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readingkitty22 · 11 hours ago

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You Were Mine First

Pairing: Alpha! Satoru Gojo x Omega! Reader

description: Gojo Satoru has been everything to you since childhood: your rival, your protector, your closest friend. And always, quietly, something more. From scraped knees to training matches, whispered confidences to shared silence, your lives have always been tangled.When Gojo and Suguru present early as powerful Alphas, and you, later, as a rare Omega, everything changes. Suddenly you're no longer invisible, no longer “just” a friend. You’re desirable. Vulnerable. A political asset to a lesser clan. And when your family arranges a match, Gojo reaches his limit.Because he’s the strongest and he’s always known one truth: You were his before anyone else had the right to say otherwise.

A slow-burn, childhood-friends-to-lovers saga set in an omegaverse where obsession brews quietly, affection runs deep, and nothing stands between Satoru and what he’s claimed.

⚠️Warnings Omegaverse dynamics (presentation, heats, bonding), possessive but not toxic Alpha behavior, sorta-explicit sexual content (18+), mild angst, arranged marriage elements, clan/political interference, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy references, mild language. No major character death. Emotional resolution and satisfying ending guaranteed.

w.c. 6.1k

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a/n: I am still SUPER new to this whole writing thing, but thank you all for liking and reblogging <3, I've been working on this little work for a bit and I'm still unsure about it. Hope y'all enjoy!

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Age 6

The first time you met Satoru Gojo, he offered you the red crayon.

Not the broken one. Not the short, stubby piece every kid avoided. He handed you the longest, sharpest red crayon in the box like it meant something.

“You can draw the wards,” he said, like you were already part of the team.

Suguru smiled at you from where he sat cross-legged on the temple floor. “He doesn’t usually share that one.”

You glanced between them,two boys from powerful clans, both still too young to know what their futures would cost them. You weren’t like them. You knew that even then. You were from a lower clan of healers, support staff. Useful, not vital.

But Gojo just tilted his head and said, “You’re gonna be around a lot, right?” You nodded. “Then you should start with the best color.”

And just like that, you were part of their world.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The three of you claimed a disused storehouse as your base. You brought juice boxes and old charms. Suguru brought manga. Gojo brought chalk and spelled salt he wasn’t supposed to have.

You were eight the first time he laid his head in your lap.

“I don’t get headaches,” he said softly, like he was surprised. “But I do when I’m around too many people. You’re… quieter.”

“Quieter how?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked up at you with those strange blue eyes, too bright for someone so tired.

“Like breathing near you is easier.”

When Suguru fell asleep with a comic book on his chest, Gojo scooted closer to you, drawing lazy circles on the floor with his chalk.

“I think we should make a pact,” he said.

You blinked. “What kind of pact?”

“We stick together. No matter what.” He glanced at Suguru. Then at you. “No matter who we grow up to be.”

You didn’t say anything at first. But you reached out and gently pressed the red crayon to the back of his hand like a seal.

He smiled, soft and secret.

And in the years that followed,when instincts started pulling you in strange, dangerous directions,he would always come back to that moment. The red crayon. Your touch. The feeling of safety he’d never find anywhere else.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 9

The shrine courtyard buzzed with late summer heat and the soft clatter of ceremonial prep,silk slippers on wood, hushed chanting, incense curling in the air like smoke from a dream.

You weren’t meant to be at the front.

Technically, neither was Gojo.

You were helping your aunt with the offerings,sprigs of purifying herbs, tied together with rice paper and string. It was busy work, meant to keep the lesser clan kids out of the way.

But you caught sight of him before the ceremony started,white hair mussed by the wind, half-buttoned yukata, sunglasses tucked into his collar instead of worn.

He grinned when he saw you.

“I snuck out of greeting duties. Suguru's covering for me.” He leaned close, whispering like it was a secret. “Said I had to ‘see the herbs in action.’ Very scientific.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t tell him to leave. You never really did.

It happened fast.

One of the elders from a visiting clan,tall, grim-faced, the kind of man who wore tradition like armor,caught you whispering over the offering baskets.

“Too noisy,” he snapped, voice like cracked ice. “This isn’t a playground.”

You dropped your head in a half-bow, voice quiet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You’re distracting the real assistants.” He stepped forward, hand twitching toward your shoulder. “Leave, child.”

You didn’t move.

Gojo did.

He stepped between you so smoothly, so silently, it almost didn’t register until the man’s hand stopped mid-air, just shy of his chest.

“She’s with me,” Gojo said. Calm. Clear. Unapologetic.

The elder narrowed his eyes. “This is a sacred rite. She is unqualified.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. “She’s mine to watch over.”

It wasn’t possessive,not quite. Not yet. Just... matter-of-fact.

The words hung in the air like static.

The elder backed off without another word.

Later, walking back down the stone steps with your sleeves bundled in your arms and sweat damp on your brow, you caught Gojo watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked. “He wasn’t going to hurt me.”

Gojo shrugged. “Didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You waited for him to tease. To make it a joke. But he didn’t.

Instead, he reached out and tugged a leaf from your hair. His fingers brushed your temple,so light, so careful,and he looked down at the crumpled sprig in his hand like it had done something wrong.

“Next time,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear, “just stand behind me.”

And something deep in your chest,something instinctive, old, nameless,settled quietly into place.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 13

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training field. The air was warm but still, almost too still, as though the world was holding its breath.

You didn’t understand why Gojo insisted on this early-morning training session. You had no intention of trying to compete with him today,not when his cursed energy felt like it was vibrating in the air itself.

“Focus, focus,” he said lightly, jumping into a crouch. His hands were relaxed, casual, like he wasn’t preparing to unleash the full force of his power at any moment. But the air felt too tight, and even Suguru, ever the grounded one, was glancing sideways at Gojo in an unspoken exchange.

Then it happened,without warning.

Gojo’s cursed energy exploded, a wild burst of power that cracked the earth beneath him. A shriek of wind shot through the field. You stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of it. Suguru’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t surprised.

You were used to this,used to Gojo’s strength, to his overwhelming presence. But this… this was different.

“Whoa!” Gojo laughed, standing tall and grinning, as if he hadn’t just nearly torn the air in half. He was practically glowing, the sheer magnitude of his power both terrifying and beautiful. “Guess it’s official, huh?”

Suguru didn’t say anything, just walked over to him and set a hand on his shoulder, eyes flicking toward the distance like he was waiting for something.

“Yeah,” Gojo said, lowering his voice. “Guess it is.”

And then, just like that, the storm subsided. Gojo grinned again, as if it was nothing. He’d presented as an Alpha, raw and potent, the kind of power that left a permanent mark on the world. It had been so fast, so quiet, but so intense.

You watched him with a mixture of awe and concern, but before you could speak, Suguru was already turning to face you, his gaze soft but knowing.

“I knew it was coming,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “His energy’s always been too big for anything else.”

You nodded, unsure what to say.

A week later, Geto presented.

His was quieter than Gojo’s,his energy more controlled, restrained. It didn’t have the explosive violence Gojo’s did, but there was something just as intimidating in the way it rippled under his skin. Geto always seemed like the kind of person who would wait until the world was watching before he made his move and when he presented, that’s exactly what he did.

It was subtle. It was almost… calm.

But there was no mistake. He was an Alpha.

When Geto met Gojo’s eyes from across the field, he raised an eyebrow, and a slow, amused smile crept across his face. “Guess we’re both officially off the market now, huh?”

Gojo laughed loud, easy, like the universe was his to control. “About time,” he said, smirking in that way that made everyone around him feel both invited and terrified.

It started quietly.

You were sitting under the old cherry blossom tree, half-listening to Suguru talk about a recent mission while Gojo made cranes out of your lunch napkin. It was normal,comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

At first, it was just a lingering glance. Then two. And then you felt it,noticed it. The way people were looking at you. Students who’d never said a word to you before. Instructors passing too slowly in the hall. A lingering, curious sharpness in the air.

Like they could smell something shifting.

Suguru noticed it before you did. His head turned toward you slowly, eyes narrowing, calculating. Then his expression softened, something sad and fond flickering across his face.

“…You presented,” he said quietly, like he was speaking a truth you hadn’t caught up to yet.

Your lips parted, confusion still thick in your chest.

Gojo sat upright in a second. His napkin crane crumpled in his lap.

The moment he caught your scent,really caught it,you saw it hit him like a wave. Not with hunger, not with something feral. With something… stunned. Like he’d been punched in the ribs by the universe.

His pupils contracted. Then dilated.

No words. Just pressure.

Suguru said it for both of them. “An Omega…”

Gojo’s jaw flexed.

Among jujutsu sorcerers, Omegas were rare. Especially rare in active bloodlines,your kind burned too hot, cursed energy tangled with instinct too violently. Most faded into support roles. Some were hidden by their clans, used for arranged bonds. And some… disappeared entirely.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how exposed you felt.

Your scent was faint for now,still settling,but the students around you weren’t stupid. They’d start to recognize it soon. The way Alpha instincts shifted in your direction. The tilt of a head. The tightening of a jaw. The challenge in a stare.

And through it all, Gojo just looked at you.

Not with pity.

Not with fear.

But like he’d just remembered something he’d sworn to himself long ago: Mine to watch over.

Only now… it meant something else.

The next day at Jujutsu Tech felt different.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to walk the same path to class. Keep your shoulders relaxed. Pretend the weight of your uniform hadn’t suddenly become too tight across your chest. But the air knew.

So did everyone else.

It wasn’t even subtle.

The moment you stepped into the classroom, conversations slowed. Heads turned. And though no one said it out loud, their stares pressed against your skin like heat,That’s the Omega.

You weren’t the first in school history, of course. But you were the only one currently in circulation. Most Omegas were quietly moved to private training or matched with a pre-approved bond by their clan before it ever got this far.

You? You were still here.

And that made you… vulnerable.

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The worst part wasn’t the whispers.

It was the way some of the older students lingered a little too long in the halls. One of them,someone from a mid-tier clan you barely knew,bumped your arm in the corridor, leaned in a little too close.

“You smell different,” he murmured, eyes raking across your face like he had a right to look at you.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because before you could move, someone was already there.

Gojo’s voice was flat. “Touch her again.”

The boy turned, surprised. “Gojo—hey, I didn’t—”

“Touch her again,” Gojo repeated, low and cold, “and I’ll decorate the hallway with your teeth.”

There was no smile. No sunglasses. Just Gojo Satoru standing very, very still, his cursed energy curling around his shoulders like a stormcloud.

The boy backed off fast, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared down the corridor.

Gojo didn’t move.

He didn’t even look at you.

Not until Suguru came up behind him and said quietly, “You’re making a scene.”

That snapped him out of it. Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off, not looking back.

That night, Suguru walked you back to your dorm.

He didn’t say much at first. Just let the silence stretch between you like a thread.

Then, softly: “You okay?”

You nodded. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Suguru didn’t smile. But his voice was gentle. “It’s not your fault people are idiots.”

You looked up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. “Is he mad?”

“Gojo?” He huffed. “Gojo’s losing his mind.”

“…Why?”

Suguru tilted his head at you like you were being ridiculous. “Because you’re you. And now, everyone sees it.”

You swallowed hard.

“He’s trying not to act like it’s bothering him,” Suguru added, almost too casually. “But you’re an unmated Omega in a school full of Alphas. You’ve been close with us since you were six. What do you think he’s feeling?”

You stopped walking.

Suguru paused too, then looked over his shoulder, something fond flickering behind his eyes.

“Just… don’t be surprised if he doesn’t handle this very well.”

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

You couldn’t sleep.

The day had clung to your skin,stares like needles, voices too loud and too soft at the same time. Even Suguru’s calming presence hadn’t helped this time. You’d spent hours turning over what Suguru said about Gojo in your head.

You’re an unmated Omega in a school full of Alphas. You’ve been close with us since you were six. What do you think he’s feeling?

You needed air.

The rooftop was quiet this late. The wind was cool, brushing over your skin like a sigh. You curled your arms around your knees, sitting beneath the narrow lip of the railing. It was one of the only places in the school that still felt yours.

So when Gojo’s voice broke the silence behind you, your whole body jumped.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You turned.

He didn’t look like himself. No sunglasses. Hair messy. His uniform half shrugged off one shoulder, like he’d thrown it on without thinking.

He crossed the rooftop, quiet for once, and sat down next to you with a grunt.

You both stared out at the campus.

The silence wasn’t awkward. Not really. But it was charged,a careful kind of quiet, like both of you knew what was sitting between you but neither had the courage to name it.

Finally, he asked: “How bad was it today?”

You hesitated. Then: “I’m handling it.”

“Don’t.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. Not angry. Just… quiet. “I saw your face after that guy touched you. You hated it.”

You dropped your gaze.

Gojo leaned back on his elbows, eyes toward the stars. “I’ve wanted to break a lot of people’s noses lately.”

You smiled. A real one.

Then, after a long moment: “Is it weird?”

He looked at you. “What?”

“That I’m… like this now.”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was soft. Careful.

“You’ve always been like this,” he said. “You’re just… more obvious now.”

You turned toward him. His expression was unreadable. Still boyish, still beautiful. But something in his eyes was older, heavier.

“It’s not weird,” he said, voice low. “It’s dangerous. For them.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gojo looked away. His mouth twitched,not a smirk. A defense.

“I mean,” he said, “if one more person looks at you like they deserve you, I’m going to forget I’m supposed to be playing nice.”

Something deep in your chest curled up at that. Warm and sharp and aching.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But you stayed there. Sitting close enough that your arms touched, listening to the wind and the distant buzz of lights. He didn’t reach for you. You didn’t lean in.

But his presence wrapped around you like a barrier.

And when you finally laid your head on his shoulder, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just sat there, frozen and burning, until his voice,so quiet,broke through the night.

“I won’t let anyone take you.”

And he meant it.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 16

Three years made a difference.

Gojo had always been tall, always been powerful. But now he filled a room before he even stepped into it. Every Alpha on campus carried weight, but he carried gravity. He didn’t just stand out; he distorted everything around him. People moved when he walked past. Students whispered in the halls after he’d gone, like his presence left a burn mark on the floor.

And you… started noticing things you hadn’t before.

It was the way he laughed too loud at his own jokes. The way he chewed his gum and flicked his wrist to push up his blindfold with lazy confidence. The way people stepped aside, but he always reached back,waited for you to follow.

He still walked you home. Still saved your favorite snacks. Still rolled his eyes when Suguru got too philosophical and threw paper balls at his head during lecture.

But it wasn’t the same anymore.

One day, during sparring drills, you caught yourself staring,not because he was flashy, not because of his technique. But because he moved like lightning trapped in a boy’s skin. Fluid. Dangerous. Beautiful.

When he caught your eye across the mat, something flickered there,recognition. Like he knew.

He looked away first.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

It got worse when you were paired for weapons class.

Gojo held the bokken with casual ease, his grin tilted just enough to be cocky. “Try not to fall for me during this, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, heart doing something it definitely shouldn’t.

The duel was fast, brutal, and completely unfair. He pulled his hits, of course,but even restrained, Gojo moved like he was born to be worshipped. Your body reacted before your brain did, drawn to him on instinct. Not just the Alpha scent, not just the power.

It was him.

After the match, breathless and warm, you met his eyes across the mat.

He looked at you like he’d been waiting.

Later, in the quiet of your dorm, you pressed your hand over your chest. Your pulse hadn’t slowed. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks, the echo of his voice, low and amused:

“You’re stronger than most of the boys that try to flirt with you, y’know that?”

You hadn’t said anything at the time. Just stared at him, too aware of his height, the closeness of his breath.

Three years ago, he would’ve teased you. Tugged on your sleeve. Laughed it off.

But now, Gojo Satoru just stood there, watching you like the only reason he hadn’t made a move was because he wasn’t allowed to yet.

And for the first time, you wondered what would happen if he did.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

You’d been aware of the stares for weeks.

But today, it shifted. Bolder. Louder.

