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kithtaehyung · 3 months

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broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time?

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware.

“Were they always on this team?”

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd.

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience.

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand.

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night.

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing.

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.”

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still…

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.”

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise.

“And you’re paying me double.”

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him.

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?”

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.”

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.”

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention.

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.”

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.”

You stare.

“This will be over soon.”

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet.

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!”

That was close. Way too close.

Get it together.

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs.

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy.

However.

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense.

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action.

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats.

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you.

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks,

“I need you all to calm down.”

“No can do, coach.”

“Not if they aren’t.”

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived?

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder.

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too.

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.”

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.”

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?”

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s.

And you don’t like it one bit.

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up.

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring.

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed.

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out.

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.”

“After what he did to you?”

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…”

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.”

“Yoongi.”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Please just—”

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back.

Only for him to be just out of reach.

After halftime, it’s a whole different game.

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill.

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead.

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on.

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck!

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning.

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench.

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger.

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands.

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win.

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate.

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change.

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive.

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight.

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees.

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy.

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder.

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you.

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if…

Nah.

That’s still too big a reach.

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night.

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!”

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight.

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on.

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?”

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.”

Motherfucker.

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?”

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.”

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night.

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain.

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky.

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?”

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod.

Weird.

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?”

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.”

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.”

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.”

“You’re whipped.”

“No, you.”

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat.

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some.

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do—

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake.

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud.

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!”

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.”

“No! What the fuck—”

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart.

“Babe, we have to go now.”

“No, let me go!”

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness.

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts.

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive.

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!”

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.”

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure.

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much.

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…”

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.”

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod.

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort.

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too.

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard.

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut.

You want to believe him. You do. You do.

But hope may be a bitch.

So you don’t.

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort.

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating.

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—”

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?”

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.”

Oh.

“Your brother’s here, too.”

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.”

“Umm.. Yeah.”

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.”

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—”

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes.

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.”

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up.

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?”

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.”

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.”

“Fuck that.”

“Huh?”

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.”

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.”

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.”

And you mean that.

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.”

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else.

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen.

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid.

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?”

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.”

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.”

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room,

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?”

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out,

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?”

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not.

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out.

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted.

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends.

So you leave to go pack without another word.

It’s raining.

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up.

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do.

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either.

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you.

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened.

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you?

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring.

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick.

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know.

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else.

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there.

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with.

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else.

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park.

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside.

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here.

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer.

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear.

Finally. “Hello.”

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside.

“You’re here?”

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell.

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame.

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—”

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go.

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.”

“No!”

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching,

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage.

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine.

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight.

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you.

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice,

“…No.”

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that.

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground.

And your breath cuts like it’s your last.

Shards.

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room.

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it.

Throw it out, all of it, all of it.

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is.

Shit, this is everywhere.

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts.

This really, really hurts.

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going.

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain.

“I got it.”

“Let me do it.”

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room.

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way.

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment.

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed.

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away.

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore.

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse.

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.”

“I still need to—”

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.”

“Do what? I’m helping you.”

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting.

But ice.

“Who said I needed it?”

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?”

“I say a lot of things.”

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder.

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.”

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?”

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.”

“Not tonight what.”

“We aren’t doing this tonight.”

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.”

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.”

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?”

“I am.”

“Wow.”

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?”

“Do you even know?”

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!”

“That’s cus—”

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.”

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…”

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then.

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.”

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.”

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.”

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock,

“Who asked you?”

Dark liquid drips onto your soul.

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.”

“That’s what I said.”

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare.

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time.

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center.

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming.

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—”

“Whoa, hold u—”

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—”

“Just listen—”

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—”

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming.

“I swear to—”

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders.

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?”

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again.

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now.

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass.

“He’s still home.”

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.”

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you.

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.”

Your eyes are ice.

“Are you.”

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside.

And Yoongi cracks like lightning.

“Goddamn it.”

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk.

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain.

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life.

“Stubborn.”

“Coward.”

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth,

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.”

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.”

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.”

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions.

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation.

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself.

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length.

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that.

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what.

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?”

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat.

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?”

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.”

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it.

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground.

“Holy fuck.”

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss.

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.”

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall.

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact.

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.”

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.”

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.”

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside.

And it’s maddening. “Please!”

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall.

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes.

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely.

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust.

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.”

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.”

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?”

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach.

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway.

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth.

“What was that?”

“I said fuck you!”

“Thought so.”

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.”

“Fuck—!”

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver.

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.”

“Asshole—”

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.”

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—”

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?”

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.”

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.”

“Make me. Bet you can’t.”

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.”

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear.

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.”

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that.

“Fuckin’ thought so.”

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure.

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down.

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension.

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.”

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!”

“What, doll.”

“Please!”

“Nah.”

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt.

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close.

Every. Single. Time.

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?”

“Please!”

“Mm. Not loud enough.”

“Yoongi, please.”

“Oh, we’re saying names now?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.”

“Do it yourself then.”

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat.

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…”

“Nah.”

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.”

“You’ll come when I say you can.”

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?”

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong.

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.”

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.”

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command,

“Then fucking come.”

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin.

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened.

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice.

“I said again.”

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone.

“Yoongi—”

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place.

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.”

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.”

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs.

“Babe.”

“I—I—”

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.”

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes…

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.”

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale.

“There you go. Keep going.”

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is.

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.”

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?”

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—”

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Babe.”

“You told me so many times—”

“Breathe, angel.”

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice.

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Just… Like this.”

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—”

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out.

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—”

“I’m here.”

“So please don’t push me away.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you don’t make promises but—”

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear.

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.”

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore.

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.”

“Hmm?”

“Shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on.

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside.

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?”

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.”

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap.

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off?

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.”

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—”

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those?

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release.

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too.

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever.

“You got hurt cus I said to play.”

“Nope.”

“I wore the outfit that day.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And lost my friends at the club.”

“No.”

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have,

“How about we share it.”

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.”

“Okay.”

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.”

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.”

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain.

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.”

“Duh.”

He’s himself again.

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too.

That’s all you both need to feel peace.

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head.

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed.

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head.

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—”

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.”

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…”

Scroll, scroll.

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?”

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again.

Scroll, scroll.

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.”

Time bursts.

Your chest glows.

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion.

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?”

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door.

His eyes.

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms.

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance.

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do.

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe?

No.

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters.

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.”

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—”

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you.

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue.

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you?

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man.

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything.

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.”

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.”

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.”

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself.

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.”

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall.

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides.

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts.

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.”

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.”

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—”

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes.

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?”

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.”

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?”

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.”

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.”

“I want what you want, doll.”

“Then it’s okay.”

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him.

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give.

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined.

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again.

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two.

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside.

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yoongi—”

“Fuck.”

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come.

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too.

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?”

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.”

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.”

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.”

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.”

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.”

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it.

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?”

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?”

Again.

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.”

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.”

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire.

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything.

“Taking me so well like this.”

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want.

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!”

“Uh uh.”

“Please—please—”

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful.

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion.

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists.

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut.

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles.

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.”

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down.

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel.

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.”

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?”

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised.

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.”

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper.

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.”

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.”

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.”

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.”

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas.

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you.

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world.

Swelling, you already feel close.

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble.

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi.

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again.

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep.

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again.

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again?

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times.

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins.

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence.

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found.

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning.

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.”

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.”

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest.

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out,

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.”

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer.

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet.

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough.

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.”

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.”

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?”

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you.

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.”

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?”

Oh. Wait. “What?”

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that.

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops.

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there.

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.”

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion,

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift.

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same.

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.”

“You did threaten to kick me out before.”

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.”

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!”

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.”

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.”

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.”

“Guess what.”

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again.

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours.

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many.

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home?

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?”

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.”

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet.

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.”

“I can!”

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.”

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin.

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony.

And it hurts. It really, really hurts.

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same.

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret.

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.”

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.”

Oh.

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking.

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?”

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself.

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.”

tbc. :)

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

#AHHH it's finally here!#bts fic #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts fanfic #ryenwrites #*ryenfictalk #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #3tan12 #*latest

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pocoyo-yo · 1 year

Text

'𝐈 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐲, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐭'

SUMMARY: you guys heard me loud and clear so here's part two of '8ft blue dilf fucks you like he's young again'

WARNINGS: smut, size kink, avatar/na'vi!jake, dilf!jake, fem!bodied reader, omaticaya!reader, creampie, unprotected, breeding kink, praise, degradtion, manhandling, overstimulation, whole makeout session, mating press (pos.), missionary (pos.), pet names (baby, whore just a lil bit, ...babygirl)

PART ONE

your mind was nothing but fog at this point— you could hear your own heartbeat due to almost every other sound being muted.

your blurred eyes stared at the now slightly open entrance to the hut— jake had covered it after who knows how long.

you could see, just barely see, shadows of other na'vi scurrying quickly past the hut. you knew they heard you two— but your brain was too fucked out to care. it's not like jake gave a damn either— who was bold enough to tell the olo'eykan to keep it down when it came to pleasuring his mate?

"s'too much— s'too much, ma jake.."

you left a soft kiss on his arm— that was wrapped around you. the mucles flexed as he held you close him— you back pressed firmly against his chest.

"you pass out— then we're done," he grunted, hips snapping into your ass while he cock continued to numb your velvety walls. ".. just let me fuck my girl to sleep and I'll stop."

"the k— kids," you reminded him, mind only focused on his cock but your motherly ways still found a way to stay a float through it all. ".. what if—"

"— shh.. I'm giving you another one right now— the hell," jake groaned in fustration at the feeling of his cock slipping out of your folds. his grip on you loosened and you gasped as he laid you on your back— his body now nestled in between your open thighs. ".. what is this— the third time?"

you whimpered, "ma jake.."

he rubbed the tip of his cock over your cunt— it was glistening with your wetness and his cum. even as you laid before him— just a few seconds without his cock stuffing your hold dribbles of his cum from previous rounds rolled down your ass on onto the mat where you both slept.

"don't look at me like that," jake clicked his tongue at the sight of your puffy eyes that were filled with another round of tears, and your swollen lips that were stuck in a pout. "you tryin to make me feel bad? you asked for this— been doing so good too— takin' this dick with a smile. what happened, babygirl?"

he pushed himself back inside of you with ease and you whined— your mouth forming an 'o' shape.

"I dunno," you sniffled, legs shaking as the heat and pressure in between your thighs grew unbearable. "I dunno just please— please move.."

"now you want me to move? after making that sad face— what are you? an actor now," jake thrusted into you quickly— cock drilling into your gaping pussy like he hadn't been doing this for hours already. ".. I saw the way your hole was grasping at straws when I wasn't inside of you— so desperate for a good dickin' down.."

jake gripped your thighs and let your legs rest on his shoulders— almost folding you in half to reach even deeper (like it was possible at that point).

"ma j— jake," you sobbed— eyes hooded as you stared at his wet abdomen. it continously slammed into your sensitive clit— giving it the attention it was craving. ".. s'deep— you are so deep.."

"..fuck— give me one more," he bit down on his bottom lip— eyes only focused on your expression. "cum one more time f'me.. just one more and black out— then I'm done, yeah?"

you traced your finger tips down jakes chest while his brows furrowed. his tongue swiped over his lips— sweat dripped off of the tip of his flat nose.

his hips rolled against your skin— thigh muscles sore from all the positions he had you in. your golden eyes flickered back in your head— soft, broken moans floating from your throat as his cock fucked into that gummy spot in your walls.

