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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 2 days ago

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The way I fell in love with this fic immediately!! OP has such a fantastic grasp on words, and pacing it fr had me completely entranced with the story. Jason and the reader felt so fleshed out and real that I just wanted to tuck them both into bed and tell them it's all going to be alright! I talk about my fav parts below the cut:

All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The stakes here are already giving me anxiety, mentally had to check if I had any high-stakes projects to take care of (I do not) but I am immersed and still feel like I do

Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

Ugh this is so visceral, I can literally feel my chest tighten at this scene (But I'm also thinking about how terrible Gotham traffic is, like I know every other day you have to change your route home because some rouge decided to rob a bank and crash their getaway car)

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

ooooh, ow, that's heavy. The day has just been so awful and all you want is just a moment to yourself and when you finally think your space is safe there's another issue to deal with and there's blood on your cream carpet. What's worse is that you don't him to be consider an issue, but in the moment when you're already so drained and exhausted and he's only making things harder, it's difficult to consider him as anything else

Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.” He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap.

Ahhh, sobbing because it's not even an 'I'm sorry' and maybe normally you don't need it to be, but today it's just another thing drawing you closer and closer to breaking

But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Love this little insight, if it's not you, then it's no one, and he's been coming around long enough for you to know that

It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep.

!!! This line is such a standout for me, poetry fr

You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

I looove the tension building here, it feels like bubble about to pop, a scream about to break the silence

You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

SOBBING, wow, no words for this other than we all definitely need to cry

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.” You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—” “Okay.” He goes quiet.

This whole interaction is written incredibly, it has me sucking in breath and my eyes going wide. There's just this heaviness with it, both of them are trying in their own way, but nothing is going to make you feel better right now. And there's an ache that they're both messing up? Like, maybe you're not going to want him to come back after this. Or maybe he won't want to, and the whole tentative relationship you've built will just vanish

Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

oh no

OH NO

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

!!! OP!!! OW!! I'm going to go stare into the void, but YOU need to go stare at a wall and think about what you've done

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

I gasped, but it's so true to his character for him to shut down when hurt

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

Art

In awe of your way with words here, I can feel the hurt and the comfort with every line

Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch.

oooh, this action feel so big, so much, a line that you want to cross but neither of you are ready for

you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

Yeah, wow, that's fantastic. This gets right to core of knowing Red Hod and wanting to know who's underneath, it's so compelling and I eat it up every time

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could. You know why.

SCREAMING, I want to give them the world and wrap them up in blankets! Seriously, this fic is just so, so good. I loved every line, and I don't think I blinked the entire time. Jason felt so human, flawed, but still kind and good. Incredible work as always, OP!! 💙💙

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep.

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe. There’s a half-pint of ice cream left in the freezer, you remember, and store that information for later.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow.

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam.

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing.

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?”

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not.

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly.

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered.

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

#jason todd x reader #rae's fic recs

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maiamore · 4 hours ago

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MILE HIGH CLUB

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 3.3k

Summary: Joel has to fly out of state for the first time in his life and his nerves are frayed. Luckily, he finds a good distraction. You.

Tags: m!receiving oral, deep throating, public indecency, mention of drug use, blowjob on a plane basically, alcohol consumption, nervous old man joel

A/N: maybe i’m just into exhibitionism atp MASTERLIST

Like every other man, Joel Miller had his kryptonite.

It wasn’t the idea of never finding someone to settle with, despite countless attempts—he had his fair share of awkward dates and mind-fucking-numbingly repetitive conversations about his favourite colour was.

And sure, it could have been having to deal with empty nest syndrome after Sarah moved out of state for college. The loneliness came as a cold wash, but he kept busy enough to avoid spiraling down the rabbit hole of a quiet home. Babysitting for Tommy or tending to work troubles was a rickety solution at best.

But no, that wasn’t enough to rattle the man.

It was the very fact that he was hours away from having to sit in a “flying death machine” as he eloquently phrased it, just so he could visit his daughter.

Joel had successfully gone forty one years of his life dodging air travel. The thought of sitting in a metal contraption, being flung through the skies made him stomach churn. He couldn’t care less about how safe it chalked up to be. A car? He could control. Walking? Reliable.

A plane? Definitely not. A paper airplane for grown-ups, that’s all it was.

The glaring fluorescent lights, nauseating sound of suitcases and tearful goodbyes wasn’t doing him any favours. Least of all the sleaze bag at the counter, who hadn’t even spared more than a couple seconds. Being seven hours early was overkill, but he’d figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Can’t let ya in yet. Come back in a few hours.”

A litany of curses left unsaid under his breath about “dumb rules” and “what’s the point of gettin’ here early if yer just gonna make me wait?”

He shuffles out of the line with the creaky luggage he had with him, finding himself a seat by the waiting lounge next to a girl reading from those gizmos he’d seen Sarah use last Thanksgiving. A scowl crept up his face.

Christ. Did they have to invent some gadget for reading, too? Wasn’t that free?

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small black leather bound book. It was worn, the edges were scuffed and the pages slightly dog-eared—a testament to its’ use.

Licking the pad of his thumb, he flips through the pages. There in black ink, lay a list of instructions he prepared prior to coming here. Misspellings here and there—chicken scratch, really.

1) checkin n’ give bags to airport

“Already screwed that one up,” he mutters out loud, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the growing aches.

2) go to gate no. on tikket

Joel peels out the airline pass tucked into his passport and squints at the printed words. “Christ.” He clicks his pen and painstakingly copies the details into his notebook in block letters big enough to read from across the room. “Tiny ass fuckin’...printin’...”

“Don’t travel much?”

Your voice breaks through the haze of uncertainty that had been plaguing him. Joel doesn’t offer more than a quick glance at first, his grip tightening slightly around the pen in his hand.

When he does look at you. You’d made him do a double take.

Despite the sorry state of his dating life–or maybe because of it–Joel wasn’t immune to the kind of attention a pretty thing like you could command. Even if it was just your attempt to be polite. His gaze then falls in disdain to your kindle laying abandoned in your lap.

“Not really, darlin’,” he says, his voice low and rough, with just enough warmth to take the edge off his typical gruffness.

Joel wasn’t big on small-talk, so when silence settled between you both, he didn’t feel the need to fill it. He wasn’t entirely sure why your presence had eased his nerves, even just a fraction, but it had.

And then you spoke up again, your tone uncertain but laced with quiet hope.

“There’s a lounge in the back with a bar,” you begin, tipping your head towards it. “Might be more your speed.”

Joel follows the motion with his eyes, then huffs a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “Man after my own heart,” he tucks his notebook back into his pocket.

Maybe it wasn’t all too bad that your dad dropped you off at the airport hours too early.

When you’d first seen Joel, you’d nearly dropped your kindle. The heavy thud of his boots on the polished floor caught your attention. You slowly pulled your gaze upward–from the worn blue jeans to the faded grey t-shirt that did nothing to hide his strong forearms. His dark brown curls looked like they’d been through more than their fair share of rough mornings, but god did you want to run your fingers through them.

And then there was his scruffy beard–uneven in an endearing way that somehow made him even more pleasing to the eyes.

You blinked, forcing yourself to look back at your screen, but the words blurred into nothingness. The way he sat stiffly on the chairs he made seem so small, down to what seemed to be a checklist for his flight.

“I’m pretty sure more people have died on construction sites than flights, Joel.”

Joel.

Introductions came easy the second the whiskey infiltrated his system, and damn if he didn’t he love the way his name rolled off your tongue.

He drags a palm down his jaw, a dry scoff slipping past his lips. “This your idea of makin’ me feel better ’bout all this?” he counters, half-regretting that he’d let slip what he did for a living.

You weren’t wrong, of course–he’d faced far more dangerous situations on the ground than he’d ever likely encounter in the air.

Still, it didn’t help.

“I ain’t sayin’ m’gonna piss my goddamn pants,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. “Just makes me feel queasy, s’all.”

Joel sighs into the crystal glass, thumb idly tracing the rim as if the whiskey might’ve given him some courage. When he glanced your way again, you were watching him with that look–the one that made him feel exposed and oddly at ease all at once.

He shot you a faint glare, more bark than bite, and nodded toward your drink.

“Drink your goddamn kiddy juice,” he grumbled.

Your lips curled up into a slight scowl, cupping your glass of bellini defensively. Despite your show of annoyance, you did feel a tinge of empathy for him. For crying out loud, he was hunched over the goddamn bar seat, looking at his empty glass like a kicked puppy like he was about to go for a vasectomy or something.

Gesturing towards the bartender for a refill of his glass, you dragged your bar stool closer to him.

“Look. If you’re up for it. I’ve got a little pick-me-up I take to settle my nerves before a long flight,” you said, fishing a small pill container from your bag. “Works like a charm.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued despite his better judgement. But the second you popped open the lid, his reaction was instant.

“Hard pass.”

“You don’t even know what it–”

“I ain’t about to get drugged up,” he cut in, folding his arms. Your eyes shamelessly trace over the way the sleeves tightened around his biceps. “And besides, I hardly know ya.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line and without missing a beat, you tipped one of the white pills into your palm and dry swallowed it like a pro. Joel’s brow furrowed deeper, his disapproval practically radiating off him. Though that notion had him adjust his jeans discreetly.

“Well, it’s your funeral,” you said with a shrug. Then realizing how that might’ve come across, you raised your hands in mock surrender. “Figuratively speaking! Not literally–”

“Gimmie that damn thing,” Joel huffed, snatching the container from you. He popped the pill into his mouth and chased it with a gulp of whiskey, muttering something under his breath about regrettin’ this already.

You leaned back in your seat, a sly grin tugging at your lips. “You didn’t even ask what it does.”

Joel fixed you with a hard glare, the kind that could silence most people. But you weren’t most people.

“It also gives you a raging erecti–”

“Sweetheart.” Joel’s warning tone cut you off, his glare piercing.

You couldn’t help it–you laughed anyway, the sound earning a reluctant lop-sided smirk from him as he shook his head.

In all his years of living, Joel never thought he’d succumb to relying on drugs.

The idea was irresponsible at best. He’d pride himself on staying clear-headed, the occasional joint in his teenage years being the closest he’d come to experimentation. But that was a lifetime ago, a glimpse of a boy who didn’t have responsibilities or a family to think about. His body was a temple now, for at least a semi-respectable contractor.

Yet here he was, in the fluorescent purgatory of a transit hall, deciding that a four hour stint in a “metal coffin” justified drastic measures.

Your vague explanation on what that little white pill of yours was didn’t help either. You both agreed you were in this together now. He had to admit that it was ironic where life took him. Misery loved company, and you, his current “drug buddy,” were far easier on the eyes than his high school crowd had ever been.

And, well, it worked.

Joel could feel the change, his mind easing from the coiled tension it had been gripping since he set foot in the airport. His inhibitions, usually locked tighter than the pentagon, were suddenly looser. Not reckless, but freer.

If you’d thought Joel wasn’t the clingy type before, that illusion was thoroughly shattered now. He shadowed your every move, from hauling your luggage onto the conveyor belt without you even asking to tapping his card at the terminal before you could pay for yourself.

And then…there were his hands.

At first, they lingered tentatively–a brush of his palm at the small of your back, a quick touch to your arm as he gestured to something in the duty-free window. Testing boundaries. Waiting for a sign.

When you looped your arm through his without hesitation, Joel took it as his green light.

After that point on, his touches became a constant presence. Steady, warm & grounding. A hand resting lightly on your hip as you wandered through the departure hall, fingers curling against your wrist as he guided you through the crowds of travellers.

Joel fully blamed the pill for his current lapse of judgment.

He spit into his palms, smearing the wetness onto the length of his cock. His other hand gripped firmly onto the granite counter. The dull slaps of him fucking his fist filled the small space. Along with his strained grunts.

“C’mon, c’mon…”

Trying damned hard to focus—he thinks of you. How your body felt under the weight of his hands. The way you’d wet your lips before giving your own witty remark to his rants about shit he found ridiculous about Delta.

And he jolts, instinctively tightening his grip around his cock when the announcement rings in the speaker above—some bullshit safety reminder.

“Shit—…shit shit.” He mutters. Willing himself to come so he’d put himself out of his self made torture.

Joel was rock fucking hard the second he seated himself by the back of the plane. Thoughts of the way you’d smiled up at him & rubbing his arm before heading to your seat up front was enough ammo for him to daydream about you for the next hour.

He did think you were joking earlier. But this could very well be the side effect of whatever you’d given him.

Nevertheless, it was pointless. The sterile bathroom was doing nothing but turning him off.

With an annoyed sigh. He’d shucked his half limp cock back into his jeans. Thoroughly scrubbing his hands clean before he heads back to his seat.

He stops short, brows quirked at the intruder.

“Howdy. How ya holding up.”

You grinned. Lowering the latest issue of Baseball Digest that Joel was occupied with from where it covered your face.

“I’m—…what are you…doin’ back here.” He manages. Cursing himself for sounding way off.

“Flight‘s pretty empty, so…Donna did me a solid.”

Joel briefly glances up at the flight attendant that you did a little finger wave to before looking back, nudging his head to the vacant seat next to you. “Scoot over.”

“Jesus. Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Yeah. I was. And I tried to jerk off to you too, not that it worked out.

“So that I can be tormented for the next three hours?”

You frowned at his words. Flipping through the magazine loudly. “Someone’s panties are in a bunch.”

He exhales as he sinks into his rightful seat. Thankfully, the shock of seeing your face again did a number to deflate Junior Miller.

The combination of turbulence and drinking two glasses of whiskey earlier was a nasty concoction. He thumbs eases the crease between his brows before finally deciding to speak, ignoring your earlier comment.

“Bout’ the side effect you mentioned…”

That causes you to tip your head towards him. You were silent, briefly.

“What about it?”

“…How long does it…last.”

You looked to the side. “Just for a bit.” Though you sounded unsure of yourself. “Why?”

“Nothin’. Suppose I’m gettin’ one of those weird reactions to it.”

“Weird how.” You pressed. Though Joel looked less than pleased about your probing. “Don’t gotta explain it to ya. S’just weird, darlin’.”

You get the memo regardless.

“Well did you try to—“

“I did.”

“And you didn’t—“

“No.”

“You sure you were doing it correctly?”

Joel drags his hand down his face, letting out a muffled, yet pained scoff before he looks at you. He doesn’t speak yet for a couple of seconds.

“Yes, sweetheart. I know how to fuckin’ jerk off.”

Your lips pressed into a taut line. His words stirred something deep in you, fuck if it didn’t make you want to do something stupid right now.

“Obviously you don’t. Wouldn’t be sitting here all wound up if you had.”

Joel’s lips part to shoot something snarky your way.

It’s quickly floored when he feels your fingertips trace past the sides of his thighs.

You look at him. Offering him an opportunity to pull away.

He adjusts his hips to shift lower. A firm tug on your wrist ground your palm directly onto the bulge of his jeans.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips when you knead against his hard on. Tipping his head back onto the headrest. He lets out a soft grunt escaping his lips as you continued your ministrations.

“Feels…real good.” He manages. Barely being able to look at you.

Fuck. You were so warm and you smelled so good. He couldn’t remember the last time he had something that he wanted real bad.

“Told ya, not doing it right.” You leaned in close enough for your cheeks to rest against his bicep. Watching how his grip around your wrists began to falter.

Joel’s breathing became a little more ragged as he started to become more and more pent up with each rub.

With a conspicuous sniffle, you dragged the zipper of his jeans down, earning a jolt from him. He whips his head to look at you as you maneuver his stiffened cock out of his boxers.

Locking your gaze with his, you provide a calming kiss to the edge of his shoulder before you lower yourself.

“Christ. Are you crazy?”

Joel lifts his gaze to scan the surroundings. Considering it was an evening flight, the dimmed overhead lighting provided a more intimate and gentle glow.

The absence of attendants who were likely resting up front, and the emptiness of the last five rows does provide him assurance, even when it shouldn’t have.

He lets out a hiss at a wet glob of saliva trickle down his shaft, stealing his focus once more. Followed by the softness of a smaller pair of hands pumping the wetness up and down.

You feel a strong hand gather your hair up loosely, before the fingertips lock firmly around to hold your head in place.

He tugs you to meet his gaze momentarily. Eyeing your soft features being reflected with the amber mood lighting.

“Can I?”

You bit the insides of your cheeks. Realising what he’d meant. You nod slowly, kissing the tip of his weeping cock.

“Tap me twice if it’s t’much.”

He mutters with a gentleness that had you rubbing your thighs together, the slick wetness growing in your cunt.

You take him into his mouth fully this time. Feeling his hips jump up involuntarily. The tug on your head encourages you to continue.

“Ah..fuck. Fuck.”

Joel grinds his jaw at a painful intensity. The warmth and wetness of your mouth hollowing around his cockhead was intoxicating. He had to physically control himself from thrusting into your mouth too quickly.

The noises that rumbled from his throat spurs you on. You alternate between deep sucks through your hollowed mouth and stroking his cock. Though the hand holding your head became more of a weak hold than a guide.

You caught the hesitance in his actions. Treating you so damn gently as though you would break. It frustrated you, so you abruptly lowered yourself until you practically swallowed him whole. Nose grinding against the denim.

It catches the both of you off guard.

Joel, nearly lets out a fucking groan at the warmth of your throat convulse around his cock. And you, with your thumb digging into your fists to control your gag reflex.

That was enough for Joel to snap.

His grip around your hair goes taut. “Tap me.” He reminds, before he properly fucks his cock into your throat at an almost brutal pace.

You choked for a couple of seconds, the warm tears pricking your eyes as you gripped tightly over his thigh—essentially uses your mouth as his personal fleshlight.

Letting out strained grunts as he quickened his pace, you taste the salty mixture of your tears and saliva. Joel doesn’t let himself go just yet, keeping the rational part of him awake in case you couldn’t take it, which in fairness—most women couldn’t.

But you? You took it like a fuckin’ champ.

You pulled away from his cock with a pop, letting a string of saliva follow as you dragged your lips down to his balls, giving one of them a sloppy suck as much as your mouth could fit before taking his cock into your throat.

Joel shudders at the sensation, It doesn’t take long before his hips stutter, spurting his hot, thick come into your throat.

He pulls you off him with a gentle tug, catching sight of your tear stricken face, lips pouty and reddened.

Joel groans at how pretty you looked like this.

He glances towards the bathroom behind them and back at the serenity of the moonlight illuminating inside the plane as he hastily tucks himself back in.

With a firm hold, he hoists you up underneath your arms to guide you into the cramped stall with him.

“You okay, honey?” He practically whispers. Thumb swiping the strands of your hair that stuck to your sweaty cheeks, tucking them behind your ears.

“Y…eah.” You managed. Voice coming out raspy. His dark brown gaze held nothing but concern for you.

A lazy smile graces your features. You stabilise yourself with Joel’s arms. He doesn’t hesitate as he leans in to lock his lips with yours.

“We can go back. Or continue. Whatever you want.” The gentle curve of nose comes to rub against your cheeks, though you could tell by the twitch of his cock that he was far from done.

You bit down on your lips. Hands travelling lower to let the sharp sound of Joel’s buckle give you the answer he needed.

As you flip over to lean against the counter with your palms flat on the granite—your cheeks presses against your shoulder to gaze up at him through your lashes.

“By the way…that pill I gave you? Just Vitamin C.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel the last of us #joel x reader #pedro pascal smut #tlou smut #the last of us smut

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 3 months ago

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MILF

Tags: Toji x Reader, nsfw, mdni, breeding kink, unprotected sex, car sex, daddy kink

Synopsis: Toji loves fucking milfs. Send tweet.

An: I love how we all collectively as a fandom decided Toji is the nastiest mf out there. I just really feel like he is down w everything.

Toji thinks it’s adorable when you’re apologizing profusely for canceling plans on him again. Kid’s gotta come first, right? He knows that being a single mom is hard, and that you wouldn’t be cancelling plans so often if you didn’t have a kid.

He doesn’t mind sitting with your kid while you take a while to get ready. He sits next to your son on the couch and plays xbox with him, telling you to take your time. He knows you don’t get to get out too often. Hell, your kid probably doesn’t know what a babysitter is because you never know how to take a break.

Toji finds you stunning as soon as you walk out of the bedroom in that sexy black dress. He doesn’t even mind that your snot nose brat just killed him in whatever game they were playing. “Haha! I beat you!” Your son gloats. While you talk to the babysitter about what your kid can and can’t have, he leans over towards your son’s ear. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna go fuck your mom, so who’s really winning?”

He has to practically drag you out of the house, placing his hand on the small of your back as a firm guide towards his car. He knows how badly you need “adult time”. You’ve complained plenty about only hanging out with your kid and having no social life.

His excitement grows as he watches you get tipsy off one glass of wine. You really don’t get out much, do you? He carefully walks you back to his car after dinner, and you’re just gushing over your little brat back at home. He’s had to stop you from calling the babysitter like 5 times to check up on him.

“Too busy takin’ care of everyone else, ma. Let me take care of you.” He mutters in your ear as he parks his car in the middle of nowhere.

Toji fucking loves the curves that come from childbearing, and don’t even get him started on the stretch marks. He’s a fiend when it comes to your full breasts that aren’t as perky as they were before your son.

