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taegularities · 4 months ago

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you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance.

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair.

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But…

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause.

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex.

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too.

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right.

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

#yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #yoongi fics #myg smut

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compacflt · 1 year ago

Note

ok i took my parents to the uss intrepid so here’s me with the a-12 oxcart on the flight deck circa 15 minutes ago

I know you said that you aren't the pinnacle of military knowledge that people think you are but know a damsite more than I do about the US military than I do, so I have a question. Do you have any idea how long the Darkstar project would've been going on for in canon? It can't have been a few months but I also don't know if it would be years and years? I know Mav has an award for being a test pilot that I think is dated 2007 (I may have imagined that) but that doesn't mean the Darkstar project was going on for over ten years? I think the F-18A took 8 years from testing to being approved, so it can't be far off. Just wanted your opinion. Thanks :-)

awright here’s my opinion (not an expert)

the darkstar is canonically a Lockheed Martin “skunk works” (super duper secret) surveillance and reconnaissance (SR) spyplane, as evidenced by the skunk works logo on the vertical stabilizer (left is darkstar, right is me with the SW logo on the SR-71 blackbird at the udvar-hazy museum this summer).

we can look to see how long other SW projects have taken to develop in the past. the SR-71, for instance, was first suggested as an “undetectable spyplane” idea in 1957. the lockheed A-12 oxcart, which would provide the framework for the SR-71, had its first flight in 1962, five years later. the finished SR-71 was introduced into USAF and CIA service in 1966. so a 9-year development for the fastest-ever air-breathing jet, with 4-ish of those years being flight testing (ish because the A-12 had to be heavily adapted into the SR-71 which had its first flight in 1964).

Lockheed’s been teasing its blackbird successor, the unmanned aerial vehicle the SR-72 “son of blackbird,” on its socials recently. i saw someone say: “soft-launching its new death machine like an instagram influencer with a new boyfriend”

leading many to believe this is what happened

note however that the SR-72 son of blackbird is an UNMANNED aerial vehicle (UAV) which is why in my fic I specifically said this

note also that most of aircraft development is just that—development. Flight testing (i.e. where mav would get hands-on involved) doesn’t come until very very late in the development process. For the plot of my fic’s sake I had mav go out to NAWS china lake in 2003, but in TGM during the Hard Deck scene Penny says something to the effect of “you got sent out to the desert three years ago for pissing off that other admiral” and mav goes “that was three years ago? 😀” (cute!) so that’s the longest mav could’ve canonically been involved with the darkstar project. (For my own purposes i made it like a year, for those two sections of the story to neatly flow into each other—from 2015ish to 2016. I know TGM takes place in 2020 [i know but idfc] Maybe LockMart has had this tech [probably not high hypersonic like in the movie] for that long anyway and it’s just been so heavily classified that we didn’t know about it till very recently. Definitely possible.)

#typed from under the heat tiles of the enterprise space shuttle #for PROOF

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sunblchdfly · 1 month ago

Text

honey, it’s alright

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Warnings: Not proof read. Other than that, none! Fluff Fluff Fluff!

Word Count: 619

The wood floor creaks under your husband’s feet. Not shortly after, you hear the squeak of the door hinge. You know who it is already, but you can’t seem to make yourself come out from under the covers.

“Baby?” Bob shuffles over to you, pulling the cover below your chin. “What’s the matter?” The bed dips under his weight as he sits on the edge.

“Just…” You sniffle, voice cracking, “Just not feeling well, love.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He caresses your arm, looking at you anxiously, afraid he had something to do with it.

“No.” You squeak out. You weren’t one to be very talkative when something upset you.

Bob nods silently. He places a kiss on your forehead and covers you back up. He makes his way to the cold tile of the bathroom and turns on the shower.

“Okay,” Bob is back at your side again. “I need you to stand up, my love.”

He takes your hands, helping you up. Tears welled in your eyes. He could tell you were getting upset again.

“Hey, hey, hey, shhh.” Bob brushes his thumb over your tear stricken cheeks.

“You don’t have to do anything except stand for a few minutes. Okay? You’ll feel better, baby, I promise.”

You nod and start making your way to the steaming shower.

He presses a few kisses to your face. “Come on.”

He helps you into the shower, ditching his own uniform to join you.

“Alright, I’m gonna wash your hair, get those tangles out. Okay?” He makes sure to tell you everything he was doing, so as to not startle you.

You nod, hanging on to him for support. Your head rests against his chest, listening to the thump thump of his heart. Bob massages the soap throughout your scalp. He’s right, you were starting to feel better already. Soon, you're pulled out of your trance when he shuts the water off.

Bob wraps you in a towel, stepping out of the shower. He dresses himself in record time. He didn’t want to keep you waiting. He knew you needed rest and wanted to give it to you as fast as possible.

“Okay, careful.” He helps you out of the shower and sits you on the closed lid of the toilet.

He retrieves your hairbrush from your makeup drawer and begins detangling your hair.

“Do you want one braid, or two? I feel like you might be more comfortable with one.” He asked.

“Just one, Bobby.” You felt a smile creep onto your face. “Thank you, Bobby. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. In sickness and in health, remember?” He smiles.

“In sickness and in health.” You repeated, your own smile growing bigger with every word.

“Alright, that’s a damn good braid.” He says proudly. “I’m a hairstylist in another life, I think.” Bob joked.

You feel another smile make its way to your lips. Damn, if he wasn’t good at always making you feel better.

Bob helps you back to bed, turning the heated blanket on. he grabs your water bottle from the side table and makes his way downstairs.

A few minutes later you hear his pattering feet outside of the door. He ran back upstairs while the leftovers from last night warm in the oven. The bed dips next to you again.

“Alright, leftovers are in the oven. what are we watching?” He asks, trading your water bottle for the remote. “No no wait, let me guess. Captain America?” Bob smirks. Pink covers your cheeks after you hear him say it.

“You said it, not me.” You counter, grinning.

“Damn straight.” He pulls you into him.

A/N: Just a little drabble i thought of. Wanted to write it out for anyone having a hard time atm. Nothing too fancy! My DMs are always open. Take care of yourselves <3

#gregory alan isakov and bob floyd live in the same bubble in my brain #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #tgm #top gun maverick #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd drabble #bob floyd fluff

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flxrartsstuff · 11 months ago

Text

Shower Dance

TojixfemReader!

Authors Note: After a heated night and wild lovemaking, Toji enjoys a hot shower in your bathroom. He actually thought you were still asleep and didn't realize that you had snuck into the bathroom...

cw: unprotected sex, from behind, blow job, fingering, eating out, dirty talk à la Toji, masturbating, reader is a business woman in her late twenties,

Art by yunonoai_

His bare feet made soft noises as the tall, broad man crept into the bathroom after leaving you asleep in bed. He grinned a little because you were so tired and exhausted, even though you had kept him on his toes last night. A true goddess in bed. When he closed the door behind him, he found himself in your impressive bathroom, which was just further proof of your success as CEO. It was very neat and clean. A large mirror hung on the entire left wall, reflecting his broad, naked physique. He saw the scratches on his back, the marks from last night. You had clawed your nails into his skin like a cat and it had only made him crazier for you. As long as you were both having fun, everything was fine.

Toji went to the - yes, that's right - fancy rain shower and turned on the water. He let the hot water pour down on his body and sighed long and loud. Soft, pleasurable curses left his lips, making it abundantly clear how much he was enjoying it. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back to completely switch off and relax for a few seconds. The steady splashing of the shower could now be heard in the bathroom and the humidity and heat rose throughout the room.

He let the water move down his body, the drops finding their way over the ridges of his muscles, playing around his nipples. All the places you had touched last night, not least with your tongue and mouth. Just the thought of it made his cock twitch. Tired, he opened his eyes again and looked around in the shower for your shampoo. He dripped some onto his hands and rubbed it into his body. The scent filled his nose seductively, as if you were next to him. He could literally feel it, feel your hands on his skin, his chest and stomach, all the way to his cock. He put his own hand on it and began to rub it, imagining it was your hand and, last but not least, your delicious, naughty mouth.

»Fuck.«

He cursed blatantly, loudly, and looked at his length. Of course, his hands would never be enough to satisfy him the way you could. But he could imagine, could instantly recall the image of your lips and become aroused at the idea. As he leaned against the tiles, his hips thrust against his hand as if automatically. Precum already covering the tip of his cock. It was as if he could hear you moaning, feel you sucking, which made he thrust ever harder and more impatiently. Everything mixed with the heat in the shower. All he wanted was to come here, in your shower. It was like he needed to get to know every part of you and feel every part of you, not just physically. His cock was hard and throbbing with pleasure, agonizing. He cursed and moaned louder, moaning your name and letting it all out without restraint. He didn't care if he woke you up. He would have loved to drag you into the shower so that you could put an end to his agonizing lust. But was that ever possible? No, he could never get enough of you.

Finally, he came in his hand as he imagined your eyes in front of him, looking up at him as you sucked on his cock. A dark growl left his mouth, but his chest was still heaving rapidly. Toji hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes, but when he opened them, he was surprised. You were standing in the bathroom, silently, just looking at him. His eyes wandered shamelessly over your exposed curves as he took seconds to come down from his climax. His cock still hard.

»Do you need help?« you teased him with a grin and climbed into the shower without hesitation. The water hit your body, slid down to your breasts and immediately made your nipples harden. He looked at you like a lion that wanted to devour you. And you savored every single moment of it. His greed, which was literally written all over his face. You didn't mind that he simply used your shower. Because you wanted to do it here with him too. Last night had definitely not been enough. When he tried to grab your face and pull you into a hot kiss, you were already on your knees. You knew exactly what he wanted, you literally had him in the palm of your hand. He was your bodyguard and responsible for your protection. Protection that you definitely needed as CEO of your company, but which had always been a nuisance to you before. Until now. Toji was very different. Different from all the bodyguards you'd had before. And you loved playing these games with him.

»Yes, doll.« He gently grabbed the back of your head, buried his hand in your hair and watched you take his cock in your hand. »Do your bodyguard the favor, baby and suck off this cock.« His voice was almost a growl, so dark and aroused. It was clear to hear how much he needed you. You just giggled and kissed his tip, licking his length with your tongue and finally taking it in your mouth. He hissed through clenched teeth as he felt the warmth of your mouth around his cock and threw his head back on his neck again. The grip on the back of your head tightened, he pressed you harder against his erection and had to restrain himself from ramming his hips into your mouth.

»Fuck, yes just like that...« he praised you in a dark voice and looked down at you. Where your head kept bumping against his erection, taking him deeper into your mouth each time. Soon the dam broke loose inside him and he just couldn't hold back. It would have been too easy. Toji's hips began to move hard against your mouth, thrusting his cock violently into you. Faster and faster, you gasped in surprise and arousal at the same time, giving yourself over to his thrusts and wild ways. You whimpered against his length, but every noise you made only fueled him even more. He sank completely into ecstasy and wanted more and more from you. You were perfect, just everything about you. Your mouth enveloped his shaft like no other woman had ever done before. And you loved looking up at him from below, watching his whole face as he drove himself to climax.

When he came, all of his semen shot down your throat. He groaned relieved as you took in every last drop of it.

»Such a good girl…« His words were music to your ears, because you loved it when he talked to you like that and took control. You wanted to let him drive you. He rubbed himself over his length a few more times, pulled you back to your feet and pressed you against the cool tiled wall. »Let me give it back to you..«

He kissed you urgently and hungrily, letting his lips and hands wander down your body. But you quickly realized that he wanted more and where he wanted to go. He caressed your body, pampering every part to clearly show you how crazy you were driving him. You sighed softly and spread your legs a little, which was an invitation for him to force them apart. Panting, you held on to his shoulders and relished the moment when his lips finally found their way between your legs. He kissed your pussy, sucked on it and let his tongue dance over the sensitive skin. He sucked on you like he was eating the most delicious meal.

»Oh my god, oh…ngnnh!! Fuck, Toji…« You couldn't manage any more proper sentences, clutched your hand in his hair and pressed his head more firmly against your middle. Just like you wanted to. You bit your lips, closed your eyes in pleasure and savored the water splashing on your face. His tongue drove you further and further towards orgasm, you could feel it and he could also clearly see how your pussy tightened.

»You’re Close, huh?« he teased you grinning. You could only nod. His tongue disappeared and the next thing you knew, his fingers were pressing against your clit. But before you could really experience the orgasm and enjoy it, he came back up and turned you around, pressing your breasts against the cool tiles.

»Let me take you from behind, will ya? And touch yourself baby…« he growled into your ear, licking your sensitive skin and grinning at your reaction. That was all you wanted, even if you wanted revenge for how much he had made you squirm. You stuck your butt out at him, touched his cock and immediately shuddered through your whole body. His hands gripped your hips and ass as he thrust his cock into your pussy from behind. Slowly and provocatively.

