#this seems like you’re heart broken and not into the whole taking out the bad guys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kithtaehyung · 3 months

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

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

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

There’s no way.

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

“No fuckin’ way.”

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

“Were they always on this team?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

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

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing.

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

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

“Play.”

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

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

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

“And you’re paying me double.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, love.”

You stare.

“This will be over soon.”

The game is… just a game. For now.

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

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

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

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

That was close. Way too close.

Get it together.

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

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

However.

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

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

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats.

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

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

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

“I need you all to calm down.”

“No can do, coach.”

“Not if they aren’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you don’t like it one bit.

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

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring.

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

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

“What?”

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

“After what he did to you?”

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

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

“I can’t let that shit go.”

“Yoongi.”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Please just—”

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

Only for him to be just out of reach.

After halftime, it’s a whole different game.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s making you wonder if…

Nah.

That’s still too big a reach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure? That looked…”

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

Motherfucker.

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

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?”

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

“Mm.”

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

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

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

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

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

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

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain.

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

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

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

“You’re whipped.”

“No, you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake.

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud.

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

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

“No! What the fuck—”

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

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

“Babe, we have to go now.”

“No, let me go!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what!”

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

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

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

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

“Stop and just think for a second—”

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

“Dumb as fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod.

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

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

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too.

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

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

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

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

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

But hope may be a bitch.

So you don’t.

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

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

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

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

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

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.”

Oh.

“Your brother’s here, too.”

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

“Umm.. Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“He was gonna—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck that.”

“Huh?”

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

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

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

And you mean that.

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

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

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there something you wanna say to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I will.”

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

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

So you leave to go pack without another word.

It’s raining.

Hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes burn.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

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

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

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know.

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

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

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

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here.

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

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

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

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

Finally. “Hello.”

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

“You’re here?”

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

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

“Not tonight.”

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

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

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

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

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

“No.”

“Go home.”

“No!”

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

“…No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your breath cuts like it’s your last.

Shards.

Pieces.

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

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

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

No, no, no. Get rid of it.

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

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

What did he do, what did he do?

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

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

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

Shit, this is everywhere.

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

“Stop.”

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

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts.

This really, really hurts.

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

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

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

“I got it.”

“Let me do it.”

“Your brother needs you.”

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

It hurts.

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

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

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

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

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

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

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

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

One more. Two more. Another one here.

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

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

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

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

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

“I still need to—”

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

“Do what? I’m helping you.”

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

But ice.

“Who said I needed it?”

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

“You think I’m joking?”

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

“I say a lot of things.”

…Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

“Not tonight what.”

“We aren’t doing this tonight.”

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

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

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

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

“I am.”

“Wow.”

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

“Do you even know?”

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

“That’s cus—”

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

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

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

Fine then.

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

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.”

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

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

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

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

“Who asked you?”

Dark liquid drips onto your soul.

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

“That’s what I said.”

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

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

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.”

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

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

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

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

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

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

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

“Whoa, hold u—”

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

“Just listen—”

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

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

“I swear to—”

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

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?”

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

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

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.”

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

“He’s still home.”

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

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

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

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

Your eyes are ice.

“Are you.”

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

And Yoongi cracks like lightning.

“Goddamn it.”

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

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

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

“Stubborn.”

“Coward.”

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

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

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

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

“Make me.”

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

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

This is liberation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t make me do shit—”

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

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

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

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

And it’s maddening. “Please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

“I said fuck you!”

“Thought so.”

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

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

“Fuck—!”

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

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

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

“Asshole—”

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

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—”

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

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

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

“Make me. Bet you can’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ thought so.”

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

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

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

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.”

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

“What, doll.”

“Please!”

“Nah.”

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

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

Every. Single. Time.

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

“Please!”

“Mm. Not loud enough.”

“Yoongi, please.”

“Oh, we’re saying names now?”

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

“Do it yourself then.”

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

And Yoongi gets a front row seat.

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

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

“Nah.”

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

“You’ll come when I say you can.”

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?”

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

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

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

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

“Then fucking come.”

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

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

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

“I said again.”

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

“Yoongi—”

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

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

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

“Baby.”

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

“Babe.”

“I—I—”

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

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes…

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

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

“There you go. Keep going.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Babe.”

“You told me so many times—”

“Breathe, angel.”

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

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

“Like what?”

“Just… Like this.”

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

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out.

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

“I’m here.”

“So please don’t push me away.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you don’t make promises but—”

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Shower.”

“Oh. Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

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

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

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

“You got hurt cus I said to play.”

“Nope.”

“I wore the outfit that day.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And lost my friends at the club.”

“No.”

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

“How about we share it.”

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

“Okay.”

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

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.”

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

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

“Duh.”

He’s himself again.

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

That’s all you both need to feel peace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scroll, scroll.

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

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

Scroll, scroll.

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

“I love you.”

Time bursts.

Your chest glows.

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

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

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

His eyes.

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

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

“I love you, doll.”

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

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

No.

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

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

What?

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

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

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

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

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

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

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you?

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

He loves you.

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

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

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

“Yoongi, I—”

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

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

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

“It’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knew what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want what you want, doll.”

“Then it’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yoongi—”

“Fuck.”

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

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

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

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

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

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

“What—”

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taking me so well like this.”

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

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

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

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

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

“Uh uh.”

“Please—please—”

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

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

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

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

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

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

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

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

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas.

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

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

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

All of you.

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

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

Every single stop.

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

Swelling, you already feel close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

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

Yoongi only grins.

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

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

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found.

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

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

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

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer.

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet.

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

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

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

Never close enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi…”

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

“Then… Those three months…”

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

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

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

Oh. That’s news to you.

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

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

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

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

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

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

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

“What if he does?”

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

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

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?”

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

Oh. Wait. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

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

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

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

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

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

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

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

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

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

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

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

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

“You did threaten to kick me out before.”

“Huh? When?”

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

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

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

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

“You love it.”

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

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

“Guess what.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can!”

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

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

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

And it hurts. It really, really hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…What?

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

“I wanna do this the right way.”

Oh.

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.”

tbc. :)

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

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

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

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cl6teen · 5 months

Text

p-power ❀ op81

in which a tense breakup with a well known driver sparks a new beginning with an up and coming rookie

contains: social media!au, exbf!daniel, multiple time skips, heavily inspired by the lyrics ‘the pictures i seen i’m like “damn he got lucky”, take it from him and i leave him with nothin’.

note: this has been in my drafts for ages so i might has well post it anyways

67,236 likes

f1wagupdates f1 wag y/n l/n and mclaren f1 driver daniel ricciardo caught in a hearted argument while vacationing in new zealand for the short beak in light of a newly surfaced cheating scandal between daniel and a model during a monaco gp after party

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danielrjpg omg, so the cheating rumours were true??? i feel so bad for y/n, she was the best wag on the paddock in my opinion

iheartmclaren during the monaco gp?? she couldn’t make it to that one right?

papayaluv yeah, but she was still posting him on her story that whole weekend :(

ynstyle genuinely she’s too good for him anyways

user now that this has been brought to life can we talk about the weird ass age gap between the two??

dr3ily i love daniel but he’s 33 and she’s 22?? and they started dating when she was 20? that’s kind of icky

l.l.l.lando to be honest, i don’t think it’s true? like he doesn’t seem like the type to cheat! couples fight all the time

user yeah, monaco gp is notorious for exposing and cheating scandals that usually aren’t true, yall will believe anything

4everstappen then why did she already delete their photos together?? like all trace of daniel gone

givemedr3 but daniel still has all of their photos up, and he still follows her ?

madebymax it’s because he’s delusional LMAO, and I would be too if i fumbled someone like y/n??

user his karma will definitely come back to him, one way or another

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, and 109,345 others

yourinstagram boy bye.

view all 2,677 comments

landonorris let me come visit you please

yourinstagram you know you’re always welcome down under lan <3

user lando and y/n’s friendship still holding up is so cute to me

bsfsinstagram you’re too bad for anyone in this world

bsfsinstagram whoever gets you is so lucky

yourinstagram i love you more than anything babe

drxyn waitt so they’re actually broken up 😭

luvyn tbh the post breakup glow is eating, i was crying for a month straight after mine

liked by yourinstagram

mclarenbby oh my god daniel in the likes is so embarrassing like please stop your delusion

newuser please go back to daniel y/n i loved you two together!

yourinstagram lol no thanks

k1ll4lando daniel get off your burner account LMAOO

iluvf1 y/n continuing to post like nothing ever happened and being all normal in comparison to daniel’s social media literally going black out like he’s grieving is so funny?? like the disabled comments are really the cherry on top

user i just know he has his pr team working overtime

liked by yourinstagram, oscarpiastri, mclaren, and 1,113,242 others

f1 some surprising news from mclaren this silly season, wouldn’t you agree?

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user honestly thank god, i don’t think mclaren was daniels team, but it’s sad to see he might be out of a seat now

user the karma from cheating is literally so real

user and he wasn’t performing well at all because of it

user YN LIKED IT BYEEE

user love that for her though

mclaren excited to see our rookie in action!

early february, 2023.

liked by yourinstagram, oscarpiastri, and 212,444 others

lando.jpg friendly outings before the new season (ft. y/n’s photography skills)

tagged yourinstagram & oscarpiastri

view all 6,234 comments

yourinstagram thank you for the photo credits on the last one lando

oscarpiastri very nice photos lando

lando.jpg always so serious oscah

papayaluv yn still hanging out with mclaren is so nice to see, she has so much chemistry with the team even without daniel

op81ln4 seeing yn get becoming friends with oscar is so funny like omg he took your ex’s seat in f1

mcl4ren honestly i think that yn is milking this whole daniel situation to still keep the attention on her, how is she still attending mclaren events?

yourinstagram please stop making assumptions about me, thanks ❤️

user do you forget that she’s been friends with lando?

user can’t lie, lando posting yn at mclaren knowing daniel follows this page is wickedddd but funny

oscar

hey, it’s oscar from earlier :)

you

hi oscar! i had so much fun meeting you tonight

did you grab my number from lando?

oscar

yeah..i hope that’s alright?

i was just glad to see a fellow australian and lando suggested i have it

you

i really don’t mind it, i’m happy to have a new friend that i have smth in common with

i was surprised when your mclaren signing was announced, but i’m sure your rookie season will be amazing

oscar

thanks, it really does mean a lot

i wasn’t really expecting the mclaren offer in the first place but i was open, and they’d just let go of daniel cause of his performance

wait sorry i didn’t mean to bring him up

you

please don’t apologize, i couldn’t care less about him anymore

i see what happened in the second half of last years season as karma, im glad it’s you who’s in the seat now :)

oscar

yeah, but if you ask me what he did was an asshole move

you didn’t deserve that at all, i think he lost something good

you

it’s been so long now that it’s nothing important to me, but…did you want to meet up for lunch or dinner tomorrow? my flight back home leaves after that

oscar

yeah, i’d like that

and i’ll hope to see you again in australia as well?

you

you can count on it ❤️

april, melbourne australia.

liked by mclaren, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 70,453 others

yourinstagram reunited down below 🧡

tagged landonorris and oscarpiastri

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ynluv it felt so nice seeing you with mclaren today !!

mclaren we second that!

yourinstagram it’s just a one time thing, i never miss a home race! but i was happy to be there!!

landonorris who’s that cool guy in the sunglasses?

yourinstagram a toad that drives for mclaren you do NOT want to talk to him

oscarpiastri missed hanging out

yourinstagram come back home more often then duh

landonorris or you can just visit us instead

you

you did so well in the race today oz

ozz

P8 isn’t the best though, could have been better

lando was good

you

he was, but we’re not talking about lando

P8 on your third race as a rookie is amazing

take the compliment oscar 🙄

ozz

thank you for the compliment miss

you

ugh shut up

ozz

im glad you were here this race weekend, i really did miss seeing you

you

it’s not like you haven’t been texting and calling me for two months straight 😭

ozz

but that’s different

you

mhm

when do you have to fly out to baku?

ozz

i leave in the middle of the night on wednesday

you must want me to take you out on a date before i go?

you

don’t be smug oscar pisstree

facetime dates are nice but it would be nice to go on a real one again. we don’t always have to hang out with lando

ozz

i know y/n, im only teasing you

there’s no way i would be here and not think to plan one, you know me better than that

but pisstree is a little painful

you

i know i know, sorry

ozz

so get ready and i’ll come pick you up once i’m done with these team debriefs

oscarpiastri updated their story (15 mins ago)

you

girl.

omg

pls whatever you’re doing stop it

TEXT ME BACK PLEASE 😭

bestie 🧸

oh my god

i’m here

are you dying ? kidnapped?

i thought you were on your date with oscar

please respond???

how are you not responding after just texting??

istg i hate you

you

i was on my date with oscar

he just dropped me off

and

bestie 🧸

and??

you

i am a girlfriend !!!!

😖😖😖

bestie 🧸

OH MY GOD???

OSCARYN NATION UPPP

he’s so good for you yn

IM SO HAPPY

you

ME TOO

however. there is one problem

he asked me to spend the summer break travelling with him

bestie 🧸

what did you say?

yes? right?

you

i didn’t say anything actually…

he said he’d let me think about it

bestie 🧸

okay so tell him your done thinking about it

and say yes!

august; summer break.

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, bsfsinstagram and 89,245 others

yourinstagram all types of summa lovin

landonorris you got him to wear pink ????

yourinstagram doesn’t he look yummy in it

user WHO’S HIM????

bsfsinstagram oh not you posting himmm

yourinstagram i had to let them know i’m spoken for babe

oscarpiastri what psychopath straightens their hair like that

yourinstagram the hot kind

landonorris yeah right

dannybae is that daniel in the last photo?

yourinstagram no

user was posting this after daniel said he missed you on that podcast intentional????

user that’s so embarrassing for him but at least now he’s gained some self respect and unfollowed her 😭😭

luvyn i’m so happy she’s happy, literally living her best life

liked by yourinstsgram

liked by yourinstagram, f1wagupdates, landonorris, and 324,554 others

oscarpiastri summer

view all comments

user oscar when was this this ?????

oscarpiastri i just said this summer🧍‍♂️

landonorris 💀

yourinstagram oscar in his soft launch era??

landonorris you were the one who taught him that

oscarpiastri is that what it’s called

user not oscar getting a girlfriend over the break

oscarspastries i sort of suspected this after that story he posted after the australia gp

user omg so she’s probably from australia

op4prez the second picture kinda looks like yn

user no it doesn’t ur jumping to conclusions 😭

user she’s only friends with the mclaren boys she has her own man

user oscar literally drops off the face of the earth for the entire break and then comes back to post this??

user im severely unwell

user oscar’s already falling into the girlfriend effect of looking exponentially finer and im here for it

october; qatar.

yourinstagram updated their story (2 hours ago)

you

congratulations on winning the sprint race babe <3 i knew you could do it

baby 💕

where are you?

i want to come see you

you

i’m in the garage with the team

are you coming with lando

baby 💕

you

you shouldn’t come without him

you know that people would talk and it’ll be annoying to deal with

baby 💕

i just got the first win of the season for the team

quite frankly i couldn’t give a shit what they said, i want to celebrate with my girl

you

oscar i want to celebrate with you too, but it might be best to wait

oscar are you there?

oscar ?

read 2 mins ago

yourinstagram updated their story (10 mins ago)

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris, mclaren, and 458,355 others

oscarpiastri thanks qatar

comments on this post are limited

mclaren 🧡

landonorris it’s about time you made it public

oscarpiastri i never hid it though

landonorris didn’t you?

yourinstagram you’re lucky i love you enough to let you hard launch

oscarpiastri just can’t keep you a secret

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 x female reader #oscar piastri smau #f1 x you #f1 x black!reader

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zanarkandskylines · 24 days

Text

₊✩‧₊⇢ right person, wrong time?

『 ෆ k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — repost; after more discussions, i decided to delete the follow up on the original post thread & re-post separately. i don't wanna be accused of stealing someone's idea after already apologizing for it. this'll be the last i talk about it.

Bakugo’s loved you since high school. You always pushed him to work hard, never took his shit without giving it back tenfold, and was a pillar of support through some of the toughest times in his life. Even so, he’s convinced himself you’d never feel the same, that he has no shot with you.

Why?

Because you’re quirkless.

You’re part of the 20% without one, and he told himself he can’t get in your way of your life. Bakugo can’t stand the thought of being the reason why you don’t chase after your own dreams. He knows you too well - you’d put your happiness aside to support him the second he asked. You’d put your life on hold if it meant for him to succeed as a pro hero.

But he can’t do that. You’re the one thing he can’t seem to bring himself to be selfish about.

So Bakugo sits idly by, for years, as your best friend. The one you’d do anything for, no matter the time or place. He watches you date shitty guys and picks up the pieces they leave you in. Buys you your favorite foods when you have a bad day, surprises you with “just thinking of you” gifts, and drops whatever he’s doing the second you need him.

He’s attempted dating, desperately tried to get you out of his heart and make room for someone else - he fails each time. Miserably.

So tonight, that all changes.

You’re attending the annual Hero Gala together tonight, just like you have for the last four years. Bakugo always asks you to be his plus one as it keeps people away from him and he gets to spend time with you…rather, gets to see you dressed to the nines and have you on his arm all night long. It’s the one day a year he gets to pretend you’re his.

You’ve recently gotten a huge promotion in your line of work and he’s broken the top 10 of the hero charts - what better time than now to shoot his shot? He’s waited long enough, run through every excuse in the book why not to tell you how he feels.

The night winds down and the two of you get back into his car, sitting in silence for the ride home. That’s not uncommon for you two, but Bakugo’s reading too much into it tonight. It makes his hands tremble on the wheel, white knuckling the pleather from nerves. Once he pulls up to your apartment complex, he turns the car off and gets out to open your door for you.

To his surprise, you invite him in.

“I have a surprise for you!”

Bakugo’s whole body is tense at this point. What could you have for him?

“Here, open it.” You hand him a small box wrapped in orange paper. “It’s not much and a little cheesy, but congratulations on breaking the top 10!”

He opens the package to find a golden bracelet in a box with the inscription “plus ultra, dynamight!” on the underside of it.

“Ya didn’t have to get me shit, but thank you. I love it.”

He hugs you immediately, scooping you into a loving embrace and relishing in the excuse to have skin contact with you.

“I, uh, actually have somethin’ for you, too.” His voice waivers while he fiddles with his jacket pocket. You raise an eyebrow while waiting for him to present…whatever it is he had.

Bakugo pulls out a small box of his own, handing over the velvet jewelry case. You gingerly take it from his palm and can’t help but notice he’s shaking like a leaf.

“Are you okay, Kat? You’re shaking.”

“Just…open it.”

And you do - revealing a beautiful rose gold locket inside. It’s in the shape of a heart, dainty yet big enough to fit a minuscule picture. Before you open it, he stops you by gently touching your hand. He’s trying to hold eye contact with you, but keeps darting between your gaze and the ceiling.

“I’m sorry if this seems outta nowhere, but it’s been eatin’ me alive for years. And if it’s too much, we can forget it ever happened.”

You tilt your head at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Oh. The locket.

Time crawls to a halt as you pry open the locket, peering into the small enclosure to see two things - a picture of the two of you on the left and a small handwritten phrase on the right.

‘I love you. -Kats’

The silence in the apartment is deafening. Bakugo’s vibrating out of his skin while awaiting a semblance of a response to his confession. You’re normally easy to read, but in the moment, he’s struggling to observe how you could be feeling. It’s driving him fucking insane. He starts to feel regret, embarrassment settling in his bones as he bites his lip.

He just ruined everything. The precious friendship you two had - gone. He knew that locket was a stupid idea.

Bakugo’s preparing himself for your rejection. The tears are building and the lump in his throat solidifies. He attempts to keep himself together as he begins to croak out an apology.

“Look, I shoulda—”

“Say it.”

Bewilderment is an understatement as he recoils at your demand. He blinks the stray tears away, all the breath he had being stolen away by your words. He swallows thickly, never thinking he’d get this far in the conversation. He was fully prepared to high tail it outta there, not…stay.

“Wha—”

“Tell me you love me.”

This can’t be real.

Bakugo’s body moves on its own, closing the gap between you two in under the dim light of your entry way. He cradles your jaw, thumbing over the apple of your cheek and studying your eyes as he takes a deep breath. This is the moment he’s been waiting for - the one he’s been yearning over. The opportunity to tell you exactly how he feels, how much you mean to him.

Four words is all he needs.

“I fucking love you.”

You can’t help but laugh, maybe a little too loudly as Bakugo’s cheeks turn strawberry in color.

“It’s about damn time. I love you too.”

His heart pounds, his legs feel like jello, his muscles stiffen. And yet, he powers through it all.

Your lips meet for the first time - the kiss is soft, sweet, careful.

When you part, his vision blurs a bit, overwhelmed by the emotions swelling in his chest. His lips are slightly parted behind heavy breaths, taking in the moment he was so graciously given.

“I didn’t wanna get in your way.”

You laugh. “Then don’t be in my way, come with me.”

God, he was such an idiot. A lovesick fool blinded by his own infatuation to see that his best friend loved him, too.

You hand the locket to Bakugo and spin around while holding up your hair. He tenderly places the chain around your neck and secures the clasp, letting the metal fall to your collarbone.

“I’m all yours, Katsuki.”

You always have been.

thanks to everyone who sent in a message & encouraged me to keep this up. we're all just trying to have a good time together on this site and share our feelings about characters we love. there's no need to talk down or discourage others from expressing themselves.

#katsuki bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x reader #bakugo drabble #bakugo imagine #☆.rei writes

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evergone · 1 month

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Star-Crossed Lovers

Rindou Haitani x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (Allusions to sex, drinking), references to underage drinking (I do not condone or promote these behaviours), angst to fluff

Description: Everyone knows that when Rindou and the reader break up, they always end up back together, but this time something feels off.

You and Rindou broke up every other week.

