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somanyratsinthewalls · 1 month

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Curiosity Killed the Cat (+18)

Pairing: Massacre Soldier Killer x Female Reader

WC: 2600

Summary: You’ve never seen Killer without his mask. It’s a secret that you can’t help but need to be a part of. Your curiosity gets the best of you and Killer catches you peeping.

TW: !SMUT PURE SELF INDULGENT SMUT! Porn with VERY LITTLE plot! fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, filthy talk, praise kink good girl etc, size difference. it's just porn.

**Minors DNI!!! 18+ only!!***

— —

You had been with the Kid Pirates for half a year now and during these six months you’ve learned the inner workings of the crew and the Victoria Punk herself. You knew that the best place to take a nap was in the storeroom next to the kitchen. You knew that Heat and Wire have had a game of Dungeons and Dragons going on for the past 6 years and they play every Friday evening. You knew that Killer hated when you left food on your plate at the end of a meal claiming that “a girl needs her strength.” You knew that every morning at 10:00 AM sharp, Captain Kid would render the ship’s only bathroom unusable for at least the next hour.

There was something that was still a mystery to you.

You had never seen Killer without his mask.

It was something you had wondered about ever since you first met the crew’s first mate. Was he horrifically ugly? Maybe covered in scars? Why did he hide himself from the world? He was always the kindest to you of all the Kid Pirates, making sure you were fed and had supplies you needed when you first joined the crew. Your crude captain left a lot to be desired in terms of intelligent conversation, but in contrast, Killer would inquire about the book you were reading or if you needed a late night snack.

Tonight you were drawn into the kitchen by the delicious smell of garlic and onions being sautéed in oil and butter. You enter the galley and can’t help but flit over to the stove where Killer was diligently working. You lean over the pot of boiling pasta water and the steam feels nice on your dry, salt-worn skin.

“Mmmmm, smells so yummy, Kil!” He was nearly a foot taller than you, so it was easy to sneak in-between him and the stove to get a better whiff of his decadent culinary creations.

You feel his massive chest behind you vibrate as he chuckles.

“Thank you, little one. I hope you’re hungry.”

*SLAM*

“Hey, that shit smells good!” Kid exclaims as he barrels into the kitchen, slightly drunk already. Killer whips his head around to look at his captain. You take this moment to lean your head back and try to peek under the gap between his chin and his mask. You strain your eyes but all you can see is darkness. Your efforts are quickly thwarted as Killer returns his attention to the stove to stir the pasta.

“Are you making that thing I like? The spaghetti cars banana?” Kid asks as he takes a sip of his beer.

Killer sighs.

“Carbonara. It’s carbonara, for the last fucking time.” Killer looks down at you. “Dinner’s almost ready, why don’t you wait at the table?”

You smile up at him, searching the holes in his mask for any clue at his expression. You nod and proceed to set the dining table for the evening meal.

— —

After you had your fill of wine and pasta (making sure to gesture to Killer and show him your clean plate to which he gives you a playful thumbs up), you decided you’d treat yourself to a hot bath. You were sure that the rest of the crew would spend the rest of the night drinking themselves stupid so you could enjoy a quiet bath in peace.

You stroll into the bathroom with your towel and lay it next to the tub. You put the plug in and get the hot water started. You search the cabinets for some sort of bubble bath, but end of having to settle on an unmarked bottle of body wash. You pour the soap into the bath and white, fluffy bubbles start to form on the surface of the water.

Once the tub was full, you shut off the water and stripped yourself of your filthy, ocean-smelling clothes. You step into the steaming water one foot at a time and gently lower yourself into the bathtub. As soon as you’re settled with your head leaning against the edge of the tub you release a deep sigh.

After a few minutes of soaking, you find yourself almost drifting off. The doorknob clicking open snapped you out of your daze. The wooden bathroom door creaked open and Killer stepped inside the bathroom.

You instinctively cover your breasts with your hands, but it goes unnoticed by the intruder who went straight for the sink and counter on the opposite side of the room. You realize that he hasn’t even noticed your presence so you hold your breath, not wanting to startle or upset him. He stands at the sink for a moment with his hands gripping the counter.

He then raises his hands and reaches for the back of his head.

Oh my god. He was taking his mask off.

You were paralyzed, breath caught in your chest, eyes locked on the golden locks spilling from behind the mask. He leans down and pulls the mask off and leaves it on the counter to his right. You involuntarily slap your hand over your mouth in surprise.

You eyes are fixed on the bathroom mirror when you see a pair of angled, sharp blue eyes staring back at you in it.

“I know you’re there, little one.”

You gasp. You still can’t move, stuck staring into those enchanting eyes. The only other things you could see were worn white bandages and messy blonde hair cascading from atop his head.

“Come on out now… I want to show you something.” Killer says without turning around.

You were mesmerized by his sweet voice, so you obeyed and stood up and stepped out of the tub. You dried off quickly and wrapped your towel around your torso before Killer interrupted you.

“You won’t need that. Leave it. Come here.”

You drop the towel and hesitantly approach the man at the sink, his muscles rippling in his back through his blue tee shirt.

“Jump up here. I want you to help me take the bandages off.” Killer pats the counter to his left.

You were frozen in place and your eyes were glued to the floor, so anxious about seeing his face.

“Be a good girl and listen. Up.” Killer pats the counter again, more forcefully this time.

“Yes, Kil…” You squeak and turn around and use the heels of your hands to pull yourself up onto the counter. You still would’t look up.

“It’s ok… you can look…” Killer puts his hand over yours as it rested on the counter. You slowly raise your head and see a face covered in bandages, the only parts exposed being a thick pair of dark plum lips and those piercing eyes you saw staring at you from the mirror. You suck in a breath.

“Here..” Killer pulls your hand and places one of the edges of the bandage in it and helped you begin to unravel it. With each pass of your hand across his face, Killer strokes up and down your bare thigh, causing you to open your legs involuntarily.

With no sounds other than your own heavy breathing, you finally reveal Killer’s face. You gasp as you pull your hand to back your chest. He was so beautiful. His bright eyes such a contrast against his olive tanned skin. His chin was chiseled and his nose was pointed so sharply. You also notice faint scars littering his cheeks, similar to the ones on his left arm. You didn’t care, he was still handsome to you.

“Killer… you’re… so pretty…” You reach a hand up and gingerly touch his cheek. He smiles softly. You curse him silently for keeping that smile from you for so long. He laughs and nuzzles into your hand.

“Not as pretty as you, little one. Will you let me see you, too?”

“W-what do you mean?” You question.

“Put your legs up, spread yourself for me.” He states as he starts bending your knees to place your feet on the counter at your sides, widely exposing your most intimate area to him. You feel blush fill your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

“Mmm… now that’s pretty…” Killer coos as he slides his huge hand down your inner thigh to stroke up and down your slit with his thumb, sticky slick coating his digit. You find yourself shivering in anticipation under his touch. He begins focusing his movements on your clit as he rubs it in agonizingly slow circles, working you up at a painful pace.

You can’t do anything but pant heavily and stare at his hand caressing your naked sex.

“Look at me.” Killer demands. You oblige and look up at his exposed face. Your mouth hangs open as you keep his gaze, his rough thumb on your clit driving your crazy.

“Killer…” You whimper up at him.

“You’re so wet, sweet girl. So ready to get stretched out, hmm?” His lips curl into a devious smirk.

You nod dumbly without breaking eye contact.

Killer plunges two large fingers into your soaked hole and immediately curls them up into your spot.

“Shit, Kil!” You cry out and grab his bicep with one hand, supporting yourself on your other palm. He pulls and tugs his fingers repeatedly inside of you while grinding the base of his hand into your clit.

“I can’t hold it! I’m gonna! Fuck, Killer!” You whine loudly as you feel the coil in your belly tighten dangerously. You slam your eyes shut and grab onto his arm with both hands, leaning forward into him for support.

“That’s good little one, hold onto me, just let go for me…”

“OH FUCK!” You cry out and fluids spray out of your body onto both Killer and the bathroom floor. Your core squeezes and spasms, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as Killer helps you through your orgasm by whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Slumped over into his shoulder, Killer removes his fingers from your core and scoops you up in one arm off the counter.

“You did such a good job, cumming so nicely for me. Think you can take my cock now?” Killer asks as he hikes you up in his grip, forcing you to look at him again.

“Yes, I want it, please…” You say softly, still coming down from your previous high.

“Perfect.” Killer chuckles and turns to carry you to the table that you usually used for folding laundry. He lays your naked, flushed form gently down on the surface of the table and rips his shirt over his head. He quickly unbuckles his belt and shuffles his jeans down his legs and steps out of them. His huge dick bobs in your direction, uncut tip red and leaking.

“It… it’s not gonna fit…” You breath out as you stare in awe at his member while sitting up on your elbows.

Killer grins again and steps between your spread legs, slapping his cock on your abdomen, showing exactly how deep it was supposed to go inside of you. You audibly whimper at the thought.

“Sweetheart… you like being a good girl, right?” He coos down at you, his massive frame eclipsing most of the light in the room. He rubs soothing circles into your hip with his hand.

“Mhmm…” You sheepishly nod.

“So you’re gonna lay there and take this whole cock in that tight little cunt of yours like a good girl, hmm?” He teases as he pulls back and guides his tip to rub up and down on your clit.

“Mmmmhmmmm” You whine and buck your hips up into his touch. Killer uses this permission to press his heavy cockhead into your soaked opening. Inch by inch he splits your body open, the stretch causing you to moan out.

“That’s right, little one… feels good, doesn’t it?” Killer reaches up a huge palm to squeeze and pinch your sensitive nipple.

“Fuck, Kil! So full!” You squeeze your eyes shut and try to relax on his giant member.

“Oh, my sweet baby, I’m not even all the way in yet!” Killer gives you a sinister laugh. He takes his opportunity to push his hips flush against yours and your writhe and cry from the sensation. You had never been this full in your life, he was truly stuffing you to your limits and it felt so good. He rubs your clit with one hand as he pulls back out, groaning lowly as he feels your cunt desperately cling to him and try to suck his member back in.

Killer begins thrusting his hips, keeping most of himself sheathed deep inside of your walls and his hand gripped your waist to pull you back into him with each thrust.

“Ah!” You moan and whine, grabbing and scratching at Killer’s broad chest as he molds your insides to the shape of his cock. You could barely breath, the man inside of you so large that you felt like he was in your chest. Killer speeds up his ministrations on your swollen clit.

“Come on sweetheart… I feel you squeezing me, you’re close again…” Killer picks up the pace of his thrusts and you shriek out at the force of his hips slamming into your ass and thighs. “Fucking give it to me!” Killer presses harder into your clit and you scream and explode for the second time that night, for the first time on his cock.

Tears were now freely flowing down your red cheeks and you could no longer form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. You were a babbling, bouncing mess being speared by Killer’s massive girth. You were so dick drunk that your eyes were rolling back in your head.

“More, more, more, more!” You slur out from your helpless state, spread out on the laundry table.

“What a greedy little pussy… so fucked out and you want more? Want me to fill you, my sweet girl? Make sure you feel me for days…” Killer punctuated his last sentence with a push to your lower stomach.

“Uh huh! Kil, please! Cum inside!” You try to nod your head but the force of Killer’s strokes made it nearly impossible.

“Hnnnggg…” Killer slams his hips deep into yours and blows his heavy load into your wet, waiting walls. He leans down and buries his head in the crook of your neck as his cock still twitches inside of you. As his orgasm subsides, he sighs and slowly pulls out of your spent cunt, leaving a heavy stream of semen to pour out of your hole. He holds himself up above your head and looks down at you and smiles.

You smile back. You lift a shaky hand and cup his cheek.

“It’s you…” You whisper as he gazes affectionately into your eyes.

“It is me. And you’re mine now.” Killer says. Before he pushes himself off the table and grabs your towel to wrap around his waist. After fastening the towel securely he grabs you by your sides off the table and throws your nude body over his shoulder. He carries you out of the bathroom, presumably to his bedroom.