»Toji…« you began impatiently, »I‘m your boss. So fuck me already. This is an order.« You turned your head and gave him a playful look. He bit his lip, his hands digging deeper into your skin. Your words seemed to have triggered something new in him. You were bossing him around, letting out a more dominant nature that had been simmering inside you for a long time. And it only turned him on even more. As if his fire wasn't already strong enough, it was now even stronger.

»Yes, ma‘am.« he grinned mischievously and thrust into you without warning. »You like that?«

You hissed the air out of your mouth, rolling your eyes in excitement. »More.« you only ordered. He did as you asked, quickening his pace and thrusting into you harder, unchecked. Skin slapped against skin, mixing with the water from the shower and your arousal. Your mouth was open, only gasping sounds came out as your naked body was pressed against the tiles and you moved your fingers on your clit. Panting, you urged him not to stop. You whimpered and moaned louder and louder, hearing him growl as you felt your pussy tighten around his cock. His tip hit your G-spot, hard and unerringly. Every single hit made you groan in delight. Your voice echoed in the bathroom, which had been completely enveloped in steam. Your face was red from the heat, not just the water. Each thrust into you drove you close to your long-awaited orgasm.

You turned your head in his direction, wanting to see him when you came. His black strands of hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes half closed and his mouth open, he looked just scrumptious. His arms and broad chest were taut, just like his cock felt inside you. Hard and pulsating, ready to spread his sperm inside you at any moment.

»You’re cuming?« you asked him out of breath this time. How much the situation had changed! He looked at you, his eyes dark and full of lust and hunger for you. You loved seeing him like this, just before his climax. When you then moved in his direction in his rhythm, it burst out of him. His hands literally clawed into your flesh, his thrusts became uncontrollable and he let out a loud moan as the orgasm hit him. He let go of everything, thrusting into you and no longer holding back. He leaned forward, pushed your hand away from your clit and rubbed his fingers over your irritated center. As he released his orgasm inside you, it didn't take long for him to drive you to yours.

»Cum for me, baby.« he bit your shoulder while you whimpered and almost shrieked against his fingers.

»Yes, oh fuckkkk…« Your pussy contracted more violently, you threw your head back and moaned to the ceiling as your pelvis thrust uncontrollably and trembling against his fingers. His cock was still buried deep inside you as he drove you to climax with his fingers. Even the water from the shower couldn't really wash away how your bodies were connected to your most intimate fluids. You laughed with relief, tears and water mingling on your face. You had never felt so satisfied but you knew you still wanted more.

»How else can I serve you…boss?« His voice in your ears was a dark growl. He kissed your shoulder, thrusting into you a few more times before sliding his cock from you and turning you around…

#smut #jjk smut #toji x y/n #toji x you smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro

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lenacosse · 11 months ago

Note

Sirius x Reader fucking while being in the big bathtub at the prefects bathroom

Prefects bathroom

pairing: sirius black x female reader

cw: smut, choking

word count: 1,496

══════════════════

You walk into the prefects bathroom and you are instantly blown away, the bathroom was glistening. It's beauty is frankly captivating, the high ceilings and cool marble tiles make you feel like you've stepped into undeserving luxury. You probably should have felt bad considering you were breaking the rules and doing something you definitely shouldn't be doing but that didn't bother you at all. See you had been back at school for two weeks now, and you haven't had a chance to be alone with your boyfriend Sirius since last term. And since you had access to this bathroom the opportunity was practically thrown in front of your face. Plus you had put together a fool proof plan, in Sirius' pocket you slipped in a riddle that leads him to the library, you paid a first year to give him the next note which is full of clues to lead him to your favourite book- this was the easiest clue considering you never stopped talking about the book in question. Once he gets the book there's a scrambled message which will tell him where to go, alongside the bathroom's password.

You smirked to yourself as you filled the tub, the thought of Sirius racking his mind trying to figure the clues out was extremely entertaining to you. You also couldn't wait to see his face when he realises what is in store for him. Once you were satisfied with the temperature and depth of the bath you start undressing. You leave Sirius a trail from the door to the bathtub, first your jumper at the door, then your jeans, then your bra and finally right in front of the bath your underwear.

You slip inside the tub, a soft moan escapes your mouth as you sink deeper into the soothing water. You lean back against the ledge your elbows out of the water and resting on the titles. You just take in the moment whilst you wait for Sirius, you knew he wouldn't take that long, he was efficient when he wanted to be and this was definitely one of those instances. Just as you suspected the bathroom doors opened, you couldn't control the excited grin that overrode your face. From where you sat you could see him perfectly but he couldn't see you, you watched his priceless reaction as he noticed your clothes. You could see his face heating up and his eyes becoming more alert.

"(Y/N)?" Sirius called out, he followed the trail of clothes and his eyes fell upon you. "Caught." He smirked.

"Well done, I wasn't sure if you'd find me," You teased, you blushed as his eyes drank in the sight of you, you could practically see him getting hard.

"It was easy,"

You rolled your eyes and he just chuckled. You hum contently and raise an eyebrow at him. "Well? Are you going to continue to stand there gawking or are you coming in?"

Sirius just grins and slowly undresses, attempting to tease you- you hated to admit it was working. You bit your lip when his biceps flexed as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his lightly toned body. But it was him taking off his trousers and boxers that got you squeezing your thighs together, his very hard cock desperately sprang out of his boxers hitting his stomach, you didn't realise you were staring until Sirius spoke.

"Like what you see?" He teased, he slowly made his way into the water.

"Something like that," you winked.

He made his way over to you and stroked your cheek with his thumb, you melted into his touch and smiled up at him, he leaned down and kissed you softly. You felt a blush on your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

"I've missed this," Sirius said, his other hand made its way down your body, caressing your thighs.

You nodded in response and attached your lips to his jaw, you kissed softly around his jaw and made your way down his neck, settling to give him a hickey. He groaned as you bit lightly on the spot, you pulled back and he kissed you again. This time it was rougher and more wanting, his hand went in between your thighs and teased at your clit, you whined into the kiss, becoming more desperate by the second. You put a hand into his hair, pulling on it as he rubbed your clit. You pulled back from the kiss.

"Please," you begged, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand to your entrance. Sirius smirked and slid two fingers inside of you, ever so slightly spreading you out. You watched as he asserted dominance, you would be lying if you said you didn't love every second of it, the way he looked at you, and especially the feeling of being all his.

You moaned as his fingers curled to hit the right spot, it had been so long since you and Sirius had done this which in turn made you needy. You felt the coil building in your abdomen already, Sirius could tell and went faster, you threw your head back in pleasure, this only increased as he took your nipple into his mouth, the sensitivity of your nipple had you crying out. You felt your release fast approaching, just as you were about to hit that peak he pulled his fingers out. You groaned and looked at him, your expression unamused.

"Why'd you stop?"

Sirius put his finger to your lip and kissed at your neck. "Just relax."

You sighed and done as he said. You pulled him down and wrapped your legs around his waist. He kissed you again, it was rough and intense, he slid his tongue into your mouth and you both made out as if it was the last time you'd get to do it. Sirius wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing down slightly. He pulled back from the kiss and went to your ear.

“Want me to fuck you now?” He rubbed his tip at your entrance, making you gasp. You nodded eagerly and he just tutted in response, applying more pressure to your throat, your stomach was doing flips at this and your need for him inside you was getting stronger. “Use your words darling.”

“Yes, fuck me.” You whine, gripping onto his shoulders.

He releases some of the pressure off your throat and slides into you, a soft moan leaves your lips as he fills you up perfectly. Your eyes fluttered in pleasure as he increased his pace, it wasn’t long until he was pounded relentlessly into you, making your toes curl. He briefly pulled out to flip you onto your stomach, you put your arm on the edge of the bath to rest your head on as you moaned out in pleasure. He raised your ass and gripped it, the new position sent him further down you and hitting all those spots even better, you rolled your hips along with his movements. The sensation was making your pleasure build and build.

“Feels so good.” You moan.

Sirius kisses at your neck in response, you can hear his moans which only makes this hotter. The sound of you both was sound loud you were convinced that anyone passing could hear, but frankly you didn’t care. The coil in your stomach was rapidly tightening as you felt yourself get closer. Sirius felt it too and so went harder, he was going so fast your body jolted forward with each thrust. Soon enough the pleasure maximised and you came over him, you moaned out loudly, the sound echoing throughout the bathroom.

“Such a slut for me, aren’t you?” Sirius growled in your ear. You nodded in response, he just smirked and gripped your hair.

He didn’t slow down, in fact he went even faster. You were surprised at how aggressive he was being, but it was hot as fuck so you didn’t mind one bit. You legs started to shake as the pleasure quickly grew again, you were biting your lip to contain your sounds, you truly were in a sense of complete euphoria. Sirius’ movements got sloppier and you knew he was getting closer, to make you finish again he started to rub your clit. The overstimulation had tears streaming out of your eyes and your fists curled in balls, you were basically screaming as you hit that second high. He came with you, filling you up and painting you white. Slowly he pulled out and turned you back around, gently.

“You good?” He asked, moving your hair out of your face and wiping your tears.

“So good,” you breathlessly respond.

Sirius just kisses you softly and you sit together, he puts an arm around you and you nuzzle up into his side. Your legs were calming down and you felt complete contentment.

“We’re doing that again sometime.” Sirius smirks, kissing your head.

“Oh, absolutely.” You wink.

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kingkunigami · 1 year ago

Text

The thing I love about this blog the most is I’m just writing all my pathetic little self-indulgent thoughts down on paper with absolutely no shame.

Barou makes you clean his cock after he fucks you.

Pairing: Shouhei Barou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, not proof-read (as always), semi-public sex, messy blow jobs, hand jobs, mention of licking his taint, mention of Oliver being a perv, cum swallowing, throatpie.

Word Count: 1.3k.

Barou’s strong hands wrap around your throat as his fingers frame your jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb brushes along your bruise kissed lips as he ventures inside. Your lips part obediently as he presses down on the pad of your tongue, his still-hard cock twitches at the way you immediately lap at him. The glassy eyes staring up at him are almost enough to send him toppling over the edge, the delicious whine that vibrates from the back of your throat almost the nail in his coffin as your spit begins to dribble down your chin.

You can hear the rambunctious shouts coming from the other side of the door, the locker room full of his team mates as they contemplate their next moves during half time. Aiku had managed to score the first goal of the match, which meant his team were currently in the lead. “Don’t you want to be with the man of the match instead, babe?” Aiku had winked at you as you followed Barou into the shower room, ignoring Barou’s growl for him to “Shut the fuck up, Aiku.”

The entire exchange was something that would have embarrassed you the first time you’d done it, but now his team were used to you slipping inside to help calm the striker down whenever he’d missed a goal.

There was rarely any time for prep in these moments. Barou’s cock hard and thick as your walls stretched to accommodate his girth, starting a ferocious pace as the sound of skin against skin echoed in the tiled room. But you were more than happy for Barou to take all his frustrations out on you, secretly happy that Aiku had managed to steal the ball to score the first goal of the match. Something you knew would make this situation far more satisfying as your boyfriend worked you towards your climax.

You whined when Barou pulled his cock from your pulsing cunt, white spots blanking your vision from the intense climax that had just rolled through you with little effort.

“You’re such a mess, sweetheart.” He rasps, glancing between your bodies at the glossy sheen coating his cock. Creamy white rings circle the base and matt his trimmed pubic hair, dripping down to his heavy balls, “Barely even touched you this time.”

“It’s not my fault,” You slur around his thumb, a whiny lilt to your tone as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks when you notice just how much of a mess you made.

Barou pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging your bottom lip downwards as it flicks back into place.

“You want me to go out there like this, huh?” He growls, motioning to the locker room that’s meters away as he tilts your jaw, “Let them all smell your needy little cunt all over me?”

“I—” Your mind was hazy at the thought of them smelling you on him, kicking a ball out on the field still completely covered in you.

“I bet Aiku would clean me up,” Barou sneered, “Asshole wouldn’t give a shit as long as he was getting a taste of you.”

Your walls clenched around nothing at his words, the orgasm he’d just awarded you now shrouded by the desire for more. Your puffy clit crying out to be touched as you were certain your slick was drooling down your thighs at this point. You were the only thing Barou delighted in making a mess of, and he did it so well.

“Or maybe I should show them how much of a mess you are for your King, hm?” He moved your head towards his crotch, the slick tip of his cock oozing fresh pre as he smeared it against your glossy lips. Leaving a trail of your mixed slick against your cheek as he continued to hold you tight, “Show them all what a filthy girl I have.”