He adores how moms aren’t afraid to get it on anywhere. They know the value of time, and they never know when another opportunity will arise. They take it when they can get it, and right now, you’re taking it in the back of Toji’s car.

“Mmmn~ shit. You swear you’re not a virgin?” He moans as your gummy walls squeeze tightly around his length. You’d giggle at his comment if you weren’t so full of his cock. You can only manage to let out a pathetic quiet whine.

“Nuh uh, louder baby.” He instructs as he works on stretching your cunt out. “Tonight’s all about you. Let me hear you.” A more confident moan falls from your lips from his words, and he grins behind you, loving the way you sound while you struggle to take him all in.

Toji has you face down ass up in his back seat. Your ass ripples with each time he plunges his thick cock in and out of you. The car fills with the nastiest noises straight from your sopping wet cunt. He swears to god moms always get the wettest. Their bodies are experienced, knowing more lubricant helps ease his cock in and out.

“Fuuuck, ma. You feel so fuckin’ good.” He groans behind you as his hips continue to slap against your asscheeks. “Makin’ me want to breed this pussy for myself.”

“Ngh~ T-Toji!” You cry out as your face is pressed to the leather of the seat. Your mouth is slightly agape, drooling everywhere from being so cock drunk.

“Hm? What you think about that, ma? I could give you another little brat to raise.” The car creaks and rocks back and forth with each harsh thrust. His eyes are fixed on your juices that are pooling around the base of his cock.

“I- … oh god, fuck~” You don’t even have it in you deny him. His cock feels so fucking good; you don’t want to say anything to make him stop. You need this.

Slap!

His hand connects with the fat of your ass as he swats at you. “Not an answer, ma.” He grunts as he leans his weight onto you, using it to his advantage against your poor sticky cunt. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down to the seat.

“B-breed me!” Your voice cries out in a tone you’ve never heard before.

“Thaaat’s it.” He drawls with a smirk as his hips start to pound harder. “Good girl. Usin’ your words like that f’me. Daddy’ll give you what you want.”

Toji leans his head back, basking in the way your pussy is practically crying for him. Oh, the things flooding in his mind right now are downright fucking filthy. Thinking about how pretty you’d look pregnant with his kid. Thinking about giving your son a little sibling.

“Ohh~ my g-god… pleaasee.. I’m gonna come..” Your poor voice sounds so fucked out, your hips start to move, bouncing back against him while chasing your orgasm.

“Fuck yeah, ma… That’s it. Fuck me back.” He praises as his hand starts to massage your pillowy ass. His lewdly balls are clapping against your clit, stimulating you as well as making the most erotic noises. “Cum on daddy’s fat cock. C’mon. I know you can do it.”

Within seconds, your pussy is clenching around him, milking him for all he’s worth while your orgasm washes over you. “Shiiiit~ ma.” He hisses as he has to force himself to keep thrusting. His cock is throbbing from how sensitive he is right now, on the brink of his orgasm.

“Fuck. Toji, Toji, Toji..” You feel tears spring into your eyes as he continues to fuck you into oblivion. Overstimulated tears stroll down your cheeks as your body is so sensitive.

“Keep sayin’ my name, ma. Keep sayin’ daddy’s name.” He groans as he leans more into you, almost mounting you at this point. “Ngh~ gonna put a baby in you, okay ma?”

“Please—“ You hiccup as your body is continually getting wrecked.

A growl rips through his throat as he yanks your hips back into him, shoving himself as deep as your body will allow, and his cock pulses as he spills deep inside you.

Toji loves takin’ pretty mamas like you home after he’s finished ruining them. The way they half waddle and stumble back onto the house with his cum still nestled in their cute cunts. He imagines they try to sober up enough to kiss their kids goodnight before they get the best sleep of their life.

It ain’t much, but it’s honest work for Toji. 🫡

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @theuniversesnepobaby

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #drabble #jjk suggestive #jjk toji #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk smut #smut #smut fic

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 1 month ago

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Break A Sweat.

Summary: Terry ‘TJ’ Richmond was recommended to you by your brother who is a Marine. He’s now your personal trainer and Krav Maga teacher.

Warnings: SMUT, degradation, nasty talk, rough sex, 18+ content.

This is going to be a two part series. ENJOY!

Terry is a no-nonsense guy. When you’re in his gym, you follow his rules. After all, you’re the one that signed up for self defense one–on–one sessions. The rugged, burly ex-marine, wandering nomad. He’s overly domineering, striking green eyes staring you down unblinking whenever you did something he didn’t like.

“Your form is wrong…I thought we discussed this? Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart and your toes pointed slightly outward…”

“One more set. Let’s go. No days off. You want it? You gotta get it at all costs…”

“If you find yourself in a scary situation and need to defend yourself, you’ll be at a huge advantage if you know exactly how best to react to your opponent — whether or not your moves are fair.”

“You have to become the attacker and defender simultaneously…NOW STRIKE!”

Your older brother recommended Terry Richmond to you when you finally decided to crack down and focus on your overall health and well–being. Although you loved your generous curves, life and longevity were more important. It’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a bountiful beauty and work up a sweat.

Terry held your ankles as you finished your last rep. Your last set of ten. Sweat dripped from every inch of your dark skin. Every muscle was screaming at you. Angry. Your body was angry. You let out one final huff and sat up, slinging your arms over your knees. Terry patted your back.

“Halfway there.” He said, looking down at you as he stood above you.

his chiseled body with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. He was a mean looking man, like a first impression recruit in the military that’s both respected and feared. Whatever he got into during his days training was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

To add insult to injury, from the first session within his home gym, you regretted it. Terry didn’t care if it was your first time lifting a dumbbell or using the stair master, when you’re in his gym, you go hard. No ifs, ands, or buts. And that pissed you off. So irritatingly bad.

On a cloudy afternoon, you park your all black Lexus ES within his driveway. Killing the ignition, you relax into the soft leather of your seat, wary eyes glancing at the two car garage. One side of the garage was his home gym. The place you dreaded entering.

Terry’s home is an impressive single–family with a spectacular country setting with quick access to everything. You slowly open the car door, pink and green Hoka sneakers touching concrete. You push yourself up from your seat, large breasts touching your chin because of the sports bra you wore. The warm breeze caused the stray curls that had fallen from your high puff to graze the back of your neck.

Shutting the car door, you ease towards your trunk, skin tight athletic leggings almost giving you a wedgy. You adjust yourself before clicking the button for your trunk on your key fob. It popped open smoothly, revealing your Puma gym bag.

As you grab it, Terry Richmond situated himself within the doorframe of his home, bulging biceps folded over his defined pecs. You catch his eye and quickly avert your gaze because of its intensity.

“How you doin’ Y/N?” Terry greeted.

“I’m doing fine, Terry. Everything good?”

“Yeah. Good to see you still showed up. Thought I’d scared you off.” Terry said.

You glance up at Terry standing on his top steps with his hands on his hips. You do a quick sweep of his body, taking in the way the berry–red tank top he wore molded into his upper body and the thigh–hugging black shorts outlined his crotch and his ass. He had no decorum when it came down to his attire during your sessions and it was distracting to say the least.

“I don’t give up easily,” You respond, trying your hardest to appear confident.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Today you just might…”

He clapped his hands, drawing your attention to how large they are. Anticipation and excitement gnawed at your belly. He was going to touch you with those hands again. It was only the second time, but the sensation would feel like the first time all over again.

“I’m still recovering from day one. My thighs are burning.” You admit with a nervous smile.

“That’s what comes with the discipline. Have you been stretching?”

Your lips remain sealed. Terry tilts his head at you and with a slight chuckle, he makes a slow descent towards you. The closer he gets, the more you recognize the way his skin appeared bronze from the sun. You focus on his face, his green eyes commanding attention.

“What did I tell you about that, huh? It’s important and unavoidable. You have to stretch frequently, otherwise you’ll end up with stiff joints.”

“I know. I’ll do better.”

“Will you?” Terry countered.

“Yes.”

“So, you know that adds an extra thirty minutes to your session today, right?”

You fight the urge to groan.

“No time to waste then. Let’s get to it.”

Terry leads the way towards his garage. It opens, revealing a well–equipped home gym. You both step inside, the garage door slowly closing behind you. Terry motioned for you to come over and sit your things down.

“How’s work coming along?” Terry asked.

You place your bag against the wall, crouching down to open it with a hiss from the pain in your thighs.

“It’s going. Been putting in overtime.” You replied.

“I’m sure you have a loaded schedule, being a mom and all.” Terry said, waiting patiently for you to finish. He stood with his hands folded over his crotch.

“You learn to adjust, no choice anyway,” You stand, fitting your weight lifting gloves over your fingers, “Can’t complain though, I love my baby girl.”

“What’s her name again?”

“Aria.”

“Pretty. How old is she?”

“She’s four.”

“Wow. I bet she gives you a run for your money,” Terry chuckled.

“Oh yeah. All the time,” You laugh, “So, what now, Mr. Richmond?”

Terry smirked at you, “Stretching. Go ‘head and kick off your shoes. We’ll hit the mat for about thirty minutes before we jump into our basic moves.”

Terry walked away, giving you time to kick your sneakers off. He turns on some music and makes his way over to the thick floor mats situated in front of wall–length mirrors. You join him, stopping in front of him.

“Okay, down on your back.”

You settle on your butt and then relax back until your head touched the mat. Once again, you can’t avoid Terry’s body above you. He lowered to his knees at your feet.

“We’ll start with the hold–relax technique.”

Without warning, Terry straddles your left thigh and instructed for you to elevate your right leg with your foot in the air. Your eyes blinked slowly while staring up at the ceiling, but your body reacted to Terry’s hand on your knee and the other on the heel of your sock–covered foot. Your body hummed with desire. Something you couldn’t control. And if you so much as lift your left knee, you would brush across his crotch. The little voice in the back of your mind told you to do it and see how he’d react, but you ultimately restrained yourself from being too bold. This was a passive pre–stretch, held at a point of mild discomfort for about ten seconds.

“Ready on three. One…two…three—”

You count down ten seconds in your head, still keeping your eyes glued to the ceiling of the garage.

“Good, good,” Terry tapped your knee with his hand, “Think you can go again before we do the next part?”

“Uh–huh,” You replied with a weak laugh.

You brace yourself, palms flat against the mat. Terry does it again and you count down, the aching muscles in your thighs struggling to hold on.

“Well done. Nearly there,” Terry shifted his hips over your left leg, drawing in closer, “Y/N?”

Your gaze snapped down to meet his. You wish you hadn’t. He looked good from that angle. The thin, gold rope chain around his neck dangling in your face. His hazel–green eyes blinking at you, that lush mouth with pink lips and a pink tongue looking inviting—

“Ouch!”

Terry applied a hip flexion force. You squeeze your eyes shut and roll your lips inward tightly.

“Hold and don’t let me move the leg.” Terry ordered.

You hold and resist the movement so that isometric muscle action occurs. After six seconds, Terry allowed you to relax. He slowly lowered your leg and you couldn’t control the tremors, thigh meat jiggling involuntarily. He repeats the same stretch to your left.

“Still with me? That was light work,” Terry chuckled at your death glare, “Hate me now?”

“Very close to hating you,” You giggle but quickly stop because of the pain, “Is the thirty minutes up already?”

“Not even close,” up on his knee, Terry placed his right hip between your legs and his hands around the knee of the target leg, “Let’s do some inner thigh stretching. I’ll start with this leg first…”

Both legs bent comfortably with your feet on the mat, Terry pressed your right leg outward against the resistance and only goes so far as you can resist the movement. You exhale rapidly, the pain so severe that you’re unable to take even, slow breaths.

“You gotta relax for me, Y/N—”

“I can’t do this—”

Terry cuts you off, “Stop saying what you CAN’T DO. Trust me, your body is more than capable. RELAX. Ten more seconds…”

Bastard.

“Three, two, one, okay…”

You sigh, leg quivering. Startled, your right leg jerked from Terry caressing your inner thigh. You lock eyes with him, face growing hot with arousal. He may not have been aware of how this was turning you on, but the throb of your clit told you so.

“One more on this side and then we’ll do the left.”

You roll your eyes, “Terry, this is hard…”

“Bet you’ll stretch more now.”

You bite your tongue. Terry gave you another minute and then he was stretching the right leg again. Shaky breaths escaped your mouth. Terry gently placed your right leg down after thirty seconds and turned towards your left. You close your eyes and turn your head to the side, staring at the mirrors. Your eyes admire the thin material of his shorts spread over his ass. It was enough to distract you from the pain. Just a little. Every major and minor muscle in his body was defined. You were in the presence of an Adonis.

“Are you still with me?”

You blink away from the mirror and nod your head with a smile.

“Okay. One more…”

After the final stretch, Terry allowed you to stand and take a break. He offered you some water and you drink a generous amount. Terry did the same, pacing back and forth with his eyes on you.

He recapped his water, “We’ll do upper body next.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Terry tucked his chin and looked at you with a sly smirk, “I think you know the answer to that question.”

After a few minutes you were on your back again. Terry dropped to his knees above your head and motioned for you to raise your arms. He instructed for you to interlace your hands and keep your legs bent comfortably. Terry leaned over your head and brought your arms upward toward him. Your eyes look up and you’re staring directly between his legs and at his crotch…

“We’ll hold until you can’t anymore. Ten reps…”

“Okay…”

Terry stares down into your eyes. You look back, aware that your cleavage is touching your chin. He blinks away and down the length of your body before bringing your arms down. The closer he gets, the more you can smell almondy tonka bean and citrus wafting from the space between his legs and it caused the hairs on your arms to stand up.

You raise your hands a little too quickly and you almost hit him in the face. Terry’s head swiveled out of the way and he laughed, although you felt embarrassed. It was his fault, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay. That’s why I lead and you follow.” He spoke evenly with a half smile, “Don’t get too carried away now…”

Your dick smells nice and I want to bury my face between your legs.

“Breathe, almost done, okay?”

“How many reps do I have left, I sort of checked out.”

Terry chuckles, “Three more, Y/N.”

——

Days stretched into weeks.

In neutral stance, she waits for further instructions.

When Y/N exercises, Terry watches her shine like a freshly washed car in the morning light. He moves forward once she’s still, fighting the urge to run his fingers down her arms just like the mirror in his bathroom after a hot shower, always slick with condensation.

The closer he gets, the more he could smell her sweat, a mixture of musk and the deodorant she wore. He grew accustomed to her scent from heavy exertion, craved it the more he’d spent time with her. Terry stopped, staring down at her with domineering eyes. She looked adorable with her serious eyes and look of determination. Her legs are shoulder-width apart and her arms hung by her sides. This position replicates how you would stand when you are unaware of an attack.

Terry circled her body, stopping directly behind her. He didn’t warn her when his large body pressed against her back and his arms pulled her into a bear hug from behind. He pinned her arms to her body, Y/N automatically fighting to break free. Her movements almost knocked both of them off balance, but she was still unable to defend herself from Terry’s tight grip.

“What did I teach you, huh?” Terry spoke between breaths, “drop your weight…drop your weight, Y/N.”

Her ass continued to collide with Terry’s groin. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from grunting. All that plushness within his embrace is exactly what he loved. His type of woman.

Keep it professional.

She dropped her weight with a fast squat. In a wide stance, Y/N shifted her hips sideways to strike his groin with her palm. Y/N lunged forward and elbowed Terry’s stomach before escaping. None of her blows were damaging, but it was enough to free her. Terry watched as Y/N cheered, throwing her arms up and hopping up and down. She was wearing an athletic halter top in hot pink with matching shorts. Her curly fro was frizzy from sweating, some strands falling into her eyes.

Terry couldn’t ignore the bounce of her breasts and the pretty smile on her round face.

“Finally! It took me forever to get that one!” Y/N spoke excitedly.

“You did good. With more practice, you’ll be able to fight me off in no time.” Terry replied.

He gave Y/N two thumbs up before giving her a high–five with both hands. Y/N bent over and braced herself on her knees, trying to steady her breath. Terry grabbed a towel and wiped sweat from his face. Y/N’s pendulous breasts teased his eyes again. The sheen on her cleavage from her sweat made his mouth water.

“What next?”

Terry sat the towel down and pulled his gaze away from her titties just in time for Y/N to look up at him.

“Look at you, so eager,” Terry arched a brow at her, “Where did this energy come from, hm?”

“I’m already on ten, I need an outlet.” Y/N admitted.

“Mind if I ask why?”

Y/N took a seat on a bench. Terry watched her face as stress lines appeared.

“Aria’s father. Just co–parenting issues.” She revealed.

Terry nodded his head in understanding. He didn’t press her to dig deeper, so he gave her some space to calm down before they continued. He’d wondered about Aria’s father and whether or not he and Y/N were still together.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I am,” Y/N stood, “Let’s finish this.”

They fell back into training some basic Krav Maga moves. Terry grabbed a kick shield so that Y/N could practice kicks. She was getting better since incorporating more mobility stretching.

“There you go! Get that leg up higher!”

“Umph,” Y/N struck the bag with her left foot.

“That was weak,” Terry pushed back, causing Y/N to lose her footing, “what type of kick…”

“Really?” Y/N threw her leg up and with all her strength she hit the shield, “How was that?!”

Terry rocked back on his heels. He looked at Y/N with an unblinking stare as sweat rolled down her face. She tried catching her breath, chest rising and falling faster than usual.

“BETTER,” Terry taunted her by shoving her with the kick shield to provoke her, “But not IMPRESSIVE.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at Terry. Her angry face was so freaking cute. Anything she did was cute to him. Just adorable and fun-sized.

“When will you give me my props, Terry? I’ve been going hard for nearly a month!” Y/N argued.

“When you stop doubting yourself and seeking validation with every little step then maybe I’ll ease up.” Terry fired back.

“You’re insufferable!” Y/N charged him, throwing messy jabs and kicks while Terry held up the shield, “YOU. MAKE. ME. SICK.”

“I make you WHAT?” Terry said, towering over her.

Y/N planted her foot so hard into the shield that she rocked Terry’s equilibrium. He dropped the bag at the same time as Y/N went to kick again, not realizing he’d done so. Terry grabbed her ankle with a vice grip. Y/N hopped on one foot, breath hitching and eyes wide like she’d been spooked.

“Pay attention.”

Terry let go of her ankle and Y/N stood there with shock.

“That kick is what I needed from you. That’s how you do it.” Terry said.

Y/N wiped sweat from her chin and gave Terry a small smile. He returned the smile, one hand reaching out to give her shoulder a squeeze.

“I push you because I see the best in you and I know you can do it,” Terry counted off on his fingers, “Vigilance, empowerment, good instincts, freedom. You gain all those things. It’s important that you take this seriously and you take my training seriously.”

“I understand.” Y/N responded with a sigh.

“But?” Terry bowed his head to stare down at her.

Y/N fidgeted with her short, acrylic french tips. Terry waited for her to find the words to say whatever was on her mind. His fingers itched to tilt her chin up and look him in the eye. When she finally stared up at him through her lashes, Terry held her gaze.

“I want to impress you. I seek validation because I want to make you proud, Terry.” Y/N admitted with a small voice.

Her thoughtful words warmed his heart and his eyes. His gaze softened as he watched her pretty brown eyes drop to his chest then down to her hands again. Terry’s hands grasp her shoulders. He leaned in and tilted his head to meet her gaze.

“I am proud of you, Y/N. You’ve impressed me with how easily you learn and grow. I just want you to embrace the challenges with a confidence boost.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied with a bashful laugh, “I’m sorry I kirked out on you.”

“No need to apologize,” Terry straightened his back, “Just don’t let it happen again.”

Y/N parted her lips to speak but no words came out.

——

You pull up to your brother’s rancher, parking behind his pick–up truck. The sound of children playing filtered from behind the home, carrying you there and past the iron gate. You catch a glimpse of your daughter and her multi–colored braids swaying as she ran to kick a soccer ball. Her cousin who’s slightly older than her, Madison, ran behind her with a big smile and pig tails falling into her eyes.

You stop to watch with a smirk as your daughter kicks the ball, missing the goal as it rolled in the grass. Madison took the lead and sped past Aria, aiming for the opposite goal. Aria started having a temper tantrum, stomping her little feet and scrunching her face. Madison kicked the soccer ball into the goal and it collided with the net.

“I did it! I did it!” Madison cheered.

Aria glowered at her older cousin. You make your way over to her, Aria noticing you and her frown turned into a big, toothy grin. She ran the rest of the way towards you, wrapping her tiny arms around your neck. You squeeze her, pressing your nose into her hair that smelled of argan oil.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

“Hi my baby,” you kiss her temple, “How’s my little princess?”

“Good,” Aria kissed your cheek, “We painted in school today! I have a picture for you!”

“Ahhh! Really?! Oh my goodness. I bet it’s a masterpiece.” You spoke excitedly with bright eyes.

“It can go on the fridge next to the flowers I colored.” Aria babbled as she formed words.

You grab Aria’s hand, “It can. We have plenty of room.”

Madison walks over with her soccer ball in hand and you pull her into a hug before kissing the top of her hair.

“How’s my niece? Did you win your game today?”

“Yes! You should have seen me out there!”

