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#and i feel so bad like i abandoned him but he was slipping farther and farther every day it was horrible having to arrange hospice for him

sweetsweetjellybean · 10 months

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S.H. x Reader x E.M. | 18+ No Minors

When you bump into two of your old flames at a party, you can't choose between them. So, why not both? They won't mind sharing, right?

This story takes place at least 10 years after high school.

TW: mfm, dp, a spot of jealousy & squirting

“That’s it, sweetheart. Hold yourself open and let Eddie in.” Steve’s big hands are on your back, pressing you against his chest while you straddle his lap. The soft cotton of his shirt rubs against your bare breasts.

“I can’t, Steve," you whine, knuckles of one hand turning white as you grip the velour brown and tan fabric covering the back of the couch in Rick’s basement. Reaching back, you spread the plump cheek of your ass open with the other, “You’re too big.”

Your breath catches when he twitches inside you. Already stretched tightly around him, his tip nudges a spot that leaves you tingling. Steve chuckles into your neck, and you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s wearing a smug fucking smile.

The voices from the party above blend with the thumping bass into a muted roar that gives the ceiling a pulse. The knob of the locked door at the top of the basement stairs rattling has you freezing up.

“Ocupado,” Eddie yells, but the door jiggles again, “That means piss off.” The clattering ceases, and he turns his attention back to you. “Come on, doll,” he says much softer, with his lips tracing the shell of your ear and the pressure of his slick tip at your other entrance, “Be a good girl for us. This isn’t the first time I’ve had this ass.”

“Fuck,” you moan, unable to stop your hips from rolling, desperate to feel the slide of Steve’s cock.

“Need something?” Steve asks as if he isn’t filling you to the hilt.

God, it’s annoying how wet his cocky attitude makes you. “Wipe that stupid smile off your face, Harrington, or you can jerk off while I fuck Eddie.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, honey,” he says, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping your neck, “I’ve always liked to watch.” His hand comes down hard on your ass with that last word, causing Eddie to groan as he watches it jiggle.

“Help her out, man.” Steve pulls you closer so your back deepens its arch, ass sticking out farther. Eddie’s hand works around your hip, and you can hear the sticky slosh of how wet you are when his thumb teases your clit. The pleasure radiates out, traveling through your cells, relaxing you enough to soothe the sting as the fat head of Eddie’s cock pushes his way inside.

“Good fucking girl,” Eddie moans as you open up enough from him to slide the rest of the way inside. Sweat beads on your skin. The feeling of fullness is overwhelming. You can feel every inch and ridge of them, and you’re drowning in the sensation. Both men are breathing hard, trying to be patient and give you enough time for your wanting to edge out any pain. Eddie’s hand abandons your clit to join his other, rubbing up and down your hips and over your ass, spreading you wider to see how you all connect, ending his exploration with a firm slap.

“How about you bounce that ass for us, baby,” Steve says, loosening his grip to give you room to move. One of your hands stays on the back of the couch while the other slides up Steve’s chest until you’re wrapping it around his throat. Tipping his head back to look into his eyes when you flex your hips experimentally. His lips part, and his eyes roll back–the mask of arrogance slipping. Now it’s your turn to smirk as you keep your hand on his throat and bounce yourself on their cocks.

“That’s it, doll,” Eddie groans in appreciation of your efforts and smacks you again–hard, “Jesus, you’re so fucking sexy taking us this way.”

Your movements are shallow, teasing, not taking them too hard or too fast. This is for you, not them. Two sets of hands vie for purchase on your slick skin, trying to get you to take them deeper. Steve presses on your shoulders, trying to pull you in for a kiss, but you lean back into the expanse of Eddie’s hard chest, turning your head, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to lick into his mouth. Steve watches the two of you kiss, leaning back against the couch, lacing his hands behind his head, trying to look relaxed, but you don’t miss the tick in his jaw.

“Always so sweet for me,” you coo into Eddie’s mouth, going in for another kiss, softly stroking the side of his face.

“I’ll be anything you want.” His mouth moves to your neck as his hands skim up your sides to cup your tits, stopping their bouncing to run his thumbs across your nipples. “Take a lesson, Harrington,” he looks up, throwing Steve a wink.

Steve’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t respond. His eyes are trained on the graceful wave your body makes as you ride him–at the way your pussy sucks him back in on the downstroke.

The change in angle has you rolling your hips, taking them deeper. Liquid heat flows through you as both cocks rub the same sensitive spot from different sides. Your movements start to lose their tempo as your muscles tighten around them.

“Fuck,” Steve moans, grabbing your hips to pull you against him as he bucks up inside you. Eddie’s chest covers your back as he thrusts opposite of Steve moving you back and forth between them, the pace increasing until they’re both frantically fucking into you. Your body’s a live wire. There is such a thing as too good, and this is it. Every sensation has melded together in complete ecstasy.

“I’m so close,” you cry out, black-painted nails pressing into the defined muscles of Steve’s shoulders.

“Cum for us, beautiful. I’m right there with you,” Eddie says into your ear, his hips snapping at just the right rhythm.

Steve’s face is awash with concentration as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. Your lips part as your eyes connect with his, and you detonate, pussy and ass clenching down on their swollen shafts hard enough to make them both grunt. Eddie drives into you once more, spilling his warmth inside you.

Movements slow, then stop. Everyone takes panting breaths. Collapsing against Steve’s chest, you blink away the white spots at the edges of your vision. Eddie presses a few soft kisses along your spine and pulls out with a wince.

“Thanks, doll,” he says, tucking himself into his boxers. He picks up his smokes from the coffee table before letting his body drop heavily into an armchair and lighting up. “Fuck, that was good,” he says with a ciggy dangling between his lips, taking a long drag.

Cum leaks from your ass, dripping down to mix in with the sticky wetness of your already soaked pussy. Steve lightly runs his blunt fingertips up and down your back as your walls flutter around his still hard cock, trembling as the waves of your orgasm continue to crest.

“You didn’t cum,” you point out as his nose brushes down your temple.

“That’s right,” he grips your chin between his thumb and index finger, the smug smile returning to his face. “I let you have your fun.” Rough hands grab you by the ass, flipping you over so your back hits the couch with him still inside you. “Now it’s my turn,” he leans away enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his broad chest and toned arms. Grabbing your hands, he pins them to the couch above your head. The hair on his chest sends little electric bolts as it rubs against your tits. “You’re going to cum again, and this time it’s just for me.”

His head dips to capture your mouth at the same time as his hips start driving into you. The kiss mimics the way he’s fucking you, hard and hungry, taking what he wants. No one has possessed you this way before. Your muffled moans mix with the lewd smacking of your drenched cunt. More slick is forced out with each snap of his hips as his cock pummels your front wall, gliding against your g-spot.

“Steve,” you cry out, breaking the kiss. Turning your head, you bite down on your lip, trying not to scream.

“I know it feels good, honey,” he says, kissing your cheek sweetly while he continues his deep thrusts, “Don’t be afraid to get a little loud. Let everyone know how good I’m fucking you.” He transfers your wrists to one hand. “Hey Munson,” he brings his thumb to his mouth, wetting it with his tongue, “Take a lesson.” Shifting his weight, he reaches between you to circle your puffy clit.

It’s too much. Still so sensitive from your last orgasm, you feel the pressure building up as bright, little stars dance in your vision. His strokes get shorter as your muscles tighten, but it doesn’t slow his pace. He applies a little more pressure with his thumb, your eyes roll back with ecstasy. Electricity pulses through you, spreading warmth as your body is rocketed into another level where you have no control.

“Steve, I’m–”

“You know what I want.” His thumb keeps circling as your hips start to buck and your walls seize around him. He pulls out, leaning back on his heels. “Give it all to me, honey.”

He groans, hand stroking up and down his aching cock as he watches a stream of cum squirt from your pussy. “Good fucking girl.” His hand pumps faster, aided by your slick, as he angles it toward you.

“Who makes you cum like this?”

“You do.” Your voice is a sigh, and your body buzzes with release as you float back down, melting into the cushions under you.

“This is mine,” he says through gritted teeth as he cums hard, ropes of his thick release coating your pussy. Running down your folds, marking you as his…for tonight, anyway.

He drops to his forearms, hovering over you, and you don’t hesitate to pull him closer. His mouth seals over yours, tongues moving lazily.

“This is how I like you,” he says, the back of his knuckles stroking your cheek, “Always so sweet for me.”

AN: As always, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Say a prayer for Rick's couch. 💋 -Jelly

#steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #need to know

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burntb4bydoll · 11 months

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Can you do a 2023 bill with a breeding kink like HE LOVES FILLING HER UP ALL NIGHTT😍

Oh em geeeee🤭i actually had someone else ask for something similar so im gonna write a fic instead of headcannons. thanks for the request!!

2023 Bill Kaulitz x fem!reader

Warnings: breeding kink, dirty talking, fingering

The movie you two were watching suddenly felt like the most unimportant thing in the world. He and you sit between his legs with you back against his chest while you guys watched the now abandoned movie. You seemed to stop caring once you felt Bills hands slip under your waistband, slowly moving farther down your body until his cold fingers brush across your cunt. His teeth nip at your ear before leaving wet kisses down the side of your neck.

“Can I touch you angel? Please?” He moans as you push your ass again his crotch, making his body dip father into the soft mattress. You nodded while mumbling a quick agreement and reach your hands out to grasp his bicep and his wrist. Two of Bills long fingers slipped into your achingly wet entrance, causing a string of curse words to fall from your mouth. He uses his free hand to lift up your chin, and presses a messy kiss to your swollen lips. Bills fingers sped up and you arched your back away from him. A laugh was huffed against your lips and you giggled at the vibrations you felt against your mouth.

“You’re so cute. I love you, my pretty girl.” He coos at you and you feel your heart flutter at his words. You look up towards his face and spoke to him softly,

“I love you too.. I want you to fuck me, please Bill.” He grinned and pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty. You whined at the feeling but Bill quickly shushed you,

“Shh its ok. I’m gonna fill you up real nicely, ok? Gonna make my pretty baby feel so good~.” You let out breathy moan as he quickly flipped you so that he was hovering over your smaller frame. He pulls down your pants and pressed a wet kiss onto your clit. Bill sits up and pulls his own shorts and boxers down.

“Bill, please just fuck me! I need you so badd..” you protested as he teasing rubbed his tip against your entrance.

“Calm down, you’re so impatient. I’ll give you want you want baby, its ok.” He finally pushes into you after he finished talking, and your hands fly to hold onto his arms. He doesn’t waste any time and immediately starts to thrust slowly into your pussy, making it hard to think about anything other than him.

“Fuck, feels so good Bill! Wanna feel you deeper.” You use your legs to wrap around his waist to pull him to sink deeper inside of you. He speed up his thrusts and runs his hands under your shirt to massage your chest, playing with your nipple after groping you. The room starts growing hotter as you feel every inch of him pushing into you. You’re moans grow louder and your eyes start to roll to the back of your head.

“Yeah, you just needed some dick huh baby? Aww, its ok, I know what you need. Just need me to fill you up. You want my cum so bad, hm? Oh I know honey, I know.” You groan, his words only pushing you closer to your slowly building orgasm. The sounds of his hips slamming into your started to sound muffled when he starts to rub quick circles onto your clit.

“Bill! ‘M gonna cum! Please can I cum? Please~” your words came out in a high pitch tone from trying to hold back your orgasm.

“Go ahead angel, cum for me and I’ll cum inside you after, yeah?” Bills words are all you need before your wetness gushed onto his dick. He inhaled sharply and fucks you through it.

“Shit, your pussys so good. Gonna fill my girl up. Gonna fuck all my cum into you baby, be good and take it.” His voice becomes more whiny and you feel his cum spill into you. You arch your back towards him, clenching around him to take everything he gives you. Once you both get through the aftershocks of your euphoric orgasms, he rolls into the bed next to you and pulls your head to rest against his. Your foreheads are touching and he runs his thumb up and down the side of your neck. You feel your eyes start to flutter shut and he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Such a good girl, you took it so well honey.”

#bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz #tokio hotel x reader #georg listing x reader #gustav schafer x reader #tokio hotel smut #tom kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #tokio hotel fanfic

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thatgirl4815 · 8 months

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Self-Destruction

Ray has defied expectations so many times in the last two episodes. Though he is certainly bratty and impulsive, he's also not nearly as bratty as I was inclined to believe before the series aired. This got me thinking about defense mechanisms, and the way Ray's persona could be curated to match the person he wants to be, not necessarily the one he sees himself as.

As evidenced by his reaction to waking up at Sand's place in Ep1, Ray's own sense of self is directly intertwined with wealth. I suspect he's lived his entire life in luxury; more importantly, he's lived with constant comments about this luxury from those around him (come to think of it, how many Ray scenes have there been so far where his wealth hasn't been mentioned?). I'd argue Ray's construction of self is tied up in his money too; he even tells Mew in Ep1 that the only thing he knows how to do with money is spend it. He knows how important money is to his image because there's no escaping it.

So when Sand references the financial disparity between them in Ep2, Ray surely expects it. But instead of growing defensive, we see Ray react to nearly every one of Sand's jabs with a laugh, even the ones that seem particularly targeted at his deepest struggles. Such as--

Ray isn't only a "spoiled, rich brat here"--he's "lonely," and that's the bit that we've seen reiterated throughout this episode. I'd wager it goes much farther back than the show itself, given the subtle references to it in Ep1 with his friend group (i.e., how when he's drunk he always begs them not to leave him). This could be a sign of abandonment issues, likely to do with his mother's death and his father's supposed lack of (emotional) involvement in his life (there's no proof of this yet, but I'd put money on it).

I think Ray has two go-to defenses. The first is alcohol. Understandably, this numbs him to any loneliness he might feel. The second is carelessness--more specifically, the impression of carelessness. There's this common notion that if one pretends to feel a certain way, they might actually begin to feel that way. The same could be said here. If Ray acts unbothered, then he can convince himself that he really is unbothered. The persona blurs with reality until they become one and the same.

Obviously there are consequences to each of these defenses. Alcohol can lead to dependency, creating a greater need that develops into alcoholism. Acting is also dangerous because it's a form of suppression--an attempt at persuasion. It's a desperate man's effort to convince himself he's fine. But this only leads all of one's bad feelings to fester deep inside and create an even larger hole.

The arguable third defense against Ray's loneliness is companionship, which he seeks out in Sand. This has its own risks, as Sand seems to understand, but Ray denies. Intimacy in all its forms is particularly dangerous for Ray because it could only breed more loneliness. If he forms a deep attachment to someone, that's only giving them more power over him later. The moment his control starts to slip is the moment his defense turns into a weapon to be used against him. Again, I suspect this has roots in his mother's death, leading to abandonment and attachment issues.

In terms of future eps, once Ray realizes the control that Sand has over him, I suspect he'll deny it and brush it off. At the same time, he'll need more of it (Sand really does say it perfectly in this last scene). Eventually, this back-and-forth will create an implosion.

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emmadoodlewrites · 10 months

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George’s Turn

Sequel to THIS FIC. Similar warnings apply!!! The lee is not in any distress, however this is an intense tickle fic and machine fic. Hope you guys enjoy it’s short and sweet ^_^

Words: 753

Originally for @mushiewrites birthday hahaha

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There was a chime, and George suddenly felt something wrap around both his wrists, trapping them against the arms of a chair he was trying out. Sam’s old abandoned warehouse was filled with crazy contraptions, but this specific chair seemed to call to him. A similar strap snaked around his waist. He was definitely completely trapped.

Before he was given a chance to even yell for help, the two dormant mechanical arms rose from their abandoned state and aimed themselves at his sides. An automated voice was heard from…somewhere. George couldn’t tell from where.

“Intruder detected. Main timer mode activated. Thirty Minutes.”

“Wha- whAHAHAHA!” In an instant the machine roared to life, and both of George’s sides felt the stimulation of tickling, almost as if two hands were vigorously pinching the sensitive skin, “Nohoho nohoho wahahahait” George pulled at his restraints. Really? A tickling machine? What was with his luck!

The arms started their movement up and down his sides, making him squirm every which way, but nothing worked in stopping the feeling. It felt like a constant vibration under his skin, and it was so bizarre he couldn’t help but focus even more on the feeling. The way it touched his nerves directly; his laughter almost felt as though it was being physically pulled out of him.

“Ihihi cahahahan’t I cahahahan’t” George began to whine as he remembered he’d be stuck like this for an entire thirty minutes. But he could do it, he was sure. It was only tickling. This thought didn’t help much though, when the machine finished it’s first cycle, now stopping it’s movement up and down.

“Plehehehease, juhuhust lehehehet thihihihs behe ohohohover!” The machine didn’t listen. Both arms moved again and made contact with his sides. The right arm buried itself into the bottom of his right side, the other one into his bottom rib on his left. George threw his head back in response to the feeling. It was a pure and raw explosion of stimulation that made him arch his back against his will.

“OHOHOHO MY GOHOHOHOD OHHOHOHO MYHY GAHAHAHAha-” There was no way anything could tickle this bad, seemingly wracking through his entire frame, making his nerves scream from the feeling. “FUHUCK FUHCK FUHUHUHUHUCK” He bucked his hips left and right, trying to twist himself in a way that would move them away from these two pinpointed areas.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOHOP STOP WAHAHAHAHA-” Nothing was stopping it. A machine felt nothing. He was pleading to no one. His strength was leaving him fast, and the yanking he was doing against the straps turned to weak pulls.

By the time the first tears began to fall he had reached eight minutes. But to George it had felt like much longer by now. His body still twitched, and his head stayed thrown back against the back of the chair. Every once in a while he’d shake his head, almost as if he believed the extreme tickling that plagued all of his senses was all in his head. Maybe he could shake it away. Either way he could feel himself slipping farther and farther into a sense of nothing else but how much it tickled. It almost seemed as though everything was tickling, not even just the two sweet spots the arms had decided on.

Twenty minutes to go now. Not that he had any clue. Maybe someone would come find him. He had to be laughing pretty loudly, right? He couldn’t tell from the ringing in his ears. How could someone even perceive this much ticklishness? No time to focus on that now though.

Ten more minutes. He was sure maybe he was used to it now. It was nice. His brain felt like it was on a cloud. He knew of nothing else but what tickling feels like. And what it is like to laugh until your voice feels raw.

It stopped. The straps around his waist and wrists lifted and he melted off the chair and slumped to the ground, still laughing. He shook his head again, trying to snap himself out of his lightheadedness and messy thoughts. Where was he again, what was he doing? Sam’s warehouse. Yeah. His body feel so heavy though. Maybe he can just take a nap. The ground is surprisingly comfortable.

At the end of the day, Dream ended up finding him, fast asleep in a ball. He smirked, looking at the machine a bit behind him. He’d have to tell George a story about this chair when he awakes.

#dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #emmadoodle drabble #lee!george

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nerice · 1 year

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"find the word" snippets round 2!! wahoo!!!

reasonable (eligray banter ft. whatever this implies abt worst man's idea of a fun pastime)

eliada stirs more sugar into a tea he no longer has any desire to drink. his story is much too reasonable to dismiss outright, but that does not mean he has to like it. an existence manifested in the cradle of creation, an existence come face to face with the elusive observer... that would make gray a true ruler. but he cannot be, he isn't, eliada would know. eliada is the only person in this thrice forsaken universe able to say so with certainty. the gold stitched into his spine shudders whenever reina and him have the misfortune of sharing the same physical space, but gray, as aggravating as he is, leaves that part of him cold. he has the sudden suspicion that he is being scammed. "you are certain of your immortality?" he asks. gray dismisses the idea with a wave of his scarred arm. "plenty."

extinct + threaten (this will not end badly, don't worry abt it :)!)

hunting shadows is meant to be more of a patrol situation; keep them out of the palace, keep them from wandering into the surrounding settlements, but cait hunts them with a ferocity. she hunts them for sport. venturing out erratically, drawing circles far and farther still until she finds a nest, or until one is dumb enough to mistake her for prey. her kills are always vicious, her chase relentless, as if she could actually drive them to extinction. all to draw out their leader, the scorpion that took her sister from her—unaware that maheloas is not a shadow at all, but a god—so it's no wonder sky tries to dissuade her from the path of revenge. maheloas may be less threatening than garvith or noah, as far as true ruler power levels go, but even with all her natural talent for swordsmanship, if cait were to ever track him down, she'd only get herself killed.

value (more early eligray content! just rail him on the couch its ok)

surely, if gray clothed himself in better suits than rags, he'd make a fine man. even a man someone such as eliada could fancy. but all of that is tangential, a temptation for when they share too deep a drink. now eliada only has eyes for his true interest: the conspicuous bracelet slipped from under gray's sleeve. it rises and falls with his sleeping breath, the shifting opalescence within the marbles following a stranger rhythm. he'd only seen it twice before; both times gray had quickly pushed it back under his sleeve. both times eliada's attention had been drawn, and both times this interest had set gray in a bad mood. it could be ornamental. it could but that's as unlikely as ever seeing this man in anything that could even loosely be termed an "outfit." no, gray does not value fashion and it follows that he does not wear this bracelet for vanity, either. which means there is a story. and any fragment of an existence as impossible as his is bound to be worth a little risk.

cunning (that one canon jumie/gray dance long before 🐇. :)))

"you two are close?" gray asks to divert her attention. "i pledged my life to her," jumeira says, using his moment of genuine surprise to overtake the dance, clasping his hand and locking him into her own interpretation of the rhythm. all faux seduction gone, she is clean, businesslike composure now as she measures him up, step by step by step. he recognizes a cunning in her that, for the first time this night, worries him. forget the soul-bound pup figuring him out, this woman is worse; a single exchange enough for her to glean the murderous impulses he has kept concealed all night, though she wouldn't know him as soulless even if she cracked him open with her bare hands.

priority (queen of (fucking up) everything 💔)

"i abandoned them. i was at the peak of my power, veiled, i did not feel pain—but i fled. because i could not bear the dead, thousands torn apart in a blink..." nerice was different. reina can barely stand to think its name. it was a different world, a different war. how tired she is of war. she was the beginning of this universe and she has yet to know peace, but now, as the last remnant of her world, she is azra's priority. now she can become a shield; do for these worlds what she couldn't do for her own: face azra, and fight.

relate (like f*ther like d**ghter moments <3. + throwback 2 their talk in lhnh)

gray's daughter has changed since the last time they met, in more ways than one. the bandaged sleeves replaced by long gloves over hard muscle, her once-pale hair now kept in tight braids pulled back and dyed a rusty black that absorbs the dim light of his study. "you associate with soulless, we both know that well enough," sky says, trailing the long edge of his drafting table with two fingers. eliada folds his hands in lieu of a smile. her threat has a familiar flavor of indifferent dominance. "they seem drawn to me," he muses. "a position you can surely relate to, rabbit." the mahogany beneath her fingers cracks. last time her birthname had sent her scrambling for the door, but that, too, has changed. she leans onto the table, the splintering around her fingers deliberate, controlled. annoyance flickers through eliada at the thought of having to patch those cracks after she leaves. "that dark hair can't mask the resemblance." "good," she snarls. "i'm not trying to." (((((a lie))))

adventure (the girls are not ok but once upon a time they were)

lucie remembers the attic with crystal clarity: derelict as the rest of the house, a simple mattress in the corner waiting for her whenever she escaped from the orphanage. avery in her hammock. avery with a foot flexed against the ground to keep herself steady while she aimed rubber bands at the rats infesting the woodwork. avery, head tilted back at the sound of her hasty ascent on the rusty ladder; brimming with excitement for the tales from lucie's latest dream, the next adventure they could replay.