A groan roused from deep in your chest at the words, squeezing your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to alleviate the desire burning between them. You know he doesn’t have enough time to fuck you again, not with the second half starting in a few minutes. There was barely even enough time for this, his team had already banged against the door to get him back to the field.

“Come on, pretty girl.” He grunts, “Clean my cock.”

The first sound that you pull from his lips is deep, animalistic when your tongue wraps around the engorged tip. Plump lips curl into a pout as you suck gently against the soft skin, travelling further to trace the forking veins that decorate his thick cock.

“Good girl,” He groans, fingertips dig into the back of your head as he follows your motions. Pulling you closer as you take more of his cock inside your warm, wet mouth, “You’re so pretty like this, so perfect.”

You try to take as much of his length as you can inside you, feeling his pink tip hit the back of your throat as you begin to gag around him. Spit pools in your mouth as it escapes to dribble down his length to join the mess you made at his pelvis, blinking back tears as you pull away for air.

“I think you’re making a bigger mess than before, princess.” He goads, wrapping a hand around his length to tap the leaky tip against your lips.

You move your head to the side, gliding your tongue against the length of his cock as you meet the base. Lapping at the mixture of your slick and spit as you clean him up. Barou’s hand continues stroking his cock as he watches you, lifting his length to offer you his balls which you eagerly accept. Tonguing the soft sac as you suckle one inside your mouth, marvelling in the feral grunt that sounds as his nostrils flare.

There was something domineering and imperious about him like this, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the first half of the match as sweat dripped from his body. Wispy hairs stuck to his temples as he glowered down at you, a man that barely had to say anything to show he was in complete control.

The taste of your essence is tart on your tongue as you travel lower, following the salty line of sweat against his taint as he pulls your head back with one strong palm at the back of your head.

“Not now, princess.” He groans, returning your lips to the tip of his cock as he continues stroking himself, the top of his fist bumping your mouth with each upward stroke as he searches for his release, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You can feel him twitch against your tongue, his thighs tense up as his pelvis seizes. Emptying his balls as he shoots warm ropes of cum inside your eager mouth, claiming his mess as your own. Barou sucks a breath between clenched teeth as he watches you swallow his spend, pumping rope after rope inside you as his hand slows to help ride out his high.

“Good girl.” He helps you from your knees, standing on shaky legs as he fixes your panties. Uncaring that the fabric was now ruined from your slick and his pre, the wetness seeping into them as he pulled your skirt back into place. Smoothing it down with large palms before pressing a sultry kiss against your glossy lips, “Don’t worry, princess. I love you filthy.”

#shouei barou x reader #barou smut #barou shouei x reader #shoei barou x reader #baro smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #bllk x reader #bllk smut #shouei barou smut

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refractoryinsulation · 8 months ago

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#acid-proof tile lining #refractory products #refractory bricks for heat absorbed #Refractory bricks #Refractory Materials #refractory bed material

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krishibss · 9 months ago

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Cool Roof Tiles - INSULLA COOL ROOF TILES

Cool roof tiles have emerged as a revolutionary solution for enhancing energy efficiency in buildings while combating the adverse effects of heat absorption. Among these, Insulla Cool Roof Tiles stand out for their exceptional performance and sustainability. In this article, we delve into the features, benefits, and installation process of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles, shedding light on why they are a game-changer in the roofing industry.

Introduction to Cool Roof Tiles

Cool roof tiles, also known as reflective roofing, are designed to reflect more sunlight and absorb less heat than traditional roofing materials. They are engineered to maintain lower surface temperatures, thereby reducing the heat transferred into the building below. This innovation plays a crucial role in mitigating the urban heat island effect and lowering cooling costs for homeowners and businesses alike.

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Insulla Cool Roof Tiles offer a myriad of benefits, making them a preferred choice for environmentally conscious consumers and businesses. By reflecting a significant portion of solar radiation, these tiles help in keeping buildings cooler, thus reducing the need for air conditioning and lowering energy bills. Additionally, their durable construction ensures long-term performance, minimizing the need for frequent replacements.

How Cool Roof Tiles Work

The efficacy of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles lies in their reflective properties and thermal insulation capabilities. The tiles are engineered with materials that possess high solar reflectance and thermal emittance, allowing them to reflect sunlight and emit absorbed heat efficiently. As a result, the temperature of the roof surface remains considerably lower than that of conventional roofing materials, leading to decreased heat transfer into the building interior.

Installation Process

Installing Insulla Cool Roof Tiles follows a systematic process to ensure optimal performance and longevity. Before installation, a thorough assessment of the existing roof structure is conducted to identify any necessary repairs or modifications. The installation itself involves preparing the surface, applying appropriate sealants and adhesives, and carefully placing the tiles according to manufacturer guidelines. Proper maintenance practices, such as periodic cleaning and inspections, are also recommended to preserve the tiles' performance over time.

Comparison with Traditional Roofing Materials

Compared to traditional roofing materials like asphalt shingles or metal roofing, Insulla Cool Roof Tiles offer superior heat reflection properties and long-term cost savings. While conventional roofs absorb a significant amount of solar heat, cool roof tiles reflect much of it, resulting in reduced heat gain and lower cooling requirements for the building. Over time, this translates to substantial savings on energy bills and reduced environmental impact.

Environmental Impact

The adoption of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles contributes to environmental sustainability in several ways. By reducing the amount of heat absorbed by buildings, these tiles help mitigate the urban heat island effect, which is particularly prevalent in densely populated areas. Additionally, the energy savings achieved through reduced cooling needs translate to lower carbon emissions, thus supporting efforts to combat climate change.

Case Studies

Numerous case studies have highlighted the effectiveness of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles in various settings. From residential homes to commercial buildings and industrial facilities, these tiles have consistently demonstrated their ability to enhance energy efficiency and comfort levels for occupants. Real-life examples showcase significant reductions in cooling costs and improvements in indoor comfort, validating the value proposition of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Insulla Cool Roof Tiles offer a compelling solution for improving energy efficiency, reducing cooling costs, and mitigating the environmental impact of buildings. Their innovative design and sustainable features make them an ideal choice for homeowners, businesses, and communities looking to embrace green building practices. By investing in Insulla Cool Roof Tiles, individuals and organizations can enjoy long-term savings while contributing to a more sustainable future.

#Cool Roof Tiles #Waterproofing Service #cool Roof Coating #Cool roof tiles in Chennai #Heat Reflective Tiles In Chennai #Weather Proof Tiles In Chennai #Heat Reflective White Cool Roof Terrace Tiles #Roofing Contractors In Chennai #Thermal Insulation Tiles chennai

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badathumanemotions · 12 days ago

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Hi, I really like your fics and I have a question. Can you write either a nsfw Elle Greenaway x reader x Jennifer Jareau, or a nsfw Elle Greenaway x reader where Elle is jealous of the reader for flirting with JJ?

For One Night Only

Elle Greenaway x Reader x JJ MDNI Masterlist Category: Smut CW: Smut, Threesome, Lesbian Sex, Nude Picture, Oral Sex, Face Sitting, Fingering, FingerFucking, Tribbing/Scissoring, Possessive Behaviour, Dom/Sub Undertones. WC: 11,185 (Not Proof Read)

Elle was in the break room, her thumbs dancing across the screen of her phone, scrolling through an endless feed of social media updates. The muffled sounds of the office beyond the door melded into a comforting background murmur, a gentle white noise to accompany her procrastination.

As the door swung open, a burst of laughter and chatter spilled in, and JJ stepped inside with a spring in her step. "Hey, Elle," she chirped, her eyes immediately drawn to the phone in her colleague's hand. It was an innocent glance, a casual curiosity, until her gaze froze. On the screen was an image that didn't quite match the office decor: a photo of you, naked, in a pose that could only be for Elle. The photo was candid, intimate, and JJ felt a sudden heat rise to her cheeks. She tried to look away, but her eyes kept darting back, drawn to the way your skin glowed against the bed sheets and the soft curve of your hips. It was a moment that was clearly not meant for her, and yet, there it was, seared into her brain.

The air in the room grew thick with the unspoken tension, and Elle looked up, her thumb hovering over the screen. She caught JJ's gaze, her eyes widening with horror as she realized what had happened. "Oh my God," she yelped, slapping her hand over the phone screen. "JJ, I'm so sorry!" But the damage was done. The image remained burned in JJ's mind, and she could feel her heart racing. She forced a smile, trying to play it cool, but the flush on her cheeks and the way she couldn't quite hold eye contact gave her away.

"It's… it's okay," JJ managed to stutter out, her voice a little too high. She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, her hand shaking slightly, and took a sip to compose herself. "I just… I'll… I'll just…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the door. "I've got… I've got to get back to work."

As she turned to leave, she couldn't help but bump into you. It was an innocent enough collision, but the way her cheeks turned crimson suggested it was anything but. She mumbled an apology, her eyes darting everywhere but your face. She stumbled back, knocking into the counter, her hand reaching out to steady herself. Her touch lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and the air grew charged with something that was definitely not office professionalism.

You looked at her, puzzled by her strange behaviour. "Are you okay, JJ?" you asked, a hint of concern in your voice. She nodded, too quickly, and took a step back, her eyes finally meeting yours. They were filled with a mix of embarrassment and something else - something that sent a thrill through you. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I've got to go. To get back to work."

JJ practically bolted from the break room, leaving you and Elle to exchange confused glances. "What's up with her?" you wondered aloud. Elle looked at you with an expression that was both amused and apologetic. "I think she saw something she wasn't supposed to," she said. "It was just a mistake. I didn't mean for her to see it."

You frowned, not quite understanding. "What did she see?"

Elle took a deep breath, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. "It was… it was a photo of you," she admitted, her voice low. "A personal one, from my camera roll." She couldn't quite meet your eyes, focusing instead on the floor tiles as if they might offer some semblance of an explanation.

You felt a wave of mortification wash over you, understanding immediately what had caused JJ's reaction. It was a private moment, one that wasn't meant to be shared with anyone else, especially not your colleagues. But as you processed the situation, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. You were upset, yes, but also a bit… excited? The thought of JJ seeing you like that, of her looking at you with desire in her eyes, was surprisingly thrilling.

Elle's cheeks were still pink as she apologized again, her voice sincere and filled with regret. "I'm so sorry," she said, her eyes flickering towards the now-locked screen of her phone.

You took a moment to process everything before finally letting out a sigh. "It's okay," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the racing of your heart. You knew that the situation was awkward, but you also knew that JJ was your professional partner and friend, and that this was just a misunderstanding. "It's not a big deal, really," you assured her, flashing a smile to ease the tension.

For the rest of the day, JJ avoided eye contact with you like it was her job. Every time you passed her in the hallway, she would quickly look away, her cheeks a rosy shade of red that stood out starkly against her fair skin. In the briefing room, she fidgeted with her files, her eyes glancing up at you before darting away again. Yet, you couldn't help but feel a strange thrill every time you caught her staring. It was as if she couldn't help herself, her curiosity piqued by the glimpse she'd gotten earlier.

The following days were a dance of tension and subtle flirtation. JJ would "accidentally" brush against you as you both grabbed coffee in the morning, her hand lingering just a little too long on the small of your back. She'd lean over your desk to discuss a case, her breasts pressing against your arm, and you'd catch her gaze lingering on your mouth when you spoke. It was a game you weren't quite sure you were playing, but it was clear that she was enjoying it.

Elle noticed the change in JJ's behaviour almost immediately. She saw the way JJ's eyes followed you around the office, the way she'd laugh a little too hard at your jokes, and how she'd find any excuse to be close to you. At first, Elle was confused, but as the days went on, she started to put the pieces together. The accidental photo had sparked something in JJ, something that was now simmering just beneath the surface.

Her response was instinctual. A twinge of jealousy shot through her, and she found herself wanting to mark her territory, to remind JJ and the rest of the team that you belonged to her. She began to show more PDA around the office, her hand often finding its way to yours as you walked side by side, her hand resting on your thigh during tense briefings, and her lips brushing against your cheek in a lingering kiss when you left for the night. It was subtle, but enough to make her point without being overly obvious.

But JJ's glances grew bolder. You'd catch her staring at you during breaks, her gaze lingering on your body in a way that was unmistakably hungry. It was like she was seeing you anew, and it was intoxicating. You felt like the star of your own secret show, with an audience of one. You had to admit, it was a thrill, knowing that you had that kind of power over her.

One night, as you lay tangled in the sheets with Elle, the tension of the day weighing heavily on your mind, you couldn't hold back your curiosity anymore. "Elle," you whispered into the darkness, "have you noticed anything… different about JJ lately?"