Someone from the Zenin branch house,older, polished, confident,cornered you after class. He wasn’t rude. He was respectful. That made it worse.

“I was wondering,” he said smoothly, “if you’d consider lunch together this week. I know it’s sudden, but—”

You didn’t get to answer.

Gojo’s cursed energy hit the hallway like a wave.

It was subtle enough to be deniable. Just a tightness in the air, like the pressure drop before lightning. Your would-be suitor faltered mid-sentence. He turned his head slightly, met Gojo’s smile from a few feet away.

Cool. Polite. Murderous.

“Am I interrupting?” Gojo asked, voice light, eyes unreadable beneath his blindfold.

You opened your mouth to say no, but your classmate already took a full step back. “Of course not. Excuse me.”

He left like the air was on fire.

You glared. “Satoru.”

“What?” He blinked, innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Gojo shrugged and leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “Can’t blame a guy for hanging around when weirdos keep showing up.”

“They’re not weirdos,” you muttered.

He didn’t respond. Just stood there, close enough to smell, his body language casual. But the tension in him? Coiled. Hot. Barely contained.

Later that night, Suguru found him behind the training hall, still burning off energy with a practice staff, moving like he wanted something to bleed.

“You gonna kill every guy who talks to her?” Suguru asked, arms crossed.

Gojo didn’t look at him. “Only the ones who think they deserve her.”

Suguru exhaled slowly. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“She’s not bonded.”

“She’s not yours either.”

That finally made Gojo pause.

Suguru stepped closer. “I’m saying this as your friend, not hers. You’re not exactly subtle, Satoru.”

Gojo wiped sweat from his jaw. “Why should I be?”

“Because if the clans start noticing how you look at her, they’re going to act on it. You’re not just Gojo, you’re the Six Eyes Alpha. That makes her a target.”

Gojo’s expression shifted,still, sharp, deadly quiet.

“She’s already a target,” he said. “I’m just making sure everyone knows she’s protected.”

Suguru stared at him for a moment longer. Then he sighed.

“I’m not telling you to stop. I’m telling you to be careful.”

He walked away, his words still hanging in the air.

That night, Gojo didn’t sleep.

He sat outside your dorm window,hidden, silent,listening to your breathing just to make sure you were safe.

His hands trembled, just a little.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend this was only protection.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 18

It started with a letter.

You knew what it was the second you saw the envelope,hand-delivered, pressed with your clan’s seal. Thick, ceremonial, and cold.

Suguru’s eyes skimmed it over your shoulder as you sat in the common room. “You’re not opening that here, are you?”

You hesitated. “I already know what it says.”

They wanted to arrange a match.

A high-ranking Alpha from a politically advantageous family. One with “stability, long-term potential, and no history of excessive aggression.” Their words, not yours.

Your clan didn’t say Gojo Satoru’s name, but you could feel him in every line of that letter. The pressure to bond. The underlying threat of not doing so. You were an Omega of age. Delaying your mating was drawing attention.

It wasn’t a request.

You didn’t tell Gojo right away.

But he knew something was wrong.

You were quieter. Distracted. Distant.

He cornered you after sparring, chest heaving from the workout, a line of sweat curling down the side of his neck. He pulled off his blindfold,blue eyes sharp and worried.

“What’s going on?”

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

You tried to brush past him. He moved. Blocking your way with barely a shift of his body, not touching you, but too close to ignore.

“Satoru—”

“Tell me.”

So you did.

His expression didn’t change at first. Then, very slowly, something froze in his jaw. A muscle ticked. His hands clenched at his sides like he was trying very hard not to break something.

“What’s his name?” he asked, too calm.

You didn’t answer.

His voice dropped. “They’re trying to pull you out of Jujutsu Tech.”

You swallowed. “They think it’s safer.”

“No,” he said flatly. “They think you’re vulnerable. And they think I won’t do anything about it.”

You tried to reach for his arm. “You can’t—”

He stepped back.

Not from you. From himself.

“I can’t protect you from them,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not unless you let me.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

Gojo looked at you,really looked. And for once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect. Just stared like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

“It means I want you,” he said. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Silence.

“I thought I could wait,” he went on. “I thought if I kept quiet, if I gave you space, maybe you’d choose me on your own.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“But I’m not going to watch them take you away and pretend it doesn’t kill me.”

You stared at him. And then—

“You waited too long.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Soft. True.

Gojo’s breath caught.

But then you added, quieter:

“Do something about it.”

His restraint shattered.

Gojo stepped forward and kissed you like he’d been dying to do it for years,because he had. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t sweet. It was messy, desperate, a dam breaking with your fingers tangled in his jacket and his hands gripping your hips like the only way he could hold himself together was by holding onto you.

He didn’t ask for permission.

You’d already given it.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The meeting was called under the pretense of “concern.” A gathering of clan representatives, a few staff from Jujutsu Tech, and of course your suitor’s family.

You weren’t supposed to be there. Omegas were rarely permitted to speak on their own behalf in these negotiations.

But you came anyway.

And Gojo was already seated at the head of the table when you arrived.

Not an empty seat. The seat.

His blindfold was gone. His uniform collar open. His posture relaxed in the way only the most dangerous people can afford to be. Casual, confident, and clearly amused.

“Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he said lazily, gaze sweeping over the gathered elders like they were ants on his shoe. “All this effort just to talk about my Omega?”

Your heart stopped.

So did the room.

A clan elder cleared their throat. “She is not—”

“She is,” Gojo interrupted, voice silk-wrapped steel. “She just hasn’t said it officially yet. But I’m sure you’d all agree it’d be wildly inappropriate to suggest an engagement when she’s already spoken for.”

The silence crackled.

The representative from your clan’s inner circle leaned forward, fingers laced. “With respect, Gojo-sama, no such bond has been confirmed. And while your attachment is clear, this matter concerns lineage, compatibility, and the safety of the Omega in question.”

“Safety?” Gojo echoed, smile thin. “I’m the strongest sorcerer alive. Tell me, which one of you thinks you can offer her better protection than me?”

No one answered.

The suitor’s father spoke next. “Your emotions are understandable, but our son has been vetted. He’s mature, politically sound, and has a reputation for stability—”

“And I,” Gojo cut in, “can vaporize a domain in under three seconds.”

He leaned forward then, elbows on the table, voice dropping into something colder.

“So here’s how this is going to go: you’re going to drop the proposal. You’re going to keep your politics away from her. And you’re going to do it quietly, so no one gets embarrassed. Or hurt. Or—worst of all—made an example of.”

A long pause.

“Is that a threat?” someone asked tightly.

Gojo smiled.

“It’s a promise.”

When the meeting adjourned, Gojo caught up to you in the corridor, like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just threatened half the room without blinking.

“You’re insane,” you told him, heart racing.

“Insanely devoted, yeah,” he grinned. “Did you see their faces?”

“You basically declared war on my entire clan—”

“They started it,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “They came for what’s mine.”

You didn’t move.

“Am I?” you asked softly.

Gojo’s smile softened, all that sharpness folding inward, just for you.

“You’ve always been,” he said. “Even when you didn’t know it.”

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 21

Living with Gojo Satoru was like sharing an apartment with a hurricane that made coffee in your favorite mug and left his socks on the ceiling.

The top floor of Jujutsu Tech’s private housing had been “technically unauthorized” when he moved you in, but no one was stupid enough to stop him. Suguru called it your castle, which wasn’t wrong. It was all open space, floor-to-ceiling windows, and way too many pillows.

You’d been dating,courting, by clan terms,for three years.

No bond yet. No mark.

Gojo waited. Even though you could feel it,how he watched you. How he barely held back when you kissed. How his cursed energy coiled around you when you wore his clothes or nuzzled your face into his scent gland in your sleep.

“I’m fine waiting,” he’d said once, hand tangled in your hair, voice soft against your throat. “As long as it’s me you’re waiting for.”

Suguru visited one night during golden hour. He brought food and stayed long after the takeout was cold, curled into a corner of your couch with his arms tucked under his sleeves.

Gojo practically draped himself over you, cheek resting on your shoulder, scent lazy and content. His fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your shorts.

“Ugh,” Suguru said, grinning. “You’re disgusting.”

You hummed. “He’s just clingy.”

“She likes it,” Gojo mumbled into your neck.

“I tolerate it,” you corrected.

He nuzzled you, pleased.

Suguru shook his head. “You know, I was worried at first. Thought he’d suffocate you.”

You smirked. “He still might.”

Gojo just sighed dramatically. “Let me be in love in peace.”

Suguru’s smile dimmed a little,nostalgic. Quiet.

“She’s good for you.”

Gojo didn’t answer, but his fingers tightened on your thigh, just a little.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

It happened on a rainy night.

No mission. No special event. Just you and him, alone in your shared bedroom, warm from the shower, tangled in sheets and scent and skin.

He kissed you like he always did,slow, sweet, tasting every noise you made. But when you arched into him, scent thick with heat and need, Gojo paused.

“Tell me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Tell me you want it.”

You reached up, cupping his face, fingers trembling.

“I want you to claim me.”

Blue eyes burned.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure since I was sixteen.”

His control cracked.

The kiss that followed was rougher, deeper,borderline desperate. His hands mapped your body like memorization wasn’t enough anymore. Your scent bloomed under his touch, sticky-sweet and wet with submission, but your eyes never left his.

You weren’t being taken.

You were giving yourself.

Gojo groaned, rut-heavy and shaking, and when he finally sank his canines into the spot just beneath your scent gland, the shock of the bond hit like a curse.

You cried out, hips jerking, body going molten and boneless under him. His cursed energy snapped, flooding through you, marking you.

Not just skin-deep.

Soul-deep.

He licked over the mark, reverent, voice rasping against your neck: “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Your hands fisted in his hair.

“Yours,” you whispered. “Always.”

Afterward, he held you like he’d fall apart without you,arms around your waist, nose buried in your bond mark, still murmuring your name like a prayer.

When you drifted off, Gojo didn’t sleep.

He just watched you breathe.

His. Finally. Irrevocably.

And if the world tried to take you again?

Let it try.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 25

Years had passed since the world had first witnessed Gojo Satoru’s declaration of ownership over you. Since the day he'd practically claimed you, raw and unrestrained.

Since then, you and Gojo had built your lives,not just as partners, but as equals. You were stronger. He was more grounded. And the bond, always there, had deepened beyond what anyone outside the two of you could even fathom.

Your home was exactly as it had been before: full of noise, laughter, and chaos, just now with a few extra people. Jujutsu Tech still felt like the heart of the world, but with each passing year, you both had carved out more space for yourselves. Gojo was a legend, but he was also yours. And you were more than his Omega,you were his heart. His equal.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Gojo fussed with the coffee machine like he hadn’t made the same damn cup a thousand times before.

“Stop acting like you don’t know how to do it,” you teased, smiling fondly. He always made a production out of everything, even the simplest of things.

Gojo’s back was turned, but you saw him grin.

“I know how to make it. I just enjoy the effect,” he said, voice low, filled with that familiar smugness.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“No, I’m full of you,” he said, turning to you, his blue eyes locking onto yours, soft but possessive. “Always will be.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

“I’m new,” he said, walking closer, his body heat flooding your senses, that mix of Satoru and Gojo only you knew intimately.

His hand cupped your cheek gently, like he was afraid of breaking you. And you knew that even now, after all this time, despite the raw, unfiltered power he held, he was still careful with you. Always.

He kissed you, slow, deep like you were still the only person in the world.

“I’m not the only one who’s changed,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re more than I ever could’ve imagined, beloved.”

You smiled softly, almost shyly, remembering the long path from the moment he first made that choice, back when he was younger, less certain.

Later that afternoon, Suguru came over, as he always did. His usual routine was to catch up with Gojo, drink coffee, and discuss the growing chaos of their world, but today, something was off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but Suguru seemed a little… distracted.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching him fiddle with his mug.

He looked up at you, smiled a little, but his eyes were far away. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve known you both a long time,” he said, glancing at Gojo, who had his back turned, lost in his own thoughts. “And I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day you two would finally settle into this… Whatever this is.”

Gojo grinned from the other side of the room. “It’s called ‘happily ever after,’ Suguru.”

Suguru snorted, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right, right. But still… I never expected to see you both at peace.”

You stepped forward, cocking your head. “What’s going on, Suguru?”

He sighed, meeting your gaze. “I’ve just been wondering for a while now,what’s next for you two? I mean, you’ve built your lives together. But is that… enough? Or is there something more? Something bigger?”

You stared at him for a moment, before your eyes moved to Gojo, who had finally turned around and was watching you, expression soft and almost… expectant.

You glanced back at Suguru, confused. “What are you getting at?”

Suguru leaned forward. “Well, I’ve been hearing some rumors lately. About you two. And I… I think I know what the next step is.”

You stared at him.

He gave you a slow smile,whispering. “I think it’s time you tell him.”

Later that evening, Gojo had his arm around you, the two of you lounging on the couch as you watched some random movie. His hand traced lazy patterns on your arm, and you could feel the bond pulsing between you.

He wasn’t paying attention to the film, not really,his mind was always on you, and he was letting the quiet between you speak louder than anything else.

But tonight was different.

You turned to face him, drawing his attention, your heart beating a little faster as you reached for his hand.

“Satoru,” you whispered, your voice soft and slightly nervous. “I… I have something to tell you.”

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with that same intensity. “What is it?”

Your hand trembled slightly as you took his, squeezing gently. You knew, deep down, that this would be another step, the next chapter. The one that solidified everything.

“I’m… I’m pregnant.”

He froze for a beat, like the world itself had just shifted. Then,slowly, ever so carefully,he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

A smile broke out across his face, and it was like a weight lifted from his shoulders. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes, softened.

“You’re…” he started, the words stumbling out, but his smile grew. “You’re really doing this to me? You’re going to make me a dad?”

You laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "You’re going to be an amazing father, Satoru."

Gojo leaned forward, his lips brushing yours with a gentleness that matched the enormity of the moment.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, the bond between you thrumming with warmth.

“Our baby,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Our family.”

And just like that, everything felt real. The years, the bond, the madness and the love. It was all leading to this. Your future. Together.

You rested your hand on your stomach, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips.

His hand covered yours, pressing it to his chest, over his heart.

And you both knew.

This—this was the beginning of something even greater than you could’ve imagined.

#jjk gojo #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #omegaverse #satoru gojo #jjk fluff #jjk #jjk smut #suguru geto #satoru gojo x reader #jjk satoru

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joshujin · 2 days ago

Text

can’t wait no more

🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request

your pov • soonyoung’s pov ⇣

soonyoung has been best friends with you for 10 years now—in love with you for almost all of that time. one way or another, those 10 years end tonight.