Madison showed you a move that won them the game.

“I already knew you were gonna win!” You replied boisterously.

The sound of a glass door sliding open caught your ear. Out walked your older brother; James. He wore a pair of faded dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt. The glasses over his eyes made him look articulate. He’d shaved his head completely bald since his hairline started receding, but it suited him. James could pull off any hairstyle.

“Hey, hey!”

“ ‘Sup sis?”

James gives you a one arm hug and a kiss to your hairline.

“Thanks for picking up Aria. My session ran a little late today.”

“All good. You know I got you.”

You follow your brother into the house. Aria ran off to grab her things and Madison followed behind. You open the fridge and grab yourself some homemade iced tea. James was in the middle of thawing out some steaks for dinner. You glance at the family photos on his fridge before walking away.

“Where’s Jr?” You question.

“In that room playing the game.”

“Tonya’s at work today?”

James nods his head while reaching inside of his pantry for some potatoes, “She’s been working longer shifts at the hospital lately. She finally got a weekend off. Been planning it for Madison’s birthday for months now. I have everything taken care of so she can ease her mind.”

“That’s good to hear. You know I’m here to help if you need me, bro,” You take a sip of your tea, “I’m still making my potato salad and seafood salad.”

“Damn right you are! shid, before momma passed she put you in charge of that!” James replied with a laugh following.

“Like you can’t do it.”

“I’m on grill duty! You want my famous ribs don’t you?!”

“Shut up,” You sit your cup down on the kitchen island and stretch your arms above your head, wincing in pain, “I can’t wait to go home and take a hot bath in epsom salt.”

“Terry been workin’ you hard, huh?”

“Too hard. Treating me like I’m one of his cadets.” You complain.

“Stop it, Aria! It’s mine!”

“Hey! What I tell ya’ll about that bickering? Pipe it down!” James chastised.

“Aria! Behave!” You say, “These little girls…”

“Terry knows his shit, baby sis. He’ll get you right in no time.” James replied.

“I know he does.”

James started peeling potatoes.

“I see a change in you for sure.”

“I feel it too…feel like I’m getting back to myself.” You reveal.

Aria came dashing out from Madison’s room with her back pack and tablet in one hand. You check to make sure she had everything before saying farewell to your brother and niece.

“Drive safely, sis. Love you Ari,” James gives Aria and you a goodbye hug, “I’ll see ya’ll this Saturday. Shoot me a text when you make it in.”

��Will do! Love ya’ll.”

You hug Madison and make your way outside, locking the door behind you.

——

Terry handed you a jump rope and you gave him a bizzare look. His serious face with steadfast eyes was enough for you to take the rope from his hand. He watched you turn your back towards him and toss the rope over your head while holding both sides.

“Forty–five seconds.” Terry set a timer, “Go.”

He was soaked with sweat from his earlier workout. He figured he’d take a shower after his session with you. The front of his olive green tank top held a large stain of sweat. His face glistened beneath the lights and the tattoos on his arms popped from the perspiration leaking from his pours.

Terry watched you jump, short, plump legs pushing off of the gym mat. You wore a teal blue workout set. A skort with a matching bralette. The bralette had a keyhole style in the front, giving a peek of cleavage. Your feet in white sneakers tripped over the rope causing you to stumble. Terry paused the timer.

“I suck at jump rope, Terry.” She admitted with a tired exhale.

“You were doing well. Give me a full forty–five seconds and I’ll let you rest.”

You perked up at the mention of rest, big brown eyes that reminded him of hot cocoa on a winter night twinkling.

“Still gotta do glutes and hamstrings, Y/N.”

The brightness of your gaze dimmed.

“Let’s go.” Terry commanded.

You take a deep breath before positioning yourself again. Terry set the timer and you went back to jumping, face scrunched in discomfort and sweat flickering from your body with each move. Terry licked his lips as he paced, taking his arms and folding them over his sturdy chest. You catch his eye in the mirror for a second before squeezing them shut from the intense burn.

“Terry—”

“Ten more seconds. Hold on.” Terry reassured.

His deep voice and the sternness of it motivated you. The timer beeped and you stopped, tossing the jump rope to the floor and resting your hands on your hips while you attempt to calm your racing heart and uneven breaths.

“GOOD JOB.” Terry encouraged with a thunderous clap of his hands.

You nod your head. Terry walked up towards you and placed a hand on your back, rubbing it. He could feel the tension in your muscles loosening beneath his callused hands. Terry took that moment to embrace the sensation of your skin. Silky smooth. Blemish free. Soft. His eyes did a quick sweep of the tattoo teasing him on your lower back. It looked like a butterfly.

“Rest time…”

Terry dropped his hand. He hadn’t realized he was rubbing your back the entire time. Lost in the sensation of your delicate skin.

You settle on a bench and grab your water jug. Terry turned the music down and joined you with his own water. You both sat in silence for a moment until Terry turned his body at an angle to get a better look at you. Your curly hair had that freshly fucked look to it. Wild coils tightly wound from shrinkage. He could smell the shea butter. You glance up at him bashfully before your eyes focused on the bottle in your hand.

He made you nervous. More so during moments like this. When everything was still. He wanted to pick your brain, learn more about you.

“Any plans this weekend?”

She looked at him again, “Saturday. My niece has a birthday party.”

“Ah, James told me about that.” Terry revealed with a smirk.

“…you’re coming?”

Terry caught the thrill in her question. She wanted him there. He scratched the side of his face with his thumb to fight the urge to smile at that revelation.

“I planned to,” Terry licked his lips, “Support a friend and eat some good food, ya know?”

She laughed, “That’s sweet of you,” she nudged him with her elbow, “I’m making potato and seafood salad. The best in town.”

“Seafood salad is a favorite of mine. I gotta see that for myself.” Terry replied with playful banter.

She picked up a towel to dab sweat away from her face and chest. Terry’s eyes did a slow descent to her chest, his mouth watering and tongue aching to taste. He looked away and shut his eyes for a moment.

“I can’t wait to make you eat your words, Terry Richmond.”

“Not the whole government.” Terry chuckled.

“Because I don’t play about my seafood salad. When I say it’s the best, I mean it!”

You swatted his arm with your towel. Terry caught it with his hand and with a slight tug he pulled you closer. You gasp, the sound shooting straight to his semi–hard dick. Terry brought his face closer to yours, eyes locked on to your dilated pupils.

“Aht, aht…play nice. Save that energy for sparring, baby girl.”

He released the towel and it dropped to the floor. You quickly avert your gaze before bending over to grab it. At that moment, Terry’s hazel eyes studied that lower back tattoo. It was a butterfly indeed. Cute.

And is that…back dimples?

“Do we really have to lift today?”

The pout on your lip made him smile.

“YES. Better get on it now so we both can relax, right?”

You groan and take your time standing from the bench. Terry set up the squat rack while you drink a little bit more water. You make your way over and he instructs for you to get into position. Back facing him, he guided the safely squat bar over your shoulders.

“Alight, three sets of twenty.”

Still behind you, Terry counts as you squat. Your stance is perfect and so was that big ass poking out at him. Bending over like that made that ass bigger. Terry tried to focus on anything else, but no matter how many times he counted, you were distracting him. He looked down at the bulge beneath his grey shorts and how noticeable it is.

I’m in trouble, he thought.

“Last one.” Terry said.

You struggle to lift so Terry grabbed a hold of your waist to ease you back up. The moment your ass grazed his print you created space between you both. A look of embarrassment crossed your face and Terry was too stunned to speak.

“That was my fault—”

“No I was too close—”

“I was only trying to help—”

“I should have stepped away—”

Both of you pause. Neither of you could let the other speak first. Terry blinked slowly at you. You stared up at him with your lips parted. An unspoken glance at his crotch made it acutely aware of his stiffness. There was no denying it. Not when his dick sat fat and twisted to the side. It almost poked out the leg opening of his shorts.

“Uhm…”

Terry just stared at you.

“What’s happening right now?” She spoke.

Terry glanced sideways and then back into your eyes. At this point, might as well come out with it.

“No reason to skirt around the obvious…”

You fidget with your hands and shift your weight. Terry cocked his head and his gaze remained locked on you. Unyielding.

There goes your scent again. That musk. He was losing control. The silence was killing him. If you weren’t going to speak he sure was.

“Aight, Y/N. If you haven’t already guessed by now, I like you. A LOT.”

Terry cut to the quick.

You nod your head slowly. Unsure if what was happening was real.

“What happened,” Terry’s hands raised as he tried to explain himself, “I didn’t mean to…to get close…but I’ve wanted to…for weeks now. No sense in boiling it down to excuses.”

Terry got closer. You blink up at him like you were stuck in a trance.

“Can I get some feedback here?” Terry cracked a smile as he studied your face, “I don’t know what you’re feelin’.”

He could see that you were struggling to find the words to speak. Terry’s hands touched your arms and he stroked your tacky skin with his thumbs. A shaky exhale escaped your mouth. Pretty brown eyes filled with uncertainty met his gaze.

“I…I’m feeling the same…” She spoke softly.

“Do you?” Terry asked.

“I do. I just didn’t expect…”

Terry’s hands fell to his sides. You reach up and touch the spot where his hands once were.

“Didn’t expect me to be interested?”

“Yeah.”

Terry smirked, “Now, what would make you think that? Because you’re beyond beautiful.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“I’m James’ sister.” Y/N replied with a small voice.

Terry furrowed his brows.

“Uh…what that mean, Y/N?”

“It means I’m off limits! Right?”

“Who the fuck made that rule?” Terry replied with a slight curl of his upper lip.

“Nobody—”

“Y/N, you feel the same, right?”

“Yes,” her eyes flickered with confusion.

“So fuck it.” Terry spoke confidently with a slight hint of mischief.

You laugh nervously.

“For real.” Terry said.

——

What had just occurred?

You stand before your trainer, eyes wide and mouth open. Your fine ass trainer just admitted to having feelings for you and all you could do is stand there like a deer in headlights?

His dick is hard because of you. His beautiful eyes admired you with romantic intensity. He didn’t care what your brother thought. He wanted you. Something straight out of a book. This was a chance encounter with a man that checked off all your boxes, even though he worked your last nerve in the gym.

“For real.” He said.

This was a grown man talking. Apparently he’d been silent long enough. It took for your ass to tap his dick for the truth to emerge. Funny how that happens. Your stomach fluttered with excitement. Terry titled your head up to look at him. Your eyes danced between each other. He stroked your chin with his thumb.

“You’re so pretty.”

“Thank you,” you replied, “so are you—I mean—what I was trying to say—what I meant to say was—”

Terry chuckled, “Y/N, shut up.”

“Huh? Excuse me—”

His thick lips graced yours. He shut you up alright. Stunned, you rock back on unsteady feet. Terry’s hands circle your plush waist and he took control, walking you backwards towards the mirrored wall. Your back against it, immediately his tongue slipped into your mouth and you mold your hands against his chest, falling onto the kiss with your own tongue.

You could taste his sweat. His tongue glided over yours like a wet tentacle. It made your breath hitch and your fingernails drag down his chest. The hands on your hips planted against the mirror, trapping you while he devoured your mouth with his skillful tongue and pliant lips. Sandalwood, tarragon, and spearmint. That’s what you could smell. Woody, earthy, and with an animalistic undertone.

His tongue swiped your lower lip with a hungry growl and his large hands cupped your round face to keep you in place. He guided your movements how he wanted, your fingers trembling as they smoothed over his shoulders and down to his hips. Broad upper body gracefully narrowing down to a tapered waist much like the letter ‘V’. The coveted shape that symbolized the pinnacle of physical attractiveness. You’d never seen him shirtless, and you desperately needed to.

Lips puffy from kissing, Terry gave you a moment to breathe properly while his mouth explored your neck. He pressed kisses against your sweaty skin and the tip of his tongue stroked upward until he was latching onto your earlobe decorated with a diamond Tiffany stud. Terry’s hands were everywhere. He kneaded your curves desperately, palming your ass and hips. He did it so forcefully that you were almost lifted from the floor.

“I…need…you…” he spoke with a hushed tone.

Your breath hitches, “Take me…” you replied barely above a whisper.

Terry unlatched his head from the crease of your neck to lock eyes with you. His eyes were low and sleepy–like. As if he were intoxicated from you.

“Take you? Oh…don’t say that if you ain’t ready. I’ll take that ass to the moon. Have you seeing the fuckin’ galaxy.”

“Terry…”

His brows snapped together and his tongue sat in the corner of his mouth. He hooked his fingers beneath the straps to your bralette and with a tug he made your breasts bounce. Repeatedly.

“Big ass titties…fat titties…just how I like it…”

You couldn’t believe how he was talking to you. Terry let go of your straps and they snapped in place with a slight sting. He cupped your breasts from the sides and mushed them up. You watch with a weak gaze as he fondled like he was kneading dough.

“I want my…”

He paused.

“Your what, Terry?”

“Intrusive thoughts…you just make me weak, girl…”

This big, strong man?

“Tell me…”

Terry looked at you.

“I want my dick sandwiched between these.”

You knew that’s what he was going to say but you wanted to hear him say it. And you loved the way he said it so desperately. Like he was begging you.

“Can I see you?”

He bent down and pecked your cleavage through the keyhole of your bralette. You moan from the tickle of his lips. Glancing down you couldn’t believe your eyes. Terry was past the point of hard. You didn’t know what to categorize his dick at that moment. That long dick pitched a tent in his shorts. You’d never seen it like that before.

“Yes, yes,” you touch his tip with your fingers, “Terry, oh my god…”

Terry fit his long fingers beneath your bralette and with a hard tug he released your hanging breasts. They bounced free and Terry didn’t waste time grabbing both and pointing your hard nipples straight at his mouth. You couldn’t look away if you tried. He suckled your breasts and looked you in the eyes. Large body hunched forward to feast.

“Oh my gosh,” you had no choice but to look at him, “Terry, please don’t stop.”

This can’t be happening right now. He’s sucking and licking your nipples. Terry pressed his face between and his tongue wiggled while he used your breasts like earmuffs. You whimpered, overwhelmed with how much he enjoyed your breasts. His tongue licked all over your areolas, cleaning the sweat from your skin.

“FUCK.”

Terry resurfaced and twirled your nipples. He sought out your lips again while he tugged and pinched and rolled your nipples between his fingers.

“You gon’ make me unleash this beast and fuck the shit outta you girl.”

He was talking his shit. You didn’t have the capacity to do so at the moment. He was thumbing your nipples and it made your clit jump. Wet and tingly between your legs, you SO FUCKING NEEDED him to do that with your pussy but wait—

“C’mere…”

Terry turned you around abruptly and with a hand on your spine he pushed you forward. Your hands connected with the mirror and he locked eyes with your reflection.

“Move that ass up and down on this tip. Three sets of twenty.” Terry ordered, “COUNT.”

Hand in your hair, one on your waist, you start to move your hips up and down. Your ass brushed his tip and you could feel it poke your pussy lips from behind each time you went up.

“Six…seven…eight…”

“Feel that burn?”

“Yesss…eleven…twelve…”

“Get used to that…”

His hand on your waist reached around to squeeze your stomach.

“Keep going, I ain’t tell you to stop.”

“Nineteen…twenty…”

You were clenching around nothing. Pussy flutters out of control.

“Two more. If you keep it up I’ll stick my tongue in it just like this before I feed you this dick…”

His deep baritone sent chills throughout your body. You feel sweat dripping from every inch of your skin the more you moved with a slow motion. Your glutes burned and your thighs quaked. Terry released your hair and right before your eyes he lifted his shirt to rest under his chin.

Good GOD.

Thick ridges of muscle. Shining like he’d been oiled down. This man had eleven percent body fat. Disciplined. Sculpted. Holy SHIT.

“T–ten…eleven…”

“Good girl…not too much longer…”

He’s the epitome of sexy. Whatever control this man had he definitely didn’t give a damn now. With one more slow whine, Terry was on you like white on rice. He had a wet spot over his tip and his breaths came out uneven and rushed as he led you over to a pair of UFC pull up rings.

“Grab each one and bend over…”

“Terry, wait…”

You knew what he wanted but you were musty from working out. He popped you on the ass for moving too slow.

“NOW.” He spoke evenly and firmly.

You grab onto the rings and without warning Terry was tugging on your skort until it fell around your ankles. You stood there in a pair of panties and they were soaked with sweat and your arousal. Your frantic eyes sought out his. Terry gave you a smirk before using one hand to remove your panties. You step out of them and watch with shock as he admired the creamy essence on the crotch of your panties. Terry thumbed it and spread it over his fingers like he was inspecting it before sucking it off.

Those panties found a new home in his pocket. You watch stunned as he takes off his sweaty T-shirt and it joined your bottoms on the floor. Terry stood behind you with a bare chest and a gold chain. He used a single finger to trace down your back and between your ass cheeks. You nibble on your bottom lip to control the quivering.

“Bend that ass over for me, love.”

——

A wide ass and a back with rolls of delicious flesh.

Pendulums known as your breasts swaying from your postiton.

The way you looked back at him like you couldn’t find the words to describe how much you NEED his tongue in you.

And Terry was going to put his tongue so far up that fat pussy to the point of dislocating his jaw.

His tastebuds sizzled with gluttony to taste more. Creamy pussy with that twang that had him primal.

He got down on his knees behind your short frame and spread your cheeks. Two holes met his piercing eyes. Pink flesh with a creamy center beckoned him and without pause his tongue wiggled between hungrily.

“UNH!”

You hang your head and stand on your tip toes. Swaying forward, Terry followed your movements. When it got out of control, he’d pop your ass to keep you still.

“Fuck this shit,” He locked your thighs with his biceps.

He sucked and slurped so cruelly. Like he was punishing you for moving. Vanquished, you slump forward and from your blurry vision you could see a stream of spit drip to the floor. He was slobbering all over your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” your arms began to shake and burn, “I can’t hold it.”

Terry released your clit with a deep exhale that fanned your pussy with hot air, “Fuck my face.”

With a weak whimper, you pop your juicy pussy on his mouth. Terry’s wild tongue and thick lips had you experiencing an out of body sensation.

“Fuck, you’re eating the fuck outta my pussy!”

He got closer with one hand on the floor and he angled his head to eat it from a different direction. He was all up in your pussy and at this point you didn’t care if you weren’t showered he wanted it he could have it.

“You taste…exactly how…I pictured you would…”

He spoke between licks and sucks.

“Sweet and strong…the best thing next to my momma’s cooking…good pussy…”

You moan in response.

“So tasty…feed me…”

You fight back a groan and rock back on his fine ass face. Your back muscles burned deliciously. In the mirror you could see your ass moving like a tidal wave.

“Right there…oh, yes,” you moan.

“Mhm…mhmmmm…hmm…mhmm?” he hummed into your pussy.

There it was, sneaking up on you.

“I’m cummin’ I’M CUMMIN’!” You squeal with broken moans.

Terry sucked you up and you caught a slight cramp in your calf muscle from how drastically your body convulses. A total body vibration. He gave you soft kisses all over your pussy and that only increased the overstimulation. Terry finally came up for air and you locked eyes with him. His face was glossy and stained with cum. He helped you stand and with his hands he massaged your stiff shoulders and arms. You could smell the pungent pheromones on his lips. Leaning in, Terry caught your tongue between his lips and sucked. While kissing, you stroked his impressive length through his shorts.

“I ain’t scared you off yet, did I?” Terry asked.

“No.” You respond with a dazed look.

“You sure? Because,” Terry gripped your wrist firm and slipped it past the waist band of his shorts and compression briefs, “This what you gettin’.”

You were too late with masking your gasp. It just slipped past your lips. Your chubby fingers couldn’t form a complete ring around his girth.

“Still ain’t scared?”

Terry guided you to stroke him. The veins beneath the palm of your hand rendered you speechless. Big? No this was a behemoth. And you weren’t exaggerating about never having a dick this big. It was completely true.

“You can be honest with me.” Terry said with a grin.

“…definitely bigger than what I’m used to.”

“I think we can both agree you’ve proven that you can take whatever I dish out…”

Terry kept his eyes on you but the hand on yours in his shorts tightened. He wanted you to feel how stiff he is. Like he could withstand anything. All of this was for you. He was like this because of you.

“It’s time to take care of this.”

You drop to your knees and stare up at him. The visual before your eyes…

Shorts past his hips and resting around his thighs, you come face to face with a monster. The body matched the dick. You could pat yourself on the back for your skills but this was another hurdle to overcome. But, you had to remind yourself that you gave birth which is a challenge indeed, so sucking a big dick should be a breeze, right?

It’s a pretty dick. Darker in contrast to the rest of his body. Terry gave your hair a slight tug to focus you on the task. You hold that big motherfucker at the base and with hungry lips you wrap them around his tip and start sucking.

““Dasssit, suck that mothafucka,” Terry grabbed a fistful of tight coils, “I get to play with your mouth. Good. Eyes up here.”

You look up at him while sucking half and jerking the rest. Sunken in cheeks and a bob of your head was his visual. Terry extended his neck and started moving his hips to meet your mouth as you came down over him. He’s so thick in your mouth. You shut your eyes and suck and slurp, loud noises a reminder of how sloppy it’s supposed to be. Spit clung to your chin and made its way to your breasts in such a short time.

