#obligatory sorry if this has been done before
Text
graphic design is my passion
but seriously they really left her out of the clawthorne name rhyme huh
#ngl they kinda did her dirty with that one#even eda’s fake human name fits (marilyn)#it’s kinda funny tho .#the owl house#toh spoilers#kinda#the owl house season 3#toh season 3#eda clawthorne#gwendolyn clawthorne#lilith clawthorne#toh eda#toh gwendolyn#toh lilith#evelyn clawthorne#toh evelyn#anyways the quality is bad bc I’m supposed to be asleep but I HAD to get my idea out there#soupwalking.jpg#soupwalking#obligatory sorry if this has been done before#thanks to them#hall of fame
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Imagine getting head from a tiefling like. Depending on the size and position of their horns you'd have to get kinda creative to avoid getting.. stabbed
0 notes
Text
busted (3tan) (m) | myg
title: busted
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) , jungkook 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
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made.
note: well. here we are, y’all. it’s been quite a long time, but we are back to regularly scheduled programming :’)) thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me throughout this whole process – and series, for that matter. i couldn’t have done this without y’all and the next part is already in the works. also i cried a lot writing this lol have fun!
note 2: happy birthday, hedgehog! and to colourless and nicki and whoever else had birthdays recently, consider this my gift to y’all!
warnings: language, the amount of content itself fck i’m so sorry, parties, alcohol consumption, tense situations, shoving, abandonment mentions (parental), obligatory yoongi on the phone, ch*king, head/hair pulling, reader has a pain kink and it shows oops, angst, overthinking :((, penetrative s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, did i say angst?, bro😵💫, but also bro😭, jungkook gets a warning too, yoongi’s jeans are as ripped as he is heyo, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all i–😭, the ending🧍
drop date: june 9th, 2023, 7:17pm est
word count: 18.8k gdi
-
-
Here goes nothing and everything.
It was fifteen years ago when you first met Jungkook. When the sidewalks in your neighborhood were fewer and the occupancy in your house was higher.
A tiny boy, he was immediately ready to stay by your side, despite the limited amount of time he got to hang around before his parents corralled his energy back inside their car.
Later on, he would tell you that had something to do with them not wanting him influenced by your brother and his group. But you didn’t know that at the time.
Ever since the two of you met, you became the best of friends. And as you grew older, it was only natural that feelings bloomed with everything else.
In the midst of an ever changing garden, you found something that never wavered, vibrant in color and immovable at its root.
Which was strange. You’d never compared people to flora before him.
But, because of Jungkook, you couldn’t help but see everyone as such—lilies, buttercups, the ones that trap to survive.
And he was the prettiest, strongest flower of them all.
There was rain. There were storms. But with them came hope, and a pair of cheap rings that the two of you bought nestled nicely in boxes, waiting to be unearthed when you were ready.
However.
What also came was a lesson. One that you would learn again when two of every seat remained unused in your household.
A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.
They change with or without you.
And they pass by.
“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Jungkook offers. And you know he’s going to suggest your room before he even utters the words.
But of course he adds a small, “If I’m allowed in there anymore.”
When he laughs, your smile is as slow as your head shake, a few memories of old tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “We can.”
“Okay.”
When you make your way to your room, you hear the thumps of music and rhythms of conversation—both casual and loud—echoing throughout the house. Some people are sharing laughs, others are scooting just a bit closer, and a lucky one is cackling before demanding that everyone hand over their money.
All of them oblivious to the fact that you’re about to rip off a piece of your heart.
Well. That may not be the case. But based on the conversation that you had with Jungkook before your interview, this wasn’t going to be an easy one in the slightest—not for him, nor for you.
But if he’s gonna keep pushing forward, this is a stop you need to put up regardless.
During a party isn’t what you had in mind, though. Much less one in your own house.
You don’t know if anyone sees you open your door for Jungkook to pass through, or if they notice the slump of your mood, but you figure no one will care anyways.
Until you see someone out of the corner of your peripheral.
And the skip of your heart tells you who it is.
Occupying one of the hallways a ways away, you can tell he’s very aware of you despite being in the middle of a chatty group.
But what’s on his mind? Is he worried? Is he gonna ask what this is about?
Damn it. You’re just gonna have to tell him later. You can’t exactly do anything now.
A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,
“You okay?”
Fuck.
Turning, you nod to the boy in your room before shutting your door, giving one more look to the man whose last text you couldn’t read.
And the way he stares makes you wanna bolt from everyone entirely.
When your door clicks shut, you slowly swivel, only the bass of your brother’s music pushing the walls in closer.
Jungkook’s doing exactly what you knew he’d do, wandering around your room and either leaning in to observe, or lightly touching things that he remembers.
The soft puff of a laugh snaps you into focus. “I can’t believe you still have all his medals up.”
Ah. He even remembers the way you have all your brother’s trophies and achievements displayed—all because you liked seeing them shine, and he didn’t want them in his room.
Sweeping your gaze along two of your walls, you let out a tiny sound of amusement while agreeing, “I can. Too lazy to take them down.”
“I can do it,” he immediately responds. “If you need me to.”
If it had been five years ago, you would’ve been enamored that he even offered.
But five years ago is when he shattered any hopes you had for the two of you, so you turn him down yet again. “It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“We’re here to talk, not decorate, Jungkook.”
He stares before nodding in dejection, eyes finding something other than you. “It’s still weird to hear you say my name.”
It’s weird to say it.
But you can’t let him know you agree, so the sound you make is half-cautious and weakly lighthearted. “You think so?”
“Ah, yeah.” He flashes a smile that still squeezes air from your lungs. “I’d gotten too used to all the names you had for me.”
“Oh, god.”
“But I guess someone else gets to hear them now.”
Goddamn it. He’s not gonna give up, just like he said right before your interview.
“Who are you seeing?”
“Kook…”
“I wanna know.”
“Why?”
He walks over to your nightstand, picking up a picture of you and your friends from years back.
And your heart pangs at how big his back has become.
Without turning, Jungkook lifts his head to stare at your ceiling. And if he’s wondering whether the glow stars he stuck all over it are still there or not, you don’t know if you’d admit that you never took them down.
“So that I’d know if I still have a chance.”
“You already had yours,” you whisper. “Remember?”
And when you look up, he’s already staring at you with regret.
Memories start to come back, but you shove them away with force, trying to empty your sinking boat with a teaspoon.
Every time he had walked back from school with you, every time he would make you laugh when you felt alone, every time he stayed at your place when your brother had to be out—all of them competed with each other to punch you in the gut and push you to your knees.
“I do,” is all he says before softly placing the frame on your bed. “I fucked that up, didn’t I.”
The times he said he’d be there when you needed him, the times he said it was gonna be okay when you struggled with your seemingly deepest darkest secrets.
All the times you knew you’d have a long future with him.
“You did.”
Everything leading up to the time he said you should break up before you left for university.
Right before you were going to tell him you loved him.
Your heart hasn’t beat in awhile, but you don’t notice until Jungkook starts walking towards your planted feet. Was he really so far away? How did he cover the distance between so fast?
With a sigh occupying your chest, you muse that he looks so different, but also not different at all.
And just like the time you saw him downtown, your brain doesn’t know how to separate the Jungkook you knew from the one you see in front of you.
Because they are still the same.
You don’t budge as he stands resolute, inches away but encasing you in his familiar presence. When his hand comes up to your face, he almost touches—but the slight hesitation has you holding your breath before he surrenders his hand at his side.
“I was an idiot,” he admits, throat seemingly small and making yours the same size. “I never should’ve… I can’t believe I…”
You watch as he flips his head up, and you hate how you know exactly what he’s trying to hide.
But your soul still remembers the wound it was dealt. So while you don’t want him feeling this way, you’re perfectly okay to fight back.
He doesn’t get to cry when he’s the reason for all those tears.
“And yet you did,” you remind him, proud of how stable your voice leaves lips that used to seek his. “And you left me so fucking confused.”
“I know.”
“Do you really?”
He flickers regretful eyes your way, giving you all the room to talk.
And you’re going to.
“Do you actually know, Kook? How fucked up that made me feel right before going where I knew nobody. No one.”
His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch.
You expel a tough breath, everything that happened before bubbling up to the surface. The nights you spent wondering what happened, the days you spent feeling unwanted, the times you felt so fucking alone.
“Is it true that you even loved me?”
“Yes,” he finally shatters, face contorting and eyes welling at their rims. “Of course I did.”
Did.
“I still do.”
Liar.
“I thought I was the only one.” You search his eyes, hating how you would comfort him in an instant if this were any other circumstance. Hating, hating, loathing that this is how you find out your love wasn’t unrequited. “Why did you push me away?”
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” He turns, unable to handle the loud silence streaming from your bones. Voice shaken, he flounders, “I don’t know. I’ve—”
When he pauses, it’s to keep his lips from shaking. You just know it.
“I’ve regretted it every day since.”
“Bullshit.”
“I have!”
“Really. So all those texts you never sent were full of regret, too, huh?”
“No, I—”
“All those calls you never made.”
“I wanted to call!”
“You wanted nothing to do with me!”
“No! That’s not true—”
“Liar!”
He digs palms into the soaking divots of his face, tense at all angles and making you so, so angry that this is what the both of you have come to.
“I’m not lying!”
“You are!”
You thought it would feel better seeing him cry.
But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. You hate this.
Because Jungkook made sure your tears were short-lived. Made sure to chase them away every single time—
There’s a rapid twist of your locked doorknob before you hear a shout,
“What the hell’s going on in there!”
Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling?
…Were you both that loud?
“We’re fine!” you shout back, embarrassed that your fight somehow managed to outperform the aux. “It’s okay.”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“You better be serious—”
“Promise!” You look toward the shouts. “We’re okay.”
“…Okay.”
And then it’s completely silent.
But you know he hasn’t left.
Fuck, he can’t hear the rest of this. He shouldn’t have heard any of it in the first place, and you can feel the heat of his questions coming later tonight.
Which, you are fine answering when it’s just the two of you. But you cannot have anyone hovering right now so you go to open the door and tell him off,
“Dude, I said I’m—”
Oh, fuck.
Yoongi’s right there with him.
And your heart fucking lurches.
Fuck fuck fuck they both see your tears and you’re getting moved aside before you know it now there’s—
“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”
“Wait, it’s not like th—”
“You come into our house after years—”
“Stop!”
“And pull some shit like this?”
Alarmed, you squeeze yourself between him and a very wide-eyed Jungkook, having to wrestle an angry wrist off a captured bicep. “Seriously, relax!”
You and your brother have a thousand differences.
But one thing you two have in common?
He’s just as stubborn as you are.
A strong swipe moves you back so fast that your feet can’t keep up, and you find yourself stumbling until firm hands and familiar cologne keep you upright, voices springing up all at once.
“I’m not—”
“Hey—!”
“The fuck—”
“What’s wrong with you?” you question, commanding attention and snagging both your brother’s and Jungkook’s stares.
Barely even caring if they see where you are and who’s holding you.
Because this is all stupid. It’s not fucking high school and you aren’t some kid that needs their useless, shitty, good-for-nothing parents to stand up for them.
Resisting Yoongi’s grip until he lets go, you stalk up to rip your brother’s hand off your ex’s arm, voice darkened and sharp, “Get out.”
Breath hard, the reply you get is directed more at Jungkook than your own pinched brows,
“Why should I.”
“Cus it’s fine,” you shoot out, sparing a glance at Yoongi and regretting it immediately.
Because he’s not looking at you. He probably wasn’t ever looking at you.
No. Based on that look alone, he’s been eyeing Jungkook with an energy that sends chills straight through your veins.
It’s so unmoving, so infernal that your throat dries, forcing you to swallow before laying more reassurance on three pairs of tense shoulders. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”
“…So it’s like that?”
Jungkook immediately replies to your sibling with a monotone, “Of course it is.”
To which he moves forward again before you stop him with a hand and a shout,
“The fuck it isn’t—”
“It is! Fucking hell, dude...”
You force an exhale, hating how your room is overflowing while you’re still drowning in the conversation prior.
Because now one talk is gonna sprout into three, and you already dread what each one is going to look like when it develops.
You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done.
You hope your brother understands that you’re tired.
And, above all the others, you hope to any high power out there that Yoongi understands that you are anything but finished.
When the tension doesn’t budge, you sigh and shift your weight.
“Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” You breathe with finality, eyeing your sibling and his ride or die—hating and loving how ready they are to do whatever they need to, together.
But they don’t have to do anything.
Except let you do this yourself.
“Please.”
After a moment, they both look over your shoulder before your brother watches your face again.
But Yoongi seems to have finally caught Jungkook’s attention, because his eyes haven’t broken their lock until you say something,
“Trust me.”
Two weighty seconds pass before both men nod. And they leave without a word, emotions toppling on each other as soon as your door shuts.
When you walk up to lock it shut, you stare at the knob in silence.
While that was massively uncalled for, it could’ve gone much worse. You can already think of over a hundred outcomes, because that’s a look you’ve seen on your brother many times.
However. That’s not what has you lost in thought.
What keeps you frozen is the fact that you have never seen Yoongi like that.
It almost scared you, but somehow comforts you all the same. You can still feel the way he subtly squeezed you in assurance, pressing you into him when you really didn’t fall that far. There’s a jittering in your chest that hasn’t simmered, and it makes you feel like you’re halfway floating back to where Jungkook stands.
But you’re promptly grounded when you rejoin him, voice soft when you ask if he’s okay.
“He hasn’t changed,” is all he whispers.
And you look at the door with a sigh of disappointment. “He has a little. Still uptight as ever, but. At least I can leave the house.”
“Yoongi was a surprise.”
Oxygen abandons your lungs before you quickly catch yourself. “They’re best friends.”
Jungkook glares at the floor in thought before exhaling, and his silence seems charged. Almost off.
“Right.”
…Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Is it because he saw when Yoongi caught you? Or the fact that he showed up at all?
“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to rope him away from whatever scary things he could be pondering. When he flicks his attention to you, it takes a lot to not flinch at his watery eyes. “Ignore them. We aren’t finished here.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and your conversation jumps right back to where it was. “For everything.”
“I know.” You close your eyes before sadness lowers your gaze. “But it’s gonna hurt for awhile.”
Even if you get this closure, it can’t cover all the years he made you doubt yourself. Made you feel like everything you went through was a lie and that love was something you just didn’t deserve. Confidence vaporized as a result, leaving nothing but issues and manufactured intimacy for years.
Maybe that’s why everyone said you were a bad lay before. Because you actually were.
Through your thick haze, you hear a faint, broken,
“You loved me?”
“I…” Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. “I still do.”
“What?”
Fuck.
It’s true. While he broke your heart first, he still cared for it more than anyone else after him had—until recently. The only grief he gave you was the breakup, which was why it threw you for an absolute loop.
As you grew up, though, you started to rationalize that the split was a good decision. He was moving, and you were leaving for college. How would you both have fared with the long distance? It probably would have ended one way or the other anyways.
So while the resentment burned your heart, it didn’t quite rid you of affection. What you feel as a result is similar to before, but so very, very different. Subdued. Faded. Like jeans you wore constantly but haven’t touched in years.
In all honesty, what broke you the hardest was losing a dear friend.
“I do,” you finally admit, not looking at him because of your next words, “But not the way you want me to.”
Jungkook doesn’t respond, letting the outside world bleed into the room like a bitter interlude.
When he still makes no sound, you lift weary eyes to check on him.
And your chest constricts at the way he looks utterly and totally lost.
When you call his name, his gaze doesn’t leave the floor. When you whisper it again, the tear that falls makes you weak. “Kook, what’s wrong?”
He finally looks up, and you feel your eyes quickly reflect his. “I was so stupid,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. “I really didn’t know. Honestly, I knew that was impossible.”
For some reason, this makes you chuckle, and a new mood starts to paint the walls. “Why?”
“Because you were so cool.” His smile hasn’t changed. And that’s what cuts the deepest. “And I was just there because I always was.”
“What?” You start to join him in bittersweet recollection, albeit from a different perspective. When you reach forward to point at his necklace—because you will not touch the ring—you softly laugh. “Then what were these for, silly?”
When he sighs, you can feel the cracks in his curve. “I’ve been told that I’m clueless.”
“You are,” you say with a sagging grin. “Extremely.”
He laughs again. So do you.
And the both of you break all at once.
He’s crushing you in a hug and you’re crying into his clothes, hands gripping at his jacket and shoulder feeling the weight of his world.
While he repeats that he’s sorry, you choke out that you are, too. When he says it was never your fault, you cry even harder.
You fucking hate this. Now that you know the truth, it hurts that much worse. You hate, hate, hate that this is what everything came to. Everything that you both went through, destroyed by one mistake at the bitter end.
But you need to move on. You need to sacrifice the past for the future.
“I still love you,” he whispers, and you tense when he tightens his arms. “And I’m still sorry.”
“You idiot,” you cry into his chest, and you hear him hold back a sob before burying his head again.
And the two of you stay like that. One last embrace that you both needed.
Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.
When you both calm, you feel like it’s been hours.
But you move to step away first, confused at the way he doesn’t let you leave.
What’s he doing? Why is his mouth hovering over yours? You need to move. You need to move away.
But all you can do is plead, “I can’t.”
Still, Jungkook moves in.
Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.
What once would have lit your soul on fire now feels like a tempered flame, the smallest light of a candle before it burns out. And you’re grateful that he respects you enough to not push in a time of weakness.
You move away again, and he lets you go this time. But not without last words, “Promise me this person is alright.”
“I promise.”
“Only alright? I have a chance then.”
“Kook.” When you give him an empty glare, dying stars still linger in his eyes. “Friends?”
His lips give away his breaking heart before he nods. “I’m not leaving you again.”
Swallowing, you spread a thankful smile. “You better not,” you sniffle. “I need to decorate.”
He huffs, giving you one more teary stare. “If they ever hurt you, let me know.”
“I’ll be okay.”
After a noncommittal nod, he stands until you politely tell him you need a minute. When he leaves, you wait until the door shuts before wiping nothing from your cheek.
Wondering why this closure doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest.
You don’t know how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exactly flow when you’re caught between the past and the present.
But when you open your door, Dom is watching you with pure, unadulterated focus.
And your face scrunches in pain before she ushers you back inside.
She doesn’t say anything as you sit on your bed, offering her shoulder even though she doesn’t prefer physical contact.
While you’re grateful—so, so thankful for her presence—intermittent sniffles are the only sound you’re capable of.
Until you stabilize and come up for air, fishing words from your river of grief, “Remember what I told you. When he broke up with me.”
Anger simmers in her reply as her shoulder moves under your chin. You assume by the movements that she’s typing something on her phone—or prepping for revenge, either one of the two. “I do.”
“He said he still loves me.”
Your first thought is proven correct as a device plops onto your comforter. “Bullshit.”
“Dom…”
“What? Like he loved you then, too?” She scoffs. “You were the one that loved him and he cut you out. He needs to get over that.”
“He said it was a mistake.”
“It sure as fuck was.”
“I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right.” You swipe at your nose. “He looked so.. I just…”
“Uh uh. It’s too fresh.” She gently lifts your heavy cloud off her person, firm fingers squeezing out rain. “You gotta get out of your own damn head right now.”
“I know.”
“Now.”
You break into another sob, hiccuping before nodding. “It just sucks, Dom. I d—”
“Look, I get that. But everything you’re thinking about already happened. It’s done.” A glance is thrown behind her back before she swivels around. “Focus on what you have now.”
In your moments of weakness, you ask the dumbest things,
“What do I have now.”
As always, Dominique is quick and to the point. “A man that’s waiting outside your door.”
Huh?
Your eyes flash up to hers as she stands. “Wait, what?”
What did she say? What does she mean? How does she know that what’s going on—
“One minute,” she warns, far away and not to you. “Then you’re on your own.”
“K.”
Wait, what.
You don’t even realize you’re vacating your bed as you see him walk in, nodding back at Dom closing the door before regarding your wreck of a face.
His name is molasses on your tongue.
What is he doing? Isn’t the party still on? Why is he walking closer?
He’s not supposed to be in here he can’t be here and you’re telling him that but he pulls you in so tight that the rest of your tears rain down in sheets.
“Fuck,” is all you can manage now, and he crushes you in even harder, as if he wants you pressed against all of him forever like a keepsake leaf on a journal page.
Your voice writes words into his clothes, silence his only reply but the only one you need.
Even if you only get a minute, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.
When he holds you at arm’s length, his question comes out a bit fast-paced, “What happened?”
Damn it. As much as you should probably tell him, you use precious seconds to pause, not really knowing if you want to or not.
“Don’t sweat it,” he quickly understands, kissing your forehead just as chaste. When he moves again, you catch the tension in his shoulders, notice the ruffles in his hair. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yes. No.” Fuck, he kinda looks as rattled as you feel. What is happening right now? “I just, umm. I need a minute.”
“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”
“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.”