When people asked how long you’d been together, you’d argue for hours on end about which break-ups counted and which didn’t. You liked to say you’d been together five years — ignoring the break-ups that occurred in the middle. Rindou, on the other hand, was adamant that every little break-up counted.

Yes, that included the time you broke up with him because he wouldn’t let you buy two of the same dress just in case something happened to the first one. It included the time he broke up with you because you absolutely demolished him in Monopoly. It included the time you broke up with him because he didn’t come home for five days straight. It included the time he broke up with you because he didn’t want to see you get deep enough into his gang business that you couldn’t get out.

So, after five years of dating — or three weeks, by Rindou’s standards — it became relatively obvious to everyone including yourselves that no little issue could actually spell the end of your relationship. The two of you were invariably intertwined. Star-crossed. At any given point in time, the most important person to you was him, and to him was you. There was nothing, truly nothing, that you couldn’t overcome together.

Except this break-up was different.

You could taste it in the air. Bitter. Empty. Soulless. There was hatred there, between you and Rindou, and it seemed that star-crossed lovers were truly just a thing of fiction.

It started out as just a petty argument. You had pointed out an engagement ring at the local jewellery store that you thought was just the most gorgeous thing in the world. It was vintage, from the mid-nineteen-twenties, and it was perfectly your size. You suggested, only half-jokingly, that he buy it and keep it in his pocket for the right time. Afterall, you were twenty and neither of you were getting any younger. But for some reason, some stupid, stupid reason, he completely freaked out.

“I’m not ready for that, Y/n!” Rindou’s head whipped around so his cold, violet gaze bore holes right through you. “How am I even supposed to know you’re the right person for me?”

The very same eyes that had just sent a chill through your entire body then betrayed his composure. Like a mirror struck by bad luck, they shattered, softened, and tried to reason with you wordlessly.

“We’ve been together five years and you don’t know if you want to marry me one day?” You asked him, both furious and heart-broken.

“Three weeks,” he said. Muscle memory. That was always his response to the whole ‘five years’ accusation, it was supposed to be funny, but in the moment it reeked of this sense that he was sick of you — ashamed of you, even.

Rightfully, you stormed out of the store, but he was hot on your heel, pleading with you to just stop and listen to him. By the time you had your keys in the lock of the driver’s door to your car, he was practically on his knees. It was a mistake, he didn’t mean anything by it, you had to understand that he was just so caught off-guard!

“Caught off-guard?” You scoffed, “How could you be caught off-guard when we’ve been together this long?”

“We break up so often, Y/n, I just didn’t think…” He didn’t know what to say, or how to justify his reaction. Rindou knew that at some point in your lives the two of you would probably be married, but he hadn’t really thought too seriously about it.

You rolled your eyes, “Take your brother, and get out of my house.”

For the next month, Rindou and his brother, Ran, crashed at Madarame’s. Ran had been whining the entire time about how much of a downgrade their living situation was since Madarame’s apartment stunk of his horrible cologne, and none of them were as good at cooking as you. You’d received about a dozen phone calls a week from him, each one begging you to either forgive Rindou, or at the very least, drop a meal off for them.

“We aren’t friends anymore, Ran, Rindou has ruined everything. Don’t call me again,” you told him eventually.

Everyone was feeling the effects of the break-up. Gang violence in Roppongi was at an all-time-high because Rindou was beating so many people up just to expel as much of the anger as he could. In meetings with the rest of Rokuhara Tandai, he was hardly focused, and would walk out having no idea what had just been discussed.

Rindou’s friends had tried in vain to convince him that this break-up was just the same as all the others — that the two of you would be back together in no time — but even they weren’t sure it was true. The days were getting longer, they were being drawn out into an agonising picture of the proverbial end, four horsemen and all, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that you weren’t interested in getting back together with him. It had just been so long.

It was unsettling to Rindou when he saw you for the first time since the day he moved out of your house. You didn’t notice him as he took in the dark semicircles under your tired eyes, and the slight limp you were carrying yourself with, and he was glad you didn’t. He could tell you hated him — he could feel the hatred oozing out of your pores and spreading all across the grocery store you were shopping in. There was no chance of you ever getting back together. He had just fucked up way too badly.

The past five weeks had been hell for you.

You had sprained your ankle really badly when you kicked your couch violently only moments after throwing all Rindou and Ran’s things at them from your front porch. Daily living had become far too difficult to handle on your own. The shelves in your kitchen were always too high to reach, so Rindou would grab things from them for you, but with him gone you had to maneuver yourself onto the counter with your one good leg and pray to God that you wouldn’t fall. The doctor had told you not to drive for as long as it took to get full rotation back in your ankle, so you were having to walk everywhere. You’d been late to work almost every day.

Despite everything, it would’ve been at least helpful to have Rindou around. Whenever something like this would happen to you, he was always there. Once, when you broke up after he got put in juvie, and you were having a rough time adjusting, he sent some of his friends (goons) to help you cook, and clean, and stay on top of your homework. You sighed at how nice it would’ve been to have that kind of support.

Between the constant calls from Ran, you’d also spoken to Madarame and Kakucho on the matter. Madarame had called before he realised the severity of the break-up to ask when you’d be “having your boys home” because he was sick of not being able to bring girls back to his house. Kakucho, on the other hand, had shown up at your door in his Rokuhara Tandai uniform, disrespecting a rule you had put in place that they weren’t to bring their gang affiliations anywhere near your house.

“Walk with me,” he ordered, and ignored you as you started to preach about how he had no right to speak to you that way. Together, you walked silently through the city, your eyes stuck to the concrete rivers you navigated through.

“Where are we going?” You asked him eventually, bored of the awkwardness and of being told off by some kid.

“Whatever’s happened, you need to forgive him,” Kakucho said, “You know you’re going to anyway, so I really don’t understand what all this mess is about.”

You scoffed, “He hasn’t apologised.” He frowned, so you continued, “Kakucho, he hasn’t so much as called me! I’m terrified that I overreacted, or that I didn’t try hard enough to resolve it… I - I really don’t know what to do. I think he hates me.”

When Kakucho didn’t say anything in return, you left him in the middle of Roppongi by himself, and went home to drown your sorrows in the beers still left in the fridge.

The alcohol relieved some of the pressure of the tense break-up, and that was more than a good enough reason for you to decide to get drunk every night for the next three days. Some of your friends from high school invited you out clubbing that Thursday, and you hadn’t the mind to refuse them. So, you got dressed up in your shortest black dress, and your best pair of heels (you had to redo your makeup after remembering they were a birthday gift from Rindou), and you skipped the line at a club owned by an acquaintance of Mocchi’s.

Inside, you were passed shots by every guy who managed to get within a one-metre radius of you. Nothing like that had happened to you in so long since it was just common knowledge through Roppongi that you more or less belonged to Rindou. You supposed that everyone knew that you were completely, definitely single for the first time in five years, and were taking the opportunity presented to them.

As you threw back another shot of fireball, cringing at the taste, your arm was grabbed by an all-too-familiar hand. Violet eyes made contact with yours, and a spark of electric panic — or perhaps it was passion — jolted through you until you took in the rest of the person’s appearance and realised it was not, in fact, Rindou, but Ran.

“Y/n!” He shouted over the ear-destroying-ly loud music, but you couldn’t tell whether you were actually hearing him or just reading his lips. He was grinning with delight. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you here to see Rindou?”

You bit your lip and frowned as you stretched your neck to search behind Ran, “Is he here?” You asked.

“Yeah, duh, we always come here. I’m starting to worry that you won’t get back together at all, the rate this is going!” Ran chuckled, but you just stared at him, mortified, and stole the wallet from his pocket. “Wait — Hey!”

Turning back to the bar, you ordered another three shots with Ran’s card, and downed them all as fast as possible. By the time you were done, your eyes were beginning to water, and you could feel the last three, or four, or maybe it was eight shots starting to settle in.

“Oh… Princess… Come, let’s sit down somewhere,” he cooed and you tried to scrunch your nose at the nickname, but you were falling way too far and way too fast into the alcohol spiral to have full control of your facial muscles.

Ran carried your stumbling form to a circular booth on the side of the dance floor, and slid you through to the back, resting your head on someone’s shoulder to your right. He rubbed circles on your arm as a couple tears escaped the pool at the bottom of your eyes. Above you, you could vaguely hear the owner of the shoulder trying to quietly yell at Ran, so you pulled your head off of him to give him some space. As you did just that, you caught a glimpse of the shoulder-owner in question.

“Rindou?” You gasped, your voice so loud it was clear over the music.

A glance back at Ran who was sitting there with a shit-eating grin, then you were right back to looking at Rindou. His pupils were just as large as yours, and his eyes open so wide that his irises were just spots of violet in an ocean of white. His blue and blond hair was so gracefully framing his cheeks, neck, and collarbone that you thought you might faint just at the sight, and he was wearing an old Adidas tee that sat perfectly on his body.

“Y/n,” Rindou breathed. He reached a hand out towards you, and you let him stroke your cheek with his thumb.

“You didn’t call,” you pouted, and your tears started to pour down over his fingers.

Rindou signalled that it was time for the other people in the booth to leave, and they did so with an ounce of hesitance. Boys were always more nosy than they were given credit for, especially the ones Rindou was friends with.

“I thought you hated me,” said Rindou in a sombre tone.

The only thing keeping your head from rolling backwards was his hand holding you up, and you were glad for it, as it gave you the visibility to squint at him. After the many, many, many times you had taken him back, how could he possibly think that one fight about a possible marriage would make you hate him? You were angry, sure, but only for a couple days. It had softened to sadness so quickly that you’d given yourself whiplash.

You reminded him of a half-dozen of the past break-ups. The time he threw you into a puddle of mud right before a school assembly, the time he joked about sleeping with one of your closest friends, the time he forgot to get you a birthday present, and all the others. He was prone to mistakes, but he always learnt from them. He was always trying so hard to do right by you. And you always took him back.

“I could never hate you, you’re the most important person in my life, Rindou.” His face lit up. “When you didn’t call me immediately, I thought I’d completely overreacted and pushed you away! I thought you hated me.”

For every break-up caused by Rindou, another had been caused by you, you were a dysfunctional couple like that, and both of you always resorted to the extremities rather than just sitting down and talking about your emotions. When you were twelve, you misplaced the study notes for the maths test he had the next week; when you were fifteen, you would flirt with adults outside of liquor stores to get them to buy you drinks; when you were seventeen, you stood him up on your anniversary. He broke up with you each time, and each time you always ended up back together.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. I do want to marry you one day,” Rindou explained.

You slipped your hand under his, and shooed him away from your face, “You had a point, though.” He tilted his head in confusion. “We break up all the time. We’re not exactly stable enough to be thinking of marriage… In truth, I think we’re a bad couple. Toxic, even.”

“Don’t say that. We’ve been together five years!” He said with a mix of anger and light humour.

“We’re not even together right now, Rin,” you told him matter-of-factly, though your words had slurred together a little, taking much of the authority out of them.

“Take me back, then,” he suggested, but you shook your head and then gagged at the motion.

Rindou helped you up and out of the club, and the two of you sat on the side of the building, feeling the vibrations of the music beating through your bodies. The streets were busy with people, but it was so quiet in comparison to what the last few hours had been for you that you revelled in it like silence. While you vomited a couple times (you got a bit of it on one of your heels which prompted you to vomit once more), Rindou held your hair back.

Once you were finished, you leaned against him, and his hand wrapped around your waist to hold on to you so securely that you could tell he was scared it would be the last time he ever got the chance to do so. You looked up at the sky, but the lights of the city were so bright that there were no stars up there to guide you.

“Do you think we’re meant to be together?” You asked Rindou, “Like, do you think that, in another universe or timeline or whatever, we’d be together as well?”

He took a deep breath in, “All I know is that if I got the chance to live my life all over again, I would choose to do it all the same.”

“You love your life that much?” You smiled softly.

“I love you that much.”

In a predictable turn of events, you would find yourself waking up in your bed the next morning, Rindou by your side. Your house would be full of his and his brother’s things by day’s end, with a letter of gratitude placed in your mailbox by Madarame, and the very ring that had caused the whole mess sitting on your breakfast bar. You would ask your boyfriend to explain himself, and he’d shrug and reply that it was just a promise. He was going to put it somewhere safe, and one day, when the two of you had been break-up-free for a sufficient amount of time, you’d get the chance to wear it.

But in that moment outside the club, you didn’t much care to think how your morning would be. The breeze was cold, but you could taste the air, and it tasted like bliss.

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roturo · 9 months

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CRY FOR ME -dick grayson x f!reader. (part 2)

①PART TWO: DO NOT TOUCH, PERFECT WORLD, CANDY.

→ summary: He loves you, he really does, but he left you. Months wondering why he did that had you crying for him, never ending the never-ending cycle of the abandoned by Dick Grayson wasn't in your to-do list. It's time to hit him with a smile, rather than a goodbye that would leave him wondering. PART 1. words: 4k+

→ warnings: SMUT, angst, marking, fingering (f receiving) & oral (m receiving) , mutlipes orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex, edging, handcuffs, degradation kink, cock warming, nipple pinching, slapping, spitting, jealousy, cum eating, almost caught, unprotected sex, penis in vagina, cunnilingus, mentions of kory and dick being together but never in a relationship, hero into villain!reader, med student!reader, reader is friends with harley quinn, reader was part of the og titans.

TUMBLR IS BASED ON A REBLOG SYSTEM. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK. THANK YOU. ENJOY. SMUT BELOW THE CUT.

After all, Donna is a friend and you have to be loyal. She’s done nothing wrong, like others…

Time hasn’t been the best, but it's making progress. People guess things have been complicated, thanks to… well, the incident of some days ago. They didn’t know the whole story though.

After leaving Dick in his room alone, you proceed to go and call Harley to tell her all. You weren’t as excited as her, some part of you felt… bad? Watching him everyday now, felt like the past but in a bad way. Your heart wasn’t ready to deal with this.

You enjoyed the moment, but that’s all.

You need to prepare your heart for the following days. But it was becoming too much. Is that how he felt? If what he told you was true…

Even though he hasn’t shown any kind of anger towards you, it made you even more confused than before. Did this not affect him?

Who would’ve imagined this bitter ending. You felt good, like you let out a part of you. It’s like you gave your back to the titans again.

And the worst thing after him being unbothered with this whole ordeal it’s like he got closer with Kory. Something about their relationship seemed SO suspicious that it made you even madder. You’re pretty sure they’ve definitely slept together.

None of your intentions of being ‘annoying’ towards Dick made any progress, but oh how naive you are.

To say he’s not mad at you isn’t completely true. He is, but he’s more heart-broken than anything else. Is this how you felt? Everything seemed different for him; a whole new sky, a whole new view, a whole new you.

He used to think there was hope in the future without you, but oh how wrong was he. He forgot that shine you brought him everyday, your beautiful smile when you woke up in his arms. He needed that again.

He tried to make you think he was unbothered with this, he didn’t need to show you his hurt side again. He had to be strong until the time was ready to touch you again. Right now he had to watch you, watch you take care of Conner, being in the tower with him.

And he never failed to notice how your brows slightly furrowed every time you saw him with Kory. So he started doing it more times, just to keep that hope up you still love him and miss him just like he does.

But he needed to show and prove he won’t hurt you again, that he’s not that man that left you. It’s like you wanted to keep him away with your wholehearted rejection, but somehow he’s always a step behind from telling you ‘I love you’.

One night, you decided to take a break from being a ‘fake titan’ and decided to distract yourself by going out with Harley and maybe cause some problem. How could you think you wouldn’t cause any problem when Harley Quinn is by your side?

Running away from the siren police after robbing a luxury store, Harley by your side, you knew this wasn’t to be easy. Running into an empty dark alley, it was a crowded night, and crimes were easily found this night. So it’s impossible for you two not to find a fucking hero.

And by a fucking hero, I mean fucking nightwing.

Great.

‘Oh, what do we have here? The mysterious friend Harley is always with. Where’s your partner huh?’

You looked at your left where Harley was supposed to be, looking confused back at Nightwing. ‘Oh right, don’t worry, one of my friends is dealing with her.’ He stepped closer at you, examining your costume, mask, if you're armed. ‘Now… Who are you?’

‘It’s none of your business.’ You tried to act rough but it sounded more of a mumble, knowing you were about to fight with fucking Nightwing. Fucking Dick Grayson.

‘Is that so?… What's so special about you that you don’t get caught as easily as Harley?’

Uh well, maybe she’s over-confident and clumsier? But she always knows the Joker is going to save her, so that’s why you don’t get scared for her safety. It’s kinda obvious…

‘Stop with the shitty chat, are we going to fight or not?’

‘I think you deserve another kind of punishment, is that so… Y/N?’

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

You felt your blood run cold at the words that left out Dick’s mouth, trying to regain your composure you coughed a little, ‘What are you talking about? Who is she huh? Our dear nightwing finally got a girlfriend?’

He let out an audibly laugh coming out from his chest, ‘Quit the act. We discovered your fantastic note Harley let you with the underwear, a nice pair by the way, would look good in your body. I have to admit she has a nice taste.’

He stepped even closer to you, ‘Oh, and what about your little call with her? Talking about Ivy and the fucking sex pollen? Thank God Kory was there to notice something was going on and told me to check the cameras.’

The fucking cameras. Shit. How could you be so fucking stupid? Of course he would have cameras everywhere. ‘My question is, why do you keep helping us? What 's your plan?’

‘If I tell you my plan, what are you going to do about it?’

He made a mocking gesture of him thinking for a second before sighing, ‘Depends on how bad it is.’

Fuck it. You already did it, and you’re sure you could get some hits right now. ‘My plan was for you to fucking cry for me.’

You could swear you noticed his face breaking a little before smirking again, he chuckled at you, what’s so funny?, ‘Oh…’ He stepped even closer to you, centimeters away from finally being completely close enough, ‘That’s the thing? That’s why you said those things?’ You slightly nodded, his presence becoming too much for you, looking at the floor you mumbled a little yes. ‘Mmm, let me think about how hard your punishment should be.’

Without a second to react, your body was caged between his arms and the wall. Taking the air out of you, looking up at him with an angry face he looked happy. ‘Quit the fucking act Dick, just hit me or something.’

‘You think i’m going to be that nice to you? I’ll just return the favor.’ Your face changed into confusion, his lips almost touching yours. You could feel his breath. ‘W-what do you mean?’ His lips locked with yous, catching you by surprise

His thumb digs into your cheeks and the other four fingers grip your face as he opens your mouth with pressure, tongue jutting out slightly. Dick sniggers, You might as well be begging to get fucked right now.’ Your eyes glisten, thighs and core clenching. Dick spits into your mouth and you swallow immediately. He laughs. Ah, you slutty whore. That’s what you wanted?’

You tried to move but your body wouldn’t listen, secretly you know you miss him too, as much as he does, but you couldn’t let yourself break that easily, ‘I’m not the one who was horny for almost a week, dumbass.’

‘And whose fault is that mhm?’ With no time for reaction he made you kneel down, falling with a small ‘tmmph’ ‘It’s my turn to have fun while watching you cry, don’t you think? This may also be a punishment for the crime you just did.’ His head slightly turned to the right, looking if someone else was in this dark alley, but everyone seemed as busy as the two of you, focusing on their own thing. The siren alarms quieting down all the chat the both of you have.

‘Ah, the siren alarms, I don’t see anything you stole, was this all Harley’s plan?’ You tried to answer and tell him to fuck off, but you heard him unzipping his suit, your mind fighting with your body to move away from him, but oh shit. You won’t lie you’ve been fingering yourself these last days in the shower thinking of his cock. Half of his body suit rested on his hips, showing his chest, some hickeys still a little bit visible on his chest, the same as red marks of your nails digging on him. ‘You like what you see? Makes me remember the day I fucking had you in my hands again. And ever since I got a taste of you again, you don’t know how stupid I felt to leave you.’

Your doe eyes looked at him, searching for any kind of lie, but all you could see was lust and sincere feelings for you. ‘Ah, but here’s the thing, you can’t touch me. Maybe you’ll miss my touch as much as I do for yours.’ Everything was happening so fast you didn’t realize him kneeling down and handcuffing your hands before he stood up again. ‘That's better.’ His hand caressed your cheek before the nice and warm touch turned into a slap.

‘I shouldn’t treat you like the love of my life, right? You just committed a crime, baby, you need to be punished by your actions.’ He didn’t seem angry, he seemed full of lust and excited to have you again.

‘Oh, but this doesn’t mean we’re okay, we still need to talk it out. Right now it’s Nightwing giving his favorite criminal a punishment.’ You looked down at his crotch, a visible bulge had you closing your legs trying to get some friction out of it. He slowly made his suit get lower so his cock could finally be free, sprinting up so it touched his stomach, a pearl of cum coming out of it, sliding down until his base.

‘Open up and say ah…’ You did as he said, feeling completely defenseless and not in control like the other time, knowing you fell for him and his tactic again. He grabbed you by your hair and then he inserted his cock inside of you, winning a groan out of his mouth before he started thrusting in and out. Your mouth couldn’t get all of it, but you couldn’t use your hands to satisfy the missing parts of his cock, he wouldn’t let you. You tried moving your hands, which made his movements stop, staying inside of you. ‘Ah-ah, do not touch, If you still love me, you know you have to watch first and maybe I'll let you.’

You stopped fighting for his touch and gave into him, he moaned when you relaxed your throat and took him all in. He wouldn’t give you a break and thrust shamelessly into you, making you leave choked moans out of you, tears forming around your eyes making your vision blurry. ‘That’s it, you fucking criminal whore. These are the punishments you want right?’

You tried nodding, but he only chuckled at your try. He thrusted some times more before he finally came in your mouth with a moan that sounded almost like a whimper. Like the old times you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue, ‘Good girl.’ Then you swallowed.

‘I’ll see you at the tower.’ He started getting his suit on again, and with just a wink he left.

How the fuck are you supposed to get off this handcuffs?