“What the fuck Killer?” Kid calls from down the hallway, spotting you both. “Why is y/n naked? What the hell are you doing?”

“Going to enjoy my dessert.” He calls back at his captain.

It was going to be a long night.

— —

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece anime #one piece fanart #one piece fandom #one piece smut #one piece live action #one piece netflix #kid pirates #one piece fanfic #massacre soldier killer #one piece killer #killer one piece #op killer #killer op #fanfic #fanfiction

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the-kr8tor · 4 months

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Imagine the twins grow up a little let’s say 5 years old and they ask the most random questions it would be so funny? Like “why happens if the earth stops spinning?” “Why is the water blue?” “How does snow happen” and obviously “how are babies made?”

Cuteeee!!! Thank you for requesting! 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, Dad! Hobie AU, Twin AU, Billie and Ramona AU, Mom! Reader. FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The twins have gotten good at sneaking, scarily good. You have no idea how they've gotten this great at sneaking and bypassing Hobie's spidey senses but you have a hunch that they heard your conversation with Hobie during what was supposed to be their nap time. With his head on your lap and your fingers scratching at his scalp he dishes out a complaint to you, well you both thought it was just you.

Hobie was complaining that his spidey senses can't feel when the three of you approach him from behind. Citing that it has probably been ignoring you and the girls because it's used to your presence and dubs you and his girls a non-threat. He has also grumbled that it only activates for you three when there's danger; like the girls almost falling from the playground or you almost burning yourself from a hot stove. He's deeply annoyed because he misses the little tingles that never fail to make him smile whenever you or his girls are near.

You take this new information into consideration, when you enter a room he's in, you always call his name or knock on the wall so he still gets that warm feeling when you're in his presence. Unfortunately for him, the girls have better ideas.

Both girls keep popping up from somewhere when you least expected it, their footfalls silent, guess they've learned from the best. Then suddenly you hear their voices asking about life's greatests mysteries.

Once, while you were preparing their bath, Billie appears behind you, asking why water in the pool and ocean are blue but not in the tub. You almost fell in the water back then.

A few times the girls have materialized in Hobie's workshop, scaring the crap out of their father. Again asking him a barrage of questions that has Hobie answering promptly of course.

The sun is just about setting, the backyard looks gorgeous in the sun's rays. The metal bench is cold underneath you but with Hobie's arms around you, you don't seem to mind the chill.

You and Hobie cuddle outside in the garden, laps covered in the same patchwork blanket you've gifted him all those years ago. The breeze picks up and you snuggle closer to him, he presses sweet kisses on your temple as his hands rub up and down over your arm. The girls are in the living room watching their cartoons, the telly's light shines in the backyard, illuminating the flowers and veggies all four of you planted.

It's quiet, too quiet.

“How does the telly work?” Mona’s sweet voice rings out in the silence making you and Hobie jump in each other's arms.

“Fu–blo–what?!” Hobie saves himself from accidentally swearing right in front of Mona.

She peeks out from the arm rest, too small to fully reach up, her eyes are curious, hair disheveled from lounging on the settee.

“How does the telly work?” She repeats.

“Oh, lovely, you scared us a bit. Come here” you pat the seat in between you and Hobie. He lifts her up, placing her on his lap.

“Curious, eh?” Hobie pokes her side, she giggles, snuggling closer to her dad.

—

“I've finally got them to go down” you flop yourself on the dining chair, eyes growing heavy. “Remind me not to give them ice cream before bed.”

Hobie wipes his hands on a cloth, the last bit of dishes all cleaned and drying on the rack. He flings the towel on his shoulder, knowing what the imagery does to you.

Before he could throw a witty remark, you're already making grabbing hands towards him, lips pouting from impatience. He obliges, crossing the small gap between you.

You grab him by the ribbon of his sweatpants to get him impossibly closer to you. He's situated in-between your legs, knees knocking with yours. He chuckles lowly, hands placed on your jaw to look at you fully, his thumbs rubbing softly at your tired eyes.

“Missed me? I was home the entire day, lovie”

“Shut up and kiss me, Hobart”

Hobie rolls his eyes, already bending at the waist to meet you halfway.

“How are babies made?” Billie and Mona suddenly appear by the kitchen doorway, holding hands in their blue pajamas. They remind you of a horror movie.

Your soul and Hobie's left your bodies for a second.

“Girls–you scared us!” you clutch your non-existent pearls.

Hobie's head is on top of yours, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Sorry,” Mona apologizes, “Annie said they came from storks but Shane says they came from fairies.”

“And Ricky says they come from parents sleeping together. Daddy always sleeps with you mummy, why isn't there a baby yet?” Billie continues.

Oh childhood wonder. Your brain is already trying to find the right combination of words to answer their burning question.

Hobie chokes on air, you slap his arm as a warning. He lifts his head up with a lopsided smile.

“If you sneaky sneaks didn't interrupt there'd be a baby soon enough—”

“Hobie!”

“We don't get it” they simultaneously say.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

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don't hold hands, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You're fucking your ex-boyfriend's ex-best friend. You also now own a condo with him and owning this condo has made you house-poor. Yeah, it's not the usual love story and it's not going to be one. Not until you paint the walls black, that is.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mostly conversations and feels tbh; minor smut (fem reader, marking / scratching, m-receiving oral, doggy, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU; guitarist!music producer!Yoongi x novelist!reader - fwb / roommates-to-lovers

just a story about two people who shouldn't fall in love falling in love, I have plenty of nasty smut so this is a different beat for ya lmao

“Is it fun being tortured?”

“Not really, no.”

It wasn’t fair to be this critical but, as long as you didn’t let these words travel outside this room, it was fine, right? At least, you kept telling yourself that. Delusion at its finest.

“It’s so stupid that people enjoy sticking their nose in drama that doesn’t involve them only because their lives are too boring to have any,” you sighed, tossing your phone across your desk, letting it skid into a pile of post-its covered in scrawled notes. “All because I deleted some photos.”

Notifications were now blocked.

“Some people mistake privilege with right.”

You glared at your phone even though the contents were the offender and not the device. Rolled your eyes, knowing you would be coming back to a shitstorm, but you couldn’t take it anymore. There had to be a limit. And the voice beside you had been telling you to put the damn thing down and stop deleting comments one by one, but the stubborn ram in you thought you could just headbutt through the bullshit.

And that imagery was gonna end there, thank you very much.

Your forehead found the palm of your hand and you sighed again, suddenly feeling the weight.

“I’m never doing that again.”

“You don’t have to.”

Minutes passed.

Silence never felt so serene.

Then it was cut through by steady, slow acoustic guitar, the notes drifting out from behind you. It almost made you feel more guilty. Almost. How fucked was that? You, sitting here right now, staring at nearly bare walls and a table covered in notes and your trusty laptop, almost feeling guilty for the guy that had backed out of the joint loan for this condo in the city that you didn’t even fuckin’ want, but you had been too far into the process to not lose a whole lotta money and too angry to let yourself lose.

How ironic, feeling guilty for the guy who cheated on you.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” was the guitar player’s response. “And you shouldn’t be either. For anything.”

You knew you shouldn’t apologize. It just felt like the thing to do, because you hadn’t been wholly right either and, even if you weren’t more in the wrong, you were still wrong, and wasn’t that fucked, putting levels of blame on a situation that, at the end of the day, was all said and done and left everybody bitter and full of scars.

The shitty part was everyone was on your case now and blaming you.

This was what you got for dating the lead singer of a punk band that skyrocketed to popularity on social media. Looked all elegant dark romance on TikTok and Instagram, just screaming and hate-fucking behind closed doors. Constant content to cover up the toxicity. And maybe it was your fault too, letting it get to your head that maybe you really were the beautiful, mysterious muse that the followers painted you out to be. You glossed over red flags – late nights, drugs and drinking, sleeping in rooms of girls that called themselves fans – all part of the industry. Nothing happened. Honest. But the greatest mistake was letting him tag you on Instagram. How cool was it that you were an author?

This bastard.

Not only had you given him some of your best quotes for his lyrics, but now you couldn’t publish those words as your own because this bastard would fuckin’ sue you for plagiarizing.

The guitar continued behind you, on the mattress on the floor.

So, not only were you getting crucified on social media at the moment because he had called you a backhanded bitch in his Instagram stories but also because you had deleted all photos of him on your profile and said fucking nothing. Silence to be polite and all that. He cheated on you, he was leaving you for some whore you had plenty of suspicions about, and, worst of all, he waited until you and him were finalizing the down payment for this expensive-ass-fuck high-rise condo – that money was out of your own pocket, not his, how convenient – and backed out of the loan for the mortgage. His reasoning?

You cheated on him first.

Hello?

With his former guitarist.

Hello?

Your ex-boyfriend had fired his former guitarist ages ago because you and him had gotten too friendly.

Alright, man.

You liked the guy, sure. Talked to him when he was in the studio and found you had a lot in common. Plus, he was crazy talented. Made most of the melodies, self-produced a lot of the songs for the band so they could save money, even contributed to lyric writing so they didn’t have to spend on that either. He even had a good voice, although sadly the band rarely used it. Your art of words paired with his knowledge of music made some viral hits. But then tensions rose between him and your ex when they started butting heads for no reason (there was a reason and it was ugly jealousy). Then arguments rose between you and your ex, but instead of breaking up, you buried yourself into writing your next novel to let the situation cool off.

Sigh, okay, call a spade a spade.

You were avoiding the confrontation.

He fired his guitarist and got a new one.

Then things were good.

Until they weren’t.

Of course, they weren’t. You didn’t solve shit, and he was fucking every girl that threw themselves at him behind your back. Good thing you had strict rules about condoms, otherwise you would probably have some lasting consequences right now. So, when the ground cracked and split apart from under you, what did you do?

Yup, this was the part that made you no better.

You found that former guitarist and fucked him.

Word travelled around. Word also travelled around that somehow you got someone to be part of that insane loan you got talked into. And, oh, shit, did things get messy once a certain someone knew who it was.

But here you were.

Feeling guilty.

You probably couldn’t publish for at least six months to a year because, harrowingly, your demographic was young adult – you had even relied on social media for self-marketing, fuck – and the half of a novel you had now had to be scrapped considering that so many of the quotes were now distressed in dark venues by the lips of an egomaniacal dick that you allowed into your pussy far too many times. Once was already too many.

Fuck.

You didn’t even want to live in the city.

It’ll be so much easier for me to get bigger opportunities. Don’t be a selfish bitch and only think about yourself.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to throw your laptop into the wall and break it into smithereens, but you didn’t because this piece of technology was currently your only chance of making money. Fuck. Me. Always talking about himself like he was only important member of the band, even though it was the other guys who wrote most of the music and lyrics. No one sided with you, obviously. This was their job and technically not their romance. They were sympathetic but not empathetic to the point of jeopardizing their jobs. Obviously, you hadn’t signed any contracts for royalties or credit. This was supposed to be your soulmate.

Soulmates weren’t so generous to give you pennies.

You’re being greedy and self-important. Oh, so you’re only in the relationship for the money? I’ll give you money once we make it big. Once we get it all, I’ll buy you everything you want. But you gotta help me out now. We’re starving artists, ya know?

You should have asked your parents for monetary help, but you didn’t. Your pride didn’t want to hear the told-you-so speeches for dating a guy they didn’t choose for you. You also didn’t want the arranged marriage appointments back in your life either.

So.

Trapped in white walls, post-its of false starts, and impending doom.

Dramatic, but you were a writer.

“Come here and sit down with me.”

Some part of you didn’t want to face him. It was really dumb. He was your new roommate now. You were fucking him when you were too sad to avoid it, and it was pretty obvious he knew. You were living off his money. Sure, he only paid for half the rent but then food mysteriously appeared in the fridge, bathroom necessities were stocked when they were running low, cleaning supplies neatly sorted into the closet, and all that other shit. None of that wholesale stuff either, but the nicer things normal households could afford.