Elle's eyes fluttered open, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You mean the way she looks at you?" she asked. She rolled onto her side, her hand tracing patterns on your skin. "I can't say I'm surprised," she said, her eyes gleaming in the low light.

You felt your heart skip a beat. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice hesitant.

Elle propped herself up on one elbow, her gaze intense. "It's obvious, she's into you," she said matter-of-factly. "But don't worry, I trust you."

You swallowed hard, the thought of JJ's desire for you mixing with the reality of your relationship with Elle. "What if… what if we did something about it?" you ventured, feeling the excitement build in your voice. "What if we… invited her to join us? Just for a night."

Elle's hand stilled on your skin, and she studied your face for a long moment. You could see the cogs turning in her mind, weighing the implications of your words. "A threesome?" she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. You nodded, feeling a blush creep up your neck.

At first, she wanted to say no. The very thought of someone else's hands on you, someone else's lips against your skin, filled her with a primal possessiveness that was almost overwhelming. But as she looked into your eyes, she saw the excitement there, the raw desire, and something within her softened. It was a strange sensation, one that she didn't quite understand, but it was there all the same.

Elle took a deep breath, her hand still hovering over your skin. She tried to imagine it, to open herself up to the possibility. You, with JJ. The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating, a cocktail of emotions that had her heart racing. She'd seen the way JJ had looked at you these past few days, the way her eyes had darkened and her smile had turned a little too sweet. It was clear that the line between professional and personal had been blurred, and maybe it was time to embrace that.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours. "Okay," she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

But before you could revel in the victory of your proposal, she sat up with sudden resolve. "But I want to talk to her first," Elle said firmly. You nodded, understanding her need to set the boundaries and ensure everyone involved knew what was happening.

The next day at work, you found yourself waiting with bated breath for the moment when Elle would approach JJ. It was during lunch, when the office was mostly deserted, that Elle took JJ aside. You watched from a distance, unable to hear the hushed conversation but reading the emotions on their faces as if they were an open book. JJ's eyes grew wide with shock, then heated with interest, and finally softened with a look that was unmistakable: she was intrigued.

After work, JJ agreed to meet Elle at a nearby bar. The tension in the air was palpable as they sat down across from each other, the dim lights casting shadows on their faces and the clinking of glasses the only sound in the intimate setting. JJ played with her drink nervously, her eyes flicking up to meet Elle's every so often. The wheels turning in her mind as she tried to process what was happening.

Elle leaned forward, her voice low and serious. "JJ, if we do this, it's a one-time thing," she began, her eyes locking onto JJ's. "We need to be clear about that."

JJ's gaze held hers, a mix of excitement and apprehension playing out across her features. She nodded slowly, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "Okay," she .

Elle took another sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving JJ's. "And no strings attached," she continued, her voice firm but not unkind. "We do this, we enjoy it, and then we go back to being colleagues and friends."

JJ nodded, her heart racing. "I understand," she said, her voice a little shakier than she'd intended. She knew it was a risk, but the allure of you was too strong to resist. She could feel the heat in her cheeks as she thought about what was to come.

Elle leaned in closer, her eyes intense. "We'll use the stop light system," she whispered, her breath warm against JJ's cheek. "If anything makes you uncomfortable, you just say 'red'. We'll stop immediately, no questions asked."

JJ's pupils dilated, the excitement and anticipation building in the air between them. She nodded, her voice a barely audible murmur. "Okay."

Elle sat back, taking a deep breath. "Good," she said, her eyes searching JJ's face for any signs of doubt. "Now, there's something else we need to discuss." She paused. "No kissing on the mouth. It's a boundary I need to keep."

JJ's expression was a mix of relief and disappointment, but she nodded solemnly. "Understood," she murmured. The idea of not being able to kiss you fully was a blow, but she knew it was important to respect Elle's wishes.

Elle studied JJ for a moment, her eyes searching for any signs of hesitation. "Is there anything you want to add?" she asked, giving JJ the chance to voice any concerns or boundaries of her own.

JJ took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort. "I… I don't know," she said. "This is all so new to me." She took a sip of her drink, the ice clinking against the glass as she tried to compose herself. "But… I trust you both. If it's something you're okay with, then I'm okay with it."

Elle nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good," she said. "Now, we need to set a time and place." She leaned back in her seat. "How about this Friday evening? At my place?" She raised an eyebrow at JJ, who nodded slowly, her cheeks flaming.

The week leading up to Friday was a rollercoaster of emotions for all three of you. You found yourself both excited and nervous at the thought of the upcoming encounter, wondering if this was a good idea or if it would ruin the dynamics of your relationship with Elle and your friendship with JJ. You couldn't help but feel a thrill every time you caught JJ looking at you.

Elle, on the other hand, was torn between the thrill of the taboo and the fear of the unknown. She knew it was a risky move, but something about the situation had her intrigued. The thought of watching you with someone else, of seeing you lost in pleasure, was a turn-on she hadn't expected.

Friday night arrived with the kind of anticipation that made the air feel electric. You and Elle were at her place, the walls of the apartment humming with an unspoken excitement. The living room was dimly lit, the only sound the low murmur of a jazz record playing in the background. You both knew what was about to happen, but the reality of it all still felt like a thrilling secret.

Elle looked over at you, her eyes dark with desire. She could feel the tension in your body, the way your muscles were coiled tight like a spring ready to release. She patted her thigh with a knowing smile. "Come here," she said softly. "Let me help you relax."

You swallowed hard, the anticipation making your throat dry. Slowly, you approached her, feeling the weight of Elle's gaze on you as you moved. When you settled into her lap, she wrapped her arms around your waist, her fingers playing gently with the hem of your shirt. You could feel the heat of her body against yours, and the scent of her perfume filled your nose, making you feel both safe and incredibly aroused.

She leaned in and captured your lips in a soft, sweet kiss. It was gentle and tender, unlike the passionate kisses you usually shared, but it was filled with a promise of something more. It was a kiss that said she cared, that she wanted this to be special, and that she was in control. You melted into her embrace, your body relaxing as her tongue danced with yours. It was a moment of pure intimacy, a silent reassurance that no matter what happened tonight, you were hers.

As the kiss broke, you heard the soft knock at the door. JJ was here. You could feel the nerves in your stomach, a mix of excitement and fear. You looked at Elle, her eyes dark and hungry, and took a deep breath. It was showtime.

Elle answered the door, and JJ stepped inside, looking absolutely stunning. She was wearing a tight black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, her hair cascading down her shoulders in soft waves. You felt your pulse quicken at the sight of her.

"Hi," JJ said, her voice a little shakier than usual. She held up a bottle of wine she'd brought as an offering. "I hope this helps."

Elle took the bottle with a smile, her eyes sweeping over JJ's figure appreciatively. "Thanks," she said. "Why don't you have a seat?"

You remained perched on the edge of the couch, your heart hammering in your chest as you watched the two of them interact. JJ's eyes found yours, and you could see the mix of excitement and trepidation in them. She took a seat on the chair opposite, her legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap.

Elle busied herself with opening the wine, her movements deliberate and controlled. She poured three glasses, handing one to you and another to JJ before taking a seat next to you on the couch. "Cheers," she said, holding up her glass. You clinked yours against hers, the sound echoing in the tense silence.

JJ took a sip of her wine, her eyes darting between you two. She was clearly nervous, but the way she licked her lips and fidgeted in her seat spoke volumes about her desire. You felt your own anticipation build as you watched her, her every move calculated to drive you wild.

Elle leaned back into the couch, her eyes gleaming as she took a sip of her wine. "You know, I was thinking," she began, her voice a purr. "You look absolutely gorgeous tonight. Why don't you show JJ that pretty lilac lingerie set you bought last week?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with suggestion, and you felt a thrill run through you. You knew she was taking charge, guiding the evening's events, but you couldn't deny the excitement that bubbled up at the idea of performing for both of them. You nodded slowly, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table with a gentle clink.

Standing up, you walked over to where JJ sat, her eyes on you the entire time. You could see the hunger in them, the way she took in every step you took. When you reached her, you bent down and whispered in her ear, "Would you like to see it?"

JJ's breath hitched, and she nodded, unable to form words. You took her hand and led her to the bedroom, the soft caress of your skin against hers sending waves of desire through her body. The room was lit by the soft glow of lamps, obscuring part of the room in shadows. You turned to face her, your hands slowly lifting up your shirt.

Her eyes followed the movement, her breathing becoming more rapid as you revealed your torso, the muscles of your stomach jumping. She couldn't believe she was here, about to see you in a way she never had before. You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and began to pull them down, revealing the matching lilac lace of your panties. Your hips swayed gently as you stepped out of the denim pools at your feet, leaving you standing before her in nothing but your underwear.

The sight was intoxicating, and JJ felt her own body responding to the display. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart as you turned around, giving her a full view of your ass, perfectly framed by the delicate lace. You looked over your shoulder, a playful smirk on your lips.

Elle sauntered over to you, her hips swaying with a confidence that seemed to fill the room. She stopped behind you, her hands running up your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She didn't touch your breasts, not yet, but her fingertips danced just beneath them, teasing the sensitive skin. "Well, JJ," she purred, her breath warm against your neck. "What do you think?"

JJ's eyes were glued to you, watching every move like it was a scene from a movie. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as she took in the sight of you. "I think… I think it looks beautiful," she managed to get out, her voice stumbling over her desire.

With a knowing smile, Elle leaned in closer to your ear, her breath hot against your skin. "Go ahead and take it off," she whispered, her voice a seductive command. You felt a shiver run down your spine, the anticipation building as you reached around to unclasp your bra. The fabric fell away, revealing your bare breasts to the cool air of the room. JJ's eyes widened, her gaze hungry as she took in the sight.

Elle's hands slid down to your waist, her fingers unhooking your panties. "And these," she said, her voice a low growl of approval. You stepped out of them, now fully exposed to JJ's gaze.

JJ sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes devouring every inch of you. You could see the want in them, the desire that mirrored your own. It was as if she was committing every curve and freckle to memory, and the thought had you feeling both vulnerable and incredibly powerful.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand, her fingers brushing against the smooth skin of your hip. The touch was light, almost innocent, but the electricity that sparked between you was anything but. You sucked in a sharp breath, the sensation sending goosebumps across your body. JJ's hand hovered for a moment, as if unsure if it was allowed to continue its exploration, but then, as if she'd made up her mind, her fingertips traced a line along the curve of your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

Her gaze remained locked on yours, searching for any sign of rejection, but all she found was an answering hunger, a need that mirrored her own. You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, and she let out a soft gasp as your bodies touched. The heat of your skin against hers was intoxicating, a silent invitation to keep going.

With trembling hands, JJ began to explore your body. She started with your shoulders, her fingertips gliding over your collarbones, tracing the lines of your neck down to your chest. Each touch was feather-light, as if she were afraid to break the delicate spell that had been woven between the three of you.

She reached behind her own neck to unzip her dress, the fabric parting to reveal the matching black lace of her lingerie. Her breasts were full and round, the lace pushing them up to form a tantalizing display. You stepped closer, the heat between you growing as she let the dress slip down her arms, pooling around her waist.

JJ's eyes never left your body, but she could feel the shift in the room as Elle joined the game. She watched, almost in awe, as Elle stepped out of the dress, leaving her in nothing but the scrap of lace that barely contained her. The sight was breathtaking, and she felt a sudden jolt of desire. It was a stark reminder that this was a package deal, and she was now the third wheel in a passionate love affair.

Elle stepped closer, her eyes a storm of emotions as she took in the sight of JJ's hands on you. Jealousy flared in her stomach, a knot of possessiveness that she had anticipated. But she pushed it down, reminding herself that this was all part of the thrill, part of the experience. Instead, she focused on JJ, her own hands moving to the other woman's shoulders, her fingertips tracing the delicate lace of her bra.

In one swift motion, all three of you were undressed, the clothes scattered on the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs leading to this moment. The bed beckoned, a sea of rumpled sheets and pillows, and before you knew it, you were on the bed with JJ straddling you, her thighs pressing against your hips. She looked down at you, her eyes searching, her breathing erratic. You could feel the heat of her core against you, and it was all you could do to keep from reaching up and touching her.

Elle watched the two of you, a mix of arousal and possessiveness in her gaze. She climbed onto the bed, her body moving with the grace of a panther. Her hands found your face, tilting it up to meet hers as she claimed your mouth in a fiery kiss. You could feel JJ's body tense against yours, the anticipation building as she watched her friend claim you so openly.

JJ's hands moved to your breasts, her touch tentative at first before growing bolder. She explored the soft mounds, her thumbs brushing against your sensitive nipples. You moaned into Elle's mouth, the sensation making your back arch off the bed. It was a sound that seemed to ignite something within JJ, her touch growing more insistent, her movements more urgent.