&&& bonus 白花 adventure snippet under the cut due to #tw linn

linnea restrains her with a tight fist in her hair, pouring the liquid down faye's throat until she sputters and chokes, spits some of it back up at her. "vulgar," linnea remarks and shoves her back into the blankets. faye begins to stir beneath her, coming awake, aware as their skin contact draws on. as soon as linnea withdraws her touch, she curls back in on herself, panting and gasping. "not long now. soon you will forget everything, forget the pain," linnea hums as she lays out an assortment of pills in a neat line. pressed herbs, polychrome powders, dried fragments of mushroom. last, right by faye's twitching fingers, a small vial of fluorescent liquid, a syringe, and a tourniquet. "we are going to have an adventure."

CHEERS >:3c

#elia writes #long post /#love the trajectory of eliada / soulless content only to round out with worst girls lol #once again these have been insanely fun at this rate i will have cleaned up a good chunk of my content by the end of this year ww

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linkedkeysau-official · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022- Linked Keys Edition

Day 10- whipping

"This way." Shadow beckoned Future behind him as they sprinted down another hallway. They were so close… They just had to grab Shadow’s locket and get out. Shadow had figured out where the sorcerer was keeping it, so it was just a matter of slipping in and retrieving it. Then he and his fellow prisoner– a friend of Prism, he had found out– were as good as free. Sneaking in to speak with Future periodically, Shadow had been planning this escape with him for at least two weeks, and now they were finally ready to put this plan into action. They were going to get out.

Or at least they thought they were. Everything was going according to plan until the two boys heard footsteps coming down the hall from the other direction. Knowing that they were the only prisoners, it could be assumed that this could only be two things: a monster guard, or the sorcerer himself.

"Run!" Future whispered, tugging on Shadow’s sleeve to urge him to follow.

“Wait. We might be able to take them if we fight together. You have your knife, don’t you? All we need is my locket and then we can get out of here!” Shadow argued.

“Yes, but what if it’s Nihrie? We don’t stand a chance against him as we are now, trust me! Come on, Shadow, let’s just fall back and try again another time!” Future begged. All the color seemed to drain out of his face as he stared at something behind Shadow. Shadow turned around to find the sorcerer himself standing there, his blue glass orb floating at his side– held aloft by magic– and Shadow’s locket in his hand. He had a smirk on his face that immediately told the two boys that he knew about their escape from the beginning.

“You won’t be going anywhere, I’m afraid.” He chuckled, tossing the locket in his hand afew times as if to taunt Shadow. He slowly approached the dark hero, gripping the hood of his tunic as he lifted him up to face level, “This was your idea, wasn’t it, Shadow Link? You haven’t learned a thing from the last few times you tried to defy me. It seems I will have to take it up a notch if I want you to realize the consequences of going against a Divine Sorcerer.” Nihrie dropped Shadow on the floor roughly, leaving the latter coughing and gasping for breath before he was suddenly immobilized and lifted into the air by a glowing blue power.

“Future…!” He called out desperately. But his companion had vanished. Shock and a hint of anger flashed through Shadow’s mind as he knew the other hero must have fled. It was bad enough that he had to resort to asking another to rescue him, but to see the one person he was counting on to be there for support just bail on him when he needed it most was downright infuriating. Because now for the second time, he had let his guard down and tried to make a friend only to be stabbed in the back.

“Dammit… CURSE YOU, YOU COWARD!!!” He screamed as Nihrie continued dragging him farther and farther away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Future hadn’t meant to abandon Shadow. He had already been running, trusting that the dark hero would follow. When he realized that he wasn’t, he tried to turn back, but panic froze him when he heard Nihrie’s voice. He tried to force his body to move but he just couldn’t. His legs had turned to jelly, and he was stuck, paralyzed with fear, hiding behind the corner of the wall as he listened to the conversation. It struck a chord, carving a deep emotional wound inside of him when Shadow cried out, cursing him for not coming to help. But if he even thought about what would have happened if he had let himself get caught as well, he could almost feel the burn on his chest flare up again, like the sorcerer’s magic were still flowing into him, searing his flesh so painfully he could hardly breathe. Dammit, he was supposed to be a hero. Why was he so… weak?!

The moment Nihrie was out of sight and Future was able to move again, he made it a point to follow at a distance. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, but he had to find some way to help. He couldn’t just sit here, a useless, nervous wreck, while an innocent person took the full blame and was punished for something he had a part in as well. He could never live with himself. But as he finally caught up to Nihrie and Shadow, a horrifying scene greeted him.

Shadow was suspended in the air, held in front of what appeared to be the exit of the prison (at least he knew where that was now). A harsh light streamed in, nearly blinding Future as he stared ahead; he’d been in this dark place for far too long. Though the light seemed to be having an even worse effect on Shadow. Even from a distance, Future could hear him whimpering. His pale skin was beginning to take on a reddish tone, like a very quick sunburn. He had his locket around his neck once more, and he always claimed it would protect him from the light, but it didn’t seem to be doing much for him right now.

“You’re lucky I was in a good mood today, Shadow. Had I not been, I would have shattered that mirror and ended your life right there. I have been lenient with you thus far, allowing you to continue sneaking around and visiting that kid as you have been. You refused my requests and my orders, and yet instead of beating you into submission, I gave you more freedom. Yet you repay me by leading another to assist you in making my life more difficult. You have disrespected me time and time again, and I will not stand for it anymore.” Nihrie said coldly.

“You’re right. I have been an ass, disrespecting such kindness. How could I do something so horrible to the one who gave me the freedom to roam this hellhole as I wished rather than being beaten senseless like him for doing even the smallest thing wrong!” Shadow feigned remorse, heavy sarcasm in his voice. Nihrie did not appreciate his sass. In one swift movement, a thick, stiff string whooshed through the air, striking the side of Shadow’s body and leaving a line of blood as if he’d been cut. Nihrie withdrew the whip, glaring at the teen,

“Do not use that tone with me, boy. You are at my mercy now, and I could just as easily shatter that locket that is your life source anytime I wish.” He growled, “That was a warning. Now, I suggest you behave, and this process will be far less painful for you.”

“Like hell I’m gonna listen to you. I don’t care what you do to me. I will escape, and I will make you regret all of this.” Shadow spat.

“Why are you still so hell-bent on defying me? You have nothing left to fight for, little darkling. Your friend is dead, and your fellow escapee abandoned you.” Nihrie pulled his hand back, ready to lash out again with his whip. The weapon dug into Shadow’s already burned skin, causing another wave of pain to wash over him. Shadow fought the urge to scream. He wasn’t giving this bitch the satisfaction.

“Dead? What do you mean dead? What did you do to Pris– AGH!!!” Shadow tried to ask before he was cut off by another sharp strike to his body.

“Ohhoho… You don’t know, do you?” Nihrie gave a sinister grin, knowing that he had the chance to truly break the spirit of the dark hero. He cracked the whip again. Shadow couldn’t hold back his screams anymore. His focus had been shaken by the comment about Prism. Nihrie didn’t elaborate further, remaining silent as he continued whipping Shadow again and again. Between the burns and the lacerations left on his body by the whip, Shadow was in pure agony. With every strike, his head spun. He barely even noticed the tears beginning to trace lines down his cheeks, though he couldn’t stop it if he did. The pain was not letting up. Shadow could barely even breathe, his whole body hurt so much. Even if his pride would allow him to beg for mercy, for some form of release, he couldn’t. His voice was gone, left hoarse and raspy from screaming and the way the sunlight, relentless as the whip, beat down on his body, turning his skin a bright angry red and drying out his whole body.

Make it stop! Please make it stop!!! He thought. The whip cracked again. Blood dripped down his body, staining his white pants almost the same red as his burned skin. It only stopped as Shadow began to feel himself losing consciousness. That was the point where Nihrie decided he had enough.

"Ah, ah, ah! You don't get to pass out yet. I have one more thing I must show you." Nihrie slapped his face, bringing him back to semi-awareness. Shadow wondered what Nihrie could possibly have to show him after this, but he knew it wasn't going to be good whatever it was. The doors slammed shut, blocking out the light once more— the one bit of relief Shadow had from the pain— as Nihrie dragged him away once more.

Future stood there in stunned silence. How could he let Nihrie do such a thing to Shadow? How could he not have stepped in?! Maybe Shadow was right, he really was a coward. It was shocking to think he had actually been born as the hero of courage when he got so scared he couldn't even move in situations like this.

He tried to follow Nihrie and Shadow once more, but lost sight of them before long. With no other way to find them without risking himself being discovered, Future had no choice but to retreat back to his cell. Surely Nihrie would be back to make sure he was back in there anyway. And if Future wanted to keep his mind clear enough to figure out a way to help Shadow, he'd be better off behaving himself for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, Future decided he should apologize to Shadow for leaving him behind. He took the small canteen of water that Nihrie had been kind enough to provide for him, in hopes that bringing something to drink would be an okay peace offering, especially since it would probably help with the damage done by the sunlight. Using his pocketknife to pick the lock (Wind had taught him a few tricks), he was able to break into Shadow's cell, finding the dark hero attempting to sleep on the floor. Blood soaked through his clothes, and what little skin was visible still looked very red, making Future's heart ache even more with remorse.

"Shadow? I, um… I brought you some water. Look, I'm really sorry I—"

"Get out." Shadow said firmly

"Wh-what?"

"Get. Out. You think I want your stupid pity after all you did? You think an apology and some water is going to fix this, you fucking traitor?!" Shadow stood up quickly, shoving Future back roughly, "You promised. You promised you would back me up if I helped you escape. I was counting on you. And when I needed you most, you bailed on me! I took the blame for something we both did. I took the beating, the whipping, the burns… Because you were too fucking selfish and cowardly to step in to help me."

"Shadow please, listen to me. I didn't mean to—"

"The sorcerer was right. You really are just like those other so-called heroes. Call someone a friend until they get into trouble. Then you just abandon them to meet their fate alone. I saw what happened to Prism. You're all a bunch of selfish fakes!"

"Wait, what happened to Four— er, Prism?"

"He's dead. He was killed by a Darknut. Even split, he stood no chance. And not a single one of your 'friends' came to help him. They left him to die." Shadow spat, "And now I know you're no different. So go away. Leave me alone. I can get myself out. I'd say you can go to hell, but we're basically already there, so you can just rot in here." Shadow pushed him out of the cell and slammed the door shut.

Future had so many questions. That… couldn't be right. The others would never abandon one of their own. Right? It had to be a trick… Nihrie did always have a way of making sure his targets only saw what he wanted them to see. But how was Future supposed to convince Shadow of that?

Perhaps… a better peace offering was needed. And Future knew exactly what to do…

#linked keys #loz au #LK #not lu #LK Future #LK Shadow #LK Nihrie #tw: torture

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years

Text

(The Bad Batch) Crosshair x Reader: Chilly

Warnings: blizzard, cold, Crosshair being grumpy for thirty seconds, some cuddles, and some kissy-kissy.

Your teeth chattered and body shuddered in futile attempts to warm itself. Even though the fire your rescuer had built emanated warmth, you hadn’t felt much of a change in the last several minutes laying in the cold sleeping bag beside it. The rickety ice-fishing shelter was a haven from the snowstorm outside, but you weren’t out of the woods yet, so to speak.

Getting lost in a blizzard during a mission sure had its downsides. You were fortunate that Crosshair had found you when he did.

Speaking of the man, you glanced up as Crosshair ducked into the doorway, pulling the wooden door shut behind him. He removed his helmet and set it down on the icy floor before throwing another log onto the fire. The roar of its flames was so pleasant. An ache settled in your cold hands as you let them hover in range of the warmth. You almost didn’t notice how Crosshair started removing his armor. Almost.

“Cross, w-what are you d-d-doing?”

Without looking at you, he unbuckled the last of his armor until he was just in his blacks and boots. “I commed the others to report that I found you. Tech said you were exposed to the cold for too long.”

“Sure f-feels like it,” you muttered. “What d-d-do we do?”

“We need to get you warm.” With expression gruff, he climbed over until he was right beside your sleeping bag and peeled back the cover. His intense gaze watched you expectantly. “Take off a few layers.”

“O-okay.” This time, the stutter wasn’t from the teeth-chattering. You reached up a cold hand to the collar of your heavy coat, fingers fumbling around the zipper. The action was difficult as it was with your hands being numbed from the cold, but having him watch you like a hawk didn’t help.

“Quickly,” he snapped.

“Sorry, i-it’s a little hard to move.”

He sighed, but despite his earlier display of impatience, his hand was gentle as he pushed yours away and set to work on removing your coat. He helped you shrug your way out of it. You were able to pull the sweater off over your head, leaving you in the tank top and pair of leggings you had underneath your gear. Goosebumps bloomed along the bare skin of your arms, and another shudder racked your body.

Crosshair wasted no time in climbing into the sleeping bag, pulling the cover up over the both of you, though he hesitated when you drew closer to his lean form. You were desperate for warmth at that point, but you didn’t want to make it too uncomfortable for him.

You peeked up at him shyly from where your head rested against his chest. “M-mind if I…?”

“Do what you need to.”

You shifted to tangle your legs with his and breathed a sigh of relief. Your one arm wrapped around his torso, hand accidentally brushing a patch of skin left exposed by the hem of his blacks riding up. He jolted from your ice-cold touch with a hiss.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. Your heart began to thud wildly when he reached for your hand and tucked it under his blacks to place it on the hot skin there. “Thank you,” you breathed. Crosshair fidgeted for a moment as he got used to the temperature.

Neither of you spoke, so you listened to the soothing sounds around you as your body began to heat up. The campfire crackled and snapped nearby. It cast shadows on the old walls of the shelter. If you listened hard enough, the howling winds outside could be heard. What fascinated you the most was the steady drumming of Crosshair’s heart inside his chest. His breathing hadn’t slowed, signalling that he wasn’t completely relaxed.

You hated the thought of making him uneasy. Over the time you’d spent with the Bad Batch, the snarky sharpshooter had grown on you. Well, he wasn’t always snarky. He sometimes acted like that when it came to newcomers, or once in a while he’d throw in a sarcastic remark to tease his brothers. Most of the time, he was just quiet. You had learned to read his body language, and you could tell at the moment that something occupied his mind.

“You okay?” You were finally able to stop the chatter of your teeth.

“Next time, report back to the ship when you’re told,” he grouched. “We didn’t know what to do when we lost connection to your comm. Hunter nearly had a heart attack.”

That was Crosshair code for, “I nearly had a heart attack.”

“I tried,” you argued. “My comm was broken, remember? I couldn’t hone in on the ship’s signal. My tracks were snowed over, and I got lost.”

Crosshair went silent again for a moment as he brooded over it. There really hadn’t been much you could do after escaping the snow beast other than remain where you were and hope the others would find you. So that’s what you did.

“Perhaps next time you should let one of us come with you,” he said curtly.

He did have a point there. Maybe if you hadn’t gone off alone in the first place, things might’ve turned out differently. But you had insisted that you didn’t need to be watched.

Oh, the sweet irony.

Crosshair huffed, seeing that he had won the argument. His chest rose and fell with the action. As much as you wanted to be irritated, you didn’t have it in you. Not while you were laying in his arms with your face buried in the shoulder of his blacks. Guilt seemed to be the only emotion other than relief that you were capable of at the moment.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology was quiet, laced with humility as you abandoned your pride and simply let yourself be grateful. Crosshair had braved the snowstorm to find you, after all. He was doing everything he could to make sure you were safe, allowing you to cling to him with ice-cold hands and feet by the fire.

He shifted a little, draping an arm around you. Despite the fact that you were already pressed against him, the action felt more intimate. He was finally holding you in return, actively helping you to get warm. You took it as his way of accepting the apology, and fortunately, he didn’t stay on the topic any longer.

“Are you doing any better?” he asked, glancing down at you. His eyes didn’t hold the same irritation as before. They even softened a bit as you met them.

“Yeah, much better,” you said. “It’s nice to be able to feel my fingers again.” You flexed the digits experimentally against his skin, and Crosshair’s breath hitched. His arm had subconsciously tightened around you. The unexpected reaction piqued your interest. This time, you let your hand run just a little farther up past the hem of his blacks. Crosshair inhaled suddenly.

“Does that bother you?” you murmured, glancing up to try and read his expression. Though his face showed the same indifference it usually did, his eyes met yours with smoldering intensity.

“No.”

Without breaking eye contact, you did it again, letting your hand roam farther up his side. You felt the expansion of his ribcage as he inhaled deeply. As it contracted, you released a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For several minutes, the two of you stayed like that. Your palm smoothed across the length of his side, fingertips brushing over a few prominent scars. Your skin had gone from cold to warm to searing in Crosshair’s arms. Did he feel it too? Did he notice the pounding in your chest? His heart had picked up its speed.

He studied your expression like a hawk as his hand came up to brush your shoulder. It was a light touch, delicate, as if he was testing the waters. His eyes flickered to the spot before returning to your gaze. The tension was unmistakable.

Unavoidable.

Irresistible.

Crosshair took in your reaction; how your eyes fluttered closed and how lips parted slightly. You were completely at ease with his touch, and you could feel that he had finally relaxed into yours. With eyes shut, you felt his hand run down the length of your arm. His warm breath fanned your face.

“Cross,” you sighed.

Both of you had pulled the rubber band as far as it could go. With your utterance of his name, it finally snapped, and his mouth was on yours. Heat exploded in your chest at the realization that he was kissing you. The hand that you let linger at his waist clenched around his blacks. Crosshair shifted to lean on his elbow, bracing his other arm beside your head on the pillow, as he kissed you harder. He could appear cold, calculated...but his kisses weren’t. They were scorching.

When you separated, so many questions flew through your mind as he gazed at you.

Was this a dream? Why, oh why, did his lips feel so warm and good against yours? Was this a slip-up, or did he feel for you the way you felt for him?

Only one way to find out.

“I care about you, Crosshair,” you confessed. He didn’t withdraw from you or give a look of annoyance, which was a good sign. It was only when he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead that you fully understood. You beamed and nuzzled farther into the crook of his neck as he got settled on his side again. The sleeping bag had become a cocoon of warmth, though his arms still encircled you for good measure.

His heartbeat had gone steady. His breathing slowed. And you relished the minutes of peace until the storm cleared and the others were sure to find you.

#crosshair x reader #bad batch x reader #the bad batch reader insert #crosshair reader insert #crosshair x y/n #the bad batch crosshair x reader #bad batch crosshair #crosshair imagine #bad batch reader insert #crosshair x you

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strangelysamantha · 3 years

Text

bittersweet ☆

possessive!rafe x plus!sized reader.

warnings: crazy rafe, possessive and obsessive behavior, swearing, underage drinking, reader gets hurt, physical fight, ect.

words: 2,167.

summary: you went to a local party by the beach when rafes unstable side peeked out. jj maybank finds you alone, and decides to talk to you. rafe gets possessive and upset, thinking that jj was hitting on you.

request?: no :)

a/n: i’m working on requests but since my computer is down it’s taking longer because i hate typing on my phone especially because tumblr always deletes what i’ve written. i’m hopeful that my computer will be fixed by tomorrow, until then i’ll try and produce a few stories since i’ve been MIA for a few days. remember to like and comment if you enjoy this! <3

my masterlist

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“please just come with me.” rafe frowned as he sat on your porch pleading to you, telling you why you should go to a beach party with him. “why rafe?” you frown, not in a partying mood. instead, you would much rather stay home and do a movie marathon. “please baby, i swear i’ll make it up to you.” you roll your eyes at his begging. “fine, but only because you are so cute.” his eyes sparkle as a smile lifts on his lips, you pull him into a quick kiss.

you walk back inside to get dressed for the bonfire. rafe was wearing blue and orange, and you wanted to match him. so, you grabbed a pair of dark blue ripped jean shorts, and an orange v-neck. you apply some perfume and jewelry before putting on some shoes. just as you were finishing up, rafe walked into your room smirking. “awh, you wanted to match with me.” he smiled. despite you knowing his look was filled with adoration you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under his long glance. “obviously, don’t you want people to know i’m yours?” you question him, waiting for his response. “well, matching clothes won’t change anything. everyone already knows.” you nod smiling before pulling him into a kiss.

once you pull away from the kiss, he grabs your hand and leads you to the car as he drives to the beach. his hand finding its way on your thigh; gripping it tightly. while he drove to the beach, you paid close attention to your phone, checking social media for any major updates. rafes grasp on your thigh loosened as the car came to a halt. you were parked on the beach, the sun was already setting.

you both exit the car, rafe swiftly moving from his side of the car to yours. “thank you for coming with me.” his hand finds yours, pulling them together. “of course, i love hanging out with you.” he lets go of your hand, and moves his arm to hold closely around your waist. the two of you begin to walk towards the already drunken teen filled beach.

you frown at the amount of trash that litters the sand. you stay close to rafe, as he approaches topper and kelce. “hey guys.” you say to them to make conversation. they nod in your direction, acknowledging you before their attention turns towards rafe again. you don’t pay any mind to what the boys are discussing. after a while you become bored, so you slowly slip out of rafes arm to go get a drink. “i’m going to go get a drink, do you want one?” you ask rafe, and he glances at you smiling. “yes please, thanks baby.” you lean in for a quick kiss before leaving to go get drinks. you weren’t a heavy drinker, always scared of what you would say or do under the influence, so you grab yourself a water and grab a beer for rafe.

you return to the spot you were in earlier, but it’s now vacant. rafe, topper, and kelce all leaving you behind. you frown, looking around for them but coming up short. you had no idea where they could be since this beach was huge. you don’t bother wasting your time looking for them, instead you start to head for the bonfire.

you weren’t surprised that rafe had left you all alone. this always happened. he would beg you to go to something, just to abandon you half way through it. it didn’t bother you, it just worried you, scared of what he was doing without you.

once you arrived at the bonfire, you decided to down the drink once made for rafe, the beer stinging your throat. you drank three more chugs before drinking water as well. it doesn’t take long for the alcohol to come into effect. you knew it had clouded your judgement when you were laughing at jj maybanks jokes of all people. “i’m telling you, these people were fucking crazy.” you giggled as he made exaggerated reactions. “you’re telling me! that sounds scary as fuck. i wouldn’t have survived.” he shook his head looking down at you, “i’m sure you would have figured something out.” you nod at him.

“have you seen those dudes since?” you ask, intrigued by his story. “actually, yeah. their story isn’t the brightest… sheriff told me that they-” his voice cut off as he made a slicing noise above his throat. your eyes widened in shock. “oh my god! really??” you grab his arm, “what if they came back for you! bro no way…” your heart rate quickens at the thought of evil men chasing random kids. “no, i know right, scary as shit. i guess it’s bittersweet because they died, but now they aren’t after us anymore.” he shrugs, sipping his red solo cup. “i guess. it’s still scary. so many people are unexpectedly dying nowadays, i definitely-” you were interrupted as rafe put an arm around you, eyeing jj up and down.