When you came back to the tower with a sore throat and normal clothes, as soon as you entered the tower you saw Kory waiting for you in her cocky posture and a smirk adorning her face. ‘How was your night sneaky friend?’

You rolled your eyes trying to ignore her, hopefully she’s the only one who knows besides Dick, but she wouldn’t let you go so easily, so she grabbed you by the wrist stopping you from leaving. ‘Fuck off Kory.’

‘I’m not the one betraying everyone here dumbass.’

‘Go and fuck Dick or something,' Ironic isn't it?, since you're the one fucking him. 'don’t you want that? Maybe he could take this anger out of you and leave me the fuck alone.’

‘I don’t want to fuck him, i’m trying to keep my friends safe.’

‘Safe by being with them like a fucking tick? As if.’ You said those words with venom coming out of your mouth, never breaking eye contact with her.

‘That’s how things are going to be huh? Jealous, I'm spending more time with your ex than you?’ You felt your wrist getting warmer, trying to get off you whining at the hot sensation of her using her powers. ‘Let go Kory.’

‘Or what? You’re going to whine about this to your little friend Joker?’

‘Might as well ask him to fucking kill you.’ You said, kicking her on the stomach so she could let go, looking at your arm you could see a small burn, nothing too serious.

You hissed, touching the affected area, looking back at Kory, who stood there with a confused face, looking back, you saw Dick standing there, a black t-shirt hugging his chest and biceps just right, and some gray sweatpants.

‘What the fuck Dick? Isn’t she supposed to be beaten out or something? She’s a fucking villian!’

You smirked at her assumption, side-eyeing her back and then looking back at Dick. ‘Let’s say she’s a good fighter…’ He shrugged it off while getting closer to the both of you, looking at your injured arm, he looked back at Kory. ‘Let’s get you healed up.’ Dick grabbed you by the hand leading you to the nursery.

‘Are you being for real Dick? You’re still letting her in the house after knowing who she truly is?’ Her voice seemed more distant every step you took, you were getting giddy with all that was happening that you didn’t even realize you were sitting on a chair, Dick kneeled down looking for some medicines. Your arm already bandaged.

'...'

‘So… How did you become a villain?’ He asked, testing the waters. ‘I dunno, guess it just happened with no explanations.’ He took the hint at what you were referring to, deciding to just sigh. ‘I was stupid okay? Not being Robin gave me a kind of breakdown trying to decipher who I was, I fucked up. I dissolved the titans because of that, and the worst thing of all is that I lost you.’ You thought there was a nice future without him, not letting him crumble your world, but hearing his breaking voice while telling you this, made you rethink everything.

Dick isn’t good at expressing his emotions, so him trying really meant he was serious with this, ‘I couldn’t imagine myself with other girls, because the fantasy of you shatters my heart, I’ll always be by your side, I promise, please forgive me.’

You shakily sighed at his confession, remembering the first time he told you ‘I love you’ you had your emotions just in control before all of this, but now you realize the both of you are below the same sky and you couldn’t resist wrapping your arms around him again. All you could hear in the room were sobs coming out of the both of you. Old lovers reuniting again, but the tension in the air was still visible, not forgetting what happened earlier this night.

‘Can I keep being a villain so you could just fuck me everytime I commit a crime?’ He chuckled at this, making him stop crying, and looking at you, ‘Maybe I should lock you up, and give those punishments for free, I don’t need you causing problems out there.’

You made a gesture like you were thinking about it, ‘Mmh, that doesn’t sound too bad, but I’ll miss Harley so that’s a no.’ He rolled his eyes, ‘I can lock her up too.’ he said, grabbing both of your hands. ‘And punish her too? I don’t think the Joker nor me would be happy with that.’

He laughed, how much you missed his laugh. ‘Obviously no. She would be locked up serving her sentence or something.’ The both of you looked at eachother, missing the comfortable silence, until a question came to mind. ‘And Kory?’

‘What about her?’

‘She’ll tell everyone.’

A small oh left his lips, looking at the floor then bringing his eyes back to yours. ‘I’ll talk with her.'

'...'

'....'

‘Do you… uh… like her?’

‘Would I be here waiting for you to give me a chance to kiss you again if I liked her?’ Unable to control yourself, you crashed your lips onto his, and he responded immediately. He grabbed you by your legs, immediately wrapping them around his waist, he somehow opened up the door and led the both of you to his room. Lips never breaking apart.

Without breaking the kiss, you pushed him onto his back, laying flat on the bed and straddling his lap. Dick smirked at your actions and you leaned down, reconnecting your lips. You involuntarily grinded onto his growing bulge, causing him to groan in pleasure. You could feel your panties sticking to your wet folds while you moved on him. Without breaking the heated kiss, Dick sat up, pulling you along with him, so that his back was resting against the headboard of your bed and you were still straddling him. He broke the kiss to trail open mouth kisses along your neck, making you tilt your head to give him more access.

‘Can I touch you?’ he mumbled against your skin, giving it a little nibble.

‘Yes, please…’

Dick’s hands moved up your body to your breasts. He gently massaged your breasts before taking one of your nipples in his mouth. He flicked it with his tongue, giving it a little swirl before repeating the same action for the other one.

‘You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to do this to you again,’ he said, lips meeting yours in a quick kiss before he changed positions, hovering above you. ‘Every time the both of us were alone, I had to control myself so much from wanting to kiss you… to touch you…’ his hand moved down to your thighs, giving it a squeeze before he teased your inner thighs. He slowly moved his hand to cup your clothed heat, making you whimper.

‘‘Fuck, please touch me,’ you begged.

Dick slowly took your panties off, mouth watering at the sight of your glistening core. His fingers moved to your clit, gently stroking your sensitive nub. You grabbed his hand once your clit became too over sensitive again, stopping him from touching you.

“I… it’s very sensitive from what we did earlier before…’ Dick kissed your neck while his fingers explored the area around your entrance, avoiding your sensitive clit; he didn’t want to just shove his fingers up immediately. ‘Just relax, baby,’ he murmured against your skin, and your tense body relaxed a bit. He ran his finger along your wet folds, collecting your juices. He took his time, teasing you around that area, trying to get you wetter.

When you felt wetter, he moved his body to rest in between your legs. He slowly slipped a finger into your hole. ‘Does it hurt?’ he asked. You shook your head and he continued pushing his finger all the way in. You winced at the slight sting you felt when he pulled his finger back a little. ‘Are you okay? Does it hurt, baby?’

‘No, it feels so good.’ you said, your hands moving to his messy black hair.

He tapped around your walls, searching for your g-spot. You sucked in a breath when he found your spot, clutching a fistful of his hair. “Found it,” he smirked, continuing to finger you, making sure to hit that very spot. ‘D-Dick…’ you moaned, your walls clenching around his finger. He kissed and gently sucked on the skin of your inner thighs while he fingered you. You could feel something building up in your lower stomach, and you assumed you were close to orgasming. ‘Dick… I think I’m-’

‘Let it go,’ he pumped his fingers faster, making your back arch. ‘Cum for me, baby.’ His words and a few more pumps was all it took for your orgasm to wash over you, making you loudly moan his name. He pulled his fingers out, sucking them clean, eyes closing at your taste. ‘So fucking sweet. I fucking missed you.’

He leaned down for a kiss, which you gratefully accepted, taking off his shirt and pants, his cock was as hard as before, searching for attention. He then inserted his cock, pushing through your gummy walls, making you moan at the feeling. He slowly started thrusting, making sure to keep the stimulation from your previous orgasm, the both of you were so focused on the other that you didn’t hear the knocks on the door until the second time.

‘Dick! Are you there?’ Fuck. It was Kory. ‘The door is locked.’ The both of you heard another voice, it sounded a lot like Rachel’s. ‘Dick! We can’t find Y/N’ Shit. Gar is also there?

‘We need to find her before she causes something big.’ Rachel said, knocking on his door again. The both of you looked at eachother with wide eyes, before he shut you up with his hand on your mouth, keeping you from making any sound, but he continued thrusting, finding a rhythms which touched your g-spot just perfectly. You moaned, earning a look from him, ‘Uh- I haven’t seen her anywhere.’

‘C’mon Dick, you took her to the nursery.’ Kory said from the other side of the door, ‘But- I ha- ah! haven-t seen her since..’ You clenched his cock, catching him by surprise, making his voice break and whimper, his hand reaching your nipple pinching on it, giving him an angry look, you clenched your hole earning a moan out of him, making you giggle. ‘Are you okay Dick?’ Gar asked.

‘U-uh, yeah, just putting on my suit for, mmh~ go and search for her, y’all should do the same.’ You couldn’t quite hear the voices coming from the other side, too giddy feeling the way Dick’s cock moves inside of you.

‘Okay… we’ll see you in 10.’ That was the last thing the both of you heard, before making sure they left.

‘You heard that princess? We only have 10 minutes before we go searching for you. Guess I couldn’t- Ah!’ A specific thrust made the both of you feel an electric shock, ‘I couldn’t stop Kory from telling the other, ha…’

He started thrusting harder and faster this time, knowing he was searching for his high, you were quite close to it. His hand traveled down your body until it found your clit and started rubbing it. Making you almost scream if it wasn’t for his hand covering your mouth. Not even 30 seconds passed and you saw stars, your vision becoming white thanks to the overstimulation and him not stopping so you could take a break from your high. Actually motivating him to thrust faster to search for his.

Tears formed again into your eyes, staining your cheeks, his other arm over your head holding himself up while he thrusts into you. He leaned down and licked the tears out your face, before uncovering your mouth, taking a big breath before breaking down into a moaning mess, he thrusted into you harder, cock deep down inside of you, shaking while stripes of cum filled you up.

All you could hear were whimpers coming out of him, until he finally calmed down and tools his cock out, making the both of you hiss at the feeling. He laid down beside you, audibly breaths coming out of the both of you, looking up at the roof.

He grabbed down the blankets and covered the both of you, him being the big spoon and you the small one.

‘What about the others?’

‘If we don’t answer they’ll think I went alone and also go search for me’ He chuckled, hugging you even closer. ‘Here I am right now, and tomorrow when you wake up. By your side. I’m sure we’ll find an agreement with the others, since you didn’t commit the crimes like that, just an accomplice, maybe you could become a hero again.’

You scoffed at that, ‘We’ll see about that Dickie.’

1K notes · View notes

qveerthe0ry · 4 days

Text

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect.

He’s your dream man.

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place.

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees.

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally.

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit.

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own.

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it.

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too.

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight.

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things.

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him.

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt.

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing.

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow.

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore.

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training.

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager.

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated.

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it.

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed.

“What do you want?”

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in.

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.”

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine.

“You’re lying.”

You sigh and close your eyes.

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.”

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty.

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers.

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.”

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment.

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?”

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction.

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?”

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little.

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs.

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation.

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not.

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his.

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead.

“Everyone?”

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you.

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up.

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at.

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you?

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.”

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze.

“Really?”

You scoff.

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth.

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine.

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment.

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back.

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone.

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted.

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again.

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs.

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.”

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth.

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you.

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction.

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long.

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs.

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt.

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking.

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved.

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice.

“I think about you, too. All the time.”

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest.

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?”

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter.

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod.

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience.

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt.

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?”

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss.

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head.

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you.

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before.

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers.

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch.

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck.

“It’s just you.”

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief.

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans.

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess.

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips.

“That’s all for me?”

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again.

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip.

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?”

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you.

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes.

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs.

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face.

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control.

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him.

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest.

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels.

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.”

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest.

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure.

Oh, he’s fucking good at this.

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else.

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding.

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers.

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face.

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side.

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles.

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself.

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together.

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing.

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids.

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours.

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder.

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?”

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs.

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction.

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants.

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.”

You huff.

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it.

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours.

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe.

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out.

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation.

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again.

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you.

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold.

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs.

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever.

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.”

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust.

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there.

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake.

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.”

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping.

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue.

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him.

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him.

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach.

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers.

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that.

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is.

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him.

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat.

“So… How’d it compare?”

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question.

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them.

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?”

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up.

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are.

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs.

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs.

“Better,” you whisper.

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back.

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver.

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips.

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants.

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension.

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little.

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard.

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up.

“Will you let me suck it?”

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods.

“Please.”

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction.

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants.

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough.

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go.

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you.

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel.

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock.

His little cock.

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess.

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing.

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this.

You’ll make him look, one way or another.

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention.

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head.

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth.

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him.

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to.

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens.

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more.

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool.

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere.

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock.

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself.

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds.

He says your name.

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls.

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked.

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face.

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face.

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.”

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question.

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face.

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe.

“Yeah? You still want it?”

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek.

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.”

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away.

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?”

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later.

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body.

He’s so hot.

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation.

“Please,” you whisper.

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed.

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit.

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling.

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time.

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense.

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you.

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him.

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles.

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm.

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out.

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh.

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it.

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display.

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up.

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist.

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you.

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them.

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?”

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit.

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight.

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy.

There’s screaming.

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts.

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene.

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks.

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps.

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again.

“Huh?”

God, how are you ever going to move again?

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words?

“What are you talking about?”

He clears his throat.

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly.

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright.

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out.

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver.

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees.

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you.

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body.

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body.

“Hi,” he whispers.

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high.

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part.

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle.

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach.

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do.

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest.

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth.

“When can we go again?”

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters #x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #the mentalist

361 notes · View notes

inkdrinkerworld · 9 months

Note

a spider!reader who gives off “sweet girl next door” vibes? she tries to bring miguel cookies with he’s working on something and he scares her, coming off more angry than intended, and ends up dropping them on the floor. (collect groan lmao)

contains minor spoilers to across the spider-verse pt 2

you’d been thinking all day after the whole fiasco of recruiting gwen that miguel needed cheering up.

margo warned you not to, said, ‘he’s a grump. let him grump.’

but you hadn’t been able to take that answer. there was something about miguel that didn’t just scream grump. something seemed tired about him.

so, you tried your hand at baking him something. you’d debated for a long time of chocolate chip cookies or oatmeal cookies were more his style.

you decided on chocolate chip.

you spent two days on them, using a recipe which required brown butter, overnight chilling and a lot of dark chocolate.

you got a lot of flour on you as you baked them, watching them rise and then spread out on the floor of the kitchen.

when they were done you packed them up in a cute purple box you snagged from the cafeteria.

your heart leapt to your throat as you turned down the corner to HQ, hoping that you wouldn’t catch miguel at a bad time.

that hope is decimated when you walk in and find him grumbling to his computer.

“um, miguel?” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet as you stand in the archway.

“what? what do you need?” he huffs and you feel some of your momentum dry up.

“i brought something for you, but if you’re busy-“ it appears that was the wrong thing to say.

“of course i’m busy! i’m always busy trying to keep the stupid multi-verse from collapsing. maybe some other time we can chit chat.”

you’d never actually been on the receiving end of miguel’s upset, and maybe this wasn’t exactly for you but his tone and the way his arms are flailing around his body makes you feel small in a way that hasn’t happened for a long time.

“right,” you whisper, managing not to cry as you jolt and the box of cookies fall. “i’m sorry for bothering you.”

miguel watches as you don’t even bend to pick up the box. he watches you turn like you’re being remote controlled and he catches sight of your hands wiping at your eyes.

“great, you’ve made her cry casanova.” lyla appears suddenly, foot tapping in air as her arms cross over her chest.

“so now i’m the bad guy?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. he feels like the bad guy. guilt and shame burn his throat and belly like he’s downed two tequila shots with no lime or salt.

lyla flits to the box, “she made you cookies.”

miguel sighs, hands scrubbing at his face as he steps off the platform to pick up the box. in your neat cursive he notices you’ve written, ‘a pick me from having to do all the hard stuff.’

he wants to smash something. of course he’d blow up at possibly the nicest spider-woman variant. of course he’d be the asshole to make you cry too.

“where is she?” he asks lyla as he sets the box on the desk and opens it to find the cookies all broken. they smell delicious - something close to that bakery you liked when you’d visited earth-2067 with him on a scouting mission.

you and miguel always make a great team on missions and he hates to admit it but he’s very fond of you and he knows you're fond of him too.

it’s why his chest is aching and he needs to find you. “lyla, where is she?”

“in her room, blasting music and cleaning. give the girl a moment alone before you barge in there and make it worse.”

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goldsainz · 10 months

Text

HIS LUCKY CHARM — one shot.

pairing: lando norris x reader

MASTERLIST.

summary: lando is disappointed you can’t make it to his home race, only to be surprised at the end.

request: “Hi! Could you write something about Lando and reader when she surprise him on race day. Lando is sad when she told can't do this on his home race bc something important with her work but after all she appears on Sunday on track. He is more than happy with that and archive good resolut be she is his lucky charm”

warnings: teeny tiny bit of angst, a probably not accurate depiction of the garage

NOTE: WHAT A RACE!! loved the lando+lewis podium, also oscar was great 🫶 anyway, to celebrate have this little thing, thank you sm for requesting bc this inspired me a lot (you kinda manifested the good result???) i added a shameless cameo in there, i just couldnt help myself! (the ending is rushed, ignore it😁)

[ word count: 2,2k ]

“I’m so sorry, Lando.” Is what you say to your boyfriend when you have to break the bad news to him.

“It’s okay.” His face breaks into a broken smile, with glossy eyes he holds your hands and brushes his thumbs up and down your palms.

“I’ll still tune in.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be rooting for you.”

“I know.”

You take your hands from his hold, and place them around his neck. You watch as his right posture lightly relaxes at your touch.

“I don’t wanna miss it. You know I don’t.”

You wish your job wasn’t as demanding as it was, that it didn’t make you fly to another country in the middle of your boyfriend’s home Grand Prix. But it does. And you’re not sure how to handle the emotional stress it inflicts on you both, and you sure hope it doesn’t affect him in a way that will mess up his race.

“And if I could make it, I would.”

“It’s alright. It’s your job, I know it’s not your fault.” Even though Lando’s words seem reassuring, and he means them with his whole heart; you still feel guilty.

With that, he stands up and makes his way to the kitchen of your shared apartment. You watch him leave, and with a heavy heart start to pack whatever stuff you need for your trip. It destroys you to see him sad so close to his home race, a time where he should be joyous, only worried about the car and nothing more.

You’re not sure how you’re going to make it up to him, but you will.

Somehow.

You were being a little secretive, and you were sure Lando definitely noticed.

Your boss and you had managed to come to an arrangement which allowed you to be present for the race. It would all be very tight in timing, but nothing that couldn’t be accomplished. It involved a lot of overworking the days before, but it was very much worth it.

You could already imagine the face Lando would make when he finally saw you. Whether he got a good result or not, there was no doubt you wanted to be there with him.

It took a lot of care for you to arrive at the paddock almost incognito, with fans already speculating why you weren't at his home race. Thankfully no break-up rumours had surfaced, but there were a couple hurtful ones that made you want to be present even more.

But you knew that no matter how much Lando acted like he was oblivious to what happened around him, his silly act was simply that; an act. You didn't like keeping secrets from him, it felt wrong to have to blatantly lie to him whilst everyone around him knew something he didn't. Still, it would all work out in the end.

Lando’s family had been so happy to see you in the paddock. His grandma (who adored you) hugged you as tightly as she could, quickly bidding you goodbye when you told her you had to go to the garage quickly to get prepared for the race.

There was no doubt that the tingly feeling of nerves creeped up on you the moment you spotted all the engineers and people moving around, getting everything that needed to be set up wrapped up so the race could go smoothly. Zak was already at the pit wall, and Lando was sitting in his car ready for the formation lap to begin.

At the garage you spotted Florence Pugh, who had a McLaren headset on. You had seen her on the paddock, but wasn't aware of the fact that she had come to the race invited by McLaren. You tried not to freak out, you saw celebrities almost everywhere when you came to races or went out with Lando. Still, the actress had a special place in your heart.

It took a little of hyping yourself up, and confidence to walk up to her, but you did. You would be sharing the garage for an hour and a half, the least you could do is socialise a little.

“Hi! I’m Y/N.” You said to Florence watching her turn around with a smile on her face.

“Hello!” She says, greeting you like you were an old friend. “I’m Florence”

“You’re a McLaren fan?”

“Honestly, I’m more of a Lewis fan.” She said with a laugh, keeping ehr voice just loud enough so you could hear her.

“I get that. I mean, who isn’t?”

The conversation flowed for a little more until the race was about to start. You excused yourself and moved to an area closer to the screen, where you could watch Lando close-up. You loved being in the garage because of the different screens and the attention to their drivers, that allowed you to experience the race in different ways.

Your headset was adjusted and you were awaiting the moment where David Croft would say it’s lights out. Your knee was slightly bouncing, but you tried your best to contain the nerves.

“It lights out and away we go!” Exclaims David Croft, his voice echoing through the garage.

You watch as Lando has a great start, and it takes about a second for him to take the lead. You hear the roar of the crowd before you can even react.

“Yes! Go Lando!” You scream, your voice doesn't make anyone flinch because everyone around you has the same reaction. It is a sight to behold, a moment you are more than grateful to see live.

“I can’t believe it.” Someone next to you says, and you can't help but smile.

It is no secret how badly the season started for McLaaren. You watched Lando’s smile waver more than once, his faith in the team never wavering, but still. He was rightfully let down by the performance of the adr,a dn you had to reassure him multiple times that it wasn't his fault. Because he was doing the best that he could with what he had.

So now, seeing him get to this moment, is absolutely deserved.

A couple of laps go by and Max takes the lead for your boyfriend. There is disappointment in the atmosphere, but everyone knows that P2 is a miracle and that Lando is doing absolutely great work out there. They all know how great it would be to have him finish in that position, especially since Oscar is P3.

Getting a podium in Silverstone would mean the world to Lando, Which is why you're worried about what will happen when they pit. Whatever strategy they choose will determine if Lando gets podium or not, and you will not pretend to really know what happens or how they come up with strategies, but you hope that they dont mess up his race because of wrong timing or choose the wrong tyres.

