#and a wall-mounted television greys

[urusamajor]

Detroit Open Family Room

[belinda-amy]

Living Room - Home Bar

[sapphiccstudies]

Jacksonville Loft-Style

[napleonsolo]

Living Room - Farmhouse Living Room

[shutupanddiehl]

Contemporary Family Room (Sydney)

[sebastianchris]

Living Room Loft-Style in Toronto

[elyxir]

Family Room - Beach Style Family Room

[confronttheconfidencegap]

Detroit Contemporary Family Room

[mal-educado]

Transitional Family Room (Chicago)

[passafrisk]

Enclosed - Traditional Family Room

[ucitavanje]

Game Room - Family Room

[girlkisser13]

so high school

"touch me while your bros play grand theft auto"

pairings: gamer leo valdez x fem!reader

warnings/tags: smut (18+), thigh riding, protected sex (practice safe sex guys), dirty talk, multiple orgasms

summary: you interrupt leo while he's gaming looking for cuddles, but you end up getting a lot more than you bargained for.

"leoooo," you called out, sticking your head past the doorway to peer into your boyfriend's bedroom.

he was sitting on the edge of his bed, the faint sound of gunshots coming from his headset as he mashed the buttons on the controller in his hands. he was staring at the television mounted on the wall with rapt attention, completely unaware of your presence in the room.

sighing, you scuttled over to him, gently nudging his right arm upwards so you could slide underneath. he barely even reacted as you settled yourself across his lap while facing him, wrapping your arms around his torso and settling your chin onto his shoulder.

a few seconds passed before he really realized what you were doing, his focus finally switching from the game to you. momentarily pausing his button mashing, leo used one of his hands to take off his headset so he could hear you if you decided to speak, tossing it onto a nearby bean bag before resuming his hold on the controller.

he didn't say anything, but still acknowledged you by nestling his chin in the crook of your neck over your shoulder. your hands ran up and down his back in slow circles, the muscles of his arms flexing over yours as he continued to play the game. he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, his curly hair tickling the side of your face. you were wearing nothing but an oversized shirt of his and a pair of plain white panties, and the material of his sweatpants was soft against your bare legs.

after a minute or two of simply sitting in his lap, you began to grow restless, wanting even more attention from your boyfriend than he was currently giving you. your mind began to drift back to when you'd been in a similar position to this only a few days prior, heat pooling in your stomach at the memory of you riding him.

tired of the lack of action, you shuffled backwards a bit and began to press kisses to his neck, grinding your hips down gently as you did so. that got his attention. he tilted his head to the side to give you better access, and you could feel him begin to stiffen slightly under your core.

"i wanna play, leo," you whispered, nipping the shell of his ear playfully.

"i didn't know you liked gta-"

"¡ wanna play with you, not the game," you pouted, slapping his arm lightly when he flashed you a mischievous grin.

"lemme finish this mission, and then we can do whatever you want, okay?" you let out a whine at his answer, not wanting to have to wait any longer. he chuckled at your reaction, using one of his hands to shift you in his lap so you were straddling one of his thick thighs. "use me, baby."

you felt him tense his thigh beneath you, letting out a low whine as you began to move back and forth, the pressure on your clit sending jolts of pleasure through you. your pants filled the air as you moved faster and faster, hands gripping him for balance.

although you could feel the pressure start to build in your core, you were getting a little tired, body aching from the effort. you were just about to say something when leo finally finished the mission and tossed the controller away, immediately sliding his hands up the bottom of your (his) shirt to grip your bare hips. you didn't even have to ask for what you needed, his strong hands guiding your movements to help bring you to the precipice.

"does my thigh feel good, princesa?"

you bite your lip and nod in response, lashes fluttering as you began to near your peak. the damp cloth of your panties rubbed deliciously against your swollen nub, and you were almost positive that when you pulled away, there would be a wet patch on his grey sweatpants.

noticing how close you were, leo's hand slid across your abdomen, his thumb immediately finding your clit. his finger moved expertly against you, and before you knew it, you were crying out, white hot pleasure shooting through you as you crashed over the edge.

the hand that was holding your hip moved to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles into the soft skin there as you rode out your high. when you finally came down, leo leaned up to press a kiss to your lips, smiling against you when he felt you shudder from overstimulation.

his eyes were clouded with lust when he finally pulled away, his hand raising to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "feelin' up for another round? if not, I can take care of it myself."

your gaze flickered down to where his sweatpants were tented, your post-orgasmic haze fading almost immediately when you realized how painfully hard he was. waves of excitement and arousal shot through you as you shook your head vehemently, more than ready to take him. "no, i wanna keep going."

he searched your eyes for a moment before grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, his hands finding your hips immediately afterwards to flip you over so you were laying on the bed. A chill ran down your spine when the cool air brushed against your warm skin, only a little embarrassed at how wet you were when leo slid your ruined panties down your legs.

your lower lips were coated with your arousal, and leo swore quietly when he slid a finger through the damp folds. "damn, you're so fuckin' wet y/n."

"please, leo," you pleaded, wiggling your hips a bit when he didn't make a move to remove any of his clothing. you were all but aching with the need to feel him inside of you as soon as possible. "i'm ready."

"you sure? i haven't prepped you yet," he warned, his gaze a mixture of lust and concern as he stared into your eyes. you nodded confidently in response, your boyfriend only relenting when you gave him verbal confirmation that you'd be fine.

after sliding down his sweatpants and underwear and quickly rolling on a condom, leo crawled between your thighs, rubbing his cock between your wet folds to gather some of the slick there. he intentionally bumped your clit a few times as he did so, causing your breath to hitch as you wrapped your ankles around him.

"ready to take me, corazón?" he questioned, lining himself up with your dripping entrance before slipping inside in one quick motion after your consent. both of you moaned when he slid in to the hilt, the stretch from the size of him burning deliciously. "fuck, how are you always this tight? it's like you were made for me."

"i'm all yours, leo," you exhaled, both of you groaning when he finally began to move. his thrusts were slow but powerful, his pleasure wracking your body as he slid in and out. his cock filled you to the brim, hitting all of the right places as your second orgasm began to creep up on you impressively fast.

"close already?" he grunted, a small smirk on his lips. your cries grew louder as he began to speed up, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to your lips as your walls began to flutter around him. "you're doing so good, mi amor, taking me so well."

"h-harder, i'm close," you begged, crying out when he obliged. his hips snapped against yours, one of his hands slipping down to play with your clit as your moans grew louder and louder.

the pleasure coiled in your gut, almost at the tipping point when he leaned down to growl in your ear, "cum for me like a good girl."

your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as bliss overtook you, pleasure wracking your body as leo fucked you through your orgasm. his thrusts started to become stuttered and uneven, and his hips stilled as he grunted and spilled into the condom after a few final thrusts.

the two of you laid there for a moment, your uneven breathing the only sound in the now silent room. leo wiped a few strands of your sweaty hair away from your forehead so he could press a gentle kiss there, sliding out of you so he could discard the used condom.

your body is tired and sweaty when he slips his strong arms beneath your shoulders and knees, picking you up bridal style and making his way towards the bathroom. you yelped and laced your arms around his neck, his bare chest rumbling with laughter when you asked him where you were going.

"gotta get you cleaned up, right?"

[hellishjoel]

say my name 

8.5k / pairing: brat tamer!joel miller x f!reader

psycho masterlist main masterlist

summary: It’s Joel’s birthday, and his brother, Tommy, is in town to celebrate. You meet the more charming Miller for the first time, and the two of you flirt up a storm. By the end of the night, Joel’s pissed and jealous. But that doesn’t stop you from moaning Tommy’s name in bed. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, brat tamer!Joel, somewhat established relationship (whatever that relationship may be ((situationship, relationship, etc.)), toxic!couple, swearing, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, slapping, degradation, praise kink, spitting, choking, blood, marking kink, creampie, pussy smacking (??), lots of dom!joel brought out by jealous!joel, overstimulation, Tommy being a flirt, angst, mentions of being cheated on, Joel being a menace, unprotected p in v (wrap your willy or whateva), half-ass editing tbh

A/N: happy birthday to Joel Miller!! I was picturing this entire prompt with pixel Joel, thanks to @macfrog - this part is based off this request sent in! 

You did a lot of stupid things tonight. Wearing your shortest dress, stalking Joel to his hangout with Tommy, flirting with his brother for the majority of the night. But now, you were ready to do the stupidest thing yet.  You moan into his ear, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as you feel your orgasm begin to approach. “Fuck me, Tommy.” It hits Joel like a ton of bricks. All his movements pause. He pulls away just half an inch and stares down at you. A cold, downright mean look crosses his face once you’ve popped your eyes open to take a look at him. The room suffocates you in silence.  “What did you say?”

September 26th, 2023. It’s Joel’s forty-second birthday!

The thought alone riles you awake. You love birthdays. You especially love when it’s Joel’s birthday because he hates his birthday. You have no idea why, he looks more and more handsome with each year that he blows out a candle. 

You think about these things curled up into his side, chin on his chest while your fingers lightly grazed over his stippled grey chest hair. It was barely past the early morning hours. You gently trace over the etched lines in his forehead and between his brows. He must scowl at you even in his sleep. You should be asleep, too, especially after having spent the late hours of September 25th celebrating the end of Joel’s forty-first year with a bang. Literally.  

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, clutching his comforter to your bare chest as your panties are just out of reach on the floor a few feet from the bed. You huff and flee the warmth of his bed to retrieve them in as much silence as you can muster, watching him carefully let out a puff of air through his parted lips before lightly rolling over and spooning your pillow in the process. You stifle a giggle as you grab his t-shirt he threw off in the midst of getting handsy with you last night. 

“Happy last day of being forty-one, old timer.”

“Shut up and bend over.”

He always did have a way with words. 

You managed to sneak downstairs without Joel catching you in his arms. Your bare feet meet the cold tile of his kitchen floor. 

Joel’s home looked like you might imagine. Dark walls, not exactly black but not exactly grey or navy. He has a desk, a messy one that is littered with bills and invoices scattered with pencils that had the erasers shaved down to nothing. There was a large flat screen mounted to the wall, and a television console below it filled with old vinyl records and random CDs. He did have a few plants scattered around, and he actually took very good care of them. There were a few dishes in the sink from dinner last night. Empty beer cans on the half-wall by his back garage door. His keys and wallet were thrown haphazardly on the counter. 

These are the things that make you adore staying at Joel’s place, it was so homey and cozy. These were the things that made Joel, Joel. 