Elle pulled away from the kiss, her eyes dark with desire as she watched JJ's hands on your body. She leaned down to kiss a trail down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin lightly as she went.

JJ's touch grew more confident, her thumbs and forefingers playing with your hardened nipples. You whimpered, the pleasure shooting straight to your core. Elle's hand slid down your body, her fingertips grazing JJ's as she meet her at your breasts.

The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken battle of dominance as their hands moved in unison on your body. It was almost as if Elle was reminding JJ that she was the one in control, the one who had brought you both here. Her touch was firm, almost possessive, as if she was staking a claim on every inch of your skin.

JJ's fingertips trailed downward, her touch featherlight as it approached the apex of your thighs. She watched your reaction, her eyes searching for any sign of resistance. But all she found was a deepening need, a silent plea for more. With a soft moan, you spread your legs, inviting her closer.

Her hand hovered for a moment, as if asking permission, before finally touching your sex. The contact was electric, sending a jolt through your body that made you gasp. You watched as Elle's eyes narrowed slightly, her full lips pressing into a tight line. It was a subtle expression, but one that didn't go unnoticed by either of you.

As the tension grew, you knew you had to intervene. This wasn't about one-upping each other or claiming territory. It was about exploration and pleasure, and if it continued down this path, it would only lead to hurt feelings and regret. You gently pushed JJ's hand aside and sat up.

"JJ, can I have a moment with Elle?" you asked, your voice low and steady. You didn't want to make it seem like you were cutting her out, but you needed to have a private conversation with your girlfriend. She nodded, a little dazed by the intensity of the situation.

You took Elle's hand, leading her out into the hallway. The coolness of the wall against your bare skin was a bit of a shock compared to the heat of the room you'd just left. "Is everything okay?" you asked, looking into her eyes.

Elle took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort to compose herself. "I… I don't know," she admitted, her voice tight. "I'm just finding it harder to push aside the jealousy than I thought I would."

You searched her eyes, the depth of her feelings written clearly on her face. "I know this isn't easy for you," you said, your voice soothing. "But remember, we're in this together. This is about all three of us enjoying ourselves, not about competition."

Elle nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "I know," she said, her voice tight. "But it's just…" She trailed off, unsure of how to put her emotions into words. You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Is there anything that would help?" you whispered, your voice filled with concern. "Something we can do to make this easier for you?"

Elle took a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. "Maybe if… if I was the one guiding JJ's movements," she suggested, a hint of colour returning to her cheeks. "That way, it feels more like I'm in control, like I'm the one deciding how things go."

You nodded, understanding the complex dance of emotions that was playing out in her mind. "Okay," you murmured, your voice a gentle reassurance. "Let's go back in there, and you can take the lead."

Hand in hand, you returned to the bedroom. JJ was sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes flicking up to meet yours before dropping back down to her hands, which were nervously twisting in her lap. She looked up at Elle with a question in her eyes, and you knew she could feel the shift in the atmosphere.

"JJ," you began, your voice firm but gentle. "We need to talk."

JJ's heart sank. She had been so lost in the moment that she had forgotten about the boundaries, about the delicate balance of emotions and power dynamics at play. She braced herself, expecting the worst. Was this it? The moment where everything unravelled and she was left feeling like an outsider?

But instead, Elle took charge, her voice firm yet gentle. "JJ," she began, "you know how much I care for you, right?" JJ nodded, unsure of where this was heading. "Good," Elle continued. "Then you'll understand that I need to be the one guiding this. It's not about controlling you or taking away from your experience, it's just… I need to be the one setting the pace tonight."

JJ looked at her, a mix of relief and excitement in her eyes. She hadn't realized how much she'd been holding her breath, waiting for a rejection. "I understand," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Whatever you need, I'm here for it."

Elle pulled up a chair to the side of the bed, her movements smooth and deliberate. She sat down, her eyes meeting yours as she gestured for you to join JJ on the bed. You felt a shiver of anticipation at the sight of her sitting there, her legs crossed, her expression a mix of excitement and challenge. She was taking control, and you knew that was exactly what she needed to feel comfortable with this situation.

"Lay back," she instructed, her voice firm. You did as she said, your heart racing as you watched her. "Now, JJ," she said, turning her attention to the other woman. "Straddle her face. I want her to show you how talented her mouth is."

JJ looked at you with a mix of excitement and trepidation, but she obeyed, her legs parting as she positioned herself over your head. You could feel the heat of her core against your lips, and the scent of her arousal filled the air. It was a heady, intoxicating aroma that made your mouth water.

With a deep breath, you leaned in, your tongue flicking out to taste her for the first time. JJ's body tensed, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she felt you begin to explore her folds. Your mouth closed around her clit, sucking gently at first, then with more insistence as you felt her body begin to respond.

Elle's hand found your hair, her grip tightening as she watched the scene unfold. You could feel her eyes on you, the heat of her gaze almost as intense as the pleasure building in JJ. She began to give instructions, her voice a sultry whisper. "Use your hands," she said, her eyes never leaving the sight of your mouth on JJ's body.

JJ's legs began to tremble, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as you listened to Elle's guidance. Your hands found her hips, holding her in place as your mouth continued its relentless assault. You felt the wetness of her arousal against your face, and the knowledge that you were the one bringing her pleasure was incredibly satisfying.

As you slid two fingers inside her, feeling her tightness grip you, JJ's body jolted, a muffled moan escaping her lips. You curled your fingers, finding that special spot, and she rocked her hips against your hand. The sound of her wetness filled the room, a rhythmic counterpoint to the soft, guttural noises she was making.

Elle had moved quietly behind her, and before you could even look up, her hands were on JJ's breasts, kneading and teasing the soft mounds. You watched as JJ's eyes rolled back in her head, her body arching towards the dual sensations. The sight of your girlfriend's hands on JJ was surprisingly hot, and you felt your own arousal spike.

Elle leaned in, her breath hot against JJ's neck as she whispered in her ear, "You like that, don't you?" JJ moaned in response, her hips moving in sync with your ministrations. You could feel the tension in her body, the way she was holding herself still, trying not to lose control too quickly.

You took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the scene before you: JJ's soft, full thighs framing your face, the way her stomach muscles tightened with every gasp of pleasure, the way her breasts bounced slightly with every thrust of your hand. Then, you did something you hadn't planned. You started to hum.

The vibration against JJ's clit was like a switch had been flipped. Her body jerked, a keening sound escaping her throat as she tried to stifle the noise. Her thighs clamped down around your head, but you didn't miss a beat. You hummed louder, the vibrations resonating through her entire core. It was a symphony of pleasure that she had never experienced before, and she could feel her orgasm building faster than she ever had.

Elle's voice was like a dark caress, her words sending a thrill through you. "You better thank me for sharing my toy with you," she murmured, her hand moving to JJ's chin, tilting her face up to look at her. "But remember, she's mine." The possessive glint in her eyes was unmistakable.

JJ's eyes fluttered closed, her body quivering with pleasure as you continued to tease her. You could feel the beginnings of her climax, the tightening of her muscles around your fingers. You didn't miss the hint of jealousy in Elle's voice, but it only served to fuel your desire, to make you want to give JJ the most mind-blowing experience possible.

Elle leaned in closer, her breath hot against JJ's ear. "How does it feel knowing that you're going to be thinking of her mouth for the rest of your life, but will never feel it on you again?" she whispered, a hint of satisfaction in her tone.

JJ could only whine in response, her hips grinding harder onto your mouth, unable to form coherent words. The sensation of your tongue against her clit was exquisite, a pleasure that bordered on pain. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet it was a feeling she craved more of. Her body was a live wire, every touch sending sparks through her veins.

Elle's fingers trailed down JJ's stomach, her nails scraping lightly against the sensitive skin. She watched with hooded eyes as your mouth worked its magic, the way JJ's body reacted to your every move. It was a heady feeling, knowing that she had the power to give this pleasure, to make this happen.

The room was filled with the sounds of JJ's gasps and whimpers, the slick sounds of your mouth on her skin. You could feel her getting closer, the tightness of her muscles, the way her body was coiling like a spring ready to snap. You increased the pressure, your tongue flicking faster, your humming growing more insistent.

And then she was there, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Her head thrown back, she let out a silent scream, her body rigid with pleasure. You could feel her pulsing around your fingers, her juices flowing freely onto your face. It was a moment of pure ecstasy, and you felt a surge of satisfaction knowing you had brought her to this peak.

Elle guided JJ's boneless body to the side of the bed, the other woman collapsing onto the soft mattress with a sigh. She was still catching her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin flushed with the afterglow of climax. You took the opportunity to sit up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You met Elle's gaze, her eyes smouldering with desire.

Without a word, she crawled over you, her body a sleek, powerful machine of passion. Her breasts brushed against yours, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. She positioned herself so that her hips were straddling your thighs, her own need clear and present. You could feel the heat of her, the wetness of her desire, and it made your own ache for release.

Then, she leaned down, her eyes locked on yours, and claimed your mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of desire and dominance, of a need to reclaim what was hers. Your hands found the small of her back, holding her tightly as she devoured you, her tongue dancing with yours in a dance of lust. She could taste the hint of JJ on your lips, a sweet and salty reminder of the pleasure you given.

Elle broke the kiss abruptly, turning her attention to the other woman. "There's no time for rest," she said, her voice a low, seductive command. She gestured to the space between your legs, the dampness of your arousal glistening in the dim light. "Get on your hands and knees."

JJ complied without hesitation, her own desire flaring as she took position. The sight of you, open and eager, was tantalizing. She could feel her own need pooling in her stomach, a desperate ache that was begging to be satisfied. She leaned in, her breath hot against your skin as she took in the scent of your desire.

"Go ahead," Elle urged, her voice a dark whisper in the quiet room. "Taste her. Show us what you can do."

JJ didn't need any more prompting. She leaned down, her tongue flicking out to taste you for the first time. You watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, feeling her warm breath against your folds before she delved in deeper. Her tongue was a gentle, insistent force, exploring every inch of you with a hunger. You moaned, your hips bucking upward, seeking more of that exquisite pressure.

Elle's hand found its way to the back of JJ's head, her fingers threading through the soft strands of hair. She watched intently as JJ's mouth worked its magic on you, her own desire growing with every sound you made. With a light tug, she encouraged JJ to go deeper, and the other woman's back arched in response, her mouth never leaving your wetness.

Her other hand glided down JJ's spine, the smooth skin like silk under her fingertips. She felt the muscles tense and release with every movement. With a sudden, sharp movement, she slapped JJ's ass, the sound echoing in the room. The sting was surprising, a jolt of pain that sent a bolt of pleasure through JJ's body, making her gasp.

Elle smirked, watching the effect she had. She trailed her hand back down, her fingers dancing over the curve of JJ's hip before sliding between her legs. She felt the wetness there, a testament to how turned on the other woman was. Her own arousal grew, a throb in her core that she knew would only be satisfied when you were both begging for release.

With a sudden, firm movement, she slid two fingers into JJ's wetness, the obscene noise of the act making you both gasp. JJ's body jolted, her eyes flying open to meet yours. You watched, your breath hitching, as Elle's hand moved in a rhythmic pattern, her thumb pressing against JJ's clit with every thrust.

JJ's mouth grew sloppy against you, her focus fading in and out as she was bombarded with sensation. She was a mess of desire, her eyes glazed over with pleasure, her breathing ragged and shallow.

Elle, ever observant, noticed JJ's technique beginning to falter as she became lost in the haze of her own arousal. "Slower, JJ," she instructed, her voice low and velvety. "Feel the way she reacts to every stroke of your tongue."

JJ obeyed, her eyes fluttering closed as she focused solely on the task at hand. She traced the delicate folds of your sex with the tip of her tongue. You moaned, the sound low and needy, your hands moving to grip the bed sheets as you felt the beginnings of a climb towards ecstasy.

Elle's voice was authoritative, guiding JJ's every move. "Circles," she murmured, her hand moving to grip JJ's shoulder. "Now, lick upward, straight up the center." JJ followed her instructions to the letter, her tongue moving in perfect time with your gasps and whimpers.

"How does she taste?" Elle prompted, her fingers still slowly thrusting in and out of JJ's pussy. She paused, her tongue resting against your sensitive flesh, savouring the flavour that was uniquely you.

JJ's eyes snapped open, her gaze meeting yours. "Incredible," she breathed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "So sweet and… and intoxicating."

The words sent a shiver through you, and you felt your body respond. Your hips bucked upwards, searching for more of JJ's mouth, desperately trying to increase the pressure. You were steadily building up to your orgasm.