It wasn’t an exaggeration that you cried into the soap during your shower last night.

All because you finally acknowledged it wasn’t one of those shitty bars that made skin feel like plastic but actually fragrant lathering liquid that you could put on the dense, not-falling-apart-in-one-use loofah that you hadn’t bought. You would have been satisfied with cutting coupons and living on the dregs of the bare minimum, but someone cared enough to not let you do that, and you currently couldn’t do anything to contribute and probably couldn’t for a while.

And that made you feel undeserving.

Maybe you were only fucking him because that was all you could offer.

Pathetic.

The guitarist called your name softly.

Like a beaten dog, you got up and sat down beside Min Yoongi.

He continued to play a melody you didn’t know on his black acoustic guitar. He hadn’t moved in all his instruments and equipment yet. You had told him he could have the whole living room for his studio. He had asked if you were sure and you responded that you were sure that you weren’t going to have anybody over ever so, unless he wanted a living room space, you didn’t want one.

“Shit always happens, you know,” the deep voice reminded you.

“This happening was of my own doing and now I’ve ruined my own life,” you muttered, bitter over a boy and hating that you were bitter over a boy.

A small chuckle. “You have to admit you had help.”

Stupid boy.

“Can’t be helped. Humans are animals of regret.”

It stung to regret.

The guitar playing stopped and now you were met with silence.

Don’t cry.

But it was so tiring to be angry. So easy to be sad. So easy to think, my fault, for being swept up in what he was but not who he was, for believing that you knew what was best when clearly it wasn’t, for being spiteful on purpose. For avoiding looking at Yoongi in the face because you were too ashamed to acknowledge what was going on here.

For being too afraid to ask what he thought of it.

“I regretted not stealing you from him sooner. Thought you were too fuckable for that loser from the first day we met.”

A strange feeling.

Skin prickling, glancing the that pale hand of graceful, callused fingers simply resting on the neck of that guitar, not looking at Yoongi’s face even though you knew it quite well in profile.

“That’s one way to make me feel better,” you replied.

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Just being honest,” he replied, tapping his fingertips on the wood. “You are ten times too talented and a hundred times too pretty for a guy like that.”

You twitched. “Are you shitting on my standards?”

“Back then? Yeah, I am.” A calm hum, setting aside his guitar and placing his elbows on his sweatpants-covered knees, charcoal gray and worn. “Pretty clear you went full desperado for a guy that didn’t deserve it. Also, he ain’t hot shit like he thinks he is.”

Ow and what the fuck. “Fuck off.”

You felt movement and tracked his hand raising, spinning a finger around his temple. A brief glance and the details sank in. Long, windswept black waves, light cream skin, pointed gaze directed forward and not at you, pensive slight frown of pink lips. You looked away again, past his loose white t-shirt and to your hands.

You used to be proud of them.

They used to be able to type prose like no other.

Now they were twisted in an oversized, olive-green sweatshirt that you picked up from the sale bin of the convenience store for dirt cheap and they didn’t write jack shit.

You also hated olive-green.

Nothing personal. It just wasn’t your color.

“You’re a psycho bitch to put up with him,” Yoongi commented.

He wasn’t wrong. “I’m a psycho bitch all the time.”

“Yeah, and I don’t date crazy.”

You thought you would feel insulted, but you were past the point of caring. Also, there was something about the way his calm voice said it. Like he knew what he was doing. Huh. That was a silly thing to think. Of course, Yoongi knew what he was doing. He did it. He let you in his studio when you tracked it down and camped out until he showed up. He had listened to your psychobabble and didn’t back away when you pinned him to the wall.

This wasn’t dating.

“At least, I thought I didn’t,” Yoongi added, not touching you.

He fucked you too. He wasn’t a starfish in bed, that was for sure.

“I wanted to get back at him too, you know,” that deep, hazy voice murmured beside you. “That bastard turned my friends against me, stole my mixes, and cut out all my connections. Made me start from the ground up, alone.”

Yeah, you did know that. You helped badmouth Yoongi. In the name of love.

Shit.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

Ouch.

“And you shouldn’t be, ‘cause what’s done is done and being sorry isn’t going to change anything.”

You untwisted your hands from each other, realizing your knuckles were white from anxiousness, and relaxed them on your bare knees. Best you could, anyway.

“Yeah,” was the best response you had. This fucking boy ruined your life and stole your eloquence too, apparently. Motherfucker. “You’re right.”

Neither you or Yoongi said anything.

Minutes passed.

Another night in the condo and both of you were sitting on a mattress with a single blanket, deflated pillows, and a box of condoms on the floor.

You touched his forearm the same time his hand moved to grip your thigh.

And then it was the don’t-look-him-in-the-eyes challenge, and he was doing the exact same thing, eyes averted, black hair over them, lips grazing your jaw. Breath against your ear. Hot. His neck under your lips, flexed, fair skin with remnants of bruises, and your teeth sank in, making new ones, listening to his hiss and feeling his hands slide under your sweatshirt. Weighted palms and blunt nails. Digging in.

“Harder.”

He scratched you up as you climbed into his lap, tasting flesh.

Those firm hands gripped your hips and forced them down. Grinding. Softness to growing hardness, unhooking your bra, hands all over like you had lost your mind, your thighs squeezing his sides, yanking his shirt collar down and licking up his collarbone, dripping spit, shivering as you saw it glisten over his marred skin.

Clothes coming off, thrown aside. Guitar sliding to the hardwood floor as bodies tumbled. Your hands on his chest, your hard nipples pressed into the sheets as Yoongi slipped his hand into your hair and shoved your head down. Mouth open, tongue curling around. Moan striking the air, echoing in the nothingness.

Hard, hot, now wet.

Up, down, hitting the back of your throat, unable to choke in the adrenaline of lust, in need, in desire for pain, rubbing your tongue all over as Yoongi face-fucked you hard and fast, thick cock swelling in your mouth, your lips grazing the swollen head and making him shudder, saliva slipping down your chin that was smacking into his balls.

Was it shameful that you were good at it?

Sex solved nothing but you sure had a lot of it as if it did.

A sharp gasp and salty cum filled your throat, drinking, swallowing with effort and the burning sensation of your locked jaw, maintaining the soft tightness. Tongue tracing the contours, keeping him hard, hearing the rip of a foil packet above your head.

You hadn’t even realized that Yoongi had let go of your hair, letting you lick him all over at your own pace.

“What position?” Yoongi panted, husky and breathless in the mostly empty bedroom.

Mattress, chair, desk, laptop. Oh, and guitar.

Bodies on the floor.

You didn’t say anything.

You just turned around and slid down, elbows on the bed, knees spread, ass up.

“Alright then.”

You bit your lower lip.

You almost turned your head, almost looked back, just to check, right, just to check he was okay with it, and then strong hands gripped your hips, lifting them, sliding in, condom on and stretching you out right away, his knees pushing your knees apart and forcing you to arch your back for the angle.

No chance to look back.

You gasped, gripping the sheets, blinded by pleasure and the fading resonance of pain.

Hard.

Deep.

You pushing back, deep not deep enough, hitting your preferred depth and letting your eyelids flutter, veins burning with the repeated ecstasy. One of your hands lifted and reached back, squeezing his hand on your hip, and the grip became tighter, fingertips digging in, smacking his hips into your ass, and your body threatened to throw him back, carnal power meeting his every thrust, clenching around his hard length, and you could hear Yoongi growl your name, low and deep and voracious.

Somehow, his name fell from your lips too.

Rough and sinful, no better than an animal.

His nails dug into your back and dragged down, burning lines into your skin.

Your head tipped back and you moaned, a clear, shameless sound that would become familiar to this ceiling. Pooling wildfire, tightening muscles, wasted nectar sticky between joined thighs, surge after shivering surge of orgasmic apex stinging your veins as you barely registered Yoongi’s shudder and blissful groan, feeling the pulse inside you made than hearing the sound.

The rush of blood roaring in your ears was far too loud for you to hear anything.

Your face felt hot, so hot.

Gripping the sheets, twisting them, pulling them off the edge of the bed.

This moment.

Very few things were as intense and exigent as an orgasm. Fleeting, but a violently memorable. Pure nothingness of soaring high. You chased it. Again. And again. And again, your fingers tangled in Yoongi’s dark hair, pulling it over his face but he didn’t look at you anyway, eyes closed and teeth trapping his lower lip, breath trapped in his chest, driving his hips into yours again and again.

You both kept going until the limits were reached.

The darkness willingly swallowed you up.

Min Yoongi always considered himself a rational person, which was precisely why he found himself entangled in the break-up between his former best friend and the only woman he ever considered committing a felony for.

Yeah.

He also didn’t believe in love at first sight.

She was still way too hot for that idiot though.

His eyes could communicate well enough with his dick. The short skirt and exposed thighs didn’t really help either. Still, Yoongi had let it be. Respect was keeping his distance despite racing heartbeat and keeping calm despite shaking hands. He got used to it once the late-night talks about music and wordplay became a regular thing. Sometimes they talked about general life and were surprised on how well they aligned. Still, she never spoke poorly about her then-boyfriend even though there was plenty to talk about.

Scorched earth was their sacred ground.

It was painful to witness.

Yoongi regretted valuing the friendship, mostly because it didn’t mean jack shit at the end of the day. He regretted believing in the elegant, age-old saying.

Bros before hoes.

Tch.

But mostly, Yoongi regretted pretending like nothing was wrong.

He would see the pain in her expression and not say anything. Watch her pack it all away and greet him with warmth that he didn’t deserve because he had a racing heart and shaking hands every time they met. He would watch his former best friend disappear into hotel rooms without explanation and Yoongi knew damn well it wasn’t right, but he kept his mouth shut because he was a coward, something he figured out later.

He could have washed his hands clean of that shitshow, but instead his hands had held her shaking shoulders and watched her struggle not to cry on that cold night.

Yoongi considered himself a rational person, but never a good one.

Too many ways to judge, and her lips had already connected with his as soon as his shoulder blades hit the wall. He didn’t stop it. Maybe it was bitterness. Vengeance. Hate.

No, it wasn’t any of that, actually.

He didn’t know exactly what but, in that moment, Yoongi knew that he would murder that asshole if he saw his former best friend’s face right then, ready to commit a felony all because those beautiful eyes couldn’t look at him, closing instead to blink back the tears that bastard didn’t deserve.

That meant something, all right.

He knew it could take a long time. He knew it would almost certainly be hopeless. He knew he would probably end up with a broken heart and broke as hell. He knew it was a bad idea and he knew it was going to tear him up, this spiral, but when he found himself looking up to the ceilings of these mostly empty rooms, this condo he now half-owed with the woman that was formerly his best friend’s girlfriend, and Yoongi found he didn’t know and he didn’t care what the future held.

She had trouble sleeping.

Less trouble after exhausting themselves.

He had trouble sleeping too, but that was because he was staring at the ceiling and wondering just how rational he really was. One hand behind his head, under the pillow. The other resting on the blanket, on the curve of her hip, feeling the steady hum of her breathing.

She never cried in front of him.

He knew she did cry, because he heard her in the bathroom sometimes. But never in front of him. Showed anger, yes, but never acted helpless even though it was perfectly reasonable to feel that way after everything that happened. Living on the least for his sake, even to the point of skipping meals and spending all her time trying to write, trying to get back to her livelihood, trying to get past all the false starts. Personally, Yoongi felt that she should give up for now and heal herself, but he also knew how it felt to feel stubborn and useless.

Hah.

It was weird, being so close and yet so far away.

He felt it most in the nighttime, even though that was when he was closest to her.

He was never going to be the same. He knew that. He already wasn’t, surprising himself with his own recklessness, and for what? He didn’t even know what she was capable of reciprocating after receiving all those scars. Didn’t even know if he was the right one, if he was better or worse, if…

If he was believing in something that wasn’t there.

Yoongi closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Livid.