You throw your hair up and out of your way, finding the box of cake mix you stashed in the back of his pantry for this very special occasion. And just like that, you were a chef in Joel’s kitchen. Or was it a baker? 

Despite your best efforts, the cake was just a mess. And there were no redoes with cakes. And when you were shopping, you were thinking a little too much about yourself rather than Joel, so the cake was coated in pink icing. It was a shit cake, but you hoped Joel would like it. He wasn’t a guy with a big sweet tooth, but you’d force him to have a slice since this was your labor of love. 

U CAN’T PICK YOUR FATHER BUT U CAN PICK YOUR DADDY was lettered with red icing and cute pink assorted sprinkles. 

The smell of freshly baked cake woke him up. 

“You burnin’ somethin’?” Joel’s tired voice echoed in the kitchen. 

He was wearing grey sweats and his black boxers, the band peaking out from the top of his waistband as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He looked like a big oaf fresh from sleep, shuffling past you to the oven and turning on the fan to air out the smoke and smell. 

“Ha-ha. Nothing’s that burnt. It’s your birthday cake!” You cooed as you showed him what you made. 

The word birthday was enough to make him roll his eyes. 

“Didn’t have to make me anythin’. Just another day.” He muttered but came up behind you to take a look at the cake nonetheless. You watched with a proud smile as the left side of his mouth quirked up upon reading the design. 

“Do you like it?” You asked, turning your back to the counter and letting his hips pin you there. His large, warm palm settled low on your waist. You watch as he swipes his index finger into the frosting, observing the sugary cream before his eyes set on yours. His orbs are as black as night as he offers you a taste. 

You maintain his eye contact as you lean in and wrap your mouth around his finger, hollowing your cheeks as you suckle it off and lap your tongue around the tip before letting him go with a soft smirk. 

“Like it ‘cause you made it. That’s all.” Joel’s chest hums as he speaks, his head ducking down to catch your lips in a delicate kiss. The delicate part doesn’t last for long. His kisses turn heavy, and his cock hardens against your thigh as he bends you backward against the counter. 

Your nails catch his shoulders in a desperate attempt not to smash into the cake. You know that if he gets too into this, he’ll end up pushing it aside so radically that your creation will end up on the floor, so you quickly nudge it out of reach before continuing. 

He’s hungry, his tongue lines your bottom lip, still coated in a sugary taste, before he explores the inside of your mouth dominantly. You’re whimpering in excitement as his possessive hands lift you up onto the counter, your baking instruments clattering around you and rolling, making a complete mess, but you don’t care. It’s Joel’s birthday, after all. 

You gasp into his mouth as he cups your clothed pussy and gently pats his fingers against you. The sensation makes your head fall back, and your eyes flutter closed. Your lips part just a fraction, Joel takes the opportunity to slip his tongue back inside to wrestle with your own. He pats you again, and you feel your panties grow a wet spot as white heat pools your insides. 

“Just how I like it, ready to be taken like a little slut in the mornin’.” His rigid voice growled, suppressing you of any strength you had left to resist collapsing across the counter. 

Both of you pause, irritated facial expressions matching when Joel’s phone starts to ring. 

Your heavy pants mingle in the air between you with indecision. You glare at him as he moves half an inch away, the grip on his shoulders tightening in need. Don’t pick it up, Joel. 

He closes his lips and lightly squints at you in disapproval as he stands up straight and starts toward his phone. You throw your head back and groan, slipping your hand over where his fingers just ghosted over the material of your panties. You lick your lips and watch him as he takes the call. He looks over the screen at the contact, his eyes shift to you. He’s hesitating. Not because he’s left you hot and heavy on the kitchen counter, but because he’s shielding his phone from you. 

So help me god, motherfucker, if I find out you’re cheating on me, I will-

Your nerves are settled when he huffs and swipes right to answer the call. “‘ey Tommy.” After a beat, Joel rolls his eyes to himself. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Just another day.” 

Your eyes blink slowly. It was his brother you had yet to meet. You hum lightly as you sink your hand past the band of your panties, soft lace grazing your knuckles while you slip your fingers between your delicate folds. You slowly pry open the one foot you have kicked up on the counter, spreading your leg wider so Joel can see you playing with yourself. He’s still not looking. You need his attention. 

“Yeah, we can do somethin’, if that somethin’ means you’re payin’ for beers at the bar.” He said with a tired, but playful smirk. You’re growing so wet at the sight of him. Your fingers make a squelching noise as you slowly push two fingers inside your aching hole. This catches his attention. 

His head whips to you like a prowling lion hearing a twig snap. His eyes narrow on the target of the noise before they dart up to you. You know that look. 

Take your hand out of your fuckin’ panties. Don’t you fuckin’ touch yourself. 

You cock your head with an attitude. “Say it with your chest.” You pipe up, so loud that the voice on the other line chirps in. 

“Who was that?” You smirk at the attention Tommy’s already given you. 

“Hi, Tommy!” You shout, and now Joel’s really pissed. He comes up and clamps his hand over your mouth, glaring daggers into your big doe-eyed pupils. 

“Is that your girl, big brother?” 

Joel’s jaw clicks tighter, his breath coming out in hot, annoyed puffs through his aquiline nose. 

“You hidin’ her from me? Invite her to drinks tonight!” Tommy shoots out the invite before Joel can take it away. You slowly lick up the hand that’s holding your mouth hostage. Joel is used to this. He only adds more pressure to his hold on your mouth. 

He glares at you and juts his jaw around in annoyance, considering Tommy’s offer. “Yeah.. yeah, we’ll see,” Joel murmurs while you keep tonguing his hand. He gives your face a little slap, a stupid moan escaping your lips before he grips your cheeks again once more and covers your mouth. 

Don’t forget who’s in charge here, little bitch. 

You hum quietly against his hand and wrap your legs firmly around his hips. He stumbles forward half a step. You can feel his hardened length protruding from his gray sweats, your cores lightly grinding against one another as you purposely whimpered against his palm. 

Not long after, Joel ends the phone call with Tommy, and he begrudgingly releases his slobbery hand from your mouth and pushes back from the hold you attempted to lock him in. You huff as he leaves the kitchen, watching as he rakes his fingers up and down his beard and gently scratches at the skin. What was up with him? 

“We’re going out for drinks tonight?” You pester after you both have taken a shower for far too long, the steam fogging up his mirror and making Joel’s skin a light rosy pink. 

He lets out a short sarcastic chuckle. “I’m goin’ out tonight. You’re stayin’ here.” 

You frown as you look Joel over, his stern facial expression matching his tone. 

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, I’m going out tonight. With you. This is the third time I’ve tried to meet Tommy in person and-”

“And nothin’.” He intercepts, venom dripping from his words that makes your throat become scorching hot with anger. 

You have a hard time letting this go. Especially since whenever Tommy was in town, Joel magically came up with every excuse in the book to keep you from properly meeting his younger brother. Was Joel ashamed of you? He didn’t want Tommy to think that this was the type of girl Joel kept in his company. He didn’t want you to embarrass him. That’s always what it came down to. 

You brushed past him, your shoulder laying a heavy hit to his arm as you fled the bathroom with haste. You enter his bedroom and find your bag carrying your clothes for the weekend. You pulled on whatever you could find as hot rage made your skin tingle.

“Where you goin’, angel?” Joel tries to half-ass console you, stopping your movements, taking the keys you had just dug out from the depth of your bag, and holding them up so tall they were out of your reach even on your tippy toes. 

“Give them back, Joel.” You had a burning feeling in your chest, and Joel was fighting with fire. 

He just shakes his head, his eyes looking over you with a tight jawline. “Need you to relax. Last time you got this pissed at me, you keyed half of my fuckin’ truck.” He muttered, your eyes narrowing on his as you crossed your arms. 

“And I’ll key the other half if you don’t give me back my-”

“Keys?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow, wiggling the keychain with the cute dangly accessories on it and making you absurdly annoyed. You swallow a lump that’s growing in your throat. Joel sighs and cautiously brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek. You hate denying how comforting it is when his warmth courses through your body like this. 

“Why won’t you let me meet your brother?” It sounds more whimpery than you intended, big soft eyes looking into Joel’s hardened ones. “I mean, I know we’re not anything serious, but we’ve been together for a while, and it’s your birthday, and I know that you hate that it’s your birthday, but I love your birthday, and I sort of love you, and I want to meet the people you care the most about.” 

The room tenses as your eyes connect. Shit. That’s how you chose to tell him? That you sort of loved him? Fucking idiot. 

Joel pauses before he starts slowly shaking his head, and your chin dips defeatedly. You think he’s shaking his head because he doesn’t feel the same way, he doesn’t sort of love you like you sort of love him. How could he? Your emotions for one another were a mangled mess. One night, you were fighting like cats and dogs, and both of your eyes lit up during the heat of yet another fight. Then the next night, you were begging him not to stop fucking you, to never leave you, to never betray the trust you had in him that you two had built together over time. 

His thumb delicately courses up your cheekbone then gently across the arch of your chin. His hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you in until you’re close enough he can set a delicate kiss on the crown of your head. This was what made it so confusing. Were you still fighting? Were you two making amends? 

“You’re not meetin’ Tommy. Not tonight. That’s final.” His words are whispered but somehow still piercingly cold, his voice monotone and flat as he forbade you from meeting his brother.  “Want you here when I come back so we can celebrate together. Just you and I.” 

A frown etches into your features. More like so he could have a warm body to fuck on his birthday. 

He brushes by you and starts his day like any other. He didn’t even say he sort of loved you back. 

---

Did he really think you’d give up without a fight? 

You managed to convince Joel that you were fine without meeting Tommy tonight, that maybe he just wanted some brotherly time together. He leaned into that shit-ass excuse like it was his last lifeline. He could care less about his familial bond, he just wanted you not to be fucking pissed off. But you were pissed off. And you looked hot pissed off. 

You especially looked hot and pissed off in the skin-tight dress you wore, accompanied by the designer clutch Joel purchased for your last birthday. 

You’d assume that the hardest part of your little plan was knowing which of the many bars Joel and Tommy could make their trek to. But Apple Air Tags came in a bundle of four, so you slipped one into Joel’s truck. What else were you going to do with the extra ones? Might as well put them to use. 

You took a car service to the downtown Austin brewpub, Blue Owl Brewing. Let’s just say you were a bit dressed up for the establishment. 

You spotted Joel sitting at a small table in the back, facing the entrance of the bar as you strolled in with a devilish smirk on your face. His large hand was nursing a tall glass of amber-colored beer, a wide and genuine smile on his lips as he jeered conversation back and forth with Tommy, whose back was to you. 