".. r— right there!" you begged, nails sinking into his skin with a hiss.

"damn," he hissed, the fat tip slamming harder into your g-spot. "right there, baby?"

"yes.. yes.. oh great mother," you shivered as jakes rough hand traced over your belly— stopping to feel the slight buldge in your skin when he hit that certain spot. "please— ma jake, kiss me please.."

"kiss you," he scoffed. "what whore gets a kiss? fuck— well, the kinda kiss you're thinkin' of.."

you felt tears fall down your cheeks and you pouted, "but.."

he frowned and his hand left your stomach, now gripping your jaw, "but?"

"tsaheylu," you reminded him with a whimper. "we committed tsaheylu.."

jake glanced at your connected queue's before he looked back at you— your body jolting upward slightly with each snap of his hips. a long, shakey sigh left his lips as your deep emotions for a kiss coursed throughout every neuron in his brain.

"you want it that bad, huh?" he chuckled.

you nodded with a sniffles, "yes.. kiss me please.."

jake pressed his forehead against yours before his lips found your own. you clawed at his chest— moaning desperately into jakes mouth. his tongue swipped over your lips before venturing into your mouth, meeting your own. the kiss was so tender— after each drawback for a short breath of air jake kissed the corners of your mouth before diving back in. he was sort of shocked he went that long without genuinely kissing you— he didn't want to separate, only doing so, so that you could breathe.

"you're so pretty, baby," he mumbled, breathing harshly through his nose. "so damn perfect.."

you asked to be used— to be treated as a play-thing and you both were enjoying the hell out of it, shit— jake was still fucking you like a slut while kissing you like he hadn't kissed you in years, but he could only go so long without a bit of praise for you.

I mean, back when you both were young, he wasn't an asshole when you two had sex— just very, very rough.

"ma jake.. fuck— jake.." you hiccuped on whines, pulling back for air.

"you're already doing that, pretty thing." jake teased— hooded eyes only staring at your wet lips.

tears clung to your lashes as you murmured, "you— you are pretty.. ma jake, you are so pretty.."

"don't steal my compliments," he rolled his eyes before he kissed your jaw. "also I'm not pretty— I fucked you that dumb..?"

he pulled back, hovering over you while you tried form a sentence, honestly, just anything slightly coherent.

"you are pretty," you repeated— hands shakily grazing jakes stomach. you traced your thumb over his two beauty marks and glanced up at him. "these are pretty.."

jake clicked his tongue, "don't say shit like that," he snuck his hand in betwen your thigh and rubbed dramatic circles on your clit with his thumb. "and give me that look.."

you gasped, your tongue on the verge of loling out of your mouth. jake's deep blue cheeks were flushed darker— a slight gulp leaving him as your deadly doe eyes grew wide.

"I can feel you clampin' down on me, babygirl," he groaned— cock twitching in the warmth and tightness of your walls. "fuck— you're tight.. you gonna cum?"

his dick poked at your belly more and more, and it was a sight. you knew he was deep but actually seeing the tip of his cock make your belly buldge made you somewhat embarassed.

"jake— 'can't do it!" you cried out.

"answer the question.." he grunted.

your toes curled— your dazed gaze meeting jakes as the knot in your stomach grew painfully tight. your breaths were uneven and your ears perked up at the lewd nouses that came from below— each wet slap and airy thrust.

you whimpered, "y— yes! m'gonna cum— yes!"

jakes let his hand slide to your belly, and he lifted his hips, heavy balls now slapping against your clit everytime he sunk back inside you.

"give me one more, babygirl," he rested his forehead against yours once again as he pressed down on your stomach (the spot where he would hit). "and I'll.. give you one more.."

your thighs pressed against your breasts and that did it for you. the pressure was too much to the point where you couldn't speak— cumming was all you could think about.

a broken sob escaped your throat— your entire body shook (legs shaking the most), the intensity of your orgasm made your eyes roll back in your head.

jake moaned, "holy fuck, baby—"

you creamed around his cock and jake could only get a few more thrusts in before your overstimulation became too much for him to handle. his jaw hung agape while a mixture of curse words and whimpers filled the air.

you panted heavily while his cum stuffed you full for the however many time.

you whined as jake lifted himself up and let your weak legs fall to his sides. he held your hand and kissed each of your knuckles gently.

"I'm right here," he huffed. "..fuck, you did so good, babygirl— I love you so much," jake could see you were barely clinging onto consiousness and he chuckled, "I'll clean you up— rest for me.."

you shivered as he pulled out his softened cock and separated your queues, giving your forehead a gentle kiss before your heavy eyelids fluttered shut.

"and there she goes.." he sighed.

jake resisted the urge to just collaspe beside you and take you in his arms— the kids would be returning home soon (it was almost Eclipse).

he wiped you down the best he could and tried not to wake you while he dressed you up again. he put your loincloth on first— not wanting all his hardwork to just spill out like that. he then threw a thin blanket over you— even though na'vi didn't use them he didn't want the kids seeing you covered in his kiss marks and bruises until they faded a little.

jake then fixed himself up, jumping a bit as three rowdy kids (not even in double digits) stormed into the hut like they owned the place. all of them calling for you— of course.

"mama guess what!"

"mama I didn't do it—"

"mama m'hungry!"

"shh," jake placed his finger over his lips and nodded towards your sleeping frame. "mama's asleep.. she's— she's not feeling well, so," he stroked his daughters bangs and suggested in a soft tone. "how about you go eat dinner with grandma and stay for a little bit. tell her daddy sent you, alright..?"

the three children blinked slowly before they gave jake a quick nod and left just as quickly as they busted in.

"it's fine.." jake sighed and laid down next to you, pulling you in close.

your head rested against his chest as he stroked your hair while he stared up at the ceiling with hooded eyes.

"..four will be fine."

- so I just hit 500+ followers.. wtf you guys??? like ion even know what to say— thank you so much!! think of this as a potential 500 follower special since I usually disappear off of the face of the planet for like three weeks -

#avatar #avatar twow #avatar smut #avatar x you #dilf jake sully #jake sully smut #jake sully #smut #rest in peace to all the soldiers who died in the service i dive in her cervix #jake sully x reader #jake sully x you #papa jake #avatar movie #tysm for 500 followers

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de4dlyniightshade · 3 months

Note

Dunno if u have seen it but I’d really love ur version of the NSFW alphabet for Spencer Reid

(Not sure if that really counts as a Drabble or a super long headcanon. I tried to go thru ur blog and I didn’t see where u had done 1 before!!)

ON IT!!!

doing it with sub!spencer ofc<3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): super sleepy and cuddly, just wants you to hold him and kiss him and play with his hair. also goes borderline nonverbal, just wants to be in your company.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): his favourite body part on himself is honestly probably his brain ngl BUT otherwise i'd say his hair, he takes good care of his hair and takes the time to make sure it looks nice so i'd say his hair. as for on you probably your hips or eyes, your eyes is the answer he tells people but actually he just loves gripping your hips and pinching the fatty skin there and placing kisses on your hipbones.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): loves cumming in you. so much. but also loves cumming on you, more specifically cumming on your pussy after fucking you, the way it looks running over you just making his head spin.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): pervert. not a creepy pervert but still a pervert. will stick around if he walks in on you changing, stare at your boobs and ass when he thinks you don't see him, shamefully touches your underwear for longer than he should when he's doing laundry, will spend a good while scanning your body while you sleep, especially if you're wearing shorts or a tank top.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): not experienced. has no idea what he's doing. he tries his best and learns fast but he needs a lot of guidance and care but he prefers you taking control anyway.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): cowgirl. nothing beats getting ridden in his mind, the sight of you on top of him, your boobs bouncing with each thrust and the way you gripped his waist.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): i wouldn't say he's serious but he's not humorous either, whenever your touching him he just becomes a moaning mess and can hardly think for himself, just completely lost in the pleasure.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): not shaved bald but definitely trimmed, if not for your benefit then definitely for his own.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): soooo lovey, just holding you and kissing you and snuggling into you and telling you that he loves you and thanking you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): definitely jerks off a lot when you're apart because he just gets really sexually frustrated without you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): mommy kink!!!

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): bed first, always, it's just more private and intimate but he also likes it on the couch but that's more of a spur of the moment thing.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): anything and everything. you smiled at him? horny. kissed him? extra horny. hugged him? horny. literally anything you do can get him going.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): blindfolds on him for obvious reasons, also domming, he just can't do it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): giving all the way!!! even if he's not that good at it he puts his heart and soul into it. more often than not he gets carried away and forgets he's trying to get you to cum bcs he just loves to taste you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): loves it fast but not too rough if that makes sense? like he doesn't wanna hurt afterwards and whenever he's on top he just gets so caught up that he can't help but fuck you desperately.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): likes them a lot and however often you're up for it, especially before work. definitely walks into that building with a real pep in his step after a quickie in the morning.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): definitely game to experiment with a lot of things you wanna try, but nothing too crazy like he wouldn't be into slapping or extreme bondage, but a little tying up he's game for.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): not many. he gets easily overwhelmed and overstimulated bcs he's just so sensitive. can go three rounds at very best.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): doesn't own toys himself but if you do he uses them on you, more specifically if you had a vibrator he'd use it on you when you're tired. also let's you use a vibrator on him, the feeling of it pressed to his tip making him cum embarrassingly fast. not to forget pegging, would let you peg him or use a dildo on him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): not at all, you're more the one to tease him but he doesn't have enough patience or self control to tease you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): very loud and doesn't even realise it, he just gets so lost in his own mind that he can't even hear himself.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): loves being bitten by you, not aggressively enough that it hurts too bad but if he was on top and you bit into his shoulder when you came he'd definitely follow quick after.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): around 7 inches, not too thick but not too thin either, curved upwards slightly, the prettiest pink tip and not overly veiny but definitely a few. also i feel like he has pretty nipples idc.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): very high, needy alllllll the time like could go at it at the drop of a hat it doesn't matter what time of day he could be rock hard in seconds for you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): pretty quickly depending on the time, if it was one of those morning quickies ofc he can't but otherwise he tries to stay awake but never manages to actually stay awake that often.

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moralesmilesanhour · 10 months

Note

Hello!!! How are you? I’ve been a follower for the past few days and was wondering if I could request something.

I was hoping to request a fic or like give you a prompt for something for miles42 × femreader

So it goes like this- yk those super corny reads that are like the reader's pinning for miles and like sometimes miles finds them annoying but in a cute way but he don't know that her yk? So he's talking to his homeboys about her, talm about some how she's so "annoying, a nuisance" and guess who's behind the wall listening? The reader herself.

So this goes one of two ways- she either matches up there, confronts him. And she's like "flipping fine, if that's how you feel then lemme get out of ur way- you won't hear a peep from me" and she like just ignores him and he learns how he feels about her, sees how his life is so boring without her and all that- goes to apologize happy ending..

Option number 2: silent treatment. Like just slowly drifting away until he once again comes to the realization that he needs her and all that happy ending yay!

Feel free to do whatever you want with this but I'm thinking of sending the same request to other authors to see what they come up with cause everyone has a style k? And i just love studying them and reading them cause evervtime- no matter how similar the prompt is- they always manage to invoke different feelings with in me.

