists in its mundane rhythm, the monotony punctuated only by the forced smiles you offer customers as you brew their coffee or recommend delectable treats in the cafe. 
For you, work has forever remained a sterile landscape, devoid of passion or purpose. The unfulfilled yearning for a meaningful career tugs at the edges of your consciousness, a persistent ache exacerbated by life's unrelenting cruelty—your unfinished degree in astrophysics stands as a testament to dreams deferred. Maybe you’ll go back to school – you don’t know.
Your thoughts are abruptly shattered by a brash intrusion, a man’s voice slicing through the ambient noise with an unwarranted familiarity. “Hi, pretty,” he drawls, snapping your attention to the present, “can I get a black coffee, a muffin, and your number, please?” 
The audacious request hangs in the air, leaving a charged pause that crackles with a blend of amusement and annoyance.
You stifle a silent scoff, a careful veil to conceal the simmering irritation within, though the indignation is palpable. 
This flirtatious interlude is far from novel—far from the first time someone has attempted to weave charm into the fabric of your workday. Yet, a discomforting truth lingers beneath your composed exterior: you disdain these unwarranted advances, a sentiment you've carried with you each time such encounters stain the ordinary canvas of your work.
Forcing a smile that feels more like a fragile mask, you locate a muffin, navigating the familiar routine with practiced efficiency. 
As you approach the coffee machine to craft the requested brew, you gather both items and, with a subtle sigh, slide them across the counter. 
Your words, delivered with a polite cadence, carry a hint of firmness as you say, “Here you go. Apologies, but my number isn't on the menu.”
Turning men down has become a skill honed through the crucible of experience, a necessity etched into the fabric of your being, especially after the wreckage of your last relationship. 
It wasn't just a breakup; it was a tempest that left you bruised, not only on the surface but also in the recesses of your soul. 
To declare a dread of relationships, despite the quiet longing that flickers deep within, would be an understatement—the mere thought evokes the echoes of a tumultuous past, a cautionary tale etched in both physical and emotional hues of black and blue.
Despite the man's disapproving frown, he begrudgingly parts with his payment, snatching his coffee and muffin.
As he vacates the space, you extend a tight-lipped greeting to the next customer, the forced smile a delicate masquerade concealing the intricacies of emotion churning beneath the surface.
Day after day unfolds in this relentless routine, a relentless loop where, despite the suffocating weight of depression, you muster the strength to haul yourself into work. 
The struggle is an unspoken battle, fought in the silent recesses of your soul, and each morning becomes a victory against the persistent darkness that threatens to engulf your spirit.
You maintain a lifeline to your friends, weaving a narrative of your somber mood and emotional tumult, acutely aware of the significance of vocalizing your feelings rather than succumbing to the perilous grip of silent suffering.
Recent conversations with your friends have taken an unexpected turn, steering into the realm of your dating life or, more accurately, its conspicuous absence. 
Their fervent advocacy for you to reenter the world of romance echoes in your ears, their well-intentioned pleas urging you to cross paths with someone great and amazing. 
However, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of uncertainty, unsure if you're ready to navigate the labyrinth of love once more. 
Despite your reservations, you indulge them, allowing their words to wash over you like a waterfall of unsolicited advice, all the while steadfast in your understanding that a man is not a prerequisite for happiness or the completeness of your life—you've long recognized your ability to stand firm and flourish on your own terms.
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An entire season has unfurled its tapestry, and while the vast void persists within the caverns of your heart, there's a subtle transformation underway. Amidst the lingering shadows, a sliver of the sun's warm rays threads its way through, gently illuminating the emptiness. 
The caress of warm weather and sunlight manages to coax a faint lift in your mood, a subtle thawing of the emotional frost. 
Yet, amidst the burgeoning warmth, there's a yearning for the crispness of cold, the kind that invites the comfort of wool sweaters and socks, beckoning a desire to cocoon on the couch and lose yourself in the embrace of solitude.
After withstanding the relentless onslaught of your friends' persistent prodding into the realm of your love life, you've yielded to the chorus of their well-meaning badgering. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you've made the bold decision to reenter the intricate dance of the dating game.
The prospect of discovering 'the one' remains shrouded in uncertainty, a delicate balance between the promise of profound connection and the potential peril of heartache from those who might not treat you right. 
However, the ambiguity of the journey doesn't deter your resolve. To remain passive is to forfeit the chance at something extraordinary. 
The echoes of Iseul and the silent encouragement from your departed parents reverberate, urging you to embrace life with all its intricate hues. Their unwritten wish for your happiness becomes the compass guiding your path, compelling you to take the plunge and give it your all.
You yearn for a life where the pursuit of happiness isn't punctuated by the haunting inevitability of departures and loss. You grasp the harsh truth that people leaving or departing through death is an inescapable facet of existence, a relentless current in the river of life. 
Yet, the recurring tide of sorrow that washes over you each time someone departs feels burdensome, a weight that anchors your spirit. It would be a cherished reprieve if the ebb and flow of life's transitions didn't carry with it a relentless undertow that threatens to drag you down each time.
Your dating escapades have unfolded like a series of misadventures, each rendezvous more perplexing than the last. 
One suitor wielded an aggressive tone that eclipsed any potential connection, while another was so absorbed in self-interest that your voice seemed but an echo in the conversation. Then there was the one who sought solace in your company to mend a broken heart, an unwitting participant in their quest for emotional repair.
With every disappointing encounter, your hopes wane like the dying embers of a once-bright flame. Yet, undeterred, you persist in the pursuit of connection, a resilient soul navigating the unpredictable seas of dating with unwavering determination.
Amidst the tumultuous sea of advice from your friends, the suggestion of a night out clubbing emerges as a potential remedy to jumpstart your dating life—a one-night stand, a shortcut to reclaiming agency over your love life. 
However, the proposition fails to align with the essence of who you are. The neon-lit allure of the club scene doesn't resonate with your soul, and the idea of a fleeting encounter doesn't hold the promise you seek. 
Nonetheless, you find yourself engulfed in a pulsating sea of sound, the music in the club roaring, the bass reverberating through the floor and into your bones. 
The atmosphere is a maelstrom of heat and sweat, a suffocating embrace that intensifies your regret for being there. 
Yuna, exuding an air of confidence, takes charge and orders a round of drinks for the group. Meanwhile, Nari's eyes scan the lively chaos of the club, a vigilant matchmaker on a mission to uncover potential matches for you.
Her finger extends with a pointed certainty toward a mysterious figure—a dark-haired man sporting a sleeveless shirt, the canvas of his arm adorned with an intricate tattoo sleeve. His dark eyes, scanning the crowded expanse of the club, carry an enigmatic intensity, hinting at a captivating allure that goes beyond the surface.
Your laughter carries a blend of amusement and skepticism as you dismissively remark, “Nah, he's giving off major fuckboy vibes.”
Amidst the cacophony of pounding music in the club, Nari practically shouts in your face, her words punctuating the beat as she insists, “Maybe that's exactly what you need!” 
The intensity of her proclamation, a fervent plea for spontaneity, reverberates in the air, a challenge thrown into the whirlwind of the night's possibilities.
You shake your head, a firm yet polite rejection lingering on your lips, “No, thank you.” 
Just as the tension subsides, Yuna appears with a tray of drinks, a timely distraction. Gratefully, you accept your drink, savoring the sweet and sour concoction that dances across your palate, momentarily providing respite from the charged atmosphere of the club.
The night unfolds in a rhythm of measured indulgence—a few drinks to chase a gentle buzz, steering clear of the edge of intoxication. Your gaze scans the crowd in search of potential matches, but amidst the pulsating lights and swirling music, none captures the elusive spark that ignites a genuine interest.
As the night deepens and the rhythm of the club starts to fade, you bid farewell to your friends, the weight of the evening settling in your bones. 
Stepping out into the nocturnal air, you're greeted by the relentless cascade of rain, a torrential downpour that catches you off guard. Damn it, you realize, a surge of annoyance coursing through you, you didn't bring an umbrella.
Embracing a sudden burst of defiance, you make a split-second decision, a resolute ‘fuck it’ echoing in your mind. 
Stepping onto the sidewalk without the shelter of an umbrella, you surrender to the unrelenting rain. In mere moments, your hair clings to your skin, and your clothes succumb to the downpour.
As you navigate the labyrinth of alleys and pass by numerous apartments, a peculiar low noise infiltrates the ambient hum of the rain. What is that sound? 
It's a subtle yet persistent calling that arrests your movements, compelling you to strain your senses in an attempt to decipher its origin. 
It's not just your slightly tipsy mind, is it, playing tricks on you? 
The cadence of the noise feels like a desperate plea, an ethereal call for help that beckons you into a mysterious dance between reality and the unknown.
Undeterred by the absence of street lamps, you navigate a shadowy alleyway nestled between looming apartment complexes. The darkness cloaks the path ahead, but you press on, an intrepid explorer drawn to the mystery that lies beyond the veil of obscurity. 
As you draw nearer, the enigmatic noise crescendos in intensity, a haunting melody that pierces the quiet of the alley. 
Your steps quicken, and with each stride, the source becomes clearer. Could it be emanating from the depths of the dumpster?
A sense of déjà vu wraps around you, as if this eerie scene has been lifted from a cinematic reel. The dilemma tugs at your curiosity, tempting you to peer into the abyss of the dumpster, a choice that hangs in the balance. 
Yet, before you make a decision, a glimmer of relief washes over you. 
Nestled snugly beside the dumpster, a small ball of fur captivates your attention, its presence a stark contrast to the ominous shadows. 
A silhouette emerges from the darkness, and as you inch closer, the mystery unfolds into a shivering, meowing figure—a black cat. 
The frailness of the tiny creature tugs at your heartstrings, and you find yourself hunching down, extending a tentative invitation with soft calls, coaxing the small, ebony bundle to bridge the gap between its vulnerability and your outstretched hand.
The black cat fixes its gaze upon you, eyes mirroring a blend of uncertainty and wariness, as if it's attempting to decipher the intentions behind your outstretched hand. 
The black cat stirs from its initial hesitation, uttering plaintive meows that seem to echo its distress. As it rises, the stark reality becomes evident—malnourished and shrouded in fear, it moves tentatively towards you. Each step seems to echo a history of abandonment and struggle. With aching slowness, the feline inches closer, navigating the wet ground with trepidation. 
Softly, you beckon the malnourished feline closer, the words “Come here, you poor thing” carrying an invitation laced with compassion. 
As the tiny creature inches nearer, its pitch-black eyes become an intense focal point, a gaze that transcends the physical realm, peering into the depths of your soul. In that poignant exchange, a silent pact forms—an unspoken promise of comfort and understanding between two beings, each seeking solace in the other's company.
As the fragile black cat draws near, an echo from your past resurfaces—the cautionary words of your mother reverberating in your mind. ‘Black cats bring omen and death,’ her voice, etched in childhood memories, had warned. 
Yet, confronted with the stark vulnerability of this shivering, lost creature in the cold summer rain, you find your resolve tested. 
Against the weight of your mother's superstitions, compassion prevails, and you make a conscious decision to offer refuge. You haven’t got anything else to lose, but yourself.