It was weird. Feeling it. In the past, you buried it, numb, and promptly lived in delusion. But now you could feel it. What was more, you let yourself feel it. There wasn’t anything to stop you except for the occasional mental peanut gallery of you’re a bad person if you feel jealousy, but anger could overtake anything if you let it.

You stared at the scene before you, several meters away.

Seething.

It felt good.

Mostly because it was honest.

It surprised you. You hadn’t expected to feel anything. Sad, maybe. You had already been cheated on, so naturally you assumed the cycle would begin anew, just with less promises and in the gray area of uncertainty. But, no, instead of being distraught and delusional, you felt maddeningly, viciously, nearly on-the-edge of making a fist and dislocating Min Yoongi’s jaw from his skull because he was speaking to a female-presenting human at the entrance of the building that housed his and others’ music studios.

Did you lack context? Yes.

Would that get you arrested? Yeah, probably.

Would that probably not get your laid anymore and label you as an unhinged psychopath? Without a doubt.

But would it feel good?

Don’t know.

You had never punched someone before, although maybe you should have practiced on your ex-boyfriend. He was probably a more deserving candidate. In any case, you remained frozen in perplexation at your willingness for violence because you were pretty sure your… relations… with Yoongi were nothing more than a lonely bitch and a spiteful silver tongue executing revenge, so the amount of fucks you should give about Yoongi speaking to any human being – other than the obvious health and safety precautions – should be zero.

None.

Basket of fucks empty.

And yet.

Clearly wasn’t since you were mentally calculating the angle and force for jaw dislocation while having zero experience in doing so. In any sort of non-virtual manner, that is.

Hm.

Your hands were firmly in the pockets of your black cargo pants. The hip ones, although you had plenty of choice. You kept them there for the safety of passerby or, maybe deep down, yourself. This caused your jacket to fall open, the outlines of the sew-on patches and thick, bunched-up black denim crowding the space between your forearm and waist, your black cropped tank exposed to the chill evening air. You used to wear a plethora of band t-shirts, but, well, those were probably in a landfill or rotting in a secondhand shop.

You figured you would be cold. Unsurprisingly, the anger kept you warm.

Huh.

You thought about turning around and just straight up leaving, petty and picturesque of course, and then Yoongi seemed to sense your projected violence, looking up from the conversation. Dark waves over his cheeks, striking body line, backing away, hiding his eyes for a moment, not that you could see them that well from this distance. You twitched.

The girl reached out.

Yoongi simply bowed, out of reach, and pushed the glass door open.

Honestly, her role in this moment was so miniscule that you completely ignored whatever she did or possibly could have said to Yoongi’s retreating back. Sharpened gaze, and then he crossed the street with the crowd, walking past oblivious bystanders who may or may not become the harrowed audience of the next thirty seconds.

He stopped before you. Bomber jacket, white shirt, black track pants. Monochrome elegance.

You looked up at him, saying nothing.

Over one shoulder was his usual guitar bag that held said instrument and his yellow notepad sticking out of the pocket. He used it to jot down whatever came to him. You almost said something. Almost. Then you remembered that if this, this between you and Min Yoongi, if this was supposed to be nothing, then weren’t you supposed to do nothing but voice your casual annoyance for making you wait rather than, well.

Admit insecurity?

You looked away quickly.

No, it did not matter how reasonable it was, you didn’t like knowing that somehow you had been weakened by an ex-boyfriend, barely a man, no, a mere locust at best, so it was better to not say anything and accept that this was–

“Sorry, I got caught up with the staff about ending my lease.”

Compromised.

You didn’t look at him. “What?”

“Gonna end my lease this month and move my studio stuff to the condo. I can’t afford both.”

He had told you this already. It had been your idea. You already knew you were overreacting to a situation that you created in your head rather than reality. And, yet, the best your mind would allow was uh huh, a plausible explanation, sarcasm included.

“Ah. Right,” was your sharp, mildly frigid reply.

“I can’t read your mind.”

Do you intend to be exhausting?

Your mental peanut gallery was super annoying.

You breathed in. Cool, crisp air. The sound of cars and people bustling in and out of stores. You breathed in again. Did you really intend to be exhausting, irrational, and, worst of all, dishonest? Really, after all that had happened? After getting here, standing here, arriving to pick up Yoongi at his request to do the grocery shopping together?

You turned back to look right into black-brown, piercing orbs.

“I just realized that I have the ability to be jealous,” you exhaled, draining your lungs. “It’s unpleasant and not nearly as delightfully pivotal as the media makes it out to be.”

Something fluttered in those orbs.

Or maybe it was the wind catching his bangs, drifting black strands over his eyes shadowed by dark circles.

Yoongi half-smiled.

“Makes for good songwriting material though.”

There was an air of helplessness to his words. A tone you couldn’t define, except for the understanding, which left you both baffled and with a sense of guilt. There were emotions in that barely-there smirk on those familiar lips. Relief. Maybe a slight bit of shame. A shadow of guilt too. You realized people were glancing at you and him as they walked past, wondering why you both were at a standstill on the sidewalk. Yoongi seemed to not notice them or care.

You pulled your hands out of your pockets.

“Come on. We should go before it gets dark.”

Before you noticed it, your hand was rising.

You pulled it back, but not fast enough.

Yoongi’s free hand reached out and grasped around yours, strong fingers enclosing. Sliding up, calluses on your palm. Your hand lowered, slowly, your eyes moving in the opposite direction. Lips parting. His hand was colder than yours.

You stared at Yoongi.

He looked back, expression unreadable.

“I don’t hold hands,” you said, suddenly breathless.

You tightened your grip.

“Neither do I,” Yoongi replied, taking a step, on the cusp of walking past you, his hand around yours. “I simply just don’t like the idea of yours getting cold when I can do something about it.”

Previously, when you held hands, it was always with a purpose of showing public affection. The look-how-real-this-is-because-there-are-clear-witnesses show. Front row tickets nobody asked for. But this.

This.

You blinked hard and the sting was inside.

The sting of wasted time.

Your name in that raspy, soft voice. Familiar. You looked up, not saying anything and hoping the eye contact was enough. All Yoongi did was smile lightly and tug your hand.

“Let’s get take-out and shop tomorrow. We have plenty of time to eat healthier.”

“You can cry in front of me.”

Min Yoongi heard her breath hitch and still.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by. It was the dead of night. Or maybe one could call it the time when honesty came to life, if the conditions were right. He knew this time well usually with a drink in his hand, but this time he was laying on his side with bruises of bites and carnal memories lingering on his fingertips.

“I wasn’t crying.”

Her voice was thick and strained from trying to keep it even. Her moment of jealousy had happened days ago. He had recognized it right away. Call it personal experience. He also recognized that she didn’t like to feel that way. It was obvious from her torn yet furious expression. It confirmed a lot of things for him. Still, she seemed pleased to help him move and set up his things in the bedroom. They found the living room to be a bit too echoey due to the large space so they switched the two, pulling the mattress to the living room and setting up his equipment in the center of what was formerly the bedroom.

He told her to paint the condo.

She had mentioned in passing that someday she would like to paint her entire living space black. Not this place, because he owned it too, and you probably think I’m crazy for wanting a dark space, huh, Yoongi? He asked her, why wait? No one lives forever. We’re just passing through.

She had given him a weird look.

We own this condo. Paint it.

There were cans of black paint waiting.

Yoongi had intended to go visit his family over the weekend. His parents and his brother who had recently been promoted to head chef at the classy restaurant he worked at. Someone in the family needed to have prestige. Well, that was his own personal feeling. Surprisingly at this point his parents had even up on telling him to get a higher-paying job. They told him to simply be happy.

And get married.

Yeah, about that.

He was still trying to get used to the music producer thing, for fuck’s sake.

“Are you afraid I won’t understand?” Yoongi let himself say, not turning around yet.

Sometimes, people didn’t want you to see them weak. He could understand that.

Call it personal experience.

A shuddering sigh. Deep breaths. Words bogged down, drained.

“I can only be so pathetic before I lose my mind recalling the past,” she mumbled. He felt her weight deepen on her side of the bed, as if she was trying to melt into the mattress. “I made things hard for myself. For you. It’s pointless to cry about it anyway. In the end, it only makes me look ungrateful.”

Yoongi thought about it.

“It’s true that you probably shouldn’t have involved me.”

He shifted, laying on his back now.

“But I’m not a good person either. I agreed, after all,” he murmured, his skin tingling with bruises and carnal memories. “Hm, to be honest, he was always a dick though, from high school till now. Always will be, I fear.”

“You’re easygoing enough not to be affected by his asshole behavior.”

“Not my job to change people. I leave that to parents and clueless fools.”

A pensive silence. Surprisingly not an irritated one. She seemed to accept it.

“Why did you become his friend?” she asked, staring at the ceiling with him.

“We just happened to like the same thing. Music.”

“I’m lucky you decided to become his friend.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I’m lucky that somehow he managed to bamboozle a hot and clever girl, two things he’s obviously not.”

She almost laughed. Almost.

“Who the fuck uses the word bamboozle?”

“You had to admit you were bamboozled, because you sure as hell weren’t dick-drunk.”

“Oh? You think you’re that good, huh?”

“No, I just know he’s that much worse.”

The faintest of chuckles.

“You… You get better every time,” she admitted. “I think I just caught you off guard the first time.”

“Firstly, I don’t like wasting time and, secondly, I had given up for a while before…” I met you. “Romance seemed like an expensive, worthless distraction when I could be using that time and money trying to push the band forward,” he pivoted, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “Then that went to shit.”

“Sorry.”

Automatic.

He chuckled darkly. “I’m confident I got the better deal.”

A trembling pause.

“Why do you think that?”

He reached over and placed his palm on the top of her head, lacing his fingers in her hair. Messing it up.

“Tell me the truth. Was he good at sex?”

A burst of laughter. “Really? Alright. No, he wasn’t. He sucked. Thought he was a piston of a muscle car instead of a human being. Oh, and once he fell asleep on top of me.”

He cocked an eyebrow. Turned his head and forced hers to turn as well.

She was smiling.

Yoongi found his chest tight and breath shallow.

“And you didn’t leave him then… why?” he pressed.

She winced, albeit playfully. “I yelled at him. A lot. I don’t know, maybe he was tired.”

“Not an excuse.”

“I know, I know…” Sigh. “I… I didn’t want to believe I made the wrong choice.” Her eyes shifted, but her body was still turned to face his. “I… It made my entire family angry, dating him. Especially my parents. They would never forgive me and hold it over my head forever. I had to make it work. I thought, if only I worked hard enough…” Another heavy breath, squeezing her eyes tightly. “I know it was pride, but I wanted to prove to them and myself that I could do anything. Bad choices? Maybe. But they were mine. I don’t want my life decided by what is best for me. If I suffer for it, those are my consequences.”

Her eyes opened, but barely.

Yoongi kept his hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair.

“I… I feel like shit because now you’re stuck in my mistakes,” she breathed.

He liked to touch her hair. It felt comforting.

“You know what your problem is?”

She glared under lashes and dared him.

Undeterred, he continued. “You blame yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened.”

A disapproving frown. “Hah?”

He tapped her forehead. “You think it’ll bother me if you cry, but what truly bothers me is that you cry alone.” Pushed back the strands, and now he was closer, sharing breath. “You think I’m stuck in your mistakes. Mistakes don’t inherently have only negative consequences. They almost always exist in a gray area.”

“I... I know that,” she grumbled, face against his chest.

“I did say you were clever.”

A drifting, drowsy silence.

“I’m not clever,” she whispered to his skin, pulling her body closer. “I just like you.”

Yoongi felt himself losing to sleep.

“I’ve always liked you, since the moment I saw you,” he muttered into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if he said it at all.

“Ah? Yes? Sorry about that. Oh, yes, uh, I’m painting. Everything. Yes, I’ll be sure the keep the windows open. Thank you.”