Anyway- have fun doing this- but remember you don't have to cause this is kinda too much and I'm sorry😓

"I want my pen back."

wc: >1,200 A/N: okay so i got a bit carried away...this is a long one. (yes I am using this as an excuse to try out the gradient thing) thank you anon for this fun request! i also rlly like ur reasoning behind it and i hope i was able to do this prompt some type of justice lol

The gel pen clattered to the ground.

“I got it,” you said, grinning at Miles. You squat to grab it before the boy can act to get it himself, and he sighs as you hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

Miles turned the pen every which way between his fingers.

You had gifted it to him on the first day of school, with that same expectant grin. The little cartoon dogs that surrounded the perimeter had begun to fade with use because – admittedly – it had actually turned out to be a good ass pen.

He’d thought initially that you were just being nice; maybe you were handing shit out to everyone because it was the first day, understandable.

But then, it was highlighters (the erasable ones).

Pink sticky-notes on his locker, telling him to have a nice day with the ‘i’s dotted with hearts.

A new sketchbook for Secret Santa.

Miles’ pencil case had rapidly gotten bulkier, and when you rushed to grab a seat next to him during the one class without assigned seats, it finally clicked.

You were trying to get his attention. And he wasn’t sure what would happen if you got it.

“I like the new braids.”

He was snapped out of his thoughts, and turned to you.

“Huh?”

“The braids,” you laughed. “I like the pattern. Who did ‘em for you?”

A tiny smirk ghosted the boy’s lips.

“My mom. Just like the last time you asked me.”

He ran a hand instinctively over the meandering zig-zag pattern that his cornrows had been sectioned into. Miles looked at you from his periphery; you were still staring.

“Bitch, just ask him out already!”

Your friend smacked the back of your shoulder as the two of you took your sweet time getting back to your lockers.

“Alright, today, I swear,” you said, hand over your heart for emphasis.

A beat of silence passes. “But what if he says no?”

She groaned.

“Then he says no, and you can save your money. But say something, it’s getting embarrassing.”

Your friends’ encouragement landed you here, around the corner of a building where Miles and a gaggle of other boys from your homeroom were bursting into raucous laughter.

“Yo, why you ain’t bag her yet? She wants you bad,” one boy said.

Unsure if the ‘she’ in question was you, you stay where you are and keep listening.

“I dunno, she kinda annoying,”

Miles’ low voice makes your ears perk up.

“One day she gon’ run outta things to say about my hair, she has to!”

…Oh.

The buoyant feeling in your chest sinks as the group erupts into another laughing fit. If you asked him out now, you’d hear about it for the rest of the year.

Shoving your phone into your pocket, you turn back the way you came.

Miles knew something was off when you sat down the next morning without a word.

“You good?” he asked.

You glanced at him, then nodded before going back to playing with the beads in your hair. The excruciating silence stretched on for almost the entirety of class before it was broken again.

“Do you…wanna help me with my homework? I’ll really let you, this time.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Morales, you got an ‘A’ in every class.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Your name’s on every bulletin board.”

“Damn,” the boy muttered to himself as his leg bounced under the desk.

Your beads clattered against your back as you rose from your seat. The bell had rung, finally. You didn’t even say ‘bye’.

Miles cracked open his locker. One of your sticky notes from last week had begun to un-stick and fluttered to the ground. There were no new ones. He bent to pick it up, noticing how neat and round your handwriting was on these compared to the way you wrote in class. The letters didn’t run together, like you were in a rush.

Neatly folding the note and sticking it in his pocket, Miles shut his locker to reveal your face. The boy nearly yelped in surprise.

“Where the hell did you come from? Scared the shit outta me,” he said with a grin.

“I want my pen back.”

Miles froze.

“Which pen?”

You tilted your chin up towards the one he was currently gripping in his left hand. He looked down at it like a wad of cash.

“Oh.”

He couldn’t just not give the pen back to you…

…but he didn’t want to give it to you, either.

“What you need it for? Don’t you have, like, a whole store full of these?”

“Miles, I gotta get to class. I’m not playing,” you reached for Miles’ hand, but he raised it high above his head.

Instead of a smirk or mocking sneer, something like worry was etched onto the boy’s features.

“Tell me what’s up witchu first.”

“What are you talking about? I’m about to be late, c’mon.”

“You ain’t said a word to me all day,” he dropped his hand momentarily. “Are you sick? Did I do something? What–hey!”

You had snatched the pen out of the boy’s hand when he wasn’t looking, throwing it into your bag.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

You turn to retreat down the hallway, but stop with a huff when Miles calls after you.

“Wait!”

“I’m waiting.”

“Come see me after school?”

You kicked an empty can down the sidewalk in front of Miles’ apartment.

“Make this quick, I gotta go study.”

He looks everywhere else to avoid meeting your eyes, looking for the right words.

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” Miles awkwardly shuffled his feet. “Are you mad at me?”

“...Yeah, kinda.”

“For what?”

You stop to think for a moment, crossing your arms.

“For…for letting me hand you that pen, knowing you weren’t gonna give it back,” you began.

Miles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s it?”

You shook your head profusely, “N-no, I’m not done. You let me buy you all that stuff, put all that dumb shit in your locker, whole time you don’t even like me–”

“You don’t know that,” Miles interrupted. Your head snapped up to look at him, and you paused.

“I don’t?”

Neither of you say anything for a moment, then Miles remembers the note in his pocket. He takes it out and shows it to you.

“These? Are cute as fuck,”

He searches for more words, ten continues, "A-and I use that sketchbook every day. That pen? It’s like, my favorite,” he laughs. “I got half a mind to steal it back from you.”

Miles watches you expectantly. Your arms are still crossed, but the corners of your lips quirk up in amusement.

“So you like getting free stuff.”

“No-! I…”

The boy’s arms had begun to flail around in frustration. You hold back a giggle, never having seen him squirm like this before. It’s a nice change of pace.

“Alright, listen. I like hearing you talk to me every morning, and…”

He trailed off. He had begun slightly bouncing on his toes.

“...I like you.”

At some point while watching Miles struggle to explain himself, the float-y feeling in your chest had come back. You tilted your head to the side, and smiled.

“Okay. What are you gonna do about it?”

The boy’s eyes lit up.

“Where do you wanna go?”

#earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #moralesanhour #requests

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gyumiesz · 1 year

Text

drunk and affectionate | bakugou k. x gn!reader

word count: 245

it’s unusual for bakugou to go out drinking, a rare sight for anyone to see. he’s not a drinker, he’s said it himself before, but you suppose sometimes a hero has their own limits, himself included.

once drunk, bakugou won’t let go. sometimes you have to force him to bed, and it doesn’t really help when he’s clingy. he won’t even let you get ready for bed either.

your boyfriend will cling onto you, following you everywhere you go almost similar to a mother duck and her duckling, bakugou is very affectionate as well—you have a video of him talking to your potted plant.

the next morning when he wakes up with a bang of a headache, you greet him with a soft smile.

“mornin’ baby, you seemed like you had a fun night. I have breakfast prepared already.”

“how much did I fuckin drink?” he grunts, kissing you on the temple. “never letting dunceface touch my drink again”

“dunno, but I like it when you’re drunk. it’s cute” you pout.

bakugou halts in his footsteps, eyeing you down like a predator against its prey. “what the fuck did you do?”

“oh nothing…come on, you’ll miss breakfast with how much grumpiness you have stored in your body.”

bonus: bakugou clicked on the notifications from his group chat, “babe, you’re so fucking dead!”

you sent a video of a drunk bakugou babbling about how much he loved you and his friends. it was worth the trouble.

#leewrites ☪︎#bakugou x gender neutral reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #boku no hero imagines #mha fluff #anime fic #drabble #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou drabble

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billthedrake · 2 months

Text

SUGAR DADDY (PART TWO)

The next day I was a little bit of a wreck. Still coming down from the high of my fantasy time with Mike Keenan. Sucking his cock. Kissing him. Enjoying the privacy and the deep conversation. I thought of texting him but decided that wouldn't be welcome. It hadn't been a date, it had ust been something that had happened. A combination of Mike taking pity on me and wanting to get his rocks off. We both got something out of it, but it was surely a one-time thing.

I had class that next morning and baseball practice that afternoon, then weightlifting. It was early evening when I got done and saw I had a text from Mike.

"Hi Luke, sorry no contact, I had a long day here. Enjoyed last night. Any chance for a repeat some time?"

My heart pounded. Maybe I was the one overthinking things. Mr. Keenan just wanted his cock sucked again.

"I'd love that," I wrote.

"Nice," came the reply. "You around to talk?"

I said good night to my buddies and told them I had to get back to study for a test. Then I texted a "yes" to Mike. A second later my phone rang.

"Hey," I said. God, I was majorly crushed out on the guy.

"Hey Luke," he said. His voice was sexy as fuck. "What are you up to?"

"Just getting out of practice. Bout to grab some dinner."

"I haven't eaten either. Want to come over? We can get dinner in the hotel bar."

"I probably need to change," I said. I was still in my workout clothes.

"I bet you look sexy as fuck," he growled. It was a trip to hear him lust for another man. "But take your time."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't go to some fancy bar in my gym clothes."

"They don't give a fuck," he said. "But do what you feel comfortable with."

"All right," I said. "I'll text you when I'm on my way."

"Take an Uber," he said. "I'll pay."

"OK." Then I hung up. I was going to object, but I was eager to see the man. And truth be told I was hungry, real hungry. Maybe that's what made me decided to head right over, underdressed as I was.

"OK, I'm getting in my Uber," I typed to him five minutes later.

He sent a smiley face reply.

The man was in his suit, without tie, on one of the bar stools and his eyes lit up as I walked in. He had a smirk as I set down my backpack and pulled out the adjacent stool to sit. "I was right," he said softly. "Sexy as fuck."

I blushed. "I didn't think you went for guys that way," I whispered.

His blue eyes twinkled some as he patted my back. "No labels, remember?"

I was getting hard in my shorts. Unfortunately the thin fabric wasn't going to hide my boner, but fortunately, it was hidden by the bar. And my hunger was going to win out.

"The steak here is great," the man said as he handed me a menu.

"I dunno," I said as I looked over the option. "A burger is fine." Of course I was concerned about the price.

Mr. K could read me, though. "Get the steak," he grunted.

I felt a little chastised and said something I instantly regretted. "Is that how the Sugar Daddy treatment works?"

Mike gave me a quick glance then replied without missing a beat. "Buddy, you don't eye me up like a cash machine like those girls do. You don't know how nice a change that is."

I blushed and I felt his hand pat my bare thigh.

"I like that I can be honest with you, Luke, for real." His bossy tone was gone, replaced with the old Mr. Keenan charm.

I gulped. "I like being honest with you, too," I said. Until Mr. Keenan re-entered my life six months prior, I hadn't realized how rare it was I could be honest about things. I gave him a smile and saw him smile in return.

"Since I'm being honest," I started, but just then the bartender came over to take our order.

"Two steaks," Mr. Keenan said, ordering for me. "And another scotch and..." he turned to me.

"An IPA?" I asked. The bartender nodded and named off some brewery. Sounded good. We watched as he poured our drinks in front of us and placed them on the bar before going off to ring up our order.

"So..." Mike picked up. "Since you're being honest..."

I lowered my voice. "It's like I said before. You don't need to pay for anything, Mike. Or be a sugar daddy or anything."

He grinned. "There's always trade offs," he said. "And maybe I enjoy the control."

"Control?" I asked dumbly.

"If you're paying, you get your say in a lot of things," he said. He paused and watched me blush. "You think less of me."

"Honesty, right? You don't know how crushed out I am on you."

He smiled. "I have an idea. It's flattering." He took a sip of his scotch and looked over at me like a wolf eyeing up his prey. "I'm hoping you stay over tonight."