The cat's purrs resonate in the quiet alley, a melodic response to the tentative connection forming between you. Meows become a symphony of trust as it finally caresses your hand, a delicate dance of vulnerability. 
With a newfound intimacy, it leans into your touch, climbing up your arm to find refuge in your lap. Despite your jacket's damp embrace, you pull the shivering creature closer, enfolding it tightly against your chest.
“I’ll take you home and get you some food.”
Rising from the damp alley, you cradle the tiny black cat in your arms, an intimate embrace that transcends the physicality of the moment. As you navigate the journey home, each step becomes a testament to the newfound connection—its fragile heartbeat resonating against your chest.
As you finally reach the sanctuary of your home, both you and the shivering cat are thoroughly drenched from the relentless rain. 
With a twist of the key, you unlock the door to your small apartment, ushering in a breath of warmth that contrasts sharply with the damp chill outside. 
In a choreography of relief, you kick off your sodden shoes, the cat nestled at your feet. Unburdened by the weight of the rain-soaked coat, you hang it on the rack, a visual symbol of the transition from the stormy world outside to the comforting refuge within the four walls of your home.
“I'll find you a towel and dry you off,” you promise to the cat, your words a tender reassurance before your feet. With a sense of urgency, you hasten to the bathroom, a quest for a towel becoming a mission to provide comfort to your newfound companion.
As you return, traces of wet footprints mark the path from the entryway to your living room, leading to the sight of the cat perched regally on your couch. 
The unexpected image elicits a sense of awe within you, a silent marvel at the fortuitous encounter that has unfolded. With the fluffy towel in hand, you join the tiny creature on the couch.
With gentle strokes, you tenderly dry the cat with the fluffy towel, the rhythmic purrs and meows resonating like a melody of gratitude. 
In this intimate act of care, a bond forms between you and the feline, its response a testament to the shared understanding that has quietly blossomed. 
The dampness of the storm may linger outside, but within the confines of your home, a warmth permeates, forged through the simple yet profound act of offering comfort to a fragile soul.
Persistently, the cat continues its chorus of meows, its nearly obsidian eyes fixed on you with an intensity that transcends mere feline curiosity. In the silent exchange, a profound question lingers in the air—what does it want? 
The gaze carries an almost pleading quality, an unspoken plea that invites you to unravel the mysteries hidden within those enigmatic eyes, and in doing so, embark on a journey of connection and understanding with this small, mysterious soul.
A revelation flickers in your mind like a sudden burst of light—food! 
The realization washes over you, and a spark of understanding illuminates the unspoken hunger behind those pleading eyes. “You're starving, ain't ya?” you murmur, the words a bridge between the two of you, an acknowledgment of shared needs and the beginning of a silent commitment to provide not just shelter but sustenance to this small, hungry soul.
In a hurried dance between care and necessity, you dart into the kitchen, swinging open the fridge door to unleash a blast of cold air. 
The realization that your wet clothes might lead to an impending cold nudges at you, urging a brief pause for self-care. As you contemplate changing into dry attire, the cat, now a nimble companion, weaves around your feet, a symphony of meows echoing its anticipation of the impending feast.
As your gaze sweeps across the contents of the fridge, a flurry of questions dance in your mind—what do cats like? 
In a moment of culinary improvisation, you spot the remnants of yesterday's fish. A hopeful assumption takes hold—cats like fish, right? 
Without a second thought, you snatch the container, crack it open, and ceremoniously place it on the floor. 
The cat descends upon the fish with a voracity that borders on desperation, consuming it in a whirlwind of seconds. 
You observe in silent fascination as the cat devours the fish with an almost primal fervor, each bite a testament to the depth of its hunger.
As the cat lifts its gaze, those dark, fond eyes fixate on you, a silent expression of gratitude that transcends words, forging a connection that lingers in the air like the sweet aftertaste of an unexpected bond.
You retrieve a bowl, fill it with water, and place it on the floor. The cat, having satisfied its hunger, wastes no time. It immediately dips its tongue into the water, each lap a testament to the thirst that had accompanied its hunger. 
In the quiet aftermath of the cat's meal, you find yourself engaged in a one-sided conversation. While it laps up the water, you speak to it with a hint of longing, as if expecting the feline to reveal its name with a mere glance. “I don't know what your name is…” you muse aloud, your words hanging in the air like a silent plea for connection. 
In the exchange, a profound yearning takes root—a desire not just to care for this creature but to unravel the mystery that shrouds it, beginning with the revelation of a name.
Hmm... A whimsical idea takes shape in your mind, and with a voice full of hope, you share your musings with the feline companion. “I don't know, maybe I'll give you one!” you exclaim, the words tinged with the excitement of a newfound connection.
Testing the waters, you propose a couple of names with a hopeful lilt in your voice. “Shadow?” you venture, eyes fixated on the cat, seeking any flicker of recognition. 
Yet, met with a stoic demeanor, you playfully offer another option, “Licorice?” 
A soft chuckle escapes your lips, but the cat remains unfazed, engrossed in its culinary pursuits. 
Embracing a sudden surge of inspiration, you think of a name that dances on the edges of whimsy and mischief. “You look like a 'Loki,' like a God of Mischief!” The words tumble out with a playful chuckle, a nod to the elusive charm that shrouds the feline. 
To your surprise, the cat interrupts its feast, casting what seems like a dumbfounded expression your way. 
A moment of shared acknowledgment hangs in the air before the cat resumes its meal, leaving you to wonder if, in that fleeting pause, you've glimpsed the spark of recognition in its enigmatic eyes.
An impromptu burst of enthusiasm seizes you, and with an abrupt yell, you christen the cat in a moment of whimsy. “Kitten!” 
The exclamation is so sudden that it startles the cat, prompting a small leap in surprise. “That's your name. You're so small, like a little kitten,” you playfully jest, mimicking the affectionate cooing one might give to a baby. 
In the imaginary realm where cats understand human whims, you half-expect a hypothetical eye-roll, as if the creature were a miniature human indulging in the theatrics of a quirky naming ceremony.
In the wake of your spontaneous naming ceremony, Kitten darts away, a streak of fur and energy leaving you in its playful wake. A fleeting attempt to follow its swift movements reveals the futility of keeping pace with this agile companion.
An earnest plea escapes your lips, “No, don't run away, Kitten!” A plea that halts not far from your bedroom, where a sudden idea takes root. “We're going to bed, and you can even sleep in my bed.” The promise hangs in the air, an invitation that sparks the cat's curiosity. 
Without hesitation, Kitten races back to you, weaving through your legs and darting into the bedroom. It watches itself in the mirror in front of your bed, before it in a graceful leap, lands on the bed, transforming this impromptu offer into a shared moment of warmth and companionship.
A soft chuckle escapes you as Kitten, with a graceful twirl, transforms into a snug, fluffy black ball. It settles onto the bed, a picture of contentment and trust, the rhythmic rise and fall of its breathing echoing in the room. 
In the sanctuary of your bathroom, the day's residue fades away as you delicately remove stained makeup and indulge in your nightly skincare rituals. 
With a sense of quiet reverence, you return to the bedroom, mindful not to disrupt Kitten's serene repose. Nestled in bed, you prop yourself up, the rhythmic routine a prelude to the tranquility that envelops the room. 
As you surrender to the embrace of sleep, the ethereal presence of the black cat becomes a silent companion in the journey between waking and dreams, a guardian of the night's secrets.
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In the intimate company of Kitten, you find solace in the honesty of your own reflection. “He wasn't really for me, Kitten. I don't know why I keep going on these dates. They amount to nothing.” A sigh punctuates your admission, a subtle echo of the unspoken search for connection that seems elusive in the realm of human encounters. 
As you delve into a shared meal with your newfound family member – Kitten, you stuff your face with delicious food in an attempt to keep your minds off your failing romantic life.
Kitten responds to your words with a series of gentle meows, a seemingly agreeable chorus that resonates in the room. 
Over the past few days, he has transformed into an impeccable listener, absorbing the tapestry of your thoughts with silent grace. 
In the quiet moments of your soliloquies, a yearning surfaces—a desire for more than a feline confidant, for words that echo back with advice and wisdom. 
Yet, despite this unfulfilled wish, Kitten's silent companionship remains a source of profound comfort, his presence weaving seamlessly into the fabric of your daily life, a testament to the unexpected connections that emerge in the quiet interludes of solitude.
Consistent as the rhythm of a heartbeat, Kitten is there, a patient sentinel awaiting your return from the hustle of the day. 
His presence becomes a cherished routine, an embodiment of comfort that transcends the mundanity of the everyday. 
As you settle in front of the television, Kitten gracefully claims his place in your lap, his form snuggling into the contours of your warmth. 
The scene unfolds like a silent ballet, a dance between two beings finding solace in the quietude of shared moments—a testament to the profound bond that has blossomed in the intimate spaces of your daily life.
On a day marked by what you'd deem a successful date, you decide to bring the guy home to your apartment. 
Kitten welcomes you with joyous meows, but the moment his obsidian eyes lock onto the man, a palpable shift occurs. 
The cat's once-hospitable demeanor morphs into a display of territorial assertion—he hisses, claws unsheathed, a guardian of the sacred space that has become both haven and sanctuary.
Unfazed by Kitten's display of discontent, the man follows you into the bedroom, a trail of unresolved tension lingering in the air. However, as you attempt to navigate the fragile balance between human relationships and the silent protests of your feline confidant, Kitten stalks in with palpable anger. 
Kitten's claws assert their protest on the man's pants, a silent plea echoing through the room. “I'm so sorry about my cat. He's not usually like this,” you hastily apologize, attempting to navigate the tumultuous intersection of human connection and feline territoriality. 
In the midst of the uneasy dance, the guy gently guides you down onto the bed, a kiss bridging the gap between words left unsaid and the uncharted landscapes of desire.
In an unforeseen twist, Kitten catapults onto the bed, launching a surprise attack on the poor man's back with unbridled ferocity. 
The room erupts with a sudden commotion as the guy yells in pain, Kitten swiftly retreating to the shelter of your startled embrace.
Frustration and pain tinge the man's voice as he vehemently declares, “Fuck this. This isn't worth it! Your cat is a fucking psycho!” 
The words hang in the air, a bitter testament to the unexpected turbulence that has unraveled in the wake of Kitten's feline intervention. 
With an angry storm, the man storms out of your bedroom and through the front door, leaving behind a charged atmosphere and the unresolved echoes of a connection unraveling at the seams.
As the storm of emotions settles, Kitten finds solace in your lap, a contented purr resonating through the room—a feline sovereign basking in the aftermath of his territorial triumph. 
Meanwhile, you remain seated, mouth agape, an image of stunned disbelief etched across your face. 
You address Kitten with a scolding tone, attempting to impart a sense of reprimand into the air. “You can't do that, Kitten!” you assert, a firmness in your voice attempting to breach the language barrier between human and feline.
Amidst the aftermath, a hesitant chuckle escapes your lips, a soft attempt to diffuse the tension that lingers in the air. “Also, you're gonna leave me single forever if you do that,” you jest, the words bearing the weight of both humor and a subtle unease. 