JJ took the cue, her movements becoming more deliberate as she listened to Elle's instructions. Each flick of her tongue was a little more precise, each suck a little more insistent. You could feel her trying to please you, to be the best she could be, and the effort was intoxicating.

Elle's fingers pumped in and out of JJ, her thumb rubbing circles around her clit. You watched the two of them, the sight of your girlfriend's hand in JJ's pussy making you wetter than you'd ever been. You could feel your own orgasm building, a pressure that was becoming almost unbearable.

JJ's tongue was a little rougher than Elle's, her technique not as refined. But as she listened to Elle's instructions, her movements grew more deliberate, more confident. And with every word, every gentle correction, you found yourself getting closer to the edge. The knowledge that Elle was watching, that she was in control of your pleasure, was an aphrodisiac more potent than any you'd ever known.

Elle's hand never stopped moving in JJ's pussy, her fingers curling and uncurling in a slow, torturous rhythm that had the other woman's hips rocking back to meet her touch. She could feel JJ's orgasm approaching, the tension in her body tightening with every stroke. But she held back, her eyes locked on yours, waiting for the moment when she knew you were ready to fall over the precipice.

"Now, JJ," she said, her voice low and intense. "Find her g-spot. Press firmly, but gently, just like this." She demonstrated the pressure on JJ, her hips jerking slightly at the sensation.

JJ nodded, her eyes focused on the task at hand. You felt her shift, her tongue moving away as she inserted two fingers into you, her movements tentative at first, then growing bolder as she listened to Elle's guidance. The feeling was overwhelming, the fullness of her digits combined with the insistent pressure on your g-spot was what you needed.

Your hips bucked down, eagerly meeting her hand as it worked its way into your body. It was as if she could read your mind, her fingers gliding into your wetness with an ease that made your eyes roll back in your head. And then, just as you were about to lose yourself to the sensation, she added her tongue back to your clit, the combination sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Elle's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she watched JJ follow her instructions. She could practically feel the tension in your body, the way your muscles tightened around her fingers as you grew closer to the edge. She knew exactly how to push you over, but she was enjoying the slow burn, the delicious anticipation of watching you fall apart.

"Faster," she told JJ, her voice a soft command. "I want to hear her scream."

JJ's eyes snapped to yours, her pupils dilated with lust as she quickened her pace. You felt the pressure building, a coil of tension winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of her fingers. You were so close, so fucking close.

Suddenly your body bowed off the bed, a keening wail tearing from your throat. The world fading out around you, your vision going white as pleasure flooded your veins. JJ's mouth never left you, her tongue working tirelessly as you rode the wave of ecstasy. You could feel her breathing hitch, her body tense with the effort of pleasing you.

Elle watched the two of you, a smug smile playing on her lips. She knew she had orchestrated this moment to perfection, the culmination of weeks of tension and desire. Her own hand never ceased its rhythm inside JJ, feeling her muscles tighten around her fingers as she approached her own climax.

You collapse back onto the bed, breathless and trembling, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rolling through your body. The world had narrowed down to this room, this moment, these two women who had brought you to the heights of pleasure. JJ's mouth was still on you, her tongue tracing lazy circles around your clit, her eyes closed as if savouring the taste of you on her tongue.

Elle watched with a smug satisfaction, her own breathing heavy as she continued to pump her fingers in and out of JJ's wet pussy. She could feel the other woman's orgasm building, the way her walls clenched around her digits with each stroke. She knew that with a few more movements, she could send JJ spiralling over the edge.

With a final twist of her wrist and a firm press against JJ's g-spot, she did exactly that. JJ's body stiffened, a keening sound escaping her throat as she came, her juices flooding over Elle's hand. Her eyes squeezed shut, her face a picture of pure ecstasy, as she rode out the waves of pleasure that crashed over her.

Elle watched, her own desire ramping up as she felt JJ's orgasm through her fingertips. She pulled her hand out with a wet sound, bringing her fingers to her own mouth and tasting the sweetness. "Mmm," she moaned, her eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. "So good."

With a contented sigh, she leaned back on the bed, her body relaxed and replete. The air was thick with the musk of arousal and the sweet scent of pleasure, a heady mix that only served to increase her own need.

You watched as JJ slowly pulled away, her face flushed and eyes glazed with satisfaction. She took a moment to catch her breath before collapsing onto the bed beside you, her body heavy and languid. You couldn't help but reach out to stroke her cheek.

Elle, however, hadn't reached her peak yet, and JJ noticed. She turned to you both, her eyes filled with concern. "Elle," she breathed, "you didn't…"

But before she could finish, Elle waved a hand, her smile knowing. "Don't worry about me," she said, her eyes drifting over to you. "I'll collect my dues later."

The three of you lie there for a few minutes, the only sound the harshness of your breathing as it slowly evened out. The tension that had been building all evening was gone, replaced with a warm contented silence.

After a while, JJ shifts, breaking the peaceful tableau. She looks between you and Elle, her expression a mix of satisfaction and shyness. "I should…I should probably go," she says, her voice a bit raspy. "Don't want to overstay my welcome."

You both nod, the understanding clear. The night had been intense, and while it had been incredible, you knew that too much of a good thing could ruin the moment. You sit up, wiping a strand of hair from your face. "Thank you, JJ," you say quietly. "That was… amazing."

JJ smiles back, a hint of shyness playing on her lips. She nods, her eyes still glazed with satisfaction. "It was," she agrees, her voice still a bit breathless. "But I should really go." She starts to sit up, her body moving with the lazy grace of someone who has been thoroughly satisfied.

Elle and you both slip into robes, the fabric whispering against your skin as you move. You help JJ to her feet, the three of you navigating the mess of discarded clothing scattered across the floor. The act of getting dressed feels almost mundane after the intense experience you've just shared, but it serves to ground you in reality.

When you reach the door, JJ hesitates, her hand lingering on the doorknob. She looks over her shoulder at the two of you, a mix of satisfaction and nerves playing across her features. "Thank you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "For letting me be part of this."

Elle nods, her smile soft. "It was fun," she replies, her eyes flicking down to your still flushed face. "But remember, she's mine."

As soon as the door clicks shut behind JJ, the atmosphere in the room shifts. The tension that had been coiled around the three of you like a living thing suddenly snaps tight. You turn to face Elle, expecting to find satisfaction in her eyes, but instead, you're met with a fierce hunger that takes your breath away.

With a speed that belies her passion, she crosses the room and pins you against the wall, her hands on either side of your head. Her eyes are like flames, burning with a desire that's as intense as it is possessive. "It's time to reclaim what's mine," she says, her voice low and demanding.

Your heart races in anticipation as she leans in, her breath hot against your neck. You can feel the power of her desire, the need to assert her dominance in the wake of the shared intimacy with JJ. It's a heady feeling, being wanted so badly, being the centre of someone's world.

Elle's tongue traces a wet line up your neck. She nips gently at the sensitive skin, her teeth grazing your pulse point before she bites down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark that will surely be visible tomorrow. The sting of pain sends a shock of pleasure through your body, making your legs wobble.

With a surprising show of strength, she lifts you off your feet, carrying you to the bedroom like you're a ragdoll. She tosses you onto the bed, the impact jarring but welcome. You bounce slightly before settling into the softness of the mattress, your heart racing in anticipation of what's to come.

Elle follows you, her movements fluid and predatory. She's on you in a moment, claiming your mouth in an intense kiss that leaves you gasping for breath. Her tongue is a fierce, demanding presence, tasting every part of you as if she's trying to erase the memory of JJ's touch. You can feel the passion in her, a wild beast that's been let out of its cage.

With an impatient tug, she pulls the tie of your robe loose. The fabric slides away from your body, revealing your bare skin to the cool air. Her eyes rake over you, a mix of hunger and possessiveness in their depths. She takes her time, savouring the sight of you, her fingers tracing the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. It's as if she's branding you with her gaze, marking every inch of your body as hers.

Her touch is insistent as she runs her palms over your skin, feeling the goosebumps rise in response. She seems to be everywhere at once, her hands exploring, claiming, as if she can't get enough of you. Her mouth follows the path her eyes have taken, her kisses leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arch into her touch, your body responding instinctively, craving the feel of her skin on yours.

"Elle," you murmur, your voice a breathless whisper. Her name is a prayer, a plea for more. And more is what you get. She growls low in her throat, a feral sound that thrills you. "JJ can't make you feel like this, can she?"

Her eyes flash with possessiveness as she pins your wrists to the bed, her hips grinding against yours in a silent demand for an answer. You can feel her heat pressing into you, the fabric of her own robe the only barrier between you. It's a question that hangs in the air.

"No," you gasp out, your voice hoarse from the pleasure that still echoes through your body. "Nobody can make me feel like you do, Elle."

Her eyes light up at your words, and she leans down to kiss you again, her teeth grazing your bottom lip. The sensation is shocking, a sharp, sweet pain that sends a jolt of desire straight to your core. She kisses down your body, her teeth leaving a trail of love bites that will serve as a reminder of this night. Each one makes you squirm, a delicious agony that you can't help but crave more of.

When she reaches your thighs, she takes a moment to admire the soft flesh. With a wicked smile, she sinks her teeth in harder than before, making you cry out. She feels your legs tense beneath her, your body arching off the bed. The love bites she makes here are the darkest, the most pronounced. It's as if she's leaving her brand on you, a declaration of ownership that makes you burn with excitement.

Her kisses grow wetter as she moves lower, her mouth finally reaching the apex of your thighs. She breathes in deeply, taking in the scent of your arousal, and you can feel your clit throb in response. Her tongue traces the outside of your pussy, teasing and taunting, not giving you what you need. The anticipation is unbearable, your hips rocking up to meet her mouth.

With a low chuckle, she finally gives in, her tongue parting your folds and delving into your wetness. You cry out, your body bucking as she finds your clit, circling it with a firm pressure that sends sparks of pleasure through you. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin around it, making you whimper. It's a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that you've never felt with anyone else.

Elle's grip on your hips tightens, her nails digging in slightly as she holds you down. You can feel the need in her touch, a fierce hunger that demands satisfaction. Her tongue flicks against your clit, fast and insistent, while her other hand slides down to your opening, her fingers sliding inside with ease. She's relentless, her mouth and hand working in tandem to drive you wild.

And wild you go, your body responding to her touch with a fervour that surprises even you. You're so wet, you can feel yourself dripping down onto her hand, the sound of her fingers moving in and out of you filling the room. The slickness of it all is so erotic that you can't help but moan louder, your hips grinding against her face.

Elle's eyes are on you, watching your every reaction, her own arousal clear in the way she's panting against your skin. She talks dirty to you, her voice a low growl that vibrates through your body, making you shiver with need. "You're so wet for me," she murmurs, her words muffled by your flesh.

Her palm presses down firmly on your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make you want to scream. The pressure is perfect, building a crescendo of pleasure that feels like it will never end. And as she does this, her fingers are still buried inside you, pumping in and out, filling you up with every thrust.

Elle knows your body like the back of her hand. She's studied every inch of you, every quiver, every gasp. She's a maestro playing a symphony of pleasure, and you're her instrument, tuned to perfection. She can feel your body tightening around her fingers, the muscles in your thighs quivering with the effort of holding on.

Her tongue moves with purpose, each stroke calculated to elicit the maximum response. She's a master at reading the signs, knowing exactly when to ease off and let you catch your breath, only to plunge you back into the abyss of pleasure.

Elle's fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes your toes curl. She's not gentle, but you don't want her to be. You want to feel every inch of her, to know that she's there, claiming you, reminding you of what you mean to her.

And as she does, you can't help but think about JJ. How sweet she was, how eager she had been to pleasure you. But it's not the same. It's like comparing a candle to a wildfire. With JJ, it had been fun, a thrilling escape from reality. But with Elle, it's raw, it's real, it's home.

Elle seems to read your thoughts, because she pulls back, her eyes flashing with a possessive fire. "JJ could never fuck you like this, could she?" she snarls, her voice low and guttural.

The question hangs in the air, a challenge that you can't ignore. You shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "No," you admit, your breath hitching as she lowers her mouth back down on your pussy.

She sucks your clit between her lips, and you can't help but arch upwards, your body begging for more. She responds by increasing the suction, her tongue swirling faster and faster in her mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, a crescendo of pleasure that makes your toes curl.

The thrust of her hand was so intense that you were rocking up the sheets, your breasts jiggling harshly with each movement. The sensation of her fingers inside you, combined with the relentless pressure on your clit, was driving you mad with desire. You could feel your orgasm approaching like a freight train, an unstoppable force that you were powerless to resist.

You came moaning loudly, curling in on yourself as the pleasure washed over you. Your back arched off the bed, and your legs clamped around her head, holding her in place as if you were afraid she'd stop if you let go. But she didn't stop, not even when your cries grew hoarse, your body jerking with the intensity of your climax.