You slowly made your way through the dark oak bar, Joel’s eyes connecting with yours almost immediately. He looked like he could break you in half the way his eyes narrowed on you. But Joel was smart. He didn’t let much of his anger or annoyance seep through, because the damage was already done and you were already here. 

“Hi, Joel,” you innocently coo before resting your hand on his brother’s bicep. “You must be Tommy?” You ask with a smile so sweet it was probably giving Joel a toothache. He was taking a long, steady drink of his beer, the foam lightly frosting his mustache as he observes you with cautious eyes as you interacted with his brother. 

Tommy looked starstruck by your beauty. His eyes don’t hold back from lightly grazing over your short dress and the exposed skin that accompanies it. “Aren’t you a beauty,” he pauses and looks to his brother with a small smirk of disbelief that his brother could bag a catch as hot as you. “You must be Joel’s girl he keeps me from.” 

His comment makes you giggle, your hand cascading down his bicep to his forearm, your nails lightly adding pressure which makes Joel’s stature more domineering, even from across the table. 

Tommy was younger, with medium-length dark curly hair and a mustache that mirrored Joel’s. But he doesn’t have Joel’s beard, the facial hair you’ve grown to love. His mouth carries a dangerous little smirk, and it hasn’t left since you joined their table. He was handsome, it was a family trait the two brothers shared. 

“Please, sit down, beautiful.” 

You hum softly at the compliment, watching as Tommy grabs a nearby barstool from a table close by and sits you down at the end of the table, between both Tommy and Joel. 

“Joel, I thought you said your girl couldn’t make it out tonight?” Tommy inquires, waving down the waitress to come and get you a drink. 

“Oh, did he?” You ask curiously, crossing one leg over the other and lightly leaning over the table as your breasts nearly spill out of your dress. Your eye contact with Joel was on fire. He was torn between chewing you up and spitting you out right here in the middle of the bar, or dragging you away and ripping off this too-short dress of yours. 

You and Tommy were quickly buzzing with conversation. He was buying you cocktails and complimenting you every chance he could get. If you didn’t know any better, he was flirting with you openly in front of his older brother. Joel didn’t say much, a grunt here and there, a swift kick under the table to Tommy’s kneecap after he talked a little too much about the gorgeous curves of your body. 

“Just can’t believe you are datin’ my brother, didn’t know he could score someone so-” As Tommy attempts to find the words, his warm palm settles on your thigh, dangerously high too. He takes an inch or two of your dress with it, and your breath snags in your throat. You can’t deny the jaded way you feel about it, feeling a hot flash course through your body as you feel your head flush with heat. 

“Watch it.” Joel finally mutters coherently. Perfectly coherent. Like he needs Tommy to hear it crystal clear. No one touches you. 

Tommy seems to like the rise out of Joel just as much as you do. Which is perhaps why you’re leaning into it.

“You’re too kind, Tommy, really.” You take his hand off your thigh and maneuver it back into his lap. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the one Joel has to deal with, not the other way around.” You tease, and Tommy lets out a drunk laugh. 

“Trust me, gorgeous, if you were my girl, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight. That was Joel’s first mistake tonight, leavin’ you at home.” 

Your eyes soften, and you glance over to Joel. He’s damn near snarling the way he’s gritting his teeth and staring daggers into Tommy. You had never seen him so possessive before. 

“That’s enough out of you,” Joel remarks as he heavily sets down the empty pint glass and shuffles his barstool back, letting out a screeching scrape. 

“We’re leavin’,” Joel tells you, making your jaw tick tighter. Where did he get off telling you what to do?  

“I don’t think I-”

“Now.” He says more seriously. The giddy feelings you shared with Tommy were now squashed under the weight of Joel’s boot. You decide to hop off the barstool and call it a night, for both of our sakes. You accomplished your mission, met Tommy and disobeyed Joel. So let’s leave while we’re ahead. 

You turn to Tommy, who is also stepping down from the barstool and putting cash on the table to cover the tab. “It was nice meetin’ you, sugar. Take care of my big brother, will ya?” He asks as he settles his hands warmly on your waist and pulls you in for a kiss on your cheek.  

Heat sets your body alight. Tommy was gentle, if not even a bit calculated with his movements. Why did all of a sudden you feel like the pawn in Tommy’s game rather than the other way around? 

“Goodnight, Tommy.” You whisper with a tight-lipped smile, taking Joel’s hand and letting him guide you out of the brewery. 

---

The ride home in the truck was quiet. Real fuckin’ quiet. You tried to be content just listening to the low volume of the radio or the soft rumbling of his truck. You went to switch the station off of country and more to something you liked, but Joel smacked the volume to mute, making you groan. You grew so bored that you started counting the random tar lines in the road, adding to the total with each one you passed over. You stopped counting after fifty, or so. 

“Joel-”

“Enough.” 

He doesn’t let you speak. It makes your blood boil. 

“If you just-”

“I said enough, god dammit. Don’t you think you’ve done enough tonight?” His words cut sharp, and you feel as small as you did this morning. This morning after you confessed that you sort of loved him. He’s breathing in heavy puffs, and he’s driving faster as he tries to get both of you back to the house. 

“Why are you going so fucking fast?” You finally ask. You’re already in deep shit, you don’t care about him telling you to shut up. He ignores you for a moment before you probe him again. “Joel?” You ask with an annoyed tone. His eyes finally meet yours in a quick glance. 

“Getting you home and out of that fucking dress.” He mutters, his large palm reaching across and cupping harshly at your upper thigh. A whiny gasp leaves your mouth as his fingers dig deliciously into your flesh. So that’s what’s got him driving so damn fast. 

He pries your leg open, and he takes one look at how beautiful you look. More importantly, he’s looking at your lacey panties. 

“Red. Perfect for you. Like the fuckin’ devil.” 

You smirk as you grip his wrist and guide his hand to your clothed mound, a weak sigh leaving his lips as he cups over the wet spot that was forming just for him. Joel didn’t have to put in much work for you to be on the edge for him. 

“I fucking hate you, Joel.” 

He puffs out another breath of air through his nose. His way of laughing lately. 

“Fuckin’ hate you more, baby.” 

He toys with your panties for the remaining minutes of the drive, your nails having sunk so hard into his arm that you’re drawing small bits of blood from the moon-shaped cuts. 

He damn near hauls you out of the truck once you’re parked. You leap into his arms as soon as the two of you walk past the threshold of his front door. 

You force him to walk blindly through the house. He’s easily holding you up by one arm as you tighten your legs around his waist, causing your dress to ride up from the tension. You kiss him in a clash of teeth and tongues. You’re both ferociously horny for one another. And he’s pissed. 

“Flirtin’ with my brother all fuckin’ night? You have fun with that?” He mutters against your mouth, slamming you up against the wall with a thud as your breath nearly knocks out of you from the force. He takes the opportunity of you planted there to grab the hem of your dress and push it up and off your body. His mouth latches to your exposed breasts, a throaty moan leaving your mouth as your small fists take him by the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Fuck,” you let out breathily, throwing your head back against the wall and humming lowly. 

“Answer me.” He ruts his hips up against your core, and you’re painfully aware of how naked he’s making you and how clothed he still is. 

“He’s actually really nice-” He suckles harder on your nipple, forcing a hiss out of your mouth. “Think I might trade in my older model for something younger.” Your tone is teasing, but the words are enough to make him detach from your nipple, a sinister look wavering his features cold.  

He sneers and tilts his head to the side and back before shaking his head slowly. “I don’t think so.” 

He rips you from the safety of the wall, your hands quickly scrabble to his shoulders to keep yourself upright while he leads you up the stairs to his bedroom. His heavy boots thud menacingly. You try to hide your smile in the crook of his neck, leaving angelic kisses on his neck and marking him with your lipstick, knowing how good Joel is about to make you feel. 

He tosses you onto the bed like a ragdoll, your bare body finds warmth in his sheets. You admire him from below as he pulls his shirt off by gripping the material at the back of his neck and hauling it off him in one swift motion. The sight alone makes your pussy ache and your insides churn. 

God, he was so handsome. He had this soft bulk to his body that expanded from the hardened planes of his chest and toned tummy to the light bulge in his biceps. His chest hair was a sprinkle of dark black stippled with light grey hairs that became sparse before trickling to a thicker patch, creating his happy trail.  

Holy fuck, he looked like he was going to devour you. 

Joel wasted little time with formalities. He had your legs parted, the rough denim of his jeans grinding against your soft skin. His tongue explored your mouth while both of his palms massaged the supple plushness of your breasts. He was pinching your nipples between his fingers, making you whine into his mouth for relief while they hardened in his hold. 

You slip your hands between your middles, fingertips gently trailing down to capture the button of his jeans and push down his zipper. You have to wiggle around a bit, as Joel is pinning you to the spot. You’re so desperate for him that it almost turns into a fight to get his jeans off. He tugs on your bottom lip, a light whimper leaving you upon tasting the metallic tang of blood fill your mouth. 

You smack Joel’s arm until he releases you, huffing at him. 

“Asshole.” You mutter.

He sneers at you as he places a delicate kiss to your lips in apology. “That’s what cunts get.”  He mutters under his breath. The term makes you flinch, your hand coming up to give him a good smack across the face, but he captures your wrist and pins it back to the bed. You both eagerly consume one another in a desperate kiss. You think you see him smiling as he tastes the light scrape of blood he’s caused. 

Joel moves his weight to his forearms and aids you in the ongoing war between you and his pesky jeans. With his weight off you, you easily push down his jeans and his black boxers, your feet pushing down the last of the material around his ankles. He sits back on his haunches, heavy hands gripping the sides of your panties as he pulls them down your legs, leaving you bare with him. 

You immediately slip out of the hold he has on your wrist and put your hand between your legs. Your fingers move eagerly between your glistening folds and slick them up with arousal. He smacks your hand away and pins your wrist to the bed once more. So fucking disobedient. 

Once he settles between you, a soft gasp escapes your lips once you feel his thick shaft landing heavily against your sex. He was thick and ready for the taking, his tip was red with anger and need. 

“You were a real fuckin’ handful tonight.” He mutters, letting his tip slide up and down your glistening folds. You were not in the mood for teasing. 

You grit your teeth and glare up at him. “I think Tommy agreed.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He growls, your chest rising and falling quickly. He takes notice as your body tingles with excitement. 

“Such a pain in my goddamn ass sometimes, more trouble than your worth.”

“Why don’t you toss me to Tommy then, huh? That way I can see which Miller brother fucks me better.” You sneer, a sloppy smirk crossing your features. It’s harshly stripped from you as Joel takes your face and squishes your cheeks with the grip of his hand. Your eyes clench closed at the slight pain, feeling him angle your head to face him. He’s power-hungry. 