“continue baby, what were you saying?” rafe asked, smiling at you for a split second before it disappeared when his eyes focused on jj again. “oh we were just talking about bad men, and how this town is scarier than it used to be.” he nods at you. “jj what are you doing talking to my girl?” jj stands up straighter, “why do you care? do you own her or something?” rafe scoffed, “yes.” the confusion on your face was evident and jj was quick on acknowledging it. “oh really? by the look on her face, she doesn’t agree.” he glances at you, but you have quickly recovered. “what are you talking about maybank?” you interrupted the two immediately not wanting a fight to break out. “i was just talking to jj because he had a funny story. it wasn’t anything like that, i swear babe.” you words slurred together and it was evident you weren’t in the right headspace.

rafes eyes widened as he fully realized that you were so intoxicated that you had no idea what was going on, “what the fuck maybank? you got her drunk for what? you trying to fuck her?” jj couldn’t believe rafes nerve. “one, she was drunk when she came up to me, and two, i don’t need to fuck her, i already have.” your heart dropped at jj's confession.

“maybank, do you want to take that back?” you could tell rafe was trying to give jj a chance to redeem himself before all hell breaks loose. your hand tightened on rafes bicep trying to get him to move on, but he wouldn’t budge. “can't take back what’s already happened.” jj shrugged again, smirking.

rafe was the first one to throw a punch, you stumbled back as he had pushed you away. with your luck, your head had landed right against the beverage table, scratching the side of your face from your temple to the side of your cheek. you hiss in pain, moving your fingers to feel it. when you retreat your hand you see it covered in blood. you groan in pain, hissing as the cool air makes it sting.

you clumsy stand up, looking ahead to see rafe and jj were still fighting. “rafe!” you weakly call out, but he was stuck in his own little bubble as he pounded his fists against jjs face. you stumble away, walking far from the beach. you were too tired to even try to process what was going on. the yelling behind you quietly faded as you made your way farther along the beach.

not even a minute later you hear rafe running after you. “what rafe?” you ask, but your back is still turned to him. “baby, please just- i’m sorry okay. i, i don’t know. i was just scared he’d take you from me. i don’t want to lose you, you are all i have. you mean too much to me for some pogue to take.” his rambling only pissed you off more. “rafe, please. i have a headache, all i want is to go home.” you frown.

his eyes moved from the sand up to your face, surprised by the huge gash on your face that was oozing blood. “baby?! who did this to you?” you couldn’t contain your anger any longer. you used all your strength, pushing his shoulders back. “you did! you fucking asshole.” the fact that he didn’t even budge from the push you sent his way, pissed you off even more. “baby, i, you know i would never do anything to intentionally hurt you?” your silence only scared him even more.

“baby, i wouldn’t- i didn’t mean to hurt you.” his breathing was heavy as the realization hit him. he had undeniably hurt you, and he had undoubtedly lost you. “no, because this can’t be happening. i can't lose you. baby, i- it was an accident. please, you gotta understand i didn’t want to hurt you, it was just jj fucking all over you, and the way he tried to claim you, saying he already had you, it just- the anger i couldn’t even hold myself back.” you nod at his words. “rafe i understand that. i, just. i don’t want this. do you think i want you to assault every guy who even looks at me? it makes me feel like shit. do you know how shitty it makes me feel? that you think i would chose anyone else when i have you. it hurts to know that you think i’m not loyal enough.” you frown, tears easily falling out of your eyes.

“baby- it’s not you i’m worried about.” you nod, “i know… it just doesn’t feel that way.” he goes to speak again but you quickly interrupt him. “can we please continue this at your house? my head seriously hurts.” his eyes soften, his hand cupping your cheek. he hesitated before he pulled you into a kiss, when you kissed him back he could feel his smile come back. “rafe.” you say again, before pointing to your head. “right baby, i’m sorry. let's go.” you nod.

he walks you to his car, opening the door for you before you hop in. he puts your seatbelt on for you. his protective side shining through once again. he walks around, before hopping in himself. he starts the car. “seatbelt…?.” you question. he laughs quietly. “of course, baby.” you nod as he puts his seatbelt on. his hand reached for your thigh again, before he drove the two of you to his house.

when you arrived, your head was pounding. you could feel it throbbing, the blood dripping onto your orange v neck. you frown at the sight. the two of you walk inside, and he immediately pulls you into his room, placing you on the edge of his bed. he runs to his bathroom grabbing a table cloth and the first aid kit.

he opens the first aid kit, placing it beside you. he takes the wet washcloth, wiping away the blood. after cleaning it, he added antibacterial cream, and then covered it in gauze. he kissed the bandage covering it before walking to his closet.

“here. wear this, and i’ll wash your t-shirt.” you nod, “thank you rafe.” he turns around and you swiftly change your t-shirt. he turns around, his heart hammering inside his chest, still scared about where you stood.

“rafe. i don’t want to lose you. i love you a lot, but i don’t want to continue this if every time a guy looks at me funny, you beat him up. i appreciate you protecting me, but they aren’t worth it.” he nods, soaking up every word. “if you can promise me that you won’t fight random people anymore, then i think we can work this out, and work through this.” he smiles softly, “is that a deal?” you ask. “of course baby. i promise i won’t fight anyone unless they really deserve it.” you roll your eyes, “fine. that’s good enough; but please, let’s hope it doesn’t get too bad.” he laughs, “let’s hope.” you grab his hands, realizing they were quite bruised. “let’s ice these.” he follows you to the kitchen, as you prepare an ice pack.

once the ice pack is ready, you place it on one hand, the other is intently grabbing your thigh. “baby you don’t have to do all this.” he reached for the ice and you lightly pushed his hand away. “you fixed me up, let me fix you up.” he sat back and watched as you cared for his bruises. rafe was glad he didn’t lose you, and he was glad you were still there with him. having you so close to him made him realize he couldn’t sacrifice anything to lose you. he kissed your bandages once more before you two prepared for bed and started to comfortably cuddle together.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #possessive rafe cameron #plus size reader #rafe cameron x plus!reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron story #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron obx imagine #rafe imagine

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yuzukult · 3 years

Text

no more 02 (m) || myg & reader

title: no more pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: some angst, fluff, one-sided love (unrequited love?), college!au, secret relationship, smut word count: 14.5k prompt: yoongi doesn’t like your consistent pining, and one day, after finally coming to terms that he will never reciprocate any feelings back, you give up. yet, for some reason, yoongi is the one who can’t come to terms with the consequences of when he says ‘no more.’ warnings: public sex (in the bathroom), unprotected sex a/n: so yes, you’ve heard it right, i deleted and rewrote this fic a total of 4 times! we are our own worst critics, and i admit sadly that it’s evidently true. i hope you guys enjoy because... like i said.... four times.......... and... idk how i feel about this one but I’M DONE! (i have mixed feelings about this) it’s the end of my 2-part series!

taglist: @jalexad @hopeonysus @min-yus @cuteipat @flowerblu00 @cutechim @hecticwonderer @joondala 01 || 02

Yoongi learns that pinks are his favorite color… at least, his preferred color on you.

He’s fond of when your lips are tinted a shade similar to strawberries from your sheer Dior lip balm he sees you apply on frequently. And when he presses his lips against yours, although it doesn’t taste as sweet as you look, he continues to shower you with pecks across your face nonetheless while you laugh uncontrollably at the ticklish sensation. Pink suits a pretty girl like you.

Or when you smile; cheeks rosy with an extra layer of an apricot blush, your skin radiates as if it’s been caressed by the sun, glowing in parallel to when it sets in the horizon.

There was a date where he’d driven you to the shore, skies full of shades of warmth—hues of oranges, yellows, and reds, you had worn a slinky midi slip dress in a lovely heirloom pink paired with an oversized taupe puffer jacket that matched with the colors of the sand beneath your toes. He recalls the way your face transitions to a crimson tinge in semblance of the sunset from a compliment he made, and wanted nothing more than to continue to make you bashful for all the time the future brings.

When the two of you are with your mutual friend group, he sits a bit farther away from you as much as his heart yearns to be closer, but he’s to keep this relationship classified from your friends. And yet his eyes are constantly glued to your silhouette; your chest vibrating in laughter and gaze sparkling in interest at stories being shared.

You’re gracious and courteous in a way that when the food arrives at the table, you serve everyone first but yourself. Confirming the table has a glass of water for each person before you have one. When ordering, you keep in mind of anyone’s allergies or food preferences because you want all your friends to be comfortable at the outings.

He eventually discovers that you do more than grab glue from your childhood home two hours away for Jungkook to finish his project. You’ve been there for support when Taehyung met his biological dad for dinner, a man who’d abandoned him after birth and wanted to reconnect; and although Taehyung was hesitant, you provided the confidence he needed to overcome the obstacle. Or when Jimin’s grandmother passed, you drove two cities over to see him, to assist his family with the guests and the planning, easing the pain and burden on a friend’s shoulders. And there was that time when Seokjin and his long-term girlfriend Hyerim had broken up over a misunderstanding and you’d gone out of your way to get them to communicate concisely again. It was all you.

Yoongi barely expresses it, but he thinks he’s the luckiest guy in the world. You’re overly caring about your friends, gregarious, and sporting a beautiful grin everywhere you go, even through the hard times. Plus, when you snort you sound like an angel, causing his heart to quicken its pace whenever he hears it. He wishes that he could be the reason you stay happy. It’s crazy. He’s so smittened.

He’s got it bad for you.

And the truth is, he doesn’t mind it.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Four slices of bread popping into the toaster, avocado sliced and pitted, a carton of eggs placed onto the counter, and a pan on the stove with oil that coats the surface of it is a familiar sight, one that Yoongi has grown accustomed to since his confession. Reaching over, you snag an egg from its compartment before tapping it a couple times against the edge of the evidently “fake-granite” countertop in prior to cracking it over the heated skillet, dropping the contents with a sizzle. Waving a spatula in hand, you then point Yoongi with it in question, a brow lifted in perplexity. “What do you mean that you’ve never done this before? What? Fry an egg? You’ve seen me do this countless times.”

Yoongi finds himself a spot in the kitchen, resting against the bent of the counter. Cooking has never been his forte, he admits, and he’s nothing but thankful when you offer to whip up a meal on days where he’s short on cash and rather not eat out. You don’t query about his actions, taking it with stride and offering to throw something together instead. It’s one of the things he learns to cherish; you’re continually so welcoming, understanding of all situations without needing to know any details.

“I’m not talking about that,” He exasperates, puffing a breath out that shuffles the placement of his bangs in annoyance for being unclear. “I’m talking about this. Us. I’ve never dated a girl before.”

You hum, mouth on the tip of the spatula. “So you’ve dated a boy before?” You tease.

Yoongi doesn’t notice though, too busy trying to swallow the anxiety stuck in his throat. “No, I meant… I meant that I’ve never dated in general. You’re my first relationship. You’re my first girlfriend.”

A smile tugs on the ends of your lips, eyes swirling in appreciation. He’s changed now, gradually becoming the version of himself that you forevermore imagined and hoped he was, in spite of his tough exterior and denial from friends. Yoongi reaches further than expectations. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.”

He scoffs. “Don’t be grateful.”

You tilt your head in bewilderment. Was he trying to be humble now? “Not quite catching on. Why can’t I be grateful?” The eggs’ edges begin to brown, yolk slowly cooking but it’s in the perfect stage where it’s runny, so you skid the flat part of the kitchen tool underneath, scooping it onto a plate beside you.

“Well,” Yoongi sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to disappoint you if I’m not exactly… boyfriend material, per say.”

You laugh; it’s the one that sounds like his favorite song, one that fills his ears to the brim with muse and elatedness. “Yoongi…” You switch the stove off before stepping closer, hands cupping his cheeks despite the spatula still in hand. “You trying is enough. I don’t want anything else. Show me how you feel about me, and keep doing that. You always have been boyfriend material, you never wanted to be one.”

“I never thought I needed to be.” Yoongi reveals. He’s starting off by answering your abundance of ‘whys and hows’, delaying his truthful responses due to the fact that he’s in the midst of deciphering them himself. This is uncharted territory, and he'd be damned if he didn’t at least try to make it somehow work. Although unanticipated and on a random Saturday morning, you don’t deny him from elaborating what goes through his mind anyway.

“Back in high school, I had this ultimate goal in mind. Don’t get attached. I always heard about these guys who dated their high school sweethearts after their graduation day, into college, and ended up either breaking up or their significant other results in dictating everything in their lives. Then actually getting to college, every one of my friends that were in relationships were on a leash. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be free, do whatever I want, never have to pay the consequences if I brought a girl home from the club one night by accident. That if one day I woke up and wanted to drive to Busan, hop on a plane spontaneously, no one would tell me that I couldn’t. Or if I wanted to go to a party, or even fuck around and do stupid shit with my friends.”

Unsure how to react, you’re quiet. The clicking start of the stove again, and the cracking of another egg into the skillet with a sear pierces through the silence, and Yoongi inhales a deep breath before continuing. “That’s pretty much why I kept rejecting your advances. It wasn’t that I didn’t like you—hell, I’m not even sure if I did or not at the time, I was occupied with trying to push back any thoughts if I did. And when you abruptly moved on, going on dates with other guys… I couldn’t handle it.”

“Couldn’t handle what?” It isn’t a question you want to ask, but you do anyways to keep the conversation going. The impairment of your thoughtful responses may result in a setback instead. You want him to know you’re still listening.

“The whole… I don’t know! The thing. Namjoon is a cool guy, there’s no hiding that. He’s handsome, strong, fucking smart, generous… I don’t even want to go on. He’s the complete opposite of me. Which means he’s everything you are, and who wouldn’t want to pair you up with Namjoon? He’s the epitome of a perfect guy for you. So yeah, I got a little upset and I didn’t want to stand seeing you with him.”

“Yeah, but he’s not the one I was interested in.” You interrupt, gaze never shifting onto him, rather opting to stick onto the cooking egg on the stove. “I went out with him because Taehyung thought it’d be a good way to get over you. And he’s not wrong for doing that either, he’s looking out for me.”

He senses the stiffness in your body; it triggers him to immediately come from behind to snake his arms around your frame, nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You’re warm, and the scent of a mixture of cardamom and sandalwood permeates him with a disparate kind of intoxication. “But without Namjoon, I never would’ve stepped out of my comfort zone. I would have never gotten up for once and taken initiative for something that would incorporate into my happiness. I did whatever I was doing, in hopes that one day I’d enjoy things by myself and I didn’t, I never did. No matter how many girls I’ve slept with, or how many I’ve tried talking to, it’s not the same. And friends, they’re great, but they don’t all tell me things with genuine honesty like you do or let me perceive life divergently. They don’t make me want to be better, to be kinder. It’s different now.”

It’s your turn to scoff and you shake your head, poking at the sides of the egg with the spatula, pretending that his touch doesn’t phase you one bit. He makes your heart skip beats, fall into a daze, and in the position of lost yet at the same time, found. “What? Dating me for a month built a conscience for yourself?”

Yoongi smiles against your skin. “Maybe. Should I learn to cook for you in appreciation for your efforts?”

“Why? So you can go find yourself another girlfriend with this newly found talent?” You stab jokingly, shutting off the stove after placing the second egg onto the plate. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to twirl you around in his arms, pulling you over to cage you between him and the counter. You gulp. There’s no way you could get used to being this close to him. “No. Just for you. I’d do anything for you. I get why those guys are the way they are—staying in instead of going out or never having the urge to see other women. I see why they choose their girlfriends each and every time, without hesitation. It’s the result of them feeling like this, what I feel right now, with you in my arms.”

You clear your throat, turning away. He knows the effects he has on you, it’s impossible for him not to, especially with that smirk that sits upon his lips and the chuckle that escapes from it. “So, can you please stop running away embarrassedly and sink in everything I professed?”

Yoongi doesn’t want to make this sound like a cliche, but you really aren’t like the other girls he’s met.

You shiver. The conversation you had on Saturday with Yoongi haunts you like a horror movie, and as many times as you’ve tried to push it out of your thoughts, it comes back as if it's an incurable disease. He seems so genuine when he says those words; eyes sparkling underneath the kitchen lights, shoulders softening, and voice delicate, unwavering from his confident emotions. Albeit, you had periodically been straightforward with your advances during your endless one-sided pining for him, you’ve never been this blunt. Your actions were scarcely a sign of your emotions, barely a hint, but nothing that hit like the impact of a truck.

Yoongi’s approach, however, hits you like a wrecking ball.

“Dude, what’s going on in your mind?” Taehyung interrupts, shattering your bubble of thoughts. He’s tempted to flick the rubber band in his hand to your forehead, but he lets go when you shake your head, exhaling out a heavy breath. You look tired. He misses the bubbly you. “Sorry. A lot of stuff going on lately.”

“Does any of that have to do with Yoongi’s confession from a month ago?” He inquires. There’s a tray with two burgers, fries, and two shakes for the both of you to share, placed on the dark wooden picnic table that resides in one of the sections of the quad. It’s a nice sunny day with the light breeze, but it’s been better in comparison to the recent weather, so Taehyung suggests a meal outside. “I know it seems unreal, ‘cause he’s been kind of your crush since you first met him. It’s similar to a dream that’s come true. So… it’s probably appealing to date him considering that you have that opportunity now, right?”

You hum in agreement, but hidden behind closed doors, it’s exactly that. You’ve let Yoongi in, despite the hurdles of reluctance, he’s still officially yours, even if your friends don’t know. Grabbing a fry, you think it’ll keep part of your attention engaged elsewhere temporarily so that Taehyung doesn’t detect any of your tells. He’s your best friend, it'd be surprising if he didn’t notice something was up. “Well, don’t cave in. He’s going to break your heart anyway.”

Instantaneously, you frown. There’s this part of you that has this thought lingering in your head because of Yoongi’s street rep. He’s broadly been known to be that guy, and everyone’s right when they claim that habits are hard to kill. Yoongi is no exception either, so you remain doubtful for what’s yet to come, trudging along lightly. “And so what do you suggest? What if he keeps chasing me instead? Does that mean he’s changed?”

“I’d be surprised if he ever did. He’s isn’t the type. He’s stubborn, difficult to talk to, and he only listens to certain beliefs and they’re all his own. Even ask Jimin! They’ve been friends from before college and haven't seen Yoongi leave his old ways for anything. If it’s for pussy, he can always find another option that wouldn’t make him change.”

“Not even for me?” You ask, a glimmer of hope in your voice. Yoongi is different at home, and Taehyung isn’t there to witness it, but his words manage hit a fragile spot.

Taehyung’s gaze softens. “Not even for you, love.”

This is a change of pace.

For one, Yoongi actually agreed to Jungkook’s request to a “guy’s night in” at the studio. He usually never allows anyone over, mentioning something along the lines of “if it’s not work related, they’re not allowed here,” even if the rent is split 3 ways. Yoongi’s the eldest amongst the three, hence why it seems that even though they all chip in, he has the final say. But when you’ve set foot into a part of his life that had previously been off-limits, everything was out of the ordinary.

“I really thought she liked me,” Namjoon exhales a deep breath, fingers combing through his hair stressfully. He’s talking about you, and how abruptly you had dropped him without any hints prior to that you were losing interest. A smile accidentally pulls on Yoongi’s lips but he immediately wipes it off before he’s caught since he knows that the cause was him. “We went out a couple times, studied together… I even stayed a night at her house.”

“Daaaaaaamnnn,” Jungkook hollers, whistling through his thumb and pointer finger. “Get it, boy. Didn’t know that you guys went that far. Thought it was just all study dates.”

Now that, Yoongi didn’t know.

Taehyung looks equally surprised, eyes widening at this new information. “You… slept at her house?” You’ve always been a little sister in his eyes, and although he’s the one who set the two of you up, the revelation is still hard to ingest. It’s hard to imagine you doing… sexual things—he shudders.

Namjoon waves his hands in front of him in refusal of the conjectures. “No, no, no, oh god, don’t take it that way. I don’t want to taint her reputation. She let me stay on her couch for the night since we stayed up so late in the living room studying, so yeah, we mostly did study dates. I kind of assumed that she’s never really let anyone stay over her house for a night so… I thought we had something.” Yoongi sighs in relief mentally, sliding his phone from his pocket to occupy his attention.

If he knew that tonight was going to be mainly conversations about you and Namjoon, he might’ve chosen to be absent. It’s bad enough that no one knows the nature of your relationship, but the fact that he can’t even interject and defend you—makes it arduous. And seeing another guy fall into shambles from of your doing is even more complicated, having knowledge that your logic behind your actions were presumably due to your feelings for him taking over, swells his ego yet at the same time cracks his heart for the reason that he can’t tell them that it wasn’t for a stupid one.

“If that’s the case, you should live life like Yoongi.” Taehyung suggests, reaching over for one of the snacks on the small coffee table. He’s picking up on Yoongi being too immersed in his phone for the remainder of the night, occasionally sneaking in a smirk at a text he’s seen. Who’s he messaging?

“He’s never had a real girlfriend, but the amount of girls he’s slept with trumps that.” Geez, Yoongi thinks to himself. You definitely wouldn’t enjoy hearing that.

“With all due respect, Yoongs,” Yoongs? He and Namjoon weren’t at the level of nicknames, but he lets this slide. This must’ve been what you meant by Namjoon was friendly, fitting in any group of friends without much adversity. “I’m a very loyal guy. I love one girl at a time, and dedicate my all to her.”

Yoongi furrows his brows. He definitely takes offense to this, especially if Namjoon is deeming his reputation as bad when he currently has you in his embrace. “I’m a loyal guy.” He states proudly, as if he has something to prove. Taehyung watches Yoongi leerily, intrigued by his prompt shift in his prestige. Why was the guy who’s known to incite the ‘bad boy character’ that used to encourage his friends to recognize him for these qualities reluctantly attempting to shift their perspectives into another light? What was Yoongi up to?

The group laughs, laughs! And Yoongi is appalled by this discovery that it isn’t just a few guys who see this, it’s all of them. He’s praying that it isn’t too late to change their opinions, especially if one day, the two of you had plans to disclose your relationship to your mutual friend group. “Stop laughing! I mean it. When the time comes, I can be loyal and have a girlfriend.”

Taehyung raises a brow questioningly. “Whatever happened to never settling?” He tests, pondering about what Yoongi could mean by that.

“Well,” Yoongi says calmly, stealing the chip in Taehyung’s hand. Taehyung eyes him carefully, suspicion rising in the air. “Weren’t you one of the people to tell me that I shouldn’t let some rules I set myself in high school govern the way I think now?”

Yoongi learns a lot of things about having a girlfriend.

Girls are moody. However, this isn’t a daily thing, at least with you it’s not, but the week before your period, you’re a quite a hot mess. It varies from being fueled with anger or wallowing in misery, and truthfully, he never really knows how to react. For one, you’re essentially whistling smoke out of your ears when he replaces the toilet paper back in the holder wrong. What’s the right way? There’s a right way? Apparently to you, (you state that it’s a law), the tissue flap is to be facing the outside and not the inside.