As you watch his car race, you suddenly see on the screen that one of the Haas cars has come to a halt. A safety car is deployed, which means a couple of cars will choose to change tyres. The whole garage groans when Lewis’s car comes out in front of Oscar’s after he pits, now challenging Lando’s position.

It’s like you can’t breathe between those laps that Lando and Lewis battle for P2. Everyone is at the edge of their seats watching them race against the other, and you hope that this doesn't end up running both their races. The last thing anyone wants is for them to crash, because going from that position to a DNF would result in disappointment for everyone involved.

“Come on, Lando! Come on!” You scream, your palms intertwined in front of you as you watch him fight for his position.

Thankfully, Lando manages to maintain his standing and leaves Lewis behind him for good. The hard compound tyres he was pitted for are giving him a tough time, you know that it is not ideal. Not when he could've lost his position, but with just 10 laps to go your faith in him is over the roof.

You’re on twitter, refreshing your timeline to see if there is anything you missed. The fans are so enthusiastic, their comments make you smile. Even if there are people out there who don't like Lando, there are even more who love him and want nothing but the best for him.

You watch as Florence is escorted out of the garage since she will be waving the flag. You watch her face light up in excitement, and in all her excitement she still waves at you. You don't waste a second in waving right back at her, turning your head right after to the screens.

The moment Lando crosses the finish line the McLaren garage erupts in cheers. You hug whoever is next to you, a teary smile pulling at your lips. You cannot help the tears that fall down your face, you usually don't get that emotional during a race, but this is his home race and he is on the podium. If there is any time to cry, this is it.

You are almost running to the barriers, waiting for the moment that Lando steps out of his car and goes to celebrate with the team. You are wearing his merch, something that will surely stand out to him, enough that in his podium haze he will spot you.

He goes up to the team, his helmet now long gone, and that is when he sees you.

You who told him you couldn't make it, are suddenly there.

In a flash he moves in front of you. You cannot tell him anything because in an instant he is grabbing you, squeezing you so tight he lifts you up from the ground in excitement, you giggle right in his ear and he is sure that that is the most beautiful sound he will ever hear. He is careful not to take the barrier with him, not wanting a warning from the stewards.

After a couple seconds you pull back slightly enough to see his face. Your hands waste no time in grabbing his face and placing his lips right over yours. Lando reacts almost immediately, melting right into the kiss, the adrenaline from the race still pumping through his veins. You can hear some cameras click, and the cheer from some people, but you ignore it.

You have to pull back eventually, not because you want to, but because there is so much to say and not enough time, not to forget the fact that he has yet to go to the podium.

“I cannot believe you’re here.” He whispers right over your lips, his sticky forehead pressed against yours.

“I couldn’t miss this.” You say, watching as his lips pull into a grin.

“I was pretty cool out there, wasn't I?” You snort at his words, separating from him but his hands never leave your waist.

“Oscar was really cool.” His grip on your waist tightens, “I haven’t properly congratulated him yet, actually.”

Someone from the team says something to him, you're sure they're telling him to wrap your conversation up because he has to go up to the podium.

“You were great out there.” You tell him, your eyes holding all the sincerity in the world. You watch his gaze soften at your words, and he places a quick peck as he finally lets you out of his hold.

“Of course I was,” You shake your head at his smugness, “My lucky charm was here.”

You cannot help the tears that well up in your eyes at the softness of his words. You know that the celebrations and compliments are not over, but for now they are. You step back a little from the barrier, seeing as he is rushed to the podium and joins his fellow drivers on the steps.

You smile up at him, watching as he grabs the champagne. He moves it around a little and then hits it against the ground, effectively bringing back the iconic champagne spike he does whenever he is on the podium.

Lando sprays it everywhere, and you're almost sure a little hits you. Your theory is confirmed when he is smiling widely at you, like a kid caught doing something he should but isn't the least bit sorry. You laugh at his antics, which in turn makes him smile even wider (which you're not sure how it's even possible).

When the champagne runs out, his gaze catches yours once more. You mouth an “I love you” to him, watching from afar as he blushes. A second after he returns the sentiment, mouthing it back and blowing you a kiss.

You thank your boss in your head for letting you be here with him, because if you hadn't been here with him you would've sure felt horrible for it.

After all, Lando needs his lucky charm with him and you're more than happy to oblige to his wishes.

2K notes · View notes

starlitmark · 3 months

Text

Summary: Both being in the NSFW content creation sphere, you and Yunho find a mutually beneficial piece of content to film. Pairing: NSFW Audio Creator!Yunho x Only Fans Creator!reader Tropes: Adult Content creator au, friends with benefits au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, the reader is smaller than Yunho by a good amount Smut Warnings: recorded sex, blindfolding, auralism, protected sex, implications of a hand kink, use of the name “daddy”, pet names, nipple play, clitoral stimulation, ripping clothing Word Count: 2,416 Host Tag: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye February Filth Masterlist Before You Interact

Listen to ♡ Often by The Weekend

“You’re sure you’re not going to get kidnapped?” Yeri checks for the tenth time.

“I’m sure!” You laugh, “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve talked with him before, too, several times. You know Yunho and I are friends.”

Yeri’s jaw falls to the floor. You meet her eyes through your mirror after you finish fixing your makeup. You look at her as if you’ve just said the most mundane sentence in the world. On the other hand, she looks as if you just told her you’re not actually who you told her you are.

“You mean to tell me–”

“I haven’t fucked him. Not in the literal sense, at least.” You explain, “We’ve fucked around in DMs before a few times but nothing in person yet. We’re genuinely friends, too, it’s not just about our jobs. He’s seen me. I’ve seen him. We’re both being safe. Now go back to your own apartment unless you want to witness something you probably don’t want to.”

She shakes her head and scrunches her nose. You laugh at her action and start walking her toward your front door. You start to pull your door open to let her out when she starts to sound like a broken record.

“Seriously, if you think he might–”

She’s cut off by someone clearing their throat. She turns around, and you look up. He’s right in the doorway, looking devastatingly handsome. Yeri buttons her lip and slips past him. You bid her goodbye as she’s already halfway to the elevator.

“Come on in.” You smile at the tall man, moving to let him in.

“It’s nice to see you in person finally.” He smiles

You nod, mouth suddenly dry, “I hope it wasn’t too bad of a trip here.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “It was actually really nice. It’s beautiful out.”

You’ve been friends online for a while now, and this sudden awkward tension is almost suffocating. Yunho smiles at you and takes your hand in his. You look at your connected hands before looking back up to his face. You’ve seen him before in pictures you exchanged in the past. Some of them are more distracting than others. Seeing him in person seems to create a whole new level of devastation for your panties and your heart at the same time.

He drops your hand and leans against a bookshelf at the edge of your entryway. He’s nearly the same height as it. You need a stool to reach the top shelf of it. Now you take in just how tall he is. You knew he was tall. Knowing a fact versus seeing it is so different. You already know his cock is big too. You’ve been blessed to see it several times. Your mind starts to wander to your activities planned for the afternoon.

“You okay?” Yunho’s eyes fill with concern, “If you don’t want to do anything, we don’t have to. We can just hang out.”

“No, no,” you chuckle, “I just forgot how… big you are…” You admit.

Yunho smirks as he leans over you while leaning against the bookshelves. You gulp at the sight.

“Did you, sweetheart?”

Fuck.

Your mouth goes dry again, trying to find a proper response. You knew damn well what the plan was walking into today. Both of you had planned out the entire scene in depth to ensure safety and quality content for your followers. Hearing his voice, seeing that stupidly hot smirk, everything about him renders you speechless.

“Sweetheart?” He calls again, “You still with me?”

You nod, “Just… thinking…”

“About?” He leans in close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips.

“We have a bit of content to film, and–” You stop yourself and stare at his lips for a moment.

“And?” He questions.

Your gaze stays fixated on his lips, “And… I fucking need you right now.”

Yunho doesn’t waste a moment closing the gap between you. The way he pulls you tight against him, combined with the heat of the kiss, makes your knees buckle. You stand there for a while, just kissing him. Your neck hurts a bit from stretching up to reach him, though you’re sure he is hurting more from craning down. By the time you pull away, your lips are puffy and wet with spit. His aren’t in much better condition; he has a bit of your lipgloss smeared near his own lips.

“Is your camera all set up?” He asks, his voice slightly raspier than earlier.

“Mm,” you hum, “You’re okay with your face being on camera?”

“We already talked about that.” He reminds you, “It’s okay. My face isn’t fully a secret to my audience.”

You take his hand in yours again and guide him toward your room. As you had told him before, your camera is already set up in front of your bed. You reach over and press record before you even say another word to him. As much as you’d love to get wrecked by him now, you know the goal is to get content. Your high-quality microphone is already connected and tested to ensure it gets the best recording it can. After all, it’s not just being uploaded to your Only Fans. The audio from today is being edited and uploaded to Yunho’s NSFW audio subscription as well. Short free clips are going to be posted on both of your Twitter accounts in addition to helping with the traction. Before you get in the view of the camera, you slip your shorts off from under your oversized T-shirt. Per the agreed-upon scene, you’re playing the role of his pretty little stay-at-home girlfriend and won’t be needing pants if you’re at home all day.

“You ready, princess?”

You know he’s put on his acting, but he still searches for any uncertainty in your eyes.

“I’m ready, Daddy.” you respond, voice sweet and needy.

Despite neither of you truly having a daddy kink, you both agreed to that title for Yunho to both protect his identity and play into the content you both know people want. You sit on the side of your bed and look up at him with wide, faux-innocent eyes. Yunho hums and leans down to cage you against the bed. One hand slips back a bit to grab a silk tie just behind you. He pulls it off of the bed and leans back a bit to hold it between you.

“We’re gonna play a little game, okay?”

You nod, “Will I get to feel you?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ll feel me. You just won’t see a damn thing.”

Yunho leans forward again and kisses you sloppily. The wet sounds of your kiss are enough to make you rub your thighs together. He, of course, notices it and grips your thigh with his other hand. Massaging the flesh, he pushes your oversized shirt up to expose your soaked panties. He guides you back further until you’re nearly laid down. He drops the tie just long enough to pull the shirt off of your body. You’re only left in your panties while he’s fully clothed. That doesn’t last long, though. He pulls his own shirt off. You appreciate his toned body and end up fixated on the noticeable bulge under his sweats. You gulp before meeting his eyes again.

“Can’t I suck you off for a bit? I wanna be a good girl for you.”

Yunho gives you an endearing smile, holding your chin in his hand, “That’s so sweet of you, baby. As much as Daddy would love that, I have other plans for us today. I’m gonna blindfold you now, okay? You know our cues.”

“Colors, if I can speak. If not, two taps for a break and three for a full stop.”

He kisses you again, “That’s my girl.”

It’s for the camera, you know that. Still, it doesn’t stop you from nearly melting at the praise. He takes the black silk tie and carefully secures it around your head, checking to make sure it’s not too loose or tight. You feel him guide you to lie down on your bed and push your thighs apart to be flat across the bed as well. Every sound sounds so vivid. The soft sound of his hands moving across the bedding, the gentle sounds of his breath by your ear, even the light creaking of your bed as he puts his full body weight on it. A gasp escapes your lips as he leaves more wet kisses along your throat. The noises he makes as he kisses you while letting his hands wander are enough to make your panties even more soaked than they previously were.

“You’re so jumpy, baby.” He chuckles, “Relax, let me make you feel good.”

“Daddy,” you whine, bucking your hips when his hand trails along your inner thigh.

“Yes, princess?”

You gasp when his kisses reach your chest, “Need–”

You let out a broken whine when he wraps his lips around one of your nipples. His fingers lightly trail up and down your thighs, intentionally skipping over the place you need him most. Each time you buck your hips toward his touch, he lightly nips at your chest. The lack of vision only heightens your other senses more. Each time he so much as grazes your body, you jolt in reaction. Each word he says and each noise he makes sends you into another plane of existence.

You feel his body pull away from you, leaving behind a waft of his addictive scent. You feel as he pulls your panties to the side and strokes through your folds. The squelching sounds that come from your lower lips are loud. Each rub against your clit, each time his pretty, long fingers push into you, you feel yourself crave him more. He fucks you on his fingers for a while. His thumb presses perfectly against your clit while two of his other fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace that makes you see stars. His unoccupied hand holds one of your thighs down. His fingers dig into your skin in a way that may leave bruises, not that you mind at all.

“You hear that, sweetheart? You’re so fucking wet. What’s got you such a wreck? Hmm?”

“Daddy, I– fuck! Everything, it’s everything!”

“Everything? It’s how you keep whining and moaning while I finger your pretty little pussy, the way I’m speaking to you, the fact that you can’t see a damn thing. You’re at my mercy, sweetheart.”

You want to close your thighs so badly due to the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. A light slap on your thigh stops your action. A moment later, Yunho pulls his fingers from inside you, and you feel his weight lift off of the bed. The sound of foil ripping fills the space, followed by a low, growly groan. Though you can’t see it, you know Yunho kept his promise to put a condom on.

“Daddy,” your voice wavers with uncertainty.

You feel his hand rest against your waist, “It’s okay, princess. Daddy didn’t leave you all alone. I’m right here.”

The small gesture of reassurance makes your heart flutter for a brief moment. You feel the bed sink again and feel his bare skin against yours. He places a sweet kiss against your lips and whispers a quick check-in.

“You want Daddy to fuck you now?”

“Please, want Daddy’s cock, please.” You whine.

You feel the head of his cock rubs through your folds a few times before pushing in. Your panties are still pushed to the side, though they aren’t terribly in the way. Yunho continues to shower you with filthy comments and praises. Your hands fly forward and feel their way to his hair. Pulling him forward more, you pull him into another sloppy kiss. His thrusts are loud, and the squelching sound of your pussy is louder than it was with just his fingers. Your moans are muffled slightly by his kisses, but still, they’re loud. The fact that you can’t see anything makes it hard to know exactly what is happening.

“Wanna see you.” You request.

“My princess wants to see me now? I thought you liked not knowing what’s coming.” He teases.

“I- I do, but I wanna see Daddy now. Please?”

Yunho gives a particularly punctuated thrust, “Alright, princess, pick up your head a little, and I’ll take it off.”

You do as he says, and light floods your field of view a split second later. It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the light. Once they do, you’re met with the sight of Yunho above you, sat up straight on his knees as he thrusts into you. He has a heated, lust-driven look in his eyes that brings you closer to your orgasm.

“Are you attached to these panties, baby?”

You shake your head at his question. A moment later, the telltale sign of clothing ripping fills the room. You break eye contact for a moment to see that he ripped the seat of your panties and was seconds away from ripping the waistband, too. Yunho smirked at you and leaned in close to your ear.

“I’ll buy you a new pair later, or I’ll pay for you to get some new ones.”

“Daddy, wanna– gonna–”

You’re not on Earth anymore. Your mind is so far gone, lost in the obsession you’ve discovered you have with his voice and the filthy, debauched noises being created in the space. In all honesty, you didn’t even process what he just said to you. All you can think about is the fact that you’re mere moments from your orgasm.

“Pretty baby wants to cum?” He asks, gripping onto your now bare hips.

“Please,” small tears form in your eyes, “Please, please!”

Yunho smirks at you again, “Cum.”

Your orgasm rips through you, stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before. Yunho’s thrusts grow stronger and faster. As you ride out your high, he reaches his own. He releases his load into the condom with a loud groan. His eyebrows furrowed together while his eyes remain locked on your own. You both start to fall from cloud nine around the same moment. Yunho leans down to hover above you and places a small kiss against your collarbone.

“You did such a good job, pretty girl. I’m so proud of you.”

That last comment wasn’t for the camera. That was specifically for you.

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

#yunho smut #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #joongfryefff24 #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #yunho fanfic #yunho x reader

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risuola · 7 months

Text

BROKEN PROMISE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

He promised he will never leave you.

cw: angst, manga SPOILERS – AND I MEAN IT, IF YOU DON’T FOLLOW THE MANGA DO NOT READ (spoilers regarding chapters 223-236), hurt, blood, death, sadness – all of that jazz, reader is pregnant — 1,1k words

a/n: one of TWO endings to PROMISE – this one's angsty, it’ll rub salt into open wounds, it might make you cry, read the warnings please. If sadness and sorrow isn’t what you’re looking for right now, check THIS FLUFFY alternate ending out!

He made a promise, so he had to keep it.

Satoru promised to never leave you and your daughter, so why you felt like this?

Sitting there, watching how the fight was moving, following every movement of your dearest husband only to see him fail, time after time, over and over. Every time he seemed to be on top, the cursed king crawled back up. Every time something unimaginable happened, something equally unreal followed. Why were you here, stuck in the room full of tv’s, unable to do anything?

Waves of nausea were crashing over you one after another, your breaths slowly turned sharp and shallow as the terror in front of your own eyes played like the bad horror movie. You kept your shaky hands over your belly, smoothing nervous circles over it and your daughter that up until this time was sleeping with calm, now began turning. Your nerves finally got to her.

Your chest began rising and falling at an alarming rate as the panic slowly was taking over, and it’s only the reassuring squeeze on your shoulders, Shoko’s trembling hands, that kept you somewhat grounded. You didn’t even notice her there before, you barely noticed anything in the room. It was only him, struggling to win the fight that from the beginning felt unwinnable.

Thoughts clashed inside your head, your mind was racing off the cliff and you felt like no brakes would stop it now. You were hot, feverish even, but the sweat that glistened over your forehead and the back of your neck felt like ice. Your throat was clenching, as if your own heart got stuck there, preventing you from breathing and you felt the tears threatening to roll down your eyes, when Satoru faced three opponents at one. You managed to make the sound of Yuuta’s voice, because he was right next to you. He tried to hop in and help, he wanted to support his sensei and you wanted nothing more than to join Gojo’s side yourself. You wanted nothing more than to give him whatever power was inside of you, to take the burden of this fight off his shoulders, that although broad and strong, seemed to slowly collapse under the weight. “No,” someone told the boy, but you couldn’t recognize the voice. “It’s his fight, we’d only get in his way,” he reasoned, and you knew it was true, but still wondered if anything would go differently if there was someone, anyone, that would support your love on the battlefield?

And then, it was silent. With the grounds of Shinjuku permanently scarred by the largest, most powerful purple that you had a chance to see, everything around you went silent. Sukuna was standing, barely, bearing deep damages over Megumi’s body and Satoru was there as well. He was wounded, but he was fine. Satoru was fine, he won. Satoru won. He won.

“Something’s wrong…”, you whispered, with eyes glued to the screen, paying no mind into the quiet cheers and comments that were coming to your ears from the very back of the rooms. Satoru won, you should be now exhaling in relief, but why it felt that wrong? “Sukuna’s still standing, it’s not over…”

“What are you talking about, he won, he-“ someone tried to scold you, but it took just a second to shut the whole sound down.

You caught a glimpse of a smirk stretching the lips on Megumi’s face and something bright blinded your eyes for a moment. And then, next thing you saw took your breath away. A deafening silence rang inside your brain, your body stiffened, every muscle tensed at the sight of the purest terror. The sight you could never imagine, the sight of Gojo Satoru, cut in half, on the ground. Blood gushing out of his torn out torso, the lower half of his body still standing as if it didn’t realize how light it became.

Gojo lost.

He promised he will never leave you.

The silence suffocated you. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think and only thing that kept you from passing out was the waves of pain shooting out of your shoulder, where Shoko kept her grip iron and shaking. You felt like everything you went through up until this point rushed in front of your eyes, you felt like your own heart was ripped out of your chest and stomped over. Blood left your face and you could feel your body tensing up even more. You could feel your baby girl twisting and turning inside your belly, her feet were constantly kicking your abdominal walls as if she tried to snap you out of the trance. She was the reason you had to keep living, when now you wished nothing more than to die. With him.

Getting up, despite many protests and objections, in few seconds you made your way to the battlefield. As you dropped to your knees right next to Satoru’s body, he still seemed to be aware of what’s around him. He breathed out the smallest huff of air when you landed your hand over his bloodied cheek.

“You did well, Satoru,” you whispered to him.

“So…rry…”, he mouthed, no voice leaving his mouth, but his blue eyes shifted from the sky to your face. “Sorry,” he tried once again and once again, just air slipped over his tongue.

“It’s alright, love,” you told him, caressing his pale skin with your trembling hand.

“I promised,” another try resulted in more blood gushing from his mouth.

“It’s okay. We’ll take care of her together; I know you’ll always be there.”

A tear gathered in the corner of Gojo’s eye, but you were quick to wipe it away with your thumb.

“You don’t need to be the strongest anymore, Satoru,” your whisper caused the corner of his lips go up just slightly. “I love you so much. You can rest now.”

His mouth shivered as he tried to shape them into one more “love you”, before he stilled.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, gently closing his eyes and finally, the tears burst out of your eyes. It’s as if you were holding them, sparing him the sight of your cries, because if he couldn’t be the strongest anymore, you had to be as strong as you could. But now, you couldn’t feel him anymore.

He lost.

But he promised.

A scream ripped through your throat, burning its way straight out of your heart. A cry of devastation and loss, mourning sound of agony that rushed through your vein as you laid your head down on his unmoving chest; ear over the heart that no longer beat.

He promised.

But now, he was gone.

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levmada · 4 months

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Levi-isms translated from his heart<3

//taller!Reader, Levi can pick reader up, hcs, canonverse, so fucking sweet

1: "Are you blind? I’m busy.”

You moan in sheer agony from the doorway, and put on your best puppy dog eyes.

He scowls at you, or he might be just that tired. His eyes are so heavy it’s hard to tell the difference.

"But it's so cold and lonely without you. I’m even colder right now, as you can see.”

You’re not wearing pants.

Make the issue about him, and how important it is that he rests, and you get a scowl. Make it about you, and he stands up with frankly a bratty sigh, and runs his hand through his hair.