Finally, Yoongi stops, and his whole upper body relaxes at once. A beautiful sound to your ears, amusement huffs out his nose before he mutters, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.”
“But it’s true.”
His chuckle is light, and mischievous eyes find the ground before they lift to yours,
“Makes me wanna take you home.”
Well. You swiftly realize why he doesn’t want you to keep saying certain things. The zing of emotion through your body was definitely uncalled for.
Any other day, you would want this type of conversation to keep going. And maybe you’d be a little coy about it.
But right now, all you are is tired, and your barriers are crumbled enough for a truth to escape.
Resigned, you step closer to wrap his waist in your arms, not caring if he can feel the rapid beats of your heart. “I want you to do that,” you admit, breath warming your face on his already warmer shirt. “All the time.”
“Take you home?”
“Mmhmm.”
Yoongi runs fingers along your arm. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.”
If you were someone else. If you didn’t have to hide.
If you didn’t have to wait.
At least you don’t have to wait for much longer. Definitely can’t say anything to your brother tonight, but you and Yoongi agreed on after this party. So things will be better from here on out.
But why does he seem so—
You’re spooked by a warning knock on your door, and you flicker eyes to see his filled with something you don’t like.
And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.
“Listen.”
“Hmm?”
“I know we said we’d say something.”
Oh. You shake your head, already on the same page and liking how in sync you are. “There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”
“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”
Huh.
What does he mean by—
“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”
You freeze.
So does time.
A minute is no longer enough.
“Yoongi, please—”
“Can you do that?”
Your heart slams against your ribcage, banging and banging and screaming that what he’s asking is not possible.
Because he isn’t asking what you want to do. He isn’t even asking how long you can wait.
There’s a reason why he’s risking all sorts of shit to say this in person. Why he seems so restless.
And you’re already missing him so hard it hurts.
Truthfully? You can’t do this. Not now. Not when your heart is bleeding out on your own bedroom floor. There isn’t even enough time to process Jungkook’s talk and now you need to deal with this?
“Babe?”
But despite what you feel, even if your throat is seizing and your chest is caving in, your answer will be what he needs.
Because seeing Yoongi look like this—torn and frayed at the edges—renders you powerless and protective all at once. For fuck’s sake, he looks slightly panicked and this is the second new side of him you’ve seen tonight.
And yet he found a way to be with you one last time.
Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye.
So you give up something, too. Your wants and needs because you don’t think you can do this, but it seems way too important to him to not try.
You get it. That whole confrontation probably snapped all sense back into him. He doesn’t want to hurt his best friend. Or disrupt his work environment. Or both. Whatever whatever whatever. You should’ve seen this coming.
If distance is what he wants, you’ll give it. Instant karma because you just told someone else to give you some, too.
Of course you lose someone as soon as you gain back another.
“Doll, let me know because—”
“Anything,” you rush out, and yearning taints your voice on the descent. “I’ll do it.”
He pans from one eye to the other, and you weakly reveal a crack in your resolve,
“Anything for you.”
That answer was a lot more than what you meant to say. And the next look he gives rips you into shreds. Shreds of the bigger truth you just told him with moments left of his time.
“For us,” he corrects, swooping in to give you one more soul-shattering kiss.
And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel.
You don’t know when you’ll get to be alone with him again. It could be a day. Or months. Or even longer.
But watching him go, you know you can get through this. You know you can do it.
Because this is nothing new. Just another person leaving. You’ve gone through it before and you’ll go through it again and this time will be different, right? Right? He’ll come back. Of course he will.
And yet there’s still a part of you that questions.
If people are like seasons…
Which one will Yoongi be?
Fuck.
Your body is moving before the rest of you does, and you propel forward to tug him in, flooding his lips with saltwater and longing and a deluge of reluctant trust.
And he responds in an instant, swallowing you in an embrace you’ll cherish forever and willingly giving in to your desperate tugs on his jacket.
“Yoongi, I—”
You hear another insistent knock before he slings you into the nearest wall, and he grips the back of your head so hard you sob into his mouth.
“I know.”
His name rattles around your mouth.
“It’ll be okay.”
You wanna believe him.
“Okay?”
But you only nod, eyes filled with oceans but gaze unwavering. Because you need to see him. Because you need to see him.
“Fuck.”
He smashes his lips on yours once more, capturing every soft plea for him to stay and holding you so tightly that your heart splinters. And while you know this is his way of telling you everything will be okay, you have a sinking suspicion that he is fighting to believe it himself.
It’s not fair.
None of this is fucking fair.
If he was anyone else, if you were anyone else, if your brother wasn��t the way he was, if Jungkook wasn’t in the position he’s in now.
It was just nights ago that you cradled all his moonlight in your palms.
And now you’ll be farther apart than stars.
Yoongi finally pulls away right as Dom opens the door, and a myriad of emotions slosh into your brain when his eyes never leave you.
“I got us,” he vows, finger on your chin the sole thing keeping you afloat, and you suspend in disbelief that someone you know is witnessing his lips press your forehead in real time and no explosions or helicopters are crashing onto the scene.
Just a panicked “Hurry up, for god’s sake!” to indicate your friend is not amused or phased.
Yoongi finally steps away, slowly backing up before slipping out, and the door closes with only you inside—hand clawing deep into your chest.
Because you know him well enough.
He was committing your every feature to memory.
And the desperation in his reddened eyes hunches you forward in pain.
The rest of the party goes on. Music booms, people laugh, conversations sparkle.
And you hear them all through your door.
Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.
Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey
Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?
You [1:40am]: yeah
Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up
You scoff at your phone, letting it fall from your hand before resting tired eyes between your knees.
When it buzzes again, you reluctantly read it with vision unreflecting.
Idiot🙄 [1:42am]: Left food for you, too
That you will leave your room for. You may have just cried out your weight in tears alone.
You🙄 [1:46am]: ok
Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍
Cleaning is a quiet event, with you both doing the chores you’ve defaulted to over the years. While he clears the floors and deals with the trash, you steadily get through the dishes, scrubbing them as well as you can before placing them in the washer to dry.
A plate. A bowl after that.
Two whisky glasses even though there were plenty of solo cups to use.
You needed this. Needed a way of going through the motions and letting your brain fly on autopilot. If you sniffle, the water drowns it out, and only the dishes get to see any lingering tears.
And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.
“Hey.”
You hum.
“Do I need to beat his ass?”
Well, that didn’t take long.
Frustration tears its way up your throat on all fours, “I should kick yours for what you did back there.”
“And I’d deserve it.”
You pause.
“But I still wanna know.”
Sighing, you shake your head, knowing that neither of you are angry enough to fight anyways. “No, okay? I was serious. We talked.”
“I know you talked but he still hurt you.”
Your lip stings under your teeth.
“And I can’t just let that go.”
When he stops, you place another dish on its rack. “Let’s just finish and I’ll tell you everything in a sec.”
He sets down the last of his trash before retiring in the living room, the thump of weary weight squeezing a sigh out of the couch.
And you eventually join him, water cutting off with a squeak before you shuck off your gloves.
As you walk through the cleaned-enough rooms, you keep hearing afterimages of conversations, wondering how many revolved around your shouting match with Jungkook, or how many speculated who Yoongi is or isn’t seeing.
All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides.
But the conversation you’re about to have with your brother is gonna be real. And a long time coming, quite frankly.
You take a breath before crossing into a space that’s seen and heard many things. While you take residence in your regular spot on the sofa, your brother doesn’t deter his gaze from a television that’s not on.
But as soon as you blurt out your confession, he slowly closes his eyes.
“He broke up with me. Before I left for school.”
“...Why didn’t you tell me.”
Brows scrunched, you waste no time in pinning him with your response, “Did you see yourself back there? Imagine if you found out back then.”
Silence.
“Besides,” you continue, deflating back into the cushions, “He was moving, remember? And you had enough going on. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I always worry.”
“It’s whatever at this point. I didn’t even know he was back until Yoo—you told me.”
Shit, that was close.
“I shouldn’t have made it a surprise.”
“Not your fault. What’s done is done.” When you observe the blank screen, you can see your brother aim a look your way. “Just made the whole uni thing miserable at first.”
And the years after, too, but he doesn’t need the same details that Yoongi got.
He sighs, hand scratching the side of his head before free-falling. When it’s quiet, you think he’s preparing for war. Prepping a vow to go after Jungkook and dealing with a problem that’s not yours anymore.
But he doesn’t do that. What he says catches you completely off guard.
An apology.
“I’m sorry I’m always gone. Or not really here when I’m back.”
Where did that come from? Are you already done with a talk you dreaded for years?
This can’t be it.
Blinking, your mouth slowly opens before you respond as level as possible. “It’s okay. I can pretty much fend for myself at this point.”
“I know. But I’ll try to be better.”
He’s gonna what? “Why?”
“Cus I feel… Uhh.” He moves his lips around in thought, as if the next sentence takes strategy to arrange. “I feel like we don’t really talk anymore.”
“…Oh.”
You’re thoroughly thrown. Because who the hell is this person you’re talking to right now? What’s up with him? He doesn’t need to try anything better except calm the fuck down sometimes. And let you be an adult.
And frankly, you feel like you talk a normal amount anyway. At least, you didn’t think anything was off about it.
What the hell happened after he left your room?
Suddenly, you see him laugh at the ground before asking it a question. “Remember when we’d go get our own food?”
Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone.
But you’ll take it. This switch in what you expected this conversation to be is a welcome one, and you softly entertain memories that aren’t supposed to be this funny. “Yeah. We’d get told to come back with our parents.”
“Until they realized we kept going alone.”
A memory makes you smirk. “You even tried dressing like a grown up.”
He chuckles again, elbows resting on his knees as he watches your coffee table. “I really thought I did it, too.”
“You did.” Thinking about all the shit you both went through, it’s truly a wonder how you’re both still here. Living and existing and doing big things.
A rueful chuckle leaves your lips, floating to the floor. “We’re fucked up, huh.”
“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.”
True. “It could be worse, I think.”
“How?”
You play with some of the frays on your sofa, wondering when this piece of furniture started to resemble thin lines of too-soft polyester at its edges.
Did it start to give up around the same time your parents did? Or had their patience worn thin way before the threads on this cushion began to fade?
Whichever truth remains, at least it’s still here—witnessing all the struggles and triumphs, the highs and lows, and all the times the two of you had sat in puffy-eyed silence.
Together.
“They could’ve left us somewhere else.”
“Ah,” he nods, slowly shaking his head and twisting the watch on his wrist. “Nah.”
Silent, your eyes find his side profile in due time. “No?”
And his glare burns the path ahead. Just like it always has. “I wouldn’t have let them.”
“Oh, really.”
“I got them to leave us all this, didn’t I?”
Wait, he did what now?
…You didn’t know that.
“Hold on,” you breathe slow. “That’s what happened?”
“We had a deal.” He sighs before leaning all the way back, hands joined at the knuckles on his stomach. “If I graduated with full marks and, uhh. Got a starting salary high enough, they’d pay for your tuition.”
The pause he makes weighs a ton.
“And leave this to us when you came back.”
So… He…
Holy shit.
You were just fucking relieved you didn’t have to pay any loans. For once, you thought your parents really had your best interests in mind and did something out of kindness before peacing the fuck out.
But it’s all because your brother negotiated and pulled off the near impossible?
…Is he paying loans?
“I didn’t know any of that,” you whisper, finding yourself on the verge of tears again.
He simply shrugs, looking down at his cherished piece that he rarely takes off. “You didn’t need to. You were just a kid.”
“So were you.”
Your brother purses his lips, and you wonder what words he could be holding back. What thoughts he has that he won’t say out loud. If any of them are things he wants to say but can’t.
“It’s whatever.”
He had to grow up fast so that you didn’t have to.
And you don’t have the heart to tell him that university fast tracked that anyways.
So, while grateful as hell and knowing you’ll be thinking about this conversation for years, you switch the subject. You’re already overwhelmed as is.
And you suddenly understand what Yoongi might be struggling with, too.
Because if he did all this for you, what lengths has he gone for his best friend?
Shoving that thought into a far corner of your brain, you rest your head to mirror your sibling, letting your tears slide back to where they came from. “I, umm. Was wondering why they left us the house. But I figured they just didn’t wanna pay for it.”
“It was already paid off,” he explains, seemingly just as happy to talk about something else. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s how I was able to negotiate in the first place. They had four other properties, and a condo on some island.”
“What.”
“That’s why they were rarely here. Work trips, my ass.” He scoffs before bouncing a leg. “And they had us in this place.”
“I like it here, though.”
“I do, too, but…” You hear a shuffle of his feet before he stops. “I just. I dunno, it’s just us here. It feels...”
“Empty?”
“Maybe. More like something’s missing? I dunno, that’s probably lame.”
You inhale before assuring him. “It’s not.”
And with that, you’re both left to stare at the same ceiling, conversation stewing and simmering around the whole room.
Usually, this is when you leave. Because you don’t wanna talk about shit like this, or you simply feel like doing anything else.
But tonight, you want to stay. You didn’t know these things about your brother and what he did, and it’s making you realize a lot of things.
And regret others.
A question rolls off your tongue before you can overthink it, “Do you ever wonder what we did wrong?”
“All the time.”
“When I think about it, I always end up thinking the same thing.”
“Hmm.”
You tilt your head his way. “We weren’t the adults. But neither were they.”
And you both huff in tandem after he grins. “Damn.”
You don’t know how the two of you got here. But it was much better than talking about anything else, and you silently thank him for not making you more miserable than you already were.
Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.
He just needs to know for sure that you really are past the whole situation. Mostly. A healthy amount, at least.
So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” You look over to see regret fill his side of the couch.
“For what I did. I was outta line.”
“Oh.” You swallow, surprisingly emotional that he’s even owning up to it. You know it only happened because he was being protective, but hearing this from him is huge. That had to be hard. “Thank you.”
“I just.. I love you, okay?” He turns to look at the ceiling again, and you quickly have to do the same because you know how that was even tougher to say. “You and my brothers.. You’re all I’ve got.”
Liquid emotion runs down your cheek, never having been told that more than once in a single day.
It’s a shame how foreign it sounds when you say it back.
But that doesn’t make it any less true.
“Love you, too.”
An hour later, you find yourself in bed, clutching your phone while a single question loops through your brain.
…Calling should be okay, right?
Even if you can’t see him, or really be in the same room, this should be okay. At least, in the dead of night when even birds are asleep. When no one is awake to judge you both for lying to the people you...
Your chest squeezes when you press down on your decision, the talk with your brother repeating in your ears.
Yoongi: Outgoing Call
It’s ringing.
Still ringing.
…And you feel your chest cave when you hear it go to voicemail.
Fuck.
Maybe he’s sleeping already. Unforeseen circumstances like emotional turmoil tend to slow down your getting ready for bed process, so it took a lot longer than usual. Maybe he isn’t actively avoiding your calls and is just face down in a pillow you miss using.
And maybe you need to get used to this god-awful feeling as quickly as you can.
This hollow, aching, painful feeli—
Yoongi: Incoming Call
Your chest booms when you see his name, and you try your absolute hardest to answer normally even though instant tears blur the screen.
“H—”
“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”
His breath sounds so rushed, and you immediately wonder what he looks like if he didn’t take that long to answer. Imagining him in only a towel or less, you let out a pained chuckle before whispering, “You okay?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”
Of course that’s his answer. “I’m not. Just wondering if you were.”
“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”
Body alert, you only focus on that last syllable. “Wait, are you hurt?”
You hear a low grunt before he responds.
“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.”
Ouch. How the hell did he do that? “I’m sorry. You got ice, though, right?”
“It’s not that bad. Just stings.”
“Okay.”
There’s some crunching sounds before you hear footsteps and hisses, and a thump before other noise crackles through.
“Spoke to Kook.”
Shit.
“And the guys.”
Oh. About work. “What’s up?”
“We’re gonna be busy as shit for the next month or two, so.. Guess that came at a good time.”
Ah. No finish line in sight.
But he didn’t hide that information from you, so you appreciate the honesty. Better than him leaving you in complete darkness.
“Yeah, do your thing,” you support. “I need to prep for this interview anyway. And figure shit out if I end up getting the job.”
“When you get it.”
You exhale, shy. “When I get it, yeah.”
“Where is it again? That blue building, yeah?”
“Mmhmm. But where I’ll be is like, third floor.”
“See? Claiming shit already.”
You realize right as he says it, but you meant something completely different. Your laugh is soft. “I meant for the interview.”
“Mm. Well lemme know where you post up after they hire you.”
“Yoongi.”
“Fine.”
“Did you, umm. Did you and Kook talk about anything else?”
“Just work stuff.”
“Okay.” Your eyes lower. If he’s telling you everything, you gotta reciprocate.
Even the stuff you don’t wanna mention. “He tried to kiss me.”
“What.”
Swallowing at his tone, you whisper, “I told him I couldn’t.”
“…I see.”
Fuck. He does not sound okay with that in the slightest. Disappointed with yourself, you apologize, “I’m sorry.”
“Huh? Don’t be.”
“You sound mad.”
There’s another moment of silence, and you don’t think you breathe until he responds,
“Not at you, doll.”
Well, shit. You don’t wanna cause any friction between them, especially after the energy Jungkook gave off earlier. It’s still bugging you to hell. “Nothing happened, baby. But he felt really off after y’all left, so.. I dunno. Be careful.”
“I will. But that means I can’t talk when he’s around.”
You bury your head, watching the hours that you get with Yoongi dwindle away. Knowing Jungkook, he’s gonna immerse himself in whatever keeps him distracted. So he will most likely be at the studio just as much. “At least you were there today,” you whisper.
“Mm.”
“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.”
There’s a breath on the line, and you can tell he’s hesitant just by the way he moves his phone. So when he finally speaks, your jaw goes slack.
“I was there first, doll.”
He what?
“Wait… You were?”
He was at your door first? He has to know how that looked, right? Your brother clearly saw him if he was the one to shout, and yet there was no mention of it when the two of you spoke.
Maybe that’s part of why Yoongi decided what he did. A decision to help you came with consequences he knew were coming. But he did it anyway.
Your breath is suddenly short. And your head is starting to spin with information overload.
“The plan was to only check for a sec, but he had the same idea. Showed up right behind me.”
“So… You both heard—”
“Nothing until the yelling.”
They were there the whole time. Both of them. Yoongi first? Your brother joining him?
Nope. This is too much. All of this is way too much for one night and your head is bursting at the seams.
Just another reason why this separation could be a good thing. Other than the fact that Jungkook seems weird and you can’t see Yoongi at all and him and your brother really are more than friends and you wedged yourself right in between everybody—
Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling.
Run.
“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.”
“You okay?”
Say yes. Say anything but “No. I’m… I don’t know, I really don’t know—This is a lot and—”
“Wait—”
“I get it and I’ll stay away for as long as you want—”
“Babe, talk to—”
“Bye, Yoongi.”
And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.
He doesn’t need to hear your grief over the past, your regrets of the present, your fear of the future. He doesn’t need to know how pained you really feel dealing with everything at once. How harsh his departure is because this is when you need him most.
Yoongi: Missed Call
All he needs to know is that you’ll do this for him. Because he would do the same for you.
And he’s done enough for everyone other than himself.
But goddamn if this doesn’t hurt like nothing else you’ve experienced before.
And you’ve been through hell.
Yoongi: Missed Call (2)
Why is he calling? Won’t this just make it harder?
Why does he keep trying if you need to stay away?
Yoongi: Incoming Call
With a heart so busted you don’t know where all the pieces are, you finally reach up to acknowledge his effort.
And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.
“Knew you’d answer on the first try.”
Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.
“You didn’t let me say bye.”
When you don’t respond, he trudges on.
“So now, you get to hear the longest good night ever.”
Huh?
“And no hanging up this time.”
What the heck does he… mean…
As soon as you hear the light strums of a guitar, your heart shows signs of life. And you let everything out while he gathers the scattered shards with every chord. Every note.
Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.
A river flows into your pillow until it runs dry, and the Moon outside your blinds casts a silver blanket over your defeated shoulders.
And it’s only when you and your phone are dead to the world that the Sun steps in to peel it off with calm palms.
For the first time in a long time, you plan a sleepover at Taehyung’s.
And after getting a rundown of what happened, he completely agrees that you both need it.
It’s been a minute since you slept over there, and rolling onto his driveway makes you remember the first time it happened.
Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked.
But after some arguments from you and very clear energy from Tae, your brother waved you off and just demanded no funny shit better happen.
And you’ve spent so many nights over there since then that Taehyung’s one of the people he calls if he’s looking for you.
Being reminded of something else interesting, you think back to the first time you went to Yoongi’s, spending enough time there that he ended up on the list of people to call about your whereabouts.
As hot as he was picking up with a cheeky arm around you, it was surprising he was on that list in the first place.
Well, maybe not. They’re best friends. But why would he—
“You just gonna waste gas in my driveway or what?”
Snapping your head up, you see Taehyung looking bored, hands on his hips and wearing the most comfortable clothes you’ve ever seen.