Then, there was the car commercial. A familiar tune plays on the TV, and the main cartoon character sings, “driving a lemon?” and seconds later, you're bawling your eyes out with legs against your chest with mascara streaming down your cheeks. He’d asked what’s wrong, worried that he’s missed something in the fraction of time he doesn’t pay attention, and you pout, sniffling before responding, “Why would he call a car a lemon? It’s so mean.” He blames it on the cramps and the period in general. You aren’t really yourself when your hormones are going haywire. Not to mention the amount of sweets you consume during this time… it’s appalling how much you can inhale.

But this doesn’t deter him from being with you.

Girls are complicated yet simple at the same time. It’s how you read them and decipher or interpret their actions that’ll make them difficult to understand. He assumes that he masters this when you’re cuddling up in bed with him one day, and you turn to show him a story on Instagram that you opened, where a girl flaunts off flowers she gets from her boyfriend. “It’s cute,” You’d say, twisting your body to rest half of your body on his chest. “I think it’s sweet that he got her that unexpectedly.” Even though Yoongi thinks flowers are pointless for they die a week later, he takes this as a hint and gets you a bouquet of pastel pink roses nonetheless, standing outside your doorstep with his head hidden behind the arrangement the next time he sees you. You’re over-the-moon elated, feeling special at such a small gesture, and he’s glad he’s got it right.

There’s only one thing that he still hasn’t gotten a grasp on yet, and this might lead him to his demise.

Stopping you from being you isn’t an option, and Yoongi would never want you to strip yourself from who you really are. Amiable with no discrimination, you’re captivating with optimism that it spreads to everyone in your route. You’re enticing strangers, just from your appearance alone, and Yoongi earns a sting from within.

Confidence levels built up high, there isn’t a jab in the world that could collapse Yoongi. He’s often recognized for this trait, simply as he finds himself attractive, and with this cold personality, it gives him a mysterious touch that has girls at his feet, begging for his love and affection. They’ve always hoped to become the ‘girl who changed Yoongi,’ but when facing reality, it never could happen. Albeit, you are the girl who changed Yoongi and because of that very sole fact, the tower of self-assuredness he has is tumbling.

It may have started off with Namjoon, but it doesn’t end there. When you two visit a frozen yogurt shop, the guy behind the counter perks up when he sees you, eyes practically saturated with hearts. “H-Hey,” the worker greets, and he’s stumbling over his own words. “W-What size would you like?” You grin excitedly, bouncing on the balls of your feet, glancing over at Yoongi with a benevolent gaze. “Get whatever you want, baby,” He’d say in return, watching as you pick the flavors and toppings as you wish. Then, as Yoongi pulls his wallet out of his pocket, he notices that the waiter charges less than expected. “Uh, did you miss a cup?

“Nah,” The guy says sweetly, orbs never drifting from your delighted expression. “One cup is on the house, from me. Enjoy it.”

He recognizes that it’s not specifically strangers that do this either, especially when the two of you are in attendance at Jimin’s birthday party, in a rented AirBnb crammed to the brim with his guests. The living room alone is bigger than your entire apartment, including billiards, a ping pong table, and an underground pool in a spacious backyard. Jimin is evidently popular, hence the abundance of people in the home, and although this isn’t really your scene, you come anyway just to celebrate a good friend’s birthday.

You’re too copacetic, and this can sometimes be more of a negative than a positive. Pushing people away when they’ve crossed boundaries is something you should be doing, but you’re not good at hurting people’s feelings. Then Hoseok approaches you that night, on the verge of inebriation but from the way his legs wobble and the discernible slur in his speech, Yoongi would say that Hoseok is 100% drunk. His shirt is lopsided, hem caught in the opening of his zipper, Yoongi assumes that he probably got his dick sucked in the bathroom minutes before.

“You look pretty tonight,” Hoseok compliments greasily. He’s a friend of the group but he doesn’t frequent outings often, opting for quality time with his girlfriend who he had broken up with barely weeks prior. You figure he’s acting out from emotions. “Uh, thanks, Hobi.”

His cheeks are infused fuchsia, matching the watermelon wine cooler in your hand. “I love when you call me Hobi,” He says, nearly tumbling over his own excitement when he leans against the island counter. “It makes me feel like we’re closer than friends.”

You laugh, tugging down on your yellow plaid miniskirt that you regret wearing since it’s been riding up all night. “Unfortunately, Hobi, we’re friends and nothing more. I think you had too much to drink. Why don’t you have some water to cool yourself off? You’re turning red.”

He pouts, bottom lip jutting out like a baby. “But you’re so pretty. No one’s stolen you for themselves yet? Are you still into Yoongi? I can be a better alternative for you.” You think he doesn’t mean it, at least, you don’t want to believe it. Hoseok has been your friend since freshman year of college, and him spilling out his crush on you now, after ending things with his girlfriend not long before, is a bit unsettling. “Go have some water, Hobi, you’re blurting things you don’t mean.”

Hoseok, however, seems to disagree. The dip of the front of his brows preview his annoyance, standing up straight to avoid your hold. “No, I don’t need water. I know exactly what I’m saying, and what I’m trying to tell you is that I’ve liked you since your first year of college. Sure, I may have had a girlfriend, but if you look at it from far away, we didn’t last long.”

“You dated for three years,” You state firmly, reminding him of the memory. “That is definitely long to me.”

“But you should be with me!” He exclaims irrationally.

Yoongi has been standing in the corner of the room the entire night, eyes drawn only to you, turning girls away who bat their lashes incessantly at him. He’s been asked by a couple of guys earlier, and they each want to know his target for the night. He wants to say you, but he doesn’t want to stir the pot so he shrugs, claiming that he’s still looking.

He hasn’t even started looking. You’re the one he sees.

When Hoseok loses control, Yoongi takes a split second to intervene. “Hobi, think it’s time to call it a night. You’re drunk, bro. Get some water, rest in one of the bedrooms.”

“Oh, speaking of the devil,” Hoseok garbles, lids droopy. “Don’t be upset if you’ve missed a shot with her!” Yoongi grabs his forearm, dragging his friend to the sink, snatching a cup from the rack and filling it up with water from the tap. “Drink this.”

“Fine.” Hoseok snaps, succumbing to Yoongi’s demand.

“Drink up. Then go sleep on the couch or something.”

Yoongi’s gaze meets yours, and your heart stops. He’s mad, and you’re not entirely sure why, but when he gives you that look, you watch him leave the kitchen and enter the bathroom, signalling for you to follow after him.

It’s a tight fit, but you two fit.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, placing your drink onto the closed toilet seat cover. “Why’d you wanna meet?”

“Turn around.”

“What—“

“Please?” He practically begs, orbs darkening. Chewing on your bottom lip, you can already tell where this is going; blood pumping through your veins in both excitement and anxiety. “Do this for me, baby,” Yoongi says lowly below your ear, hot breath fanning your neck. You swallow, nodding in agreement before turning around with your palms against the white porcelain counter and he moans quietly at the feeling of his dick deliciously pressed between your ass cheeks.

“Yoongi, there’s people outside,” You warn tensely. “They’re gonna hear us.”

“No one is going to hear us over the loud music,” Pushing your hair to the side, he presses a gentle kiss on your shoulder, jutting his hips into yours once more. “Plus, I’m a little angry at you. First, you wear this short ass skirt to a party, then you can’t even ward off Hoseok? I have to come save the day, but baby, I know you’re not a damsel in distress.”

“I-I’m not,” You stutter, unable to focus on his words when his hands are grazing over your body, lifting up the fabric of your skirt to expose your lace black thong. “And you’re wearing this? What if you bent over and gave Hoseok a show?”

“I w-wouldn’t,” Although a stammer, there’s truth behind your words. It’s hard for you to reject Hoseok, but that didn’t mean that if it went too far, you wouldn’t drive him away. He just seemed so distraught, troubled by the loss of his relationship, so you decided to keep him company. “I would’ve told him to go away if he went any further.”

“Mm,” Yoongi hums, teeth nipping on the skin of your neck, hands making a home on your waist, hips against yours. “I don’t think so. Were you turned on by his confession? When he told you that he would be a better option for you? Baby, I thought you were mine.” He licks that sensitive spot behind your ear that he discovered the first couple times you’ve had sex, and you gasp, eyes closed shut. “I mean, look at you,” Pinching your side, you jolt as your eyes open abruptly, meeting with your own hooded daze in the mirror.

You’re not vain, but damn, you look smoking right now. Lips swollen from gnawing on them nervously, Yoongi has that effect on you, especially with the heat that steams your cheeks. His fingers reach below under your skirt, sliding the panties aside to get a glimpse of your arousal. Dripping with your essence, he can’t help but moan at how wet you are, cock stirring and unconsciously rutting into you again. “Fuck, is this for him or for me?”

Heat pools in between your thighs, causing your breath to quicken. “F-for you, of course,” Your head drops when his touch strokes your pussy, coating his palm with your juices. “It’s always because of you.”

“You’re soaking,” He states the obvious, pecking your nape gingerly. “Can I fuck you over this counter here?” Yoongi asks so kindly despite his current dirty actions. He always looks good in a leather jacket with a tight white-tee underneath, but those blue jeans that’s so snug around his thighs that really take the cake. “Please,” You whisper, head dropping over the sink. “Make it quick before they notice we’re gone.”

“Duh, baby, that’s what a quickie is known for,” He smirks, and even though you don’t see it, you hear it in his voice. “Gonna have you a mess on my cock in a few seconds.” Unzipping his pants, he tugs it down far enough with his boxers that it sits on his thighs, dick slapping against his stomach. Just the sound if it emits a moan from your lips, eager to have him in you that instant.

His hand slides up your spine, pressing you against the sink. Your skirt rides up like it does earlier in the night, exposing your lower cheeks and his breath hitches. “Baby,” He gasps, the sight causing his length to twitch. This view of your ass up, legs spread, practically calling for him is everything he could ever ask for. Yoongi spits in his hand, giving himself a couple pumps before guiding his head in, piercing through your ring of muscle, warmth enveloping around him. The two of you moan in unison, the stretch of his girth never failing to split you open, and when he’s flushed to the hilt, he pauses for a moment to revel in your warmth. It’s not for long before grips onto your hips, unable to hold back how good your dripping cunt feels around him. “Are you good, love?”

“Yes,” You choke, desperate for him to just fuck you, especially when there’s people outside those doors. “Hurry up before the cut the cake, Yoo—ooh, baby,” Yoongi pulls out before shoving himself back in, and it’s like a glimpse of heaven. He starts pistoning into you, knowing well that you say you’re in a rush jokingly but he knows they’re going to blow out the candles sooner since they’re going to go harder with the alcohol.

The countertop is shaking, rattling with each thrust as moans slip from your lips. He’s so big, the way he fills you up, and you squeeze uncontrollably at the sensation. Your walls are pulsing around his length, fluttering so delicately, but it’s constricting on his end. He manages to hit that sweet spot, over and over again, and the coil in your stomach tightens. “Baby, I’m… I’m gonna cum,” You warn, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. Your apprise has his fingertips brushing against your clit, moving in circular motions to reach your high.

Yoongi often calls you altruistic, but when he’s with you, that adjective defines him. He makes sure you finish first, never a time where you don’t. So when he reaches under your shirt to fondle your breasts, it’s enough to stimulate you to your orgasm. Your walls flutter around him, legs straightening as he rocks his hips into you, his eyes rolling back when your pussy clutches on his shaft. He can barely catch a breath before he’s painting your insides with his streams of his hot white seed.

“Okay, love?” Your heart balloons from his charms; when his arm extends to grab a handful of toilet paper to clean you up, tossing it into the bowl afterwards. He readjusts your panties back to place, dragging the fabric of your miniskirt back down to cover your butt. When he twirls you around in his arms, there’s a wam grin on his face, leaning over to smooch your forehead. “Hope that was fun for you.”

“T-Thanks,” You mutter coyly, tying your hair back into a ponytail. “I uh…” Gesturing the door sporadically with your movements. He chuckles at your baffled actions, unlocking the door. “Head out first, babe. I’ll… be behind you. Can’t have anyone spotting us, right?”

“Right,” You echo in admission, a bit disappointed that this is how it ends. “I’ll uh… leave.”

Fixing your skirt, you take in a sharp breath as you enter into the kitchen, where your friends are gathered at the table with a cake in the middle of the island table. “Hey! Come over, we’re about to blow out the candles.” Yoongi follows just briefly after, put together after the shenanigans the both of you pulled earlier.

“Ayo,” Jungkook calls out, capturing Yoongi’s attention. He furrows his brows, confused at the holler, and Jungkook points to his zipper. Seems like he may have missed one thing. “Oh shit,” Yoongi quickly drags the tab up. “Uh, sorry.”

“Quickie?” His friend asks with a playful smirk, and Yoongi snickers. “Yeah. Gotta sneak one in somewhere, right?”

The night is long—Yoongi acts his part as someone who isn’t your boyfriend well, except for those longing and lustful glances your way. He drinks shots with the guys, who excitedly egg each other on, pouring more alcohol into the little cups that line the table.

Deciding that you need some air, you walk outside to the backyard where half of the people at the party reside, lounging around or in the underground pool. That’s when you see her. Her beauty alone hitches your breath, and the intimidation that radiates from her when she struts toward you with those skinny long legs.

Joohyun is so gorgeous, charming any guy who looks her way with her wavy and shiny black hair that cascades in affinity of a waterfall, draping over her shoulders while in her tight navy blue bikini that barely covers her nipples, let alone the entirety of her breasts. Was this the type of girl that Yoongi was into?

Because if so, you’re definitely off the radar.

She’s outgoing, with a plethora of lost ducklings she calls ‘friends’ when they’re really just a posse that follows her around everywhere she goes, eyes constantly drawn to her and her giggles. Joohyun struts with poise and dignity, never once faltering in her steps, and tonight, without a fail, she reminds everyone her reason for being here. To obtain the biggest mountain to climb, Min Yoongi.

“Didn't you guys go on a date?” Joohyun asks, tone masking innocence but the intention underneath states otherwise. “Did he pull the old trick in the book on you as he’s done to those other girls?” There’s this urge within you that’s tempted to attack, to show her that Yoongi is yours, that you were able to overcome this mountain that she calls Yoongi, and make him yours.

But you couldn’t. You chose to keep this a secret. And your own doing is now gnawing on your insides, waiting for the right moment to spill.

“No, he didn’t.” You respond calmly, as collected as can be. Letting her win doesn’t mean anything, especially when this “trophy” she’s talking about is your boyfriend. “I… uh, used his trick back on him, so he wouldn’t feel like he accomplished his goal.”

“Wow,” She seems impressed, raising a brow with her arms crossed over her chest. Even you can’t keep your eyes off her goods. “Too bad that led to nowhere. Nice try though.”

When she finally walks away, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you’ve been holding. Something about her presence and aura has your legs rooted into the concrete floors by the pool. Intimidating, yes, but she’s everything you wanted to be and more. Joohyun didn’t have a standard or an expectation to fulfill, purely living as herself, with no need of having to please anyone. The only person she needed to make happy was herself.

But for you, you felt like you needed to gratify everyone. Your friends, your parents—the sight of you intaking alcohol startles people, immediately adjourning you in the midst of your actions, exclaiming something along the lines of, “you’re a good girl, kid, don’t let yourself fall off the wagon now.”

What did being a good girl have anything to do with enjoying yourself?

You decided to take back what you want for yourself. Entering back into the home, you occupy the empty spot beside Yoongi, grabbing yourself a small red solo shot cup. “Count me in, boys, I’m drinking tonight. What team should I be on?” You announce, and your boyfriend watches you uneasily, budging the cup of orange juice as a chaser in your direction.

Neither of you realize, but Taehyung notices this. Why was Yoongi being suspiciously caring all of the sudden?

Retching into the toilet for the nth time tonight, a teardrop streams on the side of your face from the overall shitty symptoms. Body sore, stomach queasy, you can already tell that the mascara you applied on earlier that night is smeared across your wet cheeks. Sitting on your bottom in the bathroom, your body slouches, collapsing over and onto the wall. “Why are you here?” You grumble, wiping the side of your mouth with the back of your hand before gathering enough energy to flush the toilet. “It’s gross. I’m gross.”

Yoongi chuckles, a lovely sound you rarely hear, letting go of your makeshift ponytail that he creates with his hands, getting up to grab a small towel. “My mom doesn’t party often, and when my dad told her to have a girls’ night out one time, she came home in the same state as you. My dad pretty much sat beside her the entire time and took care of her. I thought—if I ever met a girl that made me feel the way my mom makes my dad feel, I’d do the same. So… yes, you are kind of gross right now, but baby, I don’t really care.”

He soaks the towel, wringing it out before crouching beside you, wiping the remains of the vomit on the side of your mouth. “I really wished that they didn’t make you drink so much. Tell me again why did you choose to be on the losing team?”

You whine, the throbbing in your head starting to get to you. “Talk quietly, please. And shut off the lights.”

Attempting to dab off the black streaks on your cheeks, he furrows his brows and both your response and the stubbornness of the stain. “Turn off the lights?”

“Too bright. Make my head ouchie.”

He chuckles quietly, placing the towel in your hands before he searches for that ‘micellar water’ you’re always talking about, seizing it from the shelf and pouring the liquid magic onto a cotton pad like he’s seen you do. Propping the door open to get a hint of light shining in from the hall, he flicks the bathroom light switch off. Settling back next to you, he rubs your mascara off, celebrating inside silently when he starts seeing the black and your concealer transfer onto the pad. “Better, baby?”

“Better.” You mutter in response, eyes droopy. “I wanted to look cool tonight,” You admit ruefully.

“Why so?” Yoongi asks, tossing the cotton pad into the trash when you look clear from makeup. He thinks you’re stunning like this, despite your intoxication. “You don’t need to impress anyone.” He brushes a couple of loose strands of your hair away gingerly.

“Joohyun Unnie was there,” You lament, undoubtedly stirring up some insecurities of your own from her mere presence. “She was even wearing a bikini. A bikini! My stomach can’t ever be that flat. How does she even have the time to workout so hard and be in nursing? I don’t get it.”

The space between his brows wrinkles. “Why does it bother you?”

“You dated her before,” You let out a sigh, arms resting on the toilet seat. Laying your chin on your arms, you shut your eyes. “She still likes you. She thinks she can change your ways, make you hers, and really call you her boyfriend. She gets dolled up, wearing stuff like that so you would notice her, even going to parties. All ‘cause she knows you have that “never bang twice” policy.”

Mouth agape, he’s surprised that you’re able to even formulate proper sentences with how much you drank, and also your observation on a girl who had her eye on him. “How do you even know that?”

“She told me,” You scrunch up your nose, stomach lessening in irritation than earlier. Pain subsided, only tiredness.

“I never dated her,” Yoongi confesses, cleanly pulling your hair back gingerly, away from your face and preventing any strands getting caught up in your future vomiting and the toilet water. “Is that what she’s telling people?”

“Probably,” You hum, voice lower than before. He takes this as you’re falling asleep, stumbling up from leaning against the wall to hook your legs under his arm, pulling you up. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You nod, complying as you let your body fall limp in his hold, head resting on his shoulder, allowing him to carry you to your bed. Tugging off your pants, switching out your top with an oversized T-shirt, he pulls the covers over your frame as you snug closely to the duvet. “Are you staying?”

“Of course, love. Gotta make sure you’re drinking enough water and be there if you throw up again.”

Grinning, your eyes are closed shut, slowly dozing off as he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. Just then, your phone begins to vibrate incessantly on the bedside table, lock screen full of texts of people asking about your whereabouts and if you’re okay.

A smile presents itself on his face at the thought of how compassionate you are to other people because it makes them care about you in reciprocation.

Music has invariably been Yoongi’s passion. He found himself glued to the screen of his desktop often, headphones over his ears, and putting to work what possibly could be the best track yet. Whenever Jimin or Jungkook tried dragging him out of the studio, he’d reject them again and again, that is until they get annoying enough and the only way to get them to stop is to actually go out with them.

But with you on his lap, and his oversized headset resting over your hair, there’s a simper that dances across your lips at the music he produces, honey to your ears. Bobbing your head to the music, he swears that you’re the cutest girl he’s ever met. “Wow,” You say in amazement, slipping the device off and onto your shoulders. “Yoongi, that was really good. Have you shown anyone this yet?”

He shakes his head. “No, just you.”

In his eyes, you’re special. The main person who he cares about the approval of is you, especially when you called him out for picking something safe as a career path instead of something he truly wanted. “It’s making you depressed,” he remembers you said once before, anger in those hypnotizing orbs. “Stop pitying yourself and do something about it.” It’s why you choose Chemistry as your major; you wanted to do more in this world, and with knowledge in a specific science field, it would take you to a position where you could create change, to be the change.

His gaze into yours is genuine, pools of adoration with his grip on your waist, palm rubbing against the skin lovingly. “I wanted to show you first because I care about your opinion the most.” The words that used to come out of his mouth had previously known to be harsh, cold, and made him out of reach. But now, with him this intimately close, it’s entirely different. Before you could say anything in response, there’s a knock on the door along with the rattling of the knob. Instantaneously, Yoongi gets out from underneath, rapidly pressing his weight against the door with a whimper. “Uh, who is it?”

“Uh, Jimin and Taehyung, who else?” Jimin snaps. He shakes the knob again irritably.

“I… have a girl in here,” Yoongi says stiffly, lying through his teeth. It wasn’t wholly a deception, you were a girl and very much in fact here, but you weren’t just any girl. “Sorry. I know I shouldn’t bring girls over, but uh… I thought you guys were home and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Jimin barely gets the door open, gaped just enough to peer in but not enough to enter in. Taehyung spots a familiar bag on the leather couch—a backpack similar to yours, with a corny pin with Ditto the Pokemon on it. “Hey, doesn’t that bag belong to—” Yoongi’s eyes widen, pushing harder until the door shuts, turning the lock. “Thanks guys! I owe you one.”

When their footsteps begin to fade, Yoongi sighs of relief, sliding to the floor with his back against the door. “That was a close one.”

“Very close.” You affirm, coming over to him and cupping his cheeks into your hands. “Sorry, love. I know I asked for this.”

Even though your dreamy orbs have fondness lingering, he can’t help have this weight of grievance that sits densely in his heart and lungs. He’s progressively exhausted with each time something like this occurs, racing with time to make sure that neither of your friends can detect anything going on in your relationship. Yoongi just wants to be yours.

When Jimin and Taehyung exit the building, Taehyung can’t help but wonder if what he saw up there was real. “Did you see the backpack on the couch?” He asks Jimin skeptically, scratching the top of his head. “I could’ve sworn it was hers.” Jimin waves Taehyung off. “She forgets her shit everywhere all the time. It seems like they’re getting along recently, maybe she left it the last time she came by with Jungkook.”

“Okay…” His friend responds, but he’s still not convinced.

Trying to hide your relationship was becoming troublesome.

Other than the time at the studio, there have been a multitude of occasions where your friends nearly catch you in the midst of some kind of act.