♫ darl+ing svt pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader word count: 11.6k (i don't want to talk about it) tags: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a lil miscommunication, angst, happy ending, soonyoung pov, flashbacks cw: smut - possessiveness, unprotected piv (pull-out method. v irresponsible piv. don't be like these two), reader loses virginity, spit, oral f. receiving, fingering, mention of choking, mention of masturbating, soft vanilla smut, probably a little hornier than the other pov bc this is a MAN after all a/n: happy @citruscheol birth!!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و to celebrate this momentous occasion, i ofc had to honor her request for a soonyoung pov of we can be all we need. you don’t really need to read that before this one; after all, they are essentially the same fic. BUT! i recommend you do bc it will make this version more enjoyable + easier to understand. and y’know what, i literally had to drive myself bat shit crazy and completely alter my brain chemistry to write this. like. there isn’t enough grass in the world that i can touch to return back to normal. and idk if i can ever look at hoshi the same ever again, so the least you can do is read both ok ㅠㅠㅠㅠ kidding ofc pls do what you want haha. either way, i think you’ll enjoy whichever one you want to read! as far as smut goes, same thing as last time: i marked where the smut starts and ends, but this courtesy is for adults who don’t want to read explicit material. minors should not be interacting at all pls!

soonyoung has been avoiding you. he knows you know it because you’ve asked him multiple times now if anything was wrong, and every time, he’s lied to you and told you everything was fine. everything wasn’t fine. it hardly felt like anything was fine, actually.

because you just blew out your candles, you’re 30 now, and his time has officially run out. he can’t blame anyone other than himself, though, and he knows it. he had seven whole years to tell you, and instead, he foolishly thought if he just continued to love you the way he’s always loved you, you would simply see it yourself. you would see how hopelessly in love with you he is.

you didn’t. for whatever reason, his showering you with lavish gifts, vacations, and fancy meals didn’t strike you as odd for a friend. or the way he was constantly wrapped around you or leaving kisses on your forehead whenever he had the chance. or the fact that it’s been nine fucking years since he went on a date or slept with anyone. he’s fucking priestly at this point.

and he doesn’t do it just so you’ll get the hint. he does it because that’s how he loves you and that’s how he’s always loved you. but maybe that’s the issue: you think this is just how he is as a friend because he’s been this way ever since he met you. but you couldn’t be more wrong.

soonyoung has never even felt inclined to treat anyone outside of his family the way he treats you. as far as he’s concerned, everything he does for you are just things he watched his dad do for his mom his whole life. you’re not even aware that the way he loves you is supposed to be reserved for whoever becomes his wife.

and he’s been so happy to give you all of that even if it meant you never saw him the way he longed for you to. it fills him with pride to know that your expectations are higher because he’s loved you so well—that you know exactly what you deserve because he’s always tried to give you exactly that.

at least, up until a few weeks ago, when the horror of the truth really started settling into his bones: you weren’t going to fall in love with him by the time you turn 30. and without even really realizing it, he started distancing himself from you, deluded into thinking it would be easier to let go if he just put a little space between the two of you. he knew it was hurting you just as much as it was hurting him, and he knew you didn’t deserve it.

it’s against his hardwiring to do anything that hurts you, and it’s reflected in how terrible his life has become in just a handful of weeks. his apartment has been filthy; the only reason it was ready for your party was because he paid the housekeeper double to come even though he wasn’t scheduled to clean for another week. his work is fortunately still fine, but he spends whole days with horrible brain fog, hardly understanding or even hearing anything anyone says to him. he hasn’t seen any friends—mutual or otherwise—because he spends all his free time in bed or drinking himself into a sobbing mess.

that’s all he can seem to do these days, is cry over you.

soonyoung steps out into the balcony attached to his bedroom, leaning against the sliding door once it’s closed. he cranes his neck to look up toward the midnight sky, and takes a deep breath. it doesn’t help keep the tears at bay. he keeps his head tilted up.

he knows you don’t deserve this. he knows you’re hurting and that you feel him slipping away. he saw it. just now, just before you blew your candles out, he saw the way the joy and life immediately fled your eyes when they landed on him. he wonders what you saw. did you see the apathy he was desperately forcing? did you see how sad he was at all?

because he is. he’s the saddest he’s felt since you told him you would rather be on vacation with someone you were in love with seven years ago. someone who wasn’t him. maybe he’s even sadder now. at least back then, he was foolish enough to hope you would change your mind. at least back then, he had time on his side.

now, it’s over, and now, it’s time to give himself a fair chance to move on. you don’t deserve what he’s putting you through, and it’s true for him too. he doesn’t deserve what he’s put himself through for the last decade.

countless nights you fell asleep at his place, countless times he wished he could gather you up in his arms and carry you into a bed you shared. all the times you told him you loved him and he desperately wanted to beg you to repeat it, even if it was just so he could pretend you meant it the way he needed you to mean it. whole weeks spent overseas on all kinds of vacations, time he spent daydreaming that this was what a honeymoon with you could feel like.

it all adds up to a decade of putting his heart on the backburner so he could allow himself to continue loving you.

soonyoung scoffs at himself when the tears refuse to stop welling in his eyes. he shakes his head and steps forward, resting his forearms against his railing and staring at the blackness in front of him.

part of him hates the version of himself from seven years ago that thought making this stupid promise was a good idea. what good can come from not loving you? but the reason he’s stuck to pulling away and holding you at arm’s distance is because that version of himself somehow knew the pain would grow more and more, year after year.

he can’t do this for the rest of his life—can’t just keep making room for more heartache the older he gets. you’re 30 now, and even though you insist you’re fine and have no desire to date, he knows you’ll get restless soon. and when he thinks of you finally deciding you want to have a boyfriend, he wants to vomit. when he thinks of some other asshole’s hands on you, his lips on yours—when he thinks of you sighing anyone’s name but his, he gets near homicidal over something that isn’t even real. at least not yet.

soonyoung doesn’t want to wait for that to happen. he doesn’t want to wait for you to hate him for being unable to share you—and he won’t be able to share you. he also doesn’t want you to have to face the pressure of having to choose between a best friend and a boyfriend.

instead, he’d rather you start to hate him slowly, over time. he’d rather you allow him his space and not even realize you hate him for slipping away and leaving you behind—not until it’s years later, when you hear his name in passing, and you think, he just left, and you tell yourself it’s fine because your life is better without him anyway.

it hurts you now, but it’ll hurt less later. it’ll hurt less for both of you to endure this silence now, rather than fight until there’s nothing but resentment.

the door behind soonyoung slides open forcefully and slams closed a moment later. he flinches, looking over his shoulder to see who entered his room and ready to tell them to get out. when he sees you, though, he turns back away, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes.

“what are you doing?”

he quietly clears his throat, hoping he doesn’t sound too worn when he speaks. “just needed some air.”

“no.”

you say it in that tone that always scared him a little. it’s when he knew you were about to get your way. he wasn’t interested in doing the whole fighting thing with you; he just gave you whatever you wanted the moment this voice came out of your mouth. it always drew a smile out of you and it made his life easier.

this is about to be the one and only time he can’t let you have your way.

“what are you doing?”

soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut, like that will help him brace himself against the conversation he has to have with you.

this was coming, he tells himself. you knew this was coming. she was never just going to let you go without an explanation.

“why are you ignoring me?” you ask, voice cracking. it takes everything in him to stay where he stands and keep from wrapping his arms around you, apologizing, and begging you to stop crying. “why are you avoiding me? why are you acting like i’m not your best friend?”

soonyoung opens his eyes and almost laughs. best friend. he doesn’t know when the term became so derogatory to him. anyone would be lucky to be in your life, let alone be your best friend. he hates it anyway.

he’s your best friend. you’re not his. he would never dream of calling you that—at least not without calling you the love of his life first. his most beloved. the woman he would give anything to marry. on the totem pole of things he wants to call you, best friend is at the bottom.

“because you’re not,” he says honestly. he immediately regrets it when he hears the small whimper that escapes you. “at least, i don’t want you to be,” he adds, hoping it will soften the blow of what he just said.

“what are you saying?”

soonyoung feels so tired and sad and heartbroken. he hangs his head a little as he takes a deep breath.

“what are you saying, soonyoung?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer immediately. patience was never your strong suit.

when he’s sure he’s not going to start sobbing upon turning, he finally faces you, and even then, he can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. if he does, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do this.

“do you remember your 23rd birthday?” he asks, gaze fixed on the stain on his balcony where you dropped a smoothie and he insisted you leave it instead of cleaning it. he forgot to do it himself and now he has a permanent reminder of how whipped he is for you.

“siquijor,” you basically spit at him. he feels your walls coming up. he feels your defenses getting ready, and he knows you’re aware of what he’s about to do. “what about it?”

siquijor. the best and worst trip of his life.

“i think i’m drunk,” you announced, words slurring so badly, soonyoung was convinced anyone else wouldn’t be able to understand what you were saying.

“what?” he asked sarcastically. “no way. what makes you say that?”

soonyoung loved being sober when you were drunk like this. he loved hearing and seeing all the silly shit you’d never say or do sober. most of all, he loved taking care of you. he loved pretending he meant something more to you and this was just another boyfriend duty of his—making sure his drunk girlfriend was happy and hydrated and safe, and that when she woke up, she had a lineup of hangover cures at her disposal.

you answered with the gnarliest burp. he burst into loud laughter, grateful the beach was far enough away from any rooms that the two of you weren’t disturbing anyone.

after a few moments, he realized you weren’t laughing along, simply leaning back on your elbows in the sand, smiling softly at him. he did what he does best: he pretended. he pretended you were just a lovesick girl staring at someone she yearned for. he pretended you wanted him just as badly as he needed you. he pretended you were in love.

“penny for your thoughts, you drunkard?”

you giggled, slipping off of your elbows and laying all the way down. he joined you, both of you looking up at the sky. it was different here than it was back home. it was quiet and warm and there was no light to disrupt the view of the stars. he loved that he was seeing something like this for the first time with you.

“my thoughts are worth more than a penny.”

he snorted. even drunk, you were a brat. “nickel?”

“nice try. a hundred bucks, buddy.”

“ha!” he shouted. “never mind, keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“soonie!” you half whined, half burped. he made a face of disgust at you. he thought he did a good job of hiding how endeared he was.

“gross.” soonyoung sighed, turning back to the sky. “fifty.”

you giggled. “deal.” there was no way in hell you were going to remember he owed you $50. “i’m thinking… i am having the best time of my life.”

his heart swelled knowing he did well for your birthday celebration.

he let his head loll to the side, watching you. you had your hands folded politely over your ribs and your legs were crossed at the ankles, your feet swaying side to side like there was a song playing that only you could hear. if soonyoung concentrated hard enough, he thought he could hear it too. it sounded like what he imagined his love for you would if it were a song.

you smiled at the stars like you were talking to them.

“i’m so happy,” you said. “best birthday ever, soonyoung. best month ever. thank you. i love you so much.”

“you’re welcome, y/n,” he said, voice coming out barely above a whisper. “i love you too.” so god damn much.

you turned to look at him when he said that, your smile fading naturally the longer you looked at him. “i…” you trailed off, frowning a little before you continued. “i think… i think i feel lonely, though.”

he mirrored your frown, immediately bringing his body closer to yours. he rested a hand on top of yours. “what’s wrong?”

you opened your mouth but before you could start speaking, you were suddenly crying.

“y/n?” he sat up, bringing you up with him. “what’s wrong, baby?” his eyes widened at the slip-up, but you were too drunk to notice, frantically wiping the tears that kept streaming down your face.

“i’m so happy,” you breathed, hand still in his. “this is everything i’ve ever wanted. this is everything i could ever dream of having.”

your words were still slurred and with the addition of the crying to your inebriated state, you’re hiccuping badly as you speak.

“then why are you crying?” he asked. “why do you feel lonely?”

“this is what i want from y—from…” you hiccuped again. “this is everything i want from someone i’m in love with.”

he felt his heart drop into his stomach, and he couldn’t help the way his hand stiffened in yours. he pulled away.

“oh” was all he could bring himself to say.

what else was he supposed to say to that?

“i’m in love with you. please let me be the one that gets to give this to you.”

“please love me.”

“please don’t break my heart like this.”

he couldn’t say any of it.

“i want you to want… i want…” you kept hiccuping, and despite feeling like his heart was breaking into smithereens, soonyoung found it in himself to rub your back comfortingly. “i want—” you cut yourself off with another hiccup.

“shhh.” it came out in a daze. the sky looked darker. the stars looked duller. the water wasn’t as bright anymore. “it’s okay. it’s okay.” he didn’t know if he was telling you or himself. “it’s okay.”

soonyoung pulled you into his arms, still rubbing your back as he tucked your head under his chin. he didn’t bother trying to find the right words to tell you; he knew you probably wouldn’t remember any of this. so he allowed himself to feel heartbroken as you wept and hiccuped until eventually, you fell asleep.

and when you did, it was his turn. he silently cried until the sun came up, and when it did, soonyoung gathered you up in his arms and carried you back—only as a friend, to a bed you’d never share.

“it hurt,” he says, tears finally beginning to stream down his face.

soonyoung never shied away from crying in front of you; he did it kind of often. but there’s something especially humiliating about it now. he’s wrapped up in his sadness, and it’s suffocating him, making it hard to speak. he thinks if he does, he might choke on his grief.

“it hurt more than anything i’ve ever felt, y/n,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. he isn’t sure if you heard him, but he can’t bring himself to repeat it.

your hands close over his, where they hold the lapel of his jacket around your shoulders. he doesn’t even know when he took it off to put it on you. loving you was exactly like that—an instinct he didn’t have to think twice about. loving you was just something that happened without his knowledge or permission.

“soonyoung,” you call his name, high and desperate. your defenses have come down. you’re not using that scary voice on him anymore. you’re not bracing yourself. he thinks you should be. “that’s not what i meant. i—”

“it’s okay,” he breathes, so many tears in his eyes, he can barely make out the shape of you. he blinks rapidly to expel them. “i’ve had time to—”

“but if you would just let me ex—”

“there’s nothing to explain,” he interjects softly, eyes coming to you now that he can properly see past his tears. “i stayed around, didn’t i?”

your fight falters and you stop trying to talk over him.

“i stayed for seven more years. if i needed you to explain, i would’ve asked the second you woke up sober.”

your shoulders fall and he knows the rest of your fight has dissipated into the night. the next question you ask almost breaks his resolve. “only seven?”

the question comes out small and quiet and defeated, and soonyoung feels his lips tremble. he rolls them between his teeth to stop himself from telling you something he doesn’t want to say: no, of course not only seven. you’ll have me wrapped around your finger until the day i die.

he takes his hands back from under your hold once he’s absolutely sure he won’t say something that would disappoint the version of him that sat on that beach in siquijor, swearing that he wouldn’t let himself feel that heartbroken in the next decade of his life.

“i didn’t mind waiting seven more years to see if you would ever return my feelings,” he says instead of answering you, fully aware of how badly his voice wavers as he speaks. “my friends, they told me i was insane for letting my 20s go to waste like that. but to me… if i still got to be around you, still give you experiences and love that made you feel like that’s what you deserved from someone you actually were in love with, then… i can’t see the issue in that. i’d happily wait seven more years. because even if it was seven years of the same longing—and even if it was seven years leading to nothing more, it was still seven years of me being able to show you how well i could…”

he swallows the lump in his throat and fails. he shakes his head and just says what he should’ve told you seven years ago.

“how well i could love you. how much i do love you.”

you look dumbfounded, and if this were any other situation—if soonyoung didn’t feel like he was actually fucking dying—he thinks he’d make fun of you. your eyes are the widest he’s ever seen them, and your mouth is parted like you’re poised to say something but you don’t even know what.

“soonie—” you start.

he doesn’t let you finish. he can’t. he’s so close to ending this—to doing the worst thing he’s ever going to have to do—and if he lets you finish, he’ll lose the courage to walk away.

“i told myself… while you slept in my lap on that beach in siquijor, that if by the time you turned 30, we still hadn’t moved past… this…” he can’t stand the look of horror on your face as you start to process what he’s saying. he looks at the sky behind your head instead. “then, i wouldn’t spend my 30s torturing myself anymore. i’d let you go.”

you don’t let even a millisecond pass before you practically scream: “i don’t want you to let me go!” at him so forcefully, he flinches. “i don’t want you to let me go, you stupid idiot! if that’s what you’ve been doing the last, few weeks, ‘letting me go’—” you make exaggerated air quotes with your fingers and a face that tells him you think he’s ridiculous. it catches him so off-guard, he almost laughs. “—then knock it off!”

you slap his chest to each word to punctuate your point.

“wh—?” he brings his arm up reflexively to defend himself.

“what i meant to tell you, it came out wrong,” you inform him. his arms slowly fall back to his side as he listens to you as closely as he can. “i didn’t even mean to tell you anything, but if drunk me outed me like that, i need you to know that’s not what i meant.”

the words came out of your mouth in a rush like you thought soonyoung wouldn’t let you say them if you took too long. when he doesn’t say anything in the brief silence, you take a deep breath, obviously trying to steady yourself.