Your glare in return is empty when you finally get out, circling around to grab your stuff and take-out from the passenger seat.
“You’re lucky I like you,” you joke as he goes to grab the food. Locking your car, you follow his grumbles into the house with a laugh, feeling a little okay already.
“How’s Jimin?”
“Still complicated, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”
You sigh before you poke your noodles, knowing you have quite the catch-up to get through. If only your attempt at procrastination worked.
“Eat,” Taehyung orders before taking a hearty slurp of his meal. “I don’t care if you’re sad, this wasn’t cheap.”
“Excuse you.” He’s lucky you resist the urge to fling saucy food all over his shorts. “Also, I paid for it, the hell?”
When your friend blows air through his nose, you scoff before silently doing as he says, pouting at the beginning credits onscreen.
“How long has it been?”
Ah. That’s a good start.
As you peer down at your food, emotion and appetite abandon your palate,
“A month.”
“...Damn.”
Taehyung already knows all about what happened. But even if he didn’t, you think he would’ve caught on to your increasingly depressing song choices. And the way you barely watched Yoongi during the last intramural game.
“How’s the new job, though? Good distraction?”
That you can talk about for hours. “Thank fuck it is.”
“That’s good, at least.”
As your meal progresses, you continue to catch him up on everything, including the way night calls are the only thing keeping your hopes afloat.
Because Yoongi was right. Ever since the party, weekdays have been radio silent, and you soon got accustomed to looking forward to his late texts saying he’s home.
And you’ve been okay with that. Landing the job and getting swamped with training has kept you busy, and your friends have been a wonderful salve for persisting wounds.
It just stings when you know the studio is close by. Because even though Yoongi extended invitations before, you avoid that area like the plague.
“But enough about me,” you huff. “Still complicated with him, huh.”
If Taehyung knows you’re too sad to keep talking, he doesn’t show it. His response simply comes after a few chews. “Yeah. But”—he swallows—��Not in a way I’m mad about.”
“What do you mean?”
Taehyung settles back into the sofa right as a ball of fluff hops on, and you watch the movie roll by while he gently orders him to get down. “He’s not as flaky. We just haven’t really labeled anything yet.”
That’s surprising to hear. Tae doesn’t strike you as the labeling type at all, so your question is genuine, “Do you need one?”
A huff is what you get in return, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “He seems to want one more than me. Which is why I don’t get the hesitation.”
“Mm.”
That makes more sense. Knowing what you know about Jimin, you aren’t shocked he would be conflicted about something he really wants.
Why he’s skirting around the point is the question. It’s clear to you that they would be so cute together. And sickly annoying in public.
“Maybe that’s a good sign,” you blurt, roping your friend’s gaze and attention. Spotlight on you instead of the characters bustling about his television, you smile. “It’s like he’s scared because he cares about your feelings.”
Not unlike what’s happening between another pair of friends you know.
Taehyung blinks, and you’ve always liked the way curiosity widens his eyes.
But he’s so quiet that you shift. “What?”
He keeps staring before biting an incoming smile. Before you can question him again, something brightens his expression. “You’ve changed, you know that?”
Huh. “Me? How?”
Your friend just grins before resting his head on the top of his cushion. “I’ve always known you were amazing. But now you look like you know that, too.”
All thoughts fizzle out before your jaw dips. When you try to present arguments, none materialize, and Taehyung laughs at the way you physically buffer.
“Not even denying it. I like this.”
“Shut up,” you finally pout, embarrassed and shy when he laughs again.
The rest of the film continues with nothing else but your commentary, and Taehyung clicks out of the queue screen before another one can start.
“Break? Or what do you feel like?”
You feel Yeontan’s fluff at your feet. “We can keep going.”
“Mmk.”
Both of you contemplate which one to pick when you feel your phone vibrate a ton. And when you see the notification, your heart leaps before crashing back down to the ground.
Yoongi [5:02pm]: Just got booked for another week
Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but
Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know
Right.
You slowly let your hand drop with a sigh, and you can feel Taehyung’s pitied stare without moving.
“I know,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t be upset.”
“You can definitely be upset.”
You lift weary eyes to see that your assumption was very wrong. There’s no pity evident at all.
Only warmth. And understanding.
“Cus knowing him? He’s probably more frustrated than you are.”
There’s a pinch in your chest, a sharp one that cuts your breath for a small second in time.
Him? Being more upset than you?
You only thought about that possibility once, but you quickly dismissed it. There’s no way.
But hearing Tae say it from a guy’s perspective—and someone that knows how Yoongi can be—gives you pause.
It just didn’t make sense before because he sounds fine when you call, and he doesn’t really talk much about his own shit unless you ask. Which is strange considering he was fine doing so after your huge breakthrough at his place. Granted, it was mostly about good things.
Does he only hold back when it’s about stuff that stresses him out? That’s not ideal. You’ve told him before to tell you what’s bothering him, so if he’s still hesitant to let you in…
Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present,
“What are you gonna say?”
Blinking, you push your lips together in thought before looking at your phone again.
If Yoongi really is more upset than you are, then you should tell him something that you would wanna hear from him. Even if you aren’t feeling so hot.
You [5:07pm]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴
You [5:07pm]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time
When you send those, something strange happens to your shoulders.
They’re lighter.
How is that possible? You’re still sad.
But your mind seems to clear some junk out, instead feeling a little okay about the whole thing.
Hopefully Yoongi receives them well. If he doesn’t, you’ll figure something else out.
Yoongi [5:09pm]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.
You laugh with teary eyes, soul feeling like it’ll live despite plans being pushed back again.
The lingering sadness remains, but it’s dwindled for now. An afterthought to the slight happiness you feel from lifting him up instead of dragging him down.
Another message slides into the thread before you click your phone shut, so when Tae gets more food, you catch what it says.
Yoongi [5:11pm]: Fuck I miss you
And your heart beats extra loud, mouth slightly curved and wobbly because you agree but it’s okay, okay, okay. You can both do this.
You [5:12pm]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later
Of course you want to cry. Of course you want to curl up into a ball and sob.
Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll
But just like there’s strength in being strong, there’s just as much strength in being gentle.
Because as upset as you feel, it’s better if you don’t show it. While you aren’t completely resolute, you push forward in silence. Even if you can’t see the finish line.
The lingering feeling of anxiousness remains; the what-if’s batter your mind from the inside. But you choose to stay optimistic for him, and even you have to admit that’s admirable.
But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.
Your shoulders must be slumping to hell because you feel a warm presence settle against you, slinging an arm around and holding you close.
The only sound you make is a quick sniffle, but you don’t move as Taehyung reads the thread on your phone.
“You see what I see, right,” is all he whispers.
And when you slightly shrug, he leans his head against yours.
“You will.”
Nodding, you feel more tears follow the paths of their predecessors, and you don’t move to wipe them away. “You’re a good person, Tae.”
His chuckle sounds like a hearth, and you welcome Yeontan’s sniffs on your legs.
“Jimin’s lucky you’re even giving him a chance.”
“Ah.” After squeezing your bicep, your friend reaches down to pick up his baby. “He’s lucky I gave him more than one.”
“Oh? The luckiest then.”
“You can do this,” he murmurs. “He’ll be ready before you know it.”
With heavy eyes, you glance down at your still unfinished food.
“Maybe you’re right.”
One week turns into three.
Then two more pass.
And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought.
“Fuck,” you groan, clutching under your stomach. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”
“It’s okay.”
“At least you don’t have to see me this gross.”
“So?”
“You better stop.” Another eruption of pain shoots through your lower body, and you exhale into your pillow. “This is only making it worse.”
“You got a heating pad?”
A what? How does he know about—
Oh. Right.
…You probably shouldn’t tread waters you don’t know the depths of.
“Yeah. But it’s too far and I’m lazy.”
He laughs in pity but doesn’t show any in his words,
“Go get it, doll.”
Because being reminded of his last relationship also makes you wonder why it ended. And wonder if that also has anything to do with his decision.
Now hurt in multiple ways, you childishly retort, “You get it.”
“I would if I was there. But I’m not, so you’re gonna.”
“Fine.” You huff into your pillowcase, knowing you’re gonna get up because his perfect mix of support and command is annoyingly attractive. “How much longer?”
Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes.
“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons.
“Okay.”
To your confusion, you get a food delivery at your office the next day.
Inspecting the contents of the bag, you’re cautious until you notice a takeout box of mandu under some sweets and a few all too familiar fruits.
And at the note inside, you promptly proceed to the least used bathroom to compose yourself.
Soon.
Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.
Both can give people a bit of hope.
But they can also be the most dangerous words to play with.
Because soon is hilariously arbitrary, and you almost believed it meant something good.
“Going to Yoongi’s.”
“K.”
“You wanna go? He’s having a few people over.”
You bite down so hard your jaw hurts. “Nah, I already have plans tonight.”
“K. Have fun!”
When the door closes, you keep your eyes on the television.
Arms falling at your side because you know you aren’t going anywhere.
On a random Tuesday, you finally get a package you’ve been waiting on for what seems like months, and you rush to your room to check if it’s exactly what you wanted.
When it looks so beautiful, and feels smooth to the touch, you clutch the material in sorrow.
It’s perfect.
And completely useless for the time being.
Calls have been the one thing getting you by.
But over time, even those have virtually stopped.
It can’t be helped. He’s working far too late into the night for you to stay awake, and is passed out by the time you need to wake up.
Spending time with friends helps distract from the drift, especially when one of them keeps snapping you into the present, but they’re getting busy, too.
However. Despite all the obstacles, you keep waiting. A season has passed, yet you stay grounded.
Hoping, wishing, choosing to believe that Yoongi’s not gonna do the same.
You accidentally spill your drink.
And you sob.
One chilly night, you take more of Taehyung’s advice, going to Jimin’s determined to have a good time.
But despite the manufactured confidence you had while getting dressed up and the way you were totally fine walking in and conversing with people and the admittedly perfect vibes of the party…
There’s a hole in your chest that won’t decrease in size.
No matter what you feed it—food, drinks, the compliments of others—it refuses to budge, and this emptiness holds weight. Heavy. Melancholic.
Painful.
As you suddenly find yourself on Jimin’s windy balcony, one with a slightly different view than the one you’ll remain on forever, dull eyes lower to your solo.
If you forget this one on the railing, too…
Will he finally show up to hand it back?
A sharp ache spreads as the hole expands, new tears too powerful to ignore. You know your vision swims, but you don’t move to stay afloat at all.
Three months.
Ninety days.
Eight million seconds.
It only took sixty for you to miss him. And it only took sixty-one for you to feel something else.
How many more will you end up counting? How long until you get to count down instead of up?
You keep asking yourself that. When you know for damn sure that you don’t want to know the answer.
A breeze wraps around your limbs as you sip, the chill cutting through your dress and making you teeter in your heels.
Because it seems like Yoongi doesn’t know, either.
To the point where it’s starting to scare you.
Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly.
But something in you keeps wondering why the wait keeps extending, anxious that he could be flat out stalling.
Prematurely saddened by the possibility that he’s reconsidering entirely.
It makes sense. At least, more sense than him actually wanting something with you. Maybe this time apart has given him the clarity to realize how rose-tinted this whole situation has been. How unrealistic and laughable.
But that night in his kitchen…
It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.
On the verge of defeat, you hold out your phone, clicking around until your finger hovers over a certain Call button.
You can’t.
He’s working. Someone could see your name, if he has it saved as normal as you have his.
Your finger moves a bit closer.
What the fuck are you doing? Stop. Don’t screw up everything you’ve had to endure with one impulsive decision.
But your mind is fucking bad tonight and you have no clue why.
When the screen lights up with the call screen anyway, ice water rushes through because you totally didn’t mean to call and you need to end it now.
Hold on, it’s an incoming call?
Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.
Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight.
How the fuck did he know? How the fuck does he always know?
Tears burning, you try your hardest to calm the hell down before you answer, wondering why he dubs you his good luck charm when he puts guardian angels to shame.
You can’t even say hello.
“Hey.”
Fuck. Get it together. Gentle, silent, strong.
“Hello?”
But you can’t. Not this time. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks has you crumbling, and that damn hole in your chest is unquenchable.
As soon as your greeting is nothing but a weak sniffle, his change in tone seizes your soul and squeezes.
Because it plummets.
“Where are you.”
There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.
“What’s wrong.”
Damn it there’s keys jangling and you can’t help but sob even harder knowing exactly what he’s doing.
Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. He doesn’t have to go home just because you’re what, sad? Pathetic.
You feel way too many things for this man and it fucking sucks that eight million seconds have gone by after you finally acknowledged them.
However many you get with him now, whenever that may be, you’re not taking a single one for granted.
“Babe, tell me. Now.”
“Jimin’s. Outside,” you choke out, sniffling and wiping both cheeks. “But nothing happened, Yoongi, I just—It just—”
“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?”
Lowering your head and expectations, you huff in sad amusement.
Of course you can. Twenty minutes is nothing to you now. You can wait until he’s free. “Guess so.”
“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.”
Huh? Knitted brows get aimed at your cup as you question him.
“Chips, doll. Jimin has some in the pantry.”
That doesn’t answer anything, so you remain thoroughly confused. “I’ll be okay,” you respond after a moment, simply assuming he wants you to replenish sodium. “I’m not hungry.”
“I am.”
You freeze.
So does time.
And the next three seconds are enough.
“But you better bring the good shit or I’m not letting you in the car.”
After camping in the only unoccupied bathroom, you finally get a text that he’s somewhere around the corner.
And your chest has never felt lighter.
Texting Tae, you let him know that you’re leaving and that you don’t apologize to Jimin for raiding his kitchen. When he responds, that’s when you slip out, your departure a mess of crinkling and racing heartbeats.
If anyone sees you walking out with chips, you pay them no mind. Because you only care what one person thinks.
And seven minutes later, when you see him doubling over at the bazillion noisy bags in your arms, you laugh along at the absurdity of it all.
It’s almost enough to distract you from what he’s wearing.
But to your credit, you don’t exactly see the damn rips in his jeans until he opens a back door for you to throw your haul in.
As if the black top wasn’t already disrespectful enough. His hair has even gotten longer, and you really, really like the new length.
“Fucking hustler.”
No second is wasted as you grab his shirt, positively melting at the way he doesn’t resist or shy away at all.
In fact, he does the exact opposite, crushing you against his warm car so fast he has to brace himself. You welcome the way air leaves your lungs, because you’re giving it all to him with each pass of his lips over yours.
Both of you know you’re outside, in public, somewhere you can be seen. But, mirroring the last time you kissed under a starry sky, neither of you act like you give a shit.
Just like that, everything that has haunted you fades. The worries, the fears, the doubts. It doesn’t matter how many days have passed, because it feels like he never left.
And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.
Endless.
“Get in,” he rasps through a smirk. “Thief.”
With a grin spread so wide your cheeks hurt, you respond right as your foreheads meet,
“Anything for you.”
With nothing but the road ahead and him beside you, everything is right with the world.
“You still have to gimme chips.”
Maybe not quite everything.
Smile ruining your attempted pout, you reach behind your seat to pick a random bag, settling on the easiest one to grab. “You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”
“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”
Well. That first sentence will never, ever, ever be unpacked.
As you shakily open the bag, you hope his music hides your shiver, “Such a smartass.”
“You’re the smartass.”
“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh, tugging down your dress because he has his car pretty cold tonight. “I know you are.”
When Yoongi reaches to grab some crisps, his blatant stare on your thighs makes you squirm. “Why?”
“I just… You read.”
To your chagrin, he laughs in surprise, forcing you to look out the window.
Which makes you miss the way he turns down the fans. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”
“You have books under your coffee table,” you answer without doubt as he digs for more chips. “And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”
He cocks a brow before focusing on the road, licking his fingers and giving you grief. “I moved those, by the way.”
“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”
“Proactive.”
“Huh? For what?”
He can barely contain his spreading curve. “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.”
Your heartbeat skips as you gawk, and the current song is overshadowed by your playful shouts and tickle attempts. “Oh, bullshit!”
“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”
“That was you!”
“No?”
“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”
Yoongi glances at you then, head tilted up in cockiness and wide smirk slicing through your every thought.
And you glitch when you realize why.
Settling back into your seat with arms guarding your shyness, you sniff upward. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.”
He chuckles a bit before making a turn, and the scenery starts getting familiar.
Way too familiar.
Wait, he’s taking you back to your house?
No no no. Why is he taking you there?
You got into his car fully prepared to go back to his place, consequences and shit be damned. Everything else be damned. One night is all you want right now, and there’s no way you aren’t going without a fight.
All sense of the current mood dissipates when you grip his forearm. “Not there.”
He flicks his gaze, rolling to a stop at an intersection that’s frighteningly close. And his expression falls when he shifts into park with a sigh. “Babe… We can’t.”
“I don’t care.”
“I was only gonna bring you back.”
“Baby, please.”
“He’s home—”
“Do you still miss me?”
He freezes.
Which gives you a chance.
Eyes glossy, you use all the seconds you have to say everything you’ve kept to yourself.
Almost everything.
“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t”—you inhale, hating how it shakes—“I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.”
Yoongi is completely silent. But that’s okay because you aren’t done.
“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” You can’t look at him when his hand slips from the wheel. “I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”
He doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”
Time ticks as you hold your breath, oxygen depleting and lungs nearing collapse as you watch his eyes close.
You laid everything out on the table. Your words, your thoughts, your pain.
Whatever he decides, though? You’ll respect it. You said what you wanted to say and you won’t take any of it back. If he wants to prolong this, you won’t stop him. If he doesn’t want this anymore… the home in your heart will need repairs, but you’ll live. Somewhat. You don’t know how but somehow. People are like seasons. You’re used to it.
Yoongi’s still way too quiet.
So, giving up and getting the point, you reach up to open your door.
“Stop.”
You do.
And the way he flexes his jaw shoots magma through your veins before he wrenches the car into drive.
The universe spins as you burst into Yoongi’s apartment, running, bumping, slamming into furniture until you get thrown against his bedroom door.
Welcoming the pain, you devour his scorching lips, fingers digging into his hair with a desperation that frightens you. All you feel is him him him, barely recalling the manic drive over and the way he all but busted into his own place.
If there were any lingering doubts to your question, they’re left out in the chill, not allowed to witness the way he hitches your leg up before pinning you firm with his pelvis.
“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—”
You moan at the way his jeans feel on your skin, shivers running rampant when you more than feel his hardness poke through. “Please,” you pant, sticking to your word and ready to tell him what you want.
“Please what.”
Everything you want.
Tugging his head back, your admissions rub right against his mouth, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”
“Huh?”
A breath whooshes out when he yanks you forward with a growl, and you cannot seem to stop, “Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”
All the other times, you’ve seen Yoongi break in different ways.
But this is the first time you’ve felt him legitimately snap.
“The fuck.”
Lightning strikes the dark as he slams you backward, teeth clinking against yours when he smothers you with saliva and lust. When he shoves his door open, you stumble back, more unholy plans in mind than he imagines.
You don’t know what’s coming over you.
Even as you force him sideways to shove into his rolling chair, the piercing look he gives is no match for your inner storm.
“Babe—”
Impatient, you drop to your knees, the pain nothing to you as your fingers twitch over his zipper. As you tug his pants down with force, Yoongi’s outright shock is another first for you.
“Are you su—”
“Let me do this,” you plead upward, and you feel highly motivated when he doesn’t do a thing except let out a low, gritty hum.
Grabbing at his cock, you already moan at the way it feels in your palm…
Softly, oh so softly, a large hand closes over yours, and you hear your name in a whisper, haze temporarily receding.
What’s wrong? Does he want you to stop?
When you ask without a word, Yoongi leans forward to capture your lips, and this gives you a warm sort of deja vu. “You drank tonight, yeah?”
“Yeah…?” Oh. He totally tasted alcohol. And your frantic behavior. He thinks—Oh.
Understanding what he’s getting at, you reach up and caress his cheek. “I’m not drunk, baby,” you chuckle. “I just missed you.”
Again, he looks at your eyes, one after the other. When you say it once more for good measure, he kisses you in acceptance.
“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”
He falls back with a groan, raking his hair and legs spread wide. “What are you doing to me.”
“This.”
Without prompt, you dive head first, leaning forward to take his tip and swirl your tongue all around. Commanding his every drop of attention, you don’t let up as you tug your dress downward, breasts spilling out before you stand just enough to claim his lips.
He takes full advantage with a devilish curve, smacking your tits before ordering, “Get the fuck back down there.”
And you obey with a proud smirk of your own, hoping he’s liking this new side of you, too.
Back between his knees, you worship his length in earnest, swallowing him again and again and lathering him in saliva so your hands slide easily on him, too. When you feel his veins rub both your palms, you hear a symphony of lustful baritones.
“Holy fuck.”
You quickly discover you can’t get enough. Lapping, sucking, sheathing your head on his cock so far your brain smushes upward. He feels so familiar at this point that you realize you missed him even here, knocking the back of your throat and burdening your tongue with heavenly, sinful weight.