You closed the front door of the condo. Well. You had expected nervousness, but somehow the conversation between you and the downstairs neighbor had been very calm. Apparently, he worked from home and wasn’t expecting the loud crash of the ladder from your unit.

In your defense, you hadn’t expected it either.

Thankfully, you hadn’t been on the ladder, only trying to figure out how to set it up. It was one of those compact ones that saved space but required some innovative thinking to get the taller height you needed. One crash and a YouTube video later, the ladder was now secure, and then came the knock on the front door.

The thoughts flew by – I don’t belong here, I can’t do this alone, they’re going to scold me and I haven’t even done the upper half yet – but the guy just seemed curious and confused. Didn’t even comment on your awkward outfit of navy boys’ basketball shorts and ill-fitted gray sports bra. Both on super sale. You were still wearing your bra because of the incorrect size, so the gray blob was bordering on ugly-ass tank top.

Look.

Some people had clothing they didn’t care about to paint in and some people had to dive in sale bins because they left behind most of their wardrobe and, with the clothes, their bad memories.

That was the intent.

Things rarely go as intended.

For instance, you thought you were going to feel imposter syndrome for a neighbor knowing that you were painting your own goddamn walls. You turned away from the door after you locked it, frowning. That’s right. Like it or not, bad decisions and minus an ex-boyfriend later, these were your walls. You looked up, out the large, floor-to-ceiling living room windows, and saw the sunlight sparkle over the sprawling city, walls painted half-black and half white surrounding you, and you could say that you never wanted to be here, but.

It was a sick view.

We own this condo. Paint it.

Your muscles were sore from the repeated swiping motion of the paint roller, but there was still this inexplicable energy coursing through you.

“What if it doesn’t look good?” you had asked Yoongi.

He had shrugged. “Then we paint it again.”

“It’ll be dark.”

“Wow, really? I thought black was supposed to be bright and cheerful,” was the sarcastic quip. “Just believe you have good taste and paint the damn walls.”

This condo was an investment that made you poor.

That was the truth you needed to face.

You have good taste.

You scrunched your face slightly as you remembered Yoongi’s facial expression. Was he… praising you or himself? You squinted. This guy. Picked up the paint roller again and saturated it with ink black, making crispy crinkly sounds as you shuffled over the plastic. Good taste. Well, that was relative, wasn’t it? Everything was at the end of the day. You climbed onto the ladder and began the repetitive, monotone motion once more but at a higher elevation. You should have put your music back on. Your phone was on the plastic-covered mattress and you were not about to go back down until you finished this section or ran out of paint. This was going to be a long process, but you had several days and too much time as Yoongi had already left to visit his family.

Now you were alone with a lot of paint and mind-numbing fumes.

Shit, you should have opened the window.

You would have to paint a second coat anyway. Who cared if the first coat was shitty?

Sigh.

Climbing down and doing your due diligence before returning to your post.

You had forgotten once again to put your music back on. Hah. Well, that was fine; you had yourself. You didn’t mind being alone. Heh, sometimes it was better to be alone. You continued rolling away, hardworking in the consistent rhythm. Thinking about it now, this might have been the first time in a long time that you were okay with being alone. Before, you had felt guilty whenever you weren’t thinking about your relationship. Huh. Odd. Was it some kind of mental self-reassurance when you knew something was off? It was hard to tell, but possible.

Everything was off about that relationship. You just had too much pride to admit it.

You sighed, climbing back down to reload.

Wait a second. Was this why there was that wider step towards the top of the ladder? You poured some more paint in the tray and carried it up with you. Oh shit. Wow. Innovation. You coughed and went back to a different patch of wall. No one saw that. See, perks of being alone.

Well, you didn’t hate Yoongi being here.

You stopped painting.

You didn’t just think that.

You went back to painting. Shut up, nagging feeling. You furiously painted on, ignoring your soreness, telling that little voice in your head to shut up, because there were plenty of reasons not to think stuff like that. Firstly, you weren’t ready to think stuff like that. And what if it was only hopeful transference rather than genuine feeling? Asshole or not, your ex-boyfriend’s betrayal of trust was not something so easily overcome. It wasn’t fair to Yoongi either, pretending to like him if you weren’t sure.

You liked Yoongi before you broke up, too.

Wasn’t that fucked up?

You sighed and came back down, careful to scoot the ladder without spilling and causing a mess. Back up and at it. Of course, it was fucked up. And you knew it was, which might have been why you let it get that bad. Might? Was why you let it get that bad. Two hypocrites were meant for each other. You huffed, puffing your cheeks. It wasn’t enough to hold the ticking grenade; you had needed confirmation it was a, in fact, a bomb.

Maybe even hoping it would end you.

It didn’t.

For some reason, you thought Yoongi could see that in you.

Damn, he’s really living in your system, hm?

You frowned.

Your phone rang.

You almost jumped, startled at the sudden sound of an old song you used to enjoy. Back when you were a teenager, and the memories came back as you climbed down. A kid who just really liked rock’n’roll, and parents who did not, but that kid didn’t care, annoyingly setting it as her ringtone on her shitty flip phone. Couldn’t you be her again? Before you had time to ponder, you checked your hands for paint and picked up your phone, answering it.

“Hello?”

“Did you eat?”

You blinked, sitting down on the crinkly plastic upon hearing that deep, raspy voice. “Uh, no. I was gonna stop by the convenience store when the first coat was done.”

“No, you weren’t. You were gonna skip a meal,” Min Yoongi tutted. “Because you don’t want to be a nuisance and use the money I had left you.”

Damn. He knew you, all right.

“If I forget, I forget,” you grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, pick up the food order from the front desk when it comes. They told me about thirty minutes.”

“You don’t have to order food for me. I’m not a kid,” you hissed.

“It’s the pho spot you like and if I don’t put food in front of you, you won’t eat. You intend to do all that hard work without some fuel?” A pause. You made a disapproving noise. “And I know you’re not a kid. By the way, what’s your waist measurement?”

You remained a grump. “Why?”

“I’m here, so I’m going to buy you some clothes.”

“Don’t buy me clothes. Don’t spend money–”

“You need things,” Yoongi cut you off. “Unless you want to come with me? You don’t trust me?”

“That’s not it and you know it,” you snapped back. “It’s not worth–”

“Of course, it isn’t. It’s vain and silly and superficial. And I’m still going to buy you things, so tell me your waist measurement.”

“Yoongi, this is your hard-earned money,” you puffed out, exasperated.

“Yeah, and I make money to provide you with a good life because I think you are the most important person to me. So, do you want me to guess with my hands or are you going to meet me halfway?”

Dead silence.

He called your name, softly.

You told him in centimeters.

“Got it. Don’t forget to check the front desk in thirty minutes.”

“I love you.”

His hair was stuck to his face due to sweat. “What?”

“I said I love you,” she said, staring right at him, their chests shuddering from exertion.

Yoongi couldn’t believe it, but also he wasn’t surprised. The room still smelled faintly like paint. The windows still had no curtains or blinds. They were still fucking on the mattress in the center of the living room and he was holding the used condom when she said I love you.

The walls and ceiling were all black, covering them in darkness as the city below glimmered with light.

“I love you,” was his reply.

It startled him, the suddenness of his response. He knew he did. Of course, he did, and he turned away quickly, making his way to the kitchen and throwing away the condom, skin tingling, cheeks aflame, and he was startled by the feeling that remained. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of her mouth even though he was sure of his own feelings. Yoongi had resigned himself to not hear it from her lips. He also didn’t need to hear it to know that it was true.

He saw her head to the bathroom.

Time was funny sometimes.

Suddenly they were both staring at each other on the mattress, the usual ritual completed, and the moment suspended.

“You didn’t have to say it,” he finally said. “For my sake.”

“I didn’t.” Her hair curled over her shoulder, caressing her curves. “I said it for my sake.”

Blankets and pillows and questions.

“I wondered about the validity of it,” she admitted to him. “Been wrong before and all that. Might still be wrong. So, I said it just to see if I regretted it.”

“Ah.”

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Do you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

He half-smiled. How very simple yet complicated. He understood. “All the paint fumes really got to your head, huh?”

She looked up at him and he realized with a start that she, too, was half-smiling.

He reached out, smoothing her hair.

“You have a pretty face, Yoongi,” she teased, eyes sparkling.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought it would be too cliché, you and me,” she continued and the tone was different now, softer and more serious. “I thought you would get tired.”

She meant, of me.

He had thought this was cliché too. Cliché didn’t mean worthless though. His hand fell, and rested over hers without a second thought. Warm and against the sheets. “If I felt that way, I would have stopped speaking to you long ago. You could take care of yourself too.” Not safely, but could. “Except for money.”

She smirked.

“So you’re saying I need a suga daddy.”

Yoongi twitched.

“Part of me wanted to sell the condo as soon as possible,” she went on, casually glossing over the comment. “But the realtor said it would be a bad idea. I wouldn’t have any buyers without a minimum of six months or a year. Too many superstitions. Part of me thought I should…”

She looked up to the ceiling.

It was a high-rise, after all.

“All the reasons to move here were his. More convenient, better opportunities, owning rather than renting for the investment… I believed in it, more than myself.”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t because all those things had benefitted him already. He didn’t only agree to move in help her out. He was still a working music producer. But she didn’t seem to be saying it to condone him.

“I didn’t really think this place was mine until I painted the walls.”

Yoongi thought he should at least confess this part. “That’s why I told you to paint them.”

A small laugh. “You don’t like it, huh?”

“Don’t you remember the walls of the old studio were dark gray? That was my doing. I always resented the last place I rented because they didn’t let me paint the walls.”

“Ah… He painted over the gray.”

“I bet he did.”

They had fallen to the bed now, side by side.

“I didn’t think this would work out,” she breathed.

“I thought it might,” he hummed.

“Why?”

“You’re hot and clever and I wanted you from the first day I saw you.”

A warm chuckle. “Just like that?”

“Well, you had to give me a chance. Couldn’t make the first move due to the circumstances.”

“It was a convoluted and confusing one.”

“Eh, life’s unfair.”

“Your husband already paid.”

Your what?

“What?”

The cashier waved you away. You shuffled back, dazed, seeing Min Yoongi emerge from the bathroom in the corner of the restaurant, tucking a bit of his long black hair behind his ears and finding you in front of him.

“The cashier just called you my husband,” you declared.

He shrugged.

“Surprise.”

You blinked at him.

Patrons chatted and laughed as if this was a normal day. The music was horrendous covers of cheesy 2000’s pop. It was very strange, but the pho was good and well-priced, which was why Yoongi and you came here often after his meetings with music companies. Popular talent was in high demand.

He ticked his head to your outfit. “I know you like this dress I bought you, but you’ve left your coat at the table.”

“Oh, shit.”

“You’ve been scatterbrained ever since you started writing again.”

“Shut up.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts smut #yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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velvetmud · 1 year

Text

tongue ring temptation

your father’s neighbor and close friend joel is fixated on your tongue piercing and fantasizes about all the things you could do with it.

warning(s): 18+ smut, dbf!joel, 69ing, daddy kink, dirty talk, age gap, let me go on…….

not a request, just an idea I had cause I think tatts and piercings in weird places is hot. dad’s best friend!joel is late 30s/early 40s, meets reader when she’s 18, takes places while she’s mid early 20s. joel is for sure a weirdo.

au no outbreak, just the dad’s best friend dynamic is so taboo and hot imo so I had to join the bandwagon and write this filth. anyways!!! thank you for clicking and reading and interacting:) it’s seen and super appreciated !

honestly, you didn’t know how the word got around about your new tongue ring so fast. either way, when your family tried asking about it, you declared it as nothing but a fashion statement. and sure, there’d been plenty of curious eyes trying to catch a peek since.

but really, the only pair of eyes burning the back of your head so persistently, almost shamelessly was always joel miller. joel, mr. miller, the mystery man that lives alone down the street. also amongst your father’s neighborhood friend group. even if joel was a little on the quieter side compared to the rest, it wasn’t hard to see what he thought about you.

it’s just this phase she’s going through, your father says to joel as they lay in lawn chairs in the backyard. she’s just a punk-y kind of girl. I don’t even know how many times she’s come home during the holidays with another tattoo or a new hole in her face. barely recognize her anymore. kids, am I right?

joel’s grip around the can of beer almost crushed it. he forces himself to refrain from giving any kind of reaction. the adam’s apple in his throat bobbed up and down as he gathers up more stoicism and some goddamn composure.