You smile sweetly as he nears. On the way, he undoes the top button of his pressed white shirt, giving you a glimpse of his adam’s apple.

you lean forward and kiss his cheek. "Missed you…”

He looks up at you, eyes softening, and ruffles your hair a little. "Ugh... So annoying…"

You care enough about me to lose sleep... I could never ask for something that you freely give up, and it drives me crazy. How can one person have this power over me, anyway?

2: He's too angry to even pace around the hospital tent. This fire rampages in his veins with his blood as lit gasoline.

He can't remain calm with your fingers clutched in your lap, broken, reduced to a mound of bandages that seem to captivate you; you refuse to look at him.

He tells himself that it's not necessarily you he's angry at, that yelling won’t mend broken bones—but he can’t contain himself.

"What the hell were you thinking!?” he blurts out. “Throwing yourself into harm's way isn’t fighting—it’s suicide for self-righteous fools. What will we do now that you’re useless?"

Why?? Why is it easy even for you to be taken away from me whether you devote your whole heart or not?—and you do. So I need you to be more careful. I can't be there all the time. What will I do to keep you alive from here? You'll cooperate with me, won't you?

I can’t believe this… but I don’t want you to be devoted; I want you to be safe.

3: You finish explaining your plan with an uncertain smile sent his way.

To be fair, it's quite the tall order to sneak into Hange's lab, but he can't see any holes in it. As long as you get in quick, Levi can have it cleaned before supper.

"Not bad. It just might work. But don't let it get to your head."

You're smart. Thanks for the help. But it’s not like I like you or anything…

4: "No worries." You beam. "I'll have them swept up in no time—with Mike's help too, of course."

Even if he tried, he couldn't smile at your confidence. There's never telling what will happen when it's a fight against the Titans.

He looks ahead, squinting through the wind whipping at his bangs. You're both coming up on the south end of the forest again. It's packed with trees that'd be perfect for setting up camp, if only it wasn't infested with Titans. Four separate squads are pushing in from each direction, with Levi's squad at the north where Mike smelled the most action.

It's risky... no surprise there. He doesn't have overwhelming positivity, but what he does have—en masse—is faith in you.

"Alright... Use your best judgment in there. Don't die. If there's a sign of anything you can't handle, don't be stupid to take it all on your own. Just shoot up a flare and someone will be on their way."

I'm sending you on your own, so I know that you're strong. You can take care of yourself. But still. Be careful, I love you.

5: “Quit resisting.”

“What’re you doing, arresting me??” you cackle as Levi lifts you off your feet. He even pins you over his shoulder while you cry out in laughter. “Baby, it was just a little more work…”

"Nope.” With hardly a grunt, he swings the door open that feeds into the hallway and begins the march to your quarters. “If you keep this up, no amount of caffeine is going to save you. And I won't be there to baby you when you pass out and fall on your face. You're going. I'll pick up the slack."

I don't want you to work yourself down to the bone so much that you're forced to rely on me... So take care of yourself, I'll manage the rest.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

#a small birthday offering :)#levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #captain levi fanfiction #captain levi x reader #captain levi x you #levi ackerman drabble #levi headcanons #levi ackerman headcanons #levi hcs #aot hcs #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi.thoughts

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linos-luna · 9 months

Text

His baby (My Baby) pt 6 🥀🔪

Yandere!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader x Lee Know

♡ (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt 3) (Pt 4) (Pt 5) (Pt 6) (Pt 7) (Pt. 8) (pt. 9) (pt 10)

Warnings: trauma, Yandere, obsessive behavior

—————————— 🎀 ——————————

It’s been a year since you left your ex boyfriend. A whole year of freedom. You moved in with Minho, your new loving boyfriend. He makes you feel safe, loved, and secure.

Since moving in, you’ve been able to get some help to work through trauma. It wasn’t easy but you were slowly getting better and more independent.

Minho made sure to help you with that. You always felt better when near him but he’d encourage you to go out on your own for periods of time. To see your friend Jeongyeon and enjoy yourself.

Sometimes he would leave you at the house when he runs small errands. At first it was hard and you’d end up calling him in a panic but it’s better now.

Although being alone can still sometimes make you nervous, but Minho was always a phone call or text away.

~~~~~~~~ 🔪

For the past few nights you’ve been waking up with nightmares. You couldn’t even remember them. It wasn’t abnormal for you to get them every once in a while but not consistently like this.

“No… no… no…” you were muttering in your sleep, shaking your head lightly. This only made Minho stir lightly but not fully wake up.

It wasn’t until you started getting louder and moving more that’s when Minho woke up.

“Baby?”

“No! Stop!” You cried, eyes still shut as you shook your head as you kicked your legs.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Minho said calmly while grabbing your hand. “It’s okay…”

You opened your eyes to see your worried boyfriend looking down at you.

“I’m sorry oppa…”

“Don’t apologize.” He sighed while letting you sit up. “I’m just a little worried… you’ve been doing this more often… Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know…” you replied while looking down at your hands. “I’ve just… being having a bad feeling lately…”

“What do you mean?”

“Something just feels… off?”

Minho wondered what exactly you meant but let you get back to sleep. Perhaps you’d discuss it more in the morning.

You were right to have that feeling because something was definitely wrong.

Your ex boyfriend, Chan, is now out of prison. The justice system is broken and there was some overcrowding. Plus, paying off a judge definitely helped out as well.

So now he was back to his mission: finding you, his baby. But he needed to be smart about this. The year locked up gave him plenty of time to think on how to get you back.

He needs to be cunning and perhaps a bit manipulative. Anything to get you back in his arms.

Unfortunately, he already had an idea of where you were…

~~~~~~

“Y/n, are you sure you’re okay being alone for a bit today?”

“I’ll be fine. Go get what you need.” You nodded. “I just want to take a nap while you’re gone.”

“Okay.” Minho said, still a bit uneasy about it. “I’ll only be gone an hour at the most.”

“Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in a little bit.” Your boyfriend said while grabbing his keys and giving you a quick kiss on the lips.