“i was lonely. i was really lonely,” you admit, seeming to remember the feeling more than you did the actual conversation. “and yes, it was because i enjoyed that vacation so much and yes, it was because i wished i could have it with someone i was in love with, but i was having it with someone i was in love with!”

everything in soonyoung’s body tenses, like his own defenses are coming up—like this is some kind of joke and his body is preparing to be laughed at. because you just said you were on vacation with someone you were in love with in the philippines… but you were on vacation with him in the philippines…

his body braces itself.

“i just meant i wanted it to mean more for both of us,” you continue, hands waving erratically between you to drive your point home. “i wanted to be on vacation with you!”

your brows furrow and your lips thin as you helplessly fight off a wave of tears he knows is pushing to be released. he knows that when you’re too emotional—whether it’s sadness, joy, rage—you cry, and once you do, you end up blubbering for so long, you usually end up asleep at the end of it.

but still, you bravely fight it off, obviously determined to tell soonyoung what you need to.

“but you as my boyfriend! not you as my best friend! there’s no one else i would’ve wanted to be with, soonyoung!”

he’s glad his body is stiff enough to keep his knees from immediately giving out under him. because all soonyoung wants to do now is fall to the floor and cry. cry because he never thought you’d say these words, because he felt like he was getting back something he lost on the beaches of siquijor, because the two of you wasted a decade dancing around each other instead of just fucking saying something.

“do you think i’ve been single our entire friendship for fun?!” you shriek the question through tears. “do you think it’s fun being the 30-year-old virgin who’s never even kissed anyone?! because it’s not!”

you whined about this often early on in your friendship, but eventually the complaints petered out, and he would drive himself crazy wondering if it was because that changed—if someone else had taken those firsts.

did it happen?

she would tell me.

right?

no, i’m still a dude. that’s weird, she’d probably tell a girl.

no no, i’m her stupid ass best friend. she would tell me!

oh my god, would she tell me?

what if i just die?

and so the cycle would go. he knows it wasn’t any of his business and that if you had lost those firsts to someone else, that was your prerogative, but still, he feels relieved to hear that isn’t the case.

and he knows he has no right to—not when you haven’t had the proper conversation to hash things out yet—but he suddenly feels an overwhelming possessiveness for you. because he waited for you. no one was ever going to make him stray away from you, so he waited for you—never expecting, just hoping. sorely hoping. and now he knows you waited for him too, and now… now, all he can think about is making you his. all soonyoung can think about now is giving you all the things you abstained from in the hopes you’d have it with him of all people.

it’s what you deserve, isn’t it? for waiting? and isn’t he in the business of giving you what you deserve? his hand twitches, begging him to reach for you and kiss you stupid.

“but i didn’t want anyone else! i wanted you!” you point at him almost violently, and his heart grows too big for his chest. “you waited seven years, but i waited ten! TEN, soonyoung! do you—”

his willpower can only withstand so much. at the end of the day, soonyoung is just a man who’s pathetically in love with you, and hearing you say you wanted him—hearing you confirm you waited your entire friendship just for the chance to have him and be with him and only him—it completely undoes his entire being.

soonyoung’s mouth is on yours before his brain can fully process what’s happening. he feels the shock on your lips for only a moment before you’re moving. despite it being your first kiss, you respond quickly, your body knowing exactly what to do with soonyoung’s like it’s second nature.

you taste like tears and champagne, and even with all the extravagant dinners he’s taken you on and the places around the world you’ve traveled to together, this is the best thing he’s ever tasted.

soonyoung thinks he’s happy to stand here, kissing you and tasting you and listening to your cute, little breaths against him forever. but then your hands start exploring him—his hips, his waist, his chest, before wrapping around his neck and bringing him in to kiss you even deeper. and he knows immediately that all the strength he mustered up to deal with tonight is gone. the moan that comes up his throat is loud and bordering on obscene, but you smile upon taking it into your own mouth, as if you’re feeding on his desire. as if you love the taste of it.

soonyoung doesn’t wait after that. he can’t wait after that. without letting your lips separate, he guides you back into his room, careful to keep you from tripping over the threshold and all the crap he left on the floor when he was busy having his pity parties.

he lays you in his bed gently, thankful that even though it’s unmade, he at least had the housekeeper wash his sheets. he lays on top of you, trying not to let his weight crush you, but when you wrap your arms around him, you press him to your body as close as it can possibly go, and after he releases his entire weight on you, you hold him like even that still isn’t close enough.

it’s all so much. after spending so long hoping you’d one day want him even a fraction as much as he wants you, tasting the excitement on you and feeling the adoration in your hands as they feel every surface of his body they could reach—it’s so much.

it wears down his self-restraint.

you don’t seem to mind, though, because when he runs his tongue along your lips, asking permission for more, you open your mouth immediately. and when his tongue slips in and meets yours, the moan he gets back is so loud and uninhibited and hot, he feels it in his dick.

you giggle a little, and though you recover quickly and continue trying to make out with him after that, the sound delights him enough that he stops to look at you. your makeup is tear stained and your eyes are still a little red, but you look worlds different than you did just a few minutes ago. there’s no tightness in your smile, no devastation in your eyes, no anger furrowed into your brows. when he looks at you this close, he realizes he’s never seen you this happy, this excited, or this light—like you’ve been relieved of a burden that was too heavy for you. but really, the most different thing about you now is that you just look like you’re his.

“what’s so funny, hm?” he asks, resting his forehead on yours. at the start of this night, he didn’t think he would ever hear you giggle again.

“nothing,” you claim, even though your voice still has traces of amusement somewhere in there. your hand snakes up into his hair and starts scratching his scalp. he hums at the sensation. “i love you, soonyoung.”

he lifts his forehead to look at you. it’s his millionth time hearing you say that. it’s the first time he’s hearing it in the context he’s wished to hear it for the last decade.

you love him. you love him. you love him.

“i’ve always loved you,” you announce unabashedly. “from the very start.”

in retrospect, the proper thing to do would’ve been to tell you he loved you too—so much that he didn’t even know how to process it well enough to attempt to put it into words. but instead, he pushes himself off you, slightly ashamed that your confession made his dick go from semi-hard to rock hard in record time, but insanely elated (and painfully and obviously turned on) at the idea of you having spent your entire friendship loving him just as much.

when he sits back, his pants uncomfortably pull against his erection, and he winces, glancing down at it and silently scolding it to stop embarrassing him and have some goddamn decorum.

he clears his throat and looks back at you, where you’re now propped up on your elbows, smiling at his crotch like it’s already yours. it ruins him.

soonyoung is going to tell you he loves you. and sure, you already know because he already did, but now he gets to tell you knowing you feel the same. so he’s going to tell you, and he’s going to say it over and over and over again, but once he does, he gets the feeling that he won’t want to stop at just kissing you.

he knows it’s probably a lot—to go from what you were to… this, and on top of that, lose your first kiss. and even though you made it clear that he’s the only reason you even remained a virgin, he doesn’t want to assume you’re ready to do something as big as have sex for the first time tonight too.

soonyoung wishes he could be a bigger person than the horny teenager he feels like right now. he wishes he could stop this for the both of you and insist on having a conversation first before things get any further like a proper adult would. but you want him and you love him, and it’s driving him absolutely fucking crazy, and if he gets any harder, his dick is going to start hurting.

“how far?” he asks, his voice so pathetically needy, he wants to die. “i don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. i just…” he falters, trying to find a way to say this without making it sound like it’s all he wants from you. “we wasted so much time.” not a great start. “and i—”

“all the way,” you say, a coy smile on your lips when you interrupt him. his pants stretch even tighter.

it’s clear he was worrying for nothing; from the way you look at him, he knows you understand what he’s desperately trying to say and failing.

he watches you with heavy-lidded eyes as you lay yourself back down and wrap your legs around his torso, doing nothing when your already short dress rides all the way up to expose you.

“please,” you add on so sweetly, he groans. he won’t be lasting long at all tonight.

soonyoung rests his hands on your thighs, thumbs instinctively rubbing circles into the soft skin there as he tries to take a moment to process everything in front of him. he knows if he doesn’t, the excitement will paint over his memories with zero remorse, and all he’ll remember is that it happened—not what he said, did, or heard. and this is absolutely something he needs to remember.

he has to remember the way your knees quickly and easily fall apart and away from each other at his touch—almost like they’re sighing in relief at his arrival. he has to remember how your lower back arches and your pelvis wriggles underneath his fingertips before he’s even really done anything to you. soonyoung’s gaze rakes over your figure, taking note of every, little thing he can, when finally, they land on something that lays his fears to rest.

because there is no way he’ll ever forget the moment his eyes found the space between your legs. he stares at you now—right on the spot where your panties are already drenched with your arousal. soonyoung doesn’t care how overwhelming his excitement is right now; there is simply no possible way his brain will be able to gloss over this no matter how many years pass: the moment he saw physical evidence of just how much you craved him and needed him. how much you’ve deprived yourself of him.

and now, he gets to give you anything and everything you want from him.

his hands begin to travel up your thighs, goosebumps following the trail of his fingertips. he stops just shy of your cunt, trying to breathe deeply enough to calm his thunderous heartbeat. if he gets too lost in this, he’ll cum in his pants, and he will never forgive himself.

he stares hard at your desire, just barely able to keep from screaming when he realizes the dark spot is slowly growing the longer he sits there, unmoving. you squirm under him, and his hands involuntarily squeeze in response. your thighs are plush in his grasp, so full and beautiful, your flesh is forcing its way into the spaces between his fingers and turning white from hard he grips you.

don’t fucking cum right now, you loser, he thinks hard to himself. you cannot cum before anything happens during your first time with y/n. he exhales deeply and slowly. i will literally kill you if you cum right now.

he’s so tempted to look you in the eye just to see if you’re struggling even a fraction of the amount that he is, but he knows eye contact with you right now will just set his progress back.

when he’s mostly confident he won’t immediately finish in his pants, he has to swallow the idiotic smile that threatens to take over his entire face. finally, soonyoung gives in and he moves. just one finger, pressed against the part of your panties that sinks just a tiny bit more than the rest—right where he plans to be in the next few minutes, stuffing you full as far as he’ll go.

as soon as you feel his fingertip brush against your entrance, your hole pulses like it’s trying to clamp around something bigger than his finger that isn’t there. he feels some of the control he has on that pathetic smile of his slip, and as if it’s an avalanche, the rest of his control comes crashing down. without thinking about it, his finger sinks the tiniest bit deeper as he drags it up your slit, the wetness from your panties catching on his skin ever so slightly.

when his finger finds and presses on your clit, you begin uncontrollably writhing and gasping beneath him, and his eyes tear themselves away from your cunt long enough to finally meet your gaze. you look at him with so much lust and love and longing—all of it so loudly desperate—he completely loses track of where his finger is and what it’s doing. all he wants to do is latch his lips onto yours again and say what he should’ve at least ten times by now: that he loves you.

so instead of rubbing your clit until he teases your first orgasm out of you like he planned to, he removes his hand from your center so that he can lean forward and kiss you senseless. but as soon as his touch leaves you, a strangled whine forces its way up your throat and past your lips, making him laugh immediately.

“what?” you ask, your eyes narrowing at him. it should invoke fear in him, but he’s too endeared for that. “why are you laughing?! did i do something embarrassing?”

soonyoung scoffs as he brings himself over you. “‘embarrassing’? no, baby.” he rolls his eyes. “your neediness is not ‘embarrassing.’ it’s fucking hot.”

you turn the prettiest shade of pink. “shut up.”

he grins. “gladly.”

soonyoung kisses your nose, enjoying the shade of pink it turned under your blush. then, he kisses your lips, just for a moment so that he can lean back and look you in the eye when he says:

“i love you. i love you so god damn much, i thought i was going to die having to leave you.”

he knows it’s dramatic, but he was convinced that’s exactly what was happening to him not even an hour ago. the thought of doing life without you by his side made everything look and feel so colorless and dull and boring and ugly. dead was as good a word as any to describe what his life would look like without you.

“you’re not leaving me,” you say so matter-of-factly, the smile it brings to his face hurts his cheeks. he was so dumb to think he could; even if he had all the strength in the world to end your friendship, you would’ve never let him off the hook that easily.

“i’m not,” he says.

soonyoung gets to work covering you in as many kisses as humanly possible, his lips pressing against your mouth, jaw, neck, collarbone—wherever you have skin, his lips are all over it. your gasps and moans reach a fever pitch, and he figures it’s time to stop making you wait.

“you tell me if you want to stop, okay?” he asks, lips brushing against your ears as he speaks. “and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”

you nod so eagerly—so obediently—he can’t help but smirk. his tongue darts out to lick your lobe and bring it between his teeth to nip at before he starts kissing his way down your body.

“you sound so pretty,” he tells you as you continue to make sure he knows exactly how good you feel. all moans and groans and whispered begging. “exactly how i imagined you’d sound.” his lips graze your already hard nipples through the fabric of your dress and he earns another loud whimper. “fuck, even better actually.”

he pulls your dress down and off one shoulder to expose the breast he was just teasing, and when he sees you bare, he hangs his head, letting his forehead meet your chest as he grunts loudly.

what is my life? he thinks to himself. this is literally insane.

soonyoung flattens his tongue against your nipple, and you inhale sharply, your hips immediately bucking up. he doesn’t realize his eyes have fluttered closed until he opens them to look at you and make sure you’re okay. from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth hangs open in dazed ecstasy, he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re okay.

“soonyoung.”

god, his name sounds so good when you say it, especially when you say it like this.

“fuck,” he grumbles against your tit. he swears his dick is throbbing from how hard you have him.

“lower! please, god, lower!” you order him.

“whatever you want,” he breathes against your skin.

but he’s not moving before he has the chance to leave a tiny, little something that can lay claim to you—something only he and you will see. he presses his hand against the side of your breast, groaning at how full you are in his palm. he leans down and bites into the flesh just above your nipple. your hips jerk up as he sucks on the spot just long enough that he knows it will stay a few days. he smiles when he releases you, the hickey already turning a beautiful purple.

“pretty,” he mutters. he wants to cover you in them. he kisses the mark gently before removing the other strap of your dress.

with the bottom of your dress completely ridden up and the top half bunched around your waist, you’re almost completely naked, and already, soonyoung can hardly refrain from jumping off his bed and running around the room screaming.

fucking breathe, bro.

he gently lifts your hips up and off the bed so that he can slip both your dress and your ruined panties off your body in one go. once he does, all the refraining he’s been doing tonight comes to a brusque end.

“oh my god!” he shouts, burying his face into your clothes and groaning into them. “i can’t believe this is my life right now, oh my god.”

soonyoung presses your clothes against his eyes so hard, he thinks he should see stars, but still, all he can see are your perfect tits and your bare, glistening cunt and the sensual look in your eyes like they’re all forever burned into his retinas. or maybe his eyes are open?

he blinks and brings your clothes down just enough to be able to take a peek at you. nope, the image of your naked body in his bed are definitely just burned into his eyeballs.

“oh my god, i really have you naked in my bed right now, oh my god oh my god oh my god.” he probably says it 20 more times. he’s not sure.

“soonyoung!” you berate his behavior the way you always do. he smiles into your dress because even as everything is literally changing before his eyes… nothing has. you’re still his best friend, pretending to get mad at him for being silly. he knows from the fond way you look at him that you aren’t mad at all. “focus! come on, you’re just teasing me now. please.”

“okay, okay!” he says, voice muffled by your dress. “i’m so sorry, i’m not trying to tease you, i swear. i just…” he stammers, unable to stop the whole bunch of nothing that comes spilling out of his mouth. “i’m—just, i—it’s just, like… what?” the question comes out as a laugh. “y’know?”

you raise an eyebrow at him and he realizes he isn’t really sure what he’s asking you.

“like, what the actual fuck?” he adds like that will help explain.

you groan. “it’s crazy how quickly you go from sex god to loser.”

soonyoung feels his face immediately fall into a glare—one you’re used to seeing whenever you two bicker. “you know…” he says, eyes narrowed at you. “my favorite thing about you has always been your patience.”

he throws your clothes aside, hands going to his shirt to begin unbuttoning it.