“yeah. guess she is lookin’ pretty different nowadays.”

joel doesn’t know what else to say after that. he gulps down the rest of his cold brew and turns his head to dreamily stare off into the window of your vacant bedroom.

even if it’s only allowed for a brief moment, his mind still goes wild thinking of how gorgeous you’d look choking on every inch of his dick while he fucked your mouth relentlessly. in an instant, his body feeds him some more fantasy fuel. his dick slowly sprang up, on the verge of begging for at least a little attention and relief in his jeans.

and yeah, he already can’t help it anymore.

his mind drifted off further away, beginning to imagine the kinds of things you could do with that new stud in your tongue. how much hotter it’ll be kissing you with it. swirling his own tongue around the ball. maybe after tonight he’ll look up some vibrating tongue rings from the mall to buy you—

your dad’s phone rings obnoxiously, snapping joel out of his embarrassing daze. he watched in the corner of his eye as your father’s face lit up after answering it.

“there she is. late flight, huh? come say hi to me and joel out back once you get here, honey.”

throughout the night it wouldn’t have been as much heinous torture if you hadn’t been reciprocating all of his micro advances.

he’d lick his lips like he was parched while you’d talk and catch up with him and your parents. felt even more devious when you’d absentmindedly start playing with the shiny silver ball in your mouth. like a secret just for him to see.

he makes an innocent attempt at conversation alone while your parents do their own bickering. joel had asked you if it hurt when you got it. you wanna roll your eyes at such a typical question, but he seems genuinely baffled. still laughing it off, you go on explaining it only hurt to eat and you had to hold off on smoking for a bit but now it’s all healed. completely.

implying you could do whatever he wanted to him and then some.

around midnight was when the casual ‘welcome home’ shindig was over. joel helped load your luggage upstairs, helped your parents clean up and even helped wash the dishes right next to you.

someway and somehow, there was an unspoken bet that both of you should just play pretend when it was time to say goodbye, meet up later some place elsewhere. where you could both be alone.

joel has a subtle smirk pointed at you, looking like you possess this dirty little secret only the two of you share. the tension in the room has you two in a chokehold. he slowly moves in to hug you, tightening once both of you loosen up and relax into it. before you have a chance to say anything, your parents are right back behind and waiting to say their goodbyes to joel too.

he eats the moment up, wanting to take the opportunity to turn you red as a tomato again.

“I feel bad for your dad, you’re really growin’ up pretty, sweetheart. probably already breakin’ hearts.”

you barely register your parents in the background giving their ooohs and awwws about how much you’ve grown up too. your dad agrees with him, that he really is fucked. joel thinks he doesn’t know the half of it. they say their good nights and good byes, and joel steadily keeps his eye on you knowingly.

about an hour later, you’re treading lightly down the dark street to his house, knocking rhythmically with both fists on his back door.

joel is shirtless in old plaid pajamas as he slides the screen door open and turns a light on. when the initial shock and excitement washes over him, so does the hesitance, and he goes on and on and on. tries to warn you about the consequences, and blah, blah, blah. luckily you’ve quickly found your way of easily shutting his worries down, going in and kissing across his jaw and down to his scruffy neck while you reassure him it’s okay, y’know. not like I’ll even dream of telling him about this. know you’ve thought about it too.

his breathing gets labored once you had him right where you wanted him, and he decides fuck it. it was only a matter of time before he was gonna do something about his problem anyway, with or without you here.

he was already going to hell for thinking about it, fantasizing about you and what skills you could show off with that tongue.

though you’ve known joel for a few years now, in your eyes he’d only ever been this shy, wounded, somewhat guarded man.

but now that you’re getting tangled up in his sheets, shedding your clothes sitting in between his toned legs, begging him to take you however he wants you; he doesn’t ever seem to shut the fuck up. he’s voicing everything he’s feeling, throwing names at you and controlling the pace however he wants. and it just makes you need him that much more, hearing how much he’s needed you all this time.

now you’re down on your knees because he shoved you there. he’s commando under his pajamas, the hard outline through the fabric making it pretty transparent.

you watch as it twitched and stubbornly whipped up and poked upwards against his stomach. he strokes the base lazily and breathes hard. you stick your tongue out invitingly.

“oh fuck—show me how good that ball on your tongue feels. yeah, that’s it—good girl. suck it all down, good little slut. mhmm.”

he cheered you on as you close your eyes and hum around the mouthful of his warm length. you feel the rapid heartbeat thumping, pulsing. with juicy fervor, your mouth starts to salivate as you suckle down the tip and swallow around whatever you can. you start to gain a sense of routine for what drove joel mad and use it to your advantage.

he moaned the longest whenever you made obscene efforts trying to wiggle the silver little ball around every one of his sensitive spots. or show it off while you flattened the length of your tongue to lick a strip from the bottom to the top.

the line beneath his tip down to the long thick vein gets your undivided attention and affection. the kitten licks give him more stimulation than he knows how to deal with. it’s so good that joel has to do a double take, yanking your face off of him. strings of spit still keep you both connected, and joel is tempted to take a fucking picture. he tries to catch his breath, angrily pinching the tip to keep himself from cumming.

he gives up only a second later and starts pumping himself with a loose grip, staring down at you while he mumbles “yeah, fuckin’ knew it. only dirty girls that like gettin’ their mouth used and fucked have these. you’re just made to drink up my cum, aren’t you? fuck. makes it so good. c’mon, open up.” he instructs, his gruff demeanor returning while his thumb pulls down on your plush bottom lip, opening your mouth up to him again.

you stick your tongue ring out with siren eyes gazing up at him. ducking your head lower, you start running the silver ball up the veiny base of his cock some more. precum slowly but surely starts dribbling out in little waves, sloppy right from the tip. you already found yourself missing what he sounds like when he’s helpless.

“fuck, stop, hold on,” he commands, the words coming out in depraved whimpers as his hands reach down to pull your head back. “enough. I wanna touch you some more.”

you unconsciously try hiding your blushing cheeks when he brought your face up to his. he grabs your chin and doesn’t allow you to hide anything from him. his palm is still pressing on the back of your head, pushing your face closer. it was as close as he’s let his lips near yours, and it started to look like he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

his big hands slide down your whole backside as he relented and connects his lips with yours. the fact that your mouth had just been going to work on his dick and he doesn’t even care. it occurred to you that that’s what might be turning him on even more while your lips slowly move together. he embraces the tang of his own pre-cum and finally goes in to play with your piercing. you hum in his mouth when he suddenly heaves you up in his lap, ripping his mouth from you and moving on to the descent of the valley between your breasts.

“these nipples sure would look real cute if you pierced them too,” he proclaims, mesmerized. two of his fingers grab one of your nipples and pinch the soft bud. it hardens while goosebumps trail beneath his touch.

“or maybe…” the pad of his finger wanders down your body all the way down to your eager clit. you immediately start rutting up against the perfect pressure. “maybe you could pierce this cute little clit next. make it feel good for both of us,” he grins, twisting the button and spits a decent amount down and rubs it in. you mewl and keen and whine out his name. “bet you’d just melt under me while I eat it. teasing you would be too fuckin’ easy.”

“thought about it over summer,” you admit. “didn’t have the money though.”

“I’ll get it for you,” he insists, head traveling down lower to stuff his face between your thighs. “think you’ll love it even more when I kiss it. tease it. looking so fucking pretty.”

you grab hold of his salt and pepper hair and comb your fingers through it, sighing and smiling. “really? you’d do that for me?”

joel nods while making himself at home. runs his tongue up and down your smooth entrance, warming up before he nuzzled his nose into your clit. the man takes the squeal coming from your mouth as a reward, and he licks up the evidence of your excitement.

“mmmhm. wanna see my cum on every tattoo, on every piercing,” he kisses your inner thigh and sticks his thumb to your chin. “starting with that tongue ring of yours, baby girl.”

“please, please joel—“

“fuck…” joel impatiently snakes the tip of his middle finger inside, feeling the wet warmth tempt him. “c’mere, I know we’re both so close. doing good for me. god, knew you were a daddy’s girl.”

your cheeks heat as slick gushed between your legs at the pet name he gave himself. you brace yourself for what elaborate plan he has next while he manhandled you around like you were nothing but a sack of grapes. he maneuvers your face in his lap while his face gets a full frontal.

“I cum on that tongue, you cum on mine.”

it’s hard not to drool when his length is in your face again, but you get the memo that he’s not fucking around anymore when you feel him plunge several fingers inside. his tongue joins to wet your clit and suck it like a gumdrop.

“joel, I’m—I’m really close, I can’t…”

“I know, I know. me too, me too just—just keep going,” he groans, feeling you clamp down around his fingers. it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be just as tight and wet around his cock. he physically aches from having to hold back, his moans buzzing through you while you gulp him down inch by inch.

you’re drunk on each other, faces stuffed in each other’s laps, in perfect sync with how close you are. sweat beads down your chest and you’re begging him to either let up or let you finish. the thick digits plunging inside you over and over make a hook. you clench down on him one last time and just barely let out your warning that there’s no hope left for you to keep lingering right at the edge.

“yeah, that’s my girl. that’s daddy’s girl. love makin’ you feel this good.”

his rough voice stutters out more blind praise while you make a slick mess. he laps up all of it, sultry greed taking over him while you come down.

just when you think you have time to recover, he’s flinging you right back down to your place on your knees. his cock is swollen and red as he fists and taps it on your mouth, signaling you to open up. hazy, you still do as you’re told and open wide, ready to catch everything he’ll give to you.

“shit, baby. that’s right, keep it open wide for me,” he panted. a deep, low warning follows as the first spurt of his cum lands right on the bullseye. your mouth is almost full by the end, and he doesn’t let a drop land anywhere else. a hand comes down to hold your jaw open before he goes down to merge you in a sloppy kiss. you feel his tongue move sensually against yours, playing more with your tongue ring. sharing the mouthful of his load.

he pulls away and wipes his mouth and tells you to swallow and show him again.

the only sound in the room is heavy breathing. you feel your limbs turn to jello and accept your fate when you try sitting up, only falling back over when he tugs you back down.

kissing your temple, he rubs your shoulder with ease before wiping the sweat from his brow.

“I uh, I know this isn’t exactly ideal,” he trails off, a post-nut wave of insecurity rushing through him when he thinks about the shit he let come out of his mouth. “but I’ve thought about that for a real long time.”

“oh, I know what you’ve thought about this whole time,” you chuckle, nuzzling your head in his shoulder and dragging a nail up and down his arm. “if I knew all’s I had to do what stick my tongue out at you, I would’ve done it forever ago. you’re easy.”

“I’m only a man, sweetheart. don’t even gotta bat those eyes and I knew I wanted you,” he finds your eyes and holds contact with sincerity.

both of you lean in and kiss once more. it isn’t leading anywhere this time. it’s just because you wanted to.

“oh and I stand by my word. we’re getting that clit pierced soon.”

you laugh and scoff and kiss him some more.

in the early hours of the morning, you’d fall asleep still wrapped around each other and sleep in late enough not to get home in time. your father’s words float back to joel’s head when he slowly wakes up and sees what time it is.

barely recognize her anymore. kids, am I right?

this is open ended on if they’re already this close to getting caught like fucking idiots, so I’ll leave it up in the air. thaaank you for reading and my ask is open, im still in the midst of writing existing prompts too.

masterlist + buy me a ko-fi !!