“Suck it like that,” Terry’s hips would jerk a little to pump into your mouth while his hand pet the back of your head, “Good girls like you get a dick in the mouth. You see this dick?” Terry pulled your mouth off of him by gripping your hair, “It’s your Daddy dick, right?”

“Y-yes,” You were horny, pussy soaked, reaching out to stroke him.

“Cute ass. Stick your tongue out.”

You do as your told and Terry slapped his dick on it a few times before forcing more of him down your throat.

“Hold it. Just like that…been daydreaming of fillin’ these jaws with this dick…”

You gag and pinch your thumb to help control the urge to gag again. Terry wanted you messy and he did just that with the way his dick going in and out of your mouth produced more spit.

“Hands behind your back, mhm…big titty, pretty lady…”

His pubic hair tickled your nose and it smelled powdery and fresh despite the amount of sweat on his body. The taste of his pre-cum was enough for you to tongue his slit. Terry tilted his head down at you with a look akin to defeat.

“Uuuuuhhhhnnnnn, FFFFUCCCKIIIIN SLUT—”

You weren’t prepared for that brazen performance and the vulgar tone. Terry’s free hand made a fist that pumped the veins in his arm. You could see his balls jump with his release down your throat and it was magical. His cum tasted delicious and you savored every drop. After wiping away as much as you could, Terry helped you to your feet and thanked you with a sloppy kiss. He pressed his forehead against yours before his lips attacked your jaw.

——

You’re in his bedroom. A master bedroom with a king size bed, walk–in closet, a lounge area, and a large bathroom. Terry carried you all the way to his room with his tongue in your mouth and his hands cuffing your ass. He picked you up like you were feather weight.

Now, strong hands gripped your hips tightly. You can’t run from the pain and pleasure. Too much to handle at once. Nonsense spewing from your lips, you squeeze your eyes shut but the tears disobeyed you. You’ve never been this filled and fucked at the same time. He put you in position and fit that dig in despite your cries. The mantra of being stretched just fueled him. With the little strength you could muster, you try to ease off of his big dick but his hands smoothed up to your waist and with a shove your right cheek planted hard against the comforter.

“what I say ‘bout all that runnin’?” Terry barked out.

“I’m sorry!” You cry.

Without another word, he went back to fucking the shit out of you. while your spine is curling to shy away from him, his big hips clapped against your ass while you’re crawling closer easing closer to the headboard. Your trembling fingers fisted the sheets, trying your best to ease some of that pressure, that stretch, that split. His big hands smooth over the rippling flesh of your backside, squeezing on it like two handles, yanking you back where he wants you. The feeling of his tip hitting the bottom of your pussy caused hot tears to prick the corners of your eyes.

“Can’t run from me baby, remember? I train you to do. what. I. say…”

His thrusts were punctuated.

“When I tell you to do something you fuckin’ do it,” he murmurs, tongue deviously tracing his bottom lip because that pussy is his meal.

“Terrrryyyyyyyy….”

Terry allowed his hips to do all the work while he grabbed one of your ankles. Your pussy recoiled back onto raw dick. Your pathetic squeaks get shoved out of you with every plunge, riding through the burn as your pussy responded to the harsh treatment with a flood of more cream, wetting his entry just like he wants.

“That’s it, baby girl, cream like that, good girl,” Terry observes in awe, mouth dropping open and brows pinched together tightly, “Fffuck…mmm.”

You were making a creamy ring at the base of his dick, stringing in his dark pubic hair. So much slick and so much more pleasure. So intense it surged a heat so powerful all over your skin. Sweat poured from both of your bodies.

“Mmm, damn girl,” Terry hums, teeth marking the space past his lower lip as he bites down on it hard.

That clamp on your ass cheeks constricts and you know from his grip alone it’ll leave bruises, whimpering brokenly into the mattress.

“Ter–Terry…” You release an airy sigh of defeat.

“Tell me what you want, use that mouth of yours, you do any other time, right?!” He teases through a husky exhale, tipping his head back as he looks down at that pussy slurping him up making the nastiest sounds.

“I want to cum! Please–Please D–Daddy!”

You were so close. And you were afraid how intense it would be. The knot in your belly tightened and your body seized up out of your control.

“Cum on this dick!”

His deep voice through clenched teeth caused you to erupt liked you’d never done before. And Terry didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm. And now, you were squirting.

“Open up, nah, wet this dick up.”

He continued to fuck you long dick style. Your titties smacked together from the force and once again another orgasm was on the horizon.

“Fuckin’ this pussy up just like you deserve.”

This man was plowing you.

“Ohmigooooddddddd—”

Clapclapclapclap

“OH!”

Terry’s hips slowed to a stop but that dick remained deep as he kissed along your spine.

“I’m so open,” you couldn’t believe it.

Terry eased himself out and the sensation made your back arch. He palmed a hefty, cellulite–filled cheek and jiggled it.

“Yeah, she open alright,” Terry admired his work while fisting his messy dick, “Time to climb on top though. I want that weight on my dick.”

Terry crawled onto the bed and you sat up on your knees, watching him settle on his back. Terry motioned for you to swing a thigh over and when you did he pointed his tip at you pussy and with both hands on your ass and his biceps curled beneath your knees, Terry entered you with an upward thrust.

“Look at me…”

You look down past your breasts and belly and the man beneath you smiled at you like he didn’t just fuck your brains out. What he did next shocked you. This man used you like a barbell and did arm curls over that dick. Two hundred plus pounds being handled on the dick.

And it was loud. Skin slapping bouncing off the walls while he bounced you in his lap. His arms circled your waist and it forced your breast to rest on his forehead. He fucked up into your pussy so good you could only pout your lip and give in. But he was talking. Terry was talking.

“Tell daddy where he’s at…you know I like it when you do that baby…uh-huh…all up in this pussy, huh? Been wanting me to fuck you? Now you get to feel this dick in your stomach…that’s it, my big girl…fuck back like a big girl…”

He had that ass gyrating. Your mouth unhinged and at the same time his balls clapped your ass you nutted on that dick again.

His stamina is out of this world. You were seeing shooting stars and the milky way behind your lids. Terry was drenched from head to toe and now he had you folded like origami with his hands on the back of your thighs to keep you locked in place and his toes digging into the mattress. Like a piston he fed your pussy more dick with his chain hanging over your face. Your feet were on his shoulders and your breasts sat up and out for him to suck on. He had a hand on your belly now and all you could do was watch him fuck you.

“You know this my puss, right?”

“It is!” You shout.

He withdrew his hips and put his lips on your pussy again.

“Terry SHIT!”

This man was too much. You could hardly see him past your big titties but he latched onto your clit and sucked. Your toes curled in opposite directions while your hands tangled in the sheets. Speaking of the sheets, they were soaked through.

He kissed your clit and sat up to look at you. You stare down at him before falling back against the pillow. Terry crawled up next to you and settled behind you. He lifted your leg and entered you from the side.

“This is probably the best session you’ve had so far, Y/N,” Terry thumbed your clit while staring down at you, “I’m not your average nigga. If you wanna keep fuckin’ on this dick you gotta keep up with me…”

You stare down between your legs at his big dick.

“Terry,” you lock eyes with him as best you could, “Terry, I’m your slut, I’m your fat pussy slut, this your wet pussy!”

He turned you out.

“That’s right, baby, know that shit!”

The amount of clapping your ass was doing could amplify a stadium. This Carolina boy had you dumbstruck. Terry reached around and cupped your fupa and put his leg up to dig deeper.

“Ohhh, ooooo, you finna’ have me paint your walls…you thick, pretty bitch…”

He cupped your chin, turned your head, and smashed his lips into yours. All while fucking you. Your sweat mingled and the smell of sex permeated the air. Him calling you a bitch had your walls gripping him up. Terry buried his face into your neck, one hand on your titty, the other on your stomach.

“I’m fuckin’ nutting in you DEEP—”

“Yes!” You cry out.

One thick leg in the air Terry gave you a finale that knocked the wind out of you. He pumped to the point of headboard banging and then hot, jizz filled you up to the brim. He would give you quick pumps while he was still buried deep. He released a huff when his dick slipped out. You push his cum out and Terry watched with lustful eyes while fingering your mixture of fluids.

“My kinda woman,” Terry smiled at you with his hand cupping your pussy.

You giggle, “Oh, Terry Richmond. You’re full of surprises.

“And you’re full of my cum.” Terry whispered.

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #aaron pierre x black!oc #aaron pierre #terry richmond #rebel ridge

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xo100 · 3 months ago

Text

Shifting gears - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando and you, childhood best friends, discover a deeper connection during a drive in his new Porsche. After discussing his playboy image, the conversation takes an unexpected turn, leading to a realization of long-hidden feelings and shifting your relationship from friendship to something more romantic and intimate.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2250

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The afternoon sun filtered through the tall trees that lined the road, casting dappled shadows over the sleek Porsche as it cruised effortlessly along the winding asphalt. The roar of the engine was almost hypnotic, a perfect blend of power and control, much like its owner. Lando Norris gripped the steering wheel with ease, his fingers drumming absentmindedly as he glanced over at his passenger—his best friend, someone who had been by his side since they were kids.

While Lando had built a reputation for himself as a playboy—charming, confident, and always with a new girl on his arm—you were the complete opposite. Introverted, quiet, and shy. But that’s what made your friendship so special. You balanced each other out.

Today, though, something felt a little different. Maybe it was the car, the air of freedom and luxury it represented, or maybe it was the conversation you were having that shifted the mood. Either way, the usual playful banter between the two of you had taken a slightly more serious turn.

“So, who’s the flavor of the week this time?” you teased, your voice light but carrying a hint of genuine curiosity as you shifted in the leather seat.

Lando chuckled, a low, throaty sound that seemed to vibrate through the car. “Not sure yet. You know how it is,” he replied with a smirk, his eyes never leaving the road.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no judgment in your expression. “Yeah, I know exactly how it is. You with some random girl, one night, maybe two if she’s lucky, and then you’re off to the next. It’s like you’re collecting trophies or something.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that bad. I’m just… having fun. Life’s short, you know?”

You snorted softly. “For you, maybe. I can’t even imagine doing that. Just… being with someone like that, without any meaning. Doesn’t it get old?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, finally glancing over at you. “Why, you thinking about trying it out?” he teased, though his tone carried a hint of something deeper, something that wasn’t quite a joke.

Your face flushed, and you quickly turned to look out the window, trying to hide the sudden rush of heat that crept up your neck. “No,” you muttered, “I’m not like that.”

Silence filled the car for a moment, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. Lando’s eyes flickered back to the road, but his expression was thoughtful now, less playful than usual. “You don’t always have to be so… sweet, you know,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter, almost serious. “It’s okay to let loose sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less… you.”

You blinked, surprised by his words. He wasn’t wrong; you were the “sweet” one, the one who always cared too much, worried too much. But hearing Lando say it so bluntly made you feel strangely vulnerable, like he could see right through your carefully crafted exterior.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who’s constantly in the tabloids for having one-night stands with half the population,” you shot back, the words harsher than you intended.

Lando laughed, though there was a sharpness to it. “Touché. But you know, it’s not as glamorous as people make it out to be.”

You frowned, turning back to him. “What do you mean? You always seem like you’re having the time of your life.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s fun, I guess. But it’s not… real, you know? It’s just… I don’t know. It’s easy. I’m used to it.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You had never heard him talk like this before, so openly about the lifestyle he had embraced. It wasn’t like him to get deep, not about this.

“Then why do you keep doing it?” you asked quietly.

Lando glanced at you, and for the first time, you saw something different in his eyes. Something almost… uncertain.

“Because it’s easier than thinking about what I really want,” he said softly.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with meaning. You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, your heart suddenly racing for reasons you couldn’t quite explain.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled the car off the main road, slowing down as he drove into a secluded spot overlooking a lake. The car came to a stop, and the silence that followed was deafening. He turned off the engine, and the two of you sat there, the tension in the air thick and palpable.

“I mean…” Lando began, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I’ve been with a lot of girls, sure. But none of them were ever you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “What?”

He turned in his seat to face you fully, his expression serious now, his usual cocky smirk replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “You. You’re different. You always have been.”

Your mind was racing, trying to process his words, but all you could focus on was the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“But we’re… friends,” you stammered, your voice shaky.

“I know,” Lando said, his gaze never leaving yours. “And that’s why I’ve never said anything before. But… I don’t know. Lately, it feels like things have changed. Like maybe we’ve changed.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had always been close to Lando, but you had never let yourself think about him like that. He was Lando—the charismatic, carefree playboy who was always with someone else. But now, sitting here in the quiet of his car, it was hard to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest, the way his words made your stomach flip.

“I…” you started, but you didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Lando leaned closer, his hand coming to rest on the edge of your seat, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer, some kind of sign. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “And I will.”

But you didn’t tell him to stop. You couldn’t.

Instead, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. It was slow at first, hesitant, like neither of you were quite sure if this was really happening. But then something shifted. The kiss deepened, and suddenly it was like everything that had been simmering under the surface for years had finally come to a head.

Lando’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with more urgency. You could feel the heat of his body, the way his heart was racing just as fast as yours. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and before you knew it, you were climbing over the center console, straddling him as the kiss grew more heated, more desperate.

You had never done anything like this before—never been this close to someone, never let yourself be this vulnerable. But with Lando, it felt… right. Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped as he kissed a trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Lando,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looked up at you. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough, barely controlled.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes.”

The next few moments were a blur of tangled limbs and heated kisses, the world outside the car fading into nothing as you lost yourself in him, in the way he made you feel. It wasn’t rushed or careless like you had imagined his one-night stands might be. It was slow, deliberate, and full of a kind of intensity you had never experienced before.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. You found yourself lying in his arms, the cool leather of the seat beneath you, your breathing still ragged as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Lando’s hand stroked your hair gently, his touch comforting, grounding. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

You nodded, snuggling closer to him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The sun had begun to set, casting a golden glow over the lake, and the quiet between you was no longer filled with tension, but with a kind of contentment you hadn’t expected.

Finally, Lando broke the silence. “You know… I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he said, his voice low. “But I’m glad it did.”

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “Me too.”

He shifted beneath you, turning slightly so he could look down at you. “So… what does this mean for us?”

You thought about it for a moment, your mind still spinning from everything that had just happened. But when you looked up into his eyes, you knew the answer.

“It means… maybe we’ve changed,” you said quietly, echoing his words from earlier.

Lando smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart

skip a beat. He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“I guess we have,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. It was such a simple gesture, but it held a weight of everything unspoken between you. Years of friendship, of shared memories, of teasing and laughter—all of it led to this moment. The line you’d been dancing on for so long had finally blurred, and neither of you could deny it anymore.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the comfortable silence that followed. The world outside the car seemed distant, irrelevant. It was just you and Lando now, and that felt right.

Eventually, though, the practicalities of life started to creep back in, and you couldn’t ignore them forever. You shifted slightly, sitting up in the seat, the reality of what had just happened slowly settling in.

“So… what now?” you asked, your voice quiet, as if speaking too loudly would break the fragile newness of what had just formed between you.

Lando sat up too, his hand still resting on your thigh, a small, reassuring gesture. He looked at you thoughtfully, as if considering his words carefully. “I don’t want this to be some random, one-time thing,” he said slowly, his voice steady. “You’re not like those girls. You’ve never been. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You smiled softly, feeling your heart swell at his words. “I don’t want that either,” you admitted. “I’ve never thought of us like this before… but now, I can’t imagine it any other way.”

His eyes softened as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, more tender, as if sealing the promise between you. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your lips.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” Lando confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Your heart skipped again, but this time it wasn’t from nerves—it was from the overwhelming realization that you felt the same way. Maybe you’d always felt it, buried somewhere deep down.

“I think I’ve always liked you too,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly at the confession.

Lando’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of relief and joy. “Good. Because I’m not letting you get away now.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt simple. No more games, no more hiding behind jokes or casual flings. Just you and Lando, finally facing what had been there all along.

The sun was almost set now, casting a soft orange glow over the lake as the two of you sat there, side by side, in the quiet of the Porsche. The future felt uncertain in the best way possible, full of possibilities and new beginnings.

Lando gave your hand a squeeze, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You know,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye, “I think this Porsche might be my new lucky charm.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Of course you would say that.”

He grinned, that familiar cocky smile back in full force, but this time it was softened by something else—something deeper, more real. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll take you home. But tomorrow… maybe we can go for another drive?”

You nodded, your heart light as you leaned over to kiss him one more time. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As Lando started the car and pulled back onto the road, you couldn’t help but glance over at him, your best friend—your something more now—and feel grateful for every twist and turn that had led you here.

And as the Porsche sped down the road, the two of you heading into an uncertain future, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

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oepionie · 2 years ago

Text

— "THE PRINCESS TREATMENT." various

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend and the different ways he pampers and spoils you rotten ♡

⊹ [ cw ] — mentions of winter storms, prefect is implied to have bad living conditions, mild violence in the tweels parts, jade breaks someone's wrist, crowley slander, ace slander◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFFY! feminine reader! no gendered pronouns used, riddle uses his dorm position to spoil you, seeing trey driving is very hot, deuce biceps, leona and azul sugar daddy era, ruggie would rather freeze to death than have you be cold, jack carries you, jade and floyd will fight for you, rook makes you his muse and paints you, malleus renovates the entire diasomnia dorm for you, sebek carries your pink handbags◞

⊹ [ characters ] — riddle, trey, deuce, leona, ruggie, jack, azul, jade, floyd, rook, malleus, sebek◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 4.9k+◞ | 🦇masterlist◞

—♰ RIDDLE

Princess treatment, Like—literally

Loathe is Riddle to admit—He can't deny the fact that being his lover meant you got special treatment. Prime example being your position at unbirthday parties. At the banquet table, just beside Riddle's designated throne, was your throne. Similar in style, it had a heart-shaped crest and golden frame; the only difference was that it was milky white rather than deep red. And despite his best efforts to downplay the favoritism shown to you, Riddle knows for a fact that he had the throne commissioned himself.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Come with me." The dorm leader says as he moves towards you, leading you towards your throne. He didn't fail to notice how your legs shook slightly as you walked alongside him or how your hands didn’t leave his coat once. Not that he minded.

The redhead clasped your hands in his as he sat you down onto the leather seat before adjusting the train of your dress to ensure that it wouldn't bother you.

"How are you fairing?" Riddle asked softly, kneeling before you to slip a leather-clad hand behind your knees. He set your feet up on a plush stool and slipped your pointed heels off, gently caressing your ankles. "I overheard you earlier, griping about your feet aching. I certainly hope you're not pushing yourself too hard."

"Ah, no. I just chose the wrong heels today. They're too pointy." You sighed, poking at your crimson red heels, which were discarded to the grassy sides. Groaning, you reclined back on your throne, the billowing, fluffy skirt of the dress Riddle had recently gifted tumbling all about you.

"I see." Riddle nodded in understanding, taking your hand and pressing a quick gentlemanly kiss on your wrists. "The croquet game is up next. I suppose you'd rather stay here?"

"Yeah, I think I need some alone time," you sigh. Riddle squeezes once more your hand in reply, letting his eyes shut in contemplation.

"Very well," He hums, moving to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. "Do rest here a while, rose."

There was a soft smile as the leather of his hands glide across your back. "Oh, and, please let a member of my dorm know if you ever need anything. Worry not. I've instructed everyone here to be at your beck and call."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ TREY

Passenger princess treatment<3

Every weekend, it was routine for Trey to whisk you away from your beaten-up dorm. After all, he was sure it was nice to spend the day in a place where you weren't inhaling dust and spiders every second. Both of you would always go over to his parent's caf�� in the city for a simple little brunch date. And without fail, Trey would always pick you up at 9am sharp by the school gates.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"… I was made for lovin' you, baby

You were made for lovin' me

And I can't get enough of you, baby

Can you get enough of me?"

Soft music played from the car's radio as the third-year weaved through the barren intersections, careful and slow. It seems as if the roads were merciful to you both today, calm and free of any traffic.

Trey languidly reaches one of his hands, calloused from his years of baking, over to rest gently on your thigh. His thumb rubs soft circles and nonsensical patterns over your plump skin while the other gripped the steering wheel in a loose hold, biceps flexing as he twisted the wheel to turn the car.

Focused as he was, you didn't miss how his gaze flits back and forth between the road and you, the expression swimming within them almost akin to a distant longing.

You place your hand atop his and lean against the passenger door. A wide grin spreads over your glossy red lips as you shake your head playfully. "Keep your eyes on the road."

Mirthful laughter spills from your mouth before your eyes flutter shut as you sway along to the song, mindlessly kicking your legs around. "Crashing and going to the hospital doesn't really sound like a good date idea."

A pensive smile creeps up on Trey's face, and he lets out a low chuckle. "Yeah? I just can't help it. You're a much more interesting sight."

He watched as the sun's dazzling light bathed your image in a beautiful, pleasant glow. To him, you looked ethereal, seemingly glowing and shining under the golden streaks of sunlight that pour through the windshield.

"What did I just say?" you sighed, smiling cheekily as you smoothed a hand over his clover-colored hair, fixing the stray strands moved askew by the wind from the open windows. "Hello~? Wonderland to Trey? Eyes on the road?"