Your university campus is colossal compared to the ones you’ve seen during high school on college tours. The stretches as large as a small city, and more often than not, you wouldn’t run into people you know unless intentionally. But, ever since you and Yoongi became an item, it seems that the chances of running into them have increased.

There was that time he took you out for dinner at the new ramen spot in town. Just as you were about to leave, you spot Hoseok grabbing a meal with Jimin. Yoongi sneaks out back while you distract the two, and when he gets to his car to scoop you up around the corner, he wipes a sweat away from relief. Then there was the phone incident. While in the study group, Yoongi leaves his phone sitting on the table, screen facing up before it vibrates obnoxiously, earning the attention of Jimin who irritably asks, “who the fuck is that?” and his eyes are bulging out of its sockets when he sees a pink heart as the contact name. “Whoa. Who’s the chick who snagged that nickname?”

“Fuck off.” Yoongi snarled at his friend. He doesn’t really mean the profanity, but it’s the only way to get him to pay attention to something else.

The hardest part was when you were gathered together on the grass of the quad, sitting on the red and white checkered picnic blanket. Yoongi typically takes a seat far enough that it isn’t suspicious, but when your roommate approaches you, your heart nearly stops.

The only benefit of having her as your housemate is that she knows none of your friends. Which made it easier having Yoongi around, without her spilling any beans. But, you never thought that this would happen.

Stumbling up, you brush your hands off your jeans. “H-Hayoung! What are you doing here? Campus is so big—I’m surprised we ran into each other.” Not a lie, you really never thought you’d see her outside of your shared home.

“Yeah, I didn’t either. Was about to call you, actually, then I saw you sitting here.” She adjusts the strap of her backpack on her shoulder. “Anyways, I was wondering…” She’s caught Jimin’s and Taehyung’s attention now, remembering the familiar face that they’ve passed by in your place. “Can you stay at your boyfriend’s place tonight? I hate to ask, but I do have a date later and… I’m hoping to run into a happy ending.” Hayoung says giddily, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Quickly, you push her away from the group. “Sorry, sorry, not your fault. I kind of haven’t told them I’m seeing someone.” She looks at you apologetically. “Not your fault! Really. But uh, yes, that’s fine. I’m gonna need to stop by later to grab some clothes though.”

Jimin turns to mouth ‘boyfriend?’ at Taehyung who shrugs. Yoongi internally winces at this.

When you come back, Jimin has the most mischievous smirk planted on his face. “So… who is this boyfriend she’s talking about?”

“Uh…” You hesitate, scratching your head. “I don’t know. You? Taehyung? I don’t think she actually knows who I’m dating or not. Probably doesn’t care either.”

Jimin doesn’t like the answer, but he lets it go. Taehyung, however, feels something is off, yet can’t gather enough courage to confront you as to why.

“I’m tired,” Yoongi admits candidly, hair tousled in similarity to the thoughts running through his mind. “I’m tired of having to hold up this front when we’re with our friends. I’m exhausted with having to pretend to be okay when they try to set you up with these guys who evidently are better than me.”

You frown. “Yoongi, you know you’re the only one for me.”

“Yeah but they don’t know that. Everyone assumes you’re this catch that’s on the market and hasn’t found a guy good enough for you. While everyone else out here thinks that I can’t even get into a serious relationship. I just—when can we let everyone know? Honestly.”

“I…” You hesitate, filling the empty space with a heavy sigh. “You do understand why I wanted this stay a secret, right?”

“To be frank, no. I try to be an understanding boyfriend and respect your wishes, but I don’t really get it. You’ve been wishing for us to be together since when? The start of college? And the moment we’re finally together, you don’t want anyone to know?”

“Because of what you said!” You exclaim, slightly frustrated. “Everyone sees you as the guy who can’t settle down. They’ll think you’re in this temporarily, so you can get a taste for it before you get bored and leave. And where does that leave me?”

“I don’t get what you mean.”

You sigh. “I… Yoongi, I’m scared, alright? You have this reputation that follows you around constantly—the guy who never settles, the one who has a new target at every party, the dude who can’t ever be seen with the same chick he has under his arm around twice. What if this is a phase? It proves that everyone’s warnings for me were right all along.”

Yoongi furrows his brows. “So you don’t believe me when I say I’m all in for this relationship?”

“I… I don’t know. You act and say things and they’re so believable. I’m swept off my feet every time. I wake up, can’t even come to terms that you’re actually in bed beside me, and it isn’t a one night stand. But then… when I’m around other people, it’s a constant shock back into reality. Questions start flooding my mind, spewing constantly that they become my insecurities. What if this isn’t what I think it is? Is this a prank? Does he even care about me? Is it possible for him to love me?” Dropping your body onto the edge of the bed, you rub your face into your hands. Min Yoongi was the boy you had your eyes on for the past several years, endlessly hoping that one day he’d turn to look at you with the same way your gaze is when you see him. And when he finally has, it’s surreal, to the point that you don’t even think it’s true sometimes.

Teeth gritted, Yoongi takes in a sharp breath. “Are you really having doubts right now? After all that I’ve been through to be here?”

“Yoongi, you have to admit that there’s some blame on you here.”

“There’s none.” He retorts, voice calm despite the anger that brews within him. “I don’t take any blame. I don’t think I’m in the wrong here. Sure, there’s instances where there’s room for improvement, where I could’ve been a better boyfriend but hear me out—I was a good boyfriend. You’re so involved about what other people think of me, about you, about us, that it’s ruining the good between us.” Yoongi turns away for a second, regrouping his thoughts before back at you. “No more of this, no more of me feeling like shit anymore. Let’s take a break.”

Your heart shatters. “A… A break?”

The world stops spinning. For a brief moment, your heart submerges into the pit of your stomach, breath stolen from your lungs, joy vacuumed from within. It’s like the ground underneath your feet sinks; inundating into sea level, replacing your oxygen with water, suffocating you into sadness. Yoongi has been your breath of fresh air, the addition to your happiness, and the stars that light up within an ocean of darkness of difficult times in life. He’s your biggest supporter in your dreams, and the definition of what it means to love someone. In the eyes of others, he’s a reserved man who rarely expresses emotions, but with you, he has an overwhelming amount of them. But for some reason, in this argument, he masks them well.

“Yeah,” Yoongi confirms, seemingly put together. He doesn’t fall apart at the seams like you do, as if this relationship taking a “break” is merely a small dent to his emotions. “A break. Just until you figure out what it is that is actually stopping you from letting us be together.”

“Yoongi, I-I don’t want a break.” You stutter, on the verge of hyperventilating. It’s too much at once, like the weight of a skyscraper on your entire respiratory system. “I like this—I want this. I want us.”

“I’ll wait,” He says surprisingly. Reaching over to grab his coat that hangs on a hook drilled to the back of your bedroom door. It’s his unspoken designated spot, a place for his belongings, like the drawer you emptied out for him to leave his personal items in whenever he comes over. “But I won’t wait long. I don’t think I want to be with someone who’s embarrassed to be with me.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” You counter back, jolting from the bed. The thought alone that the space beside you unoccupied with his warmth terrifies you.“I-I’m scared. I don’t know what’ll happen to us. The last thing I want is for you to go. Don’t go, please stay.”

“I’m not… going, at least in the way you think I am. I’m leaving now, physically, but I’m with you, always. But I have to have some self respect, no matter how much I like for you, I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see me the same way as I see them. And right now, ironically, I don’t think that you like me the way I like you. I might actually love you.”

He leans over, pressing his soft, plump lips against the crown of your hair, inhaling your scent one last time. Arms wrapped around your frame, he holds you close to keep the warmth of you in his memory, in case he needs to revisit. You burst into tears, sobs drowning out any possible sentences you could formulate, and Yoongi pulls back, thumb wiping away the droplet of sadness that flows down your supple cheek before saying a hushed goodbye.

To your friends, you’re the girl-next-door. The familiar one; you can consistently find comfort in her, without difficulty in expressing your emotions within because she makes you think you’re home. She’s like a warm blanket of solace, providing nothing of judgement, and dependable whenever you need her. There in seconds, always out of breath and a face full of worry, she assists by your side with your face cupped in her hands, asking the question, “Are you okay?” and you’d never be able to lie to such a beautiful face.

But tonight, you’re in need of one. You aren’t the ‘girl-next-door’ but you wished you had one.

Your body feels light yet at the same time heavy. It’s a constant battle, trying to determine which one you’d encounter the next day, even the next hour, and it has become an exhausting task keeping up with. Wearing a hoodie to easily soak in the fabric, there’s remnants of Yoongi’s aroma in it, aching the beating cardiac muscle in your chest. Food doesn’t taste as delicious anymore, not since the night he walked out your door, and it’d become peril to force solids into your throat.

“Jesus,” Taehyung verbalizes, alarmed by the sight of you. Your eyes are bloodshot, swollen, and the continuous sniffling is evidence to your breakdown, and Taehyung isn’t silent about it. Your cheeks are burned, scarred and dry from the amount of rough tissues you’ve wiped on your skin, a reminder that you should probably buy proper Kleenex. “What happened to you? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” You mutter under your breath, pulling Yoongi’s hoodie over. It’s not the same as his arms around you, they’re not his calloused fingertips with nails cut to the nub. Wiping the tear that threatens to fall with your sleeve, you clear your throat. “Long week.”

“You look like you got your heart broken,” He blurts, taking a seat across from you, his tray of food clacking against the wooden picnic table. Taehyung is half-kidding, but in your current state, it seems more accurate than anything. “Talk to me kiddo, what’s on your mind?”

It takes a bit of time to convince yourself to hold back from speaking about Yoongi, but you’ve already lost. If you could, you would’ve gone back in time to prevent this—and since you’re here now, presently without him, all you can do you reminisce. “Yoongi and I broke up. Well, we’re on a break but… it’s too much like an official break up.”

Taehyung is tranquilized, dropping the fry from between his fingers. “You… what? You and Yoongi were dating?” He feigns this reaction because from what he could pick up recently, Yoongi had been suspicious, often smiling dumbly at his phone and hiding it when the screen lights up. He’s sort of surprised it’s you that Yoongi is hiding, but he’s not entirely swayed by this idea either.

You sigh, pushing away your boxed burger, resting the side of your head on your arms that sets on the table. “We dated for about a month. Then he broke up with me.”

“Oh, kid…” Taehyung expresses softly, sympathetic to your mental state. The girl who was repeatedly happy, ceaselessly giving her all, caring for everyone in her route, had been the opposite of that today due to the boy who represents the perpendicular. It’s the reason why Taehyung puts so much effort into searching for someone who’s more fitting for you. “I hate to be that guy, but I did warn you.”

“In the turn of events, it was actually my fault.” The warmth of the sun burning on your back isn’t remotely close to what Yoongi radiates, and the smell of the burgers doesn’t make your stomach rumble in hunger anymore. You think you’re being dramatic; perilously wishing you could’ve savored the last moment with him, but you took it for granted . He doesn’t text or call anymore, and the space next to you on your bed is empty, frozen cold, missing the shape of him imprinted in the sheets. He’s left your heart damaged, torn into shreds like trunks going into a tree chipper. “I wanted to be a secret. And… he couldn’t deal with how everyone didn’t think he was deserving of me, even though he had that same belief. He couldn’t step up and announce how he felt because he respected me too much although he didn’t agree with my decision.”

“I’m sorry, kid,” Taehyung’s expression drops. His heart breaks for you, but he knows how Yoongi is. They’re housemates after all. “It must’ve been a very dream-like experience having him at your fingertips like that.”

“It was,” You admit, shoulders slouching. “Yoongi was a great boyfriend.”

Taehyung sighs, honestly unsure how to proceed in any steps forward. You deserve better than Yoongi, no matter how many times he tries to remind you, it seems that it never sinks into that brain of yours. “There’s better guys out there that aren’t Yoongi. You know I want what’s best for you, and I’m not sure that Yoongi is it.”

“You’re reporting things based on observation, not because you’re actually close to him, Tae.” You state sternly, the dip in the front of your brows verifying the anger that begins to stir inside of you. Taehyung was a loyal friend, and remains as one, but when it came to Yoongi, he was quick on his feet to tell you that he wasn’t a good guy for you. “I’m not perfect as you make me out to be. I’m not this ‘girl next door’ image that everyone identifies me as. I obviously messed up and I... I wish I could prove it to you, but I also don’t owe it to anyone that he’s worth it.”

“I just—“

“What?” You snap, a suddenly new demeanor possessing you. “I’m so… tired of giving, Tae.” Standing up from the bench, you snag your backpack and sling it over your shoulder. “I give and I constantly give. And the time that I want something, I still end up giving. I didn’t want people to know about me and Yoongi, not only because I was afraid that it was going to be a phase. I was afraid of what my friends would think of me. My peers. What Jimin thought. And mostly, what you thought.” Sighing, your fingers rake through your tangled locks that have been abandoned care for the past few days. “I’m over it now. If you’ll stay my friend through this interim ‘period’ of a relationship.”

“I care, okay? Is it wrong for me to care?” He asks, worried smeared across his brows. “I’ve met him, and I know his reputation. Hell, you know his reputation. Why do you think he’s changed? People don’t change.”

In complete disbelief, your jaw goes slack. “You know, it’s entirely up to you on who you believe deserves second chances in your life. But, what’s not up to you is making that judgement of whether or not they’ve developed into a better version of themselves. If you constantly doubt, Tae, you’ll never see people that were once bad, do good.”

“And what? You think Yoongi’s capable of change?”

“I think Yoongi has changed.”

Yoongi doesn’t act the same, at least in public he doesn’t. He does a repeat of what you did when he told you ‘no more’; avoiding events, dodging every chance you get before you cross paths—it was so hard to see him with your friends, chattering casually as if he didn’t break your heart.

But this time, you broke his. You broke the heart of a guy who gave you it to you so earnestly; you were the person he trusted with such a delicate and fragile piece of him, and you’ve done nothing but smashed it, shattering his heart into pieces. Yoongi’s only fault in it was giving it to you.

“Did Yoongi say he was coming?” You ask Jimin, who shrugs as he’s shooting another dart at the circular board that’s propped on the wall. It was a risk coming out tonight, in hopes you’d run into him. “He seemed kinda down, like… more down than usual. But, I wouldn’t worry so much about it, I know you got that little crush on him and all, but it’s not worth bothering.”

You frown, trying your best not to let your feelings overpower you.

There’s this pedestal that Yoongi tends to put you on; calling you someone who’s so selfish, so wonderful, just purely perfect in his eyes, despite his initial judgement of you. But that night, a different one where he says no more, it’s not the same as the words where there’s fury in his eyes, dismayed with the decision of you stopping by. It’s the one where his chocolate swirls of orbs are repleting with despair.

Yoongi takes a deep breath. The day darkens from the dome of plasma-blue into a slate grey as clouds begin to gather, coating the sky with a layer of murkiness. Lightning strikes, and moments later, thunder cracks. He could hear the sudden heavy rainfall; weighted as it crashes against the window panes and slides on the brick mortar that lines the exterior of his building, and deafening patterings dropping onto the awnings at the first floor entrance, he feels as though the weather is a resemblance of his present emotions. Dark and gloomy.

He misses your laugh dearly. Even on days like these, when he’d tickle your sides playfully, a song of giggles escapes from your pretty lips that sings into his ears, brightening up what would be considered such a dreadful day. Nowadays, when the apartment is empty, it's hard not to think of you, especially through the silence, it’s a reminder of the space that’s left from you in his chest. The guys decided to gather up and play basketball at the gym tonight, so he’s left alone, laying on the covers of his bed being that he can’t bring himself to lie under it.

Just then, someone bangs on the front door.

Startled, Yoongi jolts up from his bed, distorted from the abrupt loud noise. Making his way toward the front entrance, he tilts his head in confusion considering on the hook by the front door, Jimin and Taehyung most definitely took their designated keys. Then there’s a knock again, equally blaring as the one prior. “Alright, I’m coming. Relax.” He closes an eye, leaning into the peep hole when he sees you, standing there and he swears it’s a dream. Swinging the door open, he blinks. It’s definitely not a dream.

“Hi.”

Hair drenched, water drips continuously and onto the carpeted floors of the hallway. Clothes soaked, and eyes weary, he doesn’t waste any time to bring you inside, shutting the door afterwards with a grip around your wrist—this time, it’s gentle and comforting, dragging you into his bedroom. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispers, words harsh but the tone doesn’t correlate, he closes the door of his bedroom and snatches the towel off the hook. Yoongi wraps it around you, attempting to dab any excess water that continues to dribble before rustling your hair dry. “Let me grab you something to change into,” He states calmly, turning to shuffling through his wooden dresser for clothes that you can wear, and your eyes skim his room.

You’ve never been in here, you realize, because it was too much of a risk with him living in a shared apartment with Jimin and Taehyung. They were the people you cared about the opinions of, desperately wanting to impress and worried about the reactions of, but after losing Yoongi over it, it didn’t matter anymore. If they were truly your friends, they’d be supportive. His walls scream his name all over it with pictures of bands he loves, music sheets scattered across his desk, clothes thrown and residing in a spot on a chair that’s placed in the corner of the room. His bedsheets are ash grey (his favorite color), with a duvet that matches, bed placed parallel to the window, with a little picture of you that sits on the sill. Your heart tightens. “Hey,” Yoongi whispers. “You should shower. You kind of smell like a wet dog,” He half-jokes, a soft smirk tugging on his lips. You missed this. “I don’t mind it, but I think a warm shower would do you good so you don’t get sick.”

“Will you… shower with me?” You query, small when you request this. He’s not yours right now, but you wish he was. There’s pain in his eyes, as if he really wants to do it but his mind is trying to teach him the logical route, however his heart wins every time. “Okay. I’ll shower with you.”

The mirror steams up due to the water coming out of the showerhead, and the door is locked in case of intruders, specifically Taehyung and Jimin, and the two of you are stripped naked. You’re nude in front of him, and this doesn’t feel a slight bit uncomfortable, not since he’s seen you emotionally bare. Tip-toeing into the shower, the stream hits your back and soothes your cold skin, basking in the warmth that fogs around your body. Shoulders dropped, you flutter your eyes shut, inhaling a deep breath until you feel Yoongi’s presence enter in from behind, shutting the sliding glass door.

His touch is tender, thoughtful with every movement, careful not to overstep any boundaries despite the fact that you’re both currently at your most vulnerable states. Reaching for the loofah behind you, he rinses it under the flow of the water, soaking it before squeezing in some body gel on, rubbing in his hands until it foams up. There doesn’t need to be any talking between the two of you, he just takes your arm and stretches it out in front of him, serenely scrubbing your skin of the dirt.

After he washes the both of you, he dries himself off first, slipping into a pair of boxers before greeting you with another towel. He wraps it around your shivering frame, in hopes to heat you up with his embrace. “Good?”

“Good,” You reiterate in confirmation quietly.

Yoongi leaves you to it; clothes that he’s chosen for it that sits on the sink countertop are obviously his. Simply a grey shirt with his favorite band printed on the front, you know it’s his most prized possession and he’s letting you wear it. Your heart softens at the thought; a memory of him over wearing it until the fabric has become frail and begging you to help sew in the hole of the armpits at the sleeves.

He also leaves you a pair of pink boxers. They’re technically stained, you recall clearly, a day where he did his whites and a red T-shirt fell into the load, dying the entire load into a rosy shade. But Yoongi wants you to wear it because it’s his adored selection of color on you. Pink does suit a pretty girl like you.

Minutes later, just as you’re finished getting dressed, he’s got a comb in his hold and a dryer in the other. “Your hair is wet,” He says, stating the obvious. “I know you’ll want to lay and it’s not good to do that with wet hair. Sit,” Yoongi gestures to the toilet seat. Abiding obediently, you settle on the cover, shoulders slouching. He combs your wet strands, detangling the knots in your hair like the obstacles of your relationship, and you’re wishing it could be solved as gracefully.

He turns on the hair dryer, blowing hair to your head while massaging the drenched locks, doing his best to get all the moisture out. The toasty air hits your nape; the breeze has you lulling your head forward, emitting a laugh from Yoongi. “Please wake up, I’m all done.”

His bedroom feels a lot more different than when you first stepped into it.

There’s more to discern; empty chip bags are chuckled on any table surface, crushed water bottles are scattered across the room, and the lights are dim, shades covering the window barely opened. The only source of brightness in the room is from the flickering of the small television that sits on a dresser. It seems that he’s been watching an old movie, Legally Blonde, oddly enough for a guy like him.

“Uh, it reminds me of you,” He says calmly, rubbing his nape anxiously. “Mostly all the pink though. Not so much the other stuff… other than she’s very nice. Do you… wanna watch?”

“Yeah, I would… very much enjoy that,” You clear your throat, turning your gaze away. “If.. If you’re okay with that.”

“Of course, why else would I ask?”

You don’t know how, but you’re in his arms, underneath the covers on his bed.

He’s cozy. Anyone who has called Yoongi cold-hearted deserves karma their way; he’s been nothing but inviting, arms open to have you in his embrace. Even in a moment like this, where there isn’t a label between the two of you, in a time of need, he’s here. He lets you weep in his chest, although those tears are caused by him, soothingly tenderly rubbing your back for comfort.

“I’m sorry,” You choke out into his shirt. “I didn’t mean to drive you away. I finally had you as my own and I couldn’t even keep you.”

“Mm,” He hums faintly, never drifting away. “We don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Swiftly, you sit up on the bed beside him, watching as Yoongi shifts in his position, head on his arm. “I want to talk about it. How I made a mistake, how my perception of things were wrong and I should’ve just… heard you out and tried improving us instead of taking a step backwards. We were good—I was happy. Did I ruin it for myself?”

Gaze softening, Yoongi relaxes. “I—no, of course not. After some space, I realized that maybe I should have been… considerate and empathetic. The one time you wanted to keep a selfish want a secret, I couldn’t even give you that. I thought I was getting better at this stuff, this whole boyfriend thing, and it seems like I’m doing a poor job.”

“So… does this mean we’re back together?” Chewing on your bottom lip, the straightforward inquiry leaves your blood pressure skyrocketing in anxiety. All those worries were for nothing because a smile bridges, dragging you down for a gentle kiss. “Yes, of course, that is, if you’ll have me.”

Putting a strand of hair behind your ear, Yoongi’s heart swells. You, in his oversized charcoal colored band-tee and in his bed is a view he never thought he’d get a chance to see. During your relationship, the demand of secrecy had left the two of you no other option than to spend time in your apartment, and although he didn’t hate it, he remained desirous for you to enter his own bedroom, entering a more personal side of him.

“I’m happy,” You confide, eyes twinkling when they daze into Yoongi’s. It’s the first time you’ve felt this way in a while, the last encounter was with him, and an occasion that has you joyous without the need to please others. “This is where I want to be.” There's a tentative pause when you speak before you burst. “Yoongi, I love you.”

It’s something you’ve been holding back from saying for a while now, but an emotion that you’d been certain about. The moment he came into your apartment that night, voice slightly raised in confusion while standing on the threshold, he wondered why you never called him back. He was worked up over you. It was then when you realized that if Yoongi couldn’t reciprocate feelings for you, it’d be hard to ever be friends with him. The night he told you, ‘no more,’ you knew that you loved him, and if he didn’t love you back, you had to let him go.