And you feel more familiar palms grip your head, eyes opening to see him staring down with reverence and something you can’t quite decipher.
“So fucking filthy...”
You chuckle, the rumble making him hiss and throw his head back against his chair.
“Don’t do that.”
You gladly disobey, laughing even harder around him before releasing with an expert pop to suck on his balls.
“Fuck!”
There’s a slight squeak before he grips you again, and you can tell he’s slipping by the way his moans devolve into breathy, short hisses.
Breaking, he pushes your head into his sack before slapping your cheek with his cock, and you hum as it slips back inside your grin.
Yes yes yes. You want him to enjoy this just as much as you do, steal this time together and run with it, need him to hang on the brink of mania where you currently reside. Because even though he’s saying things, you can’t hear them over the wholly impure sounds slopping out of your esophagus.
“Fucking hell, baby,” he praises, thrusting up slow as you keep him slathered. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”
You finally come up for air, gulping in air and letting him see you in all your panting glory. When you lock eyes, his lidded gaze is loaded, aimed only at your taunting stare.
Drool coats you in globs. Your chest, the floor, hanging from your lips as you stroke him with wet fingers before swallowing another time.
And you think you can do this until your jaw falls off.
But suddenly you’re hoisted upward before being thrown onto soft sheets, legs roughly shifted to one side as you paint the dark with your hoarse giggles. Before you know it, his lips attack your chest, and he’s setting butterflies wild as you arch in record time.
“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your dress with sweaty fingers that you want lodged in multiple places. “No more hiding.”
You mewl, undressing as fast as you’re able, tearing the garment off and flinging it away. But your heels are still on, and whether he’s just as deft at removing those, too, you’ll need to hit pause. “What about my—”
“Don’t,” he grits with brows pinched, and his next vow is absolute, pure sin,
“I’m fucking you with them on.”
“Oh, fuck.” Your whine is high as you throw your head back, the next groan guttural as you feel a hand smack the side of your ass with force. Your jaw comes loose, soreness shooting through its curve as your legs are erotically parted to give Yoongi a view of everything.
You know your panties are soaked.
You know he’s gonna wreck your shit.
But seeing him eye the whole mess on display before lifting his hungry gaze your way? You’re damn sure you aren’t gonna survive the night.
Perfect.
“Please fuck me, baby,” you let out with a tone so soft that you think he doesn’t hear you.
He does. “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.”
You tilt your head, confused and wondering what he means.
But he ignores your wordless question, sliding fingers along your ankle before holding your leg to kiss that same spot.
The action alone is enough to rewire your brain, but it’s the way he looks so confident, so unbothered, so determined that has your insides churning with want.
He plants lips there again before shifting his hand down to your calf, yanking your leg back wide and pulling a tiny help out of your throat. When he shifts to grip your other leg, he growls under his breath,
“So fucking perfect.”
“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and flinch what the fuck his slap to your cunt felt good. “Hey!”
“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.”
“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, inevitably shy under his commanding presence. Your cheeks sizzle before your teeth grip your lip, temporarily brought back to normalcy at his confession,
“Almost made me come.”
“Be for real.”
“Damn serious.”
The cheshire cat would be jealous of your grin. “Then I should keep going?”
“Uh huh.” He cups your whole cunt, and the possessive nature it exudes pushes a whine against your teeth. “Tell me.”
“Fuck me like you missed me.”
A groan rips through his room before he swoops down, lips bruising yours on the landing before he shoves his mouth against your neck.
Tingles erupt over your skin as he laps at your throat, so hard that your entire upper body slides across his rumpled sheets. When you feel his cock rub across your thong and his jeans grazing your skin, his name flies out of your chest. Moans, sighs, everything in between.
“Careful,” he warns low before another toe-curling lick. “You won’t leave if I did that.”
“I don’t want to,” you grit in return, reaching to sink claws in his hair and tug. “Wanna stay.”
Strong arms wrap around you before you feel him spread liquid fire up your shoulder, and he reaches to nip at your ear before deft fingers flick a nipple.
His voice rasps against your cheek, but the words sound reluctant to even leave. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”
Fuck. You know that’s true but your heart is rattling like a monster starved.
“Just tonight,” you plead your case. Because you don’t want to be shooed away before it’s over, but if this is all you get, he needs to do something now. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”
“Fuck that.” After greedily tweaking your other nipple, he rolls his body against yours, making you fiend for the weighty cock wedged against you with only thin material between. “Fuck all of that.”
He rushes upward before nudging your leg over with a strong hand, and you fixate on the way his chains hit his chest. Just like always. “Don’t move.”
You don’t even get to breathe twice as he drops from sight, and you yelp to his roof as soon as you feel teeth nick your inner thigh. At your flinch, you feel him grip your leg with force, ordering you even harsher,
“I said. Don’t move.”
“But—Yoongi!”
You don’t notice him yank your underwear sideways before flattening a hot tongue against your folds, sucking so good you have to back away from the stimulation. Immediately, both your legs are seized before he tugs you back to him.
“Uh uh.”
And he keeps your legs apart before diving deep, and you’ve never devolved into a quivering mess so fast in your goddamn life. The way he licks, sucks, kisses just where you need—everything sends thunder through your chest, lightning across your cunt, rain into your eyes.
You can do nothing but squirm, squeals and whines and high moans leaving arrowheads in his ceiling.
Holy fuck, did you sound this loud when you worshipped him? Even now, spread wide and willing to give Yoongi the world, you find a moment to be embarrassed in the best way.
If the neighbors hear, you don’t care. They’re gonna know how well he’s feasting on you, how gorgeously corrupt you feel. How you’re his and his alone and ready to scream it to the rooftops.
When you feel a finger alongside his tongue, the sound you make borders on inhuman. You think it’s his name, but even you aren’t quite sure.
All you know is that you’re close. Your thighs are burning and your fingers swipe at his locks but he refuses to let you go. “Yoongi—I’m—”
Suddenly.
He stops.
And every nice thing you have to say to him falls to the wayside. “No no no! Please, fuck—”
The light tap to your cunt makes you quiver, and your chest heaves when he chuckles without pity,
“What’d you say?”
“Plea—Baby!”
“Huh?”
Every fucking time you speak, he taps again. And every time he gets you close, he edges with aggravating control. Again. And again.
And again.
You exist between reality and fiction, somehow seeing yourself unwinding, winding, spiraling out of control. Words start to form abstract blobs of syllables, your mouth hanging open as he peppers lazy, unbothered kisses on your thighs.
In your foggy vision, you think you see him stand. And you’re pretty sure he grabs his cock before he’s rubbing his thick head between your folds oh fuck—
“This is what you wanted, huh.”
Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.
“You gonna be a good little slut?”
Oh, you’re gonna be whatever he fucking wants. So you nod again, not without a smile lopsided.
“Then fucking beg.”
He smacks his cockhead against your cunt, springing your back in an arch and tugging strings of incoherent speech from your depths. You make hard lines of his sheets as you grip them in both palms, and you don’t wanna know what you’re saying because the way Yoongi’s staring with a smirk has you blacking the fuck out.
To the point where you’re nothing but a quivering, shaking, restless mess on his bed.
You somehow closed your eyes at some point, because they fly open when you feel his lips on yours, and you tug at his stupidly attractive shirt that he didn’t bother to pull off. “Please,” you whisper, brain floating oceans away. “I need you.”
“Need you, too.”
He breaks away to grab a condom, and this is when you realize how intertwined you feel because even this distance is too much to bear. You’re spilling nonsense and breathing harsh and you attribute that to the sole fact that you crave release. It’s aching. Consuming.
Yoongi’s already naked and prepped by the time he positions himself between your sore legs, and you give in without resistance again when he descends on your lips.
When you whisper his name, he kisses it away, and you briefly wonder why his hands shake running up your sides.
Finally, finally, finally, he gives exactly what you want, the initial connection stretching you sore because it’s been way too long. And you feel emotional when you don’t even doubt it’s been too long for him, too.
Because his eyes speak volumes.
They hold onto your every move, watch your every reaction, hesitate when you blow out air accommodating his size.
But you lock yours with him when you relax, weakly grasping his jewelry before sliding fingers up his shoulders. When you nod, he pushes in further, both of you sighing in tandem.
And as soon as you whisper you’re ready, all niceties fly out the window.
You’re thrusted up his bed with a determined stroke before he sets a pace, and your head kicks back as soon as a hand captures your neck.
“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”
When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and you already sprint to the edge feeling the weight of your heels and the strength of his body. “Fuck!”
You get pat again—rougher this time—before Yoongi goes to choke you a second time. “What do you say?”
“Me?” you pant, tearing the first thought from your throat when he grits it again. “Thank—”
Fuck, his dick is hitting every spot you need it to. It takes you a second to repeat your garbled guess in full, knowing it’s something you would’ve said anyway. “Thank you.”
“Now swallow.”
As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is your undoing. The skies open to welcome you as your body locks, thighs squeezing his taut sides as he moans through your release. Waves tug you unbelievably far, and you almost lose yourself in the swell before you crash onto shore again.
“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, kicking you back to the very first night and making you melt. When you peel eyelids open, you notice his smile matches yours, and the shared, cherished memory smoothens your gravelly laugh.
“Love when you do that,” you admit, shaking your head at your own strange preferences. “Don’t know why.”
“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.”
Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe.
“I’m ready,” you pant, and he gives you a brief look of affection—which you shatter with force. “Fuck the shit out of me.”
Yoongi twitches madly inside your core as he expels a pained, breathy laugh. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He doesn’t waste a second gathering your calves while you ponder what he says. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.”
When you find the easiest way to do so, you marvel at how shaky and slippery your thighs are, wondering if the rest of you is faring any better.
It’s not.
But you can’t dwell on that now because Yoongi is holding on like he’ll lose you, resuming a delicious pace and smacking your hips into his with the most indecent sounds.
Your whines soon join in, and his hums of satisfaction fuel your ever going flame. Heaven and earth could move and you would remain here, suspended in time as he fills you perfectly with every fast stroke.
“Feel so good—”
When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.”
What is he—
You’re hoisted upward so quickly that you see starlight, not even registering the clanks and shifts of items before he’s spinning to pin you down on a solid surface. Your heels find purchase on the floor but your knees prove unbelievably weak.
What’s—
Oh fuck, are you on his desk?
Your hands retreat until they find an edge to grab, and you moan outright when you feel his fingers slide up your cunt, shoving your thong farther over one side of your ass.
“Yoongi—”
You feel full in an instant, jaw going slack as he shoves you backwards on his cock, praises washing down your back as he pushes down any arches you instinctively make.
“Uh uh. Stay like that.”
“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with a whine as you feel a sting on your ass. “Fuck!”
“There you go.”
The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and making you briefly worry if anything will fall.
But this is the most turned on you’ve ever, ever felt, and you have no fucking clue why.
You wonder if he feels the same right before his dark laugh consumes you.
“Goddamn.”
Your hands are grabbed before he shoves you forward, letting more of your body lie on the surface so that he can pin sweaty arms at your back.
Oh, fuck!
Your moans glide across wood as he doesn’t let up, and you don’t even want to know how much drool will exist on his desk when you’re done. Maybe you’ll never be done. Maybe he really will keep you here forever, and you’ll soak his whole—
“Come here.”
He gathers your wrists in one large palm before reaching to grip your chest, hauling you up and securing you against his body by the throat.
And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel.
Pressing you further into him, he grits in your ear,
“Never fucking kicking you out.” His tight stroke launches you across space. “Don’t even think about saying that again.”
When did you— You said— Why don’t you remember—
You go limp when he shoves into you again, but your heels wobble and you focus damn hard on staying upright.
But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.”
“Yes!”
“Good.”
He drops all talk, pistoning in from behind while you take it and take it and love it. Mercifully, he lets your sore arms go to pin you down again, gritted words and curses dancing with your high-pitched sighs.
Fuck, his strokes are so deep that you see into the next universe, and you don’t think your mouth has been shut ever since you made contact with his desk.
Maybe he was more frustrated than you were. He’s using you as stress relief like you intended, and his roughness is a fantastic surprise.
It’s just what you need. Which kicks you into a whole other level of want and the beast inside you transforms yet again.
When Yoongi yanks himself out, you’re quick to spin and shove him backward. As he flops onto the bed, he laughs like sin incarnate when you pounce, his hot hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging your behavior in the nastiest way.
“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”
“You already fucking know.”
“Show me what I’ve been missing.”
“Don’t fall in love.”
When you sink onto him, Yoongi’s already groaning. But when you start to swivel at a pace that will render you sore, he begins to lose it.
“Fuck.”
His head kicks back, eyes shut and brows pinched to hell. After holding your waist, he has to slap his sheets to squeeze even tighter, chest marred with red under pretty silver.
You make sure every rotation is full, slowly rocking with each circle you make and gritting teeth at how fucking big he is.
Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips so hard you welcome the pain.
“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep.
“It missed you, too.”
Coming back up, you dig one of your hands in his mattress while bracing on him with the other, and you close your eyes in bliss as you arch your tits toward his hungry lips.
Just like you want, he chuckles in satisfaction as he suckles, lolling his tongue all around before giving your nipple a hard suck. His noises remind you of lollipops, and you briefly think of a few fun things you could do with those for next time.
But a hand juts up to seize the back of your neck, forcing you to arch in place as he starts thrusting hard.
“Yoongi!”
“Uh huh.”
Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you just enough, and you find yourself teetering on a precipice. Holy fuck, holy fuck, you’re close again.
“You gonna come?”
A frantic nod.
“Then come.”
As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him incredibly hard. The waves prove tsunamis, and you dangle from their crests before plummeting and tumbling below. Your moan extends as he thrusts erratically through your quivers, encouraging you and digging rough fingers into your hips.
“Again.”
Somehow, that’s enough to make your body obey, and you cry out as you flutter around his trembling cock, hearing him talk you through it but not quite understanding what he’s saying.
Maybe you also choose not to listen because of what you think you hear, and you don’t want to be haunted if you realize later on what you thought you heard wasn’t true.
The world rotates up as Yoongi sits up, and you sling arms around him as he leans back on his hands. Your breath hitches at the new angle he’s filling you at, and your eyes swirl when he coolly, confidently commands,
“Again.”
You can’t you can’t you can’t but you can. Holy fuck apparently you can, and this time, it consumes you so hard your eyes roll back enough to see the past. Past you, insecure and meek and scared to say what they want.
Oh, if they could witness you now.
You shudder impossibly hard around him, coated with his deep chuckles and dashing, ego-ridden grin. It’s all you see before you slump against his chest, heartbeat pounding against yours when you can’t feel any bone in your body.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Two hearts.
One night is enough.
“So fucking perfect.”
“For you,” you wisp out, lost in galaxies. “Only you.”
He can only kiss the side of your head in response, gently lowering you both onto spent cotton and helping you straighten out your muscle-locked legs. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection.
Both of you take time to calm down, breaths heavy from what felt like a marathon. But a much better marathon than the one you’ve had to endure over the last three months.
When you lie against his chest, you silently thank him for giving you tonight. It’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done with him, but you won’t worry about it. Not right now. Not when you feel more at home here than your own house.
Your brother is right. Something is definitely missing over there.
It’s when your pants have relaxed into soft breaths that you nudge your head against Yoongi’s chest, eyes shut in peace as he lazily draws circles on your back.
And the first words he says in minutes inject sparkles into your eyes,
“I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.”
Oh, shit!
Your outright squeal is surely coming out too loud but you don’t care. Don’t care don’t care don’t care not when Yoongi just gave away so many different things.
This man leaned right into the whole thing.
“I knew it!” You proclaim in triumph, smacking his thigh while hearing a very elongated ‘shut up’ at your side. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”
“First off.”
“Uh huh.”
God. If only you both could go on one of those late night shopping trips he talked about before. Maybe you could’ve gotten plenty of things. Like some little cat toys, or extra storage cabinets for your clothes.
Yeah. Stuff like that.
“I’m her favorite.”
Your scoff is immediate as you hoist yourself up, leaning on your hand and regretting the burn in your arm. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”
A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.”
Yoongi looks so at peace when you stare, and your voice calms to match as it floats down, “You took care of her.”
When he only smiles, you decide that this is how you want him to be all the time. Content and outright glowing, fireflies dancing in his eyes.
Does he feel at home, too?
“She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”
Heart and tear ducts full, you lower yourself to tenderly press lips to his. And, since it seems to work for you, his forehead is what you decide to kiss next.
Then you pull away.
Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore.
“Come here.”
You blink, lying back down to snuggle against his side. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, it's only then that you’re aware you still have shoes on. A clean person, you hope Yoongi doesn’t mind them touching his sheets.
But maybe it’s a tad too late for that concern.
“How are you gonna get home?”
Oh, right. You use his chest to scratch an itch in your nose before responding, “I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.”
“K.”
“Did I keep you from anything?”
A puff flies out his nostrils. “Kinda late for that, huh.”
“True,” you sigh, berating yourself for thinking a lot of things too late. “Sorry.”
“But no, we were finishing up when I called.”
“Okay… Did I scare you?” You lift your eyes then, because you need to know for sure.
When he levels a look, you curse at his quiet confirmation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“S’ok.”
“I just… It hurt tonight.” Emotion washes over your face before you bury it. “Really hurt.”
After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently rolls you over, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, and your heart stops. “How about now.”
Feeling the deepest pain you’ve ever felt in your life, you cradle his head with a whisper,
“Maybe try that one more time.”
And he does, not looking at your tears as he sits up to peer down the bed.
When he scoots down to the edge, your breath catches as he holds a heel in sure hands, his back beautiful even with the scars. While he works through leather straps, he starts to speak,
“I always do, babe.”
Blinking, you ask what he means as he slips your shoe off with ease.
“Miss you.”
As he tenderly holds the other, you gulp in oxygen to quell the sear around your eyes. “I just… Wasn’t sure,” you admit, voice wavering.
His hair falls forward when he sighs, and his palms feel way too relaxing to just be taking your heels off. Even now, it feels like he’s revering you. And you truly don’t know how you deserve any of this.
“That’s my fault.”
Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.”
After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, and you don’t know how to deal with someone giving you this level of care.
“Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, and you admire his profile when he turns. “I’m sorry.”
“You gave me tonight.”
When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give,
“A little longer is nothing.”
A moment passes by before he finally moves, and you catch a hint of a smile right before he faces his disheveled to hell desk again.
Deciding that conversation has concluded, you crack the atmosphere with a joke, “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”
Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He leans forward. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.”
Us.
Thoroughly giddy and full of life again, you egg him on. “Oh? Like what?”
Finally, he looks over his shoulder with a grin, and you scoff in frustration at his answer,
“What’s the fun in telling you?”
“Ass!”
While you’re getting ready to shower, he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom.
“We have a game next week.”
As you fetch a towel from his cabinet, you clarify, “The championship, right?”
“Mmhmm.”
“I’ll be there,” you confirm, walking away to slip the thick cloth over its rack. “I can’t believe it’s still going.”
“Same. But there’ve been a lot of delays, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” Your hand feels out the water, satisfied with its temperature. “I meant your win streak but whatever.”
And you squeal when he rushes forward, shutting the glass with a wobbly thud before he can get to you. When you stick out a childish tongue, you laugh under the spray, curve slowly, curiously, softly fading when he simply keeps staring.
What’s he doing?
You don’t move as he slowly slides the entrance open again, and you don’t dare breathe as he leans inside to kiss your wet lips.
When you tenderly take one of his wrists and pull, he obliges without hesitation, and you take another shower with the man that sets fireworks off in your soul.
An hour later, filled with food and laughter—and slight disappointment when you couldn’t find your surprise near his door—you occupy his bed with full bellies and fresh minds.
As he lies on your chest, you think this is better, because it gives you time to think about things. And tell him about others.
You finally tell him what all happened with Jungkook, to which he listens without a single word. When you can’t seem to shut up about your job, he doesn’t stop you, and you adore the way he cuddles you under faint moonlight cutting through his window.
“Oh, wait,” you stop, feeling like you’ve talked his head off by now. “What did you call about?”
“Huh? Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” Yoongi rumbles against the shirt he let you borrow. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”
Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”
He chuckles soft, and you wonder if he can guess how shocked you look. “Yes, you. All of y’all.”
At least it’s everyone. But at the same time, you still hesitate. “That won’t be weird?”
“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.”
“Ah, I see.”
You didn’t mean to sound disappointed. You truly aren’t. But Yoongi pushes up to comfort you anyway, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and finally your lips.
“It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”
“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.”
Yoongi regards you before laying his weight back on your chest. And you find it strange how familiar his body already feels. How you’re already attuned to every way his legs fit against your own, or how you would know it’s him solely based on how his chest molds with yours.
You start mindlessly caressing his hair, fingers weaving through a dark sea of strands before smoothing over its surface.
And you start to hum.