Elle's tongue and fingers didn't ease up until you were a trembling mess beneath her, your orgasm fading into delicious aftershocks. Only then did she pull away, licking her lips with a smug satisfaction that made you want to laugh and kiss her at the same time.

But there was no time for that, because she was already moving over you, her own robe coming off to reveal her naked body, her breasts swaying with each movement. You watched, transfixed, as she settled between your legs, her own thighs pressing against yours.

The feeling of her slick skin sliding against yours was heavenly. She was wet with desire, her juices coating both of you as she ground her hips against yours. You felt her heat, her wetness, and you were lost to all reason. Your body was a live wire, each brush of skin against skin sending electric shocks of pleasure through you.

You wrapped your legs around hers, pulling her closer, your bodies melding together. The room was a haze of desire, the only sound the slap of your thighs meeting and the harshness of your breaths. Your clit was swollen and sensitive, and each time it rubbed against hers, it sent liquid heat through you.

Elle groaned, her eyes rolling back in her head. "Yes," she breathed, her voice ragged with need. "Just like that."

Your hips ground down, grinding your sex against hers with a fierce intensity that was almost primal. You were animals, driven by instinct, by the need to claim and be claimed. Your bodies moved in a dance as old as time itself, each stroke of skin on skin, each brush of your clits, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you like a storm at sea.

You could feel the wetness between your legs, the heat of her arousal mixing with your own. Your breaths grew ragged, your chests heaving with the effort of staying connected, of getting closer.

Elle's eyes met yours as she leaned in, her breath hot against your cheek. "You're mine," she whispered, her voice a harsh rasp. "Always."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious thrill that made you want to submit to her completely. You nodded, unable to speak as your hips continued to grind against hers. It was like nothing you'd ever felt before, a raw, primal need that seemed to consume you both.

"You have no idea how much watching her touch you drove me wild," she grunted out, her voice a dark promise. "I wanted to rip her hands away and show her who you really belong to."

Her words sent a bolt of electricity through your body, making your clit throb with renewed lust. The thought of her jealousy, of her need to claim you so fiercely in front of JJ, only added to your desire. You could see the hunger in her eyes, the raw need to possess you completely.

"Elle," you gasped. "I'm yours. I always have been."

"Say it again," she demanded, her voice filled with need. "Say it like you mean it."

You swallowed, the taste of her still on your tongue. "I'm yours, Elle. Always."

Her hips stuttered against yours, and you knew she was close. You felt a strange power, knowing that you had the ability to give her what she needed. You thrust upwards, grinding against her with everything you had.

You could see her fighting for control, but it was a losing battle. With a final, desperate push, she let go, her body shaking with the force of her climax. It triggered yours, the sensations overlapping in a crescendo of pleasure that left you both gasping for air.

Elle collapsed on top of you, her breath hot against your neck. You could feel her heart racing, the thunder of her pulse matching your own. Your bodies were slick with sweat, your skin sticking together as you both struggled to catch your breath.

With a sudden surge of passion, you grabbed her face and pulled her into a deep, demanding kiss. It was as if you needed to consume her, to claim her as fiercely as she had claimed you.

"I love you," you whispered against her mouth, the words spilling out with an intensity that took even you by surprise.

Elle's eyes searched yours for a moment before she responded, "I love you too." Her voice was thick with emotion, and she leaned in to kiss you again, her mouth moving against yours with a passion that made your toes curl.

As your kisses grew slower, more tender, you both pulled back to gaze at each other. The intensity of your shared experience had deepened the connection between you, and you could see the love in her eyes, stark and unmistakable.

With a contented sigh, you both settled under the soft sheets, your bodies still slick with sweat and desire. You felt the warmth of her skin against yours, the steady beat of her heart beneath your palm. It was a comforting feeling, a reminder that despite the wildness of the night, you were still the same people who loved and cared for each other.

Elle wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer so your bodies were spooned together. Her breath was hot against your neck, her chest rising and falling in time with yours.

You turned to face her, looking into her eyes with a soft smile. "You know," you said, your voice a gentle whisper in the quiet night, "that threesome with JJ, it didn't change anything."

Elle's eyes searched yours, looking for any trace of doubt or deceit, but all she found was honesty. You took her hand and placed it over your heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath her palm. "You're the only one for me," you reassured her, the words spilling out with an ease that surprised even you. "Having her here, it only made me realize how much I love belonging to you."

Her eyes softened, and she leaned in to kiss you again, her teeth catching your bottom lip in a gentle bite. "I've never felt more alive than when I'm with you," she murmured against your mouth. "It's like I can't get enough of you, no matter how much I have."

You nodded, your heart swelling with love for this woman who could be so tender one moment and so fierce the next. "And tonight," you whispered, "just made me realize that I never want to be with anyone else. You're all I need."

Elle's eyes searched yours, the fire in them fading to a gentle warmth. "I know," she murmured, her thumb stroking soothingly against your cheek. "And I don't want to share you with anyone else either. You're mine."

"I'm yours," you whisper into the quiet of the night, feeling the truth of them resonate deep within your core. The threesome with JJ had been fun, something new and exciting, but it was nothing compared to the deep, soul-consuming love you felt for Elle. The intimacy between the two of you was a force of nature, unmatched by any fleeting fling or shared moment with someone else.

#criminal minds #masterlist #dom elle greenaway #elle greenaway smut #elle greenaway x reader #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau smut #elle greenaway x reader x jennifer jareau #jj #ask #request

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treasurehuntbuck · 22 days ago

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Drabble for #19

god first one out the bat and its a doozy.

#19 - Not Strong Enough by boygenius,

The Diaz kitchen is kind of like a liminal space. The soft light never feels too harsh. It smells perpetually of some combination of allspice and the citrus dish soap Eddie prefers. It's always warm, and sometimes Buck swears he can feel the floor beating beneath his feet, the heart of the house, entrenched in the love Eddie has poured into it. It's always been a safe haven, protecting from the horrors of the outside world, a safe harbor in the storm. The day Eddie blows their lives up the house doesn't lose even a little bit of that warmth, that safety, despite the fact that Buck can feel his own heart shattering where it's trapped in his chest. But he forces a smile, cracks a joke, sits on the couch next to Eddie and listens to a very nice woman talk about the Texas heat, about accommodations and school districts and yard sizes. He laughs in all the right places, gets weirdly intense about bathroom tile, and tries to hold himself together long enough to get out of there without setting fire to the rubble that Eddie has inadvertently left in his wake. Buck refuses to panic until he's back at the loft a few hours later. He stops dead in his tracks once he's made it inside, sighing, all the fight, all the emotion drawn out of his body with his breath. The thing is– Eddie's not leaving Buck. He knows that. He knows that Eddie is going after Christopher, which is what Buck had been silently begging him to do since Chris got on that fucking plane three months ago. So, it's a good thing! Or it should be. Chris is worth it, he's the most important person ever. Not just to Eddie, but to Buck too, aside from Jee, maybe. That doesn't mean Buck's heart doesn't feel cleaved in two, because Eddie might not be leaving Buck. But he is leaving. And Buck is always the one who gets left behind. He'd never seen this one coming though, it had blindsided him, and he doesn't know how to picture a life without Eddie right there next to him. Losing Chris to Texas had been one of the hardest things Buck's ever dealt with, but it was always supposed to be temporary. If Eddie leaves– If he goes to Texas, if he sells the little bungalow on South Bedford Street, if he packs up his truck and drives halfway across the country? If Eddie leaves, takes Buck's heart right out of his chest, and doesn't come back? Buck doesn't know how to be strong enough for this. He isn't sure how he's supposed to smile through it. How he's supposed to help his best friend box everything up, even the pictures on the fridge, every scrap of proof that they're a family, little and cobbled together, but family. Buck doesn't sleep well that night, or the next. Two weeks later Eddie leaves him standing outside LAX, double doors closing on his heels, with a sense of déjà vu so intense it makes Buck sick to his stomach. He has a hard time getting back into the jeep, the imprint of Eddie's touch still lingering on his shoulder, his reassurance ringing in Buck's ears. He desperately wants to believe him. He doesn't really remember the drive back, but Buck ends up at the Diaz house– his home, their home. Without thinking, he crawls into Eddie's bed. It still smells like him. Buck sleeps. Three days later, Eddie comes back, one belligerent teenager in tow. When they come through those double doors, Buck has tears on his cheeks and a confession clogging his throat. It can wait. He'd rather get his boys home.

the spotify wrapped drabbles :)

#inell #911 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #buddie drabble #my writing #yayyyyyy this was so fun #i missed writing

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cooliestghouliest · 11 months ago

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LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. one

(chapter one) (chapter two)

PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader

SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k+

SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.

CHAPTER TAGS: absent dads and mean moms. brief mention of self-destructive tendencies (way more about that later). your brother's a total cockblock. long-winded parental background information. this is really just some stage setting before we get into the nitty gritty.

A/N: this is my favorite fic i've ever written, and now it's coming at you re-edited. it's my verbose word child, sprinkled with a few What The Fuck and Holy Shit moments, dolled up with some silly humor and a dose of hot (and often borderline depraved) smut. a lot's already planned for this, so i hope you enjoy. :-)

—

chapter title: O Brother, Where Art Thou?

You weren’t expecting the high pitch of the doorbell that sounded throughout your colonial-style home, and proof of that was now spilled all over the kitchen floor.

Tiny green buds were sprinkled across the white-and-black linoleum tile, some scattered in the blonde mess of curls that belonged to the boy kneeling before you, his mouth busy between your legs.

You’d been attempting to multitask, rolling a joint while twisted awkwardly at the dining table, the quarterback’s head shrouded by your bare thighs, lapping noisily at your wet center.

You huffed out a frustrated sigh at the spillage, but it quickly turned into a moan when goldilocks gave a particularly harsh suck on your clit.

“You needa get that?” he mumbled against your folds, tongue halting its assault only to speak before diving back in, showing no intention of stopping.

You shook your head, one hand moving to tangle in the his hair, the other crumbling up the now empty and useless rolling paper. “Uh-uh… prob’ly just some Mormons,” you answer, beginning to rock your hips up into the warm mouth covering your cunt. “I don’t wanna be saved.”

Chris… or Carl… or Craig… whatever his name was, laughed, the sound vibrating nicely against your heat. Your toes curled at the sensation, thighs wrapping tight around his ears.

He moaned appreciatively at your movement, running his tongue flat against the length of your opening. Maybe you could keep this one around. He liked New Kids on the Block unironically, but holy shit, he knew what to do with his mouth.

The bell rang again.

And then again, and again, and again.

“Oh, little seeeee-eeee-ster!” came a familiar male voice from the other side of the front door. “I know you’re in there, Bean. I can see your shadow in the kitchen!”

You shot up straight, aligning your posture and pulling Chris Carl Craig from between your legs by the grip you had in his hair. He gave an unappealing whine, his fingers moving up to console his scalp.

Standing quickly, you adjusted your pleated skirt so it fell normal again, just above your knees. “Up, up, up,” you impatiently urged the jock still kneeling on the ground, smoothing your clothing and hair to make sure nothing looked too out of place.

“Who is that?” the blonde asked, finally following you into a standing position, large hand still cradling his head. “Still the Mormons?”

“It was never Mormons, Chet,” you said, hoping your shot-in-the-dark guess at his name was right.

It wasn’t.

“It’s Chad,” he said, eyes beginning to narrow. Whether it was in suspicion, confusion, annoyance, or a combination of all three, you didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. You needed to get him out of here without your new visitor catching sight of him, or else you knew you’d never hear the end of it. Chad was still intent on conversing, though. “We’ve literally been in the same school district since, like, kindergarten.”

You bit your lower lip, offering a sheepish smile. “Right,” you said. “I know that.” You didn’t. “Sorry. Head’s a little loopy right now. Your tongue could win awards.”

With Chad’s newfound cocky grin, you knew the flattery angle had worked out. It usually did. Boys were such suckers for some ego stroking.

“Oh, fuckin’ right!” you heard from the front door, the visitor’s voice now cheerful. The door handle began to jangle, and you heard the sound of a key in the lock.

He must have found the spare. Of course he had. He’d only lived here his entire childhood, just like you.

The key had been in the same place it always had been since moving to Fresno -- under the coir doormat that read Definitely Not a Trap Door, courtesy of your father. He’d made it for the family after moving from Chicago to California for his new teaching position at CSU in ‘70. Your mom still hadn't gotten around to throwing it out, even though she’d managed to get rid of almost everything else inside the home that reminded her of her ex-husband.