He paused for a while before chuckling, his hands splaying out on the steering wheel as he turned his gaze back front. "Right, right. I'll be careful, princess."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ DEUCE

Carries your things for you and will not let you do any heavy lifting at all plus he buys you drinks!

Screw Crowley Dire. You were sick of Ramshackle's awful, scratchy furniture. For once, you wished you could sit on something that wasn't littered with dust bunnies or looked like it came straight from the depths of the underworld—no offense to Idia. And so, using the money you had painstakingly saved over the last six months, you decided to buy a cute, frilly sofa.

Problem was—you couldn't lift it at all. It was too wide and heavy for your poor untrained arms. Fortunately for you, your boyfriend was more than happy to help ^^

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Um…Deuce? Are you sure you don't want me to work?" Perched atop the kitchen counters, you were worriedly staring down at him.

While he was preoccupied with lifting the couch, you were lazily sipping on a bubble tea—a drink which he bought for you himself. Humming, you let your gaze move from the soft line of his cheekbone, to the sharper cut of his jaw, before resting it onto the thick of his arms. " I don't mind helping, you know."

Deuce was standing by the door, arms tucked beneath the couch as he braced himself for lifting. "Yeah, I got this. Don't worry."

Now, why was he here, exactly? Well…First off, you didn't intend to call him at all.

In the middle of trying to haul your couch into Ramshackle's entrance, Deuce had appeared out of nowhere, offering his help. Despite your vehement denial, the stubborn boy wouldn't take no for an answer, and eventually forced you to sit down, shoving the bright, bubbly drink in your hand without saying a word.

So, here you were. Shamelessly ogling at him while he tried to find a way to bring the couch in.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to get hurt—Oh!" You gasped, hand flying up to cover your agape mouth when Deuce easily lifted it up as if it were made of air. In response to your expression of astonishment, he grinned and playfully flexed his arms. "See?"

While Deuce set the couch down in front of the TV, you slipped off the counters and strode over to him. Jumping into his embrace, you draped your arms around his shoulder and pressed a big kiss on his cheeks, watching in delight as his face exploded in pink. "You're so strong! Thank you so much!"

Deuce let a wobbly smile stretch across his burning cheeks, his hands slack atop your hips. "Y-Yeah! No problem."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ LEONA

Sugar dad-I mean-financial help<3 + Hints at passenger princess treatment

Leona Kingscholar was not a romantic. Naturally, he has stayed to himself ever since he was little. This lion was not the kind to be sentimental, gooey, or emotional. So it is astonishing how quickly this stone-cold personality of his breaks down when he's around you.

Every little thing you do drives him into a lovesick frenzy, and he has no idea how to stop it. He wasn't particularly into grand displays of affection or romantic gestures. Ergo, in an effort to express his adoration, he turns to more…costly methods.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Tell me what you want." Leona demands, tone serious as he wraps a rough yet protective arm around your hips. Both of you were standing smack dab in the middle of a large shopping mall. Though the more you stood here, the more you began to realize that this place wasn't really your…ordinary mall.

First and foremost, when Leona pulled up, there was private parking, and that was already intimidating to you in and of itself. Second, it seems like every single store in here was a luxury brand. You've seen a couple of these logos plastered onto the tags of Vil's or Jade and Floyd's clothes.

As a matter of fact, you were pretty sure their plastic bags cost more than your entire yearly allowance combined.

"Ah, um…" A nervous sweat built up on your brow as you fished your wallet out, peering into what little funds you had. "Leona, honey—I just needed to get some school supplies…Is there a different mall we can go to?" You sheepishly smiled up at him. "I don't think I can afford to get anything here."

Silence immediately follows as Leona stares at you with a dumbfounded look. Blinking bluntly, he scoffs. "Who said you were paying?"

"Hu-Huh?" You stammered, fiddling with your wallet. The lion's eyes were ripped wide open in shock, as if the mere thought of you spending your own money on your own things was a criminal act. Something so ludicrous that even a person with his deceptive persona finds it distasteful.

"Ain't it obvious already? I'm paying," Leona huffs, dragging you to a nearby jewelry shop. Behind the glass were displays of glittering pearls and jewels, each of which had delicate and intricate carvings. "And we're gettin' more than stationary."

"But-!" You start, only to get interrupted as his calloused hand clamps over your mouth.

"No buts."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ RUGGIE

Giving you his coat when you're cold and just being sickeningly sweet<3

Ruggie was used to working for others, and this habit of his pours over to you. Though it wouldn't take long for people to notice that his acts of labor was…different with you.

For others, Ruggie works because there's an exchange, a benefit, or a payment for him. For you, however, he does things with no motive in mind. He would never ask for more because he genuinely didn't need anything more, and if he ever did, a simple kiss or hug from you would be plenty.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

It was a frigid winter day and both of you were walking to school together, a routine you both developed over the past few months. As you followed him through the deep snowfall, the cold wind nipped and bit at your skin, making you shudder. Despite the struggle, you push on, the rough pads of your boots dragging along the thick blankets of snow.

Unfortunately for you, the flimsy cardigan you bought at Sam's did nothing to keep your body safe from the cruel winter.

While Ruggie's oversized warm coat helps kept him sufficiently warmed up, you, on the other hand, are struggling. You know you should have gotten a thicker coat, but this was all you could afford last minute.

Ever so caring, your boyfriend is quick to notice this and turns back around, trudging through the snow to meet you.

"C'mere," Ruggie drags you into his embrace and starts to slowly inch the coat off his shoulders. With your form now pushed against his body, he takes the chance to press a soft kiss against your cheeks. At the exchange of affection, both of you erupt in soft giggles, lovesick grins stretched across your lips.

The moment feels intimate, loving, and safe.

"Here ya' go." Suddenly he's engulfing you in his thick cloak and zipping it up. Protesting, you try to give it back, but all he does is snicker and shake his head. He peppers warm kisses on the side of your bare frostbitten neck, relishing in the giggles that spill from your lips. "Keep it. I can handle the cold. I'm used to it but I can't have you freezin' out here, now can I?"

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ JACK

Carries you when your feet start to hurt, tee hee

Jack was strong and well-disciplined. He's worked hard and trained himself to peak physical condition, yet even then, he's continually seeking to improve himself even more. He's tried it all: fitness routines, weight lifting, and sports. And it pays off.

His strength has proven useful in a variety of circumstances. from physical education classes, sporting events, marathons, and, strangely enough, carrying you when your heels begin to hurt your feet.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

Jack looks around the booths as he takes your hands in his, pulling you along the festival crowds, "Hm. I think the takoyaki stand is around here. You were craving that earlier, right?" If it weren't for the intense dull ache at the bottom of your ankles, you would have been delighted to hear about the delectable octopus snack.

Instead, you hissed and pulled on the beastman's hand, halting to a stop, unable to take the torture of your heels any longer. "Jack, hold on a second."

Groaning, you slouch down on a nearby bench and kick off your heels, scowling at the dull throb that's pressing itself against the back of your foot. Jack quickly knelt down by your side, ears alert and tail swishing.

"What's wrong?" He questions as he drags your legs over to rest on top of his firm thighs. "Do your feet hurt?"

"Yeah," you sigh. "I kinda regret putting on heels at a festival like this…I didn't realize it would hurt so bad. I just wanted to look cute."

The wolf ponders for a moment before swiftly turning around, presenting his back to you, "Get on."

"Eh?" You blinked, tilting your head to the side. Jack looks away, keeping his head tilted to the ground as a dark flush swept over his skin. "I'll carry you…I-If your feet hurt, I won't mind carrying you."

"Oh!" Smiling, you slip onto his back and wrap your arms snug around his neck. Jack clutches your heels in one hand while the other grasps onto your thigh. The beastman easily stands up, supporting both his and your weight as he heads towards the food stands.

"Who knew you were such a softie, Jack! Hehe." You tease, pressing a kiss against the side of his neck. The beastman flushed even more, avoiding your gaze at all cost.

"Tch. I-I don't go around doing this for anyone."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ AZUL

Sugar dad-I mean-financial help<3 #2

Azul lived to spoil you.

For you, the octo-mer gleefully buys mountains of clothing. Your entire wardrobe has been thoughtfully planned by him (and often rapidly purchased, Floyd is always the victim to his 12am shopping whims).

Other than clothing, he's also quite fond of jewelry. He clasps pure pearls to your ears, drapes diamonds over your neck, and slips rings onto your fingers. It would be the highlight of Azul's day to see the items he had purchased for you proudly displayed for all the students on campus to see.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Shall we?" he asks softly as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you up from your chair. The smooth white silk of your dress cascades off the plush leather seat, draping down to your ankles. Azul swiftly guides you away from the lounge, signaling at both Floyd and Jade in the corner to clean up before turning his attention back to you, once more. "I hope the food was to your liking, angelfish?"

"Oh, it was," you confirm, a smile playing on your lips. Leaning up, you press a warm kiss against his lips, one which he returns. "Thank you for the wonderful night, Azul! The dress as well. It looks beautiful."

"Why, of course." The octo-mer hums, running his hand up your back. As he slips both of you into his room, he shuts the door with his foot and guides you to his vanity. "Though I do have one last gift."

"Another?" You chuckle, "Don't you think you spoil me too much? I don't want it to seem like I'm leeching off of you…"

"No, you could never," Azul says as he motions you to a seat near the table of his vanity. The octo-mer reaches over and opens a drawer, revealing a nice velvet box.

As the box is opened, a gorgeous sea-glass necklace with a stunning silver-coral colour is exhibited to you. It sat prettily atop a white plush pillow, winking at you. Azul deftly runs a hand up your neck to pull your hair back and your lips parts in a "o" when he clasps it on.

"Azul," you breathlessly murmur. "I can't possibly—This must have cost a fortune."

"It's for you," Azul smiles. "Only for you."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ JADE

You have scary eel privileges'

It was not uncommon for Jade to come knocking at your door in opportune times of the night to accompany you out for a walk. You mentioned once how you loved stargazing and Jade hasn't let that go since. For he too had always carried a fondness for the night, more specifically, the moon.

It was constant, a repetitive lustrous cycle, and despite his thrill seeking nature, he took comfort in its consistency. Walks with you were the highlight of his week, and he certainly does not take interruptions from pesky little bugs lightly.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

The night sky above Ramshackle was littered with painted specs of sparkling stars, burning brightly amidst the gradients of blue and black. Jade had a firm hand situated by the small of your back, gently guiding you along the dirt path of the trail.

"It's so beautiful…" You murmur in astonishment, craning your head up to peer up at the canvas of stars. Chuckling, Jade tugs you in closer to slip his large jacket over your shoulders. "I'm glad you like it, pearl. I do hope it's not too cold?"

"Not at all."

Both of you continue along your hike, going deeper and deeper into the thick, dense forest. As you trudged on, a bundle of wild mushrooms caught your eye and you halted to a stop, recognizing the patterns and spots on the fungi in a book Jade had once shown you.

"Wait here a moment. I just saw those mushrooms you wanted so bad. I'll go get it!" Before Jade could even reply, you were already off, sneaking past tall bushes and prickly trees.

Just as you were about to pick your first mushroom, a low growl interrupts you. Freezing, your eyes dart upward to see a Savanaclaw student towering over your form.

He did not seem happy.

"Oya? You're that Ramshackle punk, aren't you?…I have to say, Leona let you off real easy after that little spy mission you did in our dorm." He sneers, rolling the joints of his shoulders and moving closer, backing you up against a tree. "That's all good with me…Cuz' If he won't do something bout' it, then I will."

Suddenly, he was drawing his fist back, aiming for you. The sudden shift happened so quickly that all you could do was flinch and hunch over, preparing yourself for a hit.

Only for it to never come.

"My, my," a familiar voice muses. Breath hitching in your throat, you peek up and see Jade looming behind the boy. The eel's hand was coiled tight around the beastman's wrist, clasping tighter and tighter until there was a sickening snap.

"How foolish of you to think I would allow that."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ FLOYD

You have scary eel privileges' #2

Floyd was a lot softer and caring than a lot of people would give him credit for. That or he just gives you special treatment. After all, the big bad eel found you endearing. You were his one and only beloved little shrimpy.

You were the one who stood by him even when others dismissed him as strange or frightful because you loved and adored him wholeheartedly. So, he can't help but be protective of you.

Nothing will ever hurt you so long as he's by your side.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Shrimpy? What're you doing here?"

Sniffles and cries wreck your chest as you curled up on Floyd's bed, clutching his shrimp plush tight in your arms. Said eel was standing by the door, a look of shock plastered onto his features before it turned ice-cold as he approached your weeping form.

"My poor shrimpy…" Floyd rasps, tugging off his gloves to cup your wet cheeks with his big hands. "What's wrong with my shrimpy? Did someone do this? I'll squeeze 'em if they did."

The eel crawls into bed with you, tugging the plush out of your arms and slipping himself into your embrace. Soft warm kisses are peppered on your wet cheeks as Floyd coos at you.

Sobbing, you raise a hand to furiously wipe at your eyes before exclaiming, "It's Grim again! Why does he have to be so difficult?! I worked so hard for my alchemy exam, but it seems like he doesn't care! He's brought our grades down again!"

"It's that cat of yours again, huh?" Floyd clicked his tongue, thumb pressing against the corner of your teary eyes. He pressed a warm palm to your cheek, examining your face with close inspection as he slowly reached for your hand and set it down atop his beating heart. "No worries. Just let it all out, shrimpy. I'll have a talk with the baby seal later hehe~"

You sniffed and brushed his comments aside as you pulled away from the embrace, an action which made him pout. "…I'm not sure he'd even listen. Grim is as stubborn as a rock."

"We'll see about that, shrimpy." Floyd scoffs, a frown on his face clearly visible as he pulls you closer once more.

"Yanno, I'm pretty good at alchemy myself." Floyd chirps, a dark grin slowly stretching across his cheeks. "I'm sure the baby seal won't mind having a private tutor session with good ol' me."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ ROOK

This man WORSHIPS the ground you walk on.

As they say, "Before you die, experience the love of a writer, poet or painter. If you're lucky enough to be an artist's muse, they will immortalize you." Such a muse you were to Rook.

Though it would take quite a lot of coaxing before he could have the pleasure of having you as his muse, at the rare moments you did agree—Rook did his utmost best to do you justice on the canvas.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

Portraiture looked into the life of the subject, revealed what was hidden deep inside, and examined it. With his hunter-like manner, Rook was all too acquainted with this study.

"A-Am I doing this right?" You murmur, trying your best not to move around as you held a bouquet of daisies up to your chest. There was a cream-tinted dress draped across your body as you reclined against the backdrop Rook had set up.

"Oui. Such beauty in your gaze, trickster. Angels lurk behind your eyes." The hunter flirts, resolute gazed locked onto your flustered ones as he drags his brush against the palette. There was an experiment with the hues for a time before he blended a few other colors.

"I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to do this." As he'd found the color he wanted, Rook turned back to you. He took careful note of every nuance and detail of your glowing visage and committed as much as he could to memory. Rook knew he’d have to make your portrait perfect. He simply couldn’t allow for anything else.

"You're very persistent," you huff with a small smile on your face. "I had to cave in eventually, huh?"

"But, of course!" Rook cheekily grins, turning his attention back to the canvas. "I can't let a chance like this pass me by."

Time passed and layers upon layers of color came together to form the picture he sought after. Out to the right, spread across a lush sofa, was your incandescent form. And he surely didn't hold back on the details. The creases in the fabric, the curve of your smile, and the contours of the plush pillows scattered on either side of the plush crimson sofa all draw the eye.

It was a large painting that he had boldly placed in Pomefiore's living room, much to Vil's chagrin. Try as he might, the dormleader couldn't get the hunter to remove it at all.

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ MALLEUS

Princess treatment? pff. That's cute. No, it's queen treatment to him.

You had a bad tendency of rambling on about whatever that came to mind, often without realising that another person was in the same room as you. Even if you initially didn't mind this little quirk of yours, recent events have made you realise that you should probably curb your mouth-running.

Even more so considering that your partner, caring as he was, had a tendency to be quite…impulsive. Especially when it comes to matters concerning your comfort and well-being.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

Malleus was flipping through a catalogue of colour samples and scrutinizing each texture with careful judgment. Slipping the page into your hands, he murmurs, "This is all rather lovely. Perhaps a dark crimson will suffice. Or would you like this wine red dye, my dear?" The dragon looked at you, patiently awaiting your response.

Only for there to be none.

You stood awkwardly at his side, your cheeks flaming up with shame. Tugging at his coat, you rose up on your tiptoes and whispered quietly, "Tsunotaro…when I whined about it being cold, I didn't mean for you to go this far."

"Oh?" He quirks a brow up, "Do you not like these colors?"

"Mal," you utter gently, handing the catalogue back to him. "I don't really think we need to—"

"Young Master. If I may," Sebek interrupts, voice raising to a strained high squeak, "Please do tell. Why are we replacing every.single marble floor in the dorm…with carpet?"

Malleus draws you in his arms, all while ignoring the enraged stare painted on Sebek's face. "My darling's feet become frigid cold when they walk along the marble flooring. I think it's due time for it to get redone," he says while running his hands tenderly up your back and gazing at you with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Sebek blinks, a strained smile sneaking up on his cheeks, "Well. I'm sure they can use slippers—"

"Nonsense." Malleus snarls, eyes flashing a luminous green. "How dare you even think of subjecting them to such a ludicrous act. Hmph. Using…slippers—How preposterous."

"No. I think my way is much better." Shaking his head, Malleus turns back to the catalogue—paying no mind to the grief-stricken look on his retainer's face. "Now dearest, do you think burgundy would look good in the kitchen?"

───────────────────── · ·

—♰ SEBEK

Carries your sparkly pink purses for you, slay king<3

Sebek was not a fool. The fae was well aware he could be a bit…much at times. And even if he doesn't express it, he really values your nearly infinite patience with him.

The boy was awkward at affection, and this is especially highlighted when it comes to anything involving romantic gestures. Even though your snappy crocodile was hard-headed and stubborn at times, he still showed you how much he cared in his own little ways. Even if it were something as simple as carrying your sparkly pink bag around the campus.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"You ought to have known better than to jest so lightly about Diasomnia that way!" Sebek barks out, a leather-clad finger digging deep into Ace's chest. However, as opposed to being upset as Sebek had anticipated, the ginger chortles, muffled giggles sneaking past his clamped up lips.

"Sebek, buddy." Ace wheezes out, shoulders shaking from the strain of his suppressed laughter. "It's kinda hard to take you seriously…wh-when you have that."

The Heartslabyul runt gestures towards your designer purse, which was snugly resting against Sebek's bicep, slung over his shoulder.

It was quite the eye-catcher. The sparkling pink diamonds of its handle twinkled a bright brilliant white, so bright in fact that it was almost blinding.

Epel takes notice of the logo and crocodile keychain attached to it and he perks up.

"Oh, it's one of those girly-lookin' designer bags Vil is always yappin' about," Epel points out, squinting his eyes to get a better look at it. "Ain't that the prefect's bag?"

Unfazed by Ace's mocking, Sebek scoffs arrogantly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Indeed, it is. As a knight-in-training, it is only right for me to possess the quality of a gentleman. Chivalrous acts like this are nothing to be ashamed of." He abruptly snapped his head over to glower at Ace, who was sitting rather comfortably in the cafeteria bench, crossing one leg over the over as he met Sebek's irritated stare. "Not that I anticipate someone like you to ever have experience with it.."

Sebek then rose from the table and strode boldly in the direction of your classroom, the pink bag swinging with each heavy step he took. Epel was leaning over the table, placing a shaky hand on Ace's shoulder as loud laughter racked through his body.

"Darn' right," Epel cackles, wiping the tears away from his eyes before turning to the ginger. "Nice ta' see someone still has sum chivalry…Unlike you, Ace."

The ginger visibly deflates, rolling his eyes as he mutters, "Yeah, yeah. We get it. He's down bad."

—TAGLIST:

꒰ ♡🧷: if you want to be tagged for ALL of my works, comment here!

@keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisonioushearts @kawaiipotatoghost @ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad @kyraxiyn @mayaaaeo @fluffimemes @awkwardspontaneity @phoneandchips @gussuri @lunavixia @heatofmyexoheart @heatofmyexoheart @pianopuppygirl @cross-crye @cerisescherries @cecilebutcher @savanaclaw1996 @msykaroly @a-bit-late

@furoidoleech @skadi-winterfell @mushroomchaos101 @taruruchi

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fearcvlt · 24 days ago

Text

❝call me, beep me❞

pairing. sam winchester x fem!reader note. first fic on this account whaaaat. also my first time writing for spn... you guys don't understand how normal i am about this man. hope you enjoy! rbs/feedback is highly appreciated!! tags. nsfw, mdni. season one!sam. no use of y/n. improper use of dean's car. masturbation. phone sex. dirty talk. soft dom!sam. praise kink. needy sam. established relationship. 1.5k words.

Sam is losing his goddamn mind.

He isn’t used to being away from you for this long. The two of you had been living together for months when Dean showed up to the apartment just off campus, and even before you moved in together Sam had spent most of his free time in your dorm room. Sam had no intentions of following after his brother — he was perfectly content here at Stanford. With you.