I was in over my head. Emotionally, but also with a man like Keenan. Decisive. "If you want, I will," I said.

"Good," he said, satisfied.

***

Mike Keenan surprised me that evening. After we ate and he paid the check, we went up to our room. We showered together, making out, feeling each other up. I was surprised how much this straight man was into my very male body and my cock. Well, he was probably bi and in any case had his no-labels motto. I was gonna embrace it.

Particularly as we made out on the bed, me beneath his middle aged, fit hairy body. I'd eventually find a real boyfriend, I knew, but I also knew it was going to be hard for any man to live up to hot how Mr. K was. His cock felt hard and even bigger as we humped our bodies together and kissed.

"So, Luke... you up for me being inside you?"

I nodded, hungrily. "God yeah, Mr. Keenan."

He grinned. "You have much experience?" That concern coming in.

"A couple of guys, yeah," I said. Then with deep candor, I added, "I wish you'd taken my cherry, Mike."

His voice got husky. "I've done anal a couple of times. With an ex-girlfriend."

His words made me actually break out into goosebumps. For some reason the idea of Mr. K doing some woman in the backdoor seemed kinky as fuck. But also the way he unmistakeably was communicating that he knew how to fuck me. "You liked it, I bet," I said with a lusty smile.

He nodded and winked just as he leaned up and knelt on the bed. His hardon looked magnificent, the thickness perfectly framed by his hairy, DILF-y body. I decided then and there I'd have a hard time sleeping with a man under 40. "Oh, yeah, buddy," he said. Then my body shivered again as I watched the confidence with which he picked up the lube he'd set out next to the bed. As he returned his focus, I pulled back my legs and spread them some, letting his slick hand in to lube up my hole. "It's probably my favorite thing. Hard to talk a woman into it, though."

"I can imagine," I hissed, enjoying the cool contact of the lubed finger on my ring. "I bet that costs extra huh?" Maybe that sounded accusatory, but from my tone it was clear that it was a joke, and Mr. Keenan picked up on that.

He laughed. "I don't hire hookers, but don't think I haven't thought about it." His cock jerked, and I was relieved that being with a dude seemed to work for him as much as fucking a chick.

He pressed in and worked me open some. "That feel OK, buddy?"

I looked at him excitedly and nodded. I kept expecting resistance as the man fingered me but there was none. At all. "Feels amazing Mr. K." My longtime nickname for him just slipped off my tongue, but the man seemed excited to hear it. His cock actually jerked.

He now slipped in a third finger, twisting me open and working in and out. "You're ready," he said, though I knew there was a questioning behind his assured tone.

"Yes, sir," I hissed.

Mike was horny, too, I realized as he scooted in to place and nudged his meaty cock right into place. I don't know the approach he took with women, but he angled his finger to let his prick push in just as he withdrew his hand. Kind of a shoehorn move that slid his meaty cock right into me. Three solid inches inside me in one go.

"There ya go," he said with satisfaction. Then he moved forward, his hips driving more meat into me, as he leaned his upper body forward. I was getting well and truly penetrated.

The thing was, my insides were starting their natural resistance, my guts clenching down on the invader and trying to repel it. Mr. Keenan mistook my discomfort for a natural stimulation of an ass on his cock. "That's goddamn nice, buddy," he hissed and like that he was kissing me, hard and possessively.

I met his tongue as well as I could, but there was something that clicked in me. I was a dude, a masculine dude. I didn't like to think of myself as feminine, and I got offended by the way people would associate gay sex with being feminized. And yet, I was pinned down beneath Mike Keenan and all I could think was to compare myself to those college chicks Mike banged. My hole relaxed around him and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Not slutty or anything, but damn I needed and wanted a Mike Keenan fuck.

He must have sensed the change but in any case pulled back from the kiss. "I guess I didn't even ask about protection," he hissed, his hips slowly pumping me.

"This is perfect, Mr. K," I growled. His dick was rubbing right over my prostate, not punching the button, but playing it like a violin string. It was a surprisingly new sensation for me.

The man liked my answer. He pulled back, further back, and pushed all the way. Then again. Not rushing it, but definitely claiming me with this cock. All the while his blue eyes bore down on mine. "How do you normally like it, Luke?" he asked.

I racked my brain. It was actually hard to think with the man's cock pressing in and out. And I'd only had a few experiences bottoming. "Slow, I guess," I replied. But then as I felt up the man's naked torso and strong arms, I wanted more. "But this is weird to ask... but I'd like you to show me how I like it."

THAT turned Mike on like crazy. "Yeah?" His nostrils flared. "I can do that buddy."

He pulled back and I felt his prick punch into me. In retrospect it probably wasn't rough, but I'd never been fucked with that much force. Then another. Slow, steady, and hard.

The fact that it was Rich's dad doing this drove me wild. I looked up into his handsome face and imagined him rough fucking some sugar baby who'd have to work for her apartment money.

"Shit!" I gasped. My prick was dripping already, a telltale sign that I was about to cum. I gripped it, just in time to let the pleasure boil to a full orgasm, all while Mr. Keenan pounded it out of me.

His own face was scrunching into a clear sign of pleasure. The man was ejaculating into my guts, and good.

"Well, fuck me," he sighed as he lay his forehead against mine. We lay like that, my hands on him and my legs wrapped around him. His more mature, fit body resting on top of me as he caught his breath. "Please tell me you liked that buddy," he hissed.

I felt weirdly emotional. I don't know, it wasn't just the crush I had on Mr. K. It was the hormonal rush on top of the mind fuck of having had such hot sex. "A little too much," I admitted.

That made him smile.

He finally leaned up and slid out of me, and off me. His dick was thick and plump but softening, and very wet. He looked down on me with a mix of surprise, paternal-like affection, and pride in conquest. I loved it all, and it was then that I realized I was hooked on the Mike Keenan experience.

"I thought I was pushing my luck asking you to meet me again," he said as he stepped off the bed and down some water from a water bottle. His middle-aged muscle was covered in a sheen of sweat. The man was sexy as fuck. His eyes barely left my nakedness. "But I guess not," he continued.

I felt all sorts of weird, and more than a little cheap now that the endorphins were wearing off. I sat up in bed, my hole feeling used and wet now. "You really do like being on control, don't you, Mike?"

My words caught him by surprise. "I guess I come on strong, huh?"

"A little," I admitted. "I should probably go," I said as I searched for my briefs.

"Will it make you feel better to stay over?" he asked.

It was my turn to be surprised. "You think I'm like a chick?" I asked. I wasn't sure I was upset he was stereotyping me as a gay guy. Or upset because maybe he was right.

"It's just a question, Luke," he replied. "I'll give you Uber money."

I swallowed my pride. "I'd love to stay. Sorry I was giving you grief."

He smiled. "It's fine buddy. I'm used to game playing. But you're a straight shooter. I like that." Then matter of factly, he added, "I get up early."

"That's cool," I said.

****

I gave Mr. K a blowjob early the next morning. And he stroked me off. I guess I was leaning toward being a bottom before Mike Keenan, but I'd never embraced the label. What the fuck, the man was making me realize the shoe fit.

I was happy and content all day. I kind of wanted a text from Mr. K, but I didn't need one. Even being young and naive, I knew I had to take this for what it was, or not at all.

Around 5:30 I got a text. "Dinner?"

I had a late game and plans with my buddies. "I'm tied up, Mike," I wrote. "Sorry."

"What time you done?" came that reply.

"I don't know. 10?"

"Come over then. You know the room number."

Maybe it should have rubbed me the wrong way, but it didn't. I was horny for this man. So bad.

Only after I replied with an OK, I got a Venmo alert. Mr. K had sent me money. Not an exhorbitant amount. But a lot.

Oh shit.

***

I was nervous as Mike ushered me in. The worst part was how fucking handsome he looked, even in his readers and plush hotel bathrobe. He didn't look exactly sleepy, but he seemed in a relaxed, tired state as he looked me up and down.

"Thanks for coming, Luke," he said. That easygoing charm I remember from going over to his place when I was visiting my buddy Rich.

"Sure," I said. Looking around, I wondered what it was like to live in a hotel like this a few nights a week, always being on the road. I smelled Mr. Keenan's cologne before I felt his hand on my shoulder and his warm body press against my back. Already he was kissing softly at my neck.

"Listen, Mr. K... can we talk about the money thing?"

His voice had a throaty growl. Maybe he'd been thinking all evening, all day about sex, because he seemed to be in a horny mode. "Sure. Was it not enough?"

"No, Jesus," I hissed, feeling his fingers already running beneath the hem of my T-shirt tracking my abs. "I don't need anything. For real."

OK, now his fingers stopped their seductive movement. I guess the man was getting it. "You offended?" he asked.

I blushed. "I dunno," I replied. "It didn't make me feel great."

I felt his breath against my neck. "You deserve the money more than Kimberly," he said. "Or the others. It's just a little something, Luke. Use it to have fun. Or save it for a rainy day."

I don't know how Mike Keenan was so persuasive a man, but he was. Maybe because those fingers are once again tracing up my abs and pulling my shirt with them. "Come on, buddy, let me see that hot baseball jock body," he urged.

I went with it. I knew I was good looking, and even if I had some bulking goals for the off season, I knew I had a solid body. But the fact Mr. Keenan was into it had me so turned on. I turned around to see a smile on his five-o-clock-shadowed face.

"Nice," he said, eyes sweeping up and down my build. "Lose the shorts, Luke," he said.

Mr. K had talked about enjoying being in control. I was now wrestling with the fact that I enjoyed being bossed around, at least by this man. I stepped back and undid my shorts, stripping down completely for him. I was rock hard.

My heart pounded as I watched Mike get a more serious look on his face, as his hands reached down to undo the tie on the robe. The white terry cloth flapped open to show off his furry fit torso and, beneath that, his thick boner. "Come on buddy," he said in a deep whisper, nodding down at his crotch in an unmistakable signal.

I gulped. I assumed my normal catcher's squat, a position which made my hard dick stick up at an angle.

"Fuck yeah," Mike said. He scooted up to offer me his prick. It was fat and veiny, and while not porn-long that dick was pretty damn big.

I leaned forward just an inch to start licking him. Top to bottom. Along his furry nuts. Tasting every inch of Mike Keenan. Maybe his relaxed vibe gave me the implicit permission to take my time.

Only by the time I actually began sucking him, working my mouth up and down on him and doing my best to coordinate suction and tongue along his shaft, the man was starting to get worked up.

"Easy there, buddy," he hissed, gently pushing me off his dick, which throbbed and jerked a little, wet with my saliva. "I almost blew there."

I grinned. I felt so fucking proud. I didn't have a ton of sexual experience and it was good to know I was doing something right to get Mike so close so soon. "Why don't you?" I asked, sitting back on my haunches and looking up at him. I was getting more confident in having sex with this older man.

He let out a heavy sigh, like he was fighting off the urge to do just that. A smile crossed his lips, though. "Guess I'm like a kid with a new toy," he explained.

It took me a second to get it. "You wanna fuck me again." Half statement, half question.

Mike nodded. "Been thinking about it all fucking day, man. Your ass is so fucking tight."

I knew this was a possibility, and I wondered if I should be giving my hole some rest. But I also knew it was going to be hard to turn down a Mr. Keenan fuck. I stood up, my dick riding that crest between pure excited hardness and nervous flagging.

"Ok if we kiss a little, Mike?" I asked feeling almost embarrassed to ask. "You know, make out a little?"