You giggled and blushed at that like a little school girl before heading to the bedroom.

~~~~

You had fallen asleep on your side while petting one of Minho’s cats, who also fell asleep. You slept in the middle of the bed, no sheets or covers on you. Only a pillow to lay your head.

Something made the cat wake up. She seemed to hiss at something before leaving the room. You moved a bit at the loss of the cat’s warmth yet continued sleeping.

But again you had that sudden feeling. The feeling that something wasn’t right.

Just as you started to wake yourself up, you heard a familiar voice that made your heart skip a beat.

“Hi, babygirl…”

In a state of panic, you nearly screamed and backed into the pillows and headboard. It was him. Your ex boyfriend. How was he here??

You were frozen in place as he moved closer, standing next to you where the nightstand was.

“Don’t be scared…”

“W-what are you doing here?!” You managed to say, shaking when he got closer.

“I just came to see you.” He said with a smile. His voice was eerily calm as he reached to hold your hand. “I miss you, baby.

You instantly pull your hand away and try scooting away from him.

“Don’t you miss me…?”

“N-no… no! I-I…” you didn’t know how to get words out and he sighed.

“Baby… I never meant to hurt you…”

“Chan, how d-did you—?”

“But I’ve changed.” He said, completely ignoring you and taking your other hand.

You tensed up and couldn’t pull away as he firmly held it.

“I’ll never hurt you again.” He said with a sigh. “I just want to protect you… because I still love you.”

A tear rolled down your cheek as he let go. Was this real or a hallucination?? How did he get in?? Why is he so calm??

Chan reached to wipe your tear away but you flinched and backed away, making him pause.

“It’s okay.” Chan said and put his hand down. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

It took everything in him not to throw you over his shoulder and run out, taking you home. But he must resist.

You then hear a noise from the main room. It was the front door. Minho must be back!

“I’ll see you later, okay babygirl?” Chan said as he started to go towards the door.

“Don’t tell anyone I was here.” He said while looking back and putting his finger to his lips. “It’s our little secret.”

He blew a kiss to you and left, leaving you confused.

Minho came into the room soon after to put his wallet and keys away.

“I bought some of your favorite snacks!” He said happily while kissing your cheek.

“Thank you, oppa.”

“Hey are you okay?” Minho asked curiously. “Looks like you seen a ghost. Did something happen when I was gone?”

“… no.” You lied while looking away. “Nothing happened…”

———————————————————————

Sorry it took forever yall. I was stuck for a while and a lot of life stuff happened. 😅

Thank you for waiting tho! I love and appreciate you all 🥰

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bluehoodiewoozi · 2 months

Text

Happy to Help

Xu Minghao x GN!Reader

Genre: sickfic, fluff.

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: adult language. food mentions. mentions of death/funerals (no one even comes close to dying though). a very bad case of the common cold.

[Series: Serenity Street 17] The heating in your apartment is broken and the landlord is not in a rush to fix it. By the time you gather the courage to ask your neighbour for help, you’re sick and now he’s stuck nursing you for a week.

note: Serenity Street is back, y'all!

For four whole days, you had gritted your teeth and smiled when Jihoon promised to get your heating fixed. For four whole days, you tried ridiculous Tiktok hacks to warm up even just your bedroom, and when that failed, wrapped yourself in three blankets and drank all the tea you could afford.

But everyone has a limit, and you finally met yours.

“Listen, I am only one man,” Jihoon told you – and frankly, he seemed to be on the verge of crying as well – when you practically broke into his apartment in search of justice, “and I do not know anything about heating systems or why yours specifically has broken.”

“Then tell someone else to fix it,” you complained, completely sick and tired of this treatment. “There has to be, like, a million people out there who could fix my heating.”

He sighed. “My parents have a contract with one specific company. Unless you want to pay for a breach of contract, you’ll have to wait until they get here.”

“It’s been four days already,” you spoke through gritted teeth, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. “My apartment is colder than the basement right now. It’s February – do you know how freaking cold it is outside? Are you going to pay my funeral fees?”

Jihoon raised a brow – half in concern and half in annoyance. “I don’t.. I don’t think it’s that bad…”

You countered with an eyebrow raise of your own.

That seemed to do the trick: he sighed and sat up straighter, reaching for his phone. “Fine, I’ll give them another call. Maybe they’ll come quicker if I offer an extra fee or something, I don’t know. Just… hang on until then.”

Scoffing, you stared at him. “And what? I’m just supposed to go back to the Arctic and pray that your handymen will come before I freeze to death?”

He frowned at that. “You’re not going to die. It’s only been four days.”

“You try turning your heating off for four days in winter and tell me how you feel after that,” you practically growled, challenging him.

Jihoon rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Just go stay with someone on your floor. Minghao has a spare bedroom. I’m sure he’ll share if you asked nicely.”

You wanted to physically fight him at the mention; not because he was wrong (god knows Minghao wouldn’t hesitate to let you take over his spare bedroom if you, or anyone, just asked nicely), but because he knew what you felt for Minghao.

As one of your very few friends in the building, Jihoon was more than aware that you had been harbouring a crush on your quiet artistic neighbour. You had had your eye on Minghao ever since he brought you a package – the mailman had mistakenly delivered it to his apartment and Minghao brought it to you with a heart-melting smile.

A whole year later, your knees still felt like jelly every time Minghao smiled at you in the hallway and you had to refrain from squealing out loud every time he spoke to you. You were, as the youths would say, ‘down bad’ for your neighbour.

And that’s why you couldn’t bear the thought of asking him for help in this situation.

When you didn’t reply to his suggestion, Jihoon sighed. “I’ll give him a call–”

“Don’t you dare!” you threatened. “If you as much as tell him my heating’s broken, I will kidnap Peaches.”

“Peaches?” he wondered, blinking at you in confusion before glancing back at where he last saw his fluffy cat. Once he was satisfied to find his pet snoring away in the armchair, he turned to glare at you. “I’m just trying to be a good friend and you’re threatening my child?”

You gave up then and there, turning on your heel and marching back to your apartment.

The next morning it appeared that Jihoon, as magnificent and powerful as he was, unfortunately had no power over the heating company. They rejected his attempts at bribes and offered him what they called ‘a tentative date’.

The problem? It was a whole week away.

[i asked my parents if they’d let you stay in 5a until then, but apparently they rented it out just a few days ago. the new guy’s coming tomorrow. nothing i can do. srry.]

You sniffled as you read the messages on your phone, hidden under three blankets and two sweaters. Groaning at your bad luck, you got off the bed and stumbled towards the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The hot drink was the closest thing you had to heating at the moment, besides a tiny and barely useful (and frankly one step from being a fire hazard) space heater Jeonghan and Sunny had left behind your door the evening before.

As you walked, you concluded you were a little dizzy and your nose wasn’t letting in as much air as it should have. While the water boiled, you also realised your throat was strangely scratchy. It didn’t take much to figure out the lack of heating had finally defeated your immune system.

Frustrated at the realisation, you pulled out your phone again and sent a text back to Jihoon.

[u owe me cold medicine]

The reply arrived just as you began pouring hot water into your mug. The soothing smell of tea filled the kitchen and you couldn’t help but lean a little closer to the heat of both the kettle and the mug as you read his message.

[you’re sick???!]

You chose to not entertain his much-too-late worry spree. After all, had he worried a little sooner, you’d probably have a warm apartment by now – or so you bitterly chose to believe as you shuffled back towards the bedroom.

But before you could even make it out of the kitchen, a knock sounded on your door.

Burdened by the onslaught of what appeared to be the common cold, your brain failed to realise opening the door usually meant a whole new set of problems.

You put your mug down on the counter and went to open the front door, revealing the one person you wanted to see the least in your condition.

Minghao couldn’t even muster a smile when he saw you. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at him. “Why?”

“Jihoon texted. He said your heating’s broken.” (You made a mental vow to find and kidnap Peaches the Orange Cat – full government name and all.) “How bad is it?”

“I’m fine,” you lied through your teeth. In retrospect, this was not one of your brightest moments. “It’s just a little chilly. I manage.”

He gave you a once-over, growing more confused and concerned by the second. “How many blankets is that?”

“Three.”

His eyebrows rose. “... You manage, huh?”

“One hundred percent. You don’t need to worry about me,” you confirmed with a smile and tried to shoo him away. “I’m sure they’ll fix the heating soon.”

“Well,” he took a deep breath, as if hesitating, “if you get too cold, you can always come over to my place. My apartment’s warm.”

You shook your head even as your freezing body screamed at you. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“You wouldn’t be–”

“My tea’s ready, so I should go,” you interrupted him and waved him goodbye before closing the door.

Once you were no longer confronted by his worried eyes, you sighed in relief, before cursing yourself for damning your body to another week of frost.

Your bad luck just never seemed to end.

What you thought would be just temporary discomfort was quickly turning out to be the worst cold you had suffered in years: sniffles quickly began to look like needing to go to the store to buy a few more boxes of tissues, your scratchy throat turned into a near-complete lack of voice, and you didn’t need a thermometer to know you were too feverish to really leave your bed.

You sent a mostly typo-free text to Jihoon to inform him that this was all his fault and burrowed back into your blanket cave. All you wanted to do was sleep – and sleep you would.

In your feverish and sleepy daze, you failed to register that someone was knocking on your door until you heard a familiar voice call out, “Hey, are you home? (Y/n)?”

You contemplated if opening the door was a good idea in your state. After all, one can only imagine the kinds of things you could accidentally confess while in a paracetamol-induced daze. So, you told yourself, Minghao could wait another day.

Except – as you’d soon realise – your body refused to acknowledge that decision. Like a drunken sailor following the call of a cursed siren, you stumbled out of bed and just about dragged yourself to the front door. You had half a mind to wipe away your snot before unlocking the door, revealing a distraught Minghao.

He had his phone pressed to his ear, a muffled voice sounding from the speaker. His eyes lit up at the sight of you. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got it.” He rolled his eyes at whatever the person on the other side of the call was saying. “Yes, they opened the door. I’m going now. Bye.”

Finally, he turned his attention to you. “What were you doing? We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“Why?” you wondered all the while trying to force your eyes to focus enough to admire his pretty eyes. And his hair. Had he dyed his hair? You were sure it was blonde yesterday, so how was it brown now?

“Because Jihoon thought you were dead,” he deadpanned, reaching to place his hand on your forehead. He sighed at the touch, disappointed but not surprised. “You’re really sick, you know that?”

You snorted out a laugh – and quickly came to regret it when you almost choked on it – before croaking out, “Of course I know that. I’ve been trying to sleep it off.”

“I don’t know if just sleeping will–”

“It’ll be fine,” you chuckled and reached over to pat his hair, silently marvelling at how soft it was to your touch. Reality called you back soon enough and you reiterated yourself under his disbelieving gaze, “Yeah, I’ll be okay. I just need to sleep, drink a lot of tea, and take some more medicine and then I’ll be good as new.”

He was still struggling to take your reply seriously. But finally, under your unrelenting smile full of content, he agreed. “Right, take good care of yourself. Sleep is good. Do you–” He hesitated for a moment. “Do you need anything from the store? I can get it for you.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” you told him and waved before closing the door. “I’ll see you once I’m better.”

And with that, you made your way back to your tiny somewhat warm base in the bedroom. A nap would soon claim you once again, your dreams filled with Minghao’s smiles and soft voice.

You sat up suddenly just as you were about to fall deep in slumber, eyes widening: you could’ve asked him to buy you more tissues. You groaned and fell back into your nest – snotty noses are a curse.

Hoping some fresh air would clear up your nose and the headache your condition had brought along, you went to check your mail in the morning. ‘Went’ might be a bit of a strong word, you’d soon realise, as you nearly blacked out just crossing the doorstep. ‘Attempted’ – that might be a better word.

As you gave up on your mission – after all, how would you go down a whole floor if you couldn’t even get out of your apartment without nearly fainting? – you noticed a bag on your welcome mat.

Suspiciously squinting, you picked up the bag. The squint quickly melted into a grateful smile when you recognised Minghao’s name signed on a note on the very top of the goodies.

Suddenly filled with a much-needed extra ounce of energy, you took the bag to your kitchen and began unpacking it. You found various cold medicines, a large pack of undoubtedly expensive tea, and some snacks, tissues, topped off with a bright-yellow post-it note from your neighbour.

Please take good care of yourself and get better soon. You can always come to my place if you need anything at all. – Minghao, 2B.

A giddy smile appeared on your face as you hugged the note to your chest. You rushed to find your one heart-shaped magnet before using it to stick the note onto your fridge, right in the centre. You’d cherish this note for as long as your crush would last – you knew this even in your feverish state.

But before long your joy was replaced with annoyance and despair as a cough fit paired with cold shivers up your spine shook your body. Your rational brain came back online soon after. Perhaps it was the words on the note, or perhaps you were finally just defeated – either way, you reached for your phone.

[hey, this is weird to ask but… can i come stay over for a while until my heating gets fixed?]

“Are you awake?” you heard Minghao ask as the door of his room creaked open. Too exhausted and relaxed to move or even speak, you only let out a throaty hum. His face – albeit a little blurry – appeared in your line of vision. ��How are you feeling?”

Your reply was not legible to Minghao.

“What?”

You sighed and cleared your throat the best you could before repeating, “I feel as awful as yesterday…”

“But?”

“But way warmer,” you mumbled and burrowed back under the blankets he had wrapped you in the night before when you arrived at his door. “I missed heating.”

He chuckled sympathetically at that and placed his hand on your forehead like he had the day before (the touch made you feel just as giddy as it did back then too). “Heating’s nice, isn’t it? I hope yours gets fixed soon too.”

“Me too,” you whispered, closing your eyes as you basked in the warmth.

“Your fever’s still pretty bad. I guess the medicine’s worn off.”

He sighed and gently brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. (You couldn’t help but imagine the touch as that of a caring boyfriend rather than just a concerned neighbour.) Feeding your fever-induced delusions, he kept stroking your cheek as he stayed in front of you, contemplating his options.

“Do you want some tea?” he offered after a long minute of thinking. “I think someone said lemons and honey in tea help.”

“I’ve had so much tea though,” you croaked.

“Clearly not enough,” he joked. “Stay here, I’ll go make you some. Maybe some food too? I made waffles earlier, if you want any.”

You smiled at the thought, sighing dreamily, “Waffles and tea...”

“Right?” he chuckled and gave your cheek one last affectionate pat before walking out of the room.

When he returned, he was carrying a tray. He carefully placed it on the bedside table before handing you a steaming mug, a plate of waffles and a handful of cold medicine pills.

“I don’t know how sweet you like your tea, but it has a lot of honey,” he warned gently, smiling proudly when you took a sip and hummed happily. “Is it good?”

“It’s better than what I’ve been drinking so far,” you told him with a raspy chuckle.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but he did feel a slight concern over your tea preferences. Wordlessly, he reached for the second mug on the tray and took a sip. His confusion only grew: this wasn’t his best attempt at making tea at all. In fact, he’d argue he hadn’t made tea this bad in years – maybe he was just so worried that it was affecting his performance.

“Drink your tea, eat the waffles, take your medicine,” he sternly told you instead of thinking about it any longer, “and then you can go back to sleep if you want.”

“I do love sleep,” you mumbled before taking the medicine, barely aware of what you were saying in your feverish state. You took a bite of a waffle to wash away the bitter aftertaste. “I love you, Minghao.”

He snorted and took another sip. “Sure.”

“I mean it!” you decided to declare, glaring at him for not trusting you. “I love you so much. I’d do anything for you.”

Dumbfounded by your confession, he blinked. “How about you just get better quickly, hm?”

You hummed. “Will you love me back then?”

He chose not to answer that.

Jihoon had more important things to do than nurse a sick neighbour back to health, but he felt he had no choice when Minghao practically dragged him to the apartment by his sleeve.

“Why me?” he wondered groggily, barely awake enough to even take care of himself. “Why can’t you take care of them yourself?”

“Because I have an actual job,” Minghao pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “Just make sure they don’t leave and that they take their medicine. Remember, they have to take these pills every four hours.”

Jihoon’s eyes twitched as he tried to blink. “Why me?”

Minghao was tempted to just lock him in the apartment and not share a word of explanation. But he supposed he owed him that much. He sighed. “Because you’re their friend and they’re completely out of it – I can’t leave them alone.”

“They’re a grown adult.”

“Poor (Y/n)’s very sick,” he said with a worried look in his eyes. “They must be hallucinating or something too, because they said they loved me? Can you imagine?”

At that, Jihoon’s jaw dropped. Then, he began laughing – not just giggling or chuckling, no: fully cackling.

“Don’t be too entertained by my misery. They’re your problem now,” Minghao deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest as Jihoon all but folded over the sofa’s backrest in his fit of laughter. As the man finally calmed down, gasping for air but laughing no more, Minghao sighed and asked, “So, will you watch them for me?”

“Can I bring my cat?”

“Hi, Peaches!” you cooed a few hours later, the cat snuggled in your arms. She purred loudly in reply, kneading at the blankets you had piled over yourself. It was a welcome sensation, you decided.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jihoon leaning against the doorframe, smiling in a way that seemed just a bit too smug to be well-meaning. Your eyes narrowed at the sight.

“You’re not Minghao,” you deadpanned.

His smirk widened. “Yeah? Too bad you can’t confess your undying love for me then.”

You groaned. “Fuck off, Jihoon.”

He let out a hissing noise. “Can’t do that. Minghao asked me to look after you for a bit.”

“So no Minghao?”

“Only your best friend and a cat.”

You snorted. “For a cat, you sure are talkative.”

Jihoon only sighed at that. “I think that means it’s time for you to take your medicine.”

“I feel fine though.”

“But you’re talking nonsense.”

You chuckled and hummed in agreement. “You brought Peaches. You never bring her to my place. I’m a little offended.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” he joked and handed you the pills and a glass of water. “I just brought her over so she wouldn’t be bored.”

“I bet you were worried about me,” you teased and took the medicine, groaning at the stupid bitter aftertaste. “Those pills are so gross. Why can’t medicine taste more like candy?”

“How would I know?” He placed the back of his hand on your forehead. You silently sighed at the realisation that it didn’t feel half as nice as when Minghao did it.

Jihoon pulled his hand away to glare at you. “You don’t get to diss me just because you’re sick and I’m not Minghao.”

Your eyes widened. “I didn’t– Did I think out loud?”

He stared at you for a moment before blinking and looking away. “I’m starting to think that medicine is not very effective.”

“It’s kept me alive this far,” you shrugged.

“Alive and loopy,” he concluded with a defeated nod before smirking again – god, you hated it when he did that. “I heard you confessed to Minghao.”

“I did wHAT?!”

Peaches startled at your sudden rise of volume before settling back into her oddly cat-shaped hole in the middle of the bed, but you did not care. You had more urgent matters to worry about than the comfort of a spoiled orange cat.

Confessed to Minghao? You? There was no way. Surely Jihoon was lying – right, he did that sometimes, after all.

Jihoon only laughed though. “What? You didn’t even know?”

“I didn’t– There’s no way I could have, right? I’m not that out of it?” you reasoned.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged nonchalantly as if you weren’t going through an actual crisis right in front of him, “he seemed kind of distraught when he told me this morning. Thought you were hallucinating or something.”

You could only pray the mattress would swallow you whole before Minghao’s return. Either that, or maybe the universe could send a sign that Jihoon was indeed lying. You were half-sure he was anyways – he probably thought it would be funny to see your reaction. Right. That had to be it.

But, as always, your prayers were met with disdain and spite, and the front door opened. Wordlessly, you begged Jihoon for mercy as Minghao’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“Are they awake yet?”

You shook your head and clasped your hands together and tugged at Jihoon’s sleeve, but he seemed to be dead set on causing you more misery. “They’re awake! Just took the medicine.”

Minghao appeared in the doorway, a relieved smile on his face. “Oh, good. You look a lot better today than yesterday– Not that you ever look very bad, but–” he seemed to panic and it was an odd sight because this was, after all, the ever-so-calm Minghao. He cleared his throat and smiled again. “You look healthier!”

“I… feel… healthier,” you slowly said, trying to take all of it in.

“You’re home early,” Jihoon noted, already gathering the orange loaf of a cat in his arms.

Minghao’s ears seemed to go a little more red at the mention. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, I– I left work early. Got worried.”

Jihoon smirked and leaned closer to you to whisper, much like a co-conspirator when he was the villain of your tale, “He got worried.”

“Count your days, Lee,” you told him with a deadly glare as he backed away, a carefree smile on his face.

“I’ll see you guys later then,” Jihoon announced and waved. “Get better soon!”

“Kim Mingyu, I swear to God— No, I know I asked for the recipe— But that doesn’t mean— Mingyu, I asked for a soup recipe not for your grandmother’s life story!” Minghao argued with his friend on the phone. His attention was soon diverted though, just to glare at you. “You should be in bed! –no, not you, Mingyu– Why are you up?”

“I feel better,” you croaked. While your body didn’t feel like it was made of lead-filled balloons anymore, your throat still hurt and the sniffles and coughs weren’t really helping with that.

Lowering his phone, he rolled his eyes and pointed towards the sofa. “You’d better lay down.”

“I’m fine–”

“I can see you struggling to stand upright from here,” he deadpanned before lifting his phone back to his ear. He sighed right after. “Yes, you did tell me about the time she went to Tokyo already, Gyu. So about that soup–”

When you still didn’t budge, choosing to admire the decor instead of following his directions, Minghao grabbed your hand and led you to the sofa himself. You were practically forced to lay down, a blanket thrown over you with care, the cushion fluffed for your ultimate comfort. With the phone still tucked under his ear, he pointed a warning finger at you and slowly told you, “Stay right here.”

“But I feel fine?” you mumbled but made no attempt to escape your fate. The sofa was nice enough you concurred and melted into the cushions, pulling the blanket further up your chin to hide your fully rubbed-red nose.

Just as you got comfortable in your new spot, listening to Minghao’s desperate attempts to pry a soup recipe from Mingyu’s mind, he appeared in front of you again. You were handed a mug full of…

“Tea? Again?” you groaned softly, but he silenced you with a warning glare and put on the TV instead of addressing your complaints. It was enough, you decided, as a drama rerun played.

After what felt like forever, Minghao’s arguments with Mingyu quieted and all you heard was the TV, the simmering of something in a pot, and your temporary roommate’s humming from the kitchen.

“What are you making?” you asked him when he came to check on you.

His hand on your forehead just like many times before, he smiled. “Some soup. It should help your throat. How are you feeling?”

“A little chilly,” you half-joked. Half because it was still a relief from the freezing temperatures in your apartment, but the living room area was still much colder than the bedroom Minghao had set you up in. It wasn’t meant as a complaint, but, judging by his deepening frown, Minghao seemed to take it as one.

“You’re cold?” he worried and, to your surprise, straightened up and reached over his head to pull his own sweater off.

Thoroughly confused, you watched as he shook the clothing item a few times before handing it to you expectantly – as if you were supposed to know exactly what to do with it.

(Newsflash: you had no idea what to do with it. Your brain was running at 20% power and still stuck on the fact that he had taken off his sweater in front of you – and looked so damn attractive doing that.)

When you made no move to grab it from him, Minghao’s frown only deepened even more. He sighed softly and took the matters into his own hand: he shoved the head hole over your head and guided your arms into the sleeves before rolling the hoodie downwards until it covered your torso.

To top it all off, he adjusted your blanket to make sure not a single gust of cold air could get you. Once he was done, he offered a sweet smile and patted your cheek as if you were a beloved household pet. “Better?”

You could only stare at him in response and dumbly nod.

“Good,” he nodded and smiled wider before glancing at the clock. He hummed in thought. “The soup needs to simmer for another 15 minutes. If you’re still cold…” He hesitated, eyeing you almost shyly and averting his eyes when your gaze met his. He cleared his throat. “If you’re cold, we could cuddle. You know, to share the warmth.”

Embarrassingly enough, it only took you half a second to agree. But thankfully, he didn’t seem put-off by your sudden enthusiasm. Ears reddening as he shuffled closer, he reached over to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you to rest your head against his chest instead of the pillows.

To this day, you’re half sure you hallucinated the entire thing (and that he definitely didn’t go to check on the soup at the 15-minute mark. You had no memory of having that soup at all).

Your barely blissful sleep was interrupted by a vibration under your pillow. You startled awake and looked around until you found the source of your disturbance – the phone under your pillow, Jihoon’s name flashing on the screen.

“What?” you grunted into the phone after swiping to answer the call. No sooner had you spoken than your head slammed back into the pillow — you had no interest in fighting gravity today.

Jihoon snorted at your response. “Good day to you, dear neighbour. Glad to hear you’re better.”

You had no interest in small talk when dreamland was still at hand’s reach. “What do you want, Ji?”

“The handymen finally came. I just wanted to ask for your permission to enter your apartment.”

“Handymen?”

“To fix your heating,” he reminded you softly. “This cold really took you down hard, huh?”

“Oh, the heating!” you perked up, sitting up again. “Of course you can go inside. Should I come too?”

Jihoon hummed in thought before concluding that “Minghao probably won’t let you leave his apartment yet.”

“I’m an adult!” you argued. “He can’t keep me here against my will.”

“I think you’ll be surprised at how convincing he can be,” he laughed, “but I guess you can try. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

But when you went to tell Minghao about your plan, he proved Jihoon’s point a little too perfectly.

“No,” he told you sternly before you could even put on your shoes. “You’re still sick.”

“I’ll just be next door,” you argued.

He was having none of it. “Two days ago you almost collapsed on your way to the bathroom – that was even fewer steps away! You’re not going.”

“Why not?” you whined, frowning at him. “I’m fine! I’m standing up, see?”

His stare was one of disappointed disbelief. “You’re leaning against the wall, (Y/n).”

“There’s walls in my apartment.”

He sighed. “Please just go back to bed. I’ll go myself.”

“But I wanted to get some things–”

“Send me a list and I’ll bring them to you,” he solved your problem easily and you had no room to argue.

Minghao had never actually been in your apartment – not since you actually moved in and packed your things anyway.

He knocked softly on the door before walking in to see Jihoon and a pair of handymen chatting away. The former offered him a polite smile and a nod before returning to the discussion.

Minghao took that as a sign to look around. He took a deep breath and found himself shivering, his breath fogging up in front of his very eyes. How you had survived in this apartment so long without getting frostbite was beyond his comprehension so he decided to not think about it anymore – the idea of you shivering in your bed, desperate for warmth, upset him anyway.

He shuffled into the kitchen where he quickly found the phone charger you had told him to get. He also found a familiar bright-yellow post-it note on the fridge, his hand-writing proudly on display under a heart-shaped magnet.

He scoffed before smiling at the sight; why would you keep that? It’s just a note? He hadn’t even spent a full minute on scribbling it.

Did you actually like him? He shook his head – there was no way. You were too good for him anyway.

Without another thought, he opened the list you had texted him and began gathering the belongings you so dearly missed: some sweaters, shirts…

A single small plant stood in the middle of your bedroom, somehow still green (if not a little droopy) and not frozen over like its compatriots on the window sills. He picked it up – perhaps having even this tiny plant survive would cheer you up, he reasoned.

As he looked at the other, less fortunate plants, Jihoon wandered into the room.“That thing is still alive?”

Minghao hummed in agreement. “It seems a little frostbitten, but it’s still alive, I think.”

“I think they’ve had this thing for ages,” Jihoon told him with a chuckle, leaning forward to inspect the plant. “Who knows? Maybe you can bring it back to life.”

“I sure hope so,” Minghao whispered in response before offering him a smile. “So, what’s the latest on the heating?”

Jihoon grimaced. “They said the system is entirely screwed. They’ll have to replace most of it – might take a few weeks.”

“Weeks?”

“At best.”

Minghao was already mentally drafting the best way to deliver the news to you – he didn’t see it going very well either way. “I guess I will have a roommate until spring then.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jihoon sighed. “I know they’re a lot to deal with – especially when they’re sick.”