But there’s a soft smile sitting on his lips, alleviation spread across his face. It’s an expression that you don’t expect, although he’s said it many times that likes you. “I love you too.”

Are you floating?

Before you could bask in the happiness, the front door swings open before Yoongi could respond; loud chattering between the two other boys filling the apartment. Stunned by the abruptness, Yoongi attempts to detangle himself from the sheets before noticing it’s too late. Jimin has already turned the knob of Yoongi’s bedroom, in disregard for any of his privacy, entering in.

“Yoongs, you totally missed it, Tae—“ Jimin stops in mid-sentence, stupefied. Howbeit that Yoongi has slipped out his bed and onto the floor with a thump, and you’re already half up, leaning on your arms. “Oh my god, did you guys—but we were out for like three hours—“

“Uh, hey.” Greeting awkwardly, you pull the covers over your bare legs. “Surprise! We’re dating.” It’s not exactly the right place to make this announcement, but it’s better now than never. Yoongi was yours, wholly, no doubt about it, and you weren’t going to let your mistakes take over once again.

Taehyung stands behind Jimin, not as shocked as he is, but rather disappointed.

“I’m glad Yoongi got himself together.” Stuffing his cheeks full of ramen noodles that awakens his taste buds, it earns a groan from the boy. Taehyung, however, can’t seem to stomach as much as his friend does. The thought of you and a guy like Yoongi being official doesn’t sit easy in the pit of his stomach. “You think he’s changed?”

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Jimin scrunches up his nose in perplexity. “Of course I do. Have you seen the way he’s been lately? Sure, yes, he’s still a bit rough around the edges, but at least it’s less. Why? You don’t?”

Taehyung hesitates speaking about what he truly feels, but it’s now or never. “I… I don’t know. I mean yes, he’s unmistakably offbeat but is he good enough for her? I know I sound insane and possibly overprotective, but let's face it. She’s done so much for us. From your grandmother’s funeral, to my situation with my dad, she’s always been there for us. Remember that one year where Jungkook’s parents went on a trip to Hawaii during the holidays? He stayed at her family’s place. He actually spent Christmas at her house because she didn’t want him to be alone.”

“What are you insinuating then? Who would be good enough for her?” Jimin retorts, trying to piece everything together. “You don’t… have feelings for her, do you?”

Rolling his eyes, Taehyung falls back on his chair, running his fingers through his blonde locks. “No, I don’t. She’s way too nice for me, I don’t think I could ever overcome the feeling of guilt around her. But, that’s what I mean. She’s sensitive, very altruistic, and empathetic. She doesn’t love, she loves with her entire heart. Don’t you want someone who’s close in comparison?”

Without any thought, Jimin agrees with his friend wholeheartedly. Selfless has its own definition in the dictionary, but to your friends, they all can concur that you are the meaning of it. “I get it, trust me,” Jimin begins, food long forgotten. “But isn’t she happy? Think about it. We ponder about who would be good enough for her, someone who can be as giving as she is to us, to her.” He takes a moment of silence, turning his gaze away to collect his thoughts. “I think you’re taking this as what you know about Yoongi on the surface. Yes, he’s our friend, but you see bits and pieces of him, and the whole part of him is missing from your perspective. Yoongi is reserved, and for all the right reasons, but if he unravels for her, then he's the perfect candidate.”

It’s a paraphrase of what you confessed to him prior to this, that day over at lunch where your eyes had been swollen from crying endlessly, nose runny and red like Rudolph the reindeer. He hates seeing you like this, especially when he knows all the good you’ve done in this word, but coming to terms with that Yoongi is the one for it, proves to be hard to swallow.

“I guess… if she’s happy, it should be okay… right?”

But the way you smile, stretching from cheek to cheek, it’s brighter than the stars in the skies. He loves the way you talk about those stupid shows that you enjoy watching—something about Bob’s Burger’s— and he’s obsessed with how you could go on and on about something that doesn’t even make sense. He likes that you’re caring without a breath of trying, effortlessly going about your day, doing little things that could change the direction of someone’s day. Taehyung also recalls the first time that you changed his day, and for the better.

Hana had just broken his heart. She told him that she didn’t love him anymore, that she had found it in someone else, and she didn’t mean to. Her apologetic eyes didn’t do him any good, mostly tearing a part of his heart as she walked away, saying her last ‘sorrys’ because they didn’t work out. The moment that you heard, you were already at his front doorstep, hand fisted where the door should’ve been with a frown upon your face. “I’m sorry, I… must be at the wrong address,” You said, wearing those cute denim overalls that make you look shorter than you are. Taehyung thinks blues are his favorite, at least, on you. “I’m looking for Taehyung, he’s supposed to be this art student that’s supposed to help me with my project about marketing a new product but… he’s like this creative guy and no offense but you don’t… look like the type. Do you know where he lives?”

“Uh, that’s me.” Taehyung retorts, taken aback. But the way you laugh heartily, eyes mimicking your lips, you quickly respond with a billion sorrys, and they’re nothing like the ones Hana said. They gradually mend the broken pieces, and fill that empty spot that she took with her; soon enough, Taehyung was healed. And it all started with your laugh.

You’d never make Hana the bad guy, and it was a quality of you that Taehyung sort of hated. He felt like she’d done him wrong; head over heels for another guy named Jimin that Taehyung had never met, and breaking his own heart in the process. “But Hana is so pretty,” You say, tossing popcorn in your mouth. “And to be fair, she tried to love you. Leaving you wasn’t your fault, and sometimes, you have to do selfish things for your own happiness, even if it hurts someone else. In this case, I think it’s justified. If she stayed, Tae, she wouldn’t have loved you the fullest.” Hana was never the enemy, she was just a stepping stool to find you. And although Jimin was his ex’s current boyfriend, Taehyung has gained him as a best friend along the way. You did say that just because the relationship didn’t work for Taehyung, it doesn’t mean it can’t work for someone else.

Taehyung’s figures out that his favorite color is blue, or well, his favorite color on you. It’s a reminder of days with clear skies, the crash of the ocean waves, and his favorite fruit, blueberries.

He eventually learns he wishes to be that someone else for you. And he suddenly realizes that he loves you a little too late.

A/N: no, i am not sorry i made this ending bc the result of it is how no blueberries, a taehyung spin-off, came to be. :)

#yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #gyukultfics

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airplanned · 3 years

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All the Trashy Novels Part 30

This was fun, y’all. Thanks for humoring me!

Part 1...Part 29

***

She spent four days mostly standing in front of the Goddess statue, trying to glow without requiring something inappropriate to trigger it. She could now get it every single time with very minimal effort, but that effort was usually Link coming up behind her and placing a kiss where her neck met her shoulder, or trailing his fingers from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. And suddenly her skin was lit up like a camp fire, a fuzzy pleasure brushing over her like a thin blanket. It was embarrassing and frustrating, but at least she could trigger it without an orgasm and could hold her luminous state for long stretches once she got it going.

"That's true," Link agreed. He'd taken a seat on the ground with his arms resting on his bent knees. "You just need to work on not making that face."

Zelda huffed, her arms flopping to her sides and her glow spluttering out. "I'm trying!"

The problem was that now that she'd allowed herself to feel affection for Link, she always felt a little giddy and ridiculous when she did so. Apparently, this manifested not only in a divine luminescence, but also in a love-struck look on her face. Link referred to it as "bedroom eyes" when he was being polite, and "fuck me face" when he wasn't. He'd taken a bunch of pictures to show her, and he was (annoyingly) correct. She could not make that face in public.

"Maybe you'd look less sultry if you closed your eyes," he said.

"Then I wouldn't be able to see anything!"

"Can you use your Goddess powers to see things?"

"I can use my Goddess powers to glow! They don't do anything else!"

"Are they supposed to?"

"I don't know!"

"Try it."

She closed her eyes and tried it. She remembered the warm pressure in her chest and she remembered the heat of his breath on her skin and she thought about how he he'd made her a tiny little cake the night before and then blushed as she'd gushed over it. Those were things that she liked about him. Those were good things, and she felt a way about them.

The glow didn't light.

Why not? Those had made her feel things. She felt things. Things for Link. She took another breath and pushed into less appropriate territory, of the way he'd wrapped around her back the night before and let his hands wander until she was moaning with abandon and glowing, burning.

"You got it?" His hands came to rest on her hips, and her eyes popped open as she lit up.

Goddess, she hated that he could do that. She batted the thought away, and held tighter to her lust. Goddess, she liked his hands on her.

He looked taken aback, almost awed. Even though he was expecting it. Even though he'd seen it dozens of times now.

Part of why she needed to get her face under control was that it affected Link so.

He swallowed hard. "Close your eyes. Let's see if that...oh." His voice turned rough. "Oh, that's so much worse."

He pulled her in at the waist and kissed her desperately.

Link made himself scarce as she wrote up her field notes. She had very little to write. She'd made very little progress.

In frustration, she tossed her journal away. She would just have to have Link come touch her when he was done battling Ganon. Maybe he could magically poke her with his index finger as if she were the Sheikah slate. And they most likely would evacuate the area, so it wouldn't matter if she had on her come-hither face. Link would just have to deal with not making out with her for however long it took to seal the Calamity away. And who cared if she made a face? If making a face saved the world, no one would be allowed to say anything.

Except Zelda cared. She didn't want to look ridiculous, and she didn't want to rely on Link to access her own powers. She glared at her journal.

Where was Link anyway?

She stomped off to go glare at him. Or go have him be gentle and compassionate until she had too much trouble holding onto her irritation.

She found him before the Goddess statue, his head bowed, the sword drawn with its tip resting against the ground.

She frowned harder. "Are you praying?" she asked.

He startled and spun around. "Oh. Yeah. Um. You haven't been praying lately, so I've had to...pray by myself."

An old, familiar hurt settled over her. Of course he was on such good terms with the Goddess, when she was...she was...

She was working on her relationship with the Goddess. She understood that maybe it was all a big misunderstanding, but that didn't mean it didn't still hurt, and it didn't mean she wasn't still upset that she couldn't fully access her powers without the help of someone the Goddess liked.

Link looked nervous, as if he knew she was about to shout at him again. Guilt lanced at her stomach. She lowered her eyes and stepped near him.

"What do you pray for?" she asked quietly.

"Um. Nothing?"

She snorted. "You pray for me."

He didn't say anything, which confirmed it.

"Show me," she said. She turned him back to face the Goddess, and slipped her way into his arms, her back to his chest. She placed her hands over his as they planted the sword to the ground.

He held himself stiff with discomfort, but then relaxed his arms under hers and lowered his head. "Close your eyes," he murmured.

Well, this was her idea. She closed her eyes and lowered her head.

"I pray for you to have some guidance," he said. "Because you desperately want to please her, and you want to do it right, but all you have to go on are rumors and what you're ordered to do by people who don't know what they're doing either. I pray for some sign that you're on the right path. Not because I want to know, because I know you'll get there. But for you. You need assurance or your self-doubt eats at you, and there's no way that self-doubt will save Hyrule.

"And I pray for you to be happy. Because you're beautiful when you're sad and you're beautiful when you're angry, but I would die to see you smile. To hear you laugh. The way you carry yourself when you're at ease, the excited way you talk when you catch onto something new. That light in you could light the whole world. It could burn away the Calamity."

"You're a charmer," she murmured.

"You're a peach."

She snorted. "You don't pray like I do."

"Yeah?"

"I wouldn't tell the Goddess all that."

"Why not?"

Why not? "Because she already knows?"

"But maybe she wants to hear you say it."

"She wants me to wax poetic about a girl?" she teased.

"Wax poetic about what you love."

"Love is a strong word."

"And you're asking for a powerful weapon."

Her eyebrows furrowed. In a small voice she asked, "What should I pray for?"

He thought for a moment. "Why do you want to save Hyrule?"

"Because it's my--"

Duty.

She startled. The answer had rolled off her tongue.

Anxiety she couldn't name clawed at her chest. She shifted uncomfortably. Maybe standing like this had been a bad idea.

"She'd like to hear you say it."

Her breath shook. "I want to save my people. My friends. Urbosa and Revali and Mipha and Daruk. They're so devoted and encouraging. If they fell, then their people would suffer. All the brilliance of our people would falter, all compassion and the triumphs. The wonderful art and music and literature--"

"Even the bad literature."

"Especially the bad literature! And the bad music! All the ridiculous rumors, and the guards who devour those rumors, and all the fake girlfriends out there. We would lose all of that! And as shameful as it is, I would fight for those things."

"What else would you fighting for?"

"The Sheikah technology. You don't know the victory you feel when two pieces snap together. The thrill when a guardian lights blue under my hands. The way Robbie nods along when I ramble and then picks up my thoughts and runs with them, taking them somewhere new, and the I can pick them up again and run farther. The way Purah grabs my arm the moment I walk into the lab. The way she drags me to a diagram and asks my opinion. As if I'm wanted! As if I'm needed!"

The sword flared under her hands, a ringing note at the base of her skull, and her eyes flew open at the call for attention.

She was glowing. A warm pressure burned in her chest, and she grabbed hold of it to maintain it.

"What--"

"Things you care for," Link murmured.

She turned her head to look at him in surprise and confusion.

The corner of his mouth quirked. "You're not making the face."

"How long have I been glowing?"

"Since you declared your love for trashy novels."

"Love is a strong word."

He shook his head and laughed under his breath.

"But,” she said, “I need a strong weapon.”

His eyes darkened. “You’re making the face again.”

When she kissed him, it was bright and sharp as the sun.

#Zelda #My Fic #All the Trashy Novels

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justanobsessedfangirl · 3 years

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The Sacrifice Part 2 - The Maze Runner Minho Imagine

Request from @elizabeth-brown: hey when your requests will be open can you do 'the maze runner' one with minho. where one day when new greenie was coming up he had letter with him. on it there was written that if they sacrificed y/n they would let everyone out. so keepers decided to vote. most of them voted 'yes' so without any emotions Alby kick y/n into the maze. then minho realized his feelings. y/n survived the maze and WCKED took her. after one year she escaped WCKED and ran into the scorch. Minho missed her miserably. y/n searched the safe heaven. and when Group A searched safe heaven they saw y/n and she was so mad. you can end it however you want either she forgives them or not. and please tag me

Masterlist

Part 1

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for the kind words! I really appreciate all of it! :)

Word Count: 3.8k

The sun was rising. You stared up at it as you walked, your cracked lips parted, mouth dry beyond belief. The cloth you’d wrapped around your head was already growing warm. Beneath your long-sleeved shirt and jeans, your body was scarred with sunburns. Your backpack hung heavy on your shoulders and scraped against your back painfully. Still, you kept walking through the sand.

Crumbling buildings lined the barren street. At the end, next to an intersection, you saw one that still had an intact roof. You willed yourself to move faster, but your steps continued in the same plodding manner as before. The sun beat down heavier.

A dry wind whispered past, bringing swirls of sand to flight. They looked beautiful in the golden rays of the morning but cut like glass as they whipped past your cheeks. With a grimace, you reached a weathered hand up and pulled some loose cloth farther over your face, squinting your eyes for protection. The sound of your heavy breathing filled your ears.

How familiar that was. How familiar exertion was. Before you could stop yourself from thinking, from remembering, you saw his face. He was by your side, smiling, goading you to run faster. He was betting you that he could reach the doors first.

“If I win, you owe me half your dinner,” came his playful tease, so vividly that you almost thought it was real. If you let your gaze wander, you could barely make out a mirage of him jogging ahead of you.

What was it you’d said, back in that other life, where you ran the Maze and lived in the Glade and weren’t as alone? You smacked your lips together now, looking for any moisture, and croaked, in a hoarse voice, “What do I get if I win?” The effort made you cough. Stopping in your tracks, you doubled over hacking. You expected to see the worn stone of the Maze beneath your feet, but there was only sand. Knives scraped your throat. You tasted blood.

“You can have anything you want,” Minho responded. You lifted your head, hoping for a glimpse of his face and seeing only sand.

Tears filled your eyes. You wanted Minho with you, right now. You wanted to not be alone. You wanted to not be here, to not have made any of these choices, to not have to keep going and keep trying and keep surviving all because of one promise. You wanted to reach the doors -- no, not the Maze doors, never the Maze doors again, the doors to a crumbling building in a crumbling town in the sun-baked, sand-ridden, abandoned Scorch.

Straightening up, you started for the building again. You reached it in a few long, purposeful strides. The door hung half off its hinges. You slipped inside, shutting it as best you could behind you, hoping that would keep at least some sand out. The inside was blessedly dark. The front room seemed kind of like a cafeteria, with a few tables and chairs and a long counter at the back. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you remembered the last cafeteria you’d been in. You wanted to spit on this place as payback.

Instead, you walked behind the counter, sunk to your knees, shrugged off your backpack, and curled into a ball. Your head pounded. You squeezed your eyes closed, pressed your palms to your temples, tried to hold back any more tears. The memory of Minho floated to the front of your mind again.

“No need to cry,” you could hear him saying. You could almost feel him tuck a finger under your chin, like he’d done before, and raise your head. “I’m still here.” And then you opened your eyes, hoping to see that cocky grin that would make the whole world would seem a little better.

But Minho wasn’t there. You weren’t in the Glade anymore. You weren’t even with WICKED anymore. You were somewhere in the middle of the Scorch, alone and trying to survive and failing.

With trembling fingers, you unzipped your backpack and pulled out your last bottle of water. It was half-empty. You stared at it numbly. How far could half a bottle of water take you? When you used to run the Maze, a lifetime ago, you never went in without at least one canteen full. Minho had teased you during your first run for taking three. You wondered what he would say now.

“We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get out together.” That’s what he would say. That’s what he had said, right before you went into the Maze for the last time.

I tried, Minho. You wanted to scream it out to the Scorch, let every damn Crank within a hundred miles of you hear it. Maybe Minho would hear it too, back at the WICKED compound, back in the Glade. He said he would find you. You’d repeated his words so many times in your head that they were practically imprinted in your brain. They were like a touchstone, something you remembered for luck and courage.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he’d said.

You’d never said it back. You wished you’d said it back.

You forced yourself to stop remembering and took a sip of water. It was like ice filtering through magma cracks, soothing, soothing, soothing, and then gone, evaporating and leaving behind seething bubbles of lava. You wanted more. You wanted so much more for yourself.

You twisted the cap back on and shoved your water into your bag before you did something you’d regret. Leaning against the counter, you let your eyes close. Fatigue made your limbs heavy, and the warm air settled over you like a blanket. You hoped the sun would be gone when you woke up. Then you would walk, as you had for countless nights, with no real directions in mind, only the understanding that you needed to keep moving or else you would die. Somewhere out there, there was a safe haven.

But in your dreams, there was darkness, and in the darkness, there were Grievers. The Maze walls, dripping with ivy, closed in around you as you ran. Your breaths came short and fast, more from fear than effort. You had no bag, no weapons, just the shoes on your feet and a little bit of hope in your chest. But the Grievers were closing in.

Mechanical limbs whirred, slamming against the Maze floor so forcefully the ground seemed to shake. You whipped your head around, caught a glimpse of them, turned back and ran faster, looked again and saw them even closer. Metal clanged together, the sound of razor-sharp fangs gnashing, slick with slime. A rush of wind sliced past your arm. You tried to move faster, just a little faster, just enough to keep narrowly avoiding the Griever’s claws, just enough, please, just enough to make it to sunrise--

A wave of fire burned a line across your back. The pain was white-hot, so bad you couldn’t keep your eyes open, you were stumbling and faltering and barely moving and the Griever was going to get you, only with your next step you felt nothing but open space and then you were falling and falling and falling.

You hit the ground so hard the air went out of you, and only then did you realize you’d been screaming. A moment of shock passed. Then you shrieked again. Your back burned with pain, but it wasn’t fire, not like you’d thought at first, it was a cut, huge and sprawling and parting the flesh of your back. Blood drenched your shirt. You screamed, blind with pain and fear, waiting for the Griever to finish you off or sting you and send you into a spiral of even greater misery.

Something grabbed your arms, hoisted you up, strapped you down. The Grievers have me, they’ve got me, they’re going to kill me, you thought, even as you felt human hands and heard human voices and saw human faces.

“No!” You caught a glimpse of one of them holding a syringe, a Griever in disguise. Twisting away, trying to avoid it, you let out a scream so loud you thought your vocal cords would be torn to shreds, just like your back, just like the ravaged mess that was left of your back. The needle pierced your skin.

Immediately, your yells dropped off. The people or the Grievers or the Grievers masquerading as people laid you face down on a stretcher. You couldn’t move your neck, or your arms, or your feet, but every step they took as they carried you sent bolts of lightning through your body. Your face was wet with tears, with blood. The jostling stopped. Every nerve in your body rebelled in pain, and then there was a cold hand on your cheek, forcing your chin up. Grinning down at you was the face of the devil.

You woke now with a start, a cool sheen of sweat coating your body, phantom pains chilling your back. Your heart thundered wildly. Acting on pure instinct, you shot to your feet, looking frantically around the room. She would be there, you were sure of it. The devil, with her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, her lips painted red with the blood of her victims.

But the room was dark and empty and you were alone.

You untensed with a long, slow exhalation. Tiny daggers still ran up and down your spine, dancing along the scars the WICKED doctors had said they couldn’t fix.

“An unfortunate variable,” the devil had said about the Grievers, “but necessary.”

Necessary.

You spat on the floor, wishing it was her pristine white cafeteria, half-hoping you’d look up and see her standing there so you could strangle her. But that thought was fleeting and your head shot back up in fear, scanning the room again and again to reassure yourself that Dr. Paige was nowhere to be seen.

When you were sure there was no one lurking in the night-shadowed corners, you hefted your backpack onto your shoulders and made for the door. Outside, the desert air was chill and dry. The occasional wind stirred the sand as you walked, footsteps making quiet whispers along the dusty sidewalk. Moonlight paved the way forward.

Goosebumps covered your arms as you replayed your dream, your memories, over again. Yes, the Grievers had gotten you, but not the ones in the Maze. It was the hidden Grievers, the ones who said they were good, and that they were going to save the world, and that you were helping.

“Thank you for participating, Y/N,” Dr. Paige had said. “I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience. The data we gathered on the group’s response to a requested sacrifice will prove very useful, I assure you.” And she’d smiled at you. She’d actually smiled, pointy, predatory canines on full display behind her parted red lips. “The data from your response will also be very beneficial. Thank you once more for your participation.”

You were too shocked. You were in too much pain. The synapses in your brain weren’t firing correctly, still stuck trying to piece together that the sacrifice was some kind of test. An unfortunate variable. “What...what happens next?”

Dr. Paige had already left. Someone lower in the chain of command gave you a nonanswer about your role in Phase One being complete.

“But what happens in Phase Two?”

There was no answer to that question, no matter how many times you asked. You asked when you were stable enough to be moved to your own room, when you were compliant enough to walk the halls of the facility with a chaperone, when you were obedient enough to eat in the cafeteria among the staff members.

“WICKED is good,” they’d say. And then they would smile at you.