“Open those eyes, pretty girl.” His voice is rocky and lust-filled, dangerous like gasoline. It takes a moment, but you flutter them open. You didn’t realize that you were holding onto Joel’s puffed-up biceps, hard as a rock under your hold. 

He slowly scans you, up and down, weighing his options of how to handle you. The problem that you were. His little brat. “You wanna cum tonight?”

Your ultimate weakness. A sheepish whimper leaves your squished lips, trying to blink back the slight tears that are forming from his manhandling. Mascara stings your eyes, but you hold his eye contact, because he asked you to, because it’s Joel, and you’d do anything for him at the end of the day. 

You manage an “Mhm, please.” Joel’s eyes soften as he comes back to you and your warmth. 

He doesn’t say anything, just angles his hips just right since you two fit perfectly together and thrusts inward. The breath in your lungs is punched out, head grinding back into the bed as your chin angles to the ceiling.  You hiss at the initial discomfort that his thick cock causes. He’s fucked you a million times, but there’s nothing better than the first thrust where you’re still adjusting to his size, his girth, his length, his everything. 

The clamp his hand has on your cheeks eventually releases, shifting the weight back to his forearms as his head settles above yours. He places another gentle kiss on your lightly swollen bottom lip. His loving reassurance warms your body. He’s starting steady, honorably letting your arousal take the lead in getting you both lubed up. He feels like heaven coursing through your tight hole, making himself the perfect fit for you. 

You wrap your arms around his neck a little too tight, bringing him down into you as he breathily laughs against your ear. 

"Y'know, it's kinda hard to be rough with ya when you're bein' so sweet."

Your chest heaves with his words, a sudden and impactful sense of vulnerability passing through you. It makes you nervous. It makes your skin swelter with warmth and makes a bead of sweat form at your temple. You and Joel don’t have this type of warmth in your relationship. Warm in the sense of boiling, too hot, too much, screaming and shouting and fighting and kissing. Not this. Not the gentle thrusts lightly rocking into you, letting you adjust to him, pulling him in for a gentle embrace as you capture him in a needy hug. 

You’re not the I love you type, yet you said it to him this morning. Sort of. You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly shake your head. 

You remind yourself that he didn’t say it back this morning. He wasn’t saying it now. Was he just using you? No.. no, it wasn’t that. But he wasn’t going to let you meet his family. He wasn’t going to say he loved you. He wasn’t going to marry you if that’s even what you wanted right now. It wasn’t. But you couldn’t deny you thought about your future with Joel. Even with all the fighting, the anger, the jealousy, it was all out of love. But maybe that love was one-sided. 

The arms you had draped around his neck turned into sinking your nails into the base of his back. You slowly began scraping them upwards and forming long, raised red lines in their path. Joel grunts and hisses at the burn he’s feeling, broad shoulders tightening and his hips snapping into you more ferociously now. 

Your lower lip trembled with anger, but you didn’t let him see as you pushed his head down to your breasts. He took the hint with a broken moan as he suckled a bruise on your collarbone. 

The pain of his thrusts turned into numbing pleasure, his tip kissing your cervix with each and every heavy snap of his thrusts. 

“Fuck yeah, Joel,” you moan. You stroking his ego only makes his movements more methodical, one of his hands pushing your leg down onto the bed rather than snaking around his waist and exposing you to a new angle that left you searching for air. Joel returns his forehead to rest over yours, both of your sweat glistening. You stare into his eyes, and all you feel is anger and regret for saying you loved him. He was fucking you so good too, you both had never gone as slow as you had at the start. It was twisting the coil inside of you so smoothly, that your brain was getting foggy. 

You did a lot of stupid things tonight. Wearing your shortest dress, stalking Joel to his hangout with Tommy, flirting with his brother for the majority of the night. But now, you were ready to do the stupidest thing yet. 

You moan into his ear, revenge and regret swirling inside of you like an insidious tornado. Your eyes flutter close in pleasure as you feel your orgasm begin to approach. “Fuck me, Tommy.”

It hits Joel like a ton of bricks. All his movements pause. He pulls away just half an inch and stares down at you. A cold, downright mean look crosses his face once you’ve popped your eyes open to take a look at him. The room suffocates you in silence. 

“What did you say?” His voice is slow, slick with a cursed concoction of lust and fury. 

Too far. Way too fucking far. 

You pause as you try to recollect yourself, having just been nearly blinded by your approaching orgasm. “I- I said Joel,” Now you were just trying to convince yourself that you didn’t accidentally or not accidentally just moaned his brother's name in bed. “I-”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” He mutters, chest puffed up and muscles straining with veins like thick rivers coasting up his arms. 

He starts slow. His hand shifts to fasten around your throat, and with each word that leaves him, his grip tightens. “Tell me… what you said.” He speaks through gritted teeth, eliciting a whimper from you as he snarls. 

You swallow a lump in your throat, cold goosebumps flooding over your previously scorching hot skin. You were starting to feel the neglect from his lack of thrusts, whining softly as you tried to grind your hips up into his. 

His large palm slams into your hip with force and pins you to the bed, letting out a whine of annoyance. 

“You want Tommy fuckin’ you instead? Huh?” His jaw is tight and only clicking tighter as he stares daggers into you. Fuck, you were only flooding him with more of your arousal. You purposely flexed your tight walls around the swell of his cock. 

“N-No, Joel -- fuck -- want you.” You whimper out as your hands soften on his shoulders, and you gently cup his face. He shakes his head loose of your hold, annoyance and anger still shooting up his spine. 

“I don’t think you do, pretty girl, think you want someone else. Tommy.” His hips were thrusting again, harsh snaps that physically rocked your body up the bed with force that made your jaw drop. Fuck he felt so damn good. The lack of air was making your head swirl. 

You took in a sharp breath as he manhandles your face once more, forcing you to look at him. “Dirty fuckin’ slut, you want both of us, don’t you?” Well, you can’t deny the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. He licks his lips before he spits on your face, lathering you in his saliva as you gasp in shock. 

“J-Joel,” your words can’t come out smooth with how roughly he’s fucking you. His hips are slamming your thighs, and the bedframe is smacking the wall with all his might. “Fuck-ing- shit,” you throw your head back now up into his pillows and try to grip onto the sheets to maintain your position. That coil that was smoothly coursing you towards a gentle orgasm was long gone, as was Joel’s right mind. Now the coil was tightening and nearly breaking, your mind going blank and seeing stars. 

“Say my name,” Joel grunts, his hand coming up and smothering the saliva he spat on your face. It runs black with your mascara tears and messy red lipstick before he brings his hand back to your throat. 

You breathe heavily as your mind tries to connect syllables and make a coherent word. “I- I..” You can’t focus, and Joel punishes you for it. He spits on you again, hot and warm on your face, and all you can picture is if it was his cum showering you instead. “Fuck!” You shout at him. He takes the opportunity of your mouth open to speak, forcing two fingers inside. 

“Suck’em, pretty little bitch,” Joel mutters, watching you with eyes from hell. 

You whimper and suckle around his fingers, trying not to choke on them, focusing all your energy on trying not to get in more trouble. You line your tongue up and down both digits, tasting him, tasting Joel. He pulls his fingers from you with force and leaves your own saliva dribbling out of your messy mouth and down your chin. 

He puts his slimy fingers to use and starts slowly circling your clit. Your eyes light up, wide, and you grip onto his bicep for desperation. “P-Please, too much, Joel,” you whimper, feeling the coil close to snapping as he starts doing precise figure-eights on your swollen nub. It was all too much. 

“Say my name,” Joel says on repeat, your glassy eyes only being able to focus on him, just like he wanted. 

He starts marking you with his mouth, ferocious teeth nipping at the sensitive skin along your breasts and collarbones, so harshly that they burn once he’s done, and covering you in red and purple splotches. 

Joel’s grunting above you, withholding his own orgasm as another form of torturing you. “Say my name, god dammit, tell me who owns this fucking pussy.” He spits on you, mean and hot, and he’s all you can see, all you can think. 

Say my name. Say my name. God dammit, say my fucking name. 

“J-Joel!” You cry out his name and clench your eyes closed, but he doesn’t slow his thrusts or his fingers. “Fu-Fuck me, Joel, keep fucking me good, Joel, Joel, Joel- fuck!” you swallow down the lump in your throat as you see his goading smirk, his hips slamming you with all he’s got. 

“Come on baby, want Tommy t’hear you, want the whole damn neighborhood t’hear you-- shit,” he mutters, eyes clenching closed as your walls flutter around him in a nearing orgasm. 

“Say my name!” He shouts, and you cry out in pleasure. 

He was like God, your God. 

“Joel!” You cry out. The coil snaps, and the curtain falls down. Your back arches, and you throw your hips into Joel’s, fisting the sheets and dipping your eyes closed again as you let out a moan that shakes the entire house. Joel’s not long behind you, he paints your walls white in adoration, load after load marking your walls as his own, no one else's. 

A few minutes pass and he’s still buried inside of you. You look psychotic, fucked dumb and raw. “I’m yours, Joel.” You say barely above a whisper, desperate eyes searching his own for warmth. 

You’re twitching below him, overly exerted and tired. You’re motionless, half-dead under the man who resurrected you. He’s panting heavily from doing all the work per usual. His mouth is agape, trying to catch his breath as your numb limbs lie in place while he pulls out of you. He’s dripping with your arousal-cum mixture. Oh, but he’s not done. He kneels on the bed and smacks his hand against your pussy before cupping it. 

It makes your eyes widen, and you let out an overstimulated cry at the feeling. You quickly shake your head, grip his wrist, and meet his eyes with a pleading expression. “N-No Joel, can’t -- fuck -- can’t do another one right away, give me a sec baby-” 

“Do you know why I didn’t want Tommy to meet you?” His words ram your numb brain senseless. 

You whimper as he’s already starting slow circles on your clit, goosebumps forming once more. You muster up a shake of your head. 

No. No, I don’t know why you won’t let me meet your fucking brother, the question has been gnawing at me all damn day, though. 

“When we were younger, Tommy had a bad streak of sneakin’ off with my girlfriends.” He did? You had no idea. Joel’s voice is deviously quiet during his story-telling, wrecked with residual anger and desire for you. 

His thumb takes over massaging your clit, feeling both his index and middle finger slowly curl their way into your entrance. Your head nudges back against the pillows again, releasing a string of whimpers as he works you up again. He’s pushing his cum back inside of you while his fingers squelch.