He felt insulted on your behalf. “They’re a delight!”

“You’re lying,” Jihoon laughed. “Mingyu told me how you had to scold them to lay down yesterday.”

“They're just a little stubborn,” Minghao defended you to his best ability, trying to limit his lying.

“If you say so.” Jihoon nodded at the bags at his feet. “Do you need help getting all that to your apartment?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Minghao told him with a reassuring smile before picking everything up. Sure, he struggled, but he’d struggle even more if he hurt his pride by asking for help with something this easy.

Even if getting back to his apartment took him a little longer than he’d like to admit, he still made it all on his own. And he was decently proud of that.

“Minghao?” you called out his name the moment he opened the door.

Oh, what he’d give to hear this every time he returned home. He froze at the thought – he was starting to become delusional and that was not his brand. No, he had to get himself together – you were just a friend staying in his spare bedroom because of an emergency. Yes. So it was.

But he couldn’t help but feel a little deluded when he spotted you sitting on the sofa, his white hoodie around your frame, smiling at him hopefully. His heart was about to fail him.

He didn’t even have to try hard to smile – it came naturally at the sight. “I got everything you said.”

“Oh thank god,” you breathed out in relief before sneezing. “No offence, but I miss wearing my own clothes.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you do.”

Your smile faded a little as another thought came to your mind. “Did they say how long the repairs will take? It shouldn’t be too long, right?”

“Jihoon said they have to replace the whole heating unit,” he regretfully told you. “It’ll take a few weeks.”

The remnants of your smile disappeared. You threw yourself backwards on the sofa, pulling a cushion over your face to scream into it in frustration. After a beat of silence, you removed the cushion and stared at the ceiling. “Where will I go?”

“You can just stay here,” he suggested, a little too enthusiastically perhaps. “You’re already settled in.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you–”

“Nonsense,” he reassured you with a laugh and held something out for you to take. “You and this little guy can have the spare room.”

“Little guy?” You sat up to look at the item in his hand – the small flower pot he had brought along. Your eyes just about started watering at the sight. “It’s still alive?”

“I think so.” Minghao shrugged and gently handed the pot to you. “It looks like it could use a few days in a warm spot in the sunlight, but the other plants looked a whole lot worse.”

You sniffled – from tears or from your health conditions, you weren’t sure. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gave your head a gentle pat. “I’m just happy to help.”

To say you were growing a little annoyed with your health would be an understatement. A whole week of sniffling, coughing and sneezing had passed, but you felt only marginally better.

“I’ve never been sick for this long before,” you complained to Minghao as he handed you a cup of tea and placed a bowl full of snacks between the two of you on the sofa. There was a drama playing in the background – you both agreed to watch it but, to tell the truth, neither of you was particularly invested in the plot.

You took a sip of the hot beverage, hummed in appreciation, and continued your rant, “It makes no sense. I should be feeling better by now.”

Minghao chuckled. “Well, you were pretty sick when you came here, all feverish and snotty. I think you’ve gotten a lot better since.”

“My doctor still won’t let me return to work though,” you groaned. “How am I supposed to pay rent if I can’t work? It’s not living in this building is cheap.”

“Can’t Jihoon lower your rent until the heating gets fixed? It would seem fair.”

You froze. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “Wait, you’re right! Why am I paying full rent when I can’t even live there because of the temperatures? And it’s not even my fault?!”

Before you could get more fired up about it and start harassing your landlord, Minghao changed the topic. “Do you need anything else? Are you warm?”

Snapping out of your rage, you offered a sheepish smile. “I’m a little chilly actually.”

He sighed and reached over to once again place his hand on your forehead, as he often did. It was almost a routine at this point – not that your heart could ever stop fluttering at the simplest of physical contact with him.

“You’re not running hot today though,” he worried but picked up a blanket anyway and threw it over your lap. Then, uncharacteristically, he hesitated for a moment. “Do… Do you mind if I–?”

He lifted the corner of the blanket and shuffled under it as well, pulling his feet under the blanket for extra warmth.

“You’re cold too?” you wondered.

He offered you a funny look – as if you had asked him if unicorns exist. “Do you think you’re the only one who feels cold sometimes?”

You blinked. “Well, no, but–”

“Then stop asking dumb questions and watch the drama,” he told you and forced himself to do just that. But if it hadn’t been for the sudden red-ish tint of his ears, you wouldn’t have questioned him to begin with.

Instead of asking any further questions, you decided to settle further into your (by now designated) spot on the sofa, engulfed in the warmth of the blanket and Minghao.

You fully planned on blaming your illness for the way you leaned further and further into his space as you slowly began dozing off to sleep – even if it was fully intentional. Who could really blame you? You were sick, tired, and sitting next to your crush of god-knows-how-many months.

And so, inch by inch, your head lowered not in the direction of the head- or armrest but towards his shoulder. Finally, your eyes closed as your cheek pressed against the fabric of his cardigan.

It was a little rough from the wash, no longer as soft as it had once been, and you’d be lying if you said it felt comfortable against your cheek, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make for just five minutes of something akin to affection from the man of your dreams.

You fully intended it to only be five minutes – just a short moment to bask in your delusions. But then you felt his arm shift under your body, lifting to rest around your shoulders. He pulled you closer and rested his cheek against your head and before the fourth minute passed, you were more than halfway into Dreamland.

“I wish this happened more often. I really like you, Minghao.”

(And maybe if you had been more awake, you would’ve noticed the way his breath hitched and his smart watch vibrated to warn him of a sudden spike in his heart rate.

Maybe you would’ve noticed the way his embrace tightened just the slightest bit and he pressed his lips against your forehead in a careful gesture of reciprocation. And that his world got a whole lot brighter at the idea that perhaps this time you knew what you were saying and that maybe, just maybe, your feelings were mutual.)

You couldn’t believe you almost squealed with joy at the prospect of going back to work. You loved Minghao – really, you did, in many ways – but being stuck in an apartment with him for almost two weeks turned out to be your shortcut to insanity.

So, of course, you took the very first chance to return to work. And of course you hated every second of it – reality really is much less rosy than daydreams.

“Minghao, I’m back,” you called out as you returned to the apartment exactly 20 minutes after the end of your workday. Frankly, you weren’t expecting any kind of answer – you had just spent the past two weeks fantasising about calling out that specific phrase to feed your delusions.

You just had to try it out once, or maybe twice. Who knows what tomorrow brings.

But, just as you started to accept that it was dumb and not as much fun as they make it seem in those sitcoms, you heard a cough and a raspy, “I’m here” from his room.

You froze at the sound. A glance at the clock said that Minghao should still be at work. The art museum didn’t close until late at night so…

“Minghao?” you called out again just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Perhaps you had already come down with a new fever and weren’t even aware of it.

Another cough. Now you were sure you weren’t imagining it.

You headed to his room, finding the door ajar and a Minghao-sized lump curled up under a pile of blankets. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you heard a muffled croak and you wondered exactly how high his fever must have been for him to think it sounded even remotely convincing. “Just had a rough day.”

You pursed your lips in thought before approaching the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress near him to gently peel the covers off his face. His eyes narrowed into an accusatory glare at the sight of you and the light flooding his room.

“Yeah?” You laughed at the sight of his reddening nose. “You sure it’s not the sniffles?`”

“Who even says ‘the sniffles’ anymore?” he mocked and buried his face in the pillows. Like a sulking child, he sharply pulled the blankets from your grasp and pulled them over his head. His voice once again came out muffled, “I’m fine. It’s just a little cold. Can you turn up the heating while you’re here?”

You went to do as he said but were taken by surprise by the thermostat. “It’s already maxed.”

“Is it?” he wondered, one eye peeking out from under the covers. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“I think you’re not that fine,” you realised and went back to him to check his temperature as he had done to you just some days ago. “Hao, you’re burning up. Have you taken any medicine yet?”

“I don’t need medicine,” he whined. “I need a nap and more blankets… and to get rid of this stupid cough.”

“So,” you concluded, amused all of a sudden – is this what he had been dealing with all this time with you? – , “some cold medicine?”

“... I don’t want to bother you.”

You let out a scoff. “Dude, I practically moved into your apartment when I got sick and you’re worried taking care of you will bother me? If anything, I have to do this to pay back the favour.”

“Can’t you just do it because you love me?” he wondered, drowsy and barely lucid.

You froze. “Because I— What?”

“Because you love me,” he reiterated, turning his head to pout at you. “You said you loved me and if you loved me, you’d take care of me because of that and not because you’re paying back a favour.”

“When did I–” Your breath got caught in your throat – so Jihoon hadn’t lied after all. “Did I really say that?”

“You did – twice,” he declared, “I heard it myself.”

As you prepared to apologise, he added, “But it’s okay because I love you too. So, now you have to take care of me, right? You’re, like, legally obligated.”

A part of you was screaming on the inside, kicking and jumping and squealing and dying all at once. The other part was wondering how he had gone from “I’m fine, stop worrying about me” to “you’re legally obligated to care for me” in two minutes. You weren’t entirely sure which part of the situation worried you more.

Eventually, you decided that the second part was far more worrying.

“Let’s get you some medicine and we can discuss the legal aspect once you’re better, okay?” you told him, gently stroking his hair off his (admittedly gross) sweaty forehead.

He hummed in agreement.

But when you went to leave his room to get some comfier clothes and medicine, his fingers wrapped around your wrist. You looked back to find his eyes squinted open, an accusatory sparkle shining in them. “Where are you going?”

“To get you some medicine–”

“Stay.”

“Hao, I have to–”

“Stay,” he told you a little more assertively. The gentle pulling at your wrist contrasted the force of his demand. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Begrudgingly, you sat back down. You could use a few minutes to process the information anyways, you decided, and reached up to play with his hair. Before long, his soft snores filled the room, yours joining not too soon after.

Days passed by and Minghao was recovering way faster than you – probably because he had half a mind to not stubbornly spend the first couple of days of his ailment in a freezer-temperature apartment. That’s what he told you anyways when you went to bring him tea and check his temperature one morning.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you argued under your breath as you tilted and rotated the slowly-dying thermometer to see what numbers it was displaying. “Your fever’s gone at least.”

He sneezed and groaned right after your comment. “I wish everything else went away too.”

“At this rate, you’ll be back on your feet and bossing me around by tomorrow,” you joked to placate him (because realistically he would spend another three days feeling like death itself, as per your own experience) and fully sat on his bed. “Any plans for when you get better?”

“So many,” he admitted with a slow grin which dropped soon after in a near-comical manner, “first of which is to go to the tea shop because I’m pretty sure you’ve cost me most of my supply.”

“Fair,” you sighed and leaned against the headboard. “I’d bring you some tea myself but–”

“Please don’t,” he all but begged. At least you both agreed that your tea tastes and knowledge did not align. He then sighed dreamily, “And when I’m done with that, I’m going to work on my paintings, and maybe redecorate, and take you on a proper date, and–”

Your jaw dropped. “You what?!”

He blinked. “Do you… not want to…?”

You could only blink back – baffled, befuddled, bewildered, dumbfounded, stunned.

Like a normal person, he took your lack of agreement as rejection. Clearing his throat and twiddling his thumbs, he avoided your eyes as he admitted, “I just thought that since you confessed, and I confessed, and– Actually, nevermind, maybe the thermometer’s wrong and I still have a fever–”

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Hao,” you whispered just as he began his downward spiral.

“–maybe I do need to go to that doctor Junhui suggested and get my head checked and– Are you serious?” His apologetic wide eyes widened some more as they snapped to meet yours. “You– You want to go?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, ears and cheeks burning and, damnit, were those butterflies in your stomach jumbo-sized?

His lips spread into a wide, relieved smile. “Oh thank god. I almost had a whole breakdown.”

Too busy trying to take in the situation and calming the butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach, you found yourself jumping in surprise when his fingers wrapped around your own.

And suddenly it hit you – this was your reality. Daydreams full of his smiles, long nights wishing he held your hand, sick days spent longing for the tender care of a lover – it was all real now and you no longer had to wish.

All because of broken heating and long weeks of recovering from a cold from hell.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #minghao x reader #xu minghao x reader #the8 scenarios #the8 x reader #svt scenarios #seventeen fic #minghao scenarios

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1d1195 · 5 months

Text

Love and Dryer Sheets VI

Read the rest here: Love and Dryer Sheets

For those that have been kind enough to continue supporting this crazy mixed up story, thank you so, SO much. I hope you like this last part.

~4.7k words

I know I say this a lot but this is a bit all over the place. The timing might not make sense but I don't think it matters (if that makes sense). I wanted to showcase a lot of time passing and hopefully it will translate.

“I think it makes sense with you too, munchkin,” she whispered.

“C’mon,” she stepped aside so Harry could enter. He moved slowly and slugged his way over to the sofa. He looked at her paused TV screen and released a tired, quiet chuckle. She smirked to herself. “Do you want me to start it over?” She asked.

He nodded sullenly. His eyes were redder than she had ever seen. There had been so many times he had come to that laundry room, red-eyed from rubbing them over and over. She could only imagine the argument that took place. Or maybe ‘argument’ was the wrong word. What do you call that? The final show? That sounded so terrible. Harry’s sweet face was all blotchy. She can’t imagine all the tears he shed because if she was in the same room she would have sobbed. Poor Harry. Even the tip of his nose was red. He needed a warm compress; her mom always got her one after a bad heartbreak or when she was crying herself silly over a broken toy when she was little or for one reason or another.

She pressed a few buttons on the remote as he sat beside her on the sofa. Carefully, she draped a blanket over him and gave his arm a gentle, comforting rub.

He sniffled—trying to do so discreetly. It felt like a stab to her heart that she couldn’t imagine feeling for anyone else. Not even Niall. (Although she imagined if someone hurt Niall, she would probably be the one doing the stabbing). “I’m sorry, munchkin,” she whispered softly. All she wanted was to take away his pain. Just like the patients she helped every day.

It was no use denying anymore that Harry meant something to her. There was time to figure that out. They were still friends right now. She was a good friend. She was good at comforting people when they were sad. This was...easy for her to do. She could make him feel a little better.

He nodded and tried to look away from her to hide the sadness and sniffles from her. She pretended not to notice.

Kiss him! The voice in her heart shouted.

You’re an idiot. The voice in her brain would have rolled its eyes if it could.

“C’mere,” she encouraged and nudged Harry to lay with his head in her lap. It probably wasn’t comfortable in the slightest. But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Harry was feeling the first bouts of relief in hours as she threaded her fingers through his hair and rubbed her fingertips gently on his scalp.

I could get used to this. The voice in Harry’s heart sounded almost tired. It probably was. The whole final fight with Ava was so draining. It was a wonder Harry could keep his eyes open. But he had been aching and dreaming to watch this movie with her for so very long that he wasn’t going to fall asleep now. This wasn’t what he wanted. Not in the slightest. She deserved an easy relationship. Especially after a three-year long crazy relationship that hurt her more than he could ever imagine.

Harry was going to need time. She knew that. Of course, he would. Because of the relationship she had and the way she watched her parents... It felt like Harry knew the very heartache she always felt. The little bothersome part of her mind that worried about love all the time. Harry was feeling it firsthand. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone... not even Ava.

But that just meant she knew how to support him and be there for him as best as humanly possible.

“Someplace where there isn’t any trouble...Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto?”

Harry wondered the same as Dorothy. Was there such a place?

Part of him thought it might be right on this couch.

Or maybe it wasn’t a place at all and just the sweet girl beside him.

“Thank you for driving me,” she said sweetly.

“Course, kitten,” he smirked. “I’ll keep an eye on all your plants,” he promised.

Harry was carrying her carry-on duffle bag and pulling her suitcase even though she insisted that she didn’t need it. In fact, she thought Harry might just drop her off at the entrance and drive away. But he wanted to walk her in. Wanted to see her off properly.

She couldn’t help but want that too.

They didn’t hold hands, but she really wanted to. She wasn’t going to kiss him. As much as she wanted to do that, too. They were moving slowly. Really slow. It was the right thing to do. They were good at being friends and they didn’t want to mess anything up. Especially after the rocky couple of months they both had.

She was going to visit Niall. The first time she had seen him in since his move approaching almost four months ago. The last time they had been apart for that long was when they were in college and Niall did a semester abroad. Harry was kind enough to drive her to the airport. “Not t’sound...crazy. But y’not going t’suddenly hate me jus’ because Niall’s going t’hate m’guts, right?” He asked.

He knew she would tell Niall. Part of him wanted her to tell Niall. It wouldn’t feel right to be friends or anything without him knowing.

“I don’t think he’s going to hate your guts,” she shrugged.

“I kissed y’when I shouldn’t have, Sunshine. Made y’cry. Pretty sure if I were Niall, I’d kill me,” he smiled knowingly.

“I don’t think he’s going to be happy,” she sighed. “But...” she bit her lip. “This is maybe a little indelicate, but... Niall said all kinds of nice things on your behalf without knowing the other stuff. When he overheard the egg thing, he asked if you were actually dating “the Wicked Witch of the West,”” she looked at him awkwardly.

Harry released out a loud burst of laughter. Shaking his head, he smiled. “Well, maybe s’hope for me yet.”

She was also hoping Niall would feel the same way about him. Once they reached security, she took her belongings from Harry and gave him a gentle smile. He grinned back, stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at her shyly. “I’ll... miss you, kitten,” he sighed, his face contorting into a half grin, a half frown.

For the last week they had spent most of their evenings together—eating dinner and watching movies. They even ventured out to run errands. Ava was long gone. In the first couple days Ava and Harry spent yelling, crying, and packing her stuff up so she could leave him. It was sad but cathartic in a lot of ways.

Ava was already in another town with the guy she had been seeing behind Harry’s back. No one batted an eyelash at Harry’s heartache. They called Ava brave for finding happiness after so long. No one cared to inquire about how the breakup went down. But, that was okay. The people closest to Harry knew what happened. Those that sided with Ava, well, good luck to them. Ava had a way of breaking hearts without any warning.

Besides, Harry had the sweet girl about to board a plane to worry about. “I think I’ll miss you most of all,” she smiled sweetly.

Having seen the Wizard of Oz no less than three times over the last week or so, Harry thought his heart would explode at her sweet quote. “Yeah?”

She frowned. “You won’t miss me?”

“No!” he grabbed her hand quickly forgoing all rational thought for a moment. What a difference a few months could make that hand holding was the worst thing he could do. “No, of course,” he shook his head. “Honestly, kitten, m’not sure how m’going t’make it a week without you,” he laughed awkward rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. “S’going t’be very boring,” he brought her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

She smiled, her cheeks turning pink at the gentle touch of his mouth on her skin. “You sure you don’t mind picking me up really late at night either?” She asked.

He shook his head immediately. “No, not at all. Probably be sad and worried if I didn’t get t’see you when y’come back right away,” he nodded.

He still hadn’t let go of her hand. Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him! The little voice in her heart was shouting.

We’re not doing that yet. It wasn’t even her little conscience talking. It was entirely her own thought.

“Thank you,” she sighed gratefully. They stood a moment, hand in hand. Gazing at each other. Neither moved for several moments. “I guess... I better go,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he smiled sadly and released her hand. “See you soon, Sunshine.”

With a small wave she backed away and turned to leave. Harry already liked her so much. Letting her go for even a week felt like his heart was already breaking. And he knew she was going to be back. He would have to talk to Gemma and see if this was normal or okay if—

“Harry!” She shouted. Spinning around, Harry turned back to see her almost back to him now, running quickly as she dropped her bag and threw her arms around his neck. Harry’s arms instinctively wrapped around her waist while she nuzzled her face into the curve of where his neck and shoulder met. She sighed deeply and Harry had never felt so much adoration for her—or maybe anyone—in his whole life. He kissed the side of her head and inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo.

Harry really never wanted to let go.

Niall was pacing. She figured it was best to get it all out in the open right away. Since she was still feeling her own time zone, it was easy for her to be awake and tell him. She warned him that he had to wait until he heard everything. All of it. Every last horrible detail. He was told it wasn’t going to be pretty and he would probably get mad.

Niall thought he was going to be tired after picking her up so late at night, but he was wrong. Fueled by anger and frustration was wonders for him to listen and pace the entire time she spoke. When he heard how she cried about the kiss, he nearly tore his hair out. He stopped pacing when he heard the egg story again.

But at the end he stopped pacing and sat down as he listened to how heartbreakingly mean Ava was to Harry in their final argument. “Jesus,” he said finally. After she finished her heartbreaking tale.

“You can’t hate him,” her tone was firm.

“I hate him for kissing you when he was with someone.”

“That’s...” she sighed. “That’s fair. But I think you hate what he did, not him.”

Niall frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re sure you want to date him?”

“Well...not right now...but yeah...I mean...” she shrugged. “The Wizard of Oz, Niall. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“I gotta be your best friend for a second,” he said. A grim, serious look took over his features. She nodded. “How do you know he won’t... kiss someone else when you guys have arguments and stuff?” He asked.

It was a fair question and there was a pang of sadness that coursed through her heart and body. “I don’t,” she murmured. “But... I wouldn’t know that about any relationship I have.”

Niall nodded. “I can’t see you hurt like the last time,” he told her. “I won’t do it again. I’ll kick and scream and make your relationship miserable.”

“Honestly, I think Harry would appreciate that. You’ll really like him,” she promised. “He drove me to the airport and walked me in and...” she smiled. “He’s really nice Niall.”

“How long are you guys going to wait?”

“Until...it seems right.”

“Are you okay with that?”

She nodded. “We’re good at being friends. But it’s...complicated. Or complex, whatever you want to call it. We want to do it right and... I want to tell him more about my last relationship... and my parents. I want him to know that I won’t be such a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, you do have a lot of lions and tigers and bears on your yellow brick road,” Niall said knowingly.

“You’re an ass,” she rolled her eyes.

“I will love him if you want me to,” Niall said softly. “But if he puts even one little crack in your heart, I’m killing him.”

“I think he’ll agree to that,” she nodded. “You don’t think I’m stupid?”

“The heart wants, what the heart wants, princess. Harry’s a good guy, I think. It’s not his fault he dated a wicked witch... think he needs a good witch in his life,” he smiled. “May as well be you.”

Niall, once he had the proper amount of sleep, had about two hundred more questions. She answered every single one of them. When she didn’t know the answer, she texted Harry and waited for his reply patiently.

Some of the questions were a little more sensitive and she didn’t feel right texting them to him. So, she FaceTimed him so she could ask instead. “Niall has a question for you, but it’s a little sensitive,” she warned. She saw him sit up straighter, looking ready and prepared as best he could. He wanted Niall to like him, he knew it was necessary that he liked him. But he also knew that he did a very bad thing, and it would be hard to earn his trust. He nodded readily, like it was a job interview, but nonetheless ready to answer her question.

Niall was off to the side listening intently while he made soup for them. “I feel awkward asking this,” she admitted. Niall turned to nearly glare at her. He wouldn’t back down. It was a question they kept circling back to. One that Niall would probably go crazy about if it wasn’t answered properly.

“S’okay, s’important. S’good t’ask the tough questions,” he promised. “Don’t feel awkward, kitten.”

Niall smirked over the stove already liking the way he spoke to her. It was encouraging that he would make her talk out her feelings and not bottle them up just to protect their relationship. Even if it was awkward or uncomfortable. She sighed. “Do you have a... habit... of kissing other girls when you’re in a relationship... or when you’re upset?” she put her hand on her face to hide the embarrassment. But it was easy to see that she was comfortable asking Harry delicate questions. That never happened in her old relationship. Niall appreciated it before he even heard Harry’s answer.

“No, Sunshine, not at all. S’jus... this s’not an excuse... but you are so nice. Y’made me feel... happy when I didn’t feel happy at all. I was jus’ so tired of not feeling happy. I shouldn’t have kissed you, but it was nice. But I wouldn’t... I won’t kiss anyone but you when the time comes.”

Her heart felt so warm she could have cried. She looked over her phone screen at Niall. “Is that satisfactory?” She asked quietly. Harry smiled shyly, feeling his own face warm at the vulnerability of his statement. But he would have shouted that from roof tops. Niall was welcome to know anything about his relationship if it meant she could be his when the time was right.

“Who’s your favorite football team?” Niall asked suddenly.

“Oh, for the love of God, Niall, he’s English,” she groaned. Harry chuckled.

“It’s important, princess! Might even be more important than the kissing question,” he rolled his eyes. Everyone knew it wasn’t, but while Niall finished ladling soup into bowls for the pair of them, he wanted to tone the seriousness of the room down. He entered the shot of her screen and Harry smiled.

“Manchester United.”

“Well, it was nice knowing you Harry,” Niall said slurping up a spoonful of soup. “Maybe if you get better taste, I’ll let you date her.”

She flicked his face and rolled her eyes again. “Derby is the correct answer,” she explained for Harry. “Followed by Chelsea.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, Niall. Can’t help who you love.”

Niall smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry. “I’ll say.”

“Sorry, I swear my bag is the last one,” she told her phone. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she promised.

Harry chuckled, refraining from saying he would wait forever for her like a lovesick puppy. “S’okay, Sunshine, m’not going anywhere,” he promised.

“I know, but it’s late, and the delay didn’t help, and I know it’s probably been a long day—”

“Kitten, s’fine. M’fine. Missed you a lot. I can miss you a little longer.”

She sighed heavily into the phone. It was going to be hard to remain friends when all she wanted to do was kiss him until her lips physically hurt. “Okay, finally,” she grunted heaving her bag off the conveyor belt. “M’on my way up,” she sighed tiredly.

“See y’in a minute,” he murmured and hung up the phone.

I missed her so much. The little voice in his heart was practically crying with relief and joy that she was a mere escalator ride away now and no longer a terribly long plane ride.

Me too. His conscience agreed. They were much more in sync now that the pretty, sweet girl was in Harry’s life.

Me three. Harry thought.

Harry’s heart slowed the moment she entered his line of vision. He watched her scan tiredly for him. She was in leggings, a big sweatshirt, and a pair of trainers. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she looked exhausted from the delay and her long flight. He imagined she wanted to shower and fall right to sleep.

She very well may have been the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Harry was standing in the middle of a bunch of other parties waiting for their people to ascend the escalator. There he was, patiently waiting for her. As handsome as he looked for so late at night—unfairly so, after waiting for so long and traveling to the airport not once, but twice due to her delay—she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the bouquet of flowers at his side. His smile was so heartfelt as she approached. Instinctively, he wrapped one arm around her waist, so he didn’t hurt the flowers in his other hand. He kissed the side of her head. “Missed you, kitten.”

“Missed you more, munchkin,” she sighed happily pressing her face to the crook of his neck and breathing in the warm scent of his cologne. Her arms looped up around his shoulders and she sighed again with relief.

There’s no place like home. The voice in her head and her heart were in total agreement.

She and Harry enjoyed being friends so very much. But both knew it wasn’t quite friends. There was the lingering promise there would be more, eventually, when the time presented itself. But for now, they would have pizza nights, watch TV shows together, and do errands and laundry together.