You shuffled through the sand. Reaching a hand, which you pretended wasn’t trembling, into the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out a meal replacement pouch with WICKED emblazoned on its side. Even as you ate, you worried. The dream loomed over you like a heavy cloud, and your food supply was dwindling. You wished for a sip of water, just a taste, a small trickle to wet your lips, something to help the powdery bar go down.

You wished you’d started hoarding food at WICKED earlier. It was only when you noticed that change was coming, that the air was electric and the people were alive, that you started to slip items from the cafeteria into your bag. The doctors had stopped ordering you in for blood tests and scans, which they had pretended were for your back, and then they stopped sending you a chaperone. It was almost like freedom.

“Code Green. I repeat, Code Green. All personnel begin preparations for Phase Two. I repeat…” The message came over the speakers while you were in your room, a barebones cell with a cot and a desk. In a flash, you were on your feet, pouncing on the opportunity. You slung your WICKED bag over your shoulders, ignoring the discomfort as it pressed into your bandaged back. Peering through the crack in your door, you couldn’t see anyone in the hall. The lights were flashing in time with the announcement, strobes of green slicing across the walls. Holding your breath in anticipation, you tried the door handle. Unlocked.

Heart fluttering, you pulled it open a crack and slipped through, shutting it gently behind you. No chaperone sitting outside. No guards patrolling. No people at all. You bolted down the hall.

Thinking about it now, as you finished your second to last meal replacement, the perishable food long since gone, you wondered why it was so easy.

Phase One. Phase Two. Thank you for your participation. An unfortunate variable. Unfortunate unfortunate unfortunate thank you for participating thank you for the data thank you for trying thank you for dying. Phase Two, I should have raided the cafeteria will you be in the cafeteria, Minho are you in the kitchen? Where are you where am I why is this happening what is--

Welcome to Phase Two.

You crumpled the meal replacement package in your hand and threw it into the air, letting it fly with the wind.

Minho’s voice was in your head. “I’ll raid the kitchen, the Med-jack Hut, bring us weapons.”

You shook your head and it faded. “I would have done it if you were there,” you said. Your voice was a croak. You cleared your throat and tried, “I would have…” The words floated away. I would have tried harder to survive.

“I tried so hard, Minho.” You thought of your bottle of water, only a few sips left. “I tried to wait for you in the Maze, but WICKED took me.” Grievers and white-clothed doctors and searing pain. “I tried to wait for you at WICKED, but...I think they let me escape.” An unlocked door, no patrolling guards. The vast expanse of the Scorch beyond, and a snippet of an overheard conversation about a safe haven at the end. “I tried to reach the end. But I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Sand. So much sand. Lightning storms and a burning, vengeful sun, and a throat so dry it hurt. “I can’t do this anymore.”

And still, you walked. Because there was nothing else to do. Because you were a Runner and Runners never stopped. Because you thought this might be another test, another phase, and you wanted to reach the end. Because the mirage of Minho was nearby, talking.

“We’re almost there,” he said. You rubbed your sand-crusted eyes and tried to find him. “We have to keep going.”

Other voices chimed in, pitched low and hard to hear. You hoped you could hallucinate Newt, too, and maybe Zart and Frypan, who had tried to help, had tried, just like you tried. You moved faster, feet cleaving through drifts of sand.

“There it is!”

You missed the sound of an excited Minho. You remembered the first time he’d had a little too much to drink at a bonfire, and he’d picked you up and twirled you around. You’d never smiled so much.

The memory used to be good, then it turned painful, and now you were just numb.

You kept walking. Around you, the city was fading into sand. Ahead stood a tall dune. You wanted to stop and stare and convince yourself to turn around. But you kept walking. Behind the dune, you’d see Minho and Newt and Zart and Frypan and maybe even Alby, and maybe you would forgive Alby, or maybe not, but you would still see him because everyone would be there.

You boot punched a hole into the sand dune, sending streams of gritty yellow dust cascading down the slope. Stepping forward again, you sunk into sand up to your mid-calf. Again and again, and then you stumbled and fell in up to your elbows, and still, you crawled.

“We can do this,” Minho said, from somewhere above or behind or by your side. He was climbing with you, barely out of sight. His playful grin was audible.

“Bet I can beat you to the top,” you said before he could.

“What do I get if I win?” he asked.

You smiled and there were tears in your eyes and sand on your cheeks. “You can have anything you want.” And you climbed higher.

“I want you to say it back. Please say it back, Y/N. Please.” His voice was fading. You were leaving him behind as you neared the top.

Sand burrowed into the lines of your face, past the seams of your clothes, finding every nook and cranny of your body to hide in. It was in your mouth, your ears, your eyes. You struggled to breathe. Your head felt as light as a cloud. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you finally promised as you reached the empty crest. Still on hands and knees, you peered over the other side of the dune. The slope was empty. Everything was empty.

You rolled onto your back, eyes shut against the fading night sky. Your arm bumped against something stiff. Reaching a hand out blindly, groping for it, you came back with a stick. You looked at it through squinted eyes. Atop the stick was a flag, and on the flag in big, thick letters, the same font WICKED used for everything, were the words, “Safe Haven.”

You laughed. The bitter chuckle was alone in the Scorch. Overhead, the sky was lightening, and soon you would be alone in the daylight of the Scorch, alone in the Safe Haven.

Shrugging your backpack off, you reached inside for your water and the last of your food. The bottle was empty. You didn’t remember finishing it, but you figured you must have. You chucked it to the side, listening as it rolled down the sand dune. You wouldn’t need that anymore. The air grew warmer as dawn approached and you opened your last meal replacement. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could hear voices. You wondered if you were going crazy, decided you didn’t care because you had tried Minho I really tried I’m sorry please promise me I’ll see you tomorrow please don’t let it end like this please.

You took a bite of the crumbling meal replacement bar and immediately spit it back out. It had soaked up the last bit of moisture in your mouth. You tossed the package to the side, where you’d abandoned your water and your will.

The sky grew pink and orange and yellow, and, finally, there was the sun, high in the sky, and you had no idea how much time had passed while you stared, and you didn’t care. There was no further destination in mind. This was it. And with the sun up there and you down here, you hoped that maybe this wouldn’t count as dying alone.

“There it is!” Minho again. Funny how he kept saying that. And then the voices of the other Gladers chimed in again. You wondered if you would keep replaying that moment until you finally passed. You wondered how it would feel. You wondered if there was water on the other side.

The sand rushed down the sides of the dune in waterfalls. You could hear it, even if you didn’t have the energy to look. It sounded like a whisper. Beneath the whisper was the panting of a group of people.

Runners, you thought. All of the Runners before and all of the Runners after, coming to take me away. Would Minho be among them? Was he dead, like you and like those sad souls who’d been killed by the Grievers (An unfortunate variable, but necessary) and all of the people who’d gotten the Flare, which you barely understood because no one had answered any of your questions?

Why is this happening and where am I going and what do I do and how did I get here and when can I go home, please bring me home, I want to go home and I want to see Minho one last time because I never promised him back and I should have.

“Y/N?”

Minho. You didn’t have the energy to speak or even open your eyes to see the hallucination.

“Y/N!” Feet pounding against sand, then hands on your arms, looping around your back, pulling you close and shielding you from the sun. “Wake up, Y/N. Clint!”

No, Clint wasn’t supposed to be here. Clint had voted for you to be sent into the Maze. You were pretty sure you used to hate him for that, but hate took so much energy, and you just wanted to pretend Minho was holding you until you didn’t have to think anymore.

The people nearby talked unintelligibly, oscillating between murmurs and gleeful shouts. There was cotton in your ears and a blindfold over your eyes and strong hands on your back, propping you up. Then there was a splash of water on your face and the world opened up again.

There was Minho. Better than in your memories, because he was here, in full color, so perfect you needed to squint. He was on his knees and holding you. Above, Clint was pouring water over your head. All around you were Gladers.

“Minho?” you croaked, although there was no question who it was. Dark brown eyes, now filled with tears. Full lips curved up in a smile. Scatters of freckles across his cheeks. Minho.

Minho nodded and pulled you into a hug. “I thought…” he trailed off. Then he laughed, a sound so bright and so happy that the water on your skin felt a touch cooler, the sun on your shoulders a shade dimmer. “I should’ve known you’d survive.”

“There’s no safe haven,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue.

Minho shook his head, still buried in your neck. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Smiling, you pressed a hand to his cheek, coaxing him to look at you. When he did, you leaned in and finally felt at home.

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Author's Note: I wanted to put a longer, more serious note at the end instead of the beginning so I wouldn't deter any newcomers from reading. I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for letting me try out this style! I'm not very happy with how this turned out but it was good practice. Hopefully, I can use this experience and write better pieces in the future. Thanks again for letting me experiment and for the encouragement. And my requests are always open :)

Tag List: @officialfictionalwreck @elizabeth-brown @newtsgirl-hehe @jjjmaybank @adoregin

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hellsenthero · 3 years

Text

Below Zero

Written by: hellsenthero

Bucky X FemReader

After a mission gone wrong Y/N’s left hypothermic and injured. With no jet to get them back to the Avengers Compound safely Bucky works to save his partner, all while hoping he’ll get the chance to tell the girl about his feelings for her.

Warnings/Themes: Angst, fluff. (1.5K Words.)

Masterlist and Bucky Bingo.

**********

It was a coldness that Y/N had never known before. She could barely move, barely speak, barely think.

“Come on doll, not much farther.” Bucky rasped. Trudging through the snow he carried her, his body giving off a delicate warmth that she curled into. If she had the energy to speak, she’d hassle him about how the hell he stayed warm despite the freezing temperature, but alas, all that came out of her was a muffled groan. “Keep your eyes open.” Bucky commanded. Giving her a sudden jostle her eyes peaked open, looking up onto Bucky’s baby blues that softened as he gazed back down at her.

The two silently vowed to themselves that the next time they saw Tony, they’d give him a piece of their mind for the fun little mission he sent them on. His words, not theirs.

It was supposed to be a clean, easy sweep of an abandoned Hydra hideout for any left behind files they could get their hands on. And it was certainly not supposed to blow up the second they entered the five digit pin code to unlock the steel front door.

They were lucky they were alive, and relatively unharmed. All thanks to Y/N’s quick thinking and the heavy steel door that protected them from most of the blast. Survive a bomb only to be killed by the cold. Just their luck.

With the building ruined and bits of shrapnel protruding from Y/N’s thigh, the two Avengers were forced back to their jet, only to find the electronics system damaged. Meaning that they were stuck, stranded in the middle of nowhere and the damn door to the jet wouldn’t even close for them to hide away in until help arrived. And with an injured partner and freezing temperatures Bucky immediately made the decision to begin hiking towards a nearby safe house.

A safehouse that Y/N had no idea about until Bucky told her. She couldn’t even remember where they were exactly, and she didn’t particularly care at the moment. The only thought racing through her mind then was warmth. Warmth, I need warth. Give me warmth. So cold. Too cold. I need warmth.

“Buck…” Y/N groaned out, an attempt at telling the man how freezing she was.

“I know.” Bucky soothed. And he did know, he knew just how cold the girl in his arms was, how hypothermia was taking over, how death hung above her, dark and ominous like the grim reaper’s scythe. “We’re almost there.” He told her honestly. Bucky could see it, in the near distance the safehouse appeared as a brown blur through the snow fall.

Inside he could start a fire, get Y/N warm, use the backup radio’s to call for extraction after his and Y/N’s were ruined and patch up her thigh. Hopefully he could even get some food and water into the girl. He just needed to get to the safe house first.

“Y/N,” he called, jostling her once more when he realized her eyes had slipped back shut, “Y/N.” Y/N’s eyes remained shut and Bucky cursed to himself knowing that the girl was now in an even greater danger of not waking back up. “Come on doll, stay with me.”

Racing through the last few yards of snow Bucky finally got into the safehouse. The door opened up into a living room. There was a couch laden with blankets and pillows set before a fireplace and Bucky sighed in relief at the sight of it. He set Y/N down gently on the couch before doing a quick scan around the safehouse, ensuring that the two really were safe.

“Okay, doll. Time to wake up.” Bucky said once he came back to the couch, content in knowing the property was safe and a new radio in hand. “Bucky Barnes to Avengers Compound.” Bucky said into the radio, praying he remembered the channel Tony had set up properly.Setting down the radio Bucky went to undoing the zipper of Y/N’s coat, taking off the snow covered puffer he threw it to the floor haphazardly before slipping a pillow under her head. His flesh hand came up to her cheek, gently patting her in hopes of waking her up, but it was no use. With a worried grunt he layered the girl with all four blankets before going to start up a warm fire in the fireplace.

“Bucky, Tony and Steve here, what’s going on?” Steve’s voice cracks through the radio. With the fire now crackling away in the fireplace Bucky picks the radio back up.

“Steve, Y/N’s down and we’re stranded. I got us to a nearby safe house West of the base but it’s not looking good. We need to be extracted ASAP.”

“We’re searching for your coordinates now.” Steve answers. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief knowing the team will get to them as soon as possible. Setting down the radio he races across the room to the first aid kit hanging from the wall, bringing it back to where Y/N lays on the couch he pulls out the equipment he needs to tend to her thigh. “We found you, leaving now.” Steve radio’s in. “How bad is Y/N?”

“She’s hypothermic, unconscious and has shrapnel protruding from her thigh, so I’d say she’s fucking bad, Steve.” Unable to control his temper Bucky growls into the radio, uncaring about what Steve will say to him on the matter later on. The only thing Bucky cares about now is Y/N and getting her to the compound where she can be treated and safe. Steve’s voice comes through the radio once more but Bucky doesn’t care, instead he begins talking to his partner as he rips open her pant leg, allowing him to treat her thigh.

“Hey doll, I need you to wake up. Please Y/N, I’m beggin’ here,” with the fire started and cracking away Bucky prays the heat will soon be enough to wake the girl up, “it’s not often that a super soldier begs, doll. Do me a favour and open those pretty eyes for me.”

It takes a while, but as Bucky takes out the last piece of metal from your leg he finally gets a response from you. It’s only a murmur, but it’s like music to Bucky’s ears.

“That’s it doll, wake up. I need you to wake up and show those pretty Y/E/C eyes of yours.” As you slowly peel open your eyes Bucky can’t help but think it’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his long life. “That’s it,” he says gently, with your leg now all bandaged up and cleaned of blood he brings up his flesh hand to your cheek, feeding you as much warmth as he can through the touch, “good girl, keep those eyes open.”

“Bu...Buck…” The girl croaks out. Her hand twitches in an effort to hold onto Bucky as she opens her eyes. The sight of him kneeling over her filling her with a sudden need to press up against the super soldier, a need to feel him against her so she can be assured that this isn’t all a fever dream. “Buck...hold...me.” Speaking is still too difficult for Y/N but her whispered words are heard by the soldier. He wastes no time in getting under the blankets with Y/N as he too has a need to hold onto his partner, a need to be assured that she’s going to be okay, that if her eyes do fall shut once more that they won’t be shut for good.

“Don’t worry doll, I’m right here. You’re safe.” Bucky murmurs to the girl. Pulling her tightly against his chest he’s careful of her injury as he wraps his arms around her.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to realize the buildup of emotion in him. Yes, he already knew long before this mission that he had feelings for Y/N. He already knew that he’d do anything she’d ask of him in a heartbeat and yet the realization of his love for her hadn’t fully hit him. At least, it hadn’t hit him until now, as he holds her in his arms.

He’s also shocked by the realization that his knack for self-hating thoughts around her is all but gone. For once he’s not thinking, I wish I could have her but I don’t deserve her. Or the other common one, she’s too pure for a monster like me. Instead, his thinking, when we get out of here I’m going to tell her I love her. And if she lets me I’m going to spend the rest of my days showing her why I deserve her and why she deserves me.

With these thoughts in mind the door to the safehouse opens, the rest of the team bursting in to get their two team members to safety.

It was safe to say that when Y/N woke up in the infirmary with Bucky sitting at her side, he told her about his feelings for her.

It was safe to say that with a smile of her own, Y/N admitted her feelings towards him too.

It was safe to say that together, they proved to each other for the rest of their days why they deserved each other.

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gojoho · 3 years

Text

MERCY

• pairing; toji fushiguro x reader [ nsfw ]

• premise; it’s the same dance with him, a shameless game of cat and mouse in which he always win but maybe losing is equally as rewarding.

• words; 2078

• note & warning; i’m back with some toji content, he’s just been in my mind a little to long for me not the write about him. some warnings for this one is public, unprotected ( wrap it and then tap it folks ) sex, with the usual grammatical errors—I swear I try to proof read ya’ll but they just manage to find a way to stay in there. i am slowly but surely getting my mojo back.

Old habits die hard; it's easier to hate each other that way. Labeling whatever that was manifesting between the two of you as that, a bad habit. A dirty secret only an onyx sky could appreciate enough to hide. Perhaps that's what kept it alive and kicking, midnight turmoil, where even the most terrible of bad ideas are more seductive.

Though it's debatable if the alcohol left you unhinged, mindless, and bold. What other excuse did you have for allowing the bastard to enter your domain? There was no shame from the thinking without a conscience, but with the pounding music and pulsing lights, you weren't sure there was even space to think. He held a brazen stare all evening, keen to every move you made.

A man's attention was never anything to sneeze at, but when it was a straggler like Toji Fushiguro, it was intoxicating. And more than the liquor, everything seemed to be within reach under his spotlight. He held his distance, clung to the darkness, yet with such an adamant gaze he could have been right there beside you. At least, that's how you imagined it but the game wasn't that easy.

He'd stay in his dark corner, not quite able to step closer until you were ready. Until the heat underneath your skin became unbearable, leaving you an aching mess. That made it easier to devour you. Whether it meant burying his head between your thighs or hooking his arms around your waist and keeping you open. Or bottomed out inside you, mouth feasting on your chest.

The club was full, Friday night packed but it would work in your favor. You knew none of the songs, not that it mattered, it was mere fuel to your movements. A nice accessory to the sway of your hips, to suggestive temptation behind them.

It wasn't worth looking in his direction; he was always watching. At that thought alone, your clothes become a nuisance. A means to an end, that would start with him. Toji was a patient man but knew that patience didn't extend to everyone, you in particular. He was a tease, and as your dress inclined it almost felt as if he'd been the one to hike it up.

A sensation too similar to his hands moving over your bare thighs, ready to pry them open. His smug chuckle was right there feeding your imagination, and as one song faded into the next, there wasn't a spot on your body that hadn't been kissed in theory. With one thought, you were drooling over a man less than ten feet away, fantasizing about all the ways he could take you. It was more of a headache than it seems, and as the pace of the songs picks up, the conscience returns. Whilst you make your way back to the bar. You'd need a little more liquid luck to get through the rest of the night.

“That was quite a show.”

“Didn’t know I had an audience.” What else could you have done but tell a bald-faced lie? Telling him the truth didn't do anyone any good. How you envision him fucking you in the middle of the dance floor.

“Could’ve fooled me." The bar was located farther away from the DJ and next to the restrooms. The quieter end of the venue, but you're sure you'd have heard his smirk regardless.

After all this time, it's only then that you turn to him.“What are you doing here Fushiguro?”

Big mistake, ten feet away he looked the same as when you last saw him, but up close and personal, some details that had escaped memory came back to haunt you.

“Would you believe me if I told you, I’m here to see you?”

Yeah right, “Not in the slightest.”

“It’s true for the most part, had a job in the area and thought I’d pop in do some sightseeing." He shifted his weight back to the counter, his elbows well-rested on either side.

“Well you came and you saw.”

“On the contrary,” he said. The double meaning has turned your cheeks crimson, and you're thankful for the red lights underneath the counter. “Cute dress.”

Images from moments before gloss over your eyes, heating every part of your body. They burned a path down your chest before settling below your hips. “Seriously Fushiguro what do you want? You made it pretty clear we both want different things the last time you popped in.”

“Things are different.” Sincere wasn't the word you or anyone else would use to describe the guy, but his demeanor defied all expectations. He seemed to be a completely different person.

“Yeah, they are,” you mumbled, tossing back a shot you managed to order before his interruption.

“Look," he started and turned to face you. Face inches from yours, his scent enveloping both of you. "I tried the settling down thing and it doesn’t work with my kind of lifestyle.”

It wasn't the words you wanted to hear, but you probably wouldn't have had them anyway. Wishful thinking, “Then that’s clears things up doesn’t it?” Toji Fushiguro didn’t do apologies, much like he didn’t do commitment, and even as he called after you, that would never change. Something you wish your body would recognize, no matter how much it longed for him.

The corridor to the restrooms was too quiet for him being that close to you...too intimate. In the quick second you had turned you back to him, ready to sober up and head home, he’d already been behind you. Pushing you up against the wall in the far corner, his arms barricading you in.

“You’re quite stubborn, you know that.” His voice was low, quiet all to maintain the secrecy veiled in the darkness.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to add it to my resume.” You witted, going to duck around him but he was quick and with a step forward his hips pushed yours in back place.

“Will you just listen,” he pleaded. Not that you had much of a choice, but he took your silence as obedience. “I won’t make excuses, I’m a shitty guy but it’s gotten me this far. You won’t get the white picket fence with me. That’s not who I am.”

It was true, he was a shitty person. One minute here and the next gone with the wind. All with impeccable timing, usually around when he’d finish fucking you senseless. Truthfully it wasn’t something too much of a problem, it was better if he had his life and you with your own. Though you supposed between the kisses, and that final thrust that brought you both over the edge left some vulnerability.

“If I’m stubborn, then you’re quite dense. I never asked for that Toji. I was fine with the wild sex but was a little conversation too much to ask? You’ve got baggage, newsflash so do I, but you’d think we’d handle it like two grown adults. You’ve always been on the move, please, slow down every once in a while.”

The silence is deafening, louder than the upbeat track in the distance. You were irritated, angry, and, to make it worse, aroused. What else did he expect from you but a meltdown? As he moved his head to your back, he lowered his arms, allowing them to ghost your waist. “I'm sorry,” he said softly, kissing it.

In retrospect, you should have jumped for joy, climbed to the top of the bar, and screamed at the top of your lungs like a lunatic, but you didn't. You didn't want to abandon his embrace at that moment; he had really changed.

The kiss in trial is slow and tender, responsive to not only the worries but any emotion in between. Everything you didn't think he was capable of and all rage bleeds into desire. Each of you starved and desperate to find a fill.

The stiffness of his pants condemned his hold, which found its power over your hips. You want to propose that he return the excitement to your place or whatever hotel he was staying in, but he broke the kiss to turn you around. His patience had reached its maximum for the night.

“Wait for a second,” you mumbled out. A slight moan slipped through feeling his erection firm and strong against your rear. The ends of your dress taunted by his fingertips liked how you pictured them too. “Sorry princess, no can do.”

It’s almost impressive how quickly he lifts your dress and slipping a finger past your thong. But should anyone know your body in grave detail it was him. There’s a ceremonial cheer from the crowd as the DJ lets the beat drop, Toji’s opportune moment of intrusion. Your own cry, not one in interest to the music but the long slender finger to part your folds.

“I’ve waited all night to get my hands on you,” he mumbled out, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

“Toji—”

“I’ll be quick, just the way you like it.”

It’s in your best interest to stop him there, keeping private matters just that, you should stop him...should.