My buddy's dad nodded and grinned as he stepped up to me, placing his hands on my waist. "I guess I can come on strong, huh?" he asked.

God, feeling his dick press against mine and the heat and the soft-hard combo of fur and muscle against me was going to drive me wild. "Some, yeah," I admitted with a laugh. Then blushing, I added, "Part of me really likes it, but fuck it's intimidating too, you know?"

Mike didn't reply but just gave a sympathetic nod and leaned in for a soft kiss. We made out some, and it was incredible to feel the contrast between the gentle approach kissing and the mauling of his hands on my jock body, particularly my butt. Mr. K wasn't kidding about having a new toy. He seemed to really love my ass.

He walked me back to the bed and I went back down on the mattress with a motion of his that was between guiding and pushing. He quickly lost his bathrobe and joined me, covering my body with his older, more experienced one, feeling me up and kissing along my neck, my ear, my upper chest. Mike was in full-on horny mode and bring me there right with him.

Finally he lifted off and rolled to the side. His erection was dripping and rock hard and looked amazing against all that body hair. "All right buddy, get on all fours."

I was primed for Mike Keenan in full on control mode. I scrambled to do as the man asked, facing the headboard and feeling the man settle in behind me. Already his hands were cupping my glutes and feeling the smooth muscle.

"You got a hot fucking ass, Luke," he growled. He pawed at me another few seconds then reached for some lube. The first wet finger felt great, and went in pretty easy.

"You're looser today, buddy," Mike hissed. A second finger popped in.

"Yeah, probably," I responded. "After yesterday."

"I wanna keep you this way," came his deep voice. "Ready for me."

"Oh fuck, Mr. K," I whined. There was an edge to his tone that drove me wild. And as his prick pushed in, I felt a welcome pleasure, even with my residual tightness.

"Fuck yeah," Mike grunted as he felt my insides and pushed to bottom out. "Right back in the saddle."

His grip clenched roughly on my waist. Just as quickly as that thick cock pulled out, it barreled back in. And again. One hard thrust right after the other as Mr. K grunted deeply. "Ung. Ungh. Ung."

The man was fucking for his pleasure, not mine. Still I felt an excited thrill. I wouldn't say I enjoyed this nearly as much as the missionary mating the night before but it felt new to me. Animalistic and raw. I was hard even with the discomfort of the shafting.

Wham. Wham. Wham. That thick piece of hard dad meat was drilling steadily. Then the cadence went off. Mr. Keenan's rhythm was getting more spasmodic and jerky as he pounded me. Then I felt those fingers dig into my hips.

"FUCK!"

From his cry and the sudden stop of his thrusts, I knew the man was seeding me.

I loved every part of the experience, but I now regretted that I hadn't gotten off. The fuck had been too hard and too quick.

Thankfully I felt the man shift behind me and, prick still buried inside me, he leaned forward to press against, my back.

I loved the feeling of his kiss on my neck, but even more I loved the slickness of his palm as he wrapped his hand around my hardon. Mike didn't even need to do much. Just give slow soft pumps in and out of my guts while his fingers ran along my dick. I fired off, heavy and hard. I felt lightheaded when I came.

We were quiet as we uncoupled. The shame was coming back to me as I showered off. Shame that I enjoyed what others might see as a dominant, selfish fuck. Shame that there were funds in my Venmo account. Shame that I was falling for Mr. Keenan so hard. I knew I couldn't stay over in this hotel room, not tonight. I needed some space to think.

Mike had his robe back on. To this day a white terry bathrobe is a fetish for me. His tone was more serious. "You mad at me Luke?" he asked as he sat in the hotel chair and watched me get dressed.

I grimaced but shook my head no. "I didn't think I'd like sex that rough," I said softly.

I could see a sly grin from on his lips. But he continued. "I wasn't talking about the fuck."

God, the man could be intense, behind the suave businessman outgoingness and the friendly paternal vibe. It was like I was seeing the real Mr. Keenan. Intimidating, sure, but I also wondered if he had a hard time with real relationships. His marriage hadn't worked out, he was clearly estranged from his son, and he basically hired dates instead of having real girlfriends.

I paused, just holding the T shirt I was going to put back on. "Can I be blunt, Mr. K? You say you don't want a hooker, and yet have a way of treating me like one."

He was prepared for that. "You're not that, Luke. But I'm not ready for anything serious. I figure I can help you out, and you can help me out." He looked at me and could tell I still didn't get it. "Listen, it's not just sex. I love spending time with you buddy. You're a hell of a lot more fun than those sugar babies, I'll tell ya." He cracked a smile, and I had to as well.

"I guess," I said. Remembering Kimberly, I could imagine she'd be more work than fun.

My conciliatory tone made him happy, and I was glad to see the friendly Mr. Keenan return. "Well, it's just I don't always have the time or interest for all the other boyfriend bullshit. Checking in, looking after emotional needs, dealing with jealousy."

I gulped. I was starting to get a better picture of Mike. The side Rich hated. The side I should hate more.

He watched my reaction but continued. "I know that wouldn't be fun for you to deal with, so I want to make it worth your while."

"Make what worth my while?" I asked. Again, as persuasive as he was, I felt he kept talking around the sex part.

He laughed, almost amused at how astute I was. "Luke, I'm not going to pay you per sex act. Or per night. But..." his voice got conspiratorial. I wondered if he knew what that supportive dad-figure tone did for me, and just weaponized it to get his way. Honestly I think it just came naturally to him. "Well, bud, I'd love an arrangement when you're able to keep me company when I'm in DC." His blue eyes got an impish cast to them, and I knew he was in seal-the-deal mode. "I'm pretty sure we could have a lot of fun together."

"You wanna be my sugar daddy?" I asked, point blank. It's not that I was dumb, but I actually didn't think Mr. Keenan was outright going there.

He nodded. But his face had a caution to it. "Would it better if we ditched the labels?" he asked, a smirk on his face reminding me of his own no-labels policy.

"It would," I answered. Then. "OK if I think on it, Mike?"

"Of course," he said.

He stood up as I finished putting on my shoes. Seeing how handsome he was I almost asked if I could stay over again. But the vibe wasn't right for that.

As I made my way to the room door, Mr. K patted my shoulder. "You're a fine young man, Luke," he said. His fingers gave my muscle a little squeeze before letting go. "I mean that."

"Thanks, Mr. Keenan," I said.

***

The Uber ride was quick at that time of night. I'd have to come up with an excuse to my roommate while I was out again. I'd probably have to come up with a lot more excuses if I hung out more with Mr. K. Or, if he got me my own apartment, things would be easier. Meeting up with him. Having sex with him.

I pulled out my phone. I thought I'd hesitate before sending but I knew I knew my answer.

"You'll have to let me know how it works Mr. K," I texted. "But I'm in."

No labels. But if Mike Keenan was going to call himself my sugar daddy that was probably OK too.

I got a quick reply. "That makes me happy Luke. Talk tomorrow sexy."

I felt warm inside. Mike Keenan was going to make this worth my while. But I was determined to make it worth his, too.

#drakestories

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sm-baby · 4 months

Note

Full dialogue between who I assume to be Queenie and Kinger:

K: So you know how that collar has been bugging you?

Q: Yes?

K: I found a code! It’s hard but you can take it off!

Q: WHAT?!

K: Yes! And I can’t disable it! Now everyone can take theirs off! —Well unless I restart them but-

Q: YOU’RE AMAZING!

K: Haha ha!!

Q: Where did you find it anyway?

K: Where did I find it? Um… it was hidden in that— jester’s room?

Q: The one who hasn’t woken up yet?

K: Yes! I do hope she forgives me for taking it away..

K: But anyway! Lets test this thing out! I’m so excited for you my darling!

So, since Kinger can restart people (like Caine) either he’s an AI with powers that would be considered god-like, or he’s also a programmer

Also, not sure what “woken up” is supposed to mean, but I’m assuming pomni may or may not have prepared some stuff for herself before she actually got into the game? I dunno, but now pomni is involved

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isalisewrites · 11 days

Text

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER THIRTY

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

THIRTY EXCERPT:

“And you, Hatchling,” said Nagini, her eyes on Harry now. There was an air of contentment surrounding the two of them, as Tom stroked her scales. Harry’s heart swelled with warmth at the fond gaze Tom held for his familiar. “Have you agreed to learn how to better speak my language, Hatchling?”

“I’ve agreed to lessons, yeah,” said Harry. “It’d be nice to learn how to control it.”

“We’ll practice parseltongue tomorrow while everyone has gone to Hogsmeade.”

Harry sank in disappointment. “What?” he said, looking directly at Tom and not noticing his switch to English. “But I’ve been looking forward to the Hogsmeade trip. Aren’t you going? Don’t you have a plan for it?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Plan?”

“Yeah, do you want to get some sweets or check out the bookstore?”

“I’m not going.”

“What?”

“I don’t need anything,” said Tom, shaking his head. “Why would I go?”

Harry was at a loss now. He wasn’t sure why he felt so disappointed about the fact of missing a Hogsmeade trip. It wasn’t like he really needed to go either. But… I’d like to go with Tom. “I dunno,” he said, scrambling for a reason. “Uh, for a change of scenery?”

Tom folded his arms. “Harry, have you seen the grounds?” he asked with a sardonic lilt. “There’s plenty of scenery to take in. If you’re in dire need of the outdoors, we can always take the lessons to the grounds.”

“Not quite what I meant and you know it.”

“You know it’s rude to exclude the other party in the room from your conversation. Are you two fighting again?”

Huh? Wait, I wasn’t speaking in parseltongue?

Tom rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. You are not convincing me.”

“Yes, yes, forget I exist again, why don’t you?”

“Nagini, he’s being difficult.”

“Me?” protested Harry, shifting back to parseltongue when his gaze rested on Nagini. “I just would like to go to Hogsmeade.” With you. “And the others are going, too. Come with us. It’ll be fun.”

“A Hogsmeade trip is a waste of time if you’re not buying anything in particular,” said Tom, shaking his head. “I’m not interested.”

Nagini’s eyes were sharp as she eyed them both. She uncurled from Tom’s lap, slithering away silently, until she disappeared from the curtains. Neither Harry nor Tom noted her absence.

“But aren’t there other interesting places to visit? We could get a butterbeer.”

“It’s frivolous spending.”

Oh.

Harry blinked. Oh. That was right. While Harry knew what it’d been like to live without money of his own as a child, that had changed when he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter and discovered the wealth his parents had left him. He hadn’t exactly been ‘frivolous’ with his money, but he hadn’t paid attention to it either, not like Ron had often worried about money.

Even now, with his funds somewhat limited, he hadn’t really thought about it too much or what he’d have to do in the future to earn a living. But Tom, on the other hand, was on an assistance fund here at Hogwarts. The only reason he could attend the school at all was because of that fund. Though Tom had always appeared immaculate in his appearance, Harry couldn’t help but wonder now if his belongings were secondhand.

“Right,” whispered Harry. “I forgot.”

Tom frowned. “Forgot what.”

“Well… you haven’t got any family, so I forgot that also probably means you haven’t got money either.”

A mixture of embarrassment and anger flushed through Tom’s cheeks. His chest puffed up; the light in his eyes grew flinty.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #hp #fanfiction #fanfic #harrymort #terrible but great #hp fanfic #mywriting #harry potter/tom riddle #hp fanfiction #isa's writing

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

If you’re still taking Joel imagines k wanted to request an imagine where reader has nightmares and Joel has to comfort her? The last episode hurt, I could use some fluff 🥹

AN | Joel would really just be the best, wouldn’t he?