But then Dean had mentioned their dad, and he could hardly refuse. He thought it would be a quick job. He had every intention of making it back to college for his interview, but he missed it. This is exactly what he came to Stanford to get away from — the constant nights on the road. Moving city to city hunting monsters. The shitty motel rooms.

He’d found an escape with you. A refuge. Without it, he felt like he was going crazy. He’d give anything just to be able to be close to you again. To kiss you and feel your body against his. Sam misses you. Probably to an unhealthy extent. He spends most nights thinking about you, calling you or shooting a text whenever he has the spare time.

It isn’t enough. Being stuck rooming with Dean again is starting to grate on Sam’s nerves. He’s pent up and frustrated, and it’s starting to affect his concentration. If he ends up dying on a hunt because he hasn’t been able to jack off, he thinks the embarrassment will resurrect him just so he can die all over again.

Basically, what he’s trying to say is it isn’t exactly his proudest moment as he waits for Dean to fall asleep before stealing the keys to his Impala. His brother would absolutely kill him if he knew what he was about to do to his baby, but Sam can’t say he particularly cares at this moment.

The cold, late night air bites at his skin as he sneaks out of the motel room, unlocking the car before settling in the passenger seat. His eyes nervously examine the parking lot three times over to make sure no one’s around before he shuts the door, dialling your number. He bites anxiously at his fingernails as he listens to the phone ring out, a shaky exhale leaving him when you finally answer.

“Hey, baby. Sorry it’s late. I didn’t wake you, right?” Sam breathes down the receiver, letting his head fall back against the leather seat.

“Mhm, yeah. S’okay.” You respond sleepily, a soft yawn reaching his ears. He can’t help but smile at the sound. God, he misses you so bad it hurts.

“Sorry, honey, sorry. I just missed you, y’know. Needed to hear you.” He murmurs, his hand sliding down his torso slowly before he reaches the front of his jeans. He gives his half-hard cock a squeeze. God, he was already so needy just from thinking about you in the motel room. He supposes he should feel guilty for waking you just to get off, but with the way his blood is rushing from his head downwards, he can hardly think at all.

“Yeah, well. I miss you, too. You were meant to be back last week.” You huff. Fuck Sam can practically hear the pout in your voice. Imagining your lips is really not helping. His dick twitches uselessly against his pants, and he’s unable to suppress the soft whine that builds in his throat.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Gonna be coming back to you as soon as everything gets wrapped up here. I promise, baby.” He lets out a shaky sigh, lashes fluttering as he props his phone between his shoulder and his cheek. “Can you do something for me?”

“Yeah, ‘course. What’s up?”

“Been thinking about you non-stop, sweet girl. ‘M so hard for you,” Sam hears the sharp intake of breath you take in from his words, which is enough incentive for him to continue. He manages to fumble with his jeans enough to get them unzipped and halfway down his thighs along with his boxers, one hand palming his aching cock as his free hand comes up to hold his phone again. “Want you to touch yourself, baby. Gotta hear you.”

“Sammy,” you breathe, voice low and airy as it reaches his ears. Fuck, he usually hates it when people call him that, but he’s convinced its going to be replaying in his mind on a loop for the foreseeable future. There’s a shuffling of fabric down the line, and then a shaky moan as he assumes your hand slides between your thighs.

“That’s it, good girl.” Sam purrs, long fingers wrapping around his length as a soft groan spills past his lips. His hips twitch, rocking desperately into the tight grip as he starts to stroke himself slowly. “Come on, baby. Talk to me. How’s it feel?”

“Good,” you reply instantly, the slick sounds of your fingers delving into your cunt barely audible in the background. Fuck, he wishes he was there. He can imagine you laid out all pretty for him on the bed, legs spread with your pretty pussy bared for him. He’s going to ruin you when he sees you next. “Feels so good, baby.”

“Mhm, sounds like it.” He murmurs, his thumb swirling over his tip to spread the steadily leaking pre-cum, slicking him up with each shallow pump of his fist. “Bet it’d be even better with me there, huh? I’d make you feel so fucking good, honey. I’d lick you out until you were begging for me… fuuuck, you’d make the prettiest sounds.”

Sam moans, face scrunching up with pleasure as he fucks into his fist faster, tightening his grip around his cock. “Eat that sweet little cunt out until you creamed all over my tongue, get you nice ‘n ready for me. Would you like that, baby?”

“Yeah. Fuck, oh my God. Yeah, Sam.”

“Yeah? Fuck, baby. Gonna come back to you soon, promise.” He says with a shaky gasp, pumping his hand steadily until he’s dripping pre-cum like a faucet. He can’t remember the last time he was this needy. “Gonna press you into the mattress, fuck into you so deep you feel it for weeks. Won’t even let you forget how I feel when I’m halfway across the city; gonna mould that pretty pussy into the shape of my dick so all you can think about is me.”

Sam doesn’t even know where the words are coming from. He’s all but whimpering into the phone as his orgasm draws near, the muscles of his abdomen pulled taut as his hips rut desperately into his tight grip. The sounds of your soft whines and moans from the phone speaker are driving him crazy, the slick sounds of him fucking his fist filling the car.

“Cum for me, baby. Please. Need to hear it.” He gasps out, thighs twitching and tensing uncontrollably as he attempts to hold on. He hears a sharp grasp from the other side of the phone, then a low, obscene moan of his name. The sound of you reaching your peak has him spilling over his hand, a ragged gasp escaping him as he continues to rock his hips through the aftershocks.

“Fuck.” He chokes out, slumping against the seat as his grip around his cock loosens. He lets his hand fall to his thigh, cringing briefly at the feeling of his cum staining his skin. He listens to your heavy breaths for a moment, swallowing as he tries to collect his thoughts.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Sam says softly, absentmindedly wiping the mess coating his hands on the fabric of his jeans. Cleaning that would be a problem for future Sam.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m good.” You reply shakily, and he smiles at the confirmation.

“Good. That’s… good.” He hums softly, letting his eyes shut momentarily. “Meant it, baby. Gonna come see you soon, no matter how this… Dad thing goes.”

“You better.” Comes your soft reply, and Sam can;t help the breathless little laugh that escapes him.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll be back soon.” He says gently, eyes flicking open again to glance out of the car window. “I should probably go back up to the room. Dean will probably kill me if he catches me like this in his car.”

It’s your turn to laugh, the sound sending a warm, pleasant flutter through Sam’s chest. “Alright. See you around, Sam. Love you.”

“Yeah, baby. Love you, too.” Sam disconnects the phone, quickly tucking himself back into his jeans. He sneaks back into the hotel room, collapsing on his bed with a soft groan.

His eyes shut, and he finally gets a good night’s rest, thoughts of you lingering in his mind.

#sam winchester smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural smut #supernatural

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luveline · 2 months ago

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hihihihi! 💕 if you’re willing, can you write a little something with shy!r being the one to initiate the first kiss with hotch but her glasses get in the way? tytyty! 🙏🏼

—Hotch almost dies and you can’t take it anymore. He’s not expecting a kiss. fem, 1.7k

The thing is that you don’t mean to panic. Hotch is marching out of the building with handcuffs cut open on his wrists, Emily and Morgan just in front of him, and you’d been stuck out here with JJ because they never let you do the touch and go stuff. An UnSub held a shotgun to the back of Hotch’s head and you just had to watch.

You hold yourself in place with all your strength as they come down the path of the house to the blockade of cars and emergency vehicles. “I’m fine,” he says, before any of you can ask him. “Not a scratch on me.”

You can see the skin of his wrists has cut from tugging, so he’s lying, but that’s not surprising. You shift with your hands clenched together. He’s closer now, you could touch him, nearly speechless as he says, “Honestly, I’m surprised it happened to me, and not Reid.”

Everyone else laughs.

You can’t take it. He looks at you, and you, despite the last year of pushing down feelings of nervousness and affection, of pretending you don’t notice how his fingers feel when they brush the backs of your hands or the way his suit stretches across broad shoulders, despite practice, you can’t stay still any longer.

You weave around JJ, past Spencer, in between Rossi and Hotch himself to press yourself to his chest. You hug him tightly, worried he might disappear if you don’t hold on. Safe, your brain says, even as your hands tremble. He’s safe.

“I’m alright,” he says quietly, clasping your back carefully. The handcuff stuck to his wrists jabs through your vest. You can feel it on the bone.

“I–” Your eyes are still open, too shocked to let them close.

“I’m fine.”

You take that for a polite ‘unhand me’ and step back. His hand lingers on your shoulder as though checking you for injury, like you’re the one who just had a gun to their head. “You’re sure you're okay?” you ask.

“I’m not hurt.”

You look pointedly at his wrists.

“Mm,” he says, turning on the spot. “I suppose I am. But there’s nothing to worry about.”

You’re egregiously worried regardless. In an attempt to keep from making the situation about you, you turn away from him and take a walk, pretending you need something from the car you came in. You open the passenger door, sweeping your hands across the leather seat for your phone, but you don’t want it, so you hold it in two hands and try to calm down. You’re shaking like crazy. He must have felt it when you hugged him.

If you thought he cared enough about his life to prioritise it you might not have panicked as hard, but an advantage to being quiet is getting the opportunity to really listen to people. You don’t talk much, but Hotch does, he’s always telling someone what to do, or reassuring them, and he’s constantly on the phone trying to coordinate. You’ve heard his voice for hours on end. So when Rossi told him through the wire that they were gonna get him out of there, you heard the fake confidence in Hotch’s voice as he said, “I know.”

He didn’t know. He was scared, so you were terrified.

You check the time. It’s almost two in the morning but the cars give enough light to see inside the car. You trace the stitching on the seat, your eyes sore and blurry at once. Admitting defeat, you climb into the seat and dig around for your glasses. You’d thought you might need them —if Hotch was injured you’d need to go to the hospital and your contacts are dailies, so you knew you’d have to take them out.

You pull the sun guard down and flip the cover on the mirror to take your contacts out, dropping them in the glasses case to throw away later. Your eyes sting. You rub them hard.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice says.

Hotch is a blob. You slide your glasses open and up your nose, blinking as he comes back into definition. “Hotch.” They’ve cut his handcuffs off and wrapped light bandaging around his wrists. “Okay?” you ask.

“Are you?”

“I’m fine, sorry.” You clear your throat. “My eyes are tired, that’s all.”

He stares at you for too long. Desperate to be out of his scrutiny, you get out of the car and shut the door. “Can we go home soon?” you ask.

“I believe so.”

“Oh,” you say, looking down at his hand, “good.”

There’s another gap of silence, and then simultaneously:

“Are you–”

“Can I–”

Hotch smiles. “You first.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? That must’ve been so scary.”

Hotch gives his head a slow shake. “I’m fine. I was more scared at the time than I would’ve liked to admit to, but I’m okay now. I’ve felt worse.”

“Really? Worse than that?” you ask, trying but failing to smile. Your wrist is too hot in your own hand.

He seems to measure his response. “When you and JJ got stuck in the middle of New York a few months ago, when we couldn’t contact you, that was the most scared I’ve ever been on the job.”

New York. He’d just separated from Haley, and everyone kept telling you how much chemistry he had with Kate, and you were already hopeless for him. It sucked. He almost died and you had to act like everything meant nothing to you, he was just your boss.

But you’re friends now. Maybe you can be a little more honest.

“I was scared too,” you say. You can’t help pouting. You must look like a petulant kid. “You wouldn’t believe it, Hotch, I watched you on the camera twenty different times. And now today, I had to see it again, I can’t keep watching this stuff happen to you.”

“That’s the job.”

“But why does it have to be you?” you ask.

His eyes track over your entire face, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. “Because it does, and it always will,” he says, eyes softening, voice like silk. He’s talking to you like you’ve hung the moon even as he lays down an unfortunate truth. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I know exactly what it is that I’m doing. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“I can’t help it.”

He smiles just a touch. “I know. I can’t help it either.”

You look at him and you know he’s not gonna kiss you. He might want to —it’s insanity, it doesn’t feel real, he almost died tonight and you never would’ve known how this feels.

You step into his chest. You’re frowning at him, the edge of tears without any of the heat. “I don’t know what I’d do if something really happened to you,” you confess.

The scratch in your voice perturbs him. Careful, his hand comes to rest against the small of your back, drawing you in.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be. Please. God knows I’d lose my mind if it had been you in there tonight.”

He doesn’t move as you touch his cheek. Doesn’t step away as you steel your nerves. He must know what you’re about to do, but he doesn’t stop you. For a moment you can’t let yourself have it. But then he lets out a breath, and closes his eyes, and he angles his head down to meet you. You tip your head to the side and lean in.

For a few seconds, your chest is uncomfortably hot, and you’re so scared he’s not gonna kiss you back and that you’re ruining everything you can’t think right. And Hotch —Hotch must know exactly how he likes to be kissed, and you’re probably not doing it right. But you’ve wanted it for long enough to try twice. You kiss him with lips parting, your hand unsteady on his cheek.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat and curls you in.

You’re hungry for it, there’s no other word —the second he responds you bear up. You kiss him hard enough to make your lips sting.

“Ah,” he says with a laugh, tilting his head to the side. “I think you blinded me.”

“What?”

“Your glasses, sweetheart. They’re at risk of giving me a concussion.”

Sweetheart. You touch your glasses, remember the problem and touch his face, just under his eye. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

He pushes them up against your forehead. “Okay?”

“I can’t see you.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s a necessity unless you do,” he says.

You’re not sure what he means until he’s brought his hands to your neck, holding you by either side.

“It’s been a long time since someone surprised me,” he says softly. Before you can make sense of it, he’s leaning down to kiss you chastely. He’s much sweeter about it than you’d been and what an embarrassment that is, you’d thrown yourself at him and he’s kissing you like a prince.

He kisses you. His thumb runs along your cheek. When he pulls away he smiles, settling your glasses tenderly back on the bridge of your nose.

“I’m really alright,” he says. He’ll be lucky if you ever speak again. Knowing, he cups your face with his thumbs, his fingers slipped behind your neck.

You duck your head. He takes it as a sign to hug you, ushering your face into his neck, your glasses smushed to your eyes. If he can feel the heat coming off of you, he’s kind enough not to mention it.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he murmurs.

“Do you think I can give you back?” you ask.

You’re glad when he laughs, a surprised chuckle that vibrates from his chest to yours. “That’s harsh, agent.”

You were obviously kidding, but the teasing has to stop. You won’t survive it.

“Will you kiss me again?” you ask under your breath.

He’s too busy doing as you’ve asked to tease you. You’re too busy being kissed to remember you were scared.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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ennabear · 3 months ago

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how do you think mean!abby would react to reader being overstimulated? out in public or at home?

when you’re in public, i think she’d be more alert, more understanding. especially if you’re somewhere loud, hot, crowded, or just uncomfortable in general. she’d be quick to whisk you away from wherever’s overstimulating you, finding a private place, whether it be her car or an empty bathroom.

abby noticed you pouting after giving her short, one syllable answers for the past twenty minutes. obviously, you were in a bad mood. she stops dead in her tracks, causing you to bump into her from behind.

“are you okay?” she asks, although she knows the answer.

“yeah.” you mumble.

“are you lying to me?” she smiles.

“no.”

“tell me what’s wrong?”

“no.”

“i’m not mad, i swear.” she says calmly. “i just wanna know what’s wrong so i can help you.”

“what’s wrong is that i’m tired.” you start. “we’ve been here for like 4 hours, it’s a hundred degrees out, i’m sweating so much my shirt is sticking to my body, my feet hurt, i’m hungry, and i wanted to leave 3 hours ago.” you gush.

abby chuckles, she knows she’s right. you scoff at her, apparently she thinks your discomfort is hilarious. she ignores your complaints and instead wraps you up in a hug, rubbing up and down your back. “do you wanna leave?” she asks.

“yes!” you practically shout. “i’ve wanted to leave. for hours.”

swiping away the tears that escape from your eyes, she picks you up in a bridal carry and hauls you all the way back to the car. you can’t help but giggle, suddenly so grateful for your girlfriend’s giant muscles.

soon enough she’s setting you in the car, the hot black leather stinging your skin. she climbs in the drivers seat, starting up the car and flicking the air conditioner to the coolest setting. you sigh, the change of scenery starting to calm your nerves. abby reaches over to grab your hand and places a kiss to each of your fingertips, punctuating the last one with a whispered “i love you.”

as for being at home, i think she’d be a little less put together. her home is her safe space, so why are you so worked up? she’d still take care of you, obviously, but it would take a little longer for her to figure out exactly what’s wrong.

abby hears your muffled sobs coming from the kitchen, so she rises from the couch and practically flies over to you, terrified that you chopped one of your fingers off or something. instead she finds you sitting on the floor, holding your head in your hands. you gaze up at her sudden appearance, your dripping eyes making her figure look blurry.

“what’s wrong?” she asks, panicked. “are you hurt? did you burn yourself?”

“abby.” you groan through your tears.

the panic in her chest rises, she searches around you for any smears of blood or any massive spills in the kitchen, but finds nothing. “answer me.” she demands, prying your head out of your elbows. “what’s wrong?” she asks again.

you swat her away, squirming against her hold on your head. she pulls you close to her, her body temperature making you overheat more than you already are and the position adding to the ache in your back.

“abby. leave me alone.” you cry. doesn’t she know that she’s making it worse? the last thing you want is to have a conversation right now, the pounding headache almost making it impossible for you to speak. “i don’t wanna talk, please.” you moan, sniffling into your sleeves. “just put me back down.”

“tell me what happened first.” she demands, smirking like something’s funny.

you choke on a sob, damn her for being such an asshole. “i have a splitting headache, i’ve been standing up all day and it’s hurting my back, i’m overheating and standing in front of the oven isn’t helping, and i got sugar all over the place and now everything’s sticky.”

oh. well shit, now she feels bad for manhandling you and laughing at your dismay. but she doesn’t say anything back, instead scooping you up and carrying you to bed. “there are still cookies in the oven.” you complain, and she kisses you sweetly. “i’ll get ‘em.” she assures you.

and once she pulls the last tray out of the oven, she wipes down the kitchen and rinses out all of the bowls and measuring cups before grabbing you a glass of water and heading toward the bedroom. the sight of you sleeping soundly with both kittens curled around you makes her knees weak, and she can’t help but plant a few more kisses on your cheeks and whisper “i love you, i’m sorry for being a jerk.”

#THANKS FOR THE REQ TEHE #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson headcanons #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson fluff #the last of us

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taegularities · 5 months ago

Text

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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harunovella · 11 months ago

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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ safety net; t.f.

synopsis: when toji decided to be a good man and rescue two puppies for his son... content: canon divergence (I want a happy story for the fushiguro's!), fem!reader, reader is mamaguro, in this world your last name is fushiguro and toji took it bc f*ck the zenin, megumi is ur son (he's just a baby!), domestic bliss, not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: seeing how successful my gojo anthology series is going (only two parts but going strong), I wanted to do one for toji bc I've always wanted to write his story with mamaguro (aka you!) and do a bunch of one shots that can be read as stand alones or together! pls lmk if you want more and if u wanna be tagged in the future <3 p.s. the divine dogs are actual dogs that inspired megumi's later manifestation of his shikigami in this au

It was one of those late nights for Toji. A summer evening with a heavy downpour to blur his path before him. The windshields were moving as fast as they could, swiftly clearing his vision with every wipe across the glass. He was quite used to this, running around town in the wee hours of the night, nothing new to him. It just annoyed him how difficult it could be driving in the rain when his windows fogged up and the headlights could only do so much.

He wasn't too far from home, running a quick errand before returning to his abode, wanting nothing more than the warmth of his bed.

A bed... A home...

Toji couldn't help but sigh and lean his head back against the car's headrest. Had this all been a dream? Was it real? Him, Zenin Toji, living a normal life? It had been quite some time now where he left it all behind to be domesticated—as if he were a wild animal. He didn't mind, though, a part of him was begging for a simple kind of life.

Sat at a red light as his pointer finger tapped away against the leather steering wheel, his eyes wandered the environment around him—well, as much as he could see during an evening shower. From building to building, the empty sidewalks and dim storefronts, his eyes suddenly bounced back to a bus stop. Squinting, he leaned in before turning on his blinkers.

This was very unlike him, his curiosity getting the best of him... Maybe it was because he was a changed man. Maybe it was because he had someone to go home to. Someone who made his deflated heart triple in size; someond who made him care about little things that he never did before.

Pulling over and parking his car next to the bus stop, Toji pulled up his hoodie and reached for the small umbrella that sat on the floor of the passenger seat. Rushing out and popping open the coverage, he stood before a small, cardboard box.

It was falling apart, the rain tearing at the flimsy material as the little towel beneath was completely drenched. Hearing the faint whimpers and cries of the tiny creatures that stared up at him, Toji took in a sharp breath and shook his head. He was a good man now. Better than he ever was before. He had a heart. He had a home. He had someone who loved him. These little bodies did not.

Lifting the box, he quickly maneuvered it underneath the umbrella before carefully placing it in the backseat of his car. "I hope she won't mind..." he said before making his way to the front, closing the umbrella and shutting the door after, resuming his route.