“good thing i have a lot of it then,” you claim. your bratty smirk falls right off your face as you watch him slowly undress.

“right.”

when he shrugs his shirt off and lets it join your clothes on the floor, your eyes widen like you’re seeing him shirtless for the first time. your eyes sweep up and down his torso, your chest heaving as you begin to breathe harder, and it almost makes him shy—almost makes him want to hug himself and jokingly tell you to stop ogling him like a piece of meat. but he also enjoys it more than anything.

so many times you’ve been half naked together, wearing swimsuits at the beach or at the pool, and although he’s relished having your eyes on him before, this feels different. you stare at him shamelessly now, making no move to avert your eyes the way you used to. this is where he would make a joke to lighten the mood—to give you an out from a situation you might feel caged in by.

this time, he just allows himself the space to revel in this feeling of being adored.

“wait,” you say suddenly when he stands up off the bed and his hands start undoing his belt. you crawl over to him, completely naked, and he thinks he might have a heart attack watching you on all fours like this.

“change your mind? it’s fine if you do,” he assures you, already fastening his belt before his dick can get any more ideas about where the night is going.

“no,” you laugh as you rest your hands on top of his. “i’m not going to change my mind, soonie.”

you sound as sure as he does about this. it relaxes him immediately. you smile at him before you press your naked body against his, tangle your hands in his hair, and bring his face down to lock lips with you again. he holds you delicately as your tongues slide against each other—different from how he’s pressed, tugged, and groped at you tonight. he forces himself to be gentler. he forces himself to slow down and enjoy the feeling of being in love with you openly.

he says as much. “i love you. oh my god, i love you. holy shit.”

“don’t start with the loser behavior again, please,” you mutter against the kiss. he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t dare leave your lips. “but i love you too.”

soonyoung doesn’t think he’ll get tired of hearing it. the past 10 years of his life have led up to this moment. it will take so much more than that for him to ever get used to the feeling of you telling him you love him.

he rests his forehead against yours and smiles. “i’m so happy.”

“me too, soonie.”

he watches as your hands leave his hair and travel down his chest, taking their time to trace every line and curve of every muscle. you finish the job of undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, and that’s about all he can take before he decides it’s time to stop holding back.

before you can even touch his zipper, he grabs your face and kisses you roughly, tongue twisting with yours immediately. he kisses you like he’s held his breath for 10 years and you’re air. you kiss him back the same, exact way.

he finishes undressing, kicking his pants away and wasting no time picking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he does. his cock twitches violently once it’s sandwiched between you and his stomach, and he has you laying back in his bed in mere seconds.

our bed, a voice in his head reminds him. a bed we can share. if you want.

when you tear yourself away from him to catch your breath, your eyes immediately go south, and he doesn’t have to follow your gaze to know what you’re gaping at.

“see something you like?”

you don’t even pretend to hear what he said. “uh, what?”

it inflates his ego to unprecedented levels, but he doesn’t gloat and annoy you the way he usually would. mostly because his laughs are cut off with your frantic begging.

“soonyoung,” you whisper so suddenly and seriously, he freezes. “put it in me.”

the order catches him by so much surprise, he laughs even harder than before. “i can’t just put it in you.”

you shove him and he pushes off the bed to put some space in between you. he looks at you, amused. “what?! what do you mean you can’t just put it in me?” you sound the most offended he’s ever heard you. “is that not how sex works? you put that in me? like… over and over again?

“baby, please,” his laughs are bordering on uncontrollable wheezing. “you’re making this so unsexy.”

“you made it unsexy first!” you complain. “put it in me, soonyoung!”

he wants to keep pretending that this is incredibly unsexy, but this exchange, however goofy, is just making him want to fuck you even more. “stop saying that!”

“why?! you keep making me wait!”

the way you complain and beg makes soonyoung briefly forget that you’re losing your virginity, and he isn’t letting that happen without proper foreplay first—without getting at least one orgasm out of you.

“pu—”

before you can tell him to put it in you again, he presses his hand against your mouth. “okay!” he says, raising his voice to drown out your muffled pleas. “okay! shhh. relax, and i will. alright?” your eyes widen and he feels a burn in his stomach when he sees the submission in them. you nod. “good girl.”

you moan into his hand and grind your hips up into his.

“oh, you like that?” he asks, smirking. all you do is squirm more.

he releases your mouth, and when you stay silent on your own accord—so willingly compliant—he thinks there are a few things he’d like to try in bed later on down the line.

soonyoung plants a wet kiss on your lips before he rests his hand against your neck, eyes watching as you swallow underneath his fingertips. he thinks you look pretty like this: bare throat adorned by his fingers. he has a passing thought to ask you if you would ever be into being choked, but there’s no fucking way he’d do that during your first time having sex. he lets the thought go, making note of it for a later time.

“so pretty,” he says, finger tapping your lower lip. when you take his finger into your mouth all the way, sucking it and releasing it with a pop, he has to spend a few moments reminding himself he can’t cum already. “jesus christ…” he sighs. he needs to move fast or he will be embarrassing himself tonight. “let me know if i do anything you don’t like, okay?”

you nod quickly—impatiently. your enthusiasm stutters when he doesn’t immediately “put it in” like you’ve been begging. you frown as he pulls away again, but when he settles with his head between your legs, your tune changes immediately.

“oh.”

soonyoung has dreamed about this moment for so long. he’s had obscene, vulgar thoughts about you—thoughts he would touch himself to. he’s spent an embarrassing amount of nights moaning your name while vigorously grinding into his fist, and all it took for him to cum was the thought of tasting you. he didn’t even have to think about fucking into your pussy or how wet you would be or how warm you would feel—all he thought about was eating you out until you came all over his face, and that would do it for him.

if he was looking to get a quick orgasm, maybe release some frustration from a day spent hanging out with you, he’d just rub one out in the shower. but if it was one of those nights he was tossing and turning, thinking about how much he loved you and how much he wanted you to be his, he’d throw his blankets off, grab a bottle of lotion, a box of tissues, and sometimes, when he was feeling especially depraved, his favorite photos he’s taken of you. there was something about looking at photos no one else has seen of you—no matter how ordinary or innocent—that turned him on.

his daydreams always started with getting you sinfully wet. yes, with your own arousal, but with his spit too. he’d massage it into your clit, mixing the both of you and your pleasures together until your hips are bucking and shoving your needy cunt in his face. then, he’d give in and lap your clit gently and the first taste would send his eyes rolling into the back of his head. he would try to stay cool and composed, but realistically, he knew tasting you would send him into a frenzy.

he’d already be close by this point in his fantasies, whining and groaning, his phone and photos of you long forgotten because he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming before he could finish playing everything out in his head.

because soonyoung couldn’t cum before his favorite part: when he would imagine shoving his face as far in between your legs as he could, extending his tongue as far into you as humanly possible. you’d say his name the way no one has ever said his name. you’d pull at his hair until he was sure you were permanently damaging all of his follicles. sometimes, he’d immediately cum after this. other times, he’d be able to at least get to the part where he starts fucking you with his fingers.

on lucky days, he would reach the end of his dreams. by this time, he’d be feverishly tugging on his cock, a mess of sweat and whimpers of your name as he thought about you squirting all over his face. he would drink you up like it’s the fucking elixir of life. you would make the filthiest mess of his face—chin dripping, cheeks sticky, lips swollen and covered in you—and he would thank you for it and beg for more. of course, more would never come because he would make a mess of his own hand after that.

he always felt like a pervert after—always felt so guilty picturing his best friend like this and doing something so dirty with you in mind—but the next night would come and the next night and the next, and he couldn’t think of anything else. anyone else.

and as lewd and impure and delicious and downright euphoric as his fantasies were, nothing could have prepared him for how much fucking better the real thing would feel. how much better the real you would taste.

by the time you cum on his face, not once but twice, he knows this is something he can do for the rest of his life. he would never even need you to fuck him or blow him or give him a handjob; all he literally needs is to devour your cunt any time you’d grant him the privilege to and he’d be a happy man for the rest of his life.

you’re still panting, chest heaving from your orgasms, when soonyoung climbs up over you once more and wraps his arms around your waist, kissing, nipping, licking, and whispering i-love-yous from your collarbone and up until he reaches your lips. he kisses you lightly just in case you don’t want to put your lips on him after he just ate you out, but when you deepen the kiss and hug him even closer, he thinks you might actually like the taste of you on his mouth.

“soonie,” you eventually whisper against him.

“mmm?”

you say something that he’s been wanting to hear for a decade. you confirm something he’s been desperately searching for signs of for your entire friendship. “i want to be yours. i want to be yours so bad.”

he stops peppering you with kisses and watches you carefully, like this all might still be a hallucination that will fade if he gets too lost in the moment. but you remain where you are, looking at him with as much love as he imagines he’s always looked at you. tears gather in your eyes, some escaping the corners. he catches every single one that does, pressing it back into your skin with his finger.

when you give him a small smile to tell him you’re okay—that these are just tears of happiness—he leans in, presses his cheek to yours, and promises you, “then i’ll make you mine.”

just being inside you is enough to make soonyoung want to cry. he does his absolute fucking best not to because you already are and he doesn’t want you to think of anything other than yourself and your pleasure during your first time. but he wants to cry as he buries his face into your neck and slowly pushes into you, only moving whenever you say it’s okay to.

when he woke up today, he did it with swollen eyes from a night spent crying over you. he tortured himself all day, thinking about how every last time he had with you was the last and he didn’t even know it—the last laugh he heard, the last smile he saw, the last time you bickered with him, the last time you told him you loved him. he steeled himself to face your tears or your screaming or whatever else you did to him when he ended your friendship.

at the start of the day, soonyoung was preparing for his life to be over—for you to take every good thing he’s ever had and felt with you when he forced you to walk away.

now, he’s fully buried inside you, forehead resting against yours as you both struggle to adjust to the overwhelming feeling of each other. it’s when you tell soonyoung that after 10 years, there’s nothing that will change your mind about him, that he finally moves.

“oh fuck,” he breathes as he starts rolling his hips, cock dragging in and out of you in an astonishingly seamless fit. “your cunt is perfect.”

you bloom at the praise, and you don’t shy away from returning it, chanting his name over and over again, whispers of how good he feels wherever you can fit them in between—how good he is for you, how he was made for you.

“y/n,” he gasps. he tries to tell you that if you keep saying his name like this—like he’s yours—he’s going to cum inside you. but all that comes out is: “oh my god.”

and all you say is “soonyoung” again and again and again. he’s never put any thought into his birth-given name, but tonight, he decides it’s his favorite string of letters. he never wants to hear you say anyone else’s name. he never wants anyone other than you to say his name. it’s yours and yours alone.

at some point, he can tell you can handle even more, and he pushes up off you, using the headboard as leverage as he pounds into you harder and rougher, rhythm becoming erratic and frenzied. the noises that come out of your mouth are so nasty, he’s on the brim of losing it.

“oh my god. look at you,” he pants, his sweat dripping from his face, his neck, and his chest onto you. a drop lands on the corner of your mouth, and without hesitating, your tongue darts out to lick it up, and he groans.

it’s too much: your neediness, your obedience, your eagerness. your tits—one sporting his hickey—bouncing wildly as he fucks you at a brutal pace. your unbelievably tight cunt, sucking his cock in so desperately, near-strangling it and refusing to let him go.

“so fucking perfect,” he tells you.

you make it clear that you’re not lasting long—that your third orgasm is on the horizon. it’s a bittersweet realization; on one hand, he’s relieved because he’s been holding his own orgasm off since his tongue met your clit. on the other, he never wants to stop fucking you.

but this is just the start, he tries to remind himself. this is just the first time, and there will be so many more now—now that you’re his and he’s yours.

your voice rings loudly in his ears again. i want to be yours so bad.

his voice is hoarse when he asks, “do you feel like you’re mine yet?”

you nod frantically, pussy squeezing tightly around him like the thought is pushing you even closer to finishing. “yes, god, yes. yes!”

“say it,” he demands, eyes never leaving yours. he can’t look away when you look like you would say or do anything for him.

“i’m yours,” you say immediately. “soonie… i’m yours, soonyoung.” his name comes out in a tortured whimper.

“i never want to hear another name come out of your mouth ever again,” he declares. “ah, fuck, holy shit. you feel so fucking good, baby. just for me, huh? oh fuck.” his orgasm is begging to be released, but he refuses to let up until you reach yours. “you’re mine. and i’m yours.”

you barely finish agreeing and calling soonyoung “mine” when your pussy is suddenly and violently quivering around him, pulsing and throbbing as you ride through your third orgasm of the night. the feeling of your climax squeezing around soonyoung is unreal, and he pulls out just in time to avoid coming inside of you, painting your beautiful, soft skin with his bliss.

it feels like it lasts forever, the spurts of white splattering you. he thinks he could get hard again when you let your mouth hang open and catch some of him on your tongue.

“holy shit,” he breathes when he’s tugged himself dry, leaning back and trying to catch his breath. he feels drops of sweat sliding down his body everywhere, his muscles burning deliciously.

soonyoung looks down at you and is pleased to see you covered with him: his cum, his sweat, his spit. he made good on his promise. if you don’t look like his right now, he has no idea what you look like.

“c’mere,” you whine, reaching for him with grabby hands when you have no energy to sit up and actually take hold of him.

he smiles and leans in to kiss you, before retrieving a towel from the bathroom to clean you both up with.

for the rest of the night, you two stay tangled up in each other’s arms and talk about when you fell in love.

you: when you first met him.

him: when you first walked into the room.

neither of you know if the other is telling the truth or if you’re just trying to win the i-loved-you-first competition (you’re both telling the truth).

you talk about what the future looks like. you decide you don’t know for sure, but one thing you’re confident about is that you’ll be facing it together. one thing soonyoung is sure about is that he’ll be making you his wife.

you ask if you can make your anniversary two days from now so it doesn’t land on your birthday. soonyoung asks if you can make it two days prior so that he can forget that he was trying to leave you on your 30th birthday. you agree.

you both run through every big moment either of you can remember being so hopelessly in love with each other, it hurt and what the other person was thinking at that moment. for every memory of yours soonyoung can remember, he’s able to tell you he was suffering just as much as you were. the same is true for you. for every memory he can’t remember, he feels like a kid, giggling and kicking his feet in bed with you hearing about how you were equally, pathetically down bad for him.

your birthday party is long forgotten, traded for an intimate night getting to know each other in drastically different ways than you did as best friends. soonyoung feels like he’s meeting you for the first time again—a privilege he never thought he would be afforded ever again. aside from learning what you liked from your time in his bed tonight, he learns a lot.

like for one, you actually are very into physical affection, something soonyoung thought you didn’t like displaying since you were constantly shoving him away; you just avoided it because it exacerbated your feelings for him and blurred the lines too much for you. in fact, you stay burrowed into his side the entire night, whining any time he moved a tiny bit away, even when it was just to adjust his position or reach to turn off the lamp. you love playing with his hair and tracing little patterns on his chest (he thinks one of the things you traced was your names together). you constantly thread his fingers with yours and when you get tired of that, you still keep your pinkies linked.

he learns you love hanging out at his apartment more than you like the fancy dinners. you feel the most at home with him when you’re actually home with him. you tell him your favorite nights are when you’re in charge of placing a food delivery order at his place while he unwinds from his workday, showering and changing (and unbeknownst to you, probably jacking off in the shower to make sure he doesn’t accidentally get hard while you two hang out). you say it feels like you’re his wife and this is your home too. the sentiment is enough to make him tear up, and you, of course, tease him mercilessly once a fat teardrop lands on your head.

by the time the sun is rising, soonyoung realizes you both have rewritten siquijor in the confines of his bedroom. all the miscommunication (or absolute lack thereof) and the pain and heartbreak have been replaced. from where you two lay in bed, he watches the sun’s rays start to reach into the sky, turning it stunning shades of orange, pink, purple, and blue, and for the first time in seven years, he doesn’t cringe away from it and the feelings of loneliness it used to bring. he doesn’t feel heartbroken all over again like he used to.

this time, the sun rises, and soonyoung feels so ridiculously happy. you quietly watch the sky with him, and he thinks you know what he’s thinking of as you continuously trace hearts, one after the other, never-ending, into his skin.