In the ambiguous space between laughter and contemplation, you grapple with the conflicting emotions stirred by Kitten's unexpected display of protectiveness—a complex blend of gratitude, amusement, and the uncharted territories of understanding the intricate dynamics of companionship with a creature whose language transcends the boundaries of words.
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A solitary figure with raven-black hair occupies a corner table in the cafe, his presence shrouded in an air of quiet mystery that tugs at the edges of your memory. 
Intrigued, you've stolen glances at him, an unspoken connection sparking curiosity within you. 
The man, seemingly lost in a world of words and sketches within the pages of his journal, emanates a strange familiarity that dances on the fringes of your consciousness. 
As he sips on his coffee, a poignant picture of solitude and anticipation, you can't help but wonder about the untold story woven into the fabric of his contemplative gaze. Perhaps he's a poet awaiting inspiration, or maybe, like you, he's caught in the delicate dance of anticipation, waiting for someone who may never arrive.
His long, pitch-black hair cascades in soft curls, framing a face adorned with dark, expressive eyes. The fair and creamy complexion of his skin, paired with lips tinged with the aftermath of fervent bites, adds an air of mystery to his features. His hands, adorned with prominent veins, move with purpose across the pages of his journal, translating the thoughts within his mind into tangible strokes. Clad in a black leather biker jacket and ripped jeans, he emanates a ‘bad boy’ allure that might not align with your usual preferences, yet there's an undeniable handsomeness that transcends the surface. As you observe, the truth unfolds—looks can be deceiving, you know.
As the hands of the clock inch towards the conclusion of your shift, you notice the enigmatic man with the pitch-black hair has vanished, leaving only the echo of his presence lingering in the now vacant corner. 
The air is charged with the unspoken allure of an encounter that slipped through the fingers of time. 
Packing up your belongings, you carry the weight of curiosity with you as you embark on the journey home, where the enigmatic enigma of Kitten awaits.
Kitten, sensing your return, greets you with a symphony of affectionate meows. Your hand instinctively reaches out, weaving a tapestry of gentle pats and strokes, an unspoken language shared between human and feline. With a contented sigh escaping your lips, you murmur, “Happy to be home.”
In the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, you find yourself recounting the day's enigmatic encounter to Kitten, the words lingering in the air like a shared secret between kindred spirits. “I saw the loneliest guy today, Kitten. It felt like he was waiting for someone, but destiny stood him up.” 
As the words escape your lips, Kitten's attentive gaze reflects an unspoken understanding, a silent pact shared between you and your feline confidant.
Your fingers delicately dance behind Kitten's ears, a gesture that elicits a symphony of contented purrs, resonating within the confines of your quiet haven. 
The next day unfolds like a familiar scene, the cafe's atmosphere steeped in the aroma of coffee and the rustle of pages turning. 
Once again, the mysterious black-haired man graces the corner with his presence, accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee and the enigmatic dance of his pen across the pages of his journal. 
Your curiosity, a flame flickering in the recesses of your thoughts, draws you to the edge of decision — to approach and unravel the mysteries that cloak him. Yet, an invisible barrier holds you back, a silent pact with yourself not to disturb the solitary poet whose verses remain unread. 
The elusive man, shrouded in the mystery of unread words, remains a realm unexplored, as each coffee order becomes a bridge guarded by your coworker.
As the day unfolds, the mysterious man persists in his corner, a captivating enigma that draws your attention like a moth to a flame. 
The rhythmic ballet of your daily routine continues, an intricate dance of serving customers while stealing glances in his direction. 
In the quiet recesses of your mind, a burning question simmers – who could possibly stand up this captivating soul, adorned with the allure of dark hair and an air of mystery that commands the room?
After days of observing the silent saga of the man and his solitude, a week of unbroken routine, your empathy swells like a rising tide. 
A magnetic force compels you to bridge the distance, and against the backdrop of the cafe's ambient hum, your feet, as if guided by an invisible hand, carry you to the table where he patiently awaits an absent companion. 
With a mix of curiosity and compassion, you settle into the chair opposite him, breaking the invisible barrier that held you apart.
As your presence disrupts the solitude he had grown accustomed to, his intense gaze, reminiscent of a predatory feline, lifts from the pages of his journal to meet your own. The sharpness in his eyes feels like a calculated assessment, causing a subtle tremor to course through you. You gulp.
“Hi,” you start, the uncertainty palpable in your voice. Attempting to mask your nervousness, your fingers run through your hair, a feeble defense against the anxious tide. 
“I’ve noticed you here alone for the past few days, and I just—” Your words stumble, caught in the rush, but before you can continue, he interjects with a voice sharp as a blade, his eyes piercing through you like he can unravel your deepest secrets. 
“Are you stalking me?” The question hangs in the air, and his gaze feels like an X-ray, laying bare your darkest thoughts. Your body seizes, frozen in the penetrating gaze that seems to pry into the very recesses of your soul.
Why does his voice carry a hint of familiarity, resonating through the air like an echo from another time?
His very presence, too, feels like a distant memory, even though you're certain you hadn't laid eyes on him before he entered the cafe a week ago. 
A subtle smirk plays on his lips, a realization dawning on you that he's asked a question. As you attempt to gather your thoughts, you find yourself choking on air, grappling to string together a coherent response.
“I'm kidding. I know you work here,” he chuckles, and you release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Your shoulders ease, and in an instant, you respond with a soft smile, a subtle connection forming in that shared moment of relief.
“Are you waiting for someone?” you inquire, and a smile graces his face, revealing gleaming white teeth and pink gums. He looks cute. Dangerously so.
“Nah. She just arrived.” Your eyes light up. Finally, his date has shown up! You start to rise from your chair, eager to make space for his companion. He looks up at you, a curious expression on his face, and asks, “What are you doing?”
“Making room for your date?” you quip, utterly dumbfounded.
“Date?” he asks with a raised brow. You nod, adding, “The one you’ve been waiting for.”
“But I’m already looking at her.” Your mouth hangs wide open; did you just hear him right? Is this a pickup line? And why on earth is it working?
You chuckle nervously, the sound a stark contrast to his calm and cool demeanor.
You ease back into your chair, and the conversation flows so naturally that you feel like you've known him for years.
Upon returning home, you excitedly share the details of your day with Kitten, recounting the encounter with the handsome man with his curly hair and piercing eyes. While you stroke Kitten and he purrs contentedly, you express your perplexity about the strange sense of familiarity the man emanated, despite being certain you've never met him before.
Kitten twirls and purrs in your lap, savoring the gentle strokes as you recline on your couch.
“I can't help but wonder if he'll be there again tomorrow,” you muse, your voice a soft melody to the room, accompanied by Kitten's content purrs.
He returned to the cafe the next day, and the next and the next turned into weeks.
He dedicates every moment to his secluded corner, and during your breaks you find solace in the cadence of your conversations. His name, Yoongi, resonates with the soulful poems that he breathes life into with his well-worn guitar. You’ve never heard him play or sing, but you look forward to the day you might.
His question pierces through the hum of the café, abruptly pulling you from your reverie as you delicately nibble on your muffin. “Are you heading home for the summer break?” he inquires, the unexpected interruption leaving a sweet and curious taste lingering on your lips.
As his question hangs in the air, you lock eyes with him, realizing he might not grasp the gravity of his inquiry. 
There's a momentary sag in your shoulders, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lies beneath. Gathering the strength to respond, you share a piece of your past, “No. My parents died when I was young.”
Regret casts a shadow over his striking features in an instant, and you witness a profound apology escaping from his lips.
“I'm holding up okay. It's a tale from a while back. A car accident took my parents, leaving just my little sister and me as survivors,” you share, a poignant sadness threading through your words, your eyes misting with the memories.
He tenderly offers words of comfort, a soothing balm for your weary soul, and you allow him to lift the heaviness that clings to your spirit.
You beam at him, grateful for the warmth that radiates from his kind soul, a presence you've grown to cherish over the past few months. “And you, any exciting plans for the summer?”
“I might have to go home to my parents for a bit, but I’m not sure yet,” he shares, absentmindedly running his fingers through his soft black locks, a gesture that makes you yearn for the touch of your own hand in that sea of darkness.
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“I'm telling you, bitch!” Nari slaps Yuna's thigh, a bit too enthusiastically, causing her to flinch in pain, as Nari adds with a sly grin, “She's head over heels in loooove.”
You roll your eyes at both of them, their playful banter fading into background noise as you savor the drink that Yuna ordered for you.
You've navigated downtown, finding refuge in a cozy establishment where the ambient tunes, board games, and drinks create the perfect backdrop for reconnecting with your friends.
“I swear, I'm not head over heels or anything,” you insist, batting away their teasing with a playful smirk, all the while sipping on the drink that Yuna ordered for you.
“He’s just nice,” you add with a soft smile.
“You sure do talk about him a lot,” Yuna adds in a chuckle as she rubs her thigh.
“Well, he's an interesting person, and the conversations just flow,” you reply with a grin, downplaying the significance, but your friends exchange knowing glances that hint at their suspicions.
Nari takes a sip of her drink, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Speaking of crushes, your little companion, what's his name again? Kitten?”
You passionately defend Kitten, your eyes sparkling with affection. “Don't bring Kitten into this! I adore him,” you gush, wearing your love for the little furball as a badge of honor.
Nari shares her romantic wisdom, her words dripping with affection. “Cats are fine companions, but you should find a man who can bring you warmth and happiness,” she says, her eyes practically turning into hearts if this were a cartoon. You can't help but chuckle at her earnest advice.
Yuna playfully nudges your shoulder and suggests, “You should totally ask out this Yoongi guy. I mean, come on, you practically light up every time you talk about him.”
You pause, a moment of uncertainty hanging in the air. “Maybe,” you finally reply, your words carrying the weight of contemplation.
Nari's enthusiasm rings in your ears, a bit too loud in the cozy ambiance. “You don't have anything to lose, only more to gain!” she almost shouts, her excitement reaching its peak. Her words, fueled by a touch of intoxication, linger in the air, leaving you to ponder as you consider whether it's time to call it a night.
“Okay. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”
As you step into your apartment, Kitten greets you with an extra dose of affection, weaving himself between your legs and trailing you with heightened attention. Tonight, he appears more attuned to your every move, purring and twirling around your legs with an endearing neediness. Settling down, you can't resist his charms and find yourself seated, offering gentle strokes to his fur-covered frame.
As you wrap up your nightly routine and slip into your comfortable pajamas, you turn to Kitten with a question that has become a familiar part of your routine. 
“I'm heading to bed, Kitten. You joining?” Kitten promptly leaps onto the bed, taking his customary place by your side. 
However, tonight, there's a lingering sense of affection in his actions. He showers you with gentle licks, a gesture that brings a smile to your face. As sleep gradually claims you, your dreams are adorned with vivid images of obsidian eyes and a dark, star-studded sky.
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As you awaken from a restful sleep, the absence of Kitten by your side strikes you like a sudden jolt. 
Your initial response is to sit up, calling out for him, yet there's only silence in return. 
The quietness, once comforting, now carries an eerie weight as you realize the profound impact Kitten has had on your daily life. 
The room feels emptier, and a sense of unease settles in, disrupting the peace you've grown accustomed to.