It’s not really any song, just notes you start stringing together at random. You build up before you dip back down, staying in a comfortable middle range and dancing between similar tones.
You stop from time to time, trying to figure out what would sound best next and changing up the cadence. Always coming back to a central theme because it’s what you deem best.
And you’re so comfortable that you completely forgot he’s lying right under your chin.
“Shit, was I too loud?”
He just shakes his head, arm pressing a bit more into your side.
“Not at all.”
So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, softly giggling when Yoongi huffs at the way you drum on his head.
And that’s how the night goes on, with you at peace and him in your embrace.
Never noticing how the shirt you're wearing collects rain.
When dawn breaks, you part with one final, heavenly kiss.
Yoongi watches until you get in the ride he politely called for you, and you spend the whole drive with eyes filled with light.
You can do this. Just a little longer, he said.
For him, you can do anything.
But when you get home, your brother occupies the foyer as soon as you open the front door.
And you feel the world shatter and crash at your feet.
“I think,” he states, “There’s something you wanna tell me.”
—
—
—
tbc. :)
—
a ha ha... what do we think/like! | wanna support with a 🍊?
A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf)
A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder.
A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful!
++
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:
⇥ three tangerines masterlist
⇥ masterlist
#and the wait is finally over sheeeesh!#bts#bts fic#bts imagines#bts reactions#yoongi fic#yoongi x you#btshoneyhive#bangtanarmynet#bts smut#yoongi angst#yoongi fluff#yoongi smut#bts fanfic#*latest#*ryenfictalk#ryenwrites#3tan10#i hope y'all are ok with how much is in here hahahah#yoongi
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
sorry but my mind is whirling, obligatory all q! from this point onward, but man... phil's kidnapping has a lot to dissect regarding the extreme they went to, but what it really did to me (a noted bad connoisseur) is really showcase just how differently bad is treated by the federation. like, to a point where i don't know how no one's noticed yet in the island.
cellbit made an iron farm right after he got there to try and talk to cucurucho, and he got tortured with a chainsaw. he infiltrated them and they keep playing with him, mentally and emotionally. they've been toying with cellbit from the start.
pac and mike have gotten arrested and kidnapped, and pac got drugged for? being nuisances? causing issues against the feds? sure, they've put their nose where it doesn't belong, but it feels extreme.
god knows where aypierre's wine storyline is going so we'll refrain from commenting, but it's sus.
tubbo just got here and cucurucho has made it perfectly clear that he'll learn to behave, or he'll be made to behave by force. man's on a countdown.
phil, who literally sits at home and takes care of his eggs, lavacast one building and he got emotionally tortured and trapped in a birdhouse.
max... max is just fucked up, everyone on that island is praying for his downfall, but cucurucho has quite clearly taken pleasure in toying with him.
forever lost his shit and they literally forcefully drugged him into compliance.
and then there's bad.
bad, who has been vocally against the federation... from the start. a founder of theorybros, who has done many things to get their attention, both positive and negative.
bad, who has broken into just about every federation building imaginable with... not a warning? or very very light ones? requests to not?
bad, who has been a fucking nuisance and yet when foolish asks cucurucho if he can arrest him, the response is not to say "oh sure" but to hit foolish and say no.
bad, who grieved the fuck out of spawn with no admonishment, who directly threatened federation workers AND GOT REPORTED, and who not only kidnapped one but has had them trapped in his base for days. a base that the feds can break into, because they have before.
there hasn't been ONE threat against bad, just playful gunshots in friendly moments. he has gotten no reprimand or repercussion.
we joke about "special guest bad" but it's so fucking obvious that they refuse to touch him, and it's at a point where i need someone to say something.
828 notes
·
View notes
Text
Obligatory Huntlow post for ASIAS anniversary
So, I might as well do an anniversary post for Any Sport in a Storm, shouldn't I?
Pop quiz: When did Willow Park fall in love with the Golden Guard? There's a lot of answers you COULD say for this. Maybe she started realizing it when they were in the Human Realm. Maybe she realized when he grabbed her out of the sky or was in the detention pit with him.....
You COULD say that.... but you'd be wrong. She realized it the moment Hunter stood between the Entrails and Darius. "Wait, how do you know that?" you might ask. Simple. Because as a writer of 25 years and someone who has had many crushes and relationships... I know that kind of body language and tone of voice well.
"After all, it will be 52 weeks until 'Caleb's' next day off..."
Note the way she SAID that. Sly, coy, definite tongue in cheek. The way she's looking over her shoulder back towards him. I mean COME ON, there's a heart shaped cloud just above her head. Hearts being between the two of them is a big tell for that. It's called THEMING.
"Ok, but that's just one moment..." Au contraire, did you think I'd come into this with one example? Remember, I WROTE THIS ALREADY. Now, pop quiz #2: Why did Hunter, who had only ever met Willow ONCE know the difference between the real and fake one?
After all, there is no way he could have known that after just one encounter. You can not determine a person's entire personality based on a sole encounter, no matter how much of an impression it left on you. The answer, again, is simple...
Because they had been talking over Penstagram since ASIAS. Probably took a while due to Hunter not being used to typing and stuff, but I cannot imagine they weren't talking since that night. It also explains why Willow trusted him so easily during the scout invasion of Hexside. Because it couldn't JUST be the breathing technique that swayed her. After all, Hunter had lied and betrayed her and her friends before.
...Again with the hearts. THEMING! Anyway, even if we discredit ASIAS and Labyrinth Runners, or how she totally went to kill Kikimora for trying to hurt 'him' (and stopped when she could have hurt him) and ran after 'him' specifically when 'he' was captured (remember, it was Luz, she just THOUGHT it was Hunter) Fine, let's forget all that then...
Because even if you discount those things, she definitely had a thing for him while they were trapped in the human realm. How do I know? Ok, time to teach you kids about flirting 101.
"I'm gonna borrow that book when you're done with it! ;)"
She's not saying "I want to read that" because she's curious about Cosmic Frontier. She is saying "I want to know more about your interests," and saying it with a tone that says "I want to turn this into a date if I can." Even before when she's taking a picture and shutting down Amity's snarking on Hunter's costume, her body language, her words, her tone. They are all suggesting there's more than just 'friendship' there. When it comes to flirting, it is not WHAT you say, it is HOW you say it.
Also, while I'm on the subject. Willow is canonically Pansexual, she is not Ace. Also, she is not Demi/aromantic, she is heavily guarded and has trust issues from years of bullying and nearly everyone looking down on her or using her as emotional support. I have the same problem for the same reasons, and I know for a fact I am not aro. I am guarded because I've been hurt before, same as Willow. Hunter is the only one who ISN'T like that.
He doesn't see her as weak and frail, he doesn't rely on her for stuff, and he wouldn't be caught dead hurting her or looking down on her. That is HIS captain, and he'll be damned if he won't see her as anything short of incredible. And boy did he let her know that, more than once.
Anyways, sorry for rambling. Let's all appreciate these two amazing, powerful witches who really do compliment each other's lives.
#huntlow#the owl house#any sport in a storm#willow toh#willow park#hunter toh#hunter deamonne#hunter noceda#willow x hunter#Never underestimate a flirter
151 notes
·
View notes
Text
Whiskey Sour
chapter three: painkiller
Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences.
His best friend, for one.
series masterlist
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+ (mdni)
series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending
word count: ~ 5.6k
chapter 3: painkiller
Stargazing, and knowing wrong from right.
Joel doesn't quite trust your car not to blow up, so he drives you both out near Devil’s Cove when the clock strikes eleven.
You sit next to him on the truck bench, in your little skirt, and he tries not to look at the way it slips up your thighs. He cannot stop thinking about your words: Don't think you aren't getting a gift after everything you've done to help me. Part of him is thrilled to know you think about him enough to get eager about celebrating his birthday. Another part of him doesn't want to celebrate getting older. He’s old enough.
A third part doesn't give a shit about a present, when he's got you right here, right next to him.
“You were right,” he says. “I do like the telescope.”
“Did you spend a lot of time in the country?”
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel even though the truck radio is apparently tuned to a local station that does not play music. The announcer’s voice drones on about the Longhorns’ losing streak. “When I was a kid,” says Joel. “My parents had a farmhouse—raised cows, chickens, sheep, all of it. They had a business goin’ for the locals who wanted eggs or fresh meat.”
You can picture it: a younger Joel, dressed in a farmer’s flannel and a cowboy hat, herding sheep and tending to customers with that same charming smile you know now. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Younger brother. Tommy.” Joel briefly glances your way. “Lost my dad when I was ten. After that, Mom, Tommy, and I ran the place ourselves. I dropped out of high school to do it full-time when she got sick.”
You feel a twinge in your chest. “You, too, huh?”
He sighs through his nose. “Yeah. I would've been about your age.”
“Funny, the way things work out.” You lean back in your seat and turn your head back to the windshield. “But that does sound nice. A life away from all the madness. Just… quiet. Simple.”
“You'd like that?” Joel chuckles. “Thought you were a city girl.”
“I’m not saying I want to milk cows all day,” you tell him with a laugh. “Mom and I used to drive to the east coast in the summertime when I was in high school. We’d visit all the coastal towns and the little restaurants, go whale-watching. That was the only time we could really relax, outside the big city. I looked forward to those vacations most, before she got sick.”
Joel recognises the melancholy tone your voice takes when you talk about your mother. He hears it in his own voice. “She sounds like a good mom.”
“She was.” Your eyes flick to him again, and this time, he's looking at you. “I’m sorry, Joel. I would've liked to meet her.”
“I'd like that, too.” He fixes his eyes back on the road. “You, uh… you hear from Liam lately?”
“And we were having such a nice conversation,” you tease. “He lives with me, Joel. I’m bound to hear from him on a regular basis. Practically daily.”
Not the right answer. His hands tighten around the wheel. “I don’t like him.”
“I couldn't tell.” You pull your knees up to your chest and hug yourself into a tight ball. “You know I’ve never had a real boyfriend?”
Joel scoffs. “Excuse me if I have a hard time believin’ that.”
“I’m being serious!”
“Nah. No way.” Joel shakes his head. “Those idiot high school boys were linin’ up at your door the way these idiot college boys are. You’re too pretty to have never had a fuckin’ boyfriend.”
Your cheeks feel white-hot. “Joel. That’s ridiculous.”
“I ain’t lyin’.” His grin is boyish when he looks at you again and your nerves flutter. “Guys have a way of knowin’ things.”
“Oh, you're so full of shit.” You smack him gently in the arm. “If they were all so interested, why'd they never tell me?”
“Because they were boys.” He gives you a pointed look. “And so is that asshole you live with. He thinks he's got a right to you ‘cause you live with him.”
“No, he—”
“Yes, he does. Any guy would be lucky as shit to have you.”
You lift your brows, opening your mouth to retort, but Joel just looks away, that crooked smirk pissing you off as much as it makes your heart pound with girlish anxiety. “We’re here.”
You slump back in your seat as he parks in a dirt lot by the edge of the water. Just down the road, by the docks, there will be college kids gearing up to celebrate the Longhorns’ first win of the season, and some just wanting an excuse to get hammered. You hop out of the truck as Joel unlatches the gate at the back. “Should be a good view here…”
He trails off when he looks up to find you staring at the midnight sky. The light of the stars reflects in your eyes and the curve of your neck shimmers with a faint layer of sweat in the humid air. When you swallow, he watches your throat hollow, and he wonders how a man is supposed to forget you. If a man can ever see your face, your body, your wondrous, awe-struck smile, and rest peacefully.
“They’re beautiful,” you gasp. “Just like… like the coast in summertime.”
Joel surprises himself when he joins you at your side and reaches for your hand. “It’ll look better if you're laying down,” he says softly. “C’mon.”
You put your hand in his. The touch shifts his axis. The touch is an electric shock to his entire body, restructuring his pathways, reconfiguring his brain. The touch, he thinks, will forever change the way he sees you. It will change everything.
“Joel.”
“Mmm.” He realises he hasn't moved. His fingers engulf yours, your skin so soft under his rough palms that he worries he'll somehow ruin it.
“Thank you.” It’s a whisper, your pretty lips parting in the shape of a gratitude he will never deserve but will spend his moments earning as best he can. Your eyes are fixed on your joined hands, the way your thumb caresses the space between his thumb and forefinger.
He leads you toward the back of the truck. You crawl up yourself, and it's ungentlemanly of him not to help you up, but he cannot touch you again. The world will fall out from beneath his feet.
But it still does. When you shift so you're lying on your back, barely a foot from him, the earth blinks out of existence. All that remains is the faint heave of your chest, skin scattering moonlight, and the way you meet his eyes in the void.
“Gotta look up to see the stars, baby.” His voice is rough.
Your head turns and you face the sky above, but he doesn't move. Not quite yet. He savours the image of your profile, the silvery light on your face, the contentment in your eyes. Your lashes are spidery and your hair fans out beneath you, and all he wants to do is reach out. Touch. Guide you beneath him. Gaze into your eyes as he undresses you. Watch your bones melt for him, your troubles flee your brain, your mouth drop open in a long, dark whine. His name.
“That one’s Venus.” You point to a bright star overhead, and then another. “And that’s Polaris. Those are the only two I really know. And you aren't looking at the stars.”
Joel swallows hard. “No. I’m not.”
“I like it when you call me that.” Your eyes meet his again. Your noses are inches apart.
“Call you what?”
Your breath is a warm puff of air. “Baby.”
He’s losing control of his own body. His fingers crave the warmth of your skin, the heat between your thighs, the knowledge of what's under that fucking skirt. His whole body craves your closeness, needs your attention, will die without you curled up against him. His body seeks the ruination of yours. His heart seeks the comfort he knows he can give you.
“That so?” He can barely get it out.
Your eyes are wide, buttery soft, needy. “Yeah,” you sigh. “It feels good.”
Jesus Christ. “I…” His mouth is so fucking dry he can hardly swallow anymore. “I didn’t mean for—”
“I know.” He’s going to do it. He’s going to throw all of it away and touch you. He’s going to—
Your head turns back toward the sky, and your eyes flutter shut. He can see a small pearl trail down your cheek, and he realises it's a tear. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice breaking. “This is your pre-birthday. You should be giving me ideas for a better gift.”
Joel’s own voice isn't faring much better. His laugh comes out like a hoarse whisper. “This…” He finally looks up at the stars and finds Venus. “This is all I could ask for.”
“Don’t lie to me, Miller.” There’s the playful tone he likes so much. “I’ve got your number.”
“I mean it.” He folds his hands over his stomach. “It’s peaceful out here. Reminds me of home.”
“Do you think your mom would've liked it here?” you ask.
“She would,” says Joel.
You sniffle. “Yeah, mine, too.”
Around him, the crickets chirp and the air is stagnant. It feels like a snapshot of time. Except that you're here, next to him, the warmth of your body rolling in waves over his nerves like a hundred cresting waves.
“Boys never liked me.”
Joel can't help but look at you in disbelief.
“I’m telling you the truth.” You shrug. “When I had my first crush on a boy, I avoided him like the plague, because I didn’t want to be rejected. Then I set him up with my best friend.”
Joel blinks. You laugh like you can feel his amusement. “You don't have to tell me how stupid it was. I know. I just figured, if I didn’t go for it, I’d never get hurt.”
“And what happened every time after that?” asks Joel.
“I was always too busy. I never let myself go to parties because there was always an excuse. Work, school, Mom. I had more important things to do, bigger things to worry about. Last time I went on a date, Mom convinced me to reschedule our usual hospital visit so I could go out with him. Halfway through, the hospital called me.” Your breath shudders out of you. “By the time I got there, she was mostly gone. I lost my last moments with her.”
Joel’s heart surges forward, lurching out of his chest. His hand finds a stray wisp of hair and tucks it behind your ear. It isn't in your eyes or blocking his view; he just wants to. He wants to be the one who's right here when you’re sad. He wants you to never feel like you have to put your own life in restraints—never again. “That was not your fault.”
“He was a total dud, too.” You laugh mirthlessly. “They’ve all been duds.”
And me? he wants to ask. If I put my hand here and I put my mouth there, would you deny me? Would you shove me away? Or would you let me treat you the way you deserve?
He wants to be your guiding hand. He’ll give you what you need. He’ll be as firm as you want and he’ll be gentle all the other times. He’ll show you just how wanted you are.
“You’ll find better,” he says instead. “Can’t promise they won't be fielded beforehand.”
You laugh, facing him again. “Is that so, Miller? You gonna background check them all?”
Fuck yes, I will. Joel shrugs, all pouty and grumpy again, and you just want to grace those patches of grey in his beard.
Yes, it will cross a line. Yes, it will ache so beautifully to touch him the way you want. You don't know how to reconcile these two parts of you: the part that's here to rebuild a life, and the part that wants to simply forget how difficult that life can be and drown yourself in the sweet tang of being alone with him.
“Oh! I forgot.” You bolt upright, scrambling off the truck bed so fast it gives Joel whiplash. You reach into the passenger’s side and pull out your bag. “I stole this from the kitchen. Thought you might be hungry after one cup of coffee.”
You produce a styrofoam container with a piece of chocolate cake inside. “I may have also asked Dad what kind of cake I should bake for your birthday.” You bite your bottom lip. “This’ll have to tide us over until the real thing.”
He doesn't know how to cope with the amount of affection surging up his throat, overfilling his bloodstream. Your mouth is so fucking close. How would it taste? Your dark, sexy perfume smells so good, your hair so soft and a little wind blown from the car ride. You would be so perfect, so beautiful, so soft to touch.
You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He’s pine and sawdust and a little bit of mint. He’s manly, dark and a bit of grey, strong and broad. Capable. “You don't have to eat it,” you tell him, “but I brought two forks, just in case.”
His chest squeezes. “C’mon up here, baby.”
You climb back up onto the truck bed and situate yourself next to him, both of you sitting up against the back window. You hold the container as you both dig in, the cake a little too soft but still good. Still chocolate. And he's sharing it with you.
It’s not even his birthday yet.
“How’s that Daily Texan gig workin’ out for you?” he asks.
Your eyes light up. He remembered? “I’ve been put in charge of the Student Wellness section. I don't know why the fuck they thought that was a good idea.”
“Gives you an opportunity to learn how to relax.”
You roll your eyes fondly. “Any suggestions?”
“This is a good start,” offers Joel. “Stargazing.”
You pocket that idea. “At least I didn't get put on Sports.”
“Y’know I was on the swim team in high school?”
“With those shoulders? Doesn’t surprise me one bit.” You lift your eyebrows at him and all Joel can think is, I want you, I want you, I want you.
When you both decide it's time to head back home, Joel eats the last bite of cake at your request and you slide back into the passenger’s seat. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “That was a hell of a lot more fun than trying to sleep.”
“No, it wasn't,” you laugh. “But I’m glad I could help, even a little. You don't sleep well?”
Lately, baby, it's because of you. “Pretty much not at all.”
Your brows knit together, but Joel shakes his head. “Don’t need it much, anyway. I get by just fine.”
“You tell me that when you pass out at the wheel because the caffeine wore off. Do you want me to drive?”
“You still have to drive home on a shitty alternator,” he argues, a little more worried about the state of your car than he's letting on. “I’ll be okay. I’ve gone longer on less sleep.”
You chew on your lip, and Joel brushes the rough pad of his thumb over your chin. “I’ll be okay,” he repeats. “Just buckle up.”
“Okay,” you whisper. “Just don't kill us.”
I haven’t tasted you, he thinks. Dying won’t do just yet.
~
In his dream, you’re wearing the black thong. Nothing else.
You knock on his bedroom door and he lets you in. He doesn't know why. He shouldn't. But he does. And you're there, your pretty tits sitting so perfectly for him, your hands demurely clasped behind your back, your eyes looking up at him expectantly. Wanting. Dark.
He takes control. He pulls you against him, his chest against your back, tilting your head back, exploring your skin with his mouth, dipping his fingers into the flimsy waistband of that godforsaken thong and ripping it in two.
In his dream, you're naked. Joel grabs handfuls of your ass while his hips batter you from behind, your slick, hot pussy sucking him in so deep that his whole body may disappear into yours. It's a dream. It doesn't make sense. But sense knocks at his ribs and cracks them in order to escape. Your mewls and moans as you take his cock replace any inkling of conscience, consciousness. You melt into the mattress and forget your worries with every thrust. He makes you forget.