“He was flirtin’ with ‘em, harmless at first, ‘til he decided he wanted ‘em for himself.” Your jaw tightens as he moves his thumb faster on your clit, angry that you let Tommy manipulate you into getting a rise out of Joel, just like he used to. He was using you as a pawn tonight. 

“Got into so many damn fights over it. S’why my nose is a lil’ crooked. Tommy broke it with a punch, fightin’ about some girl I was seein’ in my twenties.” You frowned. Stop talking about your other girlfriends, Joel.  

A quiet whimper left your lips as your pointer finger came up to brush along the light curve of his nose that you loved so much. 

“Don’t feel bad for me, angel. I broke his goddamn arm for fuckin’ me over like that.” He had a dangerous smirk on his lips, one that you liked, one that made your heart race as he circled your clit even faster and started massaging your walls with his thick fingers. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whispered, the heated coil in your tummy churning again out of the protectiveness and jealousy he felt for you today. 

“He’s never met any of my girls since, so when I saw you walk into that bar..” he trailed off and started shaking his head. Your clit pulsed anxiously under the pad of his thumb, biting down harshly on your bruised and bloody lip. “Would never let him take you away from me. Never.” Your heart gushes for him. 

“I’d never leave you, Joel,” you lightly whimpered, your body twitching and writhing under him. He shook his head and gently shushed you, cupping your cheek with his free hand. Your glassy eyes watched him in adoration, seeing crooked stars in your vision as you felt another orgasm heatedly approaching. 

“Should’a told ya sooner. And you should’a stayed home. Listened to me for once,” He told you in a warning tone. You swallow the lump in your throat and gently nod, your thighs shaking against his legs that pinned yours wide open. 

“S’why when I saw ya in the bar, knew I had t’take you home and make you mine, devil woman.” He muttered with a small smirk. The nickname made a desperate smile trickle on your lips. 

“Yeah?” You said in a sheepish whimper, your walls fluttering around his fingers that were gently exploring your insides, leaving you so close to cumming again. It was too fast, and too damn hot in the room, but Joel was making you his, and that’s all you were going to focus on. 

“So what d’you say?” He asks, raising a curious eyebrow. 

“‘M sorry.” You muster up. “I-I’m sorry, Joel,” He’s got you panting for dear life as your thighs twitch while you near closer and closer to the edge. 

He slowly shakes his head. “And what else, pretty girl?” 

You cock your head and furrow your brows at him, unsure of what he wants you to say next. 

“Say my name, tell me you love me again.” His fingers abandon your entrance and solely focus on pleasuring your clit, going so fast, too fast. His head comes down by yours, resting his forehead against your temple as your eyes force themselves closed.  

“Fuck, Joel,” you whimper. 

“Look at me, baby.” He whispers to you, placing light kisses by the corner of your eye to bring attention to him. 

Your long lashes flutter on your cheeks before your fucked out face turns to Joel. “I love you, I love you, Joel, I love y-you- fuck,” you moan out loudly, throwing your head back and grinding your hips up into his hand. You do love him, the sick bastard that he was. 

Your second release is only minutes from your last; it sparks you like a firework, and you feel your bones tingle. This man was not one to contend with. But you did anyway because you loved him. 

You come down from being overstimulated. He plays this mean game where he grazes his fingers as light as a feather on different parts of your body, watching as your muscles and body twitch from being short-circuited. 

“Fuck you.” You murmur. 

His feet find the floor, his cock still hanging by his thighs, drenched in residual slick. He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the faucet run. It rings in your ears, still trying to center yourself after being fucked to oblivion tonight. 

You didn’t realize your eyes had fallen close until you heard his feet padding towards you as he approached with a warm washcloth. You hum softly gently wipes your face from his spit and your mucky mascara before he rotates the washcloth and wipes at the inside of your thighs. You’re still a little sensitive, you can’t help but let your face twinge. 

He’s careful as he makes sure you’re clean, catching any residual spill. He tosses the washcloth into the laundry basket before he goes searching in your bag for something you can wear. 

“Joel?”

He pauses his movements. “Already know what you’re gonna say.” You instantly smile and observe him. He was so handsome. 

He stops looking through your bag for clothes and moves to his closet. He takes his time choosing what he wants you to wear, which makes you giggle a little bit from bed. You’re motionless, with no energy to move or even roll over. Barely enough to speak. 

He settles on a Metallica band t-shirt, at least twenty years old, with the cotton perfectly soft and worn in. He moves to his dresser and fishes out a clean pair of boxers. They were the most comfy to wear, you had to admit. Panties were to show off your ass before sex. Boxers were for after all that was finished. 

“You okay?” he whispers, to which you slowly nod. He’s always been so good with aftercare, even after a full day of arguing followed by a full night of fucking. 

The boxers are soft as they coast up your legs, and he settles them on your hips. The band reads Calvin Klein. You muster up enough strength to sit up on your elbows, and he helps you put the baggy shirt on. It messes up your hair, and he tries to smooth it over, which makes you bubble up a laugh. “It’ll just get all messed up when we sleep, but thanks,” you whisper before falling back into his pillows once again. 

Joel smirks widely before he lays down tiredly beside you on his front, like a big giant collapsing with a large huff. Your hand travels gently up his back, seeing the raised and jagged lines your nails had caused, your anger had caused. His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t let you know he’s feeling pain. 

“Joel?” You whisper and work up the energy to shimmy closer to him, your foreheads gently resting together. 

“Hm?” He murmurs. 

You feel shy all of a sudden, still vulnerable. “Happy birthday, Joel. I love you.” 

He slowly smiles, a sense of pride flooding his body as he pulls you in closer to him by your hip. He gently glides his thumb across your swollen bottom lip and kisses you lightly. “I love you, too. No matter how much of a brat you are.”

You slowly grin and close your eyes as your heads rest beside one another. 

“Oh my god.” You mutter to yourself. Joel pulls his head away to look down at you. 

“What is it, angel?”

You groan lightly and hide your face in your hands. “The cake! I left it out all day, it’s probably dry as fuck now!”

Joel lets out a puff of laughter, stroking your sweat-soaked hair away from your face. “S’okay, wasn’t gonna have any, anyway.” 

“Yes, you were.” You huff, your finger gently gliding down his nose once more before you gently kiss the tip in adoration. 

He hums softly at your decent behavior. “Good girl.” 

---

masterlist

A reminder that I no longer use taglists!! to keep up with my writing, follow @hellishfics and turn on notifications to keep updated!

[sapphiccstudies]

Home Bar (San Francisco)

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

limbo, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: A movie night turns into a happening that wasn't planned. You wake up and see Min Yoongi trapped in the limbo of his nightmares, his fist clenched in your blankets. You had given up on this feeling everyone called love. And yet, you reach over.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; sex with feelings, classic wiyllt; smut (fem reader, flashbacks of fucking, rough sex, mutual erotic choking, m-receiving oral, scratching / marking, many descriptions of hand placements can you tell I have a forearm kink, penetrative sex, choking during orgasm, giving a handjob while being choked, cum-eating / licking cum off your ass); non-idol!AU; fwb but actually lovers who refuse to admit it

--

He was asleep and you could feel his nightmares.

It was achingly quiet when you opened your eyes. Happened all the time, all your life, either due to your inexplicably outlandish dreams or from the crawling parasites everyone liked to call emotions. You would wake up, be irritated that it wasn’t because of your alarm, and then close your eyes again to start the lengthy torturous cycle of falling asleep once more. Always took your time falling asleep, unless you exhausted yourself first.

You could feel his nightmares.

That was why this waking was different this time. The curtains were still open, letting in a wash of moonlight. You glanced down, seeing that the television was still on. Not a big black rectangle mounted to the wall as usual, but instead showing the display screen of the DVD inserted. You picked up the remote beside you and turned it off. The screen went black.

You saw the blurred outline of yourself, ensnared in blankets and pillows.

Beside you, a man.

The paleness of his face stood out even in the imperfect reflection. A whiteish smear surrounded by tresses of black locks. His clothes and surroundings were also black, shades of darkness highlighted by the moon. He was pitched to one side, creating a crease in the shape of his body into the pillows stacked around him.

You turned your head to the left.

He was asleep. His right arm was sticking out of the blankets, his forearm fair and thin against the maroon of the soft cotton. There was a thin silver chain around his wrist, along with a band of black leather, stamped shut with a skull-shaped clasp.

The collide.

You remembered all the details. His face against your face. Your eyelids lowered, seeing nothing but his shaking lips. Body to body, his charcoal grey shirt pressed up to your tight mesh dress with the red slip. You hand was on his forearm, fingertips against his wrist. Tangling the tips of your red-and-black nails on a thin silver chain and black leather, and his hand on your shoulder tightened as you touched his cheek, pulling his lips closer, and there was a whisper between him and you, something about how red your lipstick was, and you felt yourself smile.

“Would you rather I kiss you in places others can’t see, Yoongi?” you murmured.

A scoff of disbelief.

“Just warning you.”

You raised your lashes, staring into eyes that matched the color of dark roast coffee. They burned with the same kind of concentrated, potent energy.

“You don’t find smeared lipstick sexy?”

Rather than giving you an answer, those liquid orbs rippled with pleasure at the challenge.

He had closed the distance.

On this night, now, you looked down and saw that Min Yoongi’s hand was clenched into a fist.

You didn’t know if they were nightmares. It was a guess from the tension fuzzing up the edges of his demeanor. From the furrowed cease in his brow to the splay of his black hair over his face, thin strands clinging to his forehead. The tendons of his neck stood out. A strange noise fluttered in his chest and his head ticked, as if to push aside his hair obstructing the dream view, but the movement only made it worse.

In some ways, you knew Yoongi, but in some ways you were ignorant.

That was how you liked to keep it.

As far as you could tell, Yoongi also played by this rulebook.

You could throw him off sometimes, such as the time you reached up and wrapped your hand around his neck, walking the fingers of your other hand up the white jersey of his loose t-shirt. Curious surprise had flitted over his features, but he hadn’t objected. Instead, he had reached over and experimentally placed his own hand around your neck. You had twisted your body slightly, adjusting the placement of his palm so it matched yours. Fingers on one side, thumb on the other.

You looked into his eyes and clamped down.

Yoongi mirrored you.

There was a sudden gasp in unison and you could see the arousal flood into his eyes.