“it’s a new day,” you say quietly.

“it is,” he agrees, his heart full. “it’s a new day, and i love you even more than i did yesterday.”

you hug him tighter to you even though there is literally no space between you.

“i love you, soonie.” you yawn. “is it time to say good night?”

“it’s morning, baby.”

“no, we didn’t go to sleep. it’s definitely still night.”

he grins and doesn’t bother arguing with that logic. he moves to get out of bed, but you immediately lock your arms so he can’t. he snorts. “i’m just going to pull the curtains so we can sleep.”

you sigh like it’s still an inconvenience, but you release him all the same. “fine. you should get, like, a remote for them or something. isn’t that what rich people do?”

he rolls his eyes as he gets up and closes the curtains, bidding the sunrise—the best of his life—a farewell for now. “rich people stay rich by not buying things they don’t need, baby.”

“i don’t think so,” you disagree, arms opening again for soonyoung to lay back in.

“you know what, whatever you say,” he says as you kiss all the skin you can reach from where you hug him. he preens at the feeling. “you’re always right.”

you hum, smiling against him. “good boyfriend.”

“soon-to-be husband,” he mutters before yawning.

you giggle the same way you have been every time he’s corrected you tonight. “soonie-be-husband.”

he scoffs. “boo,” he heckles you. “bad! get off the stage!” you laugh harder, and it coaxes a soft smile out of him as he watches you.

“best friend” doesn’t seem like such a bad title in this moment anymore. he thinks he gets it now that he’s able to call you even more than that; it’s such an honor to be able to be both your boyfriend and your best friend now. it’s such an honor to be able to build something more on a foundation of friendship as strong as the one he shares with you.

when the laughter subsides, you both sigh, sinking into the bed further and getting comfortable.

“good night, love of mine,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“mine,” you repeat like you can’t get enough of the sound of it. “yours.”

soonyoung smiles and his eyes flutter closed with exhaustion, thoughts bleary but still painted with you and the last 10 years as he starts to drift off to sleep. if this is what he gets to have now, whatever pain he withstood and however much time he wasted is nothing to him—just a moot point in the story you’ll both tell for years to come.

he dreams of you two in siquijor that night, this time both of you sober and wrapped in each other and in love, with the rest of your lives ahead of you.

bonus (performance unit group chat):

#svthub #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung x you #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt fic #hoshi x reader #hoshi x you #kwon soonyoung #soonyoung #hoshi #HAPPY CLOVER DAYYYYYY 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼#joshujin fic #bbchoco requests

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maliciouscottonball · 3 days ago

Text

You Found Him

Platonic Yandere! John “Soap” McTavish x GN! Reader

Wordcount: 2220

AN: I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Soap is a little much a lot of the time and I wanted to write something that reflected that. It’s a bit shorter than usual but the big guy is more of a short and sweet type and I’m working on more stuff so I’m chilling with it. Happy Mother’s Day to all of the moms and mom adjacent individuals out there! Y’all are real ones. Another major thank you to @foolphenomenon for beta reading for me!!!

TW: Yandere behaviors, this man is nuts frfr, delusional behaviors, a very unhealthy attachment style, kidnapping, drugging with side effects, “I’ll find you” family dynamic

��♡♡

Johnny was the type to cling onto any type of affection that he could get. He wasn't used to being able to have anyone to be affectionate with and he has a tendency to act like a stray dog, following anyone who treated him with an ounce of kindness. It was why he got attached to Simon so easily. It was why he obeyed every order that came out of John's mouth. It was why he never missed a hang out with Gaz on the rare occasion that they both were on leave.

He knew that he didn't have anything on Ghost's childhood but his wasn't exactly pleasant. He has plenty of brothers and sisters that he was pitted up against and starved of both food and attention in favor of. He had to fight for every scrap he got and only bulked up once he joined the military. It was easier than he was used to and he thrived. He still had a bit of an attitude problem and an authority problem but he liked his job and did his best to do well.

He was used to being treated almost like a piece of meat when he was off duty. He knew that he was a pretty boy and he got plenty of attention at bars and clubs thanks to it. It felt transactional and hollow to him in the end. He didn't like how there wasn't truly any affection to any of the contact. He wanted something more. He wanted the relationship that he craved from his siblings growing up. He already had the approval that he wanted from the captain, the one that replaced the approval from his parents that he was desperate for. He had his friends and every other part of his life was fulfilling except for at home. He wanted something pure and good and innocent and he would kill to get it.

He went looking for someone that would be a good little sibling. He wanted to be treated with the admiration that he felt an older brother should get. He wanted to teach someone new skills and have them love him more than anyone else. He was excited to be able to have someone to care for and come home to when he was on leave. He was desperate to have someone that loved him as much as he loves them.

He looked everywhere that he thought the perfect little sibling would be, regardless of whether he was on or off of duty. He visited book stores, libraries, craft stores, cafes, and restaurants. He searched through video game stores, comic book shops, sporting goods stores, and anywhere else that he could think of. He was getting impatient. He couldn't find anyone that he thought would be good enough. Not until he ordered some new clothes online and came face to face with you.

He had a tiny cottage off base where he had all of his packages delivered. It served as an excellent place to crash on leave and as an even better place to relax with the team. It was a typical bachelor pad, minus most of the mess, and it was where he called home. He could afford it and it was nice to be able to have somewhere to call his own. He was playing a game on his couch when he heard a knock at the door. He lazily got up and opened the door, looking down at you with a startled expression.

“John McTavish?” You chirped.

He couldn't believe it. You were right there. You were so young and adorable. He wanted to scoop you up right there.

“That's me.” He said, looking down at you with starry eyes.

You were perfect. He was so happy that you were finally here with him. He didn't know how you found him but he was so excited to have you. He didn't have a room set up for you but he was happy to give up his room and sleep on the couch until he figured out how to turn his weapons room into a bedroom for you. He already adored you.

“Sign here please.” You said with a smile.

He blinked as you held out a clipboard. Oh. He didn't notice the box that you were holding. He paused for a moment. He carefully signed his signature and delicately took the box from you. His hands briefly brushed yours and he couldn’t help but smile a bit wider. It was the first time that he had ever touched his new little sibling. It was a magical moment for him and he knew that he had to record it so that you two could look back on it.

He then realized something a bit important. You hadn’t been seeking him out to meet your new big brother and were instead just doing your job. That was okay. It was actually better than okay! It meant that your meeting was fate. It was destiny that you both would meet and become family. He looked surprised as you thanked him and took your clipboard back. Where were you going? You hummed as you walked back down to your van.

You happily sat in your van and checked the address for your next delivery. You brushed off the excitement of the man and just went about the rest of your day. You were used to people being a bit too eager for their packages. It wasn't anything new for you. It was rare that someone wasn't excited to get their purchases. He just watched as you drove off and felt a bit empty again when he was alone.

Johnny hurried inside to get a pen and his journal. He didn’t even sit down before he started to sketch you. He didn’t stop until it looked exactly like him. He smiled at the picture and then started obsessively writing every single detail that he could remember. He wrote about how your uniform was a little too big for you and how cute it was. He wrote about the sparkle in your eyes as you looked up at him, as if you knew that he was supposed to be your big brother. He sighed happily as he wrote about your sweet little smile and how well you did your job.

He felt pleased with his entry to his journal. He looked it over and grinned. He’d have to do some research on you, his new baby sibling.

It was definitely wrong to use the computers at work to learn everything about you but he figured that it would be alright. He was your new brother, after all. He had to make up for lost time. He needed to know how to be a brother that you would want. He showed Simon the picture that he drew of you, earning a nod from him. That was enough to keep him going. Johnny knew that Simon was an awful lot like him, even if Simon didn’t like to show it. It was why they got along so well.

By the end of the week, he knew everything. He was good with technology, being a demolitions expert. It was his job to be good at it. He learned about everything you liked and disliked, where your favorite places to go were and where you hated, and every other possible thing about you. He started getting cute clothes and shoes for you, beaming at you when you delivered them for him. He knew that you didn’t know what was in the packages but he was sure that you would love everything he bought for you.

At night, Johnny would just think about all of the fun things you both would do together. He wanted to have movie nights where you’d both gorge yourselves on junk food and cry laughing at inside jokes. He wanted to go on road trips and chat about anything and everything. He wanted to buy you anything you wanted and see you smile at him. He wanted to see you looking up at him in awe when he tells you about the cool things that he’s done on missions. He wanted to see your eyes light up when he rigs up an explosion that you can both watch safely. He’s sure that you love explosions too. You’re his sibling so he’s sure that it’s in both of your natures.

He knows that he can be more than a little excitable and aggressive. It’s how he’s always been and he did his research on your personality so he knows that you both are going to get along like a house on fire. That's why he gets so confused when you wake up in his cottage and start struggling against your restraints. He didn’t think that you’d actually get scared. He figured you’d both get a laugh out of it and then you’d eat the lunch that he made for you.

“Hey, hey, calm down jus’ a wee bit, kiddo. I need ye ta relax. You know me! It’s just Johnny!” He coos at you.

You continue to struggle in the ropes binding your hands and feet. He had tucked you into your new bed after drugging you in your apartment and bringing you home. If it weren’t for the duct tape over your mouth, you would’ve looked like the perfect little angel while you were sleeping. He frowned. Maybe tying you up wasn’t as funny of a prank as he thought it would be. He hummed and patted your head while you squirmed, then carefully took the duct tape off of your mouth.

“There we are! Look at ya! Cutest lil’ thing on the planet. C’mon, let’s get those nasty ropes off o’ ya. I’ll admit it’s nae my best joke but I made some sandwiches for us. Got some crisps too for while we’re watching our show together.” He said cheerfully, quickly undoing the ties of your restraints and tossing you over his shoulder like a weightless sack of potatoes.

The world was spinning and you were trying your best not to throw up. You could barely understand what he was saying and everything was blurry. You weakly grabbed onto the back of his shirt for stability, which he took as a sign that you were warming up to him already even though you were out of it.

“My cooking isn’t that bad bu’ I think I’ll order us somethin’ fur dinner. It’s a very special occasion, after all! I finally get to live with my favorite lil sweetie!” He said happily.

His words were loud and made you wince. You had a splitting headache and he was too excited about having you over that he didn’t notice. He happily plopped you onto the couch, hurrying towards the kitchen and grabbing two plates and a family sized bag of chips. He sat down next to you, tucking you next to him and snuggling you up to him. He put your plate on your lap. The sandwich on it was massive and you wouldn't normally be able to finish it, let alone when you have such an upset stomach. He wrapped an affectionate arm around you as he turned on the TV to one of the cartoons that he liked as a kid.

“This is great, right? Your first day with your big brother and we're already having a grand time. I love you, kiddo. I really do.” He murmured before opening the large bag of chips and placing it between the both of you on both of your laps.

You were so out of it that you just watched the show on the screen. You barely noticed the man next to you scarfing down his own equally large sandwich and then eating plenty of the chips. He looked down at you occasionally, smiling as he watched you. He figured that you were just sleepy and easily entertained. He seemed overjoyed to be sitting on the couch next to the drugged up delivery person.

“No’ hungry, are ye? That's okay. Ye can eat whene’er ye want. I don't mind.” He said in a genuine tone. It was clear that he wanted you to feel comfortable.

It made him happy that you were just sitting there with him. He gently petted the top of your head, clearly doing his best to be gentle with you. He enjoyed being able to hold you like this. It made him feel like this was real. He liked feeling like he had a new little sibling to look after. He reached over and grabbed a blanket, lifting up your plate and carefully putting it over you. He put your plate down on your lap and settled back in, all but hugging you as he goes back to watching the show.

When you inevitably pass out from the drug in your system hitting you hard for a second time, he sighs happily and just keeps snuggling you. He was so happy that you were finally home with him. He figured that you were just a bit tired and needed your beauty sleep. He was perfectly fine with that. He was going to make sure that you got everything that you wanted or needed, including a doting older brother.

#platonic yandere #call of duty mwii #cod x you #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #cod #soap call of duty #tf 141 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod men #yandere #yandere soap #yandere brother #yandere x reader #yandere john mactavish #yandere soap mctavish #yandere fanfiction

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sweetdispatch · 3 days ago

Note

Hi could I get 7 pieces of baklava with pineapple and maple syrup please

I love your writing and hope your leg heals up real soon

Lake house - M. Rempe

v' bakery pairing: Matt Rempe x fem!reader summary: You and Matt had complicated relationship but this changed when you were forced by your friends to live in the same room during a weekend in a lake house warning: NSFW, graphic sex (+18), oral (f receiving), fingering, swear words note: thank you so much love, it means a world to me❤️hope you like it!

Since you met Matt, you didn’t like him. No matter how hard you tried, there was something in him that was pushing you away. You tried to act normal around him but he could sense that you’re not a fan of his. He made a small joke about it but you felt offended. You threw a drink on him and left the club.

In summer, you were stuck together because of your friends. Matt didn’t make your life easier and since that situation in a club, he was picking on you. You were always fighting back with him because you didn’t want to be seen as a poor girl who can’t defend yourself. It was your reality that you’ve been arguing with him at least once when you were going out.

Your friend came up with a great idea to rent a lake house and go there for a weekend. Everyone instantly agreed and felt excitement. This feeling quickly disappeared from your and Matt's faces when your friends told you that you have a room together. You knew that they made it on purpose to have fun of your suffering and because they really wanted you two to work things out.

“I can’t believe that they did it” You said when you walked into the room with Matt behind you.

“But honestly, are you surprised?” Matt asked you and you shook your head in no gesture.

“Not a fucking chance” You said out of blue. “There’s only one bed” All you heard was Matt’ laugh.

“I guess we’re stuck together even in sleep” Matt told you but you only looked at him to drop it.

“I prefer to sleep on the floor then next to you” You scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This bed is big enough for both of us. You won’t be sleeping there” Matt said and from his tone, you could tell that he wasn't joking

The first night was tough. You and Matt were colliding with each other's bodies all the time. You were sure that he’s doing this on purpose just to get you mad. After an hour you lost your patience and kicked him to wake him up.

“What the hell?” Matt said with a raspy voice.

“Stop moving around the bed. I can feel your body on me” You told him.

“I’m not doing anything” Matt told you and you sighed. You knew that this would be the longest three days of your life. Out of nowhere, Matt asked you. “Why don’t you like me?”

“You’re annoying and since your dumb joke about my presence I can’t stand you” You told him truthfully.

“I just wanted to break the ice between us” Matt said.

“I don’t know what part of it if you won’t stop making this face, you’ll become ugly was funny for you” Matt could sense the disgust in your voice when you repeated those words.

“I’m sorry. It was a bad call from me. My intention wasn’t to offend you, just wanted to see you smiling but I get why you’re mad” You were taken aback. You didn’t expect him to apologise to you.

“Apology accepted but since we’re having a honest conversation, what’s your reason that you don’t like me?” You asked him curiously of his reason.

“I honestly don’t have any reason but since you didn’t like me, I decided to match your energy” Matt laughed.

“So I was the bad one?” You giggled. “I’m sorry for it”

“It’s fine, I deserve it” Matt said and you laughed.

The next morning, the atmosphere in your room was clean. There were no hard feelings between you and Matt. You explained everything to yourself and had a new start. Your friends were surprised when they saw both of you laughing and not arguing but none of you told them that you’re fine now. You wanted to mess with them.

In the evening, all of you decided to sit by the bonfire and just enjoy the quiet time. To everyone's shock, you were sitting on Matt’ laps. You two were in a bubble. Two of you were drinking and laughing at all the stories. You were happy that you cleared the atmosphere with him because you noticed what a great guy he is.