A wave of melancholy washes over you, creating a heavy ache in your chest as you scan the familiar corners of your apartment, desperately searching for any sign of Kitten. 
The unanswered questions pile up in your mind, a torrent of worries threatening to drown you. Did he, too, decide to leave, slipping away like others from your life? 
The uncertainty gnaws at you, pushing you to venture into the quiet streets, hoping against hope to uncover the fate of your feline companion. Each step is a mix of trepidation and determination, a journey into the unknown to retrieve the missing piece of your daily existence.
A sense of desperation tightens its grip as you scour every nook and cranny, but Kitten remains elusive, leaving you with the bitter taste of vanishing hope. 
The echoes of your unanswered calls hang in the air, blending with the growing unease that clings to you like a shadow. The once familiar spaces now feel like a maze, and you can't shake the sinking feeling that your luck is slipping away, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. The haunting question persists: where could he be, and what could have taken him from your side?
With a mixture of determination and trepidation, your feet instinctively carry you back to the cafe. 
The familiar chime announces your arrival, drawing the attention of your coworker, who casts a puzzled look your way. The early hour has caught them off guard, their raised eyebrow mirroring the questions that dance in your own mind.
As you scan the cozy confines of the cafe, a subtle panic begins to creep through your veins. The absence of Yoongi creates an uneasy knot in your stomach, but you reassure yourself, clinging to the hope that he might stroll in later, as he often does.
The hours drag on, each passing moment heightening the anticipation. As the door chimes with every newcomer, a flicker of hope dances in your chest, only to be extinguished when it's not Yoongi. 
The day becomes a symphony of disappointment, and the subtle hope you clung to begins to dissipate, slipping through your fingers like elusive grains of sand. The cafe, once a haven of warmth and comfort, now feels eerily empty without the presence of his familiar silhouette.
As your shift draws to a close, a heavy sadness settles over you like a thick fog. The absence of Yoongi, who always brought a touch of warmth to the cafe, leaves an emptiness that echoes through the familiar surroundings. The unanswered questions linger in your mind, and a nagging worry creeps in — what could have kept him away? 
The air is charged with uncertainty, and you can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him.
A sudden realization hits you like a wave, as you recall Yoongi mentioning the possibility of traveling to his parents for the summer break. 
The initial sting of disappointment transforms into a pang of concern. Questions swirl in your mind like a tempest – did he leave without saying goodbye? Why didn't he share his plans with you? 
The uncertainty gnaws at your thoughts, and you grapple with the unknown, desperately seeking solace in the memories of your time together.
A disquieting sensation twists in your stomach, an ominous premonition casting a shadow over your thoughts. The unease tightens its grip, leaving you with an unsettling sense that something may have befallen Yoongi. 
Your mind races through various scenarios, each more distressing than the last, as you grapple with the haunting uncertainty that looms over his absence.
Regret echoes through your thoughts like a haunting refrain. The absence of contact details with Yoongi leaves you grappling with the repercussions of a missed opportunity, a seemingly insignificant detail now carrying the weight of your uncertainty. 
A sense of loss and yearning wraps around you, intensifying the void created by the absence of a farewell. The realization dawns that in the midst of budding connection, you failed to secure a bridge to traverse the distance that now separates you.
Each step on the journey home feels like a weighted march, the heaviness of unspoken goodbyes sinking into your bones. 
Sorrow, like a relentless tide, floods your heart, consuming it with an ache that echoes through each footfall. Familiar pangs of longing claw at your chest, constricting breaths into fleeting gasps. 
It's as if the very air you breathe carries the weight of an unfinished story, leaving you to navigate the foggy terrain of uncertainty, the poignant residue of an incomplete connection lingering in the spaces between each step.
A tempest of thoughts unleashes in your mind, a whirlwind of self-doubt and abandonment. The notion that he, too, might have slipped away like others before him wraps around your heart, squeezing it in an unforgiving grip. The ache is palpable, resonating through every fiber of your being. It's an anguish that cuts deep, a symphony of hurt orchestrated by the haunting possibility that echoes in the chambers of your wounded heart.
In the intricate tapestry of your time knowing him, he wasn't just a passing figure; he had etched himself into the mosaic of your life, becoming a fragment that held the essence of friendship. 
You step into the sanctuary of your apartment, liberating your feet from the constraints of shoes, and collapse onto the couch, surrendering to its plush contours that cradle you in a cocoon of solace.
In the midst of trying to regain control of your racing breaths, a subtle vibration resonates from your pocket, drawing your attention like a lifeline. Retrieving your phone, you cast an intrigued glance at the illuminated screen, revealing an incoming call from Yuna.
With bated breath, you answer the call, the familiar cadence of Yuna's voice instantly arresting your senses. 
An unexpected wave of emotions surges through you, freezing you in the moment as her words weave a narrative you weren't prepared for.
The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air, a heartbreaking tremor in her voice as she struggles to regain composure. 
“Babe,” she utters, the tearful plea slicing through the silence like a dagger.
You can feel the gravity of the situation intensify as she reveals, “It's Nari,” the name echoing with a sense of foreboding that pierces through the air, leaving you breathless.
Dread hangs thick in the air as you muster the courage to ask, your voice trembling with fear and concern. “What about Nari?” 
The words escape your lips, each syllable a hesitant step into the unknown, and as you sit up on your couch, a sense of urgency grips you, rendering you more alert than ever before.
The weight of Yuna's words crashes over you like an unrelenting wave, drowning your senses.
“She's gone,” Yuna sobs, her cries echoing in your ears. 
A sudden chill grips your entire body, and the world around you blurs as your vision turns white. 
Tears well up, threatening to spill over, and an indescribable ache settles in the core of your being. It feels as if the ground beneath you has shifted, leaving you suspended in a surreal and devastating moment.
Your voice quivers as you manage to break through the numbness, the question escaping your lips like a fragile whisper. 
“How?” you repeat, the word catching in the tightness of your throat. Tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of an ocean, a torrential release of the overwhelming emotions within you. 
Your friend's voice wavers with sorrow as she delivers the painful revelation. “Apparently, she was sick and didn’t tell anybody…” 
Each word, heavy with the burden of the unspoken, echoes in the emptiness of your apartment.
The truth, a bitter pill to swallow, lingers in the air, and you find it hard to comprehend the reality of the situation. 
The walls of your sanctuary, once comforting, now press in on you, transforming your home into a claustrophobic cage of grief. The world outside seems to blur, and all that remains is the weight of disbelief settling on your shoulders.
The longing to share your grief with Yoongi intensifies, yet the barrier of not having his contact details becomes a painful obstacle. Your emotions, already tumultuous, now surge like a tempest within. 
Frustration and sorrow intermingle, a chaotic dance that you try to contain. 
As the weight of the news presses down on you, your nails unconsciously dig into your skin, seeking an outlet for the overwhelming emotions that threaten to consume you. The physical pain becomes a tangible manifestation of the emotional turmoil churning within.
The abruptness of Nari's illness and passing hits you like an unforeseen storm, leaving you grappling with disbelief. 
Memories of her last moments flash vividly, and you question the cruel twist of fate that snatched away someone seemingly healthy. The sounds of inconsolable sobbing echo in your ears, and only then do you realize that the mournful cries tearing through the air belong to you. 
“Are you alright?” Yuna asks you in sobs.
The weight of grief presses down on you, suffocating and relentless. 
As the tears stream down your face, each one carries a piece of the pain that now resides within you. 
“No,” you whisper, the word a feeble attempt to encapsulate the magnitude of your despair. 
Your body curls inwards, seeking solace in the fetal position, as if you could fold away the anguish. 
The phone lies beside you, a lifeline to Yuna's distant sobs, but it offers little comfort compared to the absent warmth of Kitten, whose presence could once bring solace to even the darkest moments.
The weight of Yuna's words hangs heavy in the air, a shroud of truth that you're forced to confront. “Babe, she had cancer and didn't want us to know… She wanted to live a happy life until the end,” 
Yuna sobs again, and though her intent is to offer solace, the revelation feels like a cascade of heavy stones on your already burdened heart. The bitter sweetness of her desire for a joyful life juxtaposed with the pain of her silent struggle adds another layer to the grief, leaving you to grapple with the complexities of Nari's hidden battles.
“Yuna…,” you cry, the anguish in your voice echoing the profound pain that seems to squeeze the very life out of your heart. 
“Why does everyone leave?” 
The question hangs in the air, more rhetorical than expectant, as if you're not seeking an answer from Yuna but grappling with the cruel patterns of departure that life has woven into the fabric of your existence. 
Each departure, like a thread pulled from the tapestry of your world, leaves an unraveled piece that never quite knits itself back together.
“I–, I don’t know,” she stammers through her tears, the weight of the unknown echoing in her voice, mirroring the uncertainty that now shrouds both of your lives.
“Promise we’ll be there for each other,” you declare, the weight of the words hanging in the air. It's a poignant plea, an acknowledgment of life's unpredictable twists. You understand that you can't ask for an eternity, but in this moment, you're determined to hold onto each other as tightly as time allows.
“Count on it,” she vows, her response flowing effortlessly, a testament to the unspoken bond between you two.
Despite the tightening in your throat, a glimmer of happiness sparks within you at the assurance she just gave.
Why must life be so fucking cruel, robbing you of everyone you hold dear?
An overwhelming urge to reconnect with your sister washes over you, a deep yearning fueled by the ache of prolonged silence between you.
“I want to call my sister,” you manage to say through your sobs, a desperate plea lacing your words. “Will you be alright, Yuna?” you ask, your concern breaking through the waves of grief that surround you both.
“Yeah. I mean, I'm fucking sad, but go ahead and call her. Can I come to your place tomorrow?” Yuna's voice carries a subtle plea, a shared understanding that neither of you wants to be alone in the midst of sorrow.
“Yeah, I'd love that,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of grief and the faint glimmer of gratitude for the companionship that awaits tomorrow. As you attempt to dry your tears with a throw blanket on the couch, the room feels emptier than ever, and the ache in your heart persists.
“See you tomorrow,” she says before the call ends. 
The hollowness in the room deepens, and you draw in a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on your phone. The background image captures a moment frozen in time, featuring you, Nari, and Yuna. 
God, the ache of missing her intensifies, and you can't shake the heaviness in your chest.
You tighten your grip on the phone, each tear that escapes your eyes a silent testament to the pain in your heart. Determination wells up as you locate your sister's number, fingers tracing the familiar digits, ready to bridge the gap that time and distance have carved between you.
The rhythmic ringing echoes through the emptiness of your apartment, each tone a reminder of the solitude that now envelops you. 
Anxiety gnaws at the edges of your thoughts as you anticipate the warmth of your sister's voice, a comfort you desperately need. Yet, the unanswered calls amplify the distance that separates you. With a heavy heart, you decide against leaving a message, the weight of unspoken words settling as you slump back onto the couch.
The sudden vibration of your phone startles you, and as you glance at the screen, the sight of your sister's name sparks a mixture of relief and anticipation. With a soft sniffle, you muster the strength to answer, “Hey, sis,” your voice laced with a blend of vulnerability and longing, reaching out across the digital expanse to bridge the emotional gap that separates you.