He was not learned like you, but he had common sense. Followed the same pressure you were doing to him. You were both still fully clothed, the black pleather corset top feeling a little too tight, but there was something better about the discomfort. It amplified the moment. Your hand around his neck, his hand around yours, your impulse leading to his, and your fingers traced over his shirt, fingernails pressing into the thin fabric, erotic patterns cultivating the fruitful tension. Your legs scooting forward between his as you choked each other. Your miniskirt hiking up, but Yoongi was staring at your face, pink lips parted, breathing shallow, dark roast coffee eyes burning, and his tongue flicked the edge of his smirk, enticing you.

You had closed the distance and kissed him, losing yourself in his scent and his tongue.

On this night, you reached down and traced his white knuckles.

Hooking up. That was what it was, but also wasn’t. It felt like an unrefined, crass way to put it, but it was what it was. Impulsive, addictive, intense. It wasn’t planned, at least not by you or Yoongi. The plans were to grab food occasionally, maybe run the same errand if it just so happened that you both needed something from the grocery store on the way, or perhaps the strange coincidence of buying tickets to the same band showcase. Might as well go together, right?

It wasn’t planned.

The first time your fingertips ran down his forearm was an accident, but you saw him shudder. Yoongi had snapped his gaze to you and he immediately knew that you had seen.

There was a warning crossed deep in those dark liquid orbs.

You had touched him again, resting your hand on his wrist, staring into his eyes.

You didn’t push it too far that night. It was just that moment. Neither of you talked about it. Talked about everything else that wasn’t that. Unsophisticated. But the next time it was him standing closer to you, and you had looked up at him. You didn’t shudder, but you didn’t need to. Sparks raced over your skin from the point of clothed contact. A moment, and you didn’t bring it up and neither did he. But after that, it was different.

On this night, as the moonlight washed over the tousled blankets, you reached down and gently relaxed each of those clenched fingers. The tension lessened from his forearm. Yoongi breathed in deep, out of vision, and you could feel his nightmares drift away or, at the very least, not have such a cold grip on him.

You placed your hand over his.

It was cold.

You rubbed his knuckles.

Leaned back against the pillows, which were not ergonomic for optimal rest, but were optimal for movie watching, which was what you had been doing before you both fell asleep. Strange, because the only times Yoongi had ever fallen asleep in your bed was after fucking and that was rare. Only when it was very late and simply ridiculous to drive home to sleep for two hours before driving back to work. Better to simply snooze.

Sometimes the impulse would last all night.

But it would eventually be over.

He would go back to his life and you would go back to yours. That was what it was and that was how you liked to keep it. Human relationships were complicated. Convoluted. It was easy to follow the plot points fabricated by society, easy to get lost in labels and definitions, easy to become frustrated when one doesn’t fit in that narrow coffin-box of the conventional consensus. Harder to thrive in the limbo. It took a certain kind of person to walk that line between heaven and hell.

Your hand on top of Yoongi’s and you closed your eyes.

You had given up a long ago.

Given up on finding that feeling called love.

Lived in the limbo. There was enjoyment in the discomfort, honestly. Maybe that was a result of a lot of things, but it didn’t matter. You had already spent your younger years trying to fit into all these different boxes, thinking you could be as cozy as a cat, and it never worked. You thought you had simply lacked understanding, so you spent your time learning. Still didn’t work. If anything, it was an even emptier feeling, feeling as if you were always playing a role instead of being. In the end, you chose the limbo.

In limbo, you felt the most honest.

And so it was things like this, not quite heaven and not quite hell. Things like Min Yoongi and dark nights of pulling him to you, shedding his jeans and framing his hips with your crowned fingers. Tongue to skin, and you could feel him shudder, his hands circling your head. You drew creative patterns with saliva, up his hips and abdomen, pushing his shirt aside, and glancing up at him.

Yoongi would look down at you with those dark liquid eyes.

It was like drinking in that concentrated, potent energy.

Strong, and your tongue would dance. Your breath hot, washing over his fair skin. Your grip sinking into his body, closer. You could tell Yoongi liked it better when you didn’t use your hands. He liked your caress on his ass as your tongue curled around his hard length. Warm, pulsing, dripping sin in your wake, and you would tilt your head to swallow him deep. No fear. Only rawness. The base of your tongue lowering so the thick head could slip in deeper to the back of your throat. Your tongue sliding out from the confines of your mouth and scooping around his balls, one and then the other, all while pulling in and exhaling from the back of your throat. Pressure. Isolation.

His moan, low and deep, hanging above you like smoke.

Yoongi especially liked it when you became more serious. When you looked up at him cockily and moved your head back and forth, lips parted, jaw slack, the true suction created by the roof of your mouth and your tongue pushing up from below, forcibly rubbing the bottom of the head as you sucked him deep in your throat. Stimulating that thin sensitive skin, precise, gazing at him with fierce intensity and acting as if this was so easy.

Well, it was.

The side of his mouth would always tick up, and Yoongi would always say, “Fuck, you’re so good at sucking dick and you know it.”

Then you would close your lips around his shaft and create that fuckable wet sleeve that would give him that high he had been chasing. The girth filling your mouth and cheeks, your tongue sliding up and down his throbbing length, your hands gripping his hips or even simply resting in your lap to drive the point home further. Relaxed, in contrast to the overwhelming lewd pleasure shooting into the back of your throat, flooding your mouth with the salty, heady taste of cum, swallowing, savoring the thickness and quantity, licking him all over, insistently soft and arcing over his shivering balls, breathing in the scent of sex and familiar cologne.

Sometimes, Yoongi threw you off too.

Once you leaned up against him and stuck your tongue out.

He had licked it before kissing you with a smirk.

Maybe he learned it from you or maybe it was simply his nature revealing himself. Or both. It was hard to know, but such things didn’t matter in the grand scheme of thigs. Better to live in the moment.

This? This between you and Min Yoongi was careful.

You opened your eyes and found Yoongi looking down at your hand over his.

He sensed your movement and his eyes shifted, rising, and now liquid energy was burning into you.

You didn’t move your hand.

His breathing was irregular, but not with the shallow shake of fear.

As far as you could tell, Yoongi also played by a certain rulebook. There were rumors but, more importantly, there was your instinct. There was in the wounded way he spoke about relationships, not just romantic, but all of them. He had friends, but there was a certain depth he avoided with all of them. He didn’t mind their depth of vulnerability and he didn’t avoid his own.

But he never talked to people on his bad days.

In the wash of moonlight, Yoongi breathed out, choppy and rough.

“I missed the last half of the movie.”

You still hadn’t moved your hand and he hadn’t pulled his hand away either.

“It’s a long movie. Maybe we should have gone with John Wick.”

Something curtained over his expression and it wasn’t his long black hair.

“No. You’ve talked about Mr. Nobody before. I wanted to watch it.”

He lifted his body from the dent he had created in the pillows.

“Process it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t fake. Yoongi fucked with his whole body and mind. He didn’t waste his time and it was obvious by the way he seized the opportunities he got. Obvious by the way he was caught up in the moment, trapped in the heat between heated breath, consumed by the thought of your red lipstick smeared over his lips. He knew all the things people said about him. He knew all the things people said about you. But he had cast it all aside to make his own judgement. Society tried to impose dishonest promises of heaven and hell and he cut all the strings that tried to hold him back to slip into this, this between you and Min Yoongi, and there were certain things he didn’t talk about, certain things he didn’t hold on to.

On this night, when he awoke from his nightmares, his hand turned under yours.

Traced his middle finger down your palm, leaving a trail of tingling skin.

His fingers closed around your wrist.

The rush of heat and the sting of lust, rippling, rippling up your arm and across your ribs, burning your blood, and you looked into those coffee eyes, burning liquid energy, people whispering that it was bad for you, people warning that he will stain the bone white of your heart, and your other hand lifted, pushing against the mattress, turning, sliding out of the blankets, interrupting the wash of moonlight over Min Yoongi.

Limbo.

Between heaven and hell.

Yoongi gripped your wrist once it had turned, tightening as you lowered your body over his, your hair tumbling down your shoulders to create shadows, wisps of walls for this limbo, the rules of this rulebook created only by you and Yoongi, his free hand sliding between your bodies, closing in around your jaw and pulling you closer, closer.

“What if I never made the choice to kiss you back then?” Yoongi breathed against your lips, husky and dream-like, still processing the surrealness of the movie hours before.

“Would it be different if I kissed you instead?” you wondered out loud in a whisper.

Maybe, because it might have felt more like playing a role rather than truly being. You wondered and then the wonder washed away when Yoongi kissed you, breathing in your now-familiar scent, deepening the kiss with intense pressure and the way his thumb gently rubbed against your wrist. Contrast. Your blood simmered, aroused by his being.

But this was limbo, not heaven or hell.

You gasped as you broke the kiss and his hand left your wrist, gripping your waist instead.

Your hand on his chin, pushing his head back to expose his neck, and you spied the sly smirk blossoming over Yoongi’s lips, his dark eyes shining, and you dived down, your tongue against his throat.

You felt the vibration of his moan with your lips.

This was not the right answer to your limbo. This was caught up in the moment, burning in the impulse, racing in the intensity, and you could feel it, under your teeth, under your kiss, under your possessive lick up to his ear, breathing hot, his earrings against your lips, and Yoongi’s long fingers were curling into your shirt, lifting it up, up, as your teeth nicked the curve of his ear, kissing that delicate skin as he listened to your whispers in the dark.

“Should I ride you?”

A light scoff, disbelieving. “I can fuck you the way you like.”

He seemed to think you had doubted him in some way. You didn’t fight his renewed energy. Rather than responding, you squirmed against him, pressing your body in all the right places, kissing down his neck, and Yoongi dragged his nails down your back in wanton aggression, sending flares of pain across your body to mix with the fire of pleasure deep within.

This wasn’t planned.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Before you knew it, it had become a compilation of happenings and moments and dreams and then you could feel his nightmares beside you and it had felt so wrong that you couldn’t sleep. Trapped by ghosts lingering in his head, torturing him in his sleep, a feeling you knew all too well, and it had made you reach over and straighten out his fist, taking away the tension in his fingers, resting the warmth of your palm on his cold knuckles.

You had given up on finding that feeling called love.

Not because someone had burned you too deep, but because people had begged you to feel this feeling you just couldn’t seem to feel and it felt so unfair, so unfair to not feel this thing that made people cry in joy, in sadness, in pain. And maybe it was because you had chosen this limbo, this neither heaven nor hell, but you couldn’t leave them like that, so you let them go.

That was you being honest.

You breathed in now, woods and citrus and skin.

Tangled your fingers in his long black hair, adding more darkness to the darkness, and found his lips again. Kisses after dark. Yoongi never said things like I need you. He didn’t even say things like I want you. There was a certain kind of pressure behind words like that. No, instead, there was his kiss. His touch, closing in around your waist, his long fingers fanning over your back, like laces of a corset, pulling your body closer, hardness beneath the blankets and confines of his pants.