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 1.7k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Fuck,” you sat up, rod straight, heart beating wildly and mind reeling. It took a few moments to remember where you were, blinking away the bleariness of your eyes as they adjusted to the low light of your bedroom. You felt clammy and sweaty, wiping off your brow as you looked at the other side of the bed.

Joel wasn’t there. The realization caused a small huff to escape your lips as you touched the spot where he would normally be sleeping. The fabric was cold; he hadn’t made it to bed yet. The glaring red numbers of the ancient alarm clock told you that it was almost three in the morning.

With a heavy sigh, you tried to clear the last of the nightmare from your mind before slipping out of the bed and padding towards the kitchen. Joel was nowhere to be found, so you assumed he might be out patrolling or he was going through another bout of insomnia.

The coffee maker was calling out to you, despite the fact that you should have been drinking anything but coffee right now. Unfortunately - perhaps fortunately - it didn’t appear that you were going to get any more sleep anytime soon. You decided to just do it, and grabbed the pot along with your coffee, quickly throwing it all together.

You grabbed a book off the shelf and sat at the small, well loved and worn kitchen table, reading as you listened to and smelled the coffee brewing. It brought a sense of routine and relief to your life, one that helped to make the nightmares seem further away. Like a distant memory rather than something you were struggling with on a seemingly regular basis at this point.

At this point you couldn’t even remember the last time you made it through a full evening. The nightmares had mostly gone away for a long time, but recently they’d been coming. They were haunting your nights, which slowly bled over into your days when you were overcome with exhaustion because you hadn’t been sleeping. It was a vicious cycle.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You weren’t even sure how much time had passed until you were startled out of your little trance by Joel waving his fingers in front of your face, “baby?”

You made a small sound of surprise as you looked up to find him watching you in question. Closing the book, you offered him a small smile. He didn’t return it.

“H-hey,” you mumbled softly, “what’s up?”

“What’s up?” his eyebrow was raised but his expression was set into a thin, hard line, “I should be asking you that. Why aren’t you in bed, honey? And you’re making coffee?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you confessed softly after a few beats of tense silence passed between the two of you; you had to look away, unable to keep your gaze on his, “so I just got up. I dunno, it’s nothing really.”

He paused for a moment, sighed heavily in that way he normally did, before putting a finger under your chin and turning your face up to his, “the nightmares?”

You hesitated for a moment before slowly nodding, “yes.”

"How long?"

"A while," you admit after a long, sharp pause. You could see his brow furrowing, "it doesn't matter, Joel. It's fine."

"Why didn't you say anything?" He looked…upset. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes anymore.

"Because I knew you'd react like this," it sounded so sharp and harsh out loud.

"Like what?" But he didn't snap at you; just looked worried.

"Like it's this huge deal," you shrugged, "it's not like either of us can do anything. It's fine. I can deal with it."

He hung his head with a heavy sigh before crouching down in front of you. He put his large hands on your thighs, giving them a reassuring squeeze, "I don't want you to just have to go through this and deal with it. I want to make it better or at least help you."

"I know," you put your hands on top of his and gave them a gentle touch, "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm just…tired. In general. But you, you are a good man."

"That's because I love you," he leaned up and pressed a kiss to the side of your head, "come on - let's go to bed and get you some rest."

"W-what if…they come back?" your voice sounded so small and soft, "what will I do then?"

"Don't worry about that," he cooed gently, "I'll protect - keep you safe."

"Okay," you looked at him with soft eyes, "okay."

Maybe things would be better with him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next few days passed more or less without incident. You were able to get some sleep, not all together restful but also not fueled by haunting nightmares.

It was light Joel had some sort of magical power that always made things better. And honestly, you liked having him hold you at night, making you his little spoon.

But he was only human after all, and there was only so much he could do.

After a few nights of solace, it all came back. And full force at that.

This particular nightmare was one of your recurring ones. It also happened to be your worst fear - losing Ellie and Joel. It happened in the same way every time; you somehow managed to attract a horde and found yourselves in a blocked off location where none of you were able to make it to safety. It always ended the same way - you were left to watch helplessly as the life was ripped from the two people you loved most in this world.

You were woken up to a firm hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently to pull you from slumber. By the time your eyes managed to open and you were pulled back to reality, tears were running down your face. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until Joel gently reached over to touch your face, wiping away all of your tears. His heart broke with how sad your eyes were sad as you wordlessly looked at him.

“Baby,” the affection dripped from his lips like golden honey and your lip trembled with effort as you tried not to cry, “you’re okay - you’re here. I’ve got you.”

“Was I…what happened?” you sniffled, preening into his touch as he brushed a few stray locks of hair out of face.

“You were talking,” he said it so softly it was almost like he didn’t want you to hear it, “and crying. I figured it was another nightmare and I thought the best thing to do was to wake you up. I’m sorry sweetheart.”

“Don’t be,” you put your hand on top of his where it rested on your cheek as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, “it’s okay. You actually managed to wake me up right before…”

“Before…” he gently prodded you to continue, never pushing too much, “what happened? Tell me.”

“It’s the same as it always it is,” you swallowed thickly; you’d never told him the entire truth, “Ellie…and you. Dying."

The man appeared taken aback for a moment as he studied you with concerned eyes. You turned your head away, but Joel made a small sound of concern, "you never told me."

"I never thought it was necessary," he could sense the emotion in your voice, "with you knowing it really wouldn't have changed anything. Maybe just made you more worried."

"I'm not…worried," he was a horrible liar, "I just…I don't know. I wish there was something I could do."

"I don't know if there's anything anyone can do," that was the worst part of all, "but honestly, I'm just thankful to have you here."

"You'd tell me if there was anything I could do to help, right?" you loved this man. You loved him beyond words, so much that it took your breath away sometimes.

"I would," your pretty smile that he loved so much worked its way back on your face, little by little, "but honestly, right now I think the best thing is having you here and next to me."

"Then that is exactly what I'll do," he promised, soft and saccharine. You sat up and leaned in to kiss cheek, letting your lips linger against his skin, "whatever you need or want, just say it and it's yours."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," you really wouldn't. You knew this man would do anything for you, "you're a good man, Joel Miller."

"There's plenty of people that would argue with you on that one," his lighthearted response made you feel instantly better, "besides, the only real opinions I need - or welcome - are from my girls."

"Soft and gentle hearted," a small laugh escaped your lips, despite the anxiousness that still remained in your bones, "I love it - I love you."

"I love you," he held your chin as he pressed his lips to yours. Things might not have been perfect right now, but at least they were better. And you had no doubt that things would continue to improve, if not now then perhaps soon, "I'll do whatever you need me to, baby. Seriously. Just say the word, and I'll do it."

"I know," you pressed your forehead to his, "I know. But right now will you just hold me? Please?"

"I can do that much," he agreed, as if it had ever been a question, "come on baby, make yourself comfortable and I'll take care of you."

"Promise?"

"Always."

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo

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normal-internet-user · 11 months

Note

o k we've got mikeye twin b what about Leo n Donnie triplet.?;

ithink it'd be cute:''( love disasters twind but what about a triplet . they'd be the terrible threes or smth snnrrkj

itsszz 3am 😄😄 nomzz gnnn

Zeep. Zeep I would scold you for being up that late, but I'm answering this at like 2am sooo-

THE DISASTER TRIPLETS

....................................

When you three were kids Splinter often compared you to nightmares from hell.

Leo was the trouble, Donnie was the brain, and you were the instigator.

You were inseperable, if there was only one of you, then something was up and this was a distraction.

As you got older, you calmed down a bit, though the old dynamic never really went away.

Raph has a heck of a time trying to keep you guys out of trouble.

You are all definitly wanted criminals in the Hidden City, each for a different reason that would give your poor older brother a heart attack if he knew.

You three have constant arguments about whos older and always at the worst times ever.

It's never at a normal moment, nope.

Either yelling across the table at three in the morning, or arguing in the middle of taking down some villian.

Like I said, you three have bad timing.

Expect plenty of late nights either just hanging around the kitchen, or you and Leo loitering around in Donnie's lab while he works.

Also, dramatic kareoke.

Think literal broadway level preformances to, like, Noels Lament.

Always leaning/hanging off of eachother, you're all clingy as fuck.

You and Donnie have definitly drawn eyebrows on Leo more than once to get back at him for picking on Donnie.

Leo's favorite passtime is teasing you.

The only escape is Donnie's lab, and even then, refuge is not always granted.

Sometimes Donnie'll join in on the teasing.

THE UTTER BETRAYAL YOU PURPLE JERK

Having the most dumbass conversations in which Donnie is conviced you and Leo are not related to him.

Stuff like, "Would you still be my brother if I was like, I dunno, a beatle?" "Yes. I would keep you in a nice jar, and feed you... leaves? Do beatles eat leaves?" "I think so. Wait. I dunno. Donnie, do beatles eat leaves?" "...How are we related? Genuinly how?" "...But do they eat leaves though?"

Think along the lines of that cucumber gatorade audio I have no clue of the origin of.

....................................

That's all I gots for now. It's late and imma go sleepy time.

Normie out-

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #x reader #rottmnt #normies moots #donnie x reader #leonardo x reader #disaster twins x sibling reader #sibling reader #platonic tmnt x reader #platonic x reader #tmnt x reader platonic #rise of the tmnt x reader #normie writes

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sourpatchys · 7 months

Note

Can you do a season 1 Daryl x reader where he meets her at the quarry around the start of the apocalypse and she is the kindest person in camp and is really sweet with him (not a huge fan of merle cause ew).

He starts to crush on her and one day he sees her either playing with Sophia and Carl or helping Carol and Lori around camp and Merle sees Daryl watching her and makes fun of him. Daryl is annoyed by Merle and lashes out at him. Reader hears their conversation but doesn’t make it obvious.

Reader ends up talking to Daryl later and asks what they were talking about and Daryl gets all shy and defensive. You can decide how it ends because I’m not sure if you do smut but if you don’t or just don’t want to you can just make it fluff<3

Title: Lucky Charm

Word count: 2.9k

Rating: fluff!❤️

When: season one!

Summary: ^^^ this was such a cute idea, and I did in fact get a little carried away and took a few creative liberties because it gave me an excuse to use an idea I’ve had for WEEKS. I hope you enjoy!

—

The round, somewhat jagged, wooden charm in your pocket felt like bliss against your cold fingers. You'd been twiddling away with it for hours now– it was much different than it was the day it was given to you, clearly loved throughout the years.

But that didn't matter to you. It was your little ray of hope, tucked away in your pocket, only for you. That was why it was made in the first place afterall.

The sun had already set, its shining rays going under the horizon leaving a chill in its place. You quite enjoyed the cold air– summer was never, and would never, be your favorite season– even if you got teased for it.

A rustling from beside you drove you away from your thoughts, you pulled your hand out of your pocket– not wanting to give your coping mechanisms away to whoever decided they wanted to bother you.

Unsurprisingly, it was Daryl.

That man never slept. He and his brother had been with your group for the best of four weeks, and you weren't sure if he slept more than eight hours the whole time– let alone in one night.

"What are you doing up?" Your own question surprised you. It wasnt that you weren't curious, of course you were– your friends in highschool used to call you the town snoop. But you hadn't ever initiated a conversation with the archer– let alone want too. His gruff exterior always kept you at an arms length, men like he and his brother always made you turn your head.

He looked your way, standing with a hand on his hip, an unreadable look on his face. Maybe he was surprised too.

"Could ask you the same thing."