That's it. That's it, baby. You can take me. My good girl. So fuckin’ good, baby, that’s—
He’s awake. Joel grunts, shucking away his covers. His cock is tenting his boxers, which he scrambles to get off as he burns from the inside out. His cock slaps against his stomach, precum pooling at his navel. He hisses, grasping his shaft at the base, his hips bucking helplessly into his hand. His head tips back against the pillows as he begins to jerk himself off to the image of you underneath him. Moaning. Whining. Joel, Joel, yes, oh, my—
“Fuck.” He grits his teeth, spitting into his hand and twisting his hand around the head of his cock. Your mouth parts around the tip and your tongue darts out to lap up the precum on his slit, and he grunts your name. It’s fucking filthy. He’s filthy. “Goddamn—”
Holding you, cradling your head, watching your mouth take him, the tip prodding your throat. Your watery eyes, your needy, leaking pussy, your knees folded so primly under you. As if his cock isn’t down your fucking throat. “Jesus,” he growls, jerking faster, the pressure building in his ears and his throat and his stomach, his balls pulling up—
His cum spills over his hand and stomach as he groans your name, long and loud, to the empty room. He pants, staring up at the ceiling. Running his clean hand over his face, he shakes his head. Mike would kill him if he knew. And he’d fucking deserve it.
Because Joel knows that he doesn't just need any warm body. He doesn't need to forget you by finding someone else. It isn't just a vague need.
It is you.
~
“Is this seat taken?”
Your head jerks up so fast your neck twinges. There's a guy looking at you with a sheepish smile, gesturing to the seat on your left. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean to… interrupt.”
“No! No, I’m sorry. Please, feel free.”
He slides into the seat and pulls out his books. “I’m Steve, by the way.”
You're a little surprised to see him offer his hand to you. People your age still shake hands with one another? Giving him a smile, you introduce yourself. “You just had to catch me while I was lost in thought. I’m usually a lot more suave.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” says Steve. He has a charming smile; he's about your age, with dark hair and a lean figure, and a pair of kind blue eyes. “Have you started studying for the midterm?”
You snort. “Please. If I think about it for one second, I’ll be breaking all the rules of my article.”
Steve laughs, assessing you with a brief once-over. “I recognise your name. You edit for the paper, right?”
“Guilty.”
“Only if it were bad. I liked your last piece.” He places his hand over his heart. “Your dad taught you this?”
You smile. He actually read your latest article. “He did,” you say brightly. “I was freaking out over the move here, and he told me how to ground myself.”
Steve grins. “Well, it's good to know the paper has someone of quality writing for them.”
You roll your eyes. “Smooth.”
“I know. Practised it over the last couple minutes in my head.” Steve taps his pen on his notebook. His notes are neat and his handwriting is small. “Hey, if you ever decide to brave the hell that is the study guide, I’d be happy to do it with you. Okay, more like reluctant, but happy to do it with you.”
You really could use the study buddy. “Yeah. That would be great.”
“Thank God,” sighs Steve. “I thought I’d have to beg.”
“Oh, you still can, if you want.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says with a laugh, turning to face the front of the room as the professor walks in. Wordlessly, he writes down a phone number on the corner of his page and rips it out, sliding it over to you. You stuff the scrap of paper in your bag.
Neither Joel nor your father show up at the bar tonight. They both have to get up early to drive across town for the job, but work is a little less alive without the company. Rob still makes sure to walk you to your car when your shift ends at eleven, and it only takes three turns of the key for the engine to start.
The problem is that halfway through the journey home, a torrential downpour starts slicing rain in a diagonal path to your windshield, and your engine sputters until the lights go out. “Fuck!” you cry out, turning the key again and again without luck. Your car is dead.
You climb out of the driver’s seat and wave your apology to the people behind you as you run to the bumper and begin to push in the direction of the road’s shoulder. “Come on,” you beg, shoving and digging your heels into the ground.
Several cars behind you begin to honk their horns, and it only makes your eyes fill with tears. The rain lashes you in the face and soaks your hair through to your scalp, your clothes drenched in freezing-cold water. You don't even have a jacket to stay warm.
“Come on!”
The car gives when you manage to get the front right wheel on the shoulder. Not a single person gets out to help you push the rest of the way, instead deciding to veer their cars around you once there's enough room. Still, they don't care enough not to splash you in the deepening puddles as they race by.
“Don’t worry about me,” you scream, your voice getting lost in the pounding of rain on the ground.
Shit, shit, shit. You're too far away from home to walk the rest of the way, and there isn't a payphone in sight. So, you wrestle your keys from the car out of spite, gather your bag with your work uniform, and make a decision.
~
He’s making dinner when there’s a knock on his front door. He cleans his hands of raw chicken and heads toward the door. It’s pouring rain; what the hell kind of solicitor wants his business this badly?
The door swings open, and you're standing on Joel’s porch, dripping wet from your head to toes, clutching your bag close to your chest. “H—hi.”
The look in your eye is so resigned, so sad, that he can't for a second think about how it looks for you to show up at his home so late at night. “Jesus,” he says. “What the fuck happened?”
“My car br—broke down. Dad isn’t h—home, and I had to wa—walk.” Your entire body is racked with relentless shivers as you hug yourself. “Do you m—mind if I use your dryer?”
Joel’s heart cleaves in two at the sight of your soaked-through jeans, your drenched sweatshirt, and his blood simmers at the thought of you having to walk home without anyone to keep you safe.
“C’mere, baby,” he says, brows pinching as he ushers you inside and envelops you in his arms. Your whole body sags into him, and he doesn't give a shit that rainwater is seeping through his clothes. You’re cold and he’s warm, and you can relax. Fuck, just being held like this makes you sniffle, forgetting the cold, damp walk and the pile of work you haven't done and the money you don't have in favour of imprinting the feeling of his hard chest and his soft belly pressed against you.
“Joel…”
Your weak, soft voice rattles in his brain and tastes like honey on his tongue. He pulls away to cup your face in his hands, moving your damp hair from your face. “You’ll catch a cold. “Let’s get you out of those clothes, okay?”
You nod, slipping off your shoes and letting him lead you to his bedroom. “Take whatever you want,” he tells you, gesturing toward his closet where all his shirts are hanging up. “Pants are in the drawer there. You want coffee? I’m just making dinner.”
Despite yourself, a little laugh slips out. “You’re making d—dinner at mid—midnight.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I was waitin’ for you.” His hands caress your arms, up and down, up and down, watching the tension in your shoulders ebb away. “I’ll let you shower.”
“I d—don't want to stay,” you tell him. “I mean, I do, b—but it’s s—so late.”
He shakes his head, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “Shhh, baby. You've never been a bother and that hasn't changed now.”
“Joel.” He turns at the doorway to face you again. “Thank you.”
He leaves without another word because he doesn't trust himself not to rush back inside and gather you up in his arms once more. You're in his goddamn bedroom. You're feet away from the bed where he jerked off to a dream of you last night. And you can never know. You will never know—no matter how many lines he crosses.
After your shower, you pick out a too-big sweatshirt emblazoned with his company logo and a pair of grey sweatpants. Your cheeks feel warm knowing that he's worn these, maybe even slept inside them, and you dry your hair in a towel. You feel clean, less miserable, and bone-tired, but you still hesitate before you turn the knob and leave Joel’s bedroom.
He’s in the kitchen—you can smell chicken, steamed broccoli, maybe cheese?—and your mouth waters. You didn't know you were hungry until now. Joel’s gaze finds you when he hears footsteps.
You. Wearing his clothes. Dressed in his sweatpants. You even fucking smell like him, your hair cleaned with his shampoo and your body washed with his soap. He may keel over. Blood rushes to his cock, filling it out in his own sweatpants, and if you notice, you don't say a word.
Settling into the chair at the little, circular dining table, you meet his eyes across the way. “This looks good, Joel. Thank you.”
“Where’s your car?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“On the shoulder of a road somewhere,” you reply. “Your neighbourhood was closest, and there aren't exactly many payphones in the suburbs. I’ll call a tow truck in the morning.”
“You pushed your own car to the side of the road?” Joel’s angry instincts are prickling again, his ears burning at the thought of you alone in the dark and the rain, helpless to get anywhere but to him. “Did someone help you?”
Your eyes find a fascinating spot on the table, your silence giving him all the answers he needs. Your clothes were even flecked with mud when you came to him, meaning you'd been splashed by passing cars. Joel’s jaw ticks, his fingers flexing into fists.
He couldn't fix this. He couldn't be there when you needed help. He couldn't even know about it until the damage was already done. “Fuck, baby.”
“It’s okay.” You meet his eyes again, giving him a sad smile. “I’m all right.”
He sighs harshly through his nose. “Come here.”
You follow orders beautifully, closing the distance between you and him. Slowly, so slowly, you bracket his thighs with yours and lower yourself onto his lap, your arms winding around his neck.
He knows you can feel the insistent press of his cock against your thigh. He knows the telltale widening of your pupils, the darkness in your eyes—the thrilling catch of your breath when he finally lifts his hand to the small of your back, fitting you against him.
There is no going back from a thing like this.
“You're upset,” he says into the thinning air. It feels like a slight. “You don't want me. Not like this.”
You don't reply. You just begin to move.
“Jesus.” His hands find your hips on instinct, squeezing hard as if he can get you to stop. “Shit. What are you—”
“I want you,” you whisper as your hips gyrate slowly over his stiff cock. You never break eye contact. “I want all of you.”
Your forehead drops to his, your noses brushing as he keeps pulling you closer, guiding your hips over him, betraying the words that leave his mouth. The heat between your thighs warms his body, your cunt dragging over his length and your mouth dropping open at the sparks of pleasure against your clit.
Joel grits his teeth, helping you move. “Fuck. Fuckin’ hell, baby.” His cock twitches, leaning precum into his boxers. “That’s it. Take what you want. Take what you need, baby girl.”
He will drink your soft moans down and guide your whimpering voice into his mouth. But you need to come first. You need to take, so he can give. “So fuckin’ good,” he grunts.
“Joel.” It’s a mewl, quiet and pitched high.
He thinks about the truck bed, the stars, the times he wanted and wanted but never took. But it's never been about him. This is you, baring yourself for a man who will hold you and admire you and expect nothing in return. He doesn't. He wants you to know it.
This is about you. He can be selfish later.
He can feel that you're close, your hips stuttering and your breath catching on every intake. “I know. I’ve got you. Just keep goin’.”
Maybe it's his voice. Maybe it's the consistent pressure against your clit. Maybe it's the need to be warm and safe and pliable in his arms. You come, grasping the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his messy hair as your other hand clutches his shoulder. But he's got you. He won't let you fall.
“That’s it, sweetheart.” He holds you close as you shiver, the cold pulsing out of your body and warmth settling deep inside. Your brain is a bit fuzzy, your eyes a little unfocused. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you away so he can look at you from a better angle. The sounds and sights of your orgasm will linger on the ceiling of his brain like a light that's always on.
You just came on his lap. You've never even kissed him, and the mere feel of his body ground you into a fine golden powder. “I meant it,” you tell him, combing his tousled hair away from his eyes. “I want all of you.”
“You’ve got me,” he says, and he means it. You’ve both tangled a hundred lines into one another; the mess you've both made is unrecognisable. A Gordian knot. But this is real, and it's clear. This is true and present and whatever happens next is inconsequential compared to the peace he feels when he has his hands on your body.
There are no muddied waters when he looks into your eyes.
“When's the last time you ate?” he asks.
An answering rumble in your stomach makes him chuckle. You giggle, still somewhat high from your orgasm. “Today. Yesterday. What time is it?”
He squeezes your thighs and gestures with his chin toward your side of the table. “Eat.”
“But…” Your eyes drop to the space between you, where his cock visibly strains against his sweatpants. You take your lip between your teeth. “You're hard.”
“Yeah, I am. You’re a sexy fuckin’ woman who just used me to get off.” His thumb traces your bottom lip. “I’m old, baby. I can be patient.”
You pout, but he pats your ass and lifts you off him. Your legs tremble as you lower onto your chair. It’s a plain dinner, and it’s not steaming hot anymore, but at least he can cook. And it tastes so much better after an orgasm. After the hellish night you've had. Joel watches you while you eat, and you watch him, too.
“I’ll drive you home,” he says, breaking the silence. “And I’ll call the tower in the morning.” You swallow a piece of broccoli. Joel points his fork at you. “And don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, you were.” He’s right. “You’ve got enough to worry about.”
You look at him awhile. His cheeks feel warm under your scrutiny, the way you openly admire his face, his body, his hands. “I think you're my hero, Joel Miller.”
Jesus, if that doesn’t make his chest puff up a bit. “That so?”
You take a sip of his lukewarm coffee. “Will you let me show you?”
Under the table, your foot trails up his ankle. Joel breathes in hard. As much as he wants to bend you over the fucking table and pound you senseless, you need to rest. And he needs to make sure you get safely home, where your father will never hold suspicion of the things Joel has done to his daughter. He’ll fashion a story that's close to the truth. He gave you his clothes and drove you home, and he did not let you grind on his cock until you came on top of him.
“I won't tell him,” you say softly. “I won’t.”
Joel senses your unease, your hesitation. “I know, baby. I trust you.”
The smile creeps up your face and fills his ribcage with warm light until it's seeping through the bones. “I know what I’m going to give you for your birthday.”
#kiwisbell's fics#pedro pascal#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#whiskey sour#tlou hbo#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction
372 notes
·
View notes
Note
pervy rudy who fucks eith innocent recruit reader jrkfirjr
please
obligatory note that im sorry its late <3
cw; drugging, noncon, somno, last one mentions pregnancy
perv!rudy who watches you in the training room straddle the other recruit you just took down, your hands holding their wrists beside their head and you've got a little smug smile on your face, chest heaving slightly. rudy can feel himself getting hard and has to excuse himself to go jerk off to that mental image of you on top
perv!rudy is careless and almost gets caught; stealing your panties, watching you shower, and un/dress, taking photos and videos of you—he spends his free time fucking his fist to those, especially the video of you soaping your tits up
perv!rudy who cums in your moisturiser, the one you use daily. he watches from the doorway to the communal bathroom as you apply it to your face
perv!rudy leaving a pair of your missing panties, filled with his dried cum, on your bed to return them to you <3 he sneakily watches how you pick them up then immediately throw them away in horror when you realise whats on them, he's quite sad you don't seem to like his gift :(
perv!rudy is more mean and sulky the next day, he pushes you and the other recruits harder, makes you run laps, leaves you tired and sore, he almost feels bad for pushing you but you shouldve appreciated his gift more
perv!rudy brings you drugged water after he's done being mean, saying you need to stay hydrated. you drink it all then excuse yourself. he follows you back to your room and slips inside watching you immediately fall asleep when you lie down, drugs in full effect
perv!rudy takes his time undressing you since you won't be waking anytime soon. leaving kisses and hickeys all over your skin. a few bites here and there. he licks over all the marks, spits on your pussy after he pulls your panties off, relishing in finally getting an up close view of what he's been imagining fucking for weeks
perv!rudy plays with your tits and eats you out for a while. enjoys your pretty pussy and how you're getting wet even while out of it. thinks that you must know its him and you want him too. he fucks your mouth a little before hes slapping your clit with his thick cock, running it up and down your slit. he lines it up with your wet hole and pushes in to the hilt in one fast motion. he's not exactly gentle either, tight grip on your hips, pounding into you. knows your hips will bruise, knows you'll feel it all tomorrow. loves that fact
perv!rudy letting out a deep noise when he feels your pussy cum around his cock before hes filling you up with his first load of the night
perv!rudy who spends the next few hours cumming in your holes and all over you, your tits, stomach, back, your face, in your hair. hes thoroughly spent when he's finished and too tired to leave so he falls asleep on you with his cock still in you
to say you're scared and confused when you wake up is an understatement but you cant do anything with your sergeant major still inside you, still on top of you, still with his arms wrapped around you. and so much stronger than you
and perv!rudy replaced your birth control with duds a few weeks ago, wanting to make you the mother of his children, he hopes all his efforts will take but he can fuck you as many times as he needs <3
#perv!rudy#rudy x reader#rudy parra x reader#rodolfo parra x reader#rodolfo parra x female reader#ask#anon#w&wanswers#my writing
226 notes
·
View notes
Note
This is a stupid question, and you’ve probably been asked this before.
But if I’m being honest I’m not in a good head space right now and seeing your goshawk and the very few pictures of what falconry can look like irl have piqued my interest far too much.
I know it’s a sport, I’ve looked into it. Yada yada yada.
How can I join a club or group or whatever it is you do? I want to be with people and do things productive and be helpful. Hell I don’t even know. Sorry
This is very stupid and I hope if you do answer this then it could be done privately.
Or just ignore this, idk.
Please forgive me
It's not a stupid question at all!!!
Sadly though I can only help you with british falconry, as every country has its own regulations and laws around falconry and even just the communities are vastly different!!!
In terms of Falconry in the UK I always just recommend researching the falconry centres in your area and finding the ones that have the best welfare and experience. Falconry isn't regulated enough in the UK so not everyone who practices it does it in a good or ethical way. And since its such a niche thing its easy to think that what they're doing must be okay.
I can give advice and ask around the community if you are unsure about your locals. But if you can find a great centre its good to contact them and ask about volunteering. That's how I originally got into falconry and it can teach you so much.
Actually working with the birds will teach you more than any book or online research can!
Obligatory handsome boy tart!
144 notes
·
View notes
Note
hey do you have anything else on matt’s family/father? i loved the way you characterised him and his dad
I always feel so flattered when Chris gets attention, since I like this guy a lot! I wanted to draw this out but this might take me so incredibly long I might not do it after all. So take this wall of text instead 🖤
---
Miles was enrolled super early and has been to about 8 different schools before he came to Wammy’s because he was displaying behavioural problems. He was loud, annoying, disrespectful, destroyed things, flipped tables because he felt underchallenged, lost and like nobody understood him. They were sitting at the principals office one time and the principal said something like “This behaviour is very problematic!” and Miles shoots out promptly “Your fat ass is very problematic-” “MILES” “-sir!” “He didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry-” “It’s true though! Lose some weight or you’ll die of a heart attack!” “MILES STOP”
Chris always took Miles side though and made up reasons why the old school sucked and how it’s not Miles fault. “You’re way too smart for this school anyways, Miles. We’ll find you something better HAHA” And this went on for years until an overly engaged social worker overhears Miles talking about switching schools again and asks around at the schools in the area. Shocked, the social worker reports everything to the education authorities and as a result Miles is to be sent to a school for educational assistance. And this is the worst school you’ve ever seen: Graffitti everywhere, digusting bathrooms, kicked in doors, the students look like drug dealers and the whole staff looks like they buy from them. It’s completely unhinged. And poor Chris and Miles sit there in this office and they thought it’s just an obligatory interview and all the sudden they want to get straight to registration and want to take Miles’ fingerprints and take friggin mugshots and Chris just bolts outta there with Miles excusing them for needing the toilet. And they sit in the car and Miles asks “Uhh dad, I think we weren’t done there?” “No, Miles. We were absolutely done there.”
Chris is a desperate mess, for he has no clue what to do with Miles next. There’s no way in hell Miles is going to this messed up school but he can’t keep putting him in regular schools either. And Chris wants to keep it from Miles that they’re up in shit’s creek and sets up a fake smile but Miles notices his dad being more depressed than usual and he blames himself for it asking himself what he did wrong. That evening, Chris tries to drown his sorrows in alcohol at a bar and opens his heart to a friend (or stranger - doesn’t matter at this point) crying about how “the boy can’t go any public school and I can’t afford a private school and his grades are so terrible that nobody would even take Miles anyways, he never made any friends in any of the schools, his mom ran off, he’s a smart kid but he keeps getting into trouble and I just don’t know what to do anymore —” And the guy listening goes “I heard there’s a boarding school in Winchester that takes difficult kids, maybe you wanna look into that one” and he writes down a scriggly “Whammy house Winchester” on a napkin for Chris. Back home, Miles finds Chris sleeping with his face on the kitchen table, just wearing a flanel shirt and boxers (Chris usually sleeps on the couch in front of the TV running infomercials) and he kinda knows this is because he messed up. The next days, Chris takes Miles with him to work. He can’t afford a nanny and can’t leave Miles all alone at home either. And he tries so hard to keep up a smile for Miles when he just wants to break down crying. He remembers the school for difficult children from the napkin and does a little research. Turns out, Wammy’s is a school for highly gifted children, so Miles can’t go there either. One day, a letter from the tax office arrives: they want payment of tax arrears - money Chris doesn’t have. And he leaves Miles at home that day, saying he can play video games as long as he wants; he’ll be back in the evening. But Miles is bored and he starts looking around the flat for things to do and finds the letter from the tax office. When Chris comes home, this happens:
And Chris has the realisation that Miles might actually be as smart as he advertised him as a joke to all the school the years prior. So he plucks up the courage and takes Miles to an interview at Wammy’s. He starts sweating when they want to see Miles records & testimonials but they’re really chill about everything and just want the stuff for the sake of completeness. What counts for them in the end is the IQ-test, which Miles passes with a 151 and is even considered for a scholarship. Chris is so proud and relieved, you have no idea.