The drive home was quicker this time around, zooming to gather the bags and box he had within the car, shutting the doors and locking them behind him before he made his way towards the front door. Taking the steps and fumbling with his keys, he unlocked the door and slipped inside before kicking off his shoes and making his way towards the living room.

Settling the box down before moving towards the kitchen with the bag, he washed his hands and emptied the contents within it. Pulling out the small device, Toji made his way upstairs, ruffling his dark hair as he pressed a few buttons on the gadget. "Babe, this one should be fine," he spoke as he approached one of the two bedrooms.

"Oh, good," the voice responded as he entered the room. You were sitting on your son's rocking chair, holding him close to your chest as you caressed his little back. He was about six months old and the constant change in weather was getting to him, causing a slight cold to disrupt his immunity. It pained both of you to see your boy anything but happy and healthy... but, he was such a little trooper. Both of you weren't sure where he got his calmness from, seeing as you nor Toji were such a way, but you thanked the heavens for blessing you with a child like him.

"How's Megs doin'?" Toji asked as he handed you the new thermometer, squatting and gently caressing his son's head. His hand practically engulfed it, always entertaining him how tiny his boy was. It brought a small smile to his face. "Doesn't seem so fussy."

"A bit better, I got him to fall asleep. You weren't gone for too long, thankfully," you sweetly smiled, settling the small device down before caressing Toji's face. "Raining hard, huh?"

"Yeah," he nodded, only to widen his eyes.

"What is it?" You furrowed your eyebrows.

Scratching the back of his head, Toji stood up. "Got a surprise along the way... hope you don't mind."

"What do you mean?" You tilted your head.

"Let's go downstairs," he nudged his own, waving you to follow him.

Standing up carefully as to not wake your baby boy, you followed your man down the hall and staircase, towards your living room. You were confused at first, unsure as to what surprise he could've gotten you. But then you heard it. The faint cries and rustling coming from a box. The box in front of you. "Toji..."

"You've changed me, y'know?" He said. "I wouldn't have cared back then, would've left them suffer... but, guess it's because I'm a father now and I have you... I couldn't let them die out there..." rubbing the back of his neck as he stood by the box, you curiously peeked over before gasping. "Thought it would be nice to keep 'em... give Megs something to grow with."

"Toji... there's two," you nearly whispered, eyeing the puppies. One in pure white and one in all black, both equally precious. Tiny, scared, cold... you couldn't deny them either, even if you were currently raising your own baby.

"Yeah..." Toji sighed. "I was thinkin' about giving them a quick bath now and take them to the vet early tomorrow. Don't have much to feed them but we can make it work, right?" He said, keeping his eyes on them, a bit afraid of your reaction.

As upset as you should've been, seeing as it was two more mouths to feed, instead, you felt... elated? You weren't sure why, maybe it was because you were seeing more and more sides of Toji you didn't think would exist. Or maybe you loved the idea of giving your son two furry best friends to grow with. It could've also been that you were just happy that your son was okay and getting through his cold that you couldn't be as bothered.

It also didn't help that you may or may not have mentioned a few times (while taking your strolls during your pregnancy) that your little blessing should have some furry friends around. You just didn't think it would happen... this way.

"So?" Toji asked, looking at you with timid eyes. "Can we keep 'em?"

"Toji," you chuckled. "I'm not going to abandon these poor babies. You brought them here, you're gonna have to do a lot of raising. You're now a father of three," you teased as he nodded.

"I'm well aware."

"I'm surprised you're okay with this, let alone, brought them," you pointed out.

Shrugging, he looked back down. "Like I said, it's cause you changed me and I'm a father now. As scary as that is... I dunno... guess I want that normal life and normal people have dogs, right?" Seeing you nod with a small smile, Toji couldn't help but reflect your facial expression. "I wanna give him everything I've never had," he nudged his head in Megumi's direction.

"Such a good dad," you softly spoke, caressing your sons back before stepping closer and kissing Toji's arm. "Then I guess we have two puppies now. What should we name them?"

Eyeing the two, Toji hummed. "Kuro and Shiro."

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prentissluvr · 5 months ago

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the language of love isn't dead — dean winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, frenemies to lovers, petty arguments, ft. sam!, dean is annoying obviously <3, reader speaks latin (i used google translate and it is probably very wrong lol), kissing, one mention of a sexual innuendo, a few joking death threats, non-serious mentions of choking, poorly edited, 2.4K words. requested !

summary : you tend to compliment dean in the dead language of latin after fights so that he doesn't know what you really think about him.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“you’re being ridiculous,” you frown at dean, arms crossed against your chest as you stare him down in tonight’s motel room.

“ridiculous?” he parrots, indignant. “this is baby we’re talking about. my car. you know, the ‘67 black chevy impala i would kill a man over?”

“yeah, i know her,” you reply, sarcastic in tone. “and your homicidal tendencies when it comes to her. i’m very familiar, dean.” you roll your eyes at him because you just can’t help it. dean makes it very easy to get annoyed at, for a multitude of reasons.

reason number one, he’s annoying. reason number two, he’s very hot when he’s angry. reason number three, he’s very hot pretty much all the time. it does not help that sam got first dibs on the shower, so he’s still covered in a bit of grime and blood from the hunt you just walked away from. it’s his best look, aside from any time that he smiles.

“well, then you should know that getting her perfectly tended to and polished leather seats dirty with wendy’s barbecue sauce is like a goddamn felony and i should sentence you to life of never even stepping foot near my car again,” he fires back, and if you didn’t know him well, which you do, you’d venture to guess that he’s joking. he’s not.

you groan in frustration. “for the last time, i did not get barbecue sauce on your car seats,” you insist.

“i saw you sneaking fries before we got to the room,” he counters, narrowing his eyes at you. “you could have gotten grease on the leather too.”

“i ate two fries dean, and i was careful. i used a napkin and i did not open my barbecue sauce!” you spit back at him. you can’t believe you’re arguing about this right now. except that it is so believable and so like you and him. it’s not like either one of you is going to back down, certainly not about something so petty and meaningless.

“then how come i found some in the back seat?” he says for what feels like the millionth time.

you throw your hands up in the air. “i don’t know! i don’t even use my barbecue sauce for my fries. there’s no reason for me to have opened it!” you argue, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “and how do you even know it was barbecue sauce?”

“it looked like barbecue sauce, it wasn’t there yesterday, you’re the only one who orders it and the only one who’s sat in the back since then. therefore, barbecue sauce,” he admonishes, crossing his arms over his chest to punctuate his point. you can’t help but laugh at him a little bit. he just sounds so ridiculous.

“well then, let’s say it was barbecue sauce—which it wasn’t. did the leather get damaged?” you ask pointedly.

“that doesn’t matter!” he practically rages, taking a step towards you. god, he’s beautiful and you hate him for it (you really, really love him for it). “what matters is that you got it dirty!”

“jesus, dean! just drop it, your car is fine!” you chastise, your voice raising a little in volume as you take another step towards him. you can see his light freckles better now. they’re so goddamn pretty it makes you want to choke him.

“just drop it?” he repeats, fuming. “i will not ‘just drop it.’ this is about baby. i can’t ‘just drop’ something about baby! how can i even trust you enough to let you in my car again, huh?” this is the point where he’s serious, but not that serious. there’s clear frustration and anger in his voice, but he’s stuck with you and he knows it. and when he asks that final question, his volume lessens and he shrugs. he’s looking for you to grovel or offer something to appease him. the question is whether or not to give him that. your instinct is, of course, to not. you let out a huff of breath.

“well, maybe because i’m excellent company in the car,” you suggest, a gloating tone making its way into your voice. “and i like your music better than sam does. which means we always outnumber him. that’s very important.”

he’s unimpressed, clearly. “you gotta come up with something better than that, sweetheart,” he goads.

you curl your lip at him and roll your eyes. “you absolutely suck, dean,” you state. he raises his eyebrows and you groan and roll your eyes yet again. that’s not the word to use around him unless you want a sexual innuendo thrown in your face. “you are absolutely horrible, dean,” you amend.

he laughs at you and his annoyance mostly subsides. “which means i have no problem getting back at you tenfold for getting goddamn barbecue sauce on my car seat.”

“te respicere bonum cum iratus es, ita dampnas,” you grumble, shaking your head and glaring at him. like tradition, you end the argument with a certain latin phrase full of choice words.

now dean, sweet, lovely, silly, gorgeous dean, has no idea what you’re saying. he doesn’t care to learn enough latin for that. he doesn’t need to know, he thinks. your tone of voice says it all. he thinks those choice words are the type that one fills an insult with. today you tell him, “you look so damn good when you’re angry.” which, funnily enough, is not an insult.

it’s the perfect way of looking him in the eye and just spitting it out. you get to say without consequence what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, what you want to tell him so badly. it’s not the same as him knowing, but it helps. it eases your tension until the next time, it softens the blow a little.

sam fails to hold in his laugh behind you. you whirl around and glare at him, freshly dressed and out of the shower. you hadn’t even heard him leave the bathroom. narrowing your eyes at him, you tell your long time best friend, say something and you die. he puts his hands up in surrender, still laughing at you a little.

“shut up,” you grumble, then turn back to dean with a scowl.

“what was that little nerd exchange?” dean teases, realizing sam understood what you said.

“nothing,” you glower. “i’m showering now!”

dean throws his hands up in protest. “you’re making me shower last after getting barbecue sauce on my car?”

“dean, i swear to the lord in heaven, if you–”

“fine, fine!” he relents, the sarcasm and teasing still clearly present in his voice. “you’re right, you should shower first, you probably have barbecue sauce all over ya.” you raise your fist in a threat and it’s dean’s turn to put his hands up in surrender. “i’m just saying!”

“stop saying!” you groan. “just– stop talking, i’m gonna lose my mind.” if i have to stare at your gorgeous face and listen to your gorgeous voice for another second i will go crazy. you sigh heavily. god, you wonder if you could survive not kissing him. monsters and demons and all the strange shit in the world… that’s fine. it sucks but, jesus, at least you know how to deal with them.

but doing it all with dean? you have no idea how to deal with that. so far, it’s by arguing with him, complimenting him in a dead language, and keeping him at an arm’s length. and so far, it’s not working out too well, because you still want him. you still want him to want you back. you still wish and wish and wish that the language of love isn’t dead, not for you and him, not yet, at least.

maybe the shower will help. this motel doesn’t have the worst showers; the water pressure is decent and the water stays hot for a while longer than some others.

you’re not annoyed when you finish, at least, not about his stupid accusations of you getting condiments on his car seats. unfortunately, you are still annoyed about how attracted you are to him. even more unfortunate, you suppose, is that you’re attracted to him, period.

you sigh because you can’t bring yourself to actually try not to be. not that anyone can reverse feelings, but you let your feelings run rampant, more than you should sometimes. you let him eat away at your heart like a goddman movie zombie that’s too stupid to remember it eats brains. then, you figure that the thought of him eats away at your brain too, because he messes with your rationality sometimes.

his eyes are on you as you leave the bathroom and you wonder if sam’s tattled on you. when you shoot him a look he shrugs and shakes his head. you’re not convinced, but you let it slide. you plop down on the pullout couch bed and pack your old clothes away, ignoring dean’s heavy gaze. only when the door to the bathroom opens and closes do you flop against the bed with a heaving sigh.

“i hate your brother,” you grumble, barely loud enough for sam to hear as the muffled sounds of the shower turning on hits your ears. you turn to your side and curl up, not even bothering to pull the sheet over yourself.

you can’t see sam, but you hear him scoff from his spot on his own bed. “sure you do,” he quips, completely sarcastic.

“no, i really, really do,” you insist, not meaning a word of it.

“well, he hates you too, then,” he answers, voice heavy with implication. you know what he means because he knows what you mean. hate, of course, is love.

“no, he doesn’t,” you counter, sad about it. you bet that no one’s ever sounded so disappointed that someone doesn’t ‘hate’ them.

“you’re hopeless.” sam’s probably shaking his head at you as he reads the words on the book in his lap.

“i’m hopeless,” you sigh.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s not until a few days later that dean confronts you about your little latin digs at him. sam did tattle, only because he’s tired of your pining, but dean won’t tell you that. he’s smart enough to know you’ll end up with your hands around sam’s neck if you end up finding out, and he’s not trying to have his… person strangle his little brother.

“hey, idiot,” he starts, the word layered with affection. “why do you always insult me in latin? sorta feels like you lose the point of insulting someone to their face like that.”

he’s leaning against the hood of his car, beer in hand like always. it’s oddly uncommon to find yourself like this; outside, alone with him. the motel’s not busy and there are barely any other cars in the parking lot, and even less people. it’s just you and him as far as you can see. the night air is mild, cicadas singing as summer begins to slip away.

“well… maybe the point is that you know i’m saying something about you, but you don’t know what,” you shrug, sort of proud of the smooth answer. you’re not even lying. inside, you’re panicking a bit. this is dangerous territory.

“the stuff you’re saying is that horrible, huh?” his tone suggests a joke. his eyes suggest otherwise. it makes you pause.

how unfair is it, to the both of you, to lie? to even joke that you’d say such mean things about him? about dean winchester, whom you know sort of hates himself. who has just two people by his side, you and sam.

and you, who only argues with him because it’s easier than being nice. you, who deserves what you want but won’t let yourself even try to have it.

“no,” you sigh out. “i’m not saying horrible stuff about you.” you don’t look at him, you don’t mess around. you take the joking in his voice and strip it away. you take the look in his eyes and put it in yours. it makes him look at you, for once. it’s easy to imagine his eyebrows raising, his lips caught somewhere between his signature smirk and a curious frown. “not in latin, anyways,” you add, letting a huff of laughter leak into your bitter voice.

dean keeps looking at you. you know you’re supposed to explain after saying something like that, but you’d much rather not.

“no?” he asks finally. now you have to say something more.

“no,” you confirm, still staring at the trees across the street instead of him. the street lights are orange in color, and it feels either cruel or hopeful that it’s such a beautiful night. “i… say it in latin because it’s something nice. and you can… ignore this, if you want. i say it in latin because i like you a lot, dean. y’know, more than a stupid, fucking friend.” you roll your eyes a bit, like you’re upset with yourself. then you swallow thickly and ignore the fact that you can see him in your peripheral vision. he doesn’t look like he normally does. he doesn’t look angry.

dean is torn between teasing you and kissing you. you sound mad about the fact that you have feelings for him, like you wish you didn’t. ‘more than a stupid, fucking friend’ is a real funny way to phrase things, if he’s honest with himself. the question is, does he say that to you, or does he look for something better to say? he’s not good with ‘better things to say,’ whatever that might be.

“a little aggressive for a love confession, no?” his voice isn’t even that teasing. it’s sort of gentle. he wants to slap his hand over his mouth for saying that godforsaken four letter word. you had said ‘like.’ it’s freudian slip, he supposes, since he loves you.

“this isn’t funny, dean,” you murmur, voice sort of defeated. and yet, you hear it. it’s not funny to him either. he wasn’t trying to be funny, he was trying not to feel. he was trying to say at least something, because he was having trouble coming up with anything else.

“i know,” he relents. he draws in a deep breath. “will you look at me?” your lips part, then close. you blink a few times. you turn your head and look at him. god, he loves you back. he’s got to, or there’s no other way to explain how he looks at you.

and there’s definitely no other way to explain him kissing you. he looks you right in the eyes and he leans in until his lips are touching yours.

his eyes flutter closed, yours follow. you kiss him back, he kisses harder. the language of love isn’t dead. all you had to do was say something.

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st4rbwrry · 7 months ago

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𝐵𝒰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝒢𝒰𝑀.

⸝⸝ ౨ৎ :: ellie finger fucks you after you get your nails done since they’re too long to do yourself. ♡

‍warnings ౨ৎ 2.5k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, black coded, creaming, sub/dom, dirty talk, daddy kink, ellie smokes cigs swrry, fingering, finger sucking, kissing, bit of a bratty reader, spoiled!reader, ellie is too irritated so she gets nasty in the car, dry humping, choking, thigh spanks, praise, pet names [ baby. mamas. sweetie. princess ], established relationship. reblogs & comments are appreciated! <3

can’t help but picture the way ellie would finger fuck you after paying for your nails to get done, the bubblegum pink acrylics, also stiletto shaped with white patterns of pretty shit making it difficult for you to do the deed yourself. the eye roll ellie gives you as she leans against the black vechicle behind you, puffing on a cigarette she swore she’d quit a million times as you leave the vicinity of the salon, twiddling your dainty fingers for her to view. a cloud of smoke is blown past her plush pink lips as she gives you that knowing glare, that shape insanely disrespectful in her mind. how the fuck were you going to take care of her if she needed it? the disapproving upturned pout of your girlfriend’s lips give you that sinking feeling in your gut, knowing she’d do that the instant she saw them. but they were so pretty, and you wanted to try something new.

“daddy, hiiiii!” that sweet tone of yours sing as her pretty princess approaches her, smooching her freckled face. ellie’s lips reminded in a tight line, groaning as she trailed her hand down the middle of your back and to your ass that’s nearly exposed from the wind blowing, or rather the short length of it.

“lemme see your nails,” ellie rasps, tossing her cigarette to the side as she stares down at you with an unreadable expression. scary and intimidating as usual.

you don’t know why you’re so nervous, slowly raising your hands to her view for her to see clearer. a deep swallow catches her attention, eyeing your throat before bringing her tatted hands up to enclose your fingers with her. your arms rise as she lifts your hands that hold hers, ellie humming as she looks at the dozens of iridescent gems.

“cute.”

you bat your falsies. “yes? you like ‘em, baby?”

ellie nods only once. “let’s go get you some food. you barely ate the waffles i made this morning.”

you chose to ignore her comment, nodding your head and entering the brand new chevrolet trailblazer after she opened the door for you, it slamming unintentionally hard before ellie’s strolling to the drivers seat. you take attention to her attire today; all black, tight black tee and slightly loose jeans, her white calvin klein briefs showing as she hikes herself into the truck. always expensive smelling; like musk and vanilla. the chain you’d given her with your initial currently being frustratingly chewed at as she put extra pressure into the gas.

you keep your thighs pressed together with your hands nuzzled in between, forearms pushing your tits adorned in your baby blue tube top together, the white tennis skirt on your hips too high up, making your thighs stick to the leather seats. the humidity is high outside today, reaching over to turn the ac on. ellie’s barely paying attention to you, which means she’s upset, her attention on you ninety-six percent of the time.

“baby, i’ve missed you all day,” you lean comfortably against the seat as you turn your head in her direction, lifting one hand to caress her jaw, leading up to the chocolate brown hair on her head, half tied up. her green eyes give you a mere glimpse, unnoticeably gripping the steering wheel tighter from the way you speak and the siren glare your eyes. fuck, you’re irresistible.

“have you,” she mumbles, breath hitching the lower your hand trails, now smoothing over her neckline, drifting to the slim of her waist as your fingers lift her shirt, nails gently scratching her tanned skin.

ellie tries to ignore the heat building in her tummy. “all. day.”

the truck stops at a red light, ellie taking this moment to look at you, watching the way your hips seductively sway in your spot. a thick brow raises at your attempt of distracting her, more-so making her forget about what you did. she’s not dumb.

“stop, your being a brat,” ellie says sternly, but you protest, a pout on your full lips and your eyes blown innocently. your hand drifts further down, nearing the front of her chest to feel the fabric of her sports bra to the warmth of her stomach.

“i want you,” now you’re leaning over the center console, ellie’s cheeks turning red as you skim your lips over her flushed skin, ellie’s free hand reaching over to firmly press the pads of her fingers into your soft thigh, directly near your pussy.

“was thinkin’ about you during my hair appointment earlier, tried my very best not to cum in my seat,” your hair is pretty, the bouncy dark curls fitting the structure of your face perfectly. ellie clenches her jaw at the thought of that. “you make me so needy.”

the swerve of the car makes you grip onto her inked drawn forearm, staring at the road cautiously as she finds somewhere secretive to park. an empty alleyway. ellie breathes out heavy air before she’s rolling up the windows and turning up the music slightly, hold on by the internet playing soothingly. a mixture of pleasure, excitement, and nervousness paints the picture on your face, biting your lip to keep your sounds to yourself.

ellie runs her hand through her hair, leaning back in her seat she adjusts back to give you enough space to reside. ellie leans over your side to wrap her right arm around you waist, using the other to lock under your legs to pull you over the console, a squeak coming from your throat as she adjusts you on top of her, back to her chest.

“spread your fucking legs,” her breath tickles your earlobe and immediately you whimper, slick built up in your panties practically all day. you didn’t care if this was a punishment or for her own satisfaction, you just wanted her to fuck you. “right now, [ ♡ ].”

your name drips off of her tongue like poison, sinking your teeth into your lower lip even harder, her skin on your skin intoxicating. without another command, you disconnect your knees to open yourself up for her to access, sneaker covered feet touching the glass of the drivers window while your other leveled in the air. you feel ellie’s fingertips slug onto the middle of your thighs where the heat brews, aggressively smacking your inner thighs, as well as the outside.

you moan, breath shaking and grinding above her, head rolling back to rest on her shoulder, her touch inflaming your entire body. voice alone enough to make you cum. ellie pulls on the black material covering your pussy, patting her fingers over your clothed clit almost seeping through from your slickness. inhaling sharply from the impact, you whimper a tiny ‘nnn, baby’, trying to push yourself onto her palm for added pressure. ellie grunts, hand coming around your neck to choke you and hold you still.