A chill courses through your body, rendering you motionless, as a deep, resonant voice resonates through the phone, catching you off guard.
“Hey,” his voice echoes through the phone, sending a shiver down your spine. 
Your trembling hand clutches the device, and you find yourself holding your breath, caught in the sudden intensity of the moment.
“I'm Detective Kim,” he introduces himself, his voice echoing through the line. It carries a calm demeanor, yet beneath its surface, you detect a subtle undertone of sadness, adding a mysterious depth to his words.
This can't be good, you murmur to yourself, the words barely escaping your lips as a chill courses through your veins, turning your blood to ice once again.
“Are you Jiho's sister?” The detective's voice remains steady and calm, but beneath the surface, you sense an undercurrent of gravity and anticipation.
“Yes,” you reply, your voice catching in a sob as you struggle to contain your tears. The ominous feeling intensifies, and you can't shake the sinking realization that a detective is the one answering your sister's phone. 
The air becomes heavy with uncertainty and fear.
“I'm deeply sorry to be the bearer of this news,” he begins with a sympathetic tone. 
You inhale sharply, bracing yourself for the impact of the words that follow.
“Your sister has passed away.” 
The world seems to shatter around you as the weight of his message settles in, leaving you breathless and heartbroken.
In that devastating moment, it feels as if the very foundation of your existence crumbles. 
Your body and soul plummet through a void, each passing second an agonizing countdown to the inevitable impact that will shatter you into a million irreparable pieces. 
The weight of grief bears down on you, and you're suspended in a free fall of despair. 
You become acutely aware of your breath, or the lack thereof, as if the air itself has turned into a suffocating force, triggering a torrent of violent inhalations, each one a desperate attempt to grasp onto a reality that has just slipped through your fingers.
A heavy silence envelops the room as the detective imparts the devastating truth, each word landing with the weight of a sledgehammer on your fragile emotions. “She was killed,” he utters, the somber notes in his tone resonating like a funeral dirge, casting a pall over the already dim reality of your world.
A suffocating wave of panic crashes over you, rendering your extremities numb and your breath caught in the grip of invisible hands. 
The room seems to close in as the detective's voice on the phone becomes a distant echo, his words lost in the disorienting whirlwind of your own mental tempest. It's a struggle to comprehend the standard condolences and procedures he details, as if reality itself is slipping through your trembling fingers.
Fucking hell. Is this hell?
In the wake of your parents' departure, you believed you had tasted the bitterest sorrow, yet today eclipses that agony without a shadow of a doubt.
You cast your phone aside on the couch, retreating to your bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. The anguish within erupts into violent sobs, an unrelenting torrent of tears flooding from your eyes, your entire frame convulsing with the weight of your grief.
You bury your face into the softness of the pillow, muffling the guttural scream that tears from your lungs. 
The sound, a primal release of anguish, reverberates within the confines of your room. Screw the neighbors; right now, the universe needs to bear witness to the rawness of your pain.
What the fuck is up with this world? Everyone around you dies! Everyone leaves!
You can’t take it anymore.
As you surrender to the torrents of grief, you hope that tears might offer solace, a fleeting relief that could pave the way for much-needed sleep. Yet, despite your desperate attempts, the embrace of slumber eludes you, leaving you trapped in the clutches of your sorrow-soaked thoughts.
In an impulsive surge, you opt for a nocturnal stroll. Snatching your jacket, you step into the silent night, the residue of dried tears blending seamlessly with the ones that refuse to cease. 
The moon above, a silent witness to the turmoil within, as your footsteps echo the rhythm of a heart weighed down by grief.
As you traverse the familiar streets of town, a magnetic pull guiding you to a cherished park, your sanctuary. Swiftly, you arrive and gingerly settle your weary frame onto a weathered bench, the cool night air offering a gentle caress to your battered soul.
As your gaze ascends to the enchanting tapestry of the night, a celestial dance of stars unfolds above. Tonight, the cosmic expanse seems to cradle the spirits of your sister and Nari, their luminous presence illuminating the vast darkness, a celestial reunion among the constellations.
As your tears persist, you fix your eyes upon the star-lit canvas above. Each gleaming star appears like a radiant jewel, casting an ethereal glow across the night. The beauty is undeniable, yet a poignant sadness lingers in your heart. 
Compelled by an unspoken yearning, you embark on the solemn task of counting the stars, each one a celestial tribute to the cherished souls who now adorn the heavens. 
The question echoes in your mind: Why?
Why do they blaze with such brilliance, akin to a dying star igniting in a final, magnificent burst before consuming everything in its cosmic embrace?
Your heart pounds violently against your ribcage, each beat echoing through your chest, and the air feels elusive, slipping away as if you're caught in a suffocating grip.
Life reveals its cruel nature, leaving you to grapple with the relentless question: Why does everyone leave? Why does the world around you crumble, stealing away those you hold dear?
An emptiness envelopes you, a void so profound it swallows every ounce of light. Darkness creeps in, and an irresistible urge emerges, coaxing you to surrender to its consuming embrace.
Perhaps it's time to release your grip on reality and join the celestial dance of those who have departed before you?
As the tears flow, perhaps this haunting void within will dissipate, bringing an end to the relentless ache that permeates every fiber of your being.
As the weight of loneliness bears down on you, an insidious desire to surrender, to slip into an eternal slumber, creeps through your shattered heart. The yearning for an endless sleep, where the fractured pieces of your soul find solace, consumes you. It's as if the very essence of your being is crumbling into irreparable fragments.
The fragments of your soul lie scattered, and the daunting question echoes in the hollow chambers of your despair—can you summon the strength to mend them once more, to piece together the shattered remnants of your being?
In the depths of your despair, a resolute realization surfaces — a quiet but unwavering knowing that, despite the relentless cruelty, you're not ready to surrender to the void. Life, as brutal as it may be, still holds threads of resilience within its intricate tapestry, and you find an ember of strength glowing amidst the shadows.
You divert your gaze downward, focusing on your hands nestled in your lap, choosing the tangible reality of your own existence over the distant allure of the star-studded night.
You harbor too many aspirations to surrender to despair. Your desires paint a vivid canvas of dreams: to find solace in the embrace of a kind-hearted partner, secure a fulfilling career, and relish the simple joys that life offers. Nari's silent battle with illness inspires you to embrace life with the same gusto, celebrating its moments without the need for validation.
In the midst of your fragmented existence, amidst the shattering pain, you crave it all. Yearning for the entirety of life's tapestry, even when it feels like it's unraveling. 
Despite life's cruelty, there's an undeniable allure in its intricate beauty, compelling you to seek solace and embrace the stunning contradictions that define your life.
Amidst the tear-stained path, your resolve solidifies. 
The decision made, you tread back to your apartment, the silent witness to your inner turmoil. Each step echoes with the weight of your emotions, a symphony of sorrow playing in the background. 
The sanctuary of your home beckons, promising the respite that only sleep, albeit restless, can bring. Sleep, like a long-lost friend, embraces you swiftly this time. Grateful for the solace it brings, you sink into its comforting arms, the reprieve from the turmoil of the day unfolding like a gentle lullaby.
The chime of the doorbell resonates through your apartment, and you're roused from the depths of sleep. Yuna, true to her word, stands on the other side, a beacon of support in your time of need.
Embraced in a tight hug, tears stream down both your faces, the shared weight of grief transforming the silent embrace into a powerful testament of mutual understanding and shared sorrow.
Seated on the couch, you engage in a heartfelt conversation about the unpredictable journey of life—its highs and lows. 
As a comforting silence settles between you, you reach for the remote and, with a flicker of distraction, decide on a mindless show. Wrapped in the embrace of shared grief, you find solace in the soft glow of the television, its images casting a gentle veil over your weary souls.
That night, Yuna stays over, a comforting presence that feels like a blessing in the midst of your overwhelming grief.
In the vulnerable hours of the night, you pour your heart out to Yuna. 
Tears flow freely as you share the ache of losing your sister, the void left by Kitten's absence, and the fear that Yoongi might be gone forever. In the solace of shared sorrow, you find a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows.
In the tender embrace of Yuna, you find solace. Her comforting presence is a lifeline in the storm of grief, holding you close as tears cascade. Though she's often your pillar of strength, tonight you yearn to reciprocate, to be the support she's always been for you. It's a quiet understanding, an unspoken pact between friends navigating the unpredictable currents of life.
In the quiet depths of the night, as you share your pain with Yuna, a flicker of determination ignites within you. You yearn not just for solace but to become the architect of your own joy. The realization dawns that your happiness lies in the unwritten chapters of your own journey, waiting to be explored and embraced. It's a moment of self-discovery, a commitment to forge your path to happiness, independent and resilient.
With the dawn of a new day, you decide to embark on a journey of self-discovery. 
Despite the weight of sorrow lingering in your chest, you resolve to savor life in all its transient splendor—embracing its beauty, acknowledging its ugliness, and reveling in every nuanced shade in between. 
Each moment becomes a canvas, and you are determined to paint it with the vibrant strokes of resilience and newfound appreciation.
With unwavering determination, you approached your boss at the café, advocating for a shift in your work hours. The goal? To rekindle the pursuit of knowledge, to step back into the world of academia and reignite the spark of astrophysics that had once fueled your passion. 
As the prospect of returning to school looms on the horizon, you recognize that the journey ahead is both a challenge and an opportunity—a chance to sculpt a future that you can genuinely be proud of, with each completed course marking a triumph over self-doubt and a step closer to the constellations of your dreams.
In the wake of that poignant night where two cherished souls departed, a few months have quietly slipped away. 
In a tender gesture of support, Yuna encourages you to embrace the prospect of love once more. Unlike before, hesitation has no place in your heart this time. 
With newfound courage, you step into the realm of dating, a journey tinged with both vulnerability and hope, as you navigate through the tapestry of emotions woven by the threads of the past and the promises of the future.
Life, a relentless journey, doesn't yield to simplicity, yet within its intricate folds, a subtle transformation occurs. It doesn't unravel swiftly, but with each passing day, it stitches together a mosaic of improvement, a gradual emergence from the shadows into the dappled light of a better tomorrow.
With each sunrise, a symphony of healing orchestrates within you, crescendoing into a melody that resonates louder, and you find solace in the fact that every dawn gifts you a version of yourself stronger and more resilient than the preceding day.
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As winter unfurls its icy embrace, you find solace in the familiar touch of your cherished wool coat, the cozy sanctuary of fluffy sweaters enveloping you like a hug from a dear friend, and the softness of warm socks cradling your every step. 
With a steaming cup of tea in hand, you dive into your studies, the brisk air outside contrasting with the warmth that courses through your veins.
Embarking on the journey to reclaim an unfinished chapter of your life, returning to the hallowed halls of academia, you revel in the triumphant echoes of resilience as you strive to complete the narrative you once set in motion.
As you tread homeward, the city draped in the melancholy hues of twilight, a fleeting silhouette dashes through the alleys, a phantom of darkness. 
For the briefest moment, memories of Kitten's playful escapades dance in your mind, a bittersweet symphony of nostalgia. 
A sigh, heavy with the weight of longing, escapes your lips, yet you trudge forward, navigating the shadows toward the warmth of your home.