-----
My other socials
Commission Info
Let's have some Ko-Fi! 🍵
#ask#death note#headcanon#au#dn au 2.0#mail jeevas#chris jeevas#wammys boys#wammys house#wammy boys#wammy kids#wammy's house#matt#my art
62 notes
·
View notes
Text
happy midnight in the morning; anime salieri jumpscare
(DO NOT READ UNDER THE CUT; CRINGE LIES AHEAD) (explaining my design because I actually really like the portrayal of mozart in CL and I wanted to put my 2c into his myth)
i know this has been done before like a million times but i NEED to contribute… hes my silly guy… the most toxic of all men…
… the obligatory Salieri classicaloid 🥳
hes just.. so comically emo in every piece of media he shows up in and I was so surprised to see he never gets a classicaloid design🥲
i gave him elements from MOR, amadeus the film, AND amadeus the original play 🫡 his design in MOR basically already looks like an anime character, so i kept the emo fringe and some of the facial hair. his baton is also a dagger, inspired by l’assasymphonie (sorry)
hes wearing basically all black because the costuming directions found at the beginning of the play state that he should always be seen in black or very dark colors, which i think is really amusing (even if it makes for a dense design lol). it fits w his character as a foil to mozart who in the play/film is always seen in pastels and bright colors. moz wearing mostly all pink in CL is a cute detail !!
the cloak + tri-corner hat come directly from the film/play, and the character who stands outside mozart’s window counting down the deadline of his requiem. it’s also interesting how Don Giovanni is portrayed dressed as this character as well, but I’m not about to analyze a 3 hour film below a post about anime 💀
if you read this far congrats you made it to the end🎊
#2024 will be the year of CRINGE!!!#letting my freak flag fly#ignore the shitty hands I’m tired#content for a dead fandom#antonio salieri#classicaloid#classicaloid oc#amadeus#mozart l'opera rock#mozalieri#I actually have a lot more to say but I know I’m gonna be embarrassed with what I have already when I wake up tomorrow (today?)#i drawd this
42 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I get number 10 "Will you marry me?" For Mark Hoffman? And maybe for Adam
Onions- Mark Hoffman x gn! reader
Hi!! I went ahead and did this one for Mark as I feel I don't write for him nearly enough, but if you'd like me to do this prompt with Adam, just feel free to let me know (be that through a response to this fic or an ask in my inbox! I don't know when it'll be done as I still have a lot of writing to get through before I consider myself on top of the reqs I currently have to do, but at the very least I can promise it'll be done either before christmas, on christmas, or the day after!)
Thank you for sending this one in and here's the obligatory but still wholly genuine apology--I am so sorry that this has taken me so long! A lot of the time things get buried in my inbox and that fact in combination with a bad record with object permanence usually go together in a rather inefficient way. Life has also just kind of done it's thing and demotivation has kind of kicked me in the back a little bit. While it sucks that I can't say that super long wait times for requests are out of the norm, I hope this one was worth the wait!!
Fic type- this is super fluffy!
Warnings- kissing happens a lot and sex is passively mentioned once. This fic is also edited but I've been awake for eleven hours and had written it while awake for something like fourteen so the editing might be a bit off regardless--I apologize if it is and if it is, please feel free to let me know and I'll fix it right up!!
In the week or so leading up to the proposal, Mark was doing everything he could to make it seem like nothing special was happening on the getaway he'd planned for the two of you that weekend.
You both worked in the precinct but in different areas--Mark was a detective and you worked with the CSI team--so keeping the news from spreading really wasn't all that difficult.
Perez and Strahm had been the only ones who knew a lick of Marks plan, and while Strahm had asked him teasing questions about the ring and the plan for the proposal with a shit-eating grin on his face, Perez seemed genuinely happy for him. She asked about the location and if he'd written some big, sappy speech, reminded him to make sure that all of the camera angles would be perfect and not unflattering, jokingly asked if she was invited and told him to ease up on the coffee during the week before the getaway as too much of it could cause jitters.
So then the weekend came and you and Mark drove to a cottage that had previously been owned by Marks parents in the outskirts of the city. They'd given it to him but he'd never had much cause to use it before that weekend, and he was glad to see that it was just as nice as it had been when he'd last seen it.
You settled in, objecting to spend that Friday night in nothing more than a pair of boxers and one of Marks old NJPD sweaters, hugging him from behind as he made dinner and you talked about anything except for work because of how exhaustive talking and thinking about work had become after how long that week had felt.
Mark was trying to search for the time to do it--the ring was in the pocket of his sweatpants, and you'd discussed proposals before anyway so he knew there was no big expectation to do it somewhere good or while wearing anything exceptional. Your plan for that weekend was mostly just to eat good food and have good sex and Mark had honestly planned to do the proposal somewhere after you'd accomplished both of those goals.
But, on a Friday night somewhere in December of the year 2004, your lips are pressing against the back of Marks shoulder and he can feel them spread out in a grin as your hands move to his hips, and you've been together for a decade and Mark is wondering why he didn't propose sooner.
"I love you," you whisper against the skin of his neck, laughing a little as you watch Mark brace himself by pressing his palms into the granite countertops.
"Will you marry me?"
Mark kind of hates the way it comes out--he wanted to at least have it somewhat planned before he popped the big question, not say it over a pan of onions that were in the process of caramelizing while the sky displays the dark of a Decembers four o'clock. He wanted to look at you while he asked, get down on one knee and at least try to do the old fashioned stuff.
"What?" You ask, laughing a bit more. "Mark Hoffman, are you playing some kind of cruel joke on me? I like it when you get funny but not like this."
"No," Mark rushes the words out. "No! I'm being serious--I swear I meant for it to be less spontaneous than this but your fucking lips--I wanna get married to you. I have a ring and everything, but you kissed me and you know how I'll get when you kiss me the right way. I promise I meant to propose in a more serious way, all right? Not while you're in one of my NJPD sweaters from when we first started dating and a pair of boxers I bought you for christmas so that you'd stop stealing mine to wear as shorts."
You let him go, step away.
"Well, if you're so serious about doing it properly, I invite you to go ahead," you're grinning, and Mark wants to kiss it off your face more than anything, but he doesn't. Instead, the cook in him turns to the pan as you take his hand in yours and interlace your fingers.
"The onions might burn--"
"They'll be fine without your eyes for a sec," your grin widens. "Mark--I appreciate that you proposed the way you did but if you're gonna make a stink about not being able to propose all proper and gentlemanly, then I invite you to do so. I promise I won't change my answer."
Mark snorts, gets down on one knee and pulls out the ring.
"Perez told me that a big, soppy speech would make you more likely to say yes but I never believed that," he takes a breath in. "I just want to emphasize that, well--we've been together for ten years now and I've wanted to marry you for at least four but work has been so busy that I haven't really gotten the chance to do it. I love you, Y/N, and that is why I'm doing this and why I was so hellbent upon doing it right."
"Yes," you blurt, grinning like an idiot.
Mark scoffs, laugh falling from his lips. "You made a stink about me making a stink about proposing wrong, and you've answered before I even asked!"
You laugh, covering your smile with your hand. Mark feels the urge to pull your hand away but doesn't, instead lets himself smile so hard that it hurts.
"Will you marry me?" He asks. "Will you make me the happiest guy in the history of the--well--ever, and marry me, Y/N L/N?"
"Mhm," you hum, nodding quickly. "Yeah, Mark Hoffman. Absolutely."
Mark rises, slips the ring onto your finger and hums as he pulls you into a tender kiss, palms resting on your elbows as he presses you lightly against the fridge.
You pull away, and both of you are grinning like idiots but that doesn't really matter.
What matters to you is the fact that Mark has just proposed, and you've accepted, which means that you're engaged. That fact alone is enough to make you elated, and such is what you feel as you go back to your previous position, Mark watching the onions and occasionally stirring while you hug him from behind, hands on his hips as your lips rest against the back of his shoulder.
Mark is grinning at the onions, just as elated as you. It is the perfect ending to a perfect night.
43 notes
·
View notes
Note
how are things? and I was wondering if you've got a favorite fic that you wrote or if its just too hard to choose?
i've been down with a cold so things are kinda annoying but it seems to be getting better at least so maybe things are looking up :'D thanks for asking!
oh damn. it is hard to choose. and it also depends on my mood, and like... some are faves because they were fun to write, some because i like how the end result turned out, some bc friends liked them, and so forth. it depends on what kind of a favorite we're looking for :3
i scrolled through my RE fics and tried to pick only the top faves and still ended up with thirty fics :'D (and sorta sad bc so many of them were not crowd pleasers lmao)
but! shameless self-recs under the cut! (it got long lol sorry)
we didn't know how to fly so high (burned down before we reached the sky) (Chris/Leon) - this one's special because it's the first RE fic I wrote and it's what ended a three year dry spell of me not writing a single thing. it's also special because back then i could go "OH ONE NOTE!" and post the second chapter lol.
haunting in my head (tempting me, inviting me to fall asleep in its arms) (Piers/Leon) - since I picked the first one, I'm also gonna pick the latest one. this was the kind of an idea that plagued me until I got it written and i'm super pleased with how it worked out!
and it's kind of obligatory for me to mention the self-indulgent series, because for so long it was what kept me going and what kept me writing when nothing else worked. it might not be the best thing i've written but it's for sure what i've poured most love in.
tear me open (and make me whole again) (Piers/Leon, past Krauser/Leon) - from my whumptober fics this one i was the most excited about. i know it's got quite a bit of violence in it but like. i thought it hit all the right notes emotionally too, and i honestly wished it would've done better. i think it's worth it! am still happy with how it turned out.
(honorable mention to haunt you like it's part of you, another Piers/Leon and past Krauser/Leon, which is something i am really really into but apparently it's just me :'D but I really like the way the pairings clearly contrast each other tbh, i just think it's neat)
in the end it's you and I (Piers/Leon) - this is another whumptober fic I was super excited for! i'm beyond pleased with how it turned out and at least I feel all the right emotions while reading it.
all the things you are (Jake/Piers) - honestly I could've picked pretty much any of the Piers/Jake fic I've written because they were all really fun to write and their dynamic is super fun :'D I love the little bits in re6 where they interact bc they get on each other's nerves in all the right ways!
when it comes to metaltango, they're pretty much all close to my heart lol but can't help but follow in spite of going insane is something i regularly think back to and am still happy with how it turned out. same with the Krauser's back series, and question all my doubts, especially.
never too much to ask for (Piers/Leon) - this one is so very very important to me because LEON LEARNS TO BE LOVED. he learns to not only accept comfort but actually ASK FOR IT and it makes me emotional just to think about it 🥺
gonna show you tonight (Piers/Leon) - this one just makes me very happy.
and then there are the Piers/Leon ones where I've inserted Piers into a game/movie he isn't in, and honestly, those are ALL something I've had fun with and love the results! there's re2 with Piers, re4 with Piers, Damnation with Piers, and a combo of re4/Vendetta/og stuff with Piers! also the other re2 with Piers but that one only has one chapter for now so :'D
heal the scars and change the stars (Piers/Leon) - this one was based on a dream I had and I can still remember the exact vibe of the dream, and the way it haunted me afterwards, and I'm honestly really happy with the fic too. I have a thing for breaking up and getting back together it seems :'D
you're a dream (Piers/Leon) - this is something I've always always wanted to write, because soulmate aus are interesting but I've always gravitated towards imperfect soulmate systems, where it takes real effort to find them, and it's not so clear cut. and I honestly love how this turned out.
at the shore of the unknown (Piers/Leon) - another thing i always wanted to do was a soft apocalypse. this was supposed to be the first fic of a series, and the series is probably not happening, but i'm still content with the mood of this fic as is :3 i love these... slow empty worlds.
before I even knew your name (Piers/Leon) - THIS! this was SO MUCH FUN i don't know if I've ever had as much fun writing a fic :'D idk it was such a joy.
i crave therefore i am (Piers/Leon) - this fic however fought me every single step of the way, i wrote it like three times, and hated half of the process lmao, but i do love how it turned out. and the first scene is one of my all time favorite scenes i've ever written in my life.
to feel again (fwb!Chris/Leon at first, Piers/Leon eventually) - this was supposed to be a quick little oneshot but in the end it spiraled into something longer, and I do love it. like. the whole point of the Chris/Leon bit was that neither of them is the bad guy or wrong but they just weren't right for each other at that point in time, and then I enjoyed letting Leon build trust and a new relationship with Piers slowly at his own pace. 10/10 would write again :'D
last chance garage (ot3) - this one was very emotional to write and also got SO out of hand bc it was supposed to be like 1k max and in the end I wrote 8k lol. but it's my favorite ot3 fic.
winter lovin' (there's snow one like you) (Piers/Leon) - this one is super special to me because it happens in Finland :D they're vacationing on my home turf lol. but also because they're so in love, and they get to have fun and be together and. idk. the whole fic makes me all "🥺💖" like i literally turn into a physical embodiment of those two emojis. i love the fic.
stay until the end of life (Piers/Leon) - this one was also very emotional to write and I wanted to put them through a lot, and show how they really are in it for better and for worse. i wanted to show the struggles too, like... they love each other. they wanna be there for each other. but it's not always that easy. and I do think it worked out great.
three words to last forever (Piers/Leon) - I'm gonna end this way too long list with this because it's the first (and so far only) time I wrote a "choose your own ending" story and it was so much fun! I wish I could do a bigger story where you get to make multiple choices, but that would require some serious brainstorming lol. anyhow, I'm happy I got to do this! and happy with it turned out! especially the saddest ending :'D
now I'll shut up with my deepest apologies lmao.
#i know it's like 90% nivannedy#but what can i say#they've invaded my brain#there are other pairings in there too tho lol#anonymous#ask and i shall answer#me and my fics#re answers
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
May I request nsfw alphabet for Dainsleif ? Like all the letters plz?
Mmmmm Dainsleif <3
CW: Choking (N), spitting (N), sir/master kink (K), mentions of public touching (R), no gendered terms/genitals used for reader, reader can be either sub or dom depending on the section (sub in K though), swearing, full belief that Dain can be both the sweetest but also mean so I'm sorry if this is all over the place! Also I'm sorry if some sections aren't as good as the others!
Also also, obligatory OOC warning because as much as I love this man I completely forgot everything about him about half way though writing this <3
Smut alphabet: open! (check status on pinned post)
— Dainsleif: Full Alphabet
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Very soft <3 Always places a kiss to your forehead before planting one to your nose, followed by your lips and ending with resting his forehead against yours. He flips between closing his eyes and staring into yours but either way (after basking in the afterglow together) Dain will help you into a better position on the bed, throwing a blanket over the both of you if you want. With a softness in his eyes that’s reserved for you alone, the blond will offer an equally soft smile and pull you into his chest.
B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of their partners)
Fucking adores all of you but there's something special about your face that just gets to him. The way your eyes portray an array of emotions, how your lips let out the most beautiful sounds. All of it has him in a chock hold honestly and he'd say or do anything to keep it like that.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)
This man,,,, oh he loves to cum on your stomach/back. Paired with your blissed out expression and it’s enough for butterflies to fill his stomach and his cock to grow hard all over again
D = Dirty Secret
He wants!! needs you!! to squish him!! between!! your thighs!!!! PLEASE!!
The amount of times he’s caught himself staring at your sculpted-by-the-gods thighs is almost embarrassing. But he can’t help himself :(( Dainsleif knows for sure that if they're yours he’ll love every second of it. He’d make sure to let you know how much he likes it too by rewarding you with kisses, little nips and sucks to your skin <3
(Don't point out his red cheeks if you catch him staring though, he'll malfunction so bad, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water)
E = Experience (How experienced are they?)
I feel like he probably had a lover once upon a time, I don’t know it just kind of fits him. Still, I don't think he's gone all the way. That being said, he’s got some knowledge and experience under his belt (just not the right kind). However, it’s been so long he’s basically back to square one.
F = Favourite Position
Good ol' missionary! This goes hand-in-hand with B but it also has to do with the fact that you’re so close to each other, where every little twitch, noise and breath can be heard or felt. It goes to show just how vulnerable you’re both willing to be.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)
Serious all the way. This is a special moment between the two of you where everything is laid on the table and the upmost trust is given to one another. Even if it's a night where more fucking is done than love making, the best you'll hear are teases and those are far from funny.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Doesn't put effort into it - trims when he needs to to remain clean and such - but somehow that little patch of blond is as attractive as the rest of him. Keeps is relatively short as just a personal preference.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)
The title of most romantic during the moment goes to him! Soft, holds you close, holds your hand!, makes sure you're pleased, presses kisses all throughout, the whole nine yards <3
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
This man doesn't have the time lmao. Well, after he met you he may have gained a little time ;)
There's no urge that overtakes him during the day, instead he finds you occupy his thoughts a lot more when he's alone at night. Perhaps there was something you did or said that took root in his mind, growing into something more as his thoughts roam from one to another. Quickly all his layers become too warm for his body, cock too strained against his trousers. He wishes it were you taking care of his problem and not him... he can fantasize though. From positioning himself like he has in passed sessions for you to letting your name slip past his lips, he's able to believe for just a moment it actually is your hand and not his.
He finds it just a little embarrassing to whisper your name when you're not around, but it makes him feel so good - like you're actually here - that he can't stop, not until he's cummed hard against his hand and on his lap.
After, you'd never know he just jacked off if it wasn't for how he isn't able to look you straight in the eye, a faint red dusting his cheeks.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
This was by far the hardest to figure out so bare with me if this is far fetched but I think - during one of the more rougher nights - Dain would have a little bit of a sir/master kink? Paired with being in control and watching as you obey him without hesitance, it's enough to have his dick twitch within the confines of his pants.
"On your knees"
"Yes sir"
MMM, yeah that's the good stuff
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
The bedroom, hands down. Private, familiar, safe, the sanctuary that you share with Dain is the only place he deems worthy of expressing his undying love to you in the most intimate way possible. There is no risk of disturbance either (plus, a bed will always be more comfy than a sleeping bag on the ground or up against a tree :/)
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
When you get assertive/aggressive. Doesn’t have to be while in the moment either. Like, say you’re trying to squeeze out some info from the enemy and your tone gets stern, arms crossed with a glare. Dainsleif can feel the heat emitting from him (but pats it down - you’re in the middle of something important!)
Another thing is if you hug him from behind, arm around his waist. Trail kisses from his shoulder up before whispering “I love you”. Bonus points if you begin rubbing shapes on his side! What your actions spark in him is passion, so he repays you with lingering, almost desperate kisses to your lips. As if he stopped you’d disappear like sand through his fingers if he didn't show you what you make him feel. It’s not just one kiss either, the moment you part for air he’s right back at pouring his love to you in the best way he knows. If you were aiming to go further and you allow him to, he'll gladly oblige.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
Choke you :( Like hardcore chocking - it just doesn’t feel right to him. He doesn’t mind laying his hand around your neck, even gentle squeezes here and there but that’s about it.
Also detests spit. Doesn’t matter if it’s you spitting on him or the other way around, it kills the mood so fast for him :/
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Do not get me wrong, Dain is ready to go down on you anytime, but the way your lips feels on his cock is just so fucking intoxicating to him. He can’t help but think about it at random some days - the warmth your mouth provides (which lingers in his mind even after the night has passed), how you place such delicate kisses to his tip with kitten licks immediately following before you go all the way.
Let’s just say he’d die a happy man if he could feel that pleasure everyday.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
I mentioned this in another letter but while Dainsleif doesn’t mind being rough, his default is a steady, loving pace. He’s not the best with words so actions is the next best thing for him.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Not opposed to them per say but he’d rather avoid them at all cost. Usually, if the need arises while you’re both away travelling, then he'll squeeze in a quick session with you.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Ehhhhh, yes and yes and no. Dain doesn't mind exploring both yours and his kinks - seeing what you both can implement into the bedroom. Who knows, he might enjoy something he previously never thought he would. As for risks... he's game but hot damn is he a nervous mess (affectionate). He wants to try something new but doesn't know how you'll react? His hands are shaking now. You wanna touch him discreetly in public? Well, let's just say his dick isn't the only thing stiff.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)
A solid three, no more, no less. Lasts an average amount of time, enough to bring both of you to your peaks and leave satisfied.
T=Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
Owns them? No. Would use them? Yes. On you? If you'd like. On himself? Sure, why not - only certain ones though since some put him off a little.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
If we’re talking about teasing with words then he’s not a huge tease, definitely happens more than you'd think though. Just little comments here and there that have you pulling him closer, heat running up your back in pleasure. Actions wise he doesn’t tease - always gives you exactly what you want.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He's quiet most of the time, low grunts and groans with a few words mixed in being the best you'll get. However, should you touch him in some of his more sensitive areas just right, you'll get to hear one of the most beautifully rare gasps ever. It’s music to the ears and definitely a trick you won’t be forgetting any time soon.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
I believe in soft lover Dain <3 I never thought about it before but while doing this it’s now rooted in me that he’d be such a soft fucker. From his thrusts to his touches to how he looks at you, he’s treating you like glass, taking in all that is you (of course, if you wanted to go a little rougher he’ll comply ;))
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Is pretty even on both length and girth, neither being more prominent than the other. Slightly longer and bigger than average though. His dick arches up the tiniest bit as well (very good for those hard to reach spots ;))
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
It's not the highest out there, again because he's got some more pressing matters that occupy his mind. Still, the urge comes every so often. When it does he isn’t a hundred percent sure how to approach the topic to you. Somehow you know though and he couldn't be more grateful :)
Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)
It takes him a while to fall asleep actually! One part of it is that he wants to wait till you do, but it's mainly due to his racing thoughts. These mainly consist of how lucky he is to have met you, to have you let him into your life. A final thought he’ll have before drifting off is a promise of protecting you and this slice of happiness he’s finally been granted.