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #dbf Joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel tlou #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction #smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us imagine #the last of us HBO

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daisynik7 · 8 months

Note

hi, nikki :) congrats on 2k, my love 💕you deserve it and more! i’m just sending in a lil something for the milestone event: (i bet you look good on the dancefloor) by arctic monkeys — fluff/smut for reiner braun! thank you so much in advance, lovely! 🎀

I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor

Pairing: Reiner Braun x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~4.7k

cw: modern-day au, college au, drinking (everyone is 21+), fluff, smut – PIV sex (missionary), cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, pet names (sweetheart, baby)

Summary: You, a college senior who’s lived a mostly vanilla lifestyle the past four years, meet the alluring and mysterious Reiner at your friend’s birthday party. He’s different from you in many ways, but something about him captivates you like no other. When he invites you to an underground concert, you take a chance with him, craving for a taste of something different.

Author’s Notes: @pinkmirth Mira, my love! Thank you for participating in the y2k karaoke party! I appreciate you so so much and I hope I did your hubby justice with this one! I went a little over the word count that I originally thought I would, but I just couldn’t help it! I got too caught up in the setup, LOL, sorry! Special shoutout to @mobolanz for always posting amazing Reiner content that kept me motivated to finish this hehe.

Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are ALWAYS appreciated! Thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune. Header image from Pinterest (although I’m fairly certain it’s from the manhwa 19 Days).

It’s Annie’s 22nd birthday today; instead of going out to a club or bar, she decides she’d rather have a kickback with her closest friends, eating pizza and drinking cheap alcohol. Armin and Eren offer to host at their place, which is a twenty-minute walk from the university. As an RA for one of the freshman dorms on campus, it’s nice to get out every once in a while in the city that you so rarely have a chance to explore, even if it is just at someone else’s house. When you arrive, you recognize all of the people already there, other students you either personally know or have seen in passing. You greet Annie with a hug, handing her a small gift bag with a bottle of her favorite liquor. “Thank you!” she exclaims. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

“Me too! Though, I’ve got my work phone on me in case there are any emergencies,” you reply, pointing to the crossbody bag hanging on your shoulder.

“Always so responsible. Such a good girl,” she teases, pinching your cheek.

In your four years as a college student, you haven’t done anything outside of your comfort zone. You waited until you were officially legal to drink, and even now, you barely do it. Studies and extracurriculars always took priority over your social life, and while you have a solid group of friends, you haven’t done anything remotely wild. It’s not because you don’t have the desire to, there’s just never been a good opportunity.

You spend the next half hour chatting with a few of the partygoers, sharing stories on certain professors, gossiping about other students, all while nursing a White Claw, sipping it slowly. It seems all of Annie’s friends are already here, so you don’t except anyone else to arrive. So, it surprises you when there’s a loud pounding on the door. Everyone glances towards it, curious at who it is. Annie answers, revealing two well-built men. One of them is incredibly tall that he has to duck down to enter through the doorway. The other is slightly shorter, though still impressive, with broad shoulders and a muscular physique. He has short blond hair, a trimmed goatee, sharp jawline, and an intimidating gaze. Something about his appearance is striking, and you’re immediately intrigued.

You watch as they embrace the birthday girl, who punches them playfully in the shoulders. “Long time, no see, punks.”

“Sorry, Annie,” the taller one apologizes. “Classes have been a colossal pain lately.”

“And I’ve been busy at the shop,” the other adds. His voice is exactly what you imagine it would be like: gruff, husky. Sexy. Your interest piques even more, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this way about anyone, especially a complete stranger. When he removes his black leather jacket, your eyes widen at the reveal of his biceps, toned and sculpted like a marble statue. He’s wearing a fitted white tank with dark jeans, a chain hanging on the loop of his waistband with a small set of keys dangling. As if he couldn’t get any more attractive, here he is, flaunting his ripped body. You continue to watch him as he hangs his jacket on the coat rack by the door, inspecting the room while talking to Annie. “So, are these all college friends of yours?”

“Yup. You’re the only delinquents here,” she jokes, passing each of them a beer.

“Shut up,” he laughs, twisting the cap off to take a swig. “Whose house is this anyways?”

She points to Armin and Eren, who sit on the couch, talking animatedly. “It’s theirs. They were nice enough to offer.”

“Cool. I guess I should go mingle, then. Unless you think these people will be scared of me.”

“Some of them could use some scaring, if you know what I mean,” she replies with a smirk.

The two strangers make their way towards the hosts, shaking their hands to introduce themselves. You take this chance to approach your friend in the kitchen. “Annie, how do you know them?”

“Bertolt and Reiner? Oh, they’re childhood friends of mine. We all grew up together in Marley.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Cool.”

She raises a brow at you. “Why? Are you interested?”

“No! I was just curious! I’ve never seen them around before.” Your voice is squeaky, and you’ve clearly given yourself away.

She snickers, nudging you in the arm. “I can introduce you if you want. They’re a lot nicer than they look.”

“No, I wouldn’t want to bother them – ”

“Reiner!” Annie calls out to the blond, and heat instantly surrounds your face. Too late to turn back, you stand up straight, watching the attractive man return to the kitchen, finished with his beer. “What’s up?”

“I want you to meet my friend.” Annie beckons you forward, stating your name. You smile at him, holding your arm out.

He flashes a charming grin at you, enough to send a flutter in your belly. “I’m Reiner. Nice to meet you.” He shakes your hand, gripping you firmly.

“I’m going to go socialize. You two get along, okay?” Annie departs quickly, leaving you and Reiner to get acquainted.

“I heard that you’ve known Annie since she was a kid,” you start, attempting small talk. “What was she like back then?”

He leans on the refrigerator door, folding his arms across his chest, displaying his large chest. “She was a little shit, just like she is now,” he laughs. “She’s probably tamer since college though. We used to get into a bunch of fights together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She can really kick some ass if she wanted to.” He licks his lips before asking, “How do you know her?”

You try not to get distracted by the dirty thoughts swimming in your head right now, more and more attracted to him by the second. “We met in a class back in sophomore year, and we’ve been friends ever since. She’s really fun to be around.”

“And how about you?” His eyes bore into yours, and there’s an intensity in his gaze that you’re drawn by. “Are you fun to be around?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Probably not. I’m pretty vanilla.”

“Vanilla is good.”

“Vanilla is safe,” you argue.

“It’s also sweet, creamy, and delicious.”

You giggle, already so smitten by him. “Are you telling me that I’m sweet, creamy, and delicious?”

“I guess I’ll have to find that out myself.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he speaks to you, and this could be wishful thinking, but a spark ignites between you. For the first time in your uneventful college life, you’re flirting with the outsides of your comfort zone, slowly gravitating towards this mysterious and alluring stranger. And it’s exciting.

You continue your conversation, exchanging little flirtations here and there, learning more about him. The friend he arrived with, Bertolt, currently goes to school in Marley, where they both live. Reiner is a mechanic at a car shop in his hometown of Liberio. He’s never attended college and doesn’t plan to, already set to inherit the shop when the owner retires. On the weekends, he enjoys riding his motorbike around town and going out to underground concerts. You reveal to him how different your weekends are compared to his, considering you usually stay in.

“Have you ever been to an underground concert?” The two of you have moved into Annie’s room now, where it’s quieter and away from the rest of the party. It was your idea; you weren’t thinking about how it would look, asking him to move into a more intimate setting. He keeps a safe distance from you at the edge of the bed, the door ajar so that you can barely hear the chatter outside.

“No, never,” you reply. “I used to listen to some alternative rock back in the day.”

“Really?” He seems surprised as he takes a sip out of his water cup. “Who?”

You hum, trying to remember. You name a few, then end with, “Oh! And the Arctic Monkeys!”

When he starts singing the chorus to one of their songs, your face lights up, recognizing the familiar tune. “Yes! I love that one!” you beam, nodding along with him.

There’s that endearing twinkle again, scooting closer to you. “You’re so cute.”

His comment catches you off guard, and just when you thought you were keeping your cool, your whole body starts to heat up, completely flustered at the sudden compliment. “What?”

“I said you’re so cute,” he repeats, unfazed. As if he didn’t just rock your world.

You swallow loudly. “Thank you. You’re really…handsome.”

He bursts out laughing, maintaining his gaze on you. “Handsome. The last time I heard that was from my mom when I was a kid.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to say?!”

“Hey, I’ll take it. I’m more than happy with that.” He leans forward and you’re gravitating towards him, gradually closing the gap between you. You’re inches from his face, so close to kissing, when your phone rings loudly in your purse on the nightstand. It startles the both of you, taking you a second to realize that it’s your work phone, indicating some sort of RA emergency.

One of your residents is begging to be let in after losing their keys somewhere. You tell them you’re on your way, giving Reiner a guilty glance. When you’re finished with the call, you explain the situation. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” he offers, standing up.

“I drove here, so I’m fine. But thank you.”

“Then I’ll walk you to your car.” You don’t have the heart to reject him once more, so you agree, delivering quick goodbyes to your friends and to Annie, who eyes you curiously as Reiner follows you out. He walks beside you with his hands in his pockets, not speaking. When you’re at the door, he utters your name. “I’d really like to see you again.” He looks nervous, all the confidence he exuded earlier reduced into a shy expression.

You smile at him, chest swelling. “I’d really like to see you too.”

“Next weekend, there’s a concert I think you’d enjoy. It’s in Marley, but I can totally come here to pick you up and – ”