In some ways you knew Yoongi and those were his rules.

But it was different than with his friends. Obviously. He didn’t fuck his friends, as far as you knew. It was different because you could feel him in the way he touched you. In the way he yanked your shirt off and threw it to the floor, the way he closed around you with only his arms and hands, touching everything, calm in teasing but intense in tension, rubbing his thumbs over your hard nipples but holding you solidly, in gaze and palms, not letting go.

You opened your eyes.

Liquid orbs, dark roast.

Simmering.

Burning under his gaze and you let Yoongi lift you and push you onto your back, pulling himself out of the blankets, stripping off his clothes and laying claim to your bedroom floor with his discarding.

Everyone else you let go because it had felt so unfair that you didn’t feel.

He climbed over you, condom from your nightstand in his hand, already knowing where it was. Moonlight washing over his skin and shadows over his face. Messy hair from your hands. Scorching hot gaze, and he closed the distance, locking lips possessively, one hand sliding under your back and pulling you up, body to body, your thigh against his erection.

Smearing pre-cum on your skin.

You didn’t believe there was a right answer.

Human relationships were too complicated for that.

But maybe Yoongi was the most special wrong answer.

You kissed him more and he got harder. Breathing in your breath, sucking on your tongue, your arm around his neck, the other hand tucking his hair back behind his ear, flicking his earrings, and the desire vibrated within you, desperate to be fulfilled, but you ignored it for lips and tongue and Yoongi’s delicate moan slipping into your throat.

He rolled the condom down and knocked more pillows to the ground, positioning himself with one hand and spreading out the fingers of the other on the mattress. Your legs on his shoulders.

“Bet you’re tight.”

The corner of your lips ticked upwards. “Find out.”

He pushed in with force, tipping his head back with a groan, and you felt it too, the rising fullness and desire coiling around him, pulsing, your walls pulling him in deeper. Fingers twisting the sheets, tension up your arms, pushing your hips up and squeezing around his girth. The wave, crashing into you, upon feeling his hardness at that depth, and then he bottomed out, gasping as his hand hit the bed, pinning your thighs between your chests.

Staring down at you with those potent eyes.

Saying nothing, but it was written all over Yoongi’s face.

Suddenly you, too, didn’t want to give up any more.

You breathed out with shaking lips.

Yoongi slid out slightly and pushed in with all his force. The sheets beside your head crumpled and so did the ones under your palms. Fingers clenched into fists, and you pushed back, deeper, gasping, building the rhythm. Full. Hard. Intense. The heat of his breath. The tension over his collarbones and chest, his arms locked. The swarming, sublime sensation compacted by the position. His name slipping from your lips, Yoongi, and his eyes flickered to you, dark roast boiling, and your name in his rough, breathless voice, dream-like.

Surreal.

Your hand snapped up and gripped his forearm.

Panting hard, struggling to breathe.

Tightening around his cock and ramming your hips up, igniting the furious pace. Your nails digging into his muscle, but he set his jaw and fucked you through it, the sharp pain only fuel to the fire, caught up in the moment, bated breath, pleasure radiating through you and to him, drowning in lust, heaven and hell bleeding into the limbo, fucking like demons, your other arm pressed into the mattress for leverage. Harder. The taste of his skin lingering on your lips. His dark eyes slashed in shadows of his lashes, layered darkness that made you burn and clench around him, feeling him fill you up again and again, hard and thick and carnal.

You had fucked many times in your bedroom.

Against the wall. On the floor. Against the bed. On the bed. Your nails down his chest, raking lines of pain. Your nails down his back, crossing the lines, X’s in his eyes when he turned his head to gaze into the mirror, the one witness to your brutal red art on his pale skin. His tongue on your chest, curling around your nipples, sucking hard with his fingers stuffed into your dripping, shivering pussy. His palms pushing your head to his crotch, groaning as you took him deep and tight. Fistfuls of his hair in your hands as his hips slapped into your hips, gasping for air, all of it intense.

So many times.

And none of it like this.

Your clenched around him and Yoongi fucked you harder.

Growling in his throat.

Dark brown orbs simmering, a liquid quality about them despite the hardness of his demeanor and the bite behind his sharp words. Simmering, a calm within despite the mounting lust and wet vicious sound of slapping hips, sensual in the rawness of the rhythm.

In the plethora of choice and timelines, Yoongi had chosen to kiss you back then.

In the limbo of in-between, you had kept going, cultivating those happenings and moments and dark nights of Yoongi’s fingers wrapped around your wrists, staring down at you with those dark roast coffee eyes, too caught up in the moment to speak, resorting to kissing you, not just kiss you but not think about anything else but kissing you. That was his honesty. Human relationships were complicated.

Yoongi never talked to people on his bad days.

But, tonight, he found out that you had felt his nightmares and opened his hand so you could give him your warmth.

He tightened his jaw and pressed your thighs between your torso and his chest, the tendons on his neck standing out, using gravity and lust and physical power to fuck you into your mattress, making the pleasure race in your veins, straining your muscles, the searing heat pooling down, down, wrapping around him in a violent squeeze, your walls shuddering and spilling, sloppy and wet and erotic, involuntary flinches seizing your hips, and you threw your head back, vulnerable throat exposed, scalding moan escaping your trembling lips, heavy and sweet viscous juices sticking to his crotch and thighs.

You let them all go, but Yoongi did not let you go.

You felt his hips buck and the low groan tear out from his lungs, his cock twitching inside you, filling the condom, pressing into you as deep as possible to feel the quiver of your inner walls pulsating around him, and you tightened even more, making him hiss and snarl in warning.

The arm you weren’t gripping moved up and knocked your leg aside.

Yoongi wrapped his hand around your neck and choked you as he orgasmed inside you, savoring the ripples of the aftershocks from your high. Immediate. Forcing you to a bloodless lightheadedness, surging pleasure that electrified, shuddering and clenching around his jerking length, thrown into another high, not as strong but just as euphoric, your moan thin and pinched by his hold.

Yoongi tipped his head back and moaned with you, his black hair falling back, his striking face illuminated by moonlight.

His grip lessening a little and the rush of oxygen make your hips jolt and your pussy convulse, again, tingling sparks racing in your veins and sore muscles. Your hand slipped from his forearm, your body ransacked by narrow inhales of stinging air.

His head arced back, leaning down, down, his hand slipping from your neck, his fingers spreading over your chest. Wisps of black strands brushing against your hot cheeks, and Yoongi kissed you like he was thinking of nothing else.

Impulse.

He breathed in, your scent and sex, deepening the kiss with pressure.

When Yoongi broke the kiss, you opened your eyes to dark liquid orbs, leaving you airless and mute.

“You... Your heart is beating so fast…”

Rough pants, his solid palm to carnal drumbeat.

You stared up at him.

I don’t want to give up any more.

Half-smirk.

“Maybe I like you,” you exhaled with a shudder.

He smiled slyly too.

“Hope so.”

The way he held your face after.

You were looking in the mirror after cleaning up. Wondering what you had done, saying something like that. Not dishonest, but surely complicating this human relationship. Did you mean it or was it all because you were too caught up in the moment? Not a lie and yet…

A shadow came up behind you.

Pale hands sliding over your shoulders, long fingers splayed over your neck, and then they rested, like petals of a lotus flower, framing your jaw and lips. Cool skin, pink knuckles, the scent of familiar woody cologne and sex. Bodies in shadow backlit by the wash of moonlight. Black hair against your ear. Dark roast coffee orbs gazing at your reflection. No, the reflection of your eyes. You understood. You could see it too. Your eyes were guarded.

Barbed wire fence in your stare.

Yoongi lifted his head, flushed pink lips against your ear.

There were a lot of things he could have said to turn this into a drama.

Instead, he just closed his eyes and kissed the curve of your ear.

He pulled you back into the bedroom.

You stopped him, wrapping your fingers around his forearm, and you felt his body shudder against you. A ripple. Tangible, distinct, but you turned your head away from his, not willing to be caught by those liquid eyes. He didn’t have a very strong hold on you. You could break away.

You leaned back against him.

“It seemed like… Seemed like you weren’t having good dreams,” you said to the ceiling.

You held on tight, tangling your pinky in the thin silver chain on his wrist.

For a moment, Yoongi said nothing at all.

Then.

“It’s why I prefer to snooze over sleeping over. You can’t control things like that,” he muttered, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’ve tried.”

“That’s why you work so much.”

“Well, I would like to make money to follow you to those cool places you want to go.”

“I don’t really like traveling.”

A light push away.

He pulled back.

“I thought so too,” he confessed quietly.

Your other hand rested on his bare hip. You were still staring at the ceiling and holding his forearm as his fingers fanned out over your neck and jaw. Soft, petal-like touches, his palms caressing your collarbones, and you were sure that Yoongi hadn’t intended to fall asleep. Honestly, you thought you would hate this conversation about this feeling you couldn’t feel. Hate it because how unfair it was that people could feel this feeling so truly and genuinely, heaven at their fingertips, and all you had was this honest limbo.

You dug your nails into his hip.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you whispered.

The hands around your neck tightened.

“It always hurts. That’s how you know you’re alive,” Yoongi murmured into your ear.

Your hand fell from his arm.

Flexed the muscles in your neck, and his grip tightened as your fingers trailed back and down, down, feeling his shivers caused by your nails raking over his ass and your fingertips grazing his skin. It hurt. Of course, it hurt, the thinning of blood and tightness all over. It hurt and still you forced your hand between your bodies, moving the hardness that had been pressing against your ass, and of course it hurt but it also made you feel alive.

“Careful,” he meant to hiss but it came out in a half-gasp when your hand encased him.

Grasped him tight and slid up and down the length, taut and velvety but too dry, and Yoongi jerked behind you, one hand leaving your neck.

“Fuck, stop, wait–”

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

Yoongi grabbed your wrist and pulled you off him. Brought your palm to his hot mouth.

He licked your hand, slathering it with his saliva.

You sucked in a breath, feeling his tongue on the lines of sensitive skin, across and all over, drenching, flexible warm muscle painting messy patterns. Memories of that tongue rippled through you – on your neck, on your breasts, on your pussy – but then it stopped when he pushed your hand back down, and you wrapped your slippery grip around his hard cock once more, hearing his groan reverberate in your ear.

You wasted no precious breath nor time.

His hand returned to around your neck.