The door swung open and there stood your older brother in all his punk rock, Fuck-the-Bourgeoisie glory. Short bleached blonde hair, numerous facial piercings, ripped Dead Kennedys t-shirt, tight red tartan pants, muddy black Doc Martens. He was smiling wide, dopey.

Fuckin' Rick.

You started to match his expression, unable to resist your brother’s effortless and childlike charm, but your smile fell flat when Rick’s now disapproving gaze landed on the blonde still standing at your side.

“A Letterman, Bean? Really?” Rick asked you incredulously, having spotted Chad’s football jacket as the jock in question slid it from its place on the kitchen chair to rest over his broad shoulder.

“What?” you asked Rick coyly, quickly eyeing Chad. “You know I don’t discriminate. I’m a true equal opportunist.”

Chad seemed oblivious to the underlying context of the conversation between the pair of siblings. He was watching the two of you interact with seemingly nothing behind his eyes.

God, so cute but so totally stupid.

You closed the distance between the two of you, Chad looking hopeful he was going to be kissed or something, but you instead reached your hand out to pluck a few pieces of weed from his hair. “You can go now,” you told him, finger tapping his nose lightly.

Chad’s face scrunched at your touch but he then shrugged it off, picking his backpack up off the kitchen floor before making his way to the front door. “See ya at school,” he said to you over his shoulder. Stopping briefly next to your brother, Chad assessed him before saying, “Um, bye, whoever you are.”

Rick pulled his lips into a tight line, raising his brows in amusement. He clapped his hand hard on Chad’s back a few times before pushing the footballer out the door. “Later, loverboy.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

An hour and a half later, you and Rick were seated on opposite ends of the tufted tuxedo sofa in the living room. A box of half-eaten extra cheese pizza laid open in between the two of you.

Some low budget horror VHS was playing on the TV across from the couch, the volume low. You thought it was called Ghoulies. You kept catching glances of tiny, ugly wet looking monsters scurrying on the screen out of your peripheral.

You’d been talking to Rick about senior year at Fresno Central High (you said you were doing great, straight A’s across the board, but in reality, you were failing everything but English and Music).

You'd been talking about work at Spins and Needles, the record store you’d been employed at for a little over two years now (you told him you’d gotten promoted to Assistant Manager, which was true, but you left out the fact that you were on Strike Two of Three for blowing off shifts to get high with some goth kids that routinely came in a few hours before closing).

And you'd been talking about your mom (this you were honest about – “She’s still a huge bitch, Rick, that hasn’t changed”).

But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.

That’s where you stopped him.

You were not going to talk about your dad.

Flipping the pizza box lid shut harshly, you sat up straight and faced him.

“Why are you really here?” you demanded.

Rick sighed, defeated.

He knew you’d catch on soon enough that this supposed innocent visit was actually a planned mission. He’d just been hoping maybe you’d be the one to breach the topic of going back to Indiana with him. Maybe you wanted out of this Californian hellhole. A chance at a fresh start, hundreds of miles away.

But he knew you recently had developed a penchant for self-destruction and self-catastrophizing, which meant getting you to see the bright side and the positives of his request was going to be near impossible.

Still, he had to try.

“Mom called me,” he admitted, which earned him a dramatic eye roll from you. “I know you’re failing your classes. I know your boss has been blowing up the landline wondering why you keep closing up shop so early. And I know mom’s a bitch. I’m trying to save you from her. She said she’s thinking of enrolling you into St. Mary’s.” Rick wasn’t surprised at the bewildered scoff you gave to that, St. Mary’s being Indiana’s notorious Catholic boarding school for wayward girls. He’d finally gotten to the point, the real reason he was there: “Come stay with me in Hawkins, Bean.”

“Wow, Rick, so noble. It only took you, what, ten years to come back for me?”

Rick couldn’t help but flinch, your wounding words accusing. And accurate.

It was true.

Rick, at twenty, had left Fresno in an old RV he’d bought for dirt cheap, with plans to travel the country and get the fuck away from his parents, Ronald and Maureen Lipton.

Or, away from his mother, really.

Ron Lipton was generally fine -- until a certain point in his life. To outsiders, the man seemed to be very happy and very put-together, successfully established in both his home life and his career.

Ron and Maureen had gotten married just a few short months following their high school graduation, after finding out Maureen was pregnant with Rick.

With the draft ever present, Ron enlisted in the army, while Maureen enlisted the help of her mother-in-law to take care of Rick (and eventually you, once you were born, conceived on one of Ron’s short stints back home), so she could work on her doctorate in psychiatry.

After being honorably discharged a handful of years later, Ron had gotten his Master’s degree in education and creative writing.

To the public, Ronald and Maureen Lipton were fantastic at keeping up the facade of Perfect Suburban Family.

In private, however, the Lipton household was like living in a layer of Hell.

Where Ron was imaginative and endlessly inquisitive, instilling a love of storytelling and curiosity in his children, Maureen was passive aggressive and judgemental, harboring jealousy for the relationship her children had with her husband. This eventually festered a spiteful dynamic between her and Ron, and between her and her offspring as well.

When the two of you were younger, Rick in his late teens and you in your last years of elementary school, one of your favorite backyard games was to wonder aloud to each other how and why your parents had ever even gotten together in the first place.

You were both sure that it must have been an arranged marriage of some sorts.

Rick thought maybe your grandparents had made a deal with the devil, and to ensure the safety of the family, Ronald and Maureen were forced to be betrothed for life.

You thought maybe Maureen was an evil sorceress who had cast a spell on your father, trapping him in a loveless marriage that he was an unsuspecting victim in.

The truth was not stranger than fiction.

The reason behind their nuptials was simple, really: Ronald was raised to believe he needed to provide for his family, and after having knocked Maureen up not only once but twice, he was resigned to the fact that this was his path in life.

Devoted father, loving husband.

While he couldn’t stand his wife, her harshness and indignation usurping any positive characteristics she may have once had, Ron did love his children. Dearly.

Rick was his wild child; his rebellious, rambunctious trouble maker.

Ron would sit on the front porch late at night, waiting for Rick to get home and tell him all about his latest escapades. What parties he’d gone to, what girls he’d kissed, whether he preferred the high from acid or mushrooms more. Ron lived vicariously through his son, encouraging the boy to play hard, but to play hard responsibly.

You were Ron’s Little Leia of Alderaan; his opinionated, open-minded warrior, brave enough to stand up to any bully who’d dare to make fun of you or your friends. You were Ron’s daydreamer, his whimsical muse, his daily reminder that there was still innocent softness in this cruel world.

You would have Daddy Daughter Dates twice a week, where you’d do things like go to the roller rink or have picnics in the park, and they always ended with a two scoop mint chocolate chip ice cream cone shared between the both of you.

But Ron’s love for his life dwindled the second he stepped foot inside his house -- where he was forced to occupy space with his resentful excuse of a wife, a woman who would never miss a beat to berate him for every choice he’d ever made in his life.

With your older brother gone, the squabbles between Ron and Maureen got worse.

Rick had been able to placate his father and put himself in the line of Maureen’s fire, taking her verbal hits so his father didn’t have to. You, being only ten when Rick had left, didn’t have much ground to stand on with your parents arguing, and trying to step in as Rick had would usually only make things escalate.

Ron fantasized about leaving, starting over anew. The immediate and resounding “no” that his subconscious always answered himself with, thinking of the kids, dwindled down over time, until all of his fantasizing led him to making actual plans of departure.

Last year, right before summer break was set to start, Ron finally left.

Having taken PTO from the campus, he’d waited that morning for Maureen to leave for work and for you to be on the bus to school. Alone, he took the time to pack all of his belongings, leaving only a few things behind, all with you in mind -- things to remind you of him in his absence. He’d intended on coming back for you as soon as possible, wanting to settle in somewhere before dragging his daughter into his uprooted life.

But it was over a year now that Ron had been gone, and you could count on one hand the amount of times he’d reached out to you.

You could count them on two fingers, actually.

The first time was the night after he’d left, when he’d tried explaining to you his reasoning, which you weren’t at all interested in hearing. You were beside yourself that he’d left you, just like Rick had, except Rick was your brother and that was normal, but Ron was your daddy and he was supposed to always be there.

Your mother, in anger that Ron would attempt to talk to you and not her, had disconnected the call, and while you waited by the phone all night for him to call back, he never did.

The second and last time he reached out was a few months ago, via letter for your 18th birthday. It was postmarked with an address in Fort Worth, Texas. When you’d tried writing back, you'd found the letter you'd sent in your mailbox a week later, marked Return to Sender.

It was mid-November now, and you hadn’t heard from him since.

At least Rick had kept in touch after he’d left.

He’d sent you care packages every month since arriving to Indiana in '81. They were full of sci-fi and horror books he’d found at the local Goodwill or Salvation Army, newspaper clippings for outlandish Classified segments, scribbled notes on stained notebook paper detailing concerts he’d gone to and new bands he thought you should check out.

Remembering this, you softened quickly after accusing Rick of abandoning, your biting comment causing guilt to swirl in your stomach.

Rick had his reasons to leave, you understood that. He was allowed to live his life. And even though he’d done just that, left and lived his life, he still always managed to keep tabs on you. The two of you hadn’t gone more than a few weeks without letters sent or parcels mailed back and forth since he’d first left home.

Never there, but never gone. Not really.

That was more than you could say for your father.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” you admitted, even though the hurt words you spoke did hold some kernel of truth. “It’s just… I don’t wanna have to start all over somewhere else.”

“It’ll be good for you,” Rick promised, choosing to let the accusation of his abandonment slide. He was sure you'd both get into it more later, considering it was a conversation that was long overdue. “The house is too big for just me anyway, and you know I’m fuckin’ shit at decorating. I’ve basically just been using beer cans for bookends and stuff like that – you could make it look way cozier.”

You laughed, sure your brother wasn’t exaggerating.

Rick was about as anti-capitalist as you could get, and that included being a minimalist when it came to possessions. Give the man a hand-me-down couch, a little TV, some weed, his cassettes, and a subscription to Playboy, and he’d be content for the rest of his life.

You were the opposite.

You loved things.

You had many different collections you’d amassed over the years -- your vast assortment of books had spilled from the two bookshelves in your room to several stacks littered throughout the house, much to your mother's annoyance; your vinyls were shoved into four big storage bins stacked under your octagonal bedroom window, which you draped a blanket over and used as a makeshift window seat nook; your cliques of creepy looking dolls you’d collected from estate sales and antique shops crowded your bed, your vanity, the storage shelf in your closet; the bug assemblages you’d been adding to since your childhood had their own corner of your room, little homes full of ladybugs, ants, and deathwatch beetles.

The idea that you could expand your knack for interior embellishing (hoarding, really) further than the confines of one room was one thing that made you start to consider taking Rick’s offer seriously.

That, and the realization that finally getting the fuck out of Fresno might not be such a bad idea.

Because what did you have there anymore, anyway? Shit grades? A handful of mean exes? A dead-end job?

Was any of that worth staying for?

You thought of your dad trying to reach out to you via telephone, imagined your mother answering and telling him you’d moved away and no longer lived there.

If it were only a few months since Ron had left, you didn’t think you would have gone with Rick back to Hawkins. You would have stayed just for the mere possibility that your dad would show up on the doorstep one day, begging for your forgiveness for leaving you alone with your coldhearted mother.

However, it was over a year now that he’d been gone. One year, four months, and fifteen days... if anyone was counting.

You’d never verbally admit it, but you still were.

There was a page hidden in the back of your diary where you kept track.

Your hopefulness was starting to make you sick.

Maybe a change wouldn’t be so bad.

Going back to Hawkins with Rick sure beat being forced to attend an all girls’ reformatory school, one with a reputation that claimed the headmaster performed shock therapy on students in lieu of giving them detentions.

You were sure that was just a rumor, but still. You didn’t want to take any chances.

“Bean, let me be there for you,” Rick said, reaching over to grasp your hand with his fingers. You noted his nails were painted a lime green. “It’ll be just like when we were kids, except now you’re older and actually cool so I won’t be embarrassed to introduce you to all my friends.” Dipping his head to the side, he wiggled his pierced brows, a grin toying on his lips as he added, “And we can smoke weed in the house.”

Pretending as if that alone was what sealed the deal, you stood swiftly. “Say less. You really should’ve started with that, Richard.” You headed off in the direction of the stairs that led up to your room, glancing over your shoulder at your brother who was staring off after you with a relieved countenance on his face. “Gimme an hour and then we can go?”

Rick answered with two thumbs up before grabbing a slice of pizza, shoving as much as he could of it into his mouth as you disappeared up the spiral staircase.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy x reader #billy x you #mungrove x reader #mungrove #billy hargrove smut #eddie munson smut

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