“take this shit off,” ellie breathlessly whispers, snapping the material against your brown skin, the grip around your throat tightening.

you do as told, ellie placing her hands on the globes of your ass to hover you above herself while you slip off your panties, leaving them to rest at your ankles before lowering you back to sit on her lap. she’s soaked in her briefs right now, but you couldn’t tell, whining like a needy girl, only worrying about yourself. your cheeks are hot, eyes lowered erotically while you stare at your girlfriend, wanting her to hurry.

“so mad at you for those pretty ass nails,” she spanks your thigh again, your tummy caving in and your clit pulsing. “getting that fucking shape knowing you can’t fuck me for another two weeks.”

“s-sorry, daddy,” you feel yourself drip between your ass cheeks, staining her jeans.

“no you’re not, or else you wouldn’t ‘f done it,” your stomach caves in as ellie’s palm rests on your jaw, thumb digging in your cheek as she forces you to watch yourself, study the way she strokes your puffy pussy with her fingers, spreading your arousal.

“oh my god, you’re so goddamn wet,” ellie moans keenly, jaw dropping and brows knitted together as her fingers feel the warmth of your pussy, slowly sinking into your glossy cavern briefly. “i shouldn’t even fuck you. don’t think you deserve it, mamas.”

the way your eyes are stuck in the back of your head from her voice in your ear makes you wheeze, unable to pause the way your hips grind into her, needing her so badly it was becoming painful. you turn your head to kiss at her thumb, sticking your tongue out to lick and suck at it, ellie fixating on your tits beginning to slip from their enclosure of your top. ellie wastes not a moment later tugging them to sit underneath the heaviness of them, piercings gleaming on taut nipples. her palms take ahold of them, squeezing and molding with awe.

“fuck yourself,” her tongue underneath your jaw now, your body nearly tilted completely to your right side as you roll with pettiness, that bratty whimper filling the vehicle. ellie holds your legs back for better view, and you wanted to crawl into the back seat. part of you dissatisfied with her request.

the sadness in your eyes shows as you mutter, “c-can’t, ellie. my nails.”

“don’t wanna hear it, sweetie. should’ve thought about that before you got them done,” ellie kisses your neck gently, always managing to be sweet even through anger. “do what i say. rub your pussy, you can’t have my fingers ‘til i say so.”

if you complied, she’d have no choice but to pleasure her wife. make you feel good like she always does. so, you do as told. taking your right hand to rub your clit in pathetic little circles, soaking yourself and her at this point, ellie shifting beneath you with pent up sexual attraction, listening to how wet you were for her, loud even over the music. a never ending reward.

“nng, daddy, wan’ you,” a choke gets caught in your throat as you arch your back and collect your wetness to rub yourself quicker. although it feels good, it’s not enough, it’s not what you really crave, what you’re desperate for. you want her fingers.

“you can go fuckin’ faster,” ellie grits her teeth in your ear, spanking your thigh once again. . . maybe even three times. just enough to hear you scream and cry. “c’mon, girl. make it sweet. i want it wet enough to drown my fuckin’ fingers in.”

the key words; my fingers. that draws a sadistic grin onto your face, a happy one at that. she’s craving to stuff her fingers into you just as much as you want them. she just needs you to comply. to be a good girl. do as you’re told. fuck yourself like you want it. your clit throbs incessantly, highly sensitive from your fantasies all day about her. . . swollen and needy for attention.

“lick my fingers, ells,” guiding your fingers towards her mouth, ellie wraps her lips around them without a second thought, getting them wet while swirling her tongue around and moaning filthily. you moan along with her, whimpering from the interaction, eyes shutting briefly from the pleasure building in your tummy.

“you’re so hot,” you whimper with truth, she truly was. her jade eyes intensely drooping before she releases your fingers, eyes darkening as she leans closer to peck her pouty lips with your own. a quick one two, before slurping her salvia down her throat, humming loudly.

“yeah. now guide ‘em to that pussy, and fuck it for me,” she’s not repeating herself anymore. you nod quickly, rubbing her salvia over the mound of your cunt before slivering your fingers to your opening, collecting more of your juices and spreading your pretty lips apart for the engorged clit hiding between. ellie pulls her upper body to rest her head against the doors window while your head falls back onto the seat, wanting to catch a better look, blindly thrusting her hips up into you alls while digging her fingers into your waist to yank you down simultaneously. the friction and collision causing you to sob and rub yourself faster the way she likes to see.

“there we go, atta girl,” she loves to give you that motion of actually fucking her, ellie’s eyes almost rolling back into her skull as she drops you down a bit quicker, hearing that beautiful voice of yours talk in tongues, or call her name. “that’s it, mamas. you look so pretty for daddy.”

“f-fuck!” a sob erupts from you, ellie’s harsh thrusts fucking with your head. the imagery running awry. “g-god, ellie!”

“need my fingers to finish, princess?” ellie coos teasingly, dropping you down even harder, your pussy bumping onto the bulge of her jeans that formed after slipping further down her slim waist. you couldn’t wait to get home so she could really fuck you. bring out that special toy she liked to call her dick.

the cries are almost violent, scratching at her arm with your unoccupied hand and sobbing uncontrollably, telling her everything. you really have been needy, huh? “yessss, p-pleaseeee, fuck me ellie.”

“fuck, sound so good,” ellie halts her movements, yanking your hand out of the way and laying back in her spot to pull you closer. you cough out a moan when she inserts her middle and ring finger, ellie hissing from the tightness. “awe, baby. we gotta stretch you open some more.“

“oh my god,” your eyes scroll into the back of your head while your mouth drops with a broken gasp, ellie cussing under her breath when she sees a coat of white covering her fingers, dipping them in and out of your cunt steadily.

“baby, you g’na make me eat you up, my fucking god,” ellie’s truly fascinated, sinking in and out, even curling them to get a reaction out of you. your body spasming above her. “pretty fucking cream. s’gorgeous, sweetie.”

the tightness of your walls clench and pull her deeper, ellie’s palm interacting with your clit as she slams her fingers in hard, a high pitched scream echoing from your mouth and immediately ellie slaps her palm around your mouth, jaw clenched as she whispers, “shut the fuck up, take that shit baby.”

a tear falls down your face from the overwhelming pleasure, your skin slapping amongst her palm as she fucks you to your final orgasm, her mouth gnawing at your throat bringing you to the brink after she bites down and drags out a moan along with you. your hips shake rapidly, chest heaving and riding out your high against her hand. ellie grabs your face with her wet palm to kiss you aggressively, gliding her lips with yours in a passionate, slow kiss. you feel it all over your body, pussy aching for more. ellie’s anger subsiding . . . at least after she fucked you dumb into the mattress later on that day. safe to say, never get stilettos without permission again.

#𝜗ৎ ˚⋅ 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖘.#ellie x reader #ellie x black reader #ellie smut #tlou #tlou smut #tlou ellie #ellie williams #ellie willams x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie willams smut #the last of us #tlou2 #ellie fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie blurb

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wroteclassicaly · 6 months ago

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18+

Warnings: Language, slight smut, thigh & knee grinding/riding, filthy talk, public sexy time, and NSFW.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Directing Steve to pull his jeans down, so you can grind yourself on his thigh.

He’s getting hot and wet in his boxers and can’t take it out, due to driving on the road. But with a little coaxing from you, he’s pulling over as your panties are pulled to the side.

His tan, elongated arm crunches the leather of the seat as he throws it around behind you, his knuckles taunt. The afternoon sun catches on his silver chain, making you lick your lips, nearly missing his words. “C’mhere, baby. I can give you a few kisses, but you know we don’t have time to —“

The remaining words tumble back into his throat as he sees your jean shorts hit the floor and the massive wet patch soaking the white cotton crotch of your panties. He’s nodding dumbly, using the lever to level his seat back, unclipping his seat belt to start on his own ensemble. “Yeah. Okay. Fuck it, get over here to me, honey.”

He gets them to his ankles and you’re clambering atop him, telling him to lift his knee. You’ve often been a little shy about taking some initiative, so Steve lets you keep the reigns on this. All he can focus on is your pendant dangling between the perspiration that’s pooled in the crevice of your cleavage, to your wet underwear. It takes him a second to hear your question.

“Can I?”

He doesn’t care what you do, he just nods his head, cock beginning to pick painfully in his briefs. He assumes it’ll be sex, but his jaw unhinges, teeth sinking into his lower lip, his tongue sliding out to lick across his stubble the second you make your decision, pulling your panties to the side, that thick want dripping from you slowly, staining his own undergarments. He sucks in sharply, reaching one massive hand for your waist, the other cupping the back of your neck as you lower your cunt directly over his knee. Sticky, warm, sopping wet — all understatements of the century. Steve can barely breathe, forgetting speech, head slamming back against the head rest, groaning at how good this feels.

Being touched without stimulating between his legs. It’s indescribable. You drag your clit across his knee, trying to establish a rhythm, your hands draping over his shoulders, dipping into the collar of his t-shirt to plant themselves in your own personal jungle. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

It’s hard to keep his eyes open, pupils blown, sun shining in, anyone able to come by and see his girlfriend riding his leg — and Steve is fucking living for this shit. Your movements are more calculated as moments pass, the car growing hotter, battling the air conditioning, Steve’s breathing uneven, and your own. He can tell when you take solace in his neck, an arch that has his fingers tapping soothing rubs down your spine as you come. His cinnamon stained breath is whispering into your ear, “Good girl, honey. Used me all up, didn’t you?”

You shakily press a kiss to his jugular and he’s feeling his tummy twist, toes push off the floor, body bowing into yours. He releases, fucking comes into his boxers with unsettled cries, holding onto you with everything in him. You’re so fucking proud and turned on again, that you pull back to kiss him with fervor. The come down is incredible, vulnerable, just for the two of you. Mingled breaths, stolen kisses, and Steve’s running ignition.

He traces his thumb along your jawline on the breakaway, and helps you climb back into your seat to adjust. His briefs are uncomfortable, but his body is on fire. It’s still a shock, however, when he does a U — Turn and gravel kicks up his tires, your head whipping back to see your destination now getting further. “Uh, Steve?”

He’s focussed on the road, albeit, is still radiating his scorching smolder when he answers. “Honey, I’m gonna fuck you so hard that we won’t be going anywhere for the next twenty-four hours.”

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shockercoco · 6 months ago

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Rainbow vs. Leather

Benny Cross x reader

Warnings - some swearing, flirty! and nervous! Benny

Word count - 2397

a/n - request: Hi!! If interested can you please do a Benny Cross x reader who is an unofficial member of the gang?. . .Benny likes her and try’s to give her hints but she thinks that he is just being nice because she had bad luck with guys who only always saw her has a friend and so, he has to be blunt with her one day. And the rest is up to you. Thank you." - read the full request here. i think 2k words is just gonna be my average at this point lol, i hope you enjoy :)

“Do I have to?” You had asked your parents one night at dinner — they had basically turned it into an intervention.

Your parents weren’t a huge fan of you just lounging around the house all the time with nothing to do, although you had no problem with just kicking back and watching a little television. They thought you needed to get out and socialize and make some friends.

You weren’t necessarily opposed to the idea, but making friends wasn’t an easy thing for you. You came off as shy at first, but once you got comfortable in your environment you became pretty talkative and outgoing. This was also a problem when having conversations with people because sometimes they thought you didn’t want to talk, or even worse, that you didn’t like them for some reason.

You wanted to come out of your shell, so when your parents told you that they wanted you to get a job, you were hesitant but you agreed.

At least they weren’t kicking you out of the house.

What they didn’t know is that you would get a job at the local bar where all the Vandals hung out, the town’s motorcycle club. It was easy for you since Johnny, a close family friend — leader and owner of the club — practically owned the bar, so when you had asked him for a job, he was completely fine with it.

Your parents thought you would get a job at something like the grocery store or the book store down the street, but since they loved Johnny they were okay with you working at the bar.

So now here you are, your third week as a bartender and you enjoyed it. For the most part, the guys were pretty respectful and you rarely had any problems — mainly because Johnny basically threatened them into treating you right before you even started.

There was this instance a couple days ago with a drunk guy, though. He kept getting closer and closer to you, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to leave you alone, Johnny interrupted and kicked the guy out of the bar.

You told Johnny that you had it handled, but he had just dismissed you and said, “No lady should have to deal with that.”

It was pretty obvious that this wasn’t your usual crowd. You enjoyed wearing colorful clothes and jewelry, but you did try and tone it down a little so that you didn’t stick out too much. Thankfully, you had made a couple of friends so you didn’t feel too out of place.

“You should come out riding with us later,” Kathy, a new friend, tells you from the other side of the bar counter.

“On a motorcycle? Are you crazy?” You ask as you lean against the counter. A lot of the guys had already gotten their drinks, and they didn’t want to get too drunk for the ride later, so you didn’t have too much to do.

“What else would I be talking about?” she playfully rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know, maybe a car ride?”

“When was the last time you had fun?” She asks you as she taps the ashes off the end of her cigarette.

“Yesterday while watching some game show,” you joke, and Kathy just laughs.

“How are you two doing over here?” Benny walks up with a glass in his hand, taking a seat next to Kathy.

Benny was another one of your new friends, and you enjoyed whenever he was around. Mostly because you liked how he made your heart flutter just by looking at you or giving you that smirk of his. You hate to admit it, but you were a goner the first day you had met him.

He wasn’t your usual type, but who cares. The whole point of this job was to get you to become more open. You highly doubted that the feelings were reciprocated on his end, though.

But little did you know they were. Just like you, Benny had fallen for you as soon as he laid eyes on you. He had just entered the bar and joined a game of pool with some of the other Vandals.

As he was lining up his shot, he heard a laugh that he hadn’t heard before. All the laughs he was used to were from the other Vandals or the raspy laughs from the girls that hung around and smoked.

Your laugh was different — light and airy and sometimes started off as just a giggle and got interrupted with a snort. It was also loud enough to be heard over the regular chatter of the bar, making Benny miss his shot.

The guys had joked and asked if he was distracted, but he just brushed it off and tried to regain his focus.

When he looked up furrowed eyebrows to see who was causing the noise powerful enough to throw him off his game, he noticed you standing there behind the bar. You are laughing at something Johnny had said to you as you poured him a drink.

Benny ended up missing his next two shots, and he surprisingly wasn’t upset when he lost the game.

Benny needed to know who you were, and he made that his mission from then on. He tried to send you signals that he was interested in you, but for some reason you weren’t picking them up. He loved the way you giggled at something he said or how your soft hand accidentally brushed his as you handed him his drink.

He was trying so hard to be patient, including now as he saw you talking with Kathy with a gentle smile.

“I’m trying to get her to join us later tonight for the night ride,” Kathy answers him.

“And?” Benny asks hopefully, his eyebrows raised as he looks at you with humor written across his face.

“Not happening,” you shake your head.

“Why not?” he continues.

“Because she doesn’t like fun,” Kathy butts in before you can answer.

“Hey, I do like to have fun. It’s just that my version of fun and yours is different,” you defend.

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle?” Benny asks you as he rubs his hand over his chin. When you shake your head in response, he asks, “Do you want to?”

“Not really a huge fan of putting my life on the line like that,” you tell him. Benny chuckles, Kathy joining in.

“It’s not that dangerous, we don’t always drive fast. Tonight’s just a cruise. Come on,” Benny says.

His intense gaze is almost enough to make you say yes…but no. Being on the back of a motorcycle didn’t seem as safe as being inside a closed up car.

“I’m okay, plus my parents might kill me if I stay out too late,” you say.

“Doesn’t Johnny know your parents? I’m sure they wouldn’t be too mad,” says Kathy.

Benny’s face contorts into surprise at Kathy’s statement. He looks back at you for confirmation, and you give him a silent nod.

“What about me?” Johnny questions as he hears his name being mentioned. He gives you a smile as he hands you his glass to refill.

Good, hopefully he can help you get out of this.

“We’re trying to convince her to come out with us, but she’s too afraid,” Kathy explains. You let out a scoff.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Johnny agrees, taking a sip from his glass.

What?

Your eyes widen as your lips slightly parted in disbelief.

Johnny shakes his head in amusement at your expression. “I promise it’s not that bad, you’ll be safe with us. If you get in any trouble with your parents, I’ll talk to them myself.”

You look at the three pairs of eyes staring back at you, waiting for your answer — Kathy with her eyebrows raised, Benny with a daring look behind his eyes, and Johnny with a smirk.

“Fine,” you surrender, throwing your hands in the air as the group in front of you lets out a small cheer.

As the night at the bar comes to an end, the bikers take that last sip from their glass and throw on their colors, before filing out the door and heading toward their bikes. Hoots and hollers fill the air as everyone begins to hype each other up.

“You can ride with me,” you hear Benny tell you as he walks past you and toward his own motorcycle. He doesn’t look back at you as he starts up the bike and waits as everyone else does the same.

Get on a bike. With Benny.

You spot Kathy on a bike with Cal. When she sees you looking, she nods her head towards Benny and smiles. You inhale a deep breath to give yourself before heading towards Benny, who offers you his hand as you climb on behind him.

“Well I’ll be damned, is Rainbow finally coming?” Brucie laughs when he sees you. He gave you the nickname when he saw you on your first day dressed in pastel colors and joked about how bright your clothes were. The name has stuck with you ever since, unfortunately.

“Hell yeah,” Cockroach shouts, along with a few others.

You roll your eyes and try to hide the smile forming across your lips. Benny instructs you to wrap your arms around his torso, which you do with uncertainty. You’re not sure how high or low you should have your hands and how tight to hold onto him.

This feels oddly intimate.

He smells like cigarettes — which would normally be a huge turn off if it was someone else — along with sweat from the multiple rounds of pool he played throughout the night, and his natural musk.

Benny must’ve noticed your nervousness because he grabs your hands and places them on his abdomen, allowing you to feel the muscles beneath his shirt. He gives your hands a small pat as if to keep them in place before following the rest of the Vandals as they pull out onto the street.

You’re not sure exactly what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. The way the wind whips around and through, taking your breath away in such an addicting way. The way the motorcycle vibrates your whole body, only intensifying your experience. You’re not sure how fast Benny’s going, but you couldn’t care less.

You hate to admit it, but the ride is over too quickly for your liking. As Benny separates from everyone else and pulls up in front of your house, you realize the smile currently on your face hasn’t left since the ride started.

Benny comes to a slow stop before cutting the engine and helping you off the bike and onto the sidewalk. Your body is still buzzing from the vibration of the bike, but you enjoy the feeling.

There’s a silence between the two of you as he watches you for a moment, looking you up and down.

“What?” You laugh nervously as you shift under his gaze. You wrap your arms around your body, not just to shield yourself from the window, but from him.

Benny smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing. I take it you enjoyed the ride.”

“I did actually,” you nod.

“So you wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again sometime?” he asks.

“I guess not,” you say.

“With me,” he adds, more as a statement than a question.

You blink. “What?”

“You know what. I’m asking you to come riding with me,” he says casually.

You want to say something, but honestly you're at a loss for words.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he smirks.

“And why would I do that?” you question.

“Because I want you to,” he shrugs his shoulders as he looks out into the distance. Benny takes a breath and hesitates for a second before looking back at you. It’s now or never. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get your attention?”

“My attention?” you ask, but you think you know where he’s headed with this.

“Yes, your attention. I’ve been flirting with you pretty much everyday since you started working at the bar, and you don’t seem to notice. I mean, some of the other guys have picked up on the fact that I like you.”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you tell him, your forehead creasing.

“Nice?” Benny scoffs with a laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that.”

“I don’t know, I just-I thought you were being nice since I’m always hanging around Kathy!”

“Even Kathy has noticed!” he throws a hand up.

“Lower your voice!” you hush him. It’s after midnight, and you don’t want everyone on the street to start looking out of their windows.

You really don’t know what to say now, though. Like, what the hell have you been doing all this time?

Well, to be fair, people don’t usually flirt with you.

“So….”

“So….” Benny drags out. “Will you put me out of my misery and go on a date with me? It doesn’t have to be anything special, unless you want it to. We can just go for a ride or I could take you out to eat. Anything you want,” Benny looks at you with hope written all over his face.

A grin slowly made its way across your face as you took in Benny. Is he nervous?

“I mean, I can’t really say no because we see each other all the time at the bar anyways,” you joke, causing Benny to let out a chuckle.

“Is that a yes then?” he asks.

“Yes,” you confirm. Benny nods, satisfied with your answer.

“I guess I should probably go — you’re cold, and I’m pretty sure your mother has been looking out the window this whole time,” Benny smirks.

Your mouth drops as you whip your head around just in time to see someone move away from the window on the second floor. There’s no doubt you’ll be flooded with a ton of questions later.

You turn back around when you hear Benny’s engine start back up.

“I’ll see you soon, Rainbow,” Benny shoots you a win, stealing the nickname Brucie had given you.

“That’s not my name!” you shout after him, and he just gives you a quick glance back before continuing down the road.

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