In the intimate glow of your kitchen, you conjure a culinary masterpiece, a symphony of flavors orchestrated only for yourself. The sizzle of ingredients harmonizes with the rhythmic beat of your heart, a ritual of self-love that has become your refuge. 
Many a time, you've crafted these delectable creations, some shared in the company of fleeting dates whose presence, like autumn leaves, brushed briefly against the canvas of your life, but leaving no lasting imprint on your heart.
Midway through the mundane task of stowing away dishes, a subtle and mysterious hum reverberates through your abode, originating from the vicinity of your door.
The air is suddenly filled with a familiar, distant melody—a soft and rhythmic meowing that sends a jolt of excitement through you. 
Abandoning your chores, you rush to the door, fingers fumbling with the lock, and there, in all his glory, stands Kitten!
In a flurry of warmth and relief, you scoop up the cold, shivering Kitten into your embrace, quickly closing the door behind him. His meows echo gratitude, and a tender lick against your cheek seals the unspoken bond that time and distance failed to break.
In a million moments, you never fathomed seeing him again. Now, as he rests in your arms, elation courses through you like a celestial symphony, leaving you over the moon with sheer happiness.
His return is a testament to a bond beyond time, a friendship that defies the measure of days. It's not about the duration of his absence; it's about the joyous truth that he returned to you, stitching the fragments of your heart back together.
You rush to your cabinet, your heart pounding with both relief and excitement. Grabbing a can of cat food, you swiftly prepare a feast for Kitten, watching as he eagerly devours the meal, his hunger echoing the void his absence left in your life.
As you stroke Kitten's fur, you can't help but ponder on the mysteries that shroud his disappearance. His body, while not emaciated, carries the silent tales of his adventures. 
You yearn to unravel the chapters of his feline escapades, wishing you could converse with him, share the unspoken hardships, and assure him that he's found a forever home in the warmth of your embrace.
In a breathless whisper, you confess, “I've missed you so much,” the weight of your longing carried in the tenderness of your voice. 
A solitary tear, a testament to the emotions flooding your heart, escapes and dances down your cheek, mirroring the joy of a reunion long yearned for.
As the echoes of your affectionate words linger in the air, Kitten responds with a gentle purr, a harmonious melody that intertwines seamlessly with the sound of him relishing the meal.
Amidst the soft cadence of Kitten's purring, you find solace in the familiar presence of your feline companion. With a sigh, you decide to share the intricacies of the tumultuous journey you've undertaken since his absence. “So much has unfolded, Kitten,” you whisper, your voice a gentle reassurance, “a lot of shit, but also a lot of good.”
As Kitten finishes his meal, he responds with a symphony of content purrs, gracefully padding over to where you crouch. With a playful nudge against your legs, he seems to convey a silent acknowledgment, a shared moment of warmth and connection between old friends.
In the span of a few days, the void that Kitten's absence left has been filled with the comforting rhythm of his presence. You've poured out your heart to him, recounting the events and emotions that unfolded during his time away, as if catching him up on the chapters of your life. 
Kitten, with his attentive eyes and soothing purrs, seems to understand more than most, providing a silent anchor in the storm of your experiences.
As you sink into the soft embrace of your couch, a contented smile plays on your lips. With Kitten nestled beside you, you share a profound realization that has taken root in your heart: ‘I live, so I love.’ The words hang in the air, a testament to the resilience you've found in the face of life's unpredictable twists. The TV hums with background noise, but in that moment, the simple joy of companionship fills the room.
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In the quiet solitude of your apartment, you confide in Kitten, the loyal companion who has witnessed both your joys and sorrows. “I don't think he's coming back,” you murmur, a tinge of sadness lingering in your voice. As if attuned to your emotions, Kitten responds with a gentle meow, a feline reassurance that transcends words. 
In the rhythmic cadence of your words, a sense of vulnerability emerges. “I know, I know. I don't need a man in my life. I get that,” you confess, your voice carrying the weight of self-awareness.
The clinking of utensils against pots and pans provides a subtle percussion to your thoughts as you continue, “But Yoongi was special, you know? Like he just got me... and I just wish for him to be happy doing whatever he's doing.” The aroma of dinner fills the air, mingling with the unspoken sentiments swirling in the room.
As you delicately feed Kitten some steamed broccoli, the notion of reuniting with Yoongi lingers in the air. “If he comes back, you should meet him – I'll introduce you!” The words spill from your lips, carrying a hopeful melody.
As you reminisce about Yoongi, a fond smile plays on your lips. “He's such a wonderful person. And handsome? Oh, his hands,” you begin, tracing the air with your fingers as if you can feel the texture of his presence. Memories flood back, each detail etched in your mind like a cherished photograph. “Long fingers, veiny hands,” you murmur, the words infused with a hint of admiration that even surprises you. The love for this man reverberates in your voice, a quiet confession to the depths of your feelings.
Kitten's melodic meow serenades the room as he gracefully weaves between your feet, his tail coiling affectionately around your calves like a comforting embrace.
“If you meet him, please don’t claw his back out like you did with that other guy. Yoongi is nice.”
With a heavy heart, you confide in Kitten, the weight of your worry evident in the rhythmic tapping of the spatula against the sizzling vegetables. “It's been nearly half a year, and I can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him,” you murmur, the crackling sounds of the kitchen offering a somber backdrop to your uncertainty.
As the warmth of the meal envelops you and Kitten, you sit together, a silent companionship settling over the room. The simplicity of this moment strikes you, and a quiet realization unfolds – you love your life just as it is. 
In the shared silence, you feel a sense of wholeness, a testimony to the goodness found in life's simplicity. Though your heart may still ache at times, you've come to accept that, too, as a part of the beautiful complexity that makes life what it is.
You're keenly aware that time is the remedy for healing, a gentle but persistent force that gradually eases the ache until one day, the pain will be a distant echo of what it once was.
Your weary limbs protest against the demands of a full-time class schedule and cafe shifts, revealing the hidden challenges of your daily grind. Fatigue clings to you like a shadow, and an involuntary yawn escapes.
With a wearied sigh, you address Kitten, your loyal companion in fatigue. “Ah, Kitten, today's been a battle. I'm going to bed early today,” you murmur, dragging your exhausted body to the bathroom in a nightly ritual. 
Upon returning to your sanctuary, you find Kitten, already nestled in his customary spot, a comforting presence in the silent embrace of the night.
Sinking beneath the cozy duvet, you surrender to its tender embrace, the fabric cocooning you in a haven of softness. With a gentle pat, you acknowledge Kitten, “Thank you for being here,” you murmur before succumbing to the enchantment of dreamland.
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As consciousness tiptoes back into your awareness, the remnants of dreams linger like elusive whispers in your mind. Gently awakening, you open your eyes to find the absence of Kitten.
Your eyes widen in astonishment, and your body tenses as you absorb the scene unfolding before you—a man, peacefully lost in the realm of dreams. 
Your gaze follows the cascade of long, slightly curly, obsidian hair that drapes over his shoulders, tracing the contours of his creamy white skin. The play of morning light reveals a well-defined back, drawing your eyes down the elegant curve of his spine until they come to rest on a small, soft, plum-like ass. The realization hits you like a bolt— he's completely naked!
Why is your heart orchestrating a rapid symphony, each beat echoing in your ears like a thunderous drumroll? And what in the world is a naked stranger doing sprawled across your sheets as though he belongs there?
He slumbers in serene oblivion, emitting soft, melodic sighs that weave through the air, his chest gracefully ascending and descending in rhythmic dance with each tranquil breath.
Wait. 
He seems familiar.
A gasp escapes your lips as you take a closer look, and the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning – it's Yoongi! 
Shock and disbelief intertwine in your chest as you stare at his peaceful slumber.
Confusion and a hint of panic surge through you as your mind races with questions. 
Why is Yoongi in your bed, and why on earth is he naked?
How did Yoongi end up here, and where is Kitten?
A myriad of questions spins through your mind, a turbulent storm of curiosity. As you ponder the mysteries, you belatedly notice Yoongi stirring, gracefully shifting to lie on his back.
Your face burns with embarrassment as the realization dawns that he's still completely naked. Heat rises to your cheeks when his half-erect dick brushes against his stomach, prompting you to instinctively shield your eyes, flustered by the unexpected sight.
You wrestle with the dilemma of whether to disturb his serene slumber or let him continue resting peacefully. The soft innocence in his sleeping form makes the decision more challenging, and you lean towards allowing him to bask in the tranquility of his dreams undisturbed.
Gently, you drape the comforting warmth of your duvet over him, a shield against the chill of the room. With nimble movements, you extract yourself from the bed, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of his slumber.
Confusion seizes your thoughts as you grapple with the surreal scenario—Yoongi peacefully nestled in your bed. You wrack your brain, questioning every sober memory, desperately trying to unearth the missing pieces that would explain his presence.
You step into the kitchen, a fleeting sense of unease prickling at your skin as you scan the room for Kitten, but he remains elusive, leaving a trace of uncertainty in the air.
A twinge of melancholy washes over you as Kitten remains elusive, but you console yourself with the hope that he might return, his absence merely a temporary void in your otherwise comforting routine.
You embark on the simple yet intimate act of preparing two steaming cups of coffee—one for yourself and one for the unexpected visitor who occupies your bed.
You seize a handful of aromatic coffee beans from a vintage jar, letting the rich fragrance envelop you as you crush them under the steady hum of your machine. With precision, you measure out the perfect amount, combining it with hot water, allowing the concoction to brew into a comforting elixir.
While the coffee brews, your mind races with bewildering thoughts about Yoongi's unexpected presence in your bed. Puzzlement clouds your senses as you contemplate every conceivable scenario. 
Did he let himself in? Was there some mysterious way he could have gained access? 
With a touch of anxiety, you even venture to your front door, checking for any signs of unauthorized entry, only to find it securely locked, shrouded in an eerie silence.
You're grappling with the perplexing mystery of Yoongi's appearance in your bed, as if he materialized out of thin air, defying all logic and reason, leaving you spellbound by the inexplicable magic that seems to have woven its way into your ordinary reality.
In the quiet chaos of your thoughts, Yoongi's presence offers more questions than answers, an enigmatic puzzle that seems to defy the ordinary. The absence of Kitten only adds another layer of mystery to the unfolding scene. 
As the coffee machine dings, disrupting the contemplative silence, you're left grappling with the surreal conundrum before you, seeking clarity in the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
With the warmth of freshly brewed coffee in your hands, you reenter the bedroom to discover Yoongi, now alert, draped in your duvet, a captivating silhouette in the soft morning light.
Your greeting falters as you nervously stammer, “H–, Hi,” setting the two mugs of coffee on your nightstand. Yoongi's gaze, sharp and feline-like, traces your every move, creating a palpable tension in the air.
An unfamiliar nervousness grips you in his presence, an unusual sensation considering your usual ease around him. Perhaps it's the fact that he's naked, his gaze akin to a predator eyeing down its prey, intensifying the air with an unspoken tension.
“Hey,” finally breaking the silence, he greets you with a low grumble, scratching his head and letting out a lazy yawn.