When everyone stayed outside, you and Matt got back to the room. Last 20 minutes you spent on talking about a movie that he never saw. That’s why both of you decided to get back and watch a movie. You laid comfortably in the bed and he sat next to you. During the movie, you weren’t talking much but you could feel his hand roaming your thigh.

It would be a lie if you say that Matt wasn’t hot. He was and he had insane hands. Your focus was on them rather than on that movie and he noticed this. He squeezed your thigh lightly and you felt your cheeks burning. He was going higher with his hand until he reached the end of your shorts.

Matt was bold in his moves. He saw the effect he has on you and wanted to see how far he can go until you stop him. You spread your legs a little bit further to give him better access and he laughed softly. His finger brushed your panties under the shorts and he could feel how wet you were.

“Please” You whispered. “Do something”

Movie was long forgotten. Matt positioned himself in between your legs. In a quick move, he took your shorts and panties. His fingers were brushing your clit. You moaned quietly and the next thing you felt was his tongue on your pussy. By instinct you hands went to his hair and you pushed him closer.

Matt was eating you out like a starving man. He looked at you and saw how you threw your head from the pleasure. He smiled to himself at the view. His two fingers entered your pussy and you moaned at the sensation. He had long fingers and they perfectly were hitting your g spot.

You felt that you’re close. Matt was the best guy who ever went down at you. Your orgasm hit you hard. You felt embarrassed by how fast you cum but he was great in what he was doing. You tried to catch your breath and looked at him. He licked his fingers clean and this made you wet again.

“I didn’t know it’s so easy to tame you” Matt laughed and laid next to you. “All you needed was an orgasm”

“So you just did it for what? For your entertainment?” You felt used by him at that moment. You stood up and started picking up your clothes.

“No, come back to bed, please” Matt pulled his arm to grab your wrist. “It was a joke. I’m sorry”

“You’re insufferable” You told him and got back to the bed.

“I like you too” Matt said and pulled you closer to his body. He kissed your cheek and you smiled. All the negative emotions you had towards him went out of the window and you started seeing him as a normal guy and not as an annoying one.

#matt rempe #matt rempe x reader #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe fanfiction #matt rempe oneshot #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #new york rangers #v' bakery

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angellekookie · 7 hours ago

Text

Hate it when a piece of fiction resonates deeply with ne and makes me reflect on my life and stuff 😪

Just kidding I live for that.

Now Aqua, I have thoughts- so many so that I'm not really sure how I'll put them together.

The first is that there's a friend of mine, we talk a lot about writing and how if you look deep enough at what's written, you get to see fractured bits and pieces of the author woven in. Always, it will be there- either in a small, subtle way or something bigger. More obvious, and harder to miss.

This is one of those works.

I absolutely loved the dynamic between Mc and Yoongi. Their care and their caution (but not really? Like the caution was there but less about dancing around the other and more about dancing around themselves? A lot of rambling, sorry😅) that they have for each other, how they understand each other, the barely contained lust- ok full disclosure, it doesn't feel right calling this list between them. Every touch was a conversation, even if they never understood it right away.

There was also some dialogue that I couldn't get over. You published this and honestly I can't even pretend to be casual about it.

Not to get emotional on main, but a lot of the times I get the urge to hide away when I feel like I don't really deserve the love my friends and family would give. The urge to really shut myself away is there constantly, always. But these words felt... idk the assurance? Like the literary version of things I try to remind myself of when I feel like an imposter in a space where logically, I know I don't need to earn.

“You don’t have to earn anything,” he says. “There’s no quota for being okay. Or being wanted. You can be a mess and still deserve good things. You can be at your worst and still… feel.”

“You don’t have to be okay for me to want to be here.”

I may have sobbed a little here at this. Thank.

“You just… made it a little easier to stay.”

You don't even know how much I needed these words, Aqua Glossdebut, you don't. And thank you.

Like your writing means something just by existing.

"I’ve wanted to get between your thighs and just live there. I love you, and I love your pussy, and I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every single bad day you’ve ever had.” — full disclosure that this is here becaause i fear i got too emotional on main so we're gonna deflect and say it's solely here for me to say men use to yearn like this *insert men don't yearn meme and a girl staring out the window ✨️wistfully✨️*

An edit cause i couldn't stop thinking about it: But the way MC feels shitty on a Tuesday and is essentially this meme:

But then she gets her good news on Wednesday? Aqua? AQUA?!!!!

Anyways, this was a good read. A great read. Thank you for sharing 🫂

Btw it felt like this to read and also second hug is yours. I know I say it always, but I do mean it always that I'm sending hugs. Please receive with awesomeness.

best laid plans | MYG

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x f!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You meet Min Yoongi at a GS25 on a nothing Tuesday. You don't expect him to change your life. You certainly don't expect to change his.

✧ TAGS: strangers to lovers, angst (with a happy—but hopefully realistic—ending), smut, fluff, this is a heavy one so please heed the warnings!

✧ WARNINGS: mental health issues, depression, depressive episodes, suicidal ideation throughout, suicide mentions throughout, implied suicide attempt (sort of?), panic attacks, specifically panic attacks after (consensual!) sex, smoking, recreational marijuana use, vaginal fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of unprotected sex (but no real unprotected sex), MINORS DNI, please do not read this fic if any of these warnings are triggering to you!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay. so... i said i wasn't going to post any more fics until june. and i won't post any more until then after this! i'm still on semi-hiatus! but something happened in my personal life last week, and i couldn't... not get it all out, somehow. so... here's this almost 14k monster. thank you claret @yoonmetogether for beta reading and giving me so much love and support while i was in the process of writing this! i love you! and thank you yoongi, for writing/releasing so far away (and the last) in 2016 and teaching teenage aqua how to stay, even when i didn't want to. and teaching adult aqua the same thing every year since. i hope this fic helps someone. that's why i'm posting it.

P.S. i recognize that i haven't edited my taglist since my hiatus. if you want to be removed, let me know.

✧ WORDCOUNT: 13.6k words

It’s a Tuesday night, which means nothing. Just like Monday meant nothing. Just like Wednesday won’t either.

The buzzing fluorescent lights in the 24-hour convenience store stutter overhead. You’ve been zoned out in the ramen aisle for at least five minutes now, doing the same song and dance you always do. Pretending you’re going to try something different this time, be a little spontaneous. Because you must break the pattern today or the loop will repeat tomorrow, right?

Still, though, your hand hovers over the same one you always get—the spicy one in the black package that scorches your mouth and makes your nose run. But at least it makes you feel something. So, you grab it.

Into the basket it goes, landing beside a bottle of Milkis and a crumpled bag of gummy worms. You sigh, turn around—

—and nearly walk straight into some guy you didn’t even know was in the store.

You both do that awkward side-step thing, freeze, then side-step the same way again.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” the guy mutters, voice low and scratchy, like it hasn’t been used yet today.

He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, the drawstrings uneven. His hair, bleach blonde, is tucked messily under a beanie, and there’s a faint line on his cheek from what was clearly a very intense nap. He’s holding a can of cold coffee and a pre-packaged egg sandwich in one hand, clutched between long fingers.

His eyes flick up to yours, and you realize, belatedly, that you’re staring. You should probably move, or say something.

“No, I—sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Your basket clinks against your knee. “Didn’t see you.”

Both of you are still kind of in each other’s way. There’s that weird, hesitant pause where you’re not quite sure who’s supposed to move next.

You clear your throat, nodding at his sandwich. “Midnight craving?”

“Something like that,” he says, eyes flicking down to the ramen in your basket. “You going for pain, huh?”

You blink, then smile a little. You didn’t expect him to be game. “Only the kind I can control.”

That makes him huff a short laugh through his nose. “Hey, no judgment. I’m out here buying coffee at midnight, so.”

You nod toward the sandwich again. “And that. Bold choice.”

“I wasn’t ready to commit to tuna.”

“Fair.”

It feels dangerously like flirting, just for a second. Awkward, clumsy flirting, sure, but flirting nonetheless. But the moment ends just as quickly as it came, like you’ve both run out of things to say at the exact same time.

You awkwardly step in opposite directions after that.

You return to your mission. First, hot water from the machine by the coffee counter. Plastic fork from the stack that’s always slightly sticky. You sit on one of the cracked stools by the window while the noodles steep and sip from your Milkis while staring out at the empty street.

By the time you make it to the register, the guy is gone. You kind of expected that.

He was cute, you think. A year ago, when you were a different girl and sort of had your shit together, you probably would’ve asked for his number. Batted your eyelashes or something stupid like that.

But now? You barely have the energy to brush your teeth most days. You’re certainly not in a place for romance. Not when your big life plan has boiled down to ‘survive one more month.’

So no, you’re not mourning the possible missed connection with the kind-of-cute stranger in the GS25. Just acknowledging it.

But then, when you’ve paid and make a move to shuffle out, the automatic doors slide open—and there he is.

Again. Leaning against the low brick wall, trying to light a cigarette with the wind working against him. The flame sputters out twice before catching.

You could leave. You should. But you linger, and since the street is pretty much desolate, he notices.

“Didn’t mean to loiter behind you,” he says, glancing up.

You shrug. “Didn’t mean to run into you. Twice.”

He waves his free hand dismissively, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips, plastic bag dangling precariously. “No harm done.”

That should be it, probably. End of conversation, end of interaction. Two strangers walk in opposite directions to wherever it is they call home.

But something about the slump in his shoulders, so similar to your own, makes you momentarily brave.

“You got somewhere to be?” you ask, gnawing at your bottom lip.

“Does it look like it?”

It doesn’t. Neither do you.

“Wanna sit?” you offer, gesturing towards the curb. “I’m just gonna eat before it gets cold.”

His eyes widen, like that’s the last thing in the world he expected you to say.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

You sit. He settles a little awkwardly beside you, pulling the sandwich out of its crinkled plastic. It’s predictably silent between you, but you don’t hate it.

He eats. You slurp noodles.

And eventually, inevitably, you glance sideways.

Okay. He is cute. Decidedly. Maybe even hot, if you caught him on a better day. In a bleary, worn out way. The kind of good looks that sneak up on you, delicate and masculine all at once. Pale skin. Sharp jaw. Soft mouth. You’re not going to do anything about it. Obviously. But… still.

“What’s your name?” you ask around a mouthful of noodles.

“Yoongi.”

You nod. Don’t offer yours yet.

Yoongi takes another bite of his sandwich. Swallows. “You here often?” he asks, immediately grimacing. “God. That sounded—"

“Like a line?” You laugh. “Yeah. It did.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

Small talk comes easy after that. You find out he used to live on the other side of the river and only recently moved to this part of the city because of a roommate situation that imploded. You tell him that you only planned to live in your current apartment for a year, until you could afford something better. It’s been three now.

He tells you he’s currently between jobs. You admit you’re technically not sure if you still have your night gig, because your boss hasn’t texted you in three days and you don’t want to ask.

He gives you the remaining half of his sandwich. You pass over your ramen wordlessly, letting him steal a few bites. It’s still awkward, eating so closely with a stranger like this. Sharing your dinner with someone who doesn’t even know your name. But it’s weirdly nice.

When the food is mostly gone, he holds out his cigarette pack. You take one and he lights it for you. You both pass it back and forth in silence for a minute.

“I used to think I’d be famous by now,” he says eventually, exhaling toward the gutter. “Like, not stupid-famous. Just… enough that I wouldn’t be here. You know?”

You nod. You do know.

“I wanted to be a writer,” you offer in return. “But I hate writing. And I hate people who are good at it. And I hate that I still kind of want to do it anyway.”

“I don’t even know what I do anymore,” he says. “I was making music for a while. Then I got tired. Now I sleep too much. Avoid my friends. Pick up shifts at my cousin’s record store when he gets desperate enough to ask.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice.”

He snorts. “It’s not. But thanks.”

You tip your head back, look up at the sky, which is a washed-out navy and completely starless. Seoul smog. “I work part-time at a bookstore that almost exclusively sells erotica. And I cry like, three times a week, minimum. Usually in the bathroom. Sometimes in front of customers.”

Yoongi flicks ash onto the ground. “You win.”

You both sit with it. The warm, awful food. The too-sweet soda and the gummy worms melting in the bag between your knees. The companionship of a stranger willing to share a cigarette and half of his shitty sandwich, whose life isn’t all that different from yours.

You turn your heads at the same time. Your eyes flick down to his lips where they’re sealed around the cigarette. Inhale, exhale. To his long fingers, thumbnail bitten to shit.

He’s really pretty, even like this, in the unflattering light of the streetlamp you’re sitting under. Long lashes and dark eyes that pierce through you. You wonder if his mouth really is as soft as it looks.

He’s looking at your lips, too, you realize. When you catch him, he looks away fast, ears pink.

“This is nice,” he says, staring at the concrete beneath his shoes.

You blink. Then, just as quietly, “Yeah. It is.”

He offers the cigarette again. You take it. Neither of you says anything else for a long time.

✧

The bookstore has been blissfully, predictably dead since you opened this morning. That’s really the only upside of the job—nobody shows up. You could count the regulars on one hand, and half of them only come in to use the bathroom, despite the clearly posted sign that says they can’t.

You’ve developed a theory about it, about the shame that still lingers around buying erotica in person. As if reading about sex is fine, but purchasing it in the flesh is something to feel embarrassed about. You could write a dissertation on it, probably. But you won’t. You don’t write anymore. You just clock in, count the till, and reorganize displays no one looks at.

You’ve already done your morning routine. Opened up. Counted money. Packed a frankly alarming number of online orders (apparently people really love vampire erotica). Now, you’re posted up behind the counter, flipping through a paperback about sexy cowboys with a bright red cover and a title that would make your mother blush.

You’re in the middle of counting how many times the author uses the word member on one page (six, and one was throbbing) when the bell above the door gives its half-hearted ding.

You glance up from the counter, fully prepared to give your standard ‘we don’t have a public bathroom’ spiel, when you see him. Hoodie. Messy, bleached hair. Soft mouth.

Yoongi.

Your mouth actually falls open a little. You eventually gave him your name that night, but you hadn’t exchanged numbers. You didn’t even follow each other on social media. And yet, here he is, bearing witness to you in all of your smut-peddling glory.

“I guessed,” he says, by way of explanation. He sounds a little breathless. “You said bookstore, and there’s like, two in the area. The other one didn’t have nearly enough erotica.”

“So you just… showed up?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You didn’t give me your number.”

If he wasn’t cute, you might be a little creeped out. He’s lucky he’s got such a nice face. It makes things feel romantic.

“You want something?” you ask, gesturing to the wide variety of bodice-rippers your manager has displayed so proudly at the register.

“Yeah,” he says. “A cigarette. And maybe to talk to you again.”

You exhale through your nose, amused despite yourself. “Come on.”

You lead him through the back, past the haphazard ‘Employees Only’ sign that no one respects. Outside, the alley smells like stale piss. Very romantic, indeed.

Just like Tuesday, he lights a cigarette for you to share. You take it, and he leans against the brick wall, watching you.

“I kept thinking about you all week,” he says suddenly, no preamble. His eyes are fixed on the smoke curling off the end of the cigarette.

You take a drag, the smoke clinging to your teeth. “I thought about it too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your shoes. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up, though.”

He gives a quiet little laugh, almost self-deprecating. “Honestly, I almost didn’t.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know. Stubbornness? Hope? Boredom?” He shrugs. “I guess I just didn’t want to go another week without feeling like something mattered. Even if it’s just a conversation in a piss alley.”

That earns a smile from you. A real one. You pass the cigarette back.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says eventually. “I don’t even know if I’m in a place to have a thing. But I liked talking to you. And I’m tired of not liking anything.”

You look at him. He’s not exactly looking back, more at the space near your shoes. But his profile is soft, a little hopeful.

“I feel the same way,” you say, cheeks hot and heartrate climbing. Something you haven’t felt in a long time—not for good reasons, at least.