Your head tipped back, resting against his temple, staring at the ceiling, his hands choking you as you jacked him off, rising heat dancing across your skin and in your veins even without looking into those liquid eyes, and there was nothing else you wanted to think about, just the precise pressure and constant wet slapping sound melding with Yoongi’s vulnerable, contained moans, the sound perfectly audible due to your closeness, and you felt your lips tremble, your thin exhale like hot smoke drifting to the ceiling.

You closed your eyes and you could feel him.

Taut and tense and wanton pleasure burning, searing you and searing him, locking his hips to be at the mercy of your ferocious pace, trusting your instinct as you trusted his hands around your neck. Trickles of oxygen when his grip lessened with every wave of heightened bliss when the pocket of your forefinger and thumb rubbed against the swollen head. Pressing against you, your other hand still gripping his hip, harder, as if he was asking for the bruises. Chosen marks to turn into chosen scars. Your name in his husky, hushed voice, trailing off and losing his thought, not that it mattered because you could feel his body and could tell when he wanted more, faster, tighter, his cock twitching, hot and hard, twisting his body towards you more, his lips in your hair.

Hot breath suspended in overwhelming lust.

“Don’t stop,” he growled lowly, words only for you.

You didn’t.

He clenched his jaw with a grinding of teeth and shoved his hips into your ass. Hot and thick, streaming cum onto the soft curve, down your hip and trickling down. Flinch and sharp jerk, more painting in a smear, his drawn-out moan at the crown of your head, all strength lost from his hands and simply adorning your jaw with his hands, pressing his thumb to your lip to open your mouth, all to feel the warmth of your gasping exhale. Blood shot up to your brain and then you were thrown into that starry lightheaded daze, clutching his half-hard cock still leaking onto your hip.

You couldn’t see anything.

Only felt Yoongi surrounding you, his rough fingertips sliding up to your ear and temple.

Your lips parted.

Shaking.

“L… Lick it… off…”

Your voice on the cusp of fallen autumn leaves, fragile and crumbling.

Heavy.

Inhale.

Exhale right into your hair.

Hands gliding from your neck.

Trembling lips down your shoulder blade. Ghosts of kisses dotting your spine. Boiling blood in your veins, sparks all over from his trailing fingertips, and Yoongi got on his knees next to you. You heard them hit the hardwood. You didn’t move, eyes closed, suspended and entranced by anticipation, and then you felt the tip of his tongue draw an arc on your hip.

You opened your eyes as he drew another arc against your skin.

Warm breath and then the flat of his tongue. Uncontrollable quiver and you gasped softly, feeling and hearing him lick across your skin. Sucking up the cooling cum and replacing it with hot clinging saliva, an addictive prickling sensation racing over your ass and back. Your thigh in his hands, those deft fingers spread out to encircle it in his grasp, holding you still.

You looked down.

Yoongi looked up at you, cocking an eyebrow as he licked his own orgasm off your ass.

Black strands over his forehead and you reached up to brush them away, the tip of your tongue grazing your lower lip, caught by those dark coffee eyes and drinking in that potent feeling, admiring the way the moonlight lit up his fair cheekbones. Held breath. He didn’t look away. Burned the memory into your mind. Up, his kisses hovering over your side and ribs, up, and then you were in Min Yoongi’s shadow, his face tilted down to admire you.

You raised your hand.

He gently covered it with his, bringing it to his chest.

Closer and you breathed in his thin gasp, tasting the strong traces of his orgasm.

“Your heart is… beating so fast…” you mumbled to his shaking lips.

Those liquid eyes.

He closed the distance and kissed you.

Some choices were made by chance, such as falling asleep in the middle of Mr. Nobody. Millions of outcomes from both doing something and doing nothing. Your fingers spread out over his back, adorning his frame with your touch, his strong salty taste slipping onto your tangled tongues, and your eyes closed, maybe afraid to look into those liquid orbs that everyone claimed had a hardness in them, but on this night you knew better.

You broke the kiss.

Yoongi’s hand was twisted into your hair, pulling your head back, trailing swollen lips against your throat.

Gentle kisses to amplify the ache.

“Let’s not fall asleep,” you sighed, digging your nails into his shoulders.

His hand rose and he placed it over one of yours, rubbing your white knuckles. Not pulling your hand away. Rather, pressing it closer, weighted, as if he wanted your hold to stay there.

Yoongi’s lips moved against your skin.

You held onto him firmly, not letting go.

He didn’t make any sound.

You held onto him and then pulled him to the bed, not knowing what he said but knowing all the same, for these rules in this limbo were made by you and Min Yoongi, heaven and hell bleeding into each other to create something new. It took a certain kind of person to walk this thin line. On this night of moonlight washing over tangled bodies, Yoongi made it clear that he was not going to let you walk it alone and he didn’t want to give up any more.

And you.

You, too, didn’t want to give up any more.

--

masterpost

[galaxysupreme17]

Grey's Anatomy Turmoil

Y/n = Your Name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader!

The living room was a sanctuary of warmth and quiet anticipation, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows across the walls. Y/n sat nestled in her usual spot on the couch, wrapped in her favorite blanket. Her posture was deceptively relaxed, but the slight furrow of her brow and the way she clutched the fabric of her blanket hinted at the tension bubbling beneath the surface.

Beside her, Agatha sat with the poise of someone who had been through this emotional gauntlet before. Her sharp, discerning eyes flicked to Y/n every few moments, tracking the subtle shifts in her daughter's demeanor. Agatha had seen these episodes before-she knew exactly what was coming. The storm of grief and heartbreak was as inevitable as it was devastating.

Perched on the armrest nearest the snacks, Rio exuded casual energy, tossing popcorn into her mouth as though she were gearing up for a fun, dramatic evening of television. "Alright, so this is it, huh? The infamous plane crash everyone talks about?" she asked, glancing at Agatha and Y/n.

"It's not just a plane crash," Y/n replied softly, her voice low but weighted with emotion.

"It's the plane crash," Agatha added, her tone equally grave.

Rio raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Okay, so it's that bad? Or are you two just being dramatic?"

"You'll see," Agatha said simply, not taking her eyes off Y/n.

"It's more than bad," Y/n muttered, her gaze fixed on the screen.

Agatha shared a look with Rio, a silent exchange of understanding. They both knew this would be hard for Y/n, though Rio was still playing catch-up on how impactful this storyline was.

The episode began, the usual lighthearted tone of Grey's Anatomy filling the room. Witty banter, playful exchanges, and an overarching sense of hope painted the opening scenes, lulling Rio into a false sense of security. She popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth and gestured at the TV. "Alright, but seriously, why are they on a discount airline? Aren't they surgeons? Don't they make, like, a bajillion dollars a year?"

Agatha smirked faintly. "Not everyone makes the best choices, even when they know better."

"Clearly," Rio replied, shaking her head. "This whole setup is screaming bad decision."

Y/n didn't chime in this time. Her focus was laser-sharp, every detail of the episode pulling her further into the narrative.

The show's tone shifted abruptly, the playful banter giving way to mounting tension. As the mechanical failures unfolded, the atmosphere in the room mirrored the chaos on the screen. Y/n's breathing quickened, her knuckles white as they gripped the edge of her blanket.

Still unaware of just how catastrophic things were about to get, Rio gestured toward the screen again. "Wait. What's happening? Are they losing altitude? Is that what-oh no. Oh no."

And then it happened. The gut-wrenching sound of impact, the chaos, the screams, and finally, the deafening silence as the screen faded to black.

"That's it?" Rio exclaimed, breaking the stillness. "That's where they're ending it? Who does that?!"

"Shhh," Agatha and Y/n said in unison, their tones sharp.

Rio blinked, raising her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. But seriously, this is cruel."

The next episode began without a preamble, plunging the characters-and the viewers-into the harrowing aftermath. Y/n's body visibly tensed as the camera panned over Lexie, pinned beneath the wreckage. Her favorite character is reduced to this.

Rio's teasing demeanor faded as she took in the scene. "Wait... is she going to be okay? They're going to save her, right?"

Y/n didn't answer, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Agatha shook her head slightly, her voice soft but firm. "No. They're not."

Rio frowned, her heart sinking as the reality of the situation settled in. "But she's Y/n's favorite. They can't just... no."

"They can," Agatha replied, her tone heavy with the weight of someone who had already mourned this loss.

As Lexie's final moments played out, Y/n's tears began to fall. She didn't make a sound, but the tremble in her shoulders and how she curled further into her blanket spoke volumes. Agatha moved closer, wrapping an arm around Y/n's shoulders and pulling her into a comforting embrace.

Y/n didn't resist, letting herself sink into her mother's warmth. Agatha gently kissed Y/n's hair, her hand tracing soothing circles along her back.

Rio, who had been silent for once, slid off the armrest and sat on Y/n's other side. "Hey," she said softly, reaching for Y/n's hand beneath the blanket. "It's okay to cry. Lexie deserved better. It's not fair."

Y/n sniffled, her voice barely audible. "She deserved so much better."

Rio nodded, her thumb brushing over Y/n's knuckles. "She did. And Mark, too. Wait-don't tell me they're going to-"

"They are," Y/n whispered, fresh tears spilling over.

Rio groaned, throwing her head back. "This isn't a show; it's emotional warfare. Who writes this stuff?"

Despite her tears, Y/n let out a soft, watery laugh. "Welcome to Grey's Anatomy."

Rio placed a hand over her heart, mock-staggering back. "I'm not cut out for this. You two are emotional gladiators, and I'm barely holding it together."

Agatha chuckled, though her focus remained on Y/n. "It gets easier."

"Does it?" Rio muttered, her tone doubtful.

The next scene brought Mark's heartbreaking goodbye, and Rio's lighthearted commentary faded into stunned silence. Her grip on Y/n's hand tightened as she muttered, "No. Not him, too. Come on."

Y/n's quiet sobs resumed, but she wasn't alone this time. Agatha's arms stayed wrapped around her, a steady source of comfort, while Rio's grip on her hand grounded her. Together, her mothers created an unshakable wall of love and support, a silent promise that she wouldn't face this heartbreak alone.

When the episode ended, Y/n wiped her tears, her voice hoarse as she whispered, "Thanks."

Rio squeezed her hand. "Always, kiddo. You're tougher than you think."

Agatha pressed a kiss to Y/n's temple. "We're here for you, sweetheart. Always."

As Rio stood to raid the kitchen for more snacks, Y/n curled into Agatha's embrace, the weight of her grief slowly lifting. By the time Rio returned with a tray of snacks and a determined look in her eye, the room felt a little lighter.

The three of them settled back in, ready to face whatever heartbreak came next together.