His tone was different than usual. It didn't have that biting edge it usually did. Throwing your eyebrows up at him, you waved at him, tapping the ground next to you in an invitation for him to sit. You'd already started the conversation, you weren't going to let him off that easily– you were nothing if not stubborn.

He took your invitation, walking towards you and sitting on the cold grass an arms length away as if he was afraid to get too close.

"I couldn't sleep, I've always been more of a night owl." you stated, letting out a breath you didn't even know you'd been holding. Even with his demeanor being different, you were still on your toes.

Humming in response, Daryl picked up one of the sticks that had been deemed 'too pathetic' to use for the fire, (his own words) taking out his pocket knife with his other hand, as he began trying to sharpen its tip.

"You do that a lot," you pointed out, gesturing to his actions. "Any reason on why?"

He flashed his eyes up at you, that same look on his face that you couldn't quite place. You desperately needed to know what it meant.

Shrugging, he looked away and continued with his task. "Dunno."

A bit of his usual gruffness came through– but somehow you knew it wasn't serious. That was his wall, his way of closing people out. His entire demeanor started to become clear to you– he was just protecting himself from everyone.

You could understand why, even without knowing him well. The world was different to everyone, even before this– and while you took that as a way to become closer to the ones around you, the opposite made just as much sense.

The days following your nighttime meeting were much the same. Daryl didn't magically start spending time with you during the day, he was much too busy hunting and keeping his brother under control– but at night– those few hours of peace with him stayed the same.

He never said much, just twiddling away with whatever little project he found himself doing that night– but you never let that stop you. His gruff exterior had almost completely faded with you, it was as if you were in another world, a world of just the two of you sitting under the stars.

Tonight however, he seemed pent up. His usual handy work seemed rushed and sloppy as his blade rushed through the bark with furrowed brows.

You wanted to ask– to delve into his mind, but you really weren't sure how. You would sometimes ask him questions about his life before this and what his new goals were– and even then you'd be lucky to get an answer. Seeing him like this, it had never happened while the two of you sat together.

"Hey Daryl?" you asked, twiddling in your pocket, feeling the rough of the ball between your fingers.

He hummed at you, not looking up, but still letting you know that you'd gotten his attention. You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the vulnerability you were setting yourself up for.

"Can I show you something personal? Just a little secret between the two of us?"

That got his attention a little more than you'd expected. His hands almost unwillingly stopped as he looked up at you, that same look in his eyes that you'd come to know.

"What is it?"

Wrapping your hand around your charm, you slowly pulled it out, its cracked worn down exterior was illuminated by the coals of the fire as you held it in your hand, a bittersweet look on your face.

Clearing your throat, you started to speak, a shake in your voice. "This is my lucky charm, my uncle made it for me when I was little. I guess as a baby I was afraid of him– he made this for me as a way to show that he loved me because he was too afraid to say it out loud. As I got older, and we got closer, he told me that as long as I always had my charm I'd always be safe. I've had it for over 20 years now, and it's not at all what it used to be, but i still feel his love whenever I hold it."

You looked up at Daryl, a smile on your face. "I wanted to share this with you, because I know somethings bothering you. I figured maybe it could help you too."

As much as you'd worried about how the others would treat you if they knew you had such a silly secret, something in you just wanted to find a middle ground with Daryl. If you couldn't ask him what was wrong, you were going to try your best to help soothe it.

He reached his hand towards you, bringing the charm into his calloused fingers, rolling it in his hand as he looked at it.

The look in your eyes as you told your story made his heart melt. He really wasn't sure what made you stay with him most nights– he had never even given you so much as a 'hello' before– even now, sitting beside you after you'd just poured your heart out to him, he didn't know what to say. He was sure you were the only person in the world who could make him speechless in such a way.

Handing the charm back to you, he let out a sigh, leaning back on his hands and staring at the sky.

"Merle's goin' with a group of people to the city sometime soon. I tried to talk em' out of it– wouldn't listen to me."

He heard you shuffle closer as you laid your hand on his. "I'm sure it'll be okay, I'm here if you need me."

The next day, Daryl found himself thinking of your touch. He really couldn't find it in himself to be all that worried about Merel that day. He knew deep down that he should've been– that the city was crawling with geeks and he needed to be prepared for anything, but he wasn't.

He kept to himself, just as he usually did, but he would find his eyes wandering any time he heard your voice. At the moment he was watching you play, what he could only assume was a weird version of cops and robbers, with the kids. He wasn't sure if hed ever actually heard you laugh before– and he was saving it to memory.

"You gettin',a piece of that little brother?"

He turned his head away from you to come face to face with his brother, smirking as he looked in your direction.

"I bet she'd make a good house wife, ya'know considering the kids an' all. I wonder how many you'll pound outta'er?" Merle laughed, taking pride in his crude joke, plopping himself next to the archer.

"Shut up." Daryl knocked him off the log with his shoulder, not impressed.

"Oh don't tell me you two haven't ham hogged yet!" he laughed, sitting himself back up and placing an arm around the younger. "You waitin' on a miracle or somethin' little brother?"

He found himself biting back, "Man shut the hell up!"

"Okay–okay!" he held his hands up in mock defeat, standing up and beginning to walk away, "I gotta get ready for tomorrow anyways!"

When Daryl went to look back at you, your eyes met his with a questioning glance. He knew you hadn't heard his brother’s statements, you were a good few yards away– but you'd still heard something. Part of him knew you were going to bring up up that night. And of course– you did.

–

"Sooo–" you started, looking at him as he sat next to you, a stick and knife already in his hands. "What was all that about?"

He didn't answer you, far too occupied with the wood carving he had just started.

"Daryl!" you borderline wined.

It had been killing you all day– it was the first time the two brothers had gotten into a spat since you and Daryl had started to get closer– it was your time to shine!

"It was nothin'."

You fell back with fake offense as you put your hand over your heart gasping.

"I can't believe I'm being lied to!"

"Shut up."

A smile tugged it way to his lips. He was finding it hard not to smile when you were concerned.

–

The day the group left for Atlanta was a lot more dramatic than you’d expected. You knew there was a possibility of a casualty or something going wrong— but you hadn’t expected Merle to be handcuffed to a roof.

The guy was a dick— above all else you couldn’t confidently he didn’t deserve it. But you knew nothing good was going to come from it.

Lori and Carl had gained a family member— and Daryl had lost one— and he wasn’t even here to hear the news. The thought of it broke your heart.

Honestly, you were afraid you’d lose Daryl because of this. In the few days you’d come to know him, he made you feel safe, he made you smile.

But Merle and Daryl were a package deal.

—

It in fact— did not go well.

You’d never seen Daryl so angry, so hurt and defeated.

Just the other night you’d seen him smile, he laughed with you. And now he was marching away after being forcefully put into a chokehold and told that his brother— his family— had been left for dead.

“Daryl?” You called, inching your way to his tent.

You’d never actually walked over to his side of camp, there were crushed cigarette butts littering the ground beside a full ashtray, a couple camping chairs and some animal skins.

It wasn’t necessarily your cup of tea, but it somehow made sense together.

After getting no answer, you decided to send a few halfassed ‘knocks’ on the outside of his tent, hoping you’d at least get a grunt in response.

But nothing came.

“Daryl.” You sighed, leaning away from the tent’s entrance. “I don’t want to impose, and I know you want your space right now— but I’m still here, okay?”

That night Daryl didn’t come to sit with you by the fire. It hurt a lot more than you expected it too.

—

The next day, without giving it much thought, you tracked him down. He was getting ready to leave. The search for his brother was about to commence, and you knew he needed moral support, even if he didn’t want to accept it.

“Wait! Daryl!” You called, running towards the truck, one hand deep in your pocket as you pulled out your charm, “take this!”

As he walked to the front of the truck, probably to tell you off, you grabbed his wrist, shoving the old metal bracelet on him, not taking no for an answer.

He looked at you, that same look in his eyes that you had only ever gotten to see at night under the stars.

“You need it more than I do right now.”

—

Those words rang in Daryl’s head as they got back to the quarry that night. The sound of your soft voice ripping through his skull over the sounds of screams.

You were wrong.

In all his life, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so scared— so utterly frantic.

He didn’t know where you were, he didn’t know if you were okay.

The charm jingled against his wrist as he fought, its rough exterior keeping him grounded as he searched for you.

And finally, he did.

You were out of commission pretty quickly. Overall you weren’t a terrible fighter, but you’d injured your ankle as a child and it never quite healed correctly— one twist and you were down, locking yourself in the RV with some of the others.

Seeing Daryl after the attack was like whiplash. It was much the same for him.

The hug you two shared was unlike any either of you had ever experienced. The pure warmth overtook you like a smoldering flame.

You were both, undoubtedly Alive.

On the way to the CDC, you decided to ride with Daryl. The truck smelled like smoke and leather, but as you learned— so did he.

He was still wearing your charm, and anytime you felt uneasy you grabbed his hand, so the wooden surface would glide along your wrist. He never complained, and he never took it off.

Once the party had started and drinks were passed around, you got to see a little of the man you’d come to know on those moonlit nights, only now everyone could see it. His smile was contagious, his laugh felt like silk along your brain— but then again— you were pretty drunk too.

You felt his arm wrap against you before you saw him approaching, his warm skin gliding against your own like a furnace in a cold night. His touch felt like heaven.

“Common, I got somethin’ to show you.”

You followed, almost like you were a lost puppy. You weren’t ashamed though, his hand held yours the entire way.

He led you to his room for the night, it was smaller than the others you’d seen, nothing more than a couple chairs and a loveseat. It made sense for him, you would’ve picked this one for him too.

Sitting on the couch, you couldn’t help but lay your head on his shoulder. You weren’t much of a drinker, and you could already feel the headache of your buzz pounding into your skull.

“What were you gonna show me?” You whispered, your eyes half-lidded as you took in his scent. Before the world had ended, you never would’ve liked the smell of cigarettes and leather, especially not together, but now, it gave you the feeling of utter bliss— almost addictive in a way.

He shifted under you, his hand reaching into his back pocket.

It was a wooden charm.

It was in the shape of a heart, and your first initial was painstakingly carved in the middle.

“That night when you came by— I couldn’t answer you.” His accent was thick as he spoke, form drinking or nervousness, you weren’t quite sure. “I remembered yer story, about yer uncle.”

Even without elaborating, you knew what he was saying. You knew the purpose behind his words.

Reaching out a hand, you turned the charm to show the backside, leaning your head up to whisper in his ear.

“It’s not a proper work of art without the artist’s signature.”

Your heart had never felt so full as you watched the archer pull out his blade at your request, slicing a D into the back of his gift to you.

The air was thick, almost as if his confession had filled the room. It didn’t bother you though, as you took the charm and put it directly into your pocket, twiddling it around.

It was perfect.

Leaning your head forward, you planted a soft kiss on his lips, they were chapped and peeled, but they fit beautifully against your own.

The kiss felt as if he had lasted hours— and yet it felt like it had ended too soon at the same time.

In any case, your lucky charm had worked.

You would always be safe with Daryl Dixon by your side.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #twd daryl #twd

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 7 months

Text

The Haircut

This will fill the "Stop moving! I'm almost done." space on my @jacklesversebingo card. The prompt will be bolded.

Summary: Y/N is trying to Dean a favor. How can he repay her?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None really. Kissing. Slightly pouty/adorable Dean. Pretty much all fluff.

Pairings: Dean x Y/N

Word Count: 977

A/N: I got a request from the lovely @k-slla:

Hey, you asked if we get ideas with your bingo card, to let you know😊. I saw that one was "Stop moving, I'm almost done". Can you maybe do this either Dean W/ Ben fic where reader cuts his hair and he can't stop fidgeting?