His body exudes a captivating blend of softness and defined muscles, a captivating sight that—
His voice, laced with a teasing smirk, breaks the tension. “Can't stop staring at my dick, huh?”
Your throat tightens as you realize you've been caught in the act, silently observing him. Panic sets in – does he think you're a freak now? Fantastic.
You let out a nervous chuckle, deliberately shifting your gaze away from the obvious bulge in the duvet around his lap. “What are you doing here, Yoongi? And why are you naked?” you inquire, genuinely puzzled.
He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but feel a tinge of unease. “You haven't figured it out yet?” he teases, his words hanging in the air, leaving you in suspense.
You must resemble a walking question mark, because his chuckles only intensify. It's as if he finds your confusion amusing, and you're left standing there, desperate for answers in the midst of his enigmatic laughter.
In a soft tone laced with a smirk, he utters, “Kitten.”
Your gaze fixates on him, bewildered. Kitten? Is he referring to your cat?
Your jaw drops as he gracefully emerges from the bed, the duvet cascading off his frame. In his unabashed nudity, he strides toward you.
He inches closer, the proximity almost causing your lips to collide. A surge of warmth courses through you when he delicately tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.
“I’m a shapeshifter,” his revelation hangs in the air, the weight of it palpable, and as he locks eyes with you, searching for any flicker of discomfort, the truth settles. Before you can process it fully, he leans in, capturing your lips with an irresistible surge of passion.
His lips, soft and inviting, embark on a slow yet passionate dance, as if reuniting with a long-lost lover. Responding eagerly, you part your lips, allowing the kiss to deepen, and in that electrifying moment, your entire body succumbs to a sensation akin to melting butter.
You yield to his touch, molding your body to his as you sense the undeniable hardness of his arousal intimately pressing against your core.
Fuck.
In the midst of the heated moment, you draw back slightly to meet his gaze, the question hanging in the air, “So... you're Kitten?”
He offers no verbal response, just a low, affirmative hum, before plunging back into another intoxicating kiss.
You surrender to the sensation, feeling the firm grip of his hands on your waist as they journey upward beneath the fabric of your well-worn shirt.
His touch ignites a trail of sensations, tracing a path across your body, sending electric shivers as he lifts your shirt, gently grazing against the contours of your breasts.
Under the intensity of his gaze, your body responds, a flush of heat spreading through you, your nipples hardening in response. He emits a low, satisfied hum, as if relishing the effect he has on you.
Effortlessly, he works to level the playing field, swiftly undressing you as if in a race against time. With a purposeful tug, he eases your shorts down, a silent declaration of his desire.
Bare before him, clad only in a simple black panty adorned with delicate pink hearts, you can't shake the vulnerability coursing through you. A sudden urge to conceal yourself washes over, a reaction to the raw exposure in this intimate moment.
“Don't shy away, you're stunning,” Yoongi murmurs, his firm grip on your hips drawing you closer to his naked body. The undeniable heat of his arousal presses against your core, a tangible reminder of the desire smoldering between you.
Gratitude escapes your lips in a hushed tone, your cheeks tinged with a warm blush.
“Now, let’s get these off you, yeah?” with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he hooks his fingers inside the fabric of your panties, teasingly tugging them down. He pauses, seeking your consent, before sensually sliding them all the way down your legs.
As he slides your panties down, a sudden awareness of your arousal hits you, intensified by the cool rush of air against your heated core.
As they fall to the floor, Yoongi swiftly snatches up your panties, bringing them to his face to inhale the intoxicating essence of your arousal, his eyes darkening with desire.
Why does that look so utterly sinful, setting off a delicious rush of arousal coursing through your veins, leaving you breathless in its wake?
As the intoxicating scent of you envelops him, he murmurs, “Damn, you smell good,” his eyes dilating with an unmistakable hunger.
“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell.”
In the raw vulnerability of your shared nakedness, he guides your body back to the bed, gently laying you down, his presence a magnetic force, hovering above you.
He immerses himself in the expanse of your neck, a symphony of sensations unfolding – a delicate ballet of tender kisses, followed by the electrifying nip of his teeth grazing the juncture between your neck and shoulder.
You moan in unabashed pleasure, your hands instinctively seeking refuge on his chiseled pectorals, anchoring yourself amidst the rising waves of bliss.
Yoongi's gaze shifts to the mirror positioned strategically in front of your bed. “I've been meaning to ask,” he smirks, locking eyes with you, “why do you have a mirror in front of your bed?”
You squirm beneath him, breath catching.”'It's part of my wardrobe panels,” you admit, your voice a fragile melody.
He chuckles, a low and enticing sound, his smirk dancing on his lips. “I don't think that's why the whole panel is mirrors,” he says, sitting up slightly. His finger traces a slow, teasing path from your collarbones to your breasts, sending shivers of anticipation racing through your body.
He leans in, his breath sending a shiver down your spine, and in a deep, low voice, he murmurs into your ear, “You're a dirty one, aren't you?”
His degrading words make your breath hitch instantly, and you involuntarily clench your thighs together. As you shake your head in disagreement, he just smirks, unconvinced.
His chuckle resonates in the room as he asks, “Do you enjoy watching yourself in the mirrors?” Sitting up, he moves to the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark.
He gracefully steps out of the bed, casting a predatory gaze as he hovers over you, an aura of irresistible allure surrounding him.
With unwavering determination, he declares, “You're going to watch yourself in the mirror as I fuck your pussy with my tongue.” In a single, fluid motion, he seizes both of your thighs, pulling you to the foot of the bed, sending a thrilling jolt through your senses.
Despite the heat coursing through your entire being, a light chuckle escapes your lips. However, the mirth dissipates as you lock eyes with the intensity in Yoongi's dark gaze.
“Sit up,” his command echoes through the room, and as he gracefully lowers himself between your legs, a thrilling anticipation courses through the air.
From your elevated position, you admire the tousled chaos of his hair, a disheveled masterpiece that only enhances his captivating allure. His eyes gleam with a mischievous spark, a silent promise of the intensity that is about to unfold.
You seize his cheeks with urgency, your voice dripping with desire, a fervent plea escaping your lips, “Fuck. Yoongi, please eat me out.”
He moistens his lips with a teasing chuckle, descending eagerly towards your already soaked center.
He expertly widens the gap between your legs, creating a perfect haven for himself before delving into your pussy with fervent devotion.
With a tantalizing finesse, he starts with a subtle stroke of his tongue along your folds, gradually ascending to the apex of your clit, eliciting a fervent moan that echoes in the room.
As waves of pleasure cascade through you, your fingers instinctively entwine in his tousled locks, gently pulling as he skillfully devotes his attention to the exquisite dance of his tongue and lips on your pulsating core.
Gasping for breath, your anticipation mounts, every nerve tingling with pleasure, as Yoongi's rhythmic strokes across your intimate folds propel you toward a climax, your toes curling in ecstasy.
Pausing momentarily, he murmurs in appreciation, “You taste even better than you smell, Kitten,” his words sending a shiver down your spine.
You're on the verge of asking him about the nickname ‘Kitten,’ but his tongue explores your folds, leaving you breathless and unable to form words.
Your question dissolves in the heat of the moment, the building climax taking center stage as you lose yourself in the pursuit of pleasure.
Lost in the waves of ecstasy, you can't resist the urge to surrender, closing your eyes as Yoongi works his magic with undeniable expertise.
“No, no, no. Look at yourself in the mirror, Kitten.”
“Why do—” before you can finish your question, it fades away on your tongue as Yoongi plunges back into pleasuring your core with a renewed intensity, leaving your thoughts swallowed by the whirlwind of sensations.
As you glance at the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your own blissful expression, framed by Yoongi's tousled black hair nestled between your thighs. The sight is nothing short of breathtaking, a sight of pleasure that leaves you utterly captivated.
The provocative scene unfolding in the mirror intensifies your arousal, your breath hitching in tandem with the escalating desire pulsating through your veins.
“Yoongi, I’m—” your plea catches in your throat as Yoongi skillfully responds, his hand finding your pulsating clit, heightening the pleasure while he continues to ravish you with his insatiable tongue.
His fingers dance in rhythmic circles over your throbbing clit, coaxing the tension from your core. As the knot unravels, a wave of blissful release washes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake.
Ecstasy courses through your veins, your toes curling, muscles tightening, and in that moment, an unexpected surge of pleasure hits you like a sneeze that never comes. You release a symphony of moans, surrendering to the intense climax that Yoongi skillfully orchestrates with his talented tongue.
He continues to suck, savoring every drop of your essence, an insatiable thirst in his eyes matching the fervor of the intimate dance between your bodies.
As the intensity peaks, you gently tap his shoulder, signaling him to withdraw. He complies with a sensual slurp, leaving you breathless and tingling with the echoes of pleasure.
A mischievous grin stretches across his face as he licks his lips, “You're incredible, Kitten.”
You arch an eyebrow, curiosity coloring your tone, “Why do you keep calling me ‘Kitten’? You’re Kitten.”
He erupts in laughter, a symphony that resonates through the room, his chest rising and falling with the melody of mirth, and in that moment, he's a captivating masterpiece.
“Do I really look like a Kitten to you?” he inquires, a playful glint in his eyes as he gently nudges you back onto the bed.
Your words stumble as you search for a response, “Not really,” you admit, offering him a small yet tender smile.
“But you look cute and sweet, like a good Kitten,” he murmurs, his hands exploring the curves of your breasts.
A low moan escapes your lips as he teases your nipples with a playful twist, igniting a fresh surge of desire that pools in the growing heat between your thighs.
As you ache for the feel of his throbbing length, you attempt to grab hold of him, but like a fleeting mirage, he skillfully eludes your touch, leaving you yearning for the intimate connection that inches away with each evasive movement.
“Nah. I just want to fuck you silly,” he rasps, eyes tracing every bead of sweat on your flushed skin, reveling in the primal rhythm of your hurried breaths.
“If you want to, that is?” he teases, his voice a sultry whisper, as he takes control, guiding himself between your legs with a confident hand that promises a morning full of pleasure.
As you feel the weight of his gaze, you gulp, wondering how, in that heated moment, he could question what you crave. It's undeniable – you want him, and the intensity of your desire hangs in the air between you, palpable and unspoken.
Your breath catches as you respond, the words tumbling from your lips in a heated rush, “Fuck, yes, Yoongi. I want you inside me, now,” the urgency in your voice betraying the intensity of your desire.
A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he replies, “Please” with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“‘Please’ what?”
“Say ‘please’.”
You huff, incredulous at his audacity. The desire in his eyes is undeniable, and he seems to enjoy the game. Part of you rebels, tempted to be a brat just to irk him, but the need for his touch overrides any resistance. You crave his intimacy, aching for his dick despite the defiance lingering in the air.
“Fuck this,” you grumble, frustration evident in your voice. In that fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of Yoongi pulling back, as if reconsidering his stance.
“Please! Don’t leave,” you plead desperately, your sincerity laid bare. The smirk on his face deepens, as if savoring the intensity of your plea.
“Please fuck me, Yoongi.”
His satisfaction evident, he rewards you with a swift kiss before aligning himself with your eager entrance, anticipation humming in the air.