#genshin impact#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#genshin impact x reader#dainsleif x reader#dainsleif x gender neutral reader#dainsleif genshin impact#dainsleif headcanons#genshin headcanons#genshin impact headcanons#—v writes
279 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sparks Japan Tour 2023 Recap
(silly personal edition; unfortunately the only kind I'm capable of)
Saturday July 22nd, Tokyo
(Duo Music Exchange)
This is the standing venue I've mentioned before as being crazy for having massive pillars in line of sight of the stage. It was a sold out show, so unfortunately some people had to be back there...
I was unbelievably lucky with my ticket numbers and my friend and I got to stand in the front row, keyboard siiiiiide. I don't think I can express how happy I was to be there. The show was phenomenal and being in the front able to jump around and dance and experience the music Up Close was just... something else.
I really enjoyed the film score soundtrack to our waiting time before Sparks came on, too. So atmospheric.
Obligatory pre-show keyboard photo number one:
Over the loudspeakers before the band came on, the venue announced that photos and videos wouldn't be allowed during the performance, and there was a hilarious, audible reaction from the crowd as ~600 people quietly reacted like, 'whaaat?!'
(I see there were some rule-breakers in the house, though, so there are some clips and pictures on instagram and elsewhere for those who want to see!)
The stage was really shallow with the band set up and Russell could barely fit behind the keyboard to reach that side, but it was so nice that he made the effort to come and sing to those people up close, and somehow without knocking Ron over.
Also we definitely witnessed the escalator dance!
And oh man, Russell did so many dramatic leaps into the air, it was (as they say) rad.
Out of all the songs we heard that night, I think it brought me the most joy to hear Angst, and The Toughest Girl In Town. I love Interior Design and it's the album I usually put on when I'm coming home from the city at night, so hearing a song from it IN that city at night was just the best. But every song was done incredibly. Particularly Beaver O'Lindy which of course I'd never heard live before (I am sadly not a 21x21 veteran)!
And I love when a song ends and Ron does some little pose when he lifts his hands off the keyboard :')
The crowd was absolutely on fire, in SUCH good spirits! Everyone I saw was just smiling through every moment, or singing along looking elated to be there and lost in the music.
And as I'm sure we've all seen by now, encore Ron wore an Air Jordan hoodie with JAPAN written on it. Extremely appreciated.
Oh, and retrospectively I think I have to conclude that the Shopping Mall Of Love 'yeah's from this night included the hottest 'yeah' of the three tour dates. I don't make the rules, I merely observe them.
This show was everything I could have hoped for and more.
(To my friend I went with: if you're reading this, ugh, what a cherished memory it is to have seen them front row together ;_;)
Monday July 24th, Osaka
(Namba Hatch)
I went up very high to take this photo and the venue is sadly not in it, but please look at Osaka anyway just for some ~mood context~.
(And yes, person trying to see if you could peel one of the Sparks posters off the wall of the venue to take home, I saw you and I support you and I'm sorry you didn't manage to succeed!)
By the way, this venue has an impressive plethora of escalators...
Obligatory pre-show keyboard photo number 2:
You can tell how early I was by the unoccupied seats.
This was my first seated show but 99% of people were on their feet from the moment the band came on and for the entire duration of the show. Absolutely became a standing gig... I was so relieved!
I brought a non-Sparks-fan to this show and it couldn't have been a better introduction. It was just so incredibly well performed and so fun, we had such a great time.
Russell's voice was possibly somehow even better than on Saturday; I don't know, but especially his high notes had so much POWER and he looked super happy with the performances after each song :D
And omdhfhdgdg there was just so much energy from the crowd.
Being a much bigger venue than Saturday, the applause and cheering was incredible :') The audience participation in general was just brilliant!
I really like a lot of the live arrangements of the songs, too, they're so much more powerful than usual. I know with some other bands, live shows are a muddier, albeit wilder but much less listenable rendition of the album tracks, but Sparks really elevate their songs when done live.
Russell also used a few words of the local Osaka dialect when talking to the crowd which was very cute and got big cheers.
The previous venue was too small for the lighting setup I've seen in other 2023 tour photos, so this night was when we finally got to see that in action. As is Sparks' way, it was really well thought-out, so I'm very glad I got to see this more visually dramatic version of the set. I especially loved the rainbow lighting and French flag lighting moments.
This was also our first time hearing A Love Story in Japan. So fun live!
Encore Ron came out wearing a pair of novelty Osaka dialect sunglasses (which he had to lift up to see the keyboard settings 'cause they were obviously too dark, and the crowd giggled at that and so did Ron, it was... fucking cuuute.
Of course there was also a brief glimpse of no-glasses Ron when he swapped them for his normal pair later. Those of you who know me will observe my restraint in the mentioning of this)
When they were saying their final goodbyes to us, someone at the front handed Russell an art piece they'd made (it looked like a standee of him and Ron) and he did a little pose like 'I will cherish this' and then put it on the keyboard, and Ron picked it up and did a little pose with it like 'ooooh'
So cute. So lovely.
Such a stellar show! I wish I could thank everyone else in the crowd for making it so special. I'd never seen so many hands in the air.
Tuesday July 25th, Tokyo
(Line Cube)
(The second brand-related renaming of Shibuya Public Hall has given it the above amusing name. It used to be called CC Lemon Hall and I don't know which is funnier)
It's really nice inside, very modern and spacious and the seats were SO comfortable,
but this time EVERYONE immediately stood up. I didn't detect an ass in a seat for the whole show. It was beautiful. Wonderful. Unbelievably good!
(Unrelated, but in front of me was a maybe-11-year-old boy in subtle russell cosplay; wearing an exact replica of his 'having fun around Japan' outfit from the documentary (complete with the right length of trousers and legit marimekko bag in red))
Obligatory pre-show keyboard photo number 3:
Just before the 2nd or 3rd song there were some technical difficulties, during which Russell tried stalling but then obviously didn't want to stall alone for the whole time and forcibly handed Ron the mic
and Ron said,
"... the voltage in Amurica is 120, and in Japan it's 100... so sometimes things like this happen. We apologize. ^w^"
(yes he did make the face of this emoji)
(and yes I did... phonetically spell out the way Ron says America because it's just... so endearing)
The rest of the show went smoothly though! It was so, so
so
so good.
I could get into some of the moments in the songs that really move me, but I am easily embarrassed.
Okay, I will try (look, I am being so brave)
-When I'm With You: there's a beautifully-held note or two or three in this song that I'm sure all Sparks fans die at when hearing it live. That, and the 'I almost feel normal' line, really get to me.
-It Doesn't Have To Be That Way: I think we all know how rare it is for Sparks to make a song specifically in order to express a message, and I'm really glad they doubled down on that and did this one live. It hurts but it's also so simply triumphant. I love how Russell almost laughs on certain lines because it really is both absurd and exactly what artists have to deal with.
-Number One Song In Heaven. This is just one of the first Sparks songs I ever heard and it blew me into another dimension. It's ominous, it's ethereal, it's weird and perfect, and it's incredible to hear live every single time.
At the end of the show, Russell said how sad it was for them to be ending the tour
but how happy they were to have the last one be here ;__; 'we genuinely really love your country'
Awww Russell ;_;
I left the show so much better off than when I came in, by which I just mean there's something about seeing a band that means so much to you, where it just turns up the metaphorical dial on the enrichment of your life. Thank you Sparks and thank you other Sparks enjoyers!
Well, that was my rambling show report complete with absolutely none of the information anyone usually wants to hear about a gig.
I'd like to thank @adreamofroses for finding me and saying hi, and I'm sorry we didn't get to talk much!
I'll leave you all with a photo of the official merch I got, including some by the art team Tectecs whose adorable art was irresistible. They've got a gallery show going on with all their Sparks work at the moment, too.
and one last photo because I saw my bag looking like this when I stopped to do something, and laughed:
#I'm sure there are things I've forgotten but such is life#what a beautiful end to a beautiful tour#Sparks band
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hey...been a while, hasn't it?
So this comic has been at a standstill for a while now. I'd like to have a talk about that, and about how we'll be going forward from here, and I need to ask your opinion on something as well. There's a poll under the cut but I'd appreciate if you could read the rest of my ramble before voting.
So, uh...prepare for a word wall, heh. Sorry.
This year has been slow for Ask Cueball for several reasons. First, Arc 1 ended, and there was a long break because of that. Then physical injuries made me unable to draw for a long time. But neither of those really apply anymore. I've healed from my injury (and learning to help what didn't heal) and if you follow my main art blog you'd know that I've been drawing again for a while.
So I've been thinking lately about why it's been so hard for me to work on Ask Cueball, and I think it comes down to two things - one part of it has to do with my art and how it's grown and changed, and the other is my interests and how THOSE have grown and changed.
I do like Ask Cueball's art style, I like how simple and clean and consistent and expressive it is. I think Ask Cueball is really what helped me start to develop my own personal style. But at the same time...at this point, my style has evolved beyond it. Ask Cueball was drawn with a mouse on an old broken laptop. Since then, everything has updated and changed. It feels counterproductive to go back to my old methods of art, like I'm limiting myself, going backwards.
And then when it comes to interests...once again if you follow my art blog, you've probably noticed I haven't drawn anything Sonic or shapebot related in a long time. Things change, I've discovered new things, found myself in fandoms that are...honestly WAY kinder and chiller than the Sonic fandom (because let's be honest, even in our little corner of shapebot hell with a population of like 20 people there's still been some drama).
But, all that said...I still love this place. I love the story, the characters, all of it. I love my fans, especially those who have stuck around even throughout this slow, uneventful year. I love this comic. Which is why I'm refusing to end it here. I want to keep Ask Cueball going, and I've set a hard deadline for myself to release a comic post in November. After that, well...this is where I need your help.
My thought was that maybe it might be quicker for me to update Ask Cueball if I did it in sketches? But I don't want to lower the visual quality...and then that last legitimate option, the one with the comic being cancelled? I will only do that one if it gets above 90% approval. I don't want to end the comic like that, I want to see it through to completion, but if this is what we think we need to do then we will do it.
So basically, this poll is asking what's more important to you, the speed or the quality:
The first option will likely be slowest, but the comic won't lose ANY of it's quality or polish. This is what I'd like to do but I worry about how long it may be between posts.
The second option should be a little quicker, but the comic will be worse, sloppier with little-to-no color, and will no longer have its clean quality.
The third option (again, only happens if it gets above 90%) will be the quickest, as I will just tell you the remaining story over probably 1-3 posts, with little to no art at all, and then it will be done. The comic is over.
Regardless of what wins, the next post will be coming out in November, and it will be in the old style, as it is partially complete and I don't want to switch styles mid-post. I do not guarantee returning to our old weekly posting schedule, REGARDLESS of which option wins the vote.
I felt guilty that I missed the 3rd Anniversary in September, but I also felt like I hadn't done enough this year to really celebrate the 3rd year as though the blog was still going as strong as it had before. I hope that going forward, we won't have to miss the 4th too.
TL;DR - Ask Cueball hasn't been active much this year for several reasons, but it will be coming back.
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Linking Adventure!!!
OKAY SO I FINALLY CAVED
i’ve been daydreaming about link redesigns for years but always figured it was too big a project or nobody would want Yet Another Link Redesign but i actually love every link redesign i’ve seen and there have been more and more lately (props you guys they’re all awesome) so here are mine! i have no intentions to turn this into a full AU even if i do have the plot for it kicking around my brain, i just wanted to share my fun character ideas :3
obligatory disclaimer that this is not LinkedUniverse (or linkedmaze, or linkverse, or bonus links, or—) so don’t tag it as such!
it’s called “Linking Adventure” because *cough* maybe it was an adventure but also because the Point of the adventure is to link the three timelines together before the universe disintegrates. fun! this selection of links, then, is all the ones who get recruited for the quest.
here’s how that went down btw:
Hylia/Zelda (“Vega” in this AU): UGGGGH
SkSw Link (“Altair” in this AU): what’s wrong?
Vega: I JUST COMMUNED WITH THE GOLDEN GODDESSES
Altair: oh no
Vega: THEY LET THIS NINE YEAR OLD BREAK THE FABRIC OF REALITY. TWICE
Altair: oh no
Vega: AND NOW THEY’RE TRYING TO FIX IT
Altair: yay?
Vega: BY SMASHING ALL THE REALITIES TOGETHER
Altair: oh dear. where is this?
Vega: in like a buncha millennia
Altair: oH. so wait where will you be you at the time?
Vega: I doN’t KnOW!
Altair: can i help?
Vega: yes please
Altair: cool. how do i do that.
Vega: I’m gonna yell at Nayru and get her to yeet you into the future. there’s three heroes, one in each timeline, whose help you’re gonna need
Altair: nice
Vega: Oh also go grab the Hero of Legend, too. He’s pals with her oracle and will definitely come in handy
Altair: sick
Vega: cool okay so to stabilize the Convergence you’re going to need to find the full Triforce in each era and merge them together—that should hold most of reality together pretty solidly. you’ll need each timeline’s master sword to do that, though, since it’s the only artifact strong enough to withstand that kind of power. Also you can’t bring your own Master Sword because that might break reality. i’m sorry. is that too much? you’ve done so much already, you don’t have to—
Altair: this isn’t like last time, though. i’ve got more experience, there’s no demon king to fight, and you’ll be safe. that’s all that matters.
Vega: thank you. so much.
Altair: just don’t erect any statues in my honor while i’m gone
Vega: no promises!
and then he went and found everyone and they had a little adventure. here’s the gang! (transcriptions and clarifications of the handwritten text under the cut)
And here’s just some concept sketches about how they’d all fit together as a team
transcription:
Favored battle positions (this is really loose)
Wind— ranged support
Altair— taking out main enemy’s weak point
Fire— high damage output
Traveler— distract enemy
Night— misc.
Anyway! don’t expect more content of this! i just don’t have the patience for comics and i wouldn’t want to tell the story any other way.
cool! transcriptions below the cut:
FIRE: “The Big Guns” [LoZ 1 & 2] 19 yo (she/her)
Nicknamed herself for her favorite spell
- uses she/her, don’t question it
- has Down Syndrome & ASD
- is mostly nonverbal - can speak with a stutter but prefers to sign
- if she gets emotional while signing, her hands Will catch fire
- abandoned as a baby and raised by fairies
- insane magical potential
- near-constantly casting life to counteract various health complications
- her favorite spell is fire.
- she did not hide from Ganon’s cult
- fiercely protective & loyal
- is very no-nonsense; to the point
- when she casts fire, the ends of her scarf flare out like fairy wings
- her hands always glow faintly so she can be “heard” in the dark
- solves problems with fire
- prefers to speak with actions over voice or sign
TRAVELER: [aLttP, OoA, OoS, LA, ALBW] 17 yo (he/him)
Nicknamed himself for his passion in life
- LOVES adventuring & traveling
- hates fighting—prefers to avoid/distract enemies
- incredibly fast & agile—attacks by surprise
- the lightning strike just before Koholint made him almost completely deaf
- and gave him arrhythmia (tachycardia)
- gets chest pains/short of breath sometimes
- when he’s backed into a corner, he’ll go feral with his magic rods
- kid’s a walking encyclopedia
- super kindhearted—cannot refuse someone who needs help
- incredibly curious & nosy (if someone needs help, he will find out about it)
- prefers to sign, but can still talk, since he could hear for most his life, but sometimes he’s hard to understand b/c he’s been deaf for a year.
- his eyes are really, REALLY vibrant blue ever since he used the Triforce the second time—they glow faintly in the dark
- somehow more level-headed when in danger than when he’s safe
- he’s like a freaking cockroach he WILL NOT die
- damage reduction items have no effect on pain <3
- pretends Koholint never happened (claims to have only been on 4 adventures)
- ✨avoidance coping✨
(Dialogue Sample): “hey, is this place upsetting you? If it helps, I’ve catalogued 4 separate exit routes and have strategies set up for handling all the monsters we’re likely to encounter here!”
(Outfit Description): he has pegasus boots, the magic cape from aLttP (which turns him invisible and invincible), the Protection Ring from OoA/OoS (which makes him take 1 heart of damage from every attack), the red tunic from ALBW (which reduces damage taken by 75%), and the Heart Ring L-2 from OoA/OoS (which heals him over time)
WIND [WW+PH] 14 yo (he/him)
Nicknamed himself for his position as Wind Waker and his love for the ocean’s breezes
- ADHD (hyperactive) and misophonia
- he will flip out if a noise bothers him too much
- somehow, he always seems upbeat—master of mind over matter
- never loses sight of the big picture
- can be curled up in a ball, crying, hands over his ears, and still say with full certainty that he loves life
- “I’m not okay, but I will be, and that’s enough for me.”
- If he loses hope, the world is literally ending
- Really Freaking Good with a bow and arrow
- his ice, fire, and light arrows are so OP
- uses one of Tetra’s cutlasses ever since he jammed the Master Sword into Ganondorf’s skull
- he’s had a no-killing-humanoids policy since then, too (clarification: he’ll only kill things that burst into purple smoke upon death)
- even though Phantom Hourglass took 10 irl minutes, he counts those months towards his age
- has no items from PH except for the empty hourglass
- the Pirate’s Charm around his neck glows faintly in the dark. members of the Royal Family can speak through it—everyone else can only play the messages he’s recorded on it
- oh yeah, he can record and play audio messages on it
(Dialogue Sample): “how dare you! that’s the same as just giving up!“
(Outfit Description): friendship bracelet Aryll made (a set of 4 for her, Tetra, Wind, and Grandma); bracelet of grass he learned how to weave in the Ocean King’s world; custom made coat a 13th b-day present from Tetra (he’ll grow into it); socks were a gift from Aryll
ALTAIR [SkSw] 22 yo (he/him)
Nicknamed himself for his Loftwing, who he named after the brightest start in Aquila, the eagle constellation
- ADHD (inattentive)
- has prophetic dreams
- Team mom energy
- usually tries to avoid combat—focus on support/defense (clarification: unless he deems it appropriate to draw his sword, in which case, Oh No)
- may or may not be the King of Hyrule
- he is trying to be very diplomatic—likes to talk things out
- loves talking about everyone’s feelings but his own
- he’s the kind of person you grow really close to really fast and tell everything to and then realize several months in that you know NOTHING about him
- kind of under a lot of pressure—acts like it doesn’t affect him so people still feel comfortable coming to him for help
- he’s nominally in charge cuz Hylia sent him to grab the others but he honestly doesn’t care—it’s all Laissez-faire
- unless you make him angry
- it’s very hard to make him angry
- but when he is, he’s like a completely different person—grows completely silent and becomes brutally efficient
- his left eye’s been purple ever since Demise—don’t worry, it’s totally fine and normal for it to be doing that.
NIGHT [TP] 23 yo (she/her)
Nicknamed herself night because night is what comes after the twilight and she felt really lost after the events of TP
- just kind of a girl dw about it
- what happened to her leg? well she HAD it when she fought Ganondorf... idk where it went~ she’s got her knee but nothing below that
- she got that canon repair guy to make her a new leg
- it has a gun in it. it shoots explosive rounds & has 10 shots
- she’s ambidextrous and decided to take full advantage of that by dual wielding blades
- ever since she lost her leg, she had this awesome fighting style where she switches frequently between hylian and wolf, darting around the battlefield on 3 legs before shifting into a hylian in midair, lashing out with both blades, and landing as a wolf. she’s very good at it but after a long battle she’ll be sick for a little while from the magic.
- takes on the leader role determinedly. fiercely protective
- she cares so, so deeply and honestly all the time. it hurts so much but she can’t help it and doesn’t want to. she’ll keep caring even if it kills her.
- has, on some level, lost hope that she’ll ever be happy. Ordon feels intensely wrong, somehow, and she doesn’t know where else to go. everywhere she goes, she feels trapped.
- Midna said “see you later” and then destroyed the portal. Night doesn’t take people at their word. She won’t be vocal about it, but she won’t believe them, either.
- harbors distrust towards Altair but still cares so deeply for him. fully expecting to get backstabbed and that the pain of it will kill her (clarification: this killing is metaphorical)
more art of them here!
#squido's op#loz#linking adventure#this is not gonna be a thing nope nope nope#squido writes#squido draws#legend of zelda
70 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
31061
佐藤るい
dalestreetdaily
Greez!!!!
firentsu
Firentsu
mcborges
mypics
giuliatraini
aFlowerinthewindow