I went with Dean. 😊 Loved the idea, hope you like the result my dear! And if anyone has any other requests for the remaining prompts on the card above, please message me or send me an ask. ❤️

The beautiful dividers both below and at the bottom were created by @saradika

Dean’s neck was scrunched into his shoulders as he heard Y/N’s scissors snipping away at the back of his head. Y/N paused briefly to cuff him lightly on the ear.

“Good god, you’re such a baby. What do you think I’m doing back here?”

Dean straightened up on the wooden chair that Y/N had dragged into the kitchen to perform the task of trimming Dean’s slightly overgrown, light brown hair. He grunted softly and shrugged.

“I dunno.” He mumbled like a petulant little boy. “Could be doing anything.”

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard she knew Dean could see it, even facing away from her. Without commenting she returned to her careful cutting. As the minutes passed, going from five to ten to fifteen, Dean began shifting more and more, boredom setting in.

“Oh for pete’s sake!” Y/N admonished him, setting the scissors on the table behind her and slamming her hands down onto his broad shoulders. “Sit still, and stop moving! I’m almost done.”

A decidedly whiny grumble left Dean’s lips and Y/N had to stop herself from laughing. He was such a child sometimes, a very badly behaved child. She took up her scissors and began again. His usual haircut was simple, and it didn’t take her long to finish. But even once she was done, she pretended she wasn’t, just so she could keep her fingers running through his thick, soft locks.

Finally she set her scissors down for the last time and then played at fussing with his hair, running her fingers through it more, and “styling” it, even though it fell naturally into his usual style. But she found whatever excuse she could, wanting to keep the chore going. She was enjoying having a reason to stand so close to him, to let his spicy scent drift up to her nose, letting her breathe him in deeply.

Finally she took off the kitchen towel she’d wrapped around his neck to try and catch stray hairs. After removing it, she began to brush away the short hairs that still stuck to Dean’s neck. They clung stubbornly, so Y/N leaned down and blew across his skin to get rid of the pesky bits that wouldn’t let go.

Dean shuddered and Y/N watched gooseflesh appear on his neck and over the part of his chest she could see as she peered down the front of his v-neck t-shirt. She felt her lower belly clench as she watched his muscles flex and release, as his chest began to rise and fall a little faster.

Was his reaction simply natural; just a normal response to the light air she’d blown across his skin? Or was it an indication of something more? She blew on him again to check, and a soft groan escaped Dean’s lips this time, giving her the answer. She walked slowly in front of him and quirked her head to the side.

“What was that, Winchester?” She asked, trying to keep her tone light and teasing in case she was reading way too much into this.

Dean licked his lips and shrugged, a sheepish grin splitting his handsome features. “I dunno.”

Y/N chuckled and put her hands on her hips. “Is that all you can say tonight? Got nothing else for me?”

Leaning forward suddenly, Dean yanked on Y/N’s arm, and pulled her easily into his lap. She squeaked slightly and then laughed breathlessly. Her laugh turned to a gasp as Dean’s big hand squeezed her upper thigh, burning her skin through the denim of her jeans.

“Actually, I got lots for you, sweetheart, if you want me to show you.” His smile was devilish, but she saw the slight fear of rejection behind the teasing in his sparkling emerald eyes.

She pushed her hands through his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp, and he shivered again. “Well, you do owe me for this amazing haircut.”

Dean laughed and his relief was obvious in the warm sound. His eyes softened as he moved to press his mouth gently to the underside of her jaw; Y/N’s pulse picked up.

He slid his silky lips across her cheek, then over the bridge of her nose and down to the other side of her jaw, before he pressed his mouth firmly against her slightly trembling lips. He moved to sip at her top lip before beginning to nibble on the bottom one, licking at the corners of her mouth until she opened for him, anxious to taste him.

He swept inside her like an invasion, and she moaned into his open mouth. He tasted just how she knew he would, like something smoky and sweet at the same time. She tilted her head so he could reach further into her, and then groaned deep and rough as he took up her invitation.

Dean finally pulled out of the kiss, panting for air, and started to kiss up and down her neck. But Y/N wasn’t done with feeling his lips move on hers, so she pulled him back up to kiss him harder, rougher, their tongues battling more, teeth bumping.

After a few minutes, Dean pulled back again, this time moving to nibble on her earlobe. Feeling his teeth scrape against the velvety skin there made Y/N’s breath catch, but she still wasn’t done kissing him. So, she pulled his head up once again and repeated her admonishment from earlier in the evening.

“Stop moving! I’m almost done.” She said with a cheeky grin.

Dean’s smile was filled with delight and his eyes danced merrily. “Okay, sweetheart, you just let me know when you’re done with me.”

Y/N ran her hands over his scruffy cheeks and leaned into his hard, wide chest. “Never.” She whispered against his lips. “I’ll never be done with you, Winchester.”

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu @jackles010378

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous @k-slla

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fluff #jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester fan fic

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dadsbongos · 4 months

Text

american psycho - s.geto

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection … warnings - suguru's depression ig, i meant to rewrite this but got busy word count - 1.3 K / rating - PG-13

“Since when are winter weddings all the rage?” you’re twisted in Suguru’s gray sheets (technically, the department store lady had referred to the dark shade as “cheating heart” gray) in a way that cinches around your waist and thighs. Pulling tightly over the heated flesh.

Suguru shrugs with a yawn as he crosses into the barrier of his bedroom, liking the way your curves are wrapped in tousled silk. And liking the way your eyes swing to the corner just to snatch a glimpse of him in his sweatpants. His post-euphoria gleam still clinging like a rosy, honeyed glow to his flushed chest.

You return your gaze to the smooth, dark wood surface of Suguru’s nightstand - littered with stretched hair ties and, of course, wedding invitations from his closest friends. All varying shades of white with dark lettering.

“Ah! Utahime ‘n’ Shoko finally tied the knot,” suddenly, you pout, “I didn’t get an invite…”

“Oh, right,” Suguru throws himself over your legs, and somehow the feeling of his weight crushing yours reminds him of his power with you. When he pulls back and you chase, when you let him press your knees by your ears, when you let him shove your face into the pillows - it’s a wicked fire in his veins. One of the reasons he refuses medications is the fear of that fire being snuffed. Rumors and reviews he obsesses over rather than speaking with his doctor, “Uh- " he shakes his head, black hair fluttering around his shoulders, “Shoko told me she figured we’d just show up together.”

“Why?”

“She thinks we’re dating,” he turns his head, shifting the rest of his body again so he’s lying over you. His head over the swell of your breasts. At your quirked brow, he merely shrugs again, “I dunno what to tell either of you at this point.”

“Tell her we’re not dating.”

“I tried. She doesn’t listen.”

She knows better than both of you.

“Well, the card’s pretty,” you hold it up as if Suguru hadn’t seen it yet.

“I like Yuki and Choso’s better.”

“Oh, yeah!” your body jostles his as you scramble to replace the card in your hand with a new one, “Yuki told me Choso wanted it to be all black with white letters,” you snort, “like some orgy cordial request.”

Suguru ‘tsk’s, “No eye for graphic design.”

Yuki and Choso met because of you and Suguru. After you and Suguru. Specifically, after you and Suguru had already started… whatever this was. Not quite friends. Not quite benefits. Somewhere far, far past both of those.

You’re showing off the invite again, but he’s not paying it any mind. If anything, the selection was a little bland. Basic eggshell cardstock with midnight black lettering and gold accent twists along the edges.

Instead, he thinks about how Choso is only one year older than Suguru. And Choso has a little brother, Yuuji, who is eleven years younger than Suguru and yet is already apparently ‘getting serious’ with some Fushiguro boy from school. Far more than Suguru can say for himself and you.

And now he wonders if you feel that same sinking feeling he does.

Entering his thirties in only a couple of years, and yet to the public eye, he’s miserably single in a fling with his best friend. He could, theoretically, get a girlfriend. But meeting someone new sounds exhaustive. Not to mention, Suguru doubts that he is meant to be loved by a stranger by this point, when he’s no longer naive and malleable and able to suppress his more dangerous thoughts.

Of course, on top of all that is the fact that being with anybody except you sounds like a demented, unusually cruel punishment.

Allowing Yuki and Choso’s invitation to flutter back onto his nightstand, you pluck up another; a giggle is trapped in your chest.

“He’s such a little asshole.”

“Hm?” Suguru tilts his head up at the sound of your voice. This time, he’s greeted by obnoxious silvery characters on a flaky, golden card, “Ah, Satoru? He’s the worst.”

“Like, it’s ugly!” you bring a hand over the back of Suguru’s head, “And he’s not even getting married.”

“He thought it’d be funny…”

“‘Course he did!” you grumble, flipping the card over and glancing over the back, “And he’s got the money to blow on stupid shit like this.”

Suguru also does well for himself. Not nearly as well as Satoru, but he lives comfortably. Satoru was born from parents in the fashion industry, making the man’s entrance into modeling somehow even easier aside from his absolute jackpot in the genetics lottery. Satoru was well-loved.

The jealousy he felt over it bred a great, terrible guilt in his chest that was difficult to swallow every time he was with his childhood friend.

But Satoru was also lonely. Beloved and alone, despite it all.

And Suguru is immature enough to take solace in that fact.

Then there’s him.

“Aw, Kento, too!” you take notice of how Suguru tenses atop of you, his arms squeezing around your waist. Pitifully, you pat his head, “Sorry, I can put it back…”

Kento is exactly the kind of man Suguru wanted to be growing up.

“No, no,” he murmurs, “Let’s see Kento Nanami’s wedding invitation.”

It’s a powdery shade of white, with pure, pitch-black characters raised against the background. Aligned down the center with charcoal black outlining the corners of the card. Something Suguru would’ve seen getting for himself, had he gotten engaged sooner than his junior.

His parents certainly think he should have anyway.

Kento holds himself to every standard Suguru’s parents wanted their son to uphold. All of which he breaks now, by keeping you wrapped in his sheets under his frenzied body while maintaining the title of a ‘bachelor’. He’ll be thirty two years sooner than Kento, but Kento is already the exact man Suguru wants to be.

A respectable job, smooth skin, a house in his own name, a fiance, and the adoration of his community.

All of his neighbors, they don’t truly know Suguru. They know the man in black with long hair that slinks through the halls and lobby, they get to peek at the beiges and grays of his apartment, but they do not know him.

They have no idea what he’s done today, what time he clocked into work, what time he clocked out, where he works, what time he gets home every day, what time he goes to sleep, what he likes most for dinner, what he daydreams of in the shower, what he dreads before bed. And he doesn’t know that of them. They are all just little pieces of each other’s lives for one measly moment in a sharp, short burst of the universe's lifetimes.

And there are so many more people whose lives he isn’t part of. And who are not part of his. People who have no idea he even exists. People he has no idea exist. Therefore, nothing would change if he spontaneously disappeared.

Sure, those close to him would be devastated, but after that…

Japan would not miraculously change in any way. The world would not stop spinning. Space would be just as expansive and overwhelming and mysterious as it always was.

Suguru was one little piece of a massive complex of nonsensical happenings in one of many galaxies, on one of many planets, in one of many countries for a handful of years. Just as billions of other people were.

He wonders if there’s any point to this at all.

“Sugu…?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? You’re spacin’ out on me.”

He wonders if you ever feel the same way, or if he’s the only one cursed with this poison in his mind.

And he’s immature enough to believe he just might be.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk movie marathon

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