Before he starts rambling, you interrupt him politely. “I don’t mind driving to you. It’s not that far.” You give him your phone; he enters his number as a new contact. You give him a quick call so that he has yours. It’s like you’re teenagers, awkwardly exchanging info, all giddy and timid. “Text me the details, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.” He waits until you’re in the car, waving at you one last time before he shuts the door carefully. You glance at him through the rear-view mirror, grinning as he watches you drive off, already wishing it was next weekend.

~~~

Saturday finally arrives, the day you’ve been eagerly anticipating since the night you met Reiner. It’s unusual for you to be so enamored with someone you’ve only known for a week, worst of all, met once. You’ve been messaging non-stop since, even upgraded to a phone call last night that almost went until morning. And now, you’re pulling into a guest parking spot outside his apartment complex with an overnight bag hidden away in your trunk, just in case.

You head up a flight of stairs, searching for his number on the row of doors until you find the correct one, knocking twice, heartbeat already quickening. He answers promptly, dressed in a fitted black t-shirt that accentuates his ripped build. You swallow the saliva gathering in your mouth to greet him casually, hoping he doesn’t notice you practically drooling for him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he mimics, smiling at you. “You ready to go?”

You nod, surprised when he dangles two helmets, presenting one of them to you. “Are we taking your bike?”

“Yeah. That’s the only way I get around. Is that okay with you?”

You hesitate before responding, “Sure.”

He gives you a reassuring look. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. I promise.”

You learn soon enough that Reiner is a man of his word. With your arms around his waist, latched firmly to his abs, all you feel is exhilaration. He cruises through the streets of Marley, the night sky illuminated by the blur of city lights as you pass through downtown. The two of you don’t speak, the whoosh of wind rushing past your ears too deafening to hear anything but that and the engine. When he’s at a stop, he turns around to check on you, giving you a thumbs up, which you return enthusiastically. It also helps that he smells amazing: the subtle cologne on his clothes, the clean scent of his skin. Everything about him is attractive, and you can’t help but be drawn to him even more than you already were.

He parks his bike in an alley next to a venue with a big marquee, spelling the name “Lakua”. Below it shows that a band called “The Warriors” are playing tonight. You hop off first, unbuckling your helmet and passing it to him. He knocks a specific rhythm on a nearby door, and suddenly, a girl with wavy, black hair answers, grabbing them from his hands. “Thanks Pieck,” he says.

“Sure. Who’s you’re friend?” She examines you, smiling.

He states your name, adding, “I met her at Annie’s party last week.”

“I see,” she muses. “Well, have fun tonight.” With that, she winks at you, then shuts the door.

“We can go through the front,” he tells you, leading the way out of the alley and underneath the bright sign you saw earlier. There’s a bearded bouncer with wire-rimmed glasses at the front who acknowledges Reiner with a nod. “Evening, Reiner. IDs please.”

As you retrieve your licenses, Reiner slips him a wad of cash for admittance. “Hey Zeke. Did you hear them warm up?”

“Yep.” He juts his chin towards you. “Porco and Marcel are in top form tonight. Your pretty friend here is in for a real treat.”

“Great, we’re going in now,” Reiner responds quickly, wrapping his arm around you to steer you through the door. There’s a bar on one side, stocked with the typical shelves of liquor and four bartenders serving those that crowd around them. On the opposite end is a stage, set up with instruments, speakers, and lights. There’s a horde gathered near the front, waiting for the main act to start.

Reiner’s breath is warm on your ear when he says, “Follow me.” He holds your hand delicately, expertly maneuvering through the throng of concertgoers. He leads you past a curtained door towards the back, towards a closed room, knocking the same rhythm from earlier. It’s Pieck who answers, opening the door to usher you inside. “Hello again.”

On the couch are two men who resemble each other. Another with light brown hair stands in front of the mirror, fixing his hair. When you and Reiner enter, they all look, happily yelling, “Reiner!”

He introduces you to the brothers, Porco and Marcel, the two who are seated. They both play guitar and do vocals, Porco being the lead. Colt, who gives you a friendly wave, is their drummer. Pieck, the bassist, formally introduces herself. Together, they are The Warriors.

“We mostly do covers,” Marcel explains. “But we have some stuff in the works.”

“We tried to get Reiner to join, but he’s as tone-deaf as they come,” Porco teases, poking him in the arm.

Reiner chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s true. I’m pretty awful.”

“But he’s really good at other things. I’m sure you know that already,” Marcel comments, smirking.

Pieck shoves the guitarist’s arm. “Don’t be gross.” She redirects her attention to you. “Anyways, I hope you enjoy the show. Reiner’s been bugging us all week with requests. I have a hunch that you have something to do with it.”

You smile at him, noticing a faint blush on his cheeks. “Requests?”

“You’ll see,” he replies, grinning.

When it’s time for the band to perform, you make your way back to the dancefloor, more packed than it was when you first arrived. You manage to squeeze your way towards the front, Reiner huddled close behind you. Normally, you’d be claustrophobic, surrounded by all these hot, sweaty strangers. Reiner places his hands on your shoulders, leaning in to say, “I’m right here, okay? It might get a little rowdy, so if you want to leave, just tell me.”

You crane your neck to face him; he’s extremely close to you, enough that your noses are almost touching. It’s tempting to shift just the slightest bit forward and kiss him, but you resist the urge, already thrilled to be with him like this.

The crowd hollers as The Warriors strut across the stage, waving. At the mic, Porco yells, “Y’all ready to have fun tonight?!”

Louder applause erupts, and once Marcel starts a familiar guitar riff, it’s chaos in the best way possible. Soon, the bassline hits, then the drums, and your entire body thumps with each beat. It’s a song you recognize, and you’re impressed at how accurate they sound to the original while maintaining their own unique style. Marcel harmonizes perfectly with his brother, and together, their charisma on stage hypes everyone up. You bop your head to the melody, grinning ear-to-ear at how fun this is, the energy that surrounds you contagious. Reiner sways with you, grazing your back. You reach for his hand, brushing it with yours, turning to face him. “They’re so good!” you yell.

The two of you continue to enjoy the concert, dancing in whichever way the rest of the crowd is moving. You notice halfway through the setlist that many of the songs they’re playing are from artists you listed for him the night you met. The realization really hits you when the iconic intro from the Arctic Monkeys song Reiner hummed for you starts, and you turn completely around with the biggest smile on your face. He beams at you, equally as thrilled, dancing erratically with your fingers entwined together, mouthing the lyrics at each other, completely in sync.

~~~

It's past midnight by the time you make it back to Reiner’s place. Your skin is sticky from sweat, eardrums heavy from the concert, and you really don’t want to go home. You’re unsure if Reiner feels the same way until he unlocks his front door, suggesting, “Do you want to sleep over?” He asks it casually, though there is a hint of hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I have enough stuff you can use. You can borrow my clothes.”

You’re completely aware of the bag tucked away in your car right now, but the idea of wearing his clothes is too enticing, so you don’t mention it.

While you shower in his bathroom, your curiosity gets the best of you. You inspect all the products he uses, sniffing the pleasant scent before lathering it on yourself, satisfied with smelling exactly like him. You brush your teeth in front of the foggy mirror, wrapped in a towel, wondering how tonight is going to end. Should you make the first move? Should you make any move at all? Even with the vibes totally there, you’re still uncertain if he reciprocates your feelings. There’s this titillating tension hanging in the air, but you’re too nervous to cut it, afraid of rejection, of misunderstanding. Maybe this is the furthest the two of you will go, so you take advantage of this moment, hugging yourself in his t-shirt and boxers he lent you, inhaling his essence until it’s ingrained in your memory.

After you’re done, you walk out of the bathroom. He sits at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone. When he sees you, his eyes widen, scanning you up and down. “Wow.” It escapes out of his mouth abruptly, and he stammers, “Um, sorry. I’m…I’m going to shower now.” He gets up, avoiding your gaze, locking himself inside.

Maybe this isn’t the furthest the two of you will go.

~~~

You sit up in the bed, resting against the headboard, waiting for him. After a few minutes, he walks out, waist wrapped in a towel, chest bared and dewy with water. He glances at you, looking away to search his drawer for a new shirt. The tension is palpable, even more so now than ever before.

You clear your throat, wanting to break this unbearable silence. “Thank you again for letting me stay here.”

“Of course,” he mumbles, sliding a shirt over his head. He bends down to retrieve a pair of boxers on the lower shelf, slipping it underneath his towel. Dressed, he returns to the bathroom to hang his towel on the rack. You watch him carefully, so many thoughts racing in your head, the words on the tip of your tongue. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring at the carpet beneath his feet. “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything,” he murmurs, heading towards the door.

“Reiner, wait.”

He faces you, eager. “Yes?”

“Sleep here with me.” You pat the space next to you. “Don’t make me lonely tonight.”

He swallows thickly, taking long strides to get to you quick, crawling beside you. “Are you sure?”

You nod, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Absolutely sure.”

Fingers laced around the nape of his neck, you pull him in for a kiss, his plush lips surrounding yours seamlessly. He kisses you with fervor, slipping into your mouth, tongue swirling around yours. You yank on his collar, stretching the fabric, imploring him to strip his top off, which his does in a fluid motion. Caged between his biceps, you lay beneath him, caressing his face while you smother him in your kisses. When you break free to catch your breath, he nuzzles his nose to yours, whispering, “I’ve been waiting all night to do this. All week, actually.”

“Yeah?” you coo, trailing down his neck, flushed with excitement. “So have I.”

“You’re so fucking sexy in my clothes,” he huffs, hooking the elastic of your boxers with his finger. “You’re not wearing any panties, are you?”

You shake your head, and he smirks, sliding down the bed to position himself between your legs, tugging at your bottoms. You lift your hips up, wriggling out as he removes them off you, tossing it behind him. He stares at your pussy, throbbing and aching for his touch. Grabbing you behind the knees, he spreads you open, exposing your cunt. He doesn’t dawdle any longer, diving in to spread his tongue on your clit. You throw your head back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling, vision blurry from pleasure as he eats you out, determined to have his thirst quenched. He swallows every ounce of you, running his tongue along your slit and flicking it on your bud. And when your orgasm is so close to the peak, he puckers around you, sucking on your clit until it’s raw and swollen. You climax, squirming and whining, clenching the bedsheets, twisting it in your fists.

“Fuck,” he muffles, lapping at your cum as it spills out of your cunt. “Getting so messy for me.” His finger teases your entrance while he continues to flick his tongue on your sensitive bud. “Can you give me one more?” he coos, peering up at you with adoration, placing a wet smooch on the inside of your thigh. “Pretty please, sweetheart?”

You have no choice but to oblige, sinking into the cushions once more, twitching with ecstasy as he strokes your pussy with your clit in his mouth. There’s nothing on your brain except for Reiner and all the different positions he can fuck you in. You come a second time with two of his digits inside you, pussy covered in spit and arousal. He chuckles, scattering kisses along your body until he’s face-to-face with you, rubbing his nose to yours affectionately. His stiff cock protrudes from his boxers, and you reach down to palm it, kissing his lips, glossy with your slick.

He moans, rutting into your hand. “You’re a fucking dream, you know that?”

You smile, pressing your forehead to his. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

He stretches his arm towards the nightstand, searching the top drawer to retrieve condoms and a bottle of lube. “Think you can take me?” he smirks, shoving his underwear down his legs, erection sprung against his chiseled abs. He’s bigger than you fantasized; your pussy throbs, yearning to be filled by his impressive cock. You nod dumbly, salivating for him. He scoots closer, removing his boxers, stroking himself rapidly, licking his lips. “I knew you would taste good. Sweet, creamy. Delicious.”

You giggle, remembering what he said to you a week ago. Spreading your thighs open, you caress your clit between your fingers, watching him pump his cock in his fist. “Fuck,” you moan, growing impatient. “Fuck me, Reiner. Hurry.”

Ripping the wrapper with his teeth, he rolls the condom on his cock, coating it with a generous amount of lube. “Okay, beautiful. I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give it to you so good.” He guides himself inside you, stretching your pussy until he bottoms out. “Fuck,” he drawls, nestling in comfortably. “So fucking hot.”

You drape your arms over his shoulders, holding him limply, already spent from your previous orgasms, still so horny for him. He fucks you, legs coiled around his torso, gripping your waist, dragging your body towards him with each thrust. Saliva dribbles out the sides of your mouth, eyes half-closed in a dumb expression, blissfully fucked. He takes pleasure in seeing you unravel like this, clutching you tighter, increasing the pace. “Oh fuck, you’re amazing.” He holds you close, bucking his hips frantically, staring wildly at you beneath him. “I knew it the moment we met, then tonight at the concert. Knew you were special.”

You whimper his name, squeezing him tighter. “Reiner, right there, right there!”

“Yeah? Feels good?” he purrs, circling your clit with his thumb. “Then come on my cock, baby. Show me how much you love it.” He presses his groin to your pussy, burying himself deep inside you, ceasing his thrusts to focus on your approaching orgasm. Frothy spit drips from his mouth directly onto your bud, smearing it with his fingers. You convulse around him, ecstasy coursing through your body, electrifying every nerve all the way down to your toes. His name pours out of you in moans, skin sweltering against the sheets, dewy with sweat. You’re a sticky mess for him, overstimulated from your three consecutive orgasms. And yet, you’re desperate for more.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, reaching out to him weakly. “You’re amazing, Reiner.”

He takes your hand, holding it to his lips, kissing your fingertips lightly. “You take it so good. My beautiful, gorgeous girl.”

You orgasm twice more in this position until he’s nearing his own. His jaw is clenched, brows furrowed tight, ready to lose it. “Tell me where you want it.”

You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “On me. Come on me, Rei. All over my clit and pussy.”

He groans, pulling out quickly to snap the condom off, pumping his cock in his fist. Within seconds, he’s nutting on you, shooting his seed onto your bud, watching it trickle down to your sopping cunt. “Fuck,” he moans, dick rigid in his grasp. He taps the tip on your drenched clit, relishing the lewd squelch it makes. “So fucking creamy for me.” There’s a wicked glint in his eyes, fixated on how his cum glazes your loins, and excitement bubbles in your core again, realizing that he has no intention of ending it here.

“Like what you see?” you goad him, dipping your fingers in his mess, stuffing it into your cunt. “I told you not to stop, didn’t I? So what are you waiting for?”

He leans over you, kissing you passionately, grinding his dick between your pussy lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve got all the time in the world now.”

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