Your arousal has reached a point where there's no discomfort, just a perfect fit as he slides into you, your wetness welcoming and enveloping him seamlessly.
He hisses as he eases into your warm, tight walls, and you can feel him doing his best to restrain himself.
You release a breathy huff as he fully penetrates, his balls gently meeting the warmth of your folds.
He lets out a guttural groan as he steadies himself, withdrawing only to plunge back in with an intensity that sends shivers through your body.
In this intimate position, with him above you, every nuance of his pleasure is on full display—the way his nose scrunches in delight, his soft lips occasionally nibbling the bottom one in sheer ecstasy.
Between each thrust, he can't help but express his amazement, his voice low and husky, “Damn. You're so tight.”
You know. It’s been awhile. 
As he moves within you with an increased rhythm, his hands find your breasts, skillfully massaging them in sync with his fervent thrusts, creating a symphony of pleasure that courses through your entire body.
Ecstasy courses through you, and in the midst of your fervent pleasure, you can't help but release a breathless exclamation, “Fuck, Yoongi!”
Every skillful thrust seems to find its mark, synchronized with the enticing dance of his fingers on your hardened nipples. Pleasure envelops you, clouding your thoughts in a haze of ecstasy.
Your pleasure intensifies as Yoongi skillfully pinches your nipples, eliciting a symphony of moans that harmonize with the rhythmic dance of his passionate thrusts.
Sensations ripple through you, and the desire to reciprocate Yoongi's pleasure builds within you. You yearn to give him the same ecstasy he's generously bestowed upon you.
Amidst the rhythmic cadence of Yoongi's thrusts, a bold request escapes your lips. Your gaze, laced with desire, meets his, and with a subtle plea in your eyes, you softly murmur, “Yoongi—, I want to ride you. Please.”
With a devilish grin, Yoongi withdraws from your embrace, reclining on the bed, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.
His voice, laced with desire, sends shivers down your spine as he commands, “Then you're gonna watch in the mirrors as you fuck yourself on my dick,” reclining with his head angled towards the mirrors.
Mounting him, you position yourself strategically, both of you reflected in the mirror—a tantalizing image of entangled limbs, the intensity of the moment etched in your heaving, sweat-glistened bodies.
Grasping his throbbing dick, he hisses in anticipation as you deftly align your eager entrance with his cock.
With a fluid motion, you descend onto his rigid cock, your velvet walls enveloping him in a tight, intoxicating embrace.
From below, Yoongi savors the view, his gaze lingering on the contours of your face, as if committing every detail to memory.
You guide the rhythm, your hands finding stability on his sculpted chest, setting the pace as you ride him with a mix of determination and desire.
Your movements cascade, a slow dance that gradually builds momentum, each rise and fall carrying a symphony of pleasure and anticipation.
As you gaze upon your reflection, the flush of arousal paints your cheeks, your disheveled hair framing your face like an unruly halo, and your breasts dance in perfect harmony with the rhythm of your passionate movements.
The person in the mirror seems like a stranger, a sensual revelation you never knew existed within you. The mirrors, always present but never before utilized for sex, now reflect a version of yourself that’s both thrilling and new.
Heat courses through your veins, an intoxicating blend of arousal and empowerment, as you observe your own uninhibited reflection. With newfound vigor, you escalate the rhythm, riding Yoongi more vigorously. His appreciative groans and tender gaze mirror the intensity of the moment.
Unbridled desire takes over as your hands instinctively find their way to Yoongi's neck. Without a conscious thought, your fingers glide over the warmth of his skin, gently encircling his throat.
An electrifying jolt courses through you as you sense Yoongi's involuntary twitch within you, and you catch the ragged rhythm of his breath.
Panic courses through you, and you hastily retract your hands, realizing with a shock that you had unintentionally exerted pressure on Yoongi's throat. “Oh my God! I'm so sorry!” you blurt out, your apology a mix of concern and embarrassment.
“It's fine, Kitten. I like it,” he reassures you with a devilish grin, seizing your hands and guiding them back around his neck, his eyes sparking with a hint of mischief.
You shoot him a concerned glance, pausing your movements to ensure he's okay. Once he reassures you with a nod, signaling his approval, you dive back into the rhythm you had before.
With a newfound boldness, you tighten your grip around his throat, drawing out another satisfying twitch from him. His reaction sends a surge of pleasure through you as he hits that sweet spot, causing a kaleidoscope of sensations that make you see stars.
Your unrestrained moans fill the room, a symphony of desire that intertwines with the rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding. The sight of Yoongi unraveling beneath your touch fuels a primal arousal, and you revel in the raw passion that courses through every fiber of your being.
“Fuck!” you pant.
“I’m gonna come,” you confess, the words escaping on a ragged breath, as you impale yourself on his dick. You’re body trembling as you hold the moment, savoring the anticipation before the inevitable plunge into ecstasy.
With a tender touch, you withdraw your hands from his throat, leaning down to kiss him. Your lips meet his in a dance of passion, tracing a path from his mouth to the very spots your fingers had claimed on his neck moments ago.
His low, guttural groan harmonizes with the rhythm as you ascend, reclaiming your perch on him. The dance begins anew, your body moving with purpose, riding the waves of pleasure set in motion by each calculated bounce on his throbbing length.
Yoongi's hands eagerly envelop your breasts, his fingers dancing with the rhythm of your fervent movements. With each descent onto him, you feel a surge of pleasure building, the shared pursuit of ecstasy driving you both towards the brink of blissful release.
His fingers deftly find your sensitive nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The sensation is so intense that a fractured, high-pitched man escapes your lips, your back arching involuntarily in the exquisite dance of pleasure and pain.
As your walls instinctively clench around his pulsating dick, you witness the pleasure etched across his face, a delightful scrunching of his features that mirrors the ecstasy coursing through both of you.
“Yoongi, I’m com—,” you gasp, a desperate plea laced in your voice. Your words are unnecessary; the vice-like grip of your walls and the erratic cadence of your breath already convey the impending release that hangs thick in the air.
“Come all over my dick,” he smirks through a groan, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Watch yourself fall apart in the mirror.”
How can this man ignite such an intense flame within you? The knot in your stomach tightens once more, and as you surrender to it, a primal, drawn-out moan escapes your lips, echoing the depths of your desire.
With unyielding eyes, you lock onto your own reflection in the mirror as ecstasy courses through you, marking the moment you climax on his d*ck. Your rhythmic bouncing falters, but Yoongi, sensing your need, seizes your hips and propels the pace, driving you deeper into the intoxicating whirlwind of pleasure.
Your mouth hangs open, breaths rapid and erratic, akin to the aftermath of a sprint, while every inch of your body throbs with the residual heat of a fervent blaze.
“So beautiful—FUCK!” he moans, powering into you with an astonishing velocity, sending shivers down your spine.
His hold on your hips tightens, your hands finding refuge on his sculpted chest for support. Your body teeters on the edge of weightlessness and grounding, as if you'd unravel if Yoongi's firm grasp on your hips faltered.
Despite the fatigue washing over you, a surge of determination courses through your veins. Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you entwine your fingers around his neck once more. You sense the impending release in Yoongi's every movement, and you're determined to be the catalyst that propels him over the edge.
The moment your grip tightens around his throat, a powerful surge reverberates through his dick within you, sending intoxicating waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It's an electrifying sensation, making every touch between you more intense and satisfying.
With an intense squeeze, you lock eyes with Yoongi, a plea in your gaze. “Fill me up, Yoongi.”
In a primal release, he surrenders to the moment, thrusting into you with an erratic rhythm, coating your walls with the warmth of his climax.
“Ahh,” he pants, the rush of air filling his lungs as you release your grip on his neck, both of you engulfed in the aftermath of shared release.
You watch him in amazement as his fervent thrusts subside, and he eases into the embrace of your bed, a portrait of passion painted across his beautiful face.
As he gradually softens within you, you take the initiative to lift yourself off him, both of your essences clinging to your skin, a residue of your shared passion that you welcome without reservation.
As you recline beside him, a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a shared breathlessness enveloping both of you. The air in the room is charged with the echo of passion, leaving a tangible energy that binds your entangled forms together.
Breathless and sporting a satisfied grin, he turns to you, his eyes filled with a post-passion glow. “Fuck that was incredible,”' he murmurs, capturing the shared intensity of the moment in the curve of his smile.
An undeniable contentment colors your voice as you respond, “Yeah,” savoring the echoes of pleasure that linger in the air.
Suddenly, a spark of realization ignites within you, propelling you to move with swift purpose. You crawl back on top of him, a burst of energy that startles him, like a surprise in the midst of shared afterglow.
“Why did you leave me?” you inquire, a tinge of accusation laced with the bitter notes in your voice. “Without a word or a farewell. Why did you disappear without a trace?”
His eyes widen momentarily before giving way to an expression of anguish and sadness. A tug at your heart intensifies, as his face alone tells a story you fear can't be good.
He begins with a heavy admission, meeting your eyes with earnest sincerity, “My brother died.”
Your words stumble out in a rush, “Oh, God! I'm so sorry!” The unexpected revelation leaves you fumbling for the right response.
His words flow, carrying a weight of anger and grief, “It's alright. ButI felt so much anger and grief, you know?” he explains, “so much so that I couldn't shapeshift and was stuck in my cat form.”
You exhale a soft ‘aha’ at his words, and the realization washes over you— he was grappling with his own demons, just as you were.
“When I'm consumed by intense emotions, I lose control of my ability to shapeshift, and, and—” You witness a tearful welling in his eyes, prompting you to gently cup his cheeks, reassuring him that it's okay.
“I just wanted to be alone and I didn’t want to burden you…” A few tears spill from his eyes, and you tenderly catch them with your gentle fingers.
You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, finding solace in the curve of his neck, where his soft minty scent envelops you like a comforting embrace.
“I am so fucking sorry you had to endure that. I understand, truly. But you would never be a burden to me,” you express, gazing into his eyes with a tenderness that echoes your sincerity.
“I want to be there for you,” you declare, your own tears mirroring the empathy in your eyes.
“Ah, shit. I didn’t mean to cry. But, you know, I understand,” you say, your words accompanied by a wry smile as tears trickle down your face and onto Yoongi’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Kitten. I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” 
He seizes your cheeks, tugging you into a tender and unhurried kiss. Time loses its grip, and you're oblivious to the remnants of his seed mingling with your essence, creating a slippery trail between your pussy and his still-slick pelvis.
Lost in the rhythm of your kisses with Yoongi, you surrender to the moment, where every touch feels like a missing puzzle piece seamlessly falling into place.
The two cups of coffee are long forgotten.
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Authors note (3): Thank you so very much if you have made it this far 😭 I know this story is a lot – I’ve been dealing with a lot of different stuff for many years, and some of it just got to be too much a few weeks ago, and this story popped into my head. It was therapeutic to write. I don’t know if people will like it or not, but in the end, that’s not what it’s about. It will just exist here.
If you struggle with any of these subjects or emotions, you’re always welcome in my inbox – I’m not a trained psychologist or anything, though! But sometimes it is better to voice your feelings, than struggling in silence. Everybody’s welcome 🫂
I hope you’re doing well. Thank you for you 💜
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