“Can y’tell me more ‘bout your last relationship?” Harry asked quietly. She certainly had pizza sauce on both cheeks from the way the crust bent around her mouth. She wiped a napkin across her face and looked at him. The TV show they had on in the background continued playing, but Harry was watching her.

“What about it?” She asked.

“Jus’... I don’t know. Anything.”

She took a deep breath. “Uh... he was just... controlling. I didn’t do anything to stop it,” she shrugged. “It felt like I had invested so much time into the relationship. Even if it was bad. It’s one thing to say you should or need to start over, it’s an entirely different thing to actually have the courage to do it,” she explained looking at her fingers like they had the answer. “I didn’t even have the courage. Niall had to give it to me.”

He felt every word she said. Every part of it. “Did you love him?”

“Yes,” she nodded firmly.

“Even though it was...bad?”

“You can’t help who you love,” she shrugged in response.

It was hard to be vulnerable, but with Harry it was easy. It was like talking to herself about how she felt. Or like talking to Niall. It was easy and comfortable. But it had always been that way in the time she had known him. It was easy to share hard thoughts and truths. “Do you regret it?” He asked.

She shook her head. “No... I regret losing part of myself, but that’s on me, not him. I... I should have handled it differently... but I did love him—part of him, for a really long time.” She knew Harry was partly asking questions to understand his own relationship. If it was okay to have loved Ava even if she wasn’t always nice. “Y’know, I met Ava one other time...besides the eggs,” she smirked.

“Yeah?” He muttered looking at his plate of pizza.

“Yeah...in front of the mailboxes. I just thought, ‘wow, she has to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’” she smiled. “I felt bad she was so...grumpy.”

Harry snorted. “Course y’felt bad,” he muttered.

She tilted her head. “Harry,” she said softly. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to explain your love,” she told him knowingly. “It doesn’t have to make sense.”

He looked at her with agony in his pretty green eyes. “I want it to,” he whispered.

“I know.”

Harry started the show again and finished munching on his piece of pizza.

“Sunshine?” He said softly.

“Yeah?”

He paused the show again and turned to look at her once more. This time his eyes were so clear. She had seen them angry, sad, heartbroken, but right now they looked serious. Strong. Completely resolute. “It makes sense with you.”

Her grin spreading across her cheeks and Harry thought even with pizza sauce on her cheeks that she was wrong—Ava wasn’t the most beautiful. It had to be her. Right here, a messy bun, pizza grease, and mismatching socks. He was certain. “I think it makes sense with you too, munchkin,” she whispered.

Niall was coming home in a little more than a month. He only had to stay an additional two months to the original year long stay.

But that of course wasn’t the only change.

Harry started doing laundry the right way: a load of darks, a load of whites, and a load of towels.

She started liking cauliflower.

Harry had seen The Wizard of Oz at least twenty times—mostly during the week she was sick right before Christmas and Harry took care of her.

She went to Harry’s work parties. Just as his friend. But everyone kind of thought she was perfect for him anyway. Especially after seeing the startling difference between her and Ava.

But that didn’t stop the guys in Harry’s office from trying their best to win her over. “I’m sorry, I’m not really...seeing anybody,” she explained kindly.

“You have to be seeing Harry,” one of them said with an exasperated sigh.

She laughed. “No, really. We’re not... seeing anybody,” she said.

Harry never pushed her. But Harry knew he had to work out some kinks in his relationship mind anyway. Plus, he enjoyed being her friend. She had a great cure for hangovers and made the best blueberry muffins he had ever eaten.

“You’re going to replace me with him, aren’t you?” Niall asked over the phone.

She smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think anyone can replace you, Niall.”

But at Halloween, Harry dressed up as a scarecrow, she dressed as Dorothy, and he came to the hospital to spread joy to all the little patients who needed smiles more than anyone she had ever met. He delivered perfectly. He pretended to fall on shaky scarecrow legs, and he pretended he didn’t have a brain so the little ones could help search for it.

Even the slightly older kids thought he was funny and thought it was nice how he made the younger kids smile. The parents adored him, of course they did.

She adored him too.

“Are you dating yet?”

It wasn’t just Niall that asked. Gemma had asked at least three times a week. Harry’s mum asked only once a week but only because she knew Gemma was asking more. Even her parents, who couldn’t agree on anything, liked Harry to the umpteenth degree.

“He’s so nice, sweetheart,” her mom said. “He’s adorable too. Clearly, he likes you,” she nodded firmly. She was helping with the Christmas decorations while Harry and her father worked on the outdoor lights. He didn’t even bat an eye at the request. He climbed the ladder to help put the lights on the gutter. “Not even Niall will get on a ladder for us,” she reminded him.

But being friends was good. Being friends was nice. There was no rush. It would happen when it was supposed to. It was good for their souls. Harry was healing. Processing. It didn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of talking and a lot of assurance that everything he was feeling was normal.

“Is she why you were worried about being a dad?” She asked, randomly.

A lot of their conversations happened like that. A thought would appear in their head, and they let it out. She wanted to know, and Harry wanted to tell her.

He nodded without making eye contact. It helped sometimes not to look at each other. At least when they were having more serious conversations. It made it easier for the words to come out. They could always backtrack later. She looked back at her book. The washing machine was spinning below her, and she was enjoying the latest read—a Harry recommended book, of course.

“Did y’enjoy your childhood?” He asked while he put his laundry in the dryer.

She put the bookmark in between the pages—a birthday gift—so she would stop being a serial killer. “All things considered, yes.”

“But y’worry about...relationships,” he said.

It wasn’t accusatory. He already knew she felt that way. But she nodded affirmatively, anyway. “I do.”

“I don’t want y’to,” he stopped with the dryer and looked at her—through her. “M’not... m’all yours, Sunshine.”

It was like the part of her brain that controlled her heart saw him—really, truly saw him in that moment and said Ah, yes. You found him. Finally.

“Yeah?” She whispered with a smile on her face. He dropped his stuff beside the dryer, hurried the few steps back to her, and put his hands on either side of her hips while he stood before her.

“I never want you t’feel like I don’t love you,” he said simply. As if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world that he loved her. Especially when she felt it too. “I don’t want you t’think we have t’fight like y’parents do. I don’t want you t’think y’can’t spend time with Niall. M’jus... m’so happy t’be in your life. Meeting you was... it was like... finding home.”

Her heart fluttered. “I don’t want you to be angry,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I won’t be. Not like that.”

“Because... I think I loved you the moment I met you,” she told him.

Harry pressed his forehead to hers. It was the closest his lips had been to hers since the day he kissed her when he shouldn’t have. “Yeah?”

“Niall said only a lunatic quotes The Wizard of Oz,” she smiled.

He chuckled, his breath was minty and warm on her lips.

Harry would spend forever thanking the powers that be that he forgot laundry detergent the day he met her. Even though Harry hadn’t touched her mouth in over a year, it was like no time had passed at all in that very same room, when he did for the second time.

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moonjella · 2 years

Text

TOIL AND TROUBLE — LEE HAECHAN

pairing || witch!haechan x fem!witch reader

synopsis || to get back at your ex who cheated on you, you decide to take vengeance by employing the help of your potions classmate, haechan, who also happens to be your ex's arch nemesis. the goal is to make a breakup potion and slip it into their drinks. but the potion goes wrong and turns into a cloud of lust which you both inhale. it seems there is another, more simple way to get back at your ex.

content || mature, minors do not interact! female reader, reader is cheated on, mild angst to fluff. explicit smut — semi–public sex, unprotected sex, sort of magic sex, aphrodisiac.

word count || 4.5k

author's note || for @underworldnet’s halloween event — day four : potions.

You’ve never been so humiliated in your life.

And the way everyone is looking at you, the crowds parting to let you through as they ogle knowingly pisses you off even more.

Fuck this shit!

Your jaw is clenched, attempting to hide how much you’re seething right now. Every ounce of your blood is bubbling with rage.

But as angry as you are, you swallow the shame and hold your head high. You’ve never been the type of person to let others bring you down.

Even when your boyfriend, now ex, kissed another girl in front of the whole school less than five minutes ago, there isn’t a single part of you which feels hurt.

Embarrassed, sure.

But hurt?

No way.

The second you saw it, all of your feelings for him immediately dissipated. You’d die before you ever had your heart broken by a cheating sleezebag.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t feel angry.

The potions classroom is empty by the time you slip through the door, making sure to close it behind you. Arriving a few minutes earlier means you can have a short–lived moment alone to breathe.

You dump your bag on the floor and collapse onto your stool with a heavy sigh, head in hands and you stay like that until the door opens and chatter floods the room.

Straightening your back, you pull out your books and prepare for the lesson before you.

Potions is your least favourite lesson, but even you could enjoy it in this situation.

The seat beside you remains empty while the room files into action. You begin scribbling down notes until the professor mentions test results.

Your heart drops all over again but for an entirely different reason.

You aren’t the best at potions. Arguably the worst.

A bad test result is the last thing you need today.

The professor passes them out with a scowl, and when he places your paper upside down, you know for a fact that it’s bad.

The only thing that provides comfort is your professor also placing your absent seatmates paper upside down.

It’s not news that you and Haechan are the worst in the class but you’d feel a little better if he was here to experience the disappointment with you.

As if he heard your mind calling to him, the door swings open and in struts Haechan with his bag slung over his shoulder.

He walks lazily to his place next to you and bumps into your shoulder while settling in, like always. It wouldn’t feel like potions class without him doing that.

As soon as he looks at you, his face is somewhat clueless, yet curious.

“Why is it so tense in here?” he asks and you nod towards the paper on his desk. “Nah, it doesn’t feel like a bad test kind of tense.”

He looks around, meeting eyes with everyone who dares to look at him and they immediately avert their eyes, pretending like they weren’t whispering about the two of you the whole time.

“Why is everyone looking at us?”

You shrug nonchalantly despite knowing exactly why.

You, who was cheated on, are now sitting with your ex-boyfriend’s number one rival. His arch nemesis in the making.

Any other day, no one would have given either of you a second glance. But since the atmosphere is a little sore around you, the air feels electric, especially with the way Haechan looks at you.

You gulp nervously.

“What did you get?” you ask, finally flipping over the paper.

Your entire body grimaces from the low number. With practise, one is supposed to improve but it seems you only decline with potions class.

And the same with Haechan, since he slams his paper back onto the desk.

“Dammit,” he hisses.

You hum in acknowledgement.

“I really thought I did well this time.”

Oh well, you think. A bad grade isn’t the worst thing that happened today.

The class continues as normal, albeit the awkward atmosphere and the shivers Haechan sends up your spine every time his thigh knocks into yours. At one point, he leaves it there, letting it rest against you and his heat travels deep inside you.

This sensation isn’t new, but it suddenly feels all the more precious knowing that Haechan is the only one you can relate to. You’ve felt that way for a long time.

Before the class ends, your professor manages to scold you and Haechan for the bad grades and orders you both to return to his classroom at lunchtime to clean as punishment.

Despite that making no sense whatsoever, you take it silently while Haechan complains until the professor leaves. You just want today to be over.

Thankfully, it’s a big school with many places to hide so you avoid most people for the rest of the day, save for your lessons. And in those lessons, you heard from the gossipers that your ex-boyfriend is looking for you.

Not that you care or anything.

Or that you’re already planning your revenge.

Access to an empty potions classroom is the perfect opportunity to practise your potion making skills, and although your knowledge in the field isn’t the most extravagant, you’re already jotting down messy notes in your book.

And when lunchtime rolls around, you’re practically skipping to the classroom. Your professor already told you what needs to be cleaned so he won’t be there, and Haechan will undoubtedly be a no show.

But when you walk in with a devilish smile on your face, it turns to a look of shock when you see his familiar body hunched over the desk.

“Finally,” he groans as he sits upright. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you were going to make me clean everything myself.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask while putting down your bag.

“Got a bad grade, remember?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

His presence does put a dent in your plans, but if anyone in the school doesn’t care about a single thing, it’s Haechan.

He’d keep his mouth shut, right?

Haechan starts stacking stools before grabbing the broom while you dig around in the cupboard for what you need.

“I don’t remember him saying they needed cleaning.” He nods to the glasses in your hand.

“Just keep cleaning,” you tell him. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

You set up your test tubes and cauldron, measuring each ingredient and mixing them all together as preparation. Meanwhile, Haechan edges closer and closer to you and when you’re scouring a textbook for the spell you need, you feel his heated presence on your back.

You sit up immediately and your back gently nudges his front, but he doesn’t put space between you. Instead, he places his arms on either side of you, successfully capturing you between the desk and his body.

“Haechan…?”

“Breakup spell?” he mumbles while reading the open page. “I’m guessing it’s for your ex?”

“You know?” you gulp. Everyone knows.

“I didn’t know this morning but word sure gets around quick. Heard the fucker cheated on you and made out with the other girl in front of the whole school.”

Well, he’s not wrong but the way he said it so plainly rubbed you in the wrong way.

You push him away, not with any strength so to speak. As much as you want to avoid speaking about it, you also don’t hate his presence, and how addicting the feeling of being embraced by him is.

You clear your throat.

“Petty, right?”

“It’s the opposite, actually,” he says. “Give those fuckers what they deserve.”

“What?” your brows quirk and you turn to face him, only to freeze when your lips are inches away from each other.

His gentle breaths ghost the skin of your lips and you inhale his scent. His dark eyes bore into yours like they want something, and you like it.

Was he always this attractive to you?

Or are you simply attracted to him because your feelings were hurt?

After staring silently, he takes a deep breath and finally moves back. He settles into the seat next to you and begins mixing the liquids in the flask.

“Cheating is one thing,” he says. “But flaunting it without a care in the world…his balls must be really big to do that.”

“They’re not, trust me.” You scoff and Haechan, while first was shocked by your remark, laughs with you.

“I always knew it. Asshole was always acting too big for his boots.”

“I guess that’s why I liked him. His confidence, his bravery. He could do anything. I never thought he’d look twice at a girl like me. And I was dumb enough to think he actually cared.”

“You’re not dumb,” he says but bends his neck back in deep thought. “I mean, you are dumb.”

“Hey!”

“Did I lie?”

“No…” you pout and give your attention back to the potion. “But you’re dumber. You score less than me in potions all the time.”

“That may be true but what I’m trying to say is, you’re dumb because you’re dumb, not because some loser doesn’t know how to be loyal.”

Your shoulders fall and you watch quietly as Haechan uses a pipette to measure out the liquid before placing it in another test tube and sprinkling some magic powder into it.

You didn’t realise when he’d rolled his sleeves up, probably when he was sweeping, but you watch his forearms flex as he twirls the test tube. He continues with the potion without checking the guidelines in the textbook once and it stirs your curiosity.

“You seem to know this potion well. Have you done it before?”

He shakes his head.

“First time.”

“Then how are you so good at it?”

He shrugs and carries on like you never asked leaving you to your own thoughts.

Now that you think about it, Haechan, like you, is pretty average in all of the other subjects. It’s just potions that you both struggle with.

But he never actually showed signs of struggling the way you did.

He just never puts in the effort in this class for some reason.

Watching him now, he knows his stuff. And he has the confidence to do a spell fully by himself given that he’s completely taken over from you.

You wonder why he doesn’t try; he’d do well if he put in the effort.

Or maybe he’s just so motivated because he knows this spell in particular will hurt his rival in some way.

Yeah, it’s probably that.

Haechan doesn’t care about anything until his rival is brought into the conversation, and then he will go to all lengths to make your ex-boyfriend’s life a misery.

“Almost done,” he hums and pours the liquid into the cauldron. “Now we just need to say the spell.”

“Oh, shit.” You murmer, flicking through your notes to find the corresponding spell.

“Hurry. It’ll explode if you take too long and I don’t think you’ll like what happens when this spell goes wrong.”

“Hold on a minute,” you hiss. “Okay, got it! Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble…”

“Isn’t it double, double, toil and trouble?”

“No, it says bubble.”

“Bubble is on the second line: fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

“But is says bubble in my notes.”

Haechan scratches his head irritably but you can almost laugh at how ridiculous this is. Of course the two students with the lowest scores wouldn’t successfully make a potion.

“Quick, what do we say?”

“Too late now,” he says, eyes watching the pot bubble over carefully. He places his arm in front of you, guiding you backwards. “Whatever happens, don’t breathe it in.”

With his warning, the cauldron explodes with sparks, filling the air with a white cloud. It bubbles over until it covers the entire desk and you watch as the mist miraculously changes from white to a delicate pink, do a darker shade which becomes hotter and hotter by the second.

“Oh no,” you gasp, recognising the hot pink colour. A breakup spell should be grey. And hot pink is the colour of the type of spell you’ve been warned to stay away from: a lust spell.

You stumble backwards as it approaches you, as does Haechan but his heel lands on your toes causing you both to launch backwards. He grabs your arms as he falls, bringing you down with him.

You both groan as you land on the ground and you don’t have much time to balance your bearing because the pink mist is surrounding you both.

And because the air knocked the air out of your lungs, you reluctantly breath in the coloured smoke. You realise Haechan has too after he starts choking. You waft it away with your arms, heaving as an attempt to get it out of you but it’s too late.

You can already feel the effects in action.

Tingles arise in your lungs and you feel them disperse through your body, sending shiver through you from the inside out.

Your breaths quicken without your consent and your skin itches with the need to be touched.

Having to swallow from the way you were salivating more than usual, you reach back to push yourself upright but your hands meet his thighs and Haechan grunts loudly, darting up himself. His body presses into you which only worsens the sensations in your body.

He fidgets while realising what has happened and while you scramble away from him, your ass brushes against his crotch. He jolts and freezes entirely. Usually, he’d have much more control over his lustful feelings but the botched potion is reacting in his body in the same way it is with you.

And there’s just something about you that drives him the littlest bit further with his craziness.

He’s giving everything he’s got to hold back.

He pants heavily, trying to distract his mind. “The most important thing to know about a breakup spell… is that there’s so much bitterness in it, so it can easily backfire and turn into a lust spell instead.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, digging your nails in your palm to direct your mind somewhere other than the blossoming feeling between your legs. “I forgot this spell was a vengeful spell…”

“Karma… or a better solution to whatever you were trying to do.”

You’re too occupied with the flaring up of your body and mind to understand what he’s saying but when he scoots over to you on his knees and his body hovers above you, you feel shivers running races up your spine nonstop.

His dark eyes and hot breaths are addictive and you hate how easily your body is failing to resist the spell.

But you also don’t mind it.

The thought of Haechan ravaging you until you had nothing left to give was never a boring thought. But now it holds meaning and you’re not sure what to make of it.

But your body does.

It inches closer and closer to him.

Your hands reach up and he winces under your touch; from his face you can see that it’s not from pain, but pleasure.

He returns the gesture by wrapping his hands around your waist and you can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

You’re straddling him, a thigh on either side and his hands move up and down your sides and down to your thighs, squeezing them with eagerness and his lips are attached to you in an instant.

He attacks your neck first, pulling your robe down your shoulders to expose your skin and you melt into him, already a mess of gasps and breaths as he marks your neckline with his sucks and nibbles.

“Haechan… we shouldn’t… not here.”

“Want me to stop?” he asks, and it’s as if all his cockiness has left him, replaced with genuine concern. He doesn’t care if it would kill him to walk away from you right now, he’d still do it simply because you asked.

“No,” you pant. “Please… don’t stop. I need you so bad.”

With that, he groans and pushes your hips down on him. The bulge in his pants his growing bigger and harder, rubbing against your pussy in all the wrong ways, and all the right ways.

His robe is pushed off his shoulders by your needy hands and you root your fingers in his hair, yanking his head back to have full access to his neck. And it’s now your turn to taste his sweet honey skin.

His gripping you tightly, surely enough to leave bruises but you don’t care.

Your mind is filled with a haze of lust, focusing only on the thrilling sensations in your body and on Haechan below you.

His hands creep up your skirt, eagerly skimming the line of your panties before he presses his thumb against your clothed pussy. He rubs small circles at the top of your slit while you grind harder, moaning louder and you finally connect your lips with his.

You can almost taste the neediness seeping from each other’s tongue.

You’re greedy and you explore his mouth but he takes control in the end, making a moaning mess of you. When you pull away for air, a string of saliva connects you both until your lips meet again.

His hips push upwards and a hand snakes under your butt, while the other wraps gently around your neck and he lays you on the floor.

Now both hands are on your neck, cupping your face as he devours your lips.

Your hands travel down his body, pulling open a few buttons but skipping the rest and going straight to his pants.

You stroke his bulge and his groan travels from his throat to yours. You swallow it with pride and unzip his pants, pushing them down and you hand sneaks into his boxers.

His hot cock twitches between your fingers and his hips rut into you for any form of relief.

Your lips part and you look at each other silently for a few moments, officially taking in what happened, and what is about to happen.

“Is this okay?” he brushes your hair back and you nod.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you.” His lips are on yours again and he lines his cock with your entrance, coating his tip with your excessive arousal.

Your rub your labia with two fingers in the shape of a V, spreading your wetness while teasing his cock as he pushes into you.

Your walls immediately make room for him while, at the same time, they latch onto his cock.

He stutters, both his body and his moans, as he becomes encompassed by your warmth. With a little bit of pressure, he fits into you like you were made for him. He fills you up, his cock rocking back and forth slightly so he can fit himself all the way in.

You feel like you could burst when his balls are flush with your pussy. His entire cock is in you and your walls clench around him; the twitches of his cock ignite a fiery rage in the pit of your stomach and you slam your lips on his again.

He finally moves.

Back and forth, his cock drags in and out and your pussy flutters around him.

“Fuck! Haechan… feels so good!”

“Quiet, baby,” he whispers between your lips. “Don’t want us to get caught now, do you?”

You shake your head desperately and try your best to hide your moans but he feels too fucking good.

“Oh… Haechan…”

“You like it, baby?”

You nod fervently.

One of his hands takes yours and your fingers interlock. With the gesture, you clench around him tighter, wanting every bit of him to take over you completely.

“Fucking me so good, Haechan.”

“Yeah,” he pants and ruts into you harder, to which you cover your mouth to muffle your squeal. “Bet he never fucked you this good, did he?”

You shake your head. Some could say it’s the effects of the spell making him feel so good, but there’s something about how his cock fits perfectly inside you, how he rubs against all of your favourite spots and how he holds you so delicately while fucking your pussy like it’s his personally.

There’s something about being his.

And you’ve thought so for a long time now.

You bring his hand down to your pussy and guide his fingers to rub circles on your clit. Once he knows what to do, you cover your mouth again. But it does little to stop your moans from escaping.

Your head digs into the hard floor and your back arches into Haechan’s body. He’s also at his limit, hips ramming into you with a messy rhythm but it still works wonders on your body.

He’s kissing you, begging you to let him show paradise to you both.

“Gonna cum…” you whine.

“Can I… finish inside…?”

“Yes!” you squeal and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You bury your face into his neck, rocking your hips are much as you could against his and you squeeze him so tightly.

Pleasure blinds all of your senses, your pulse is like a beating flame and your orgasm washes over you at the same time Haechan empties his load inside your pussy.

The room fills with breathy moans and whines, stutters and hiccups caused by immense levels of greed and pleasure.

You take all of him while he basks in all of you.

You stay like that for a while, his cock buried in you until he pulls out and collapses by your side.

“You know, as soon as I heard what the asshole did, I tried to find you. I waited in this classroom for an hour before you showed up,” Haechan says. “And when you did, you started making your dumb potion before I could even suggest my plan to get back at him.”

“What plan?” you whisper.

“I was going to ask you out. I thought nothing would piss him off more than making you mine. But in my heart, I knew it would hurt you if I used you like that. I’ve wanted you for a long time, YN. But I didn’t want to hurt you so I went along with your plan to make the potion and well… it turned out like this.”

You stare at him wordlessly, part admiring his face and part processing what he said. He nudges your cheek with his nose gently, breaking you from your trance.

“Say something…”

“I… I don’t know what to say…”

“Anything, please. Just say something so I don’t regret any of this.”

Your hearts swirls in your chest.

“You… you really want me?”

He nods, kissing your neck with warm lips. “I’ve always wanted you. ”

“I think… I always wanted you, too.”

His eyes flash open, lips agape as he stares. His eyes gloss over ever–so–slightly.

“He always told me to stay away from you but I didn’t want to let him control me like that. I guess, in a way, I was always rebelling against him. He would nag me over the silliest things and call me names over the smallest of mistakes. I tried to be better but in the end it wasn’t enough. He still cheated. But… you… whenever I made a mistake, you always laughed with me, not at me. Sure, you call me dumb but you don’t say it the way he does. As much as I despise potions class, I always looked forward to it because I knew you’d be here. Late most of the time, but it’s been bearable up until this point because of you.”

His lips capture yours once again and you feel so stupid for not having realised your feelings sooner, or noticed all the things Haechan has done for you thus far.

“You mean it?” he asks and you nod.

“But don’t you need to confess something to me now?”

“I already did,” he says quizzically.

“I’m talking about the potion.”

“What about it?”

“You’re not as bad at potions as your scores say, are you?”

He swallows nervously, averting your gaze with something akin to shame.

“I wanted to help you,” he blurts. “When I knew you were so bad at potions, I wanted to help you learn, maybe even tutor you. But I also didn’t want to cause problems for you and that asshole. I hated seeing you so sad when you did awful in the tests, so I started doing bad on purpose… so you wouldn’t have the lowest scores anymore. I would.”

“Haechan…” your eyes tear up. “All this time… you didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to. Even if you never knew, it still felt good seeing you smile and laugh when my score was lower.”

You can’t help but burst into giggles.

“We’re both so dumb!”

For the first time today, you feel all of your weight dissipate. All the heaviness and shame had gone, now replaced with a light feeling. One that feels like falling in love again.

You giggle into a kiss together and continue the light-heartedness until you are both dressed again. The effects of the magic hasn’t fully faded, but the fucking had dulled most of it.

You’re thankful everyone was in the cafeteria and not roaming the halls of the school to have heard you, but when you leave the classroom to make a quick trip to the bathroom, you meet eyes with the person you least want to see.

But all of your anger has gone now.

Instead, you feel pride when your ex’s eyes flit from yours to your hand which is clasped in Haechan’s. His face grows red with rage, or embarrassment seeing that it is clear he knows what just happened between you and Haechan.

“Let’s go, babe,” Haechan says with a devilish smirk, eyeing your ex up and down and you’ve never felt you heart flutter the way it did when Haechan calls you that.

Your ex is stunned but still manages to humiliate himself even more. You flinch when he calls your name and tries to grab you, but the asshole doesn’t deserve another second of your time.

“Back off, asshole,” Haechan pulls you into his side. “She’s mine now.”

You proudly walk away with Haechan, leaving your ex and all of your previous feelings behind.

Always have been.

#✧ jella writes #✧ jella's fics #nct x reader #nct haechan x reader #nct smut #haechan smut #lee donghyuck #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader

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