“Fuck…quickly.” you cursed out in compliance. There’s a smirk on his face, you know it. Sure he’s different, but some things never change.

In the second he pulled his finger away, you whimper half expecting for it to slip back in, maybe even with a partner but a casual Friday night turns into Christmas.

“I'll take my time with you later, right now—” he started face pressed into the back of your shoulder. “I just need to be inside you.”

First was the tip of his cock, a feeble tickle before the rest of his inches followed. Stretching you full, slipping deep into your heat. Coaxing the ache that was for him, letting the world see just how easily your body welcomed his own. Yet, it was hard to care about the rest of the world when your own revolved around everything below your hips.

He gripped them tightly, anchoring you there at the hilt with a slow sure thrust before looping a hand to your front. Twisting the nerves in time with his sudden thrust. Quick like he said, but still slow enough to feel him move inside you. In and out, then over again. The excitement of having him there indulging with your body, and the anxiety of getting caught clashed. Making you even more aware of your walls around him, but in his muffled moans there are words of encouragement. Sweet nothings that make your arousal fierce, sexy, and less wrong.

“Don't stop, ” you say a little too loud for doing something taboo but you don't care, “Don't fucking stop.”

The million and one fantasy that flooded your mind on the dancefloor spirals, winding with the moment and coiled in an untamed void. Ready to snap at those trying to control it. And there, shrouded in the thin veil of privacy Toji picks up his pace, teasing it with each stroke until finally, it shudders through. Coming in waves, meeting your peek every time he pushed forward. Bolting down your legs the more sloppy and anxious his hips became.

“Fuck, ” he grunts hands shooting to your chest. Pulling you closer to him, eating up your moans with his.

Almost feral with the way he continued despite his cock’s twitches, he wasn't nearly satisfied but that was a mess neither of you was capable of cleaning up at the moment. Regrettably, you push back on his rhythm stopping it completely. Snapping him from the haze.

“We should go, ” you whisper out on his lips. Which he can only grunt back in response to, hesitant to slip from your warmth.

His hands are glued to your body, unable to null all contact as you tugged your dress back down or as he tucks himself back into his pants. You'd ask whether it was back to your place or his but the languid look on his face as the two of you shamelessly stepped into the light made it fruitful. It didn't matter where the two of you went, he'd have you crying for mercy.

#jjk #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader smut #gojoho

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 21:

You were nervous, practically fainting under the pressure as you pulled open the hospital’s front door. The trip to Jaku was fairly easy, only a brief 45 minutes, and in that time you hadn’t managed to calm yourself at all.

You stomach was rolling with nerves- twisting and turning and making you feel so very sick. You tried to reason with yourself, tried to convince yourself to lower your expectations. There was nothing for you to be worried about, here! You hadn’t lied! Or hid anything, or pretended like you were a good person when you maybe weren’t.

Bakugou did that. He did that and he was the reason your eyes were still puffy and why your head still ached. He had things to apologize for- not you.

So why did it feel like all you wanted to do was throw your arms around him and forget everything and just be happy?

The longer you sat with it, the more you thought you understood. Even if he was bad, even if he did bad things, he was still your soulmate. He was still the other half of you and you were selfish- so, so selfish and you couldn’t make yourself give that up. Couldn’t ever possibly make a strong enough argument for abandoning him. You knew that, even if you didn’t want to admit it. It was why you were even at the hospital after all.

You shook your head, trying to focus on the matter at hand.

“Hi,” You greeted, hoping your smile seemed genuine to the receptionist. “Bakugou Katsuki, please, room 427.”

She just looked at you funny, tapping at the device in her ear. “Yeah, I got another girl down here asking for Dynamite? Where’s security?”

You heart began seizing, lungs stuttering with panic as she continued to stare you down. After a long fifteen seconds she spoke again.

“Well, isn’t it your lucky day. Apparently, he wants to see you. What a surprise.” She announced un-enthusiastically, handing you a slip of paper. “Take the stairs to the left, all the way up to level 4, and then follow the instructions on the paper.”

You just nodded in a daze, holding the paper in your shaking fingers and moving towards the stairs. Suddenly, you were even more nervous than before. You pushed open the stair doors, and realized this moment felt bigger than you. Bigger than anything in your entire life. Every singular event and decision had brought you here and the only thing you could do was stare dumbly at the stairs in front of you.

No. You knocked a closed fist gently against your forehead. I’m fine. I’m been waiting forever for this shit. It’s just stupid Bakugou.

You took one step, pulling your shaky legs along with two hands on the guardrail. Another step, only pull. Another step another pull. You were conquering the stairs, and this moment, gaining momentum before you knew it. With feet moving unbidden and sure and careful and climbing, you rise, steps taking you higher and higher until you hit the 4th floor. It’s a maze of hallways from there, a strange puzzle of paintings that all look the same and tiles that are two shades too dark and doctors and people rushing past and shoving, but your feet are steady, one after the other, fast, fast, faster, and you don’t falter. You don’t falter and you walk down another hallway, look at your paper, take a left, walk a little further, look at your paper, take a right, walk further and faster and further and farther, past room 423, past room 424, past room 425, past room 426, turn another corner, rush past a man wheezing in a wheelchair, skid to a stop- room 427.

You heart hammers in your chest- beating against your ribcage and threatening to burst through your too-thin skin. Your breath shudders, fingers shaking as you push the door- push it open, and wider, and widest, and open.

His face is the very first thing you see. It’s all you can see. All the machines and the hospital bed, all the bandages and the IV’s stuck into his skin- they all fade away. There’s just him and his blonde hair and the way his shoulder’s slope and the defined musculature of his arms. He is real and breathing and solid, and so, so, beautiful. Bakugou’s every breath seems to arrest you, keep you in place and strung tight like a live-wire, electricity running trails of fire through every vein- and his eyes.

His eyes that are darker, deeper, duller- less like raging volcanoes, and more like delicate rubies. They’re red. Red like nothing you’ve ever seen before, and startling and surprising, but it’s not an angry red. Not a violent red. You decide then that Bakugou is a soft, dignified red- he’s hot wax cooling over a sealed envelope, like a slowly healing cut just beginning to fade.

Something in you slots into place. You feel it in your mind, in your bones, in your chest. You’re not itchy anymore, you’re not searching. There is no puzzle left to solve and your finally have all the pieces to your soul; no longer aching anymore for something you knew you should’ve always had. Your skin is finally yours- no longer loose and ill-fitting and stretched thin saving room for someone you hadn’t met yet. You felt right- finally. Settled for the first time in your entire life, like somehow, you’d always knew you’d end up standing exactly where you were.

You think Bakguou must feel it too. He nods something almost imperceptible, but his face softens. He looks so sure- so confident as he looks at you. Like he always expected you to be exactly who you were. Like some part of him too always somehow knew this was going to happen.

You’re tearing up before you can help it, rushing into the room and to his bedside.

“What are ya fuckin’ cryin’ for, idiot?” Bakugou huffs, but his voice comes out strained; buried under thick, barely-restrained emotion. “Nothin’ new left to cry about now, stop it.”

“I can’t,” You’re wiping at tears with your sleeve. “After all this time- my whole life- It’s just- you’re- you’re you. ”

“Course I fuckin’ am.” He says. Bakugou then clears his throat, voice becoming much softer. “Always was to you.”

“I-I know. But it’s just- you’re real.”

He can’t say it back, you can see it in his pinched face and blushing cheeks, but Bakugou nods. You know he feels the same.

“It’s- I- I just didn’t think I’d ever be here,” You start, sinking easily into the chair next to his bed. “And after everything I jus-”

“I’m sorry!” His voice interrupts the relative quiet, cutting through like a knife. He nearly screamed his words, and when you look over at him Bakugou won’t meet your eyes. He’s studying the hospital blankets beneath his fingers, folding and clenching them between fingers gone white from the pressure. “I- I mean that. More than fuckin’ anything.”

“I know.” You say.

The room goes quiet again, and any of the calming completeness you had felt earlier seemed to be fading. Suddenly it’s not just the feeling of finding your soulmate running through you, but the feeling of finding Bakugou. Bakugou who is sitting in front of you, injured and weaker than Dynamite and he doesn’t look like someone who could hurt anything or anyone but then you remember that video- that scream, those eyes.

“Just- fuckin’ say it already. I can see your face, idiot.” Bakugou’s voice is authoritative but not pushy. Inquisitive but not demanding. “It’s- I know your holding back, so just fuckin’ quit it already, alright?.”

“It’s- I just need to know. You said, on the phone, that it wasn’t you, in the video.” You close your eyes. If you look at him any longer you think you’ll lose your nerve. “If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

“I-” You watch as his face falls, eyebrows pulling together. Then he’s turning red, wringing his fingers together and casting his eyes toward your shoes instead of your face. “Can ya- can I- I just have to think. Give me a second. I have to make sure I get the fuckin’ words right.”

You nod. Bakugou seems to leave you for a moment, eyes un-focusing and fingers twitching minutely. He suddenly looks up, meeting your eyes.

“It’s- I shouldn’ta said that shit. It was- I did that. Me.” He admits, words tight and strained like they’re hard for him to speak. He’s got a hand pressed to his mouth, head turned sharply to face the window. He refuses to meet your eyes once more. “But- I’m not- I’m tryin’ not to fuckin’ be like that anymore! I’m workin’ on it or whatever. Since then! E-ever since then.”

“Okay.” You nod. “What happened to the person? In the video?”

Your question seems to upset him, and he throws his hand harshly against the bed. Bakugou breathes- eyebrows pinched together tightly until his shoulders aren’t held together so tensely anymore.

“I told you. I didn’t- everybody always talks about that fuckin’ stupid-ass video but it was only the camera!” He grits his teeth suddenly, sharply inhaling and exhaling until his jaw relaxes once more. His eyes still remain screwed shut. “I meant that. What I said on the phone. The fuckin’ person was fine! Wasn’t fuckin’ hurt. J-just scared.”

You want to believe him. More than anything you want to believe him, but those eyes you saw were hard to forget. They almost seemed like they belonged to someone else- like they couldn’t possibly have belonged to the same guy who’d called you sunshine and helped you with your anxiety and cleared his schedule every night at exactly 7:00 PM. The Bakugou you had come to know was so far removed from the man in the video- the scary, feral, thoughtless man who seemed to attack someone without just cause.

You closed your eyes for a moment, bringing your hands together in your lap. He said he was trying- he made it very clear that was true with his careful breathing and the way he asked for time to think about his words first. The Bakugou sitting in front of you was not the same man in the video. His eyes weren’t violent erupting volcanoes anymore- they were slowly crystallizing gemstones. Precious, valuable things still slowly changing into something new.

“Okay.” You nod. “I believe you.”

Bakugou cracks open his eyes slowly, looking intensely at you. Something anxious in his eyes melts away, relief filling his features and settling in the barely-there curve of his smile. His shoulders relax and he takes a deep breath and a crackle, a pop and-

“Did you? Was that-” You point at his palms. “Was that your quirk?”

“No! Fuck no, why would you even fuckin’ say that- obviously not, because my quirk is fuckin’ cool not some shitty, embarrassing, tiny-”

“Bakugou.” You interrupt sternly, staring him down. “Honesty, remember?”

He groans, and flushes. His hand crackles again, something small and dancing just across his palm and Bakugou races to cover it. He then wipes his hands on his hospital gown harshly, turning his entire body toward the window to cover the way he’s still blushing. It doesn’t work though. You see him all the same.

“Yes.” He admits, and he just sounds so defeated, it makes you crack a smile. “But don’t fuckin’ say anything, okay? It’s all your fuckin’ fault, damn woman! Started the first time you called me and I can’t get it to fuckin’ stop no matter what I do it’s-”

“Can I see your hand?”

“H-huh?”

“Your hand,” You reach toward him gently. “I wanna see. Give it.”

Bakugou doesn’t look at you, just raises his arm and jabs it out toward you. The movement is stunted and awkward, like he can’t control his limbs right, and when you look at him his entire neck has started going red too. He waves his extended hand impatiently, urging you to get on with it.

Slowly, so very slowly, you poke a single finger into the smooth skin of his wrist. Just a feather-light touch. A near-weightless pressure against soft skin.

Pop.

You poke him again.

Pop.

Suddenly embarrassed, you pull both your hands to cover your eyes and blushing cheeks, and begin giggling uncontrollably.

Pop. Pop. Crackle.

Bakugou moves so brashly that it startles you, and he’s pulling his hand back to him, and curling it into his chest. He’s using his other hand to press into the crackling one, finally smothering the sound of a last few pops sounding off. When you finally peek between your fingers, he’s somehow redder than before.

He’s adorable and you’re laughing and you can’t stop laughing because he’s shy and embarrassed and so defenseless against you. Every part of you is warm from the top of your head to the burning tips of your toes, your smile spreading so wide that it over takes your entire face.

“It’s-it’s not fuckin’ funny!” Bakugou shouts. “Stop goddamn laughing, you shitty fuckin’ woman! It’s a good quirk! It’s not fuckin’ funny!”

“It is.” You agree, gasping to catch your breath. “It’s a very good quirk Bakug-.”

“K-Katsuki!” He shouts suddenly, interrupting you entirely. He seems surprised at his own outburst, blushing again and smacking his hand against his forehead. He groans. Loudly. “It’s- I- Katsuki. That’s my name.”

“O-oh. Okay.” You say shakily, heart beginning to race once more. “K-Katsuki, huh?”

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Bakugou screams. Just howls something deep and defeated and animalistic from the bottom of his chest. It fills the room, seemingly taking up all the space, and you could’ve sworn the windows were rattling. You start laughing.

“Fuck! Oh my god! You fucking did this to me, shitty woman! You- you’re- stop fucking laughing!” Bakugou is screaming, arms gesturing wildly. “This isn’t fucking funny! Something is seriously fucking wrong with me! A-and and you don’t even fucking care! You just think it’s funny! I’m fuckin’ broken, fuckin’ suffering, and you’re laughing!”

“It’s- I’m not!” You shakily defend, barely able to complete the words.

“See now you’re just fuckin’ lyin to me! Goddamn fuckin’ liar for a soulmate!” He’s yelling, hot air and fire and irritation seeping from his lips. “You know, it’s just my fuckin’ luck too, you know! To end up with such a fuckin’ idiot for a soulmate! Who just fuckin’ keeps laughin’ and lookin’ cute an-”

Bakugou screeches. He throws his hands down on the bed, palm up, full-on miniature explosions beginning to spout from his fingertips.

“What the fuck did you do to me? What the fuck- I-I didn’t say that! You didn’t hear anything! Would you quit fuckin’ laughing at me?”

You just hold your palm up, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. Bakugou stares at it, burning holes so intensely and brazenly, so utterly focused and enraged that it sends you into further hysterics. It takes you a good five minutes to sober up.

“It’s- I’m not. I’m not laughing at you.” You lean forward in your seat, just a little bit closer to the guardrail of the hospital bed. “You just- you make me happy ‘sall.”

Bakugou gags. Audibly. The sound rips from his chest and up his throat and contorts his face.

“Don’t just fuckin’ say that!”

“What the hell?” You ask incredulously, hands flying wildly. “You literally told me you like me over the phone! Literally yesterday! But now you’ve got a whole ass problem with me saying that you make me happy? What the fuck, angry man?!”

“It’s- I didn’t- fuck!” He shouts, voice raising to cover yours. “Stop makin’ me remember all this embarrassing shit! You’re doing this on fuckin’ purpose! I know you are, shitty woman!”

“I wouldn’t make you remember it so much it you just fuckin’ owned up to it in the first place, you coward!” You screeched. “If you already said it, and I said I like you, then what’s the big fuckin’ deal, huh?”

Bakugou suddenly goes quiet, his hands fidgeting with the sheets. He chuckles. “You said you like me. Again. Fuckin’ dork.”

“Oh my god! You’re fucking infuriating! No-no don’t just sit there and fucking grin at me! That’s- stop!”

And truly, you meant it. You wanted him to stop looking at you like that, stop crinkling up his eyes, and most of all stop smiling because you didn’t think your heart could handle it. Everything about him made your blood boil, and every nerve stand straight on end- but it was good too. So warm and comforting and just funny.

He was Bakugou and Dynamite and your Soulmate. All in one, awkward, crackling, loud fucking package.

-//--

ee hav sum fluff ,, as a ~reward~

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x self insert #bakugou fic #bakugou series #bakugou soulmate au #bakugou soulmate textfic #bnha fic #mha fic #bnha soulmate au #soulmate au #bakugou imagine

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kamino-blues · 3 years

Text

Don't Give up on Me (Crosshair x Reader)

Warnings: Angst with some soft moments

Word Count: 1.4k

Seeing Crosshair last episode really made me miss him. I just want his chip to be removed, but when it does get removed in the show Cross is most likely going to be messed up from what happened to him. I wanted to write about Cross being free from the Empires control. <3

It was quiet, the dim room somber. The only sound that was filling the room was a monitor that went off every few minutes. Crosshair had just gone under the chip removal operation, him putting up a huge fight in the process. He had damaged some of the equipment before he went under, and you were all unsure of his fate. You were by his side, holding his limp right hand as Tech monitored Crosshair's vitals (to the best of his abilities, the screens were cracked from bullet holes).

Hunter and Wrecker were across from you, keeping an eye on him. Echo was with Omega, and every so often they would come over and sit by you. Omega would crawl into your lap, giving you a hug as you continued to hold his hand. That was the only thing you could do, hold onto him until he wakes up. If he wakes up.

Your hope was dwindling the longer you sat there, hours going by slowly. Your eyes were red and tear filled, but you couldn’t cry anymore. All you could do is stare at his face and see all the differences that the Empire had caused.

His face was scarred, burns on the right side of his head from what you were thinking came from the encounter you all had with him on Bracca. Crosshair hadn’t even looked at you that day, the only time he did was when he sent a bullet flying, almost grazing the left side of your head. You couldn’t even speak, you wanted to bargain with your loved one but you were stuck in place. You really wish you had, it had been a moment that you had been regretting every single day since the encounter.

Cross's hair was also now gone, the hair that you would teasingly play with (which usually led to him messing up your own hair) was no more. It gave him a different energy, and it hurt to see what the Empire did to your love.

You were just glad that he was in his blacks rather than that dreaded elite squad armor. It only brought back the painful memories of him hunting you down. His real armor and his rifle were still waiting for him back on the ship, near your bunk, what should be your shared bunk. That all depended on if Crosshair would wake up.

You couldn’t focus on anything now, your eyes staring down at your lap as you tighten your grip on Crosshair's hand. The tears were falling again, biting your lip to try and not make any sound. You felt a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t know who it was. All you could do is weep for your loved one who may or may not wake up.

“Please wake up Crosshair,, please…” you trailed off, closing your eyes. You sat by his side for hours, the rest of the bad batch slowly falling asleep. But you couldn’t. You stayed awake, dark circles slowly forming under your eyes. It was around 2 am when you felt your hand squeezed. It didn’t process for a second, before your eyes widened, looking up at Crosshair.

His eyes were still closed, but you could see him shifting on the table. As soon as you squeezed his hand back, his eyes opened. You tensed, you had no clue if the procedure had worked, so you kicked Techs leg to wake him up. Crosshair made eye contact with you, his eyes softening when he saw you. You could feel tears slipping out of your eyes, tightening your grip on his hand. He gave you the lightest smile you had ever seen from him, before he spoke.

“Cyar’ika..” Crosshair trailed off, not knowing what to say. You had to bite your lip, nodding. You were about to reply, but Crosshair was bombarded by Tech and soon after his other brothers. You stepped back, letting them have their time, after all they had known him for much much longer than you have. You squeezed his hand one more time, his eyes on his brothers but he made sure to squeeze back, before you let go of his hand. You let Omega sit in your chair to interact with Cross, moving farther back.

You ended up leaning against the wall, wiping away your tears to try and calm yourself. You couldn’t believe that he was back. The group had been in denial for so long, you had been in denial for so long. You couldn’t even imagine the torment that he had gone through. Just watching him from afar, you could tell in his mannerisms that he was off. He was mostly quiet, only talking when directly spoken to. Crosshair would glance over at you from time to time, and the amount of emotion in his eyes made you flinch. You could just see how uncomfortable he was.

Minutes pass, your eyes not leaving Crosshair as you looked on with concern. You saw Hunter look up at you, before muttering something to his brothers. They all looked up at you, before starting to stand up. You looked around at them, before Hunter gave you a nod, moving to leave the room. You watched them leave, feeling Crosshair's eyes on you. You took a deep breath, nerves running through you, before turning around.

You made eye contact, and automatically fell apart. Crosshair was sitting on the operating table, legs swung over to dangle over the right of the table. His hands were clasped together, his shoulders rigid. You moved in front of him, reaching to touch him but quickly pulling away when he flinched. So you took up residence sitting next to him, leaving a bit of room between the two of you.

“Cross, I’m so glad you are safe,” You were looking over at him, voice starting to crack, “I thought we lost you Cross, I thought you were gone.” You couldn’t stop the tears starting again, mentally cursing at yourself. He was looking at you, you could see his eyes tearing up as he reached for your hand. You quickly grabbed it, holding it tightly.

You both sat in silence, not knowing what to say. You knew that it was better not to force Crosshair to talk. You don't know how much time went by when he started to speak, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I thought you all were going to abandon me,” Crosshair paused, blinking. “Every encounter I was there. I was there in mind but I couldn’t control myself. Every bad thing I did, every innocent person I killed, I couldn’t stop. I could barely stop myself from killing you, I had no control.” He trailed off, looking at the ground. “I thought you had given up on me.”

You turned your body towards him, letting go of his hand to hover your hand over his cheek. You looked in his eyes for approval and he nodded, using his hand to guide yours onto his face. You lightly used your fingertips to trace his scar. He flinched at first, but started to lean into the touch.

“I would never ever give up on you Crosshair. You mean the absolute world to me. Every single day from the time I woke up to the time I went to sleep, You were always there in my mind. I had no clue where you were, how you were. I was so damn worried and I still am. What the Empire did to you is unforgivable, and I will fight each and every one of them for what they did to you. I’m so sorry we couldn’t get you sooner, I’m so sorry.” You never thought you would see the usually stoic sniper break, but as you saw the tears fall from his eyes you pulled him into a hug.

Crosshair held onto you for dear life, his hands gripping at your shirt as tears fell from his eyes into your shoulder. He was shaking, you could feel it, small gasps coming from his mouth. All you could do was comfort him, rubbing his back lightly as you assured him that you were here for him. You held him through his tremors, it was the only thing you could do.

He didn’t pull away, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Crosshair never thought that he would see you again with control over his body, he thought he would never be able to hold you again. It didn’t feel real, but yet it was.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum Cyar’ika” Crosshair couldn’t stop himself from mumbling into your shoulder. You relaxed in his grasp, leaning to give a light kiss to the side of his head.

“I love you too Crosshair,, I love you too.”

#I miss Crosshair #:(#Crosshair #Crosshair Bad Batch #Crosshair The Bad Batch #Crosshair tbb #tbb Crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #The Bad Batch #tbb #Bad Batch #reader insert #star wars x reader #star wars #star wars the bad batch

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