He smiles. It’s small, but it feels real.

“You’re gonna give me your number this time, right?”

You dig your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He types in his number one-handed, cigarette dangling from the other, then calls himself so he has yours too. When it buzzes in his hoodie pocket, he hums like that settles something. Like now, technically, you belong to each other in some tiny way.

You take the cigarette back from him. Your fingers brush, knuckles stay touching longer than they should.

“You’re not gonna ghost me now that you’ve won the chase, right?” you murmur.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “You think that was a chase?”

You shrug. “It was something.”

For a moment, you just stand there in the alley. The world keeps moving, traffic hums in the distance. Your shitty boss is probably inside wondering why you’ve been gone more than the regulation five minutes.

But you don’t move.

You look at him. His mouth. The cigarette between your fingers. And your body makes a decision your brain is too tired to argue with.

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s clumsy at first. Your lips a little dry, the angle off, but it doesn’t matter. He makes a sound like a surprised exhale against your mouth and then he’s kissing you back, slow and warm and honest.

He tastes like smoke and canned coffee. You drop the cigarette and his hand finds your jaw. Your fingers reach for the edge of his hoodie, twisting in the fabric like you’re worried he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on.

You kiss him again. And again.

You’re not trying to make it romantic, really. You’re not trying to make it anything. It’s just—fuck, it’s been so long since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted to.

And Yoongi kisses like he wants to be anywhere but alone. Like he gets it.

When you finally pull back, both of you a little dazed, he lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “Okay,” he says, voice rough. “So… this is happening.”

You nod, heart hammering. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“I won’t.”

And he kisses you again, one more time for the road, hands on your hips like maybe he needs the grounding just as badly as you do.

Yoongi leaves around the back and you go back inside like nothing happened.

But he leaves with your number, and you can still taste him on your lips.

✧

Weeks pass, but you both take full advantage of having each other’s numbers.

You text mostly during lulls, when you’re hiding behind the register pretending to alphabetize the books, or when Yoongi’s stuck in the back room of the record store sorting the new arrivals.

You never say good morning or good night. It’s not like that. But he sends you photos of weird album art, and you respond with blurry selfies surrounded by piles of books with egregious titles.

There’s comfort in the ease of it. No pressure. Just a quiet thread tying your days together.

You: someone asked if we have a bathroom and when i said no they said “then what do you do?” like they wanted me to shit in front of them for proof

Yoongi: People are the worst. Come work here. The pay is shit but at least no one talks to me

Sometimes you send voice notes instead of typing because you’re too tired, and he never comments on how drained you sound. He just sends one back where his voice is raspy and low and he’s clearly half-asleep but trying anyway.

It’s not dating, but it’s not not dating. You’re not friends, not exactly, but you care, at least a little, about whether he eats. Whether he sleeps. Whether he means it when he says he’s fine.

It’s just whatever the two of you are capable of giving right now. Somehow, that’s enough.

It’s nearly midnight when your phone buzzes.

Yoongi: You up?

Yoongi: Don’t say anything about how that sounds btw

You stare at it for a second. Then you type:

You: i am. what’s up?

You: and yes i’m going to make fun of you anyway

You: is this a booty call

Three dots bubble up and disappear. Once, twice, three times.

Yoongi: I just want to see you

Yoongi: Is that okay?

You sit up, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

You could say no. You could ask why. You could point out the hour, claim you have work in the morning. But you haven’t seen him since the day you exchanged numbers (and saliva), so instead, you say:

You: yeah

You: come over

You send him your address. Twenty minutes later, he shows up, in the same hoodie as last time. Holding a plastic bag with canned coffee for him, Milkis for you, and a package of cookies you once mentioned liking in a text two weeks ago.

You don’t say anything at first. He holds up the bag like it’s proof that he should be allowed inside, and you take it with a soft, bemused snort. Then you step aside so he can come in.

He enters like someone trying not to wake a sleeping house—careful and quiet and unsure of what to do with his hands.

You close the door behind him. You both fidget for a second.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, standing just inside the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your heart tips, like it’s leaning closer to him whether you let it or not.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” you admit softly.

And then, because it’s late and you’re lonely and he’s warm and real and here, you kiss him. Again.

It’s immediate this time. No fumbling. No hesitation. Just mouths pressing together like they’re picking up where you left off in the alley behind the bookstore. His hands find your waist. Yours cup his face, thumbs brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones. You kiss him slow, then faster. Harder.

You don’t think about what it means. You don’t try to label it. You just let yourself feel it—the weight of his body, the sound of your breaths, the sudden, startling relief of being touched.

His mouth trails to your jaw. Your neck. His hoodie bunches in your fists.

When you finally pull back, both of you flushed and breathless, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I like you,” he says quietly.

You swallow around the knot in your throat and nod. “Kiss me again.”

There's a sharpness to the way your mouths move now. You tug at his hoodie, fingers slipping under the hem to touch skin, and he makes a sound against your lips, small and desperate.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, sliding up your back, curling in your shirt like he can’t bear to let go. He presses you up against the door, urgent, and you gasp when his teeth graze the underside of your jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breathing hard. “I’m sorry—I didn’t come here for this, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you say, voice barely there. “I want this.”

That undoes him a little. You feel it in the way his mouth crashes back to yours, the way he exhales sharply through his nose like he’s already drunk on it. He kisses you hard, lips and teeth and tongue with no finesse.

His thigh slips between yours and you move against it, just enough to chase friction, just enough to let him feel how badly you want this too.

“Jesus,” he whispers, low and raw. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head back and let him mouth at your throat, lips wet, sucking a bruise into the skin. Your hips roll down again, slow and deliberate, and Yoongi’s breath stutters.

“I missed this,” you admit, half-ashamed. “I missed being touched. I missed wanting someone.”

Yoongi lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, expression unreadable.

“You’re not the only one,” he says.

And then he kisses you again, deep and dizzying, and slips a hand beneath your waistband. His fingers are warm against your skin. Tentative at first, like he's giving you a chance to stop him, even now. Like some small, rational part of him is still waiting for you to say, ‘don’t.’ But you don’t. You tilt your hips forward instead, breath catching, and he exhales like that’s all the permission he needs.

He pushes his hand into your underwear and groans when he feels how wet you are.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so—fuck.”

It’s been a long time since someone touched you like this. Since someone wanted you like this. Desperate but gentle, afraid of messing it up. His fingers slide through your slick heat and you let out a sharp breath, clinging to his shoulders, your forehead pressed to his.

“I’m not gonna last long,” you whisper, already dizzy. “This is—fuck—this is embarrassing.”

Yoongi huffs a soft, broken laugh. “Don’t care. Come for me. Come fast. I want to feel you lose it.”

He fucks you with his fingers slow, then fast, then slow again. Just enough pressure to make you tremble, to make you cry out softly into his hoodie. His thumb finds your clit, and you nearly sob from the shock of it.

“Yoongi—” you breathe, hands scrambling for purchase. “I—fuck—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Let me have it. I got you.”

You come fast. Hard. Pathetically hard. Your body locks up and then shudders violently, mouth open against his collarbone, heart pounding like it’s trying to claw out of your chest. Yoongi holds you through it. Doesn’t say anything. Just lets you ride it out with his mouth pressed to your temple, breathing you in.

When it’s over, you’re shaking. Barely upright. He eases his hand out of your underwear and presses a kiss to your hairline, tender in a way that makes your eyes sting.

You bury your face in his neck.

“I can’t believe I let you finger me against my front door,” you mumble, mortified as you catch your breath.

“Can’t believe you invited me to,” he replies, grinning against your skin.

You both laugh. Quiet and shaky and a little shellshocked. You’re still leaning into him, your breath evening out, your body boneless. The high is fading, but the warmth he left behind is stubborn.

You lift your head, eyes still a little glazed, and give him a suspicious squint.

“I have a question,” you say.

Yoongi blinks, cautious. “Shoot.”

“How the fuck are you not getting laid constantly?”

His eyebrows shoot up. Then he laughs, quiet but full-bodied, like he’s genuinely caught off guard.

“I mean,” you continue, gesturing vaguely to your crotch, “that was—God. And I didn't even know if you’d be good at it! Like, I kind of assumed it would be decent, because you have a mouth and hands and a pulse—but that was fucking criminally good. Who taught you that? Why is this not a more widely available service?”

Yoongi presses his face into your shoulder and groans, laughing harder now. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just saying, someone out there is missing the opportunity of a lifetime.”

He finally lifts his head again, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah, well. Most people don’t really stick around long enough to find out.”

That sobers you a little.

You study him—his messy hair, his blown pupils, the way he tries to play it off with a little shrug. But there’s something underneath it all. Not sadness, exactly. Loneliness, maybe.

You reach up and brush your fingers through his bangs, almost absently. “They’re idiots.”

Yoongi watches you for a moment. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. Just leans into your touch.

And then the quiet gets to you, makes you want to crawl out of your skin, so you say:

“So… uh… want me to suck your dick?”

Yoongi freezes. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“...Right now?”

“No,” you say dryly. “Next Thursday.”

He laughs. “Are you always like this?” he asks, amused, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You ignore him and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants instead, fingers slipping under, deliberate and slow. “So?”

Yoongi exhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I want you to.”

His head tips back when you start kissing down his neck. His breath goes shallow. The way he touches you, light on the back of your neck, like he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this—it makes you want to give him everything all of a sudden.

So you drop to your knees in your entryway, hitting the floor with a quiet thud that echoes in the quiet. Yoongi looks down at you in amazement, eyes wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

You tug his sweats down and he helps, fingers twitching against the fabric, thick cock already hard and leaking at the tip.

“You’re serious,” he says, voice thin. Disbelieving.

You glance up at him, smirking. “That a problem?”

“Not even a little.”

You spit into your palm, spread it over the head, and he twitches in your grip. When you lean in and lick a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, Yoongi lets out a quiet, broken sound.

You’re a little rusty, but you don’t tease. You don’t take your time. You just sink your mouth down around him, spit-slick and sloppy.

“Fuck—”

Yoongi’s head knocks lightly against the wall. One hand finds the back of your head, loose and shaking like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or hold you still.

You bob your head faster, messier. Let your saliva drip down over your fingers, curled around the base of his cock while you work the rest with your mouth. He groans again, choked and startled, and you feel him twitch in your palm.

“Jesus, you’re gonna—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

You hum around him. That does it.

He gasps. Buckles a little. Then pulls back. Not all the way, just enough to jerk himself through the last few strokes, breathing ragged.

“Shit, shit—I’m—fuck, baby, fuck—”

You look up at him, mouth open, lips shiny and wet, tongue out just barely.

He spills across your mouth, your cheek, your chin. Hot and messy and so, so much. You blink through it, a little stunned, a lot turned on.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring at the mess he made of you. “You’re—god. You’re insane.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still grinning. “You’re welcome.”

Yoongi laughs breathlessly. “I think I just fell in love with you a little.”

You feel the shift, then. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but suddenly the air feels different. Too quiet. A little too still.

“Don’t be weird about it,” you huff, just to fill the space.

Yoongi leans down and helps you up with careful hands. Your legs are a little wobbly. His hoodie is rumpled. His hair’s a mess. His sweatpants hang loose on his hips and his lips are kiss-bitten and red.

You glance at him, then away just as fast.

You’ve crossed some invisible threshold. You both know it. And now you’re just... here.

“I’m gonna, um.” You gesture vaguely toward the hallway. “Wash my face.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t look back as you walk away.

In the bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror, palms braced on either side of the sink. You wash your hands. Splash your face. Pat dry and breathe.

Or try to.

Fuck, are you having a fucking panic attack? Over that? Your chest is tight, every cell of your skin foreign to you. Like you’re wearing someone else’s body and she just did something you weren’t supposed to.

What the fuck was that?

Not the act itself. That part was great. The enthusiasm, the sheer filth of it—you don’t think you regret it. Maybe. It felt good, in the moment. You wanted it.

It’s what came after.

The shift. The quiet. The moment you felt like he saw too much of you. The part of you that glows when it’s being wanted, and dims just as quickly when it’s alone again.

And—Jesus, ’I think I just fell in love with you a little’? Who the fuck says that?

It takes you longer than you’d like to calm down. You do the breathing exercises you were taught, back in college when counseling was free and they handed out pamphlets on every corner of your campus. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You smooth down your shirt. Brush your fingers through your hair.

Then return to the living room like you didn’t just spiral for fifteen straight minutes.

When you return, breathing still a little labored, Yoongi’s sitting on the arm of your couch with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s afraid of what comes next. Like you’ve left him with his thoughts for too long.

He sits up when you approach, brow furrowed at the state of you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You sigh and sit down.

“Yeah. I just…” You stare straight ahead. “That was good. Really good. But it’s been a while. And I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this.”

Yoongi nods slowly. “You don’t have to know,” he says. “I don’t either.”

You turn to look at him, and the thing in his eyes, the softness, it’s too much. So you keep going.

“Not just the sex. Not just… you. This,” you say, gesturing at yourself, then your apartment. The mess that’s accumulated over the past month. “Letting someone see me when I don’t have it together. When I’m not even trying to pretend I do.”

You rest your head on the back of the couch, stare up at the ceiling like maybe it’ll swallow you whole if you keep talking.

“I don’t know why the fuck now of all times is when I’m letting myself feel anything,” you say. “It’s not like my life is better. It’s not like I’ve earned it.”

Silence.

Then Yoongi shifts. Leans forward, elbows on his knees again, like he’s working up to something.

You laugh. Bitter and small. “So what, we’re just two disasters trying to convince each other it’s fine?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much.” And then, so gentle it nearly breaks you, he adds, “I don’t think I’m here to fix you. I just want to be here.”

How can he be so sure?

You don’t know a damn thing about him. Not really.

You know he works the stock room in a record store part-time and hates most of his coworkers. You know he smokes too much. That he eats terrible sandwiches and drinks canned coffee. That he texts like he’s trying to make you laugh even when he’s probably in the middle of some breakdown of his own.

You know he’s good with his hands.

You know he looked at you, in all of your mess, like you were still human. You know that he says dumb, grossly honest shit way too easily.

But you don’t know where he grew up. You don’t know what keeps him up at night. You don’t know what kind of heartbreaks he’s carrying, or who let him down hard enough that he walks around like he does.

And still, there’s something in your chest that won’t calm down. Something desperate. Clawing. A tightness you don’t want to name.

Why?

Why the fuck are you feeling so much for someone who’s barely more than a stranger?

Is it just the attention? The intimacy? The fact that, for once, someone touched you without asking you to be okay first? Is this what happens when you’re starving? When your skin has been untouched for too long and someone comes along with warm hands and tired eyes and lets you fall apart without flinching?

Maybe.

But it doesn’t feel shallow. It doesn’t feel fake. Instead, it just feels too easy. Like being with him turns the volume down in your head. Like you don’t have to explain yourself to be understood.

It scares the shit out of you.

Yoongi slips down from the armrest, sinks into the cushion next to you instead. Your knee brushes his. His arm rests behind you on the back of the couch, not quite around you, but near enough that if you leaned even slightly, he’d catch you.

Neither of you moves for a while. You just breathe.

Then his arm moves and his pinky finger nudges yours.

A small thing. Stupid. Barely anything.

But it’s the first deliberate touch since everything happened in the entryway. And it’s soft. Hesitant.

“We don’t have to do… that,” he says, quiet but firm. You know he means the sex. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Maybe you don’t need to define it yet. Maybe it’s not about love or fate or healing. Maybe it’s just about want.

Two people letting themselves be wanted for a while.

You hook your pinky around his.

Just this, you think. Just this is fine.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t push. He doesn’t label anything. He just keeps showing up.

Sometimes at your place, sometimes at his. Sometimes at the bookstore, when he has a day off.

There’s a pattern now.

Late-night convenience store runs. Shared ramen on cracked stools by the window, making fun of people’s bad haircuts as they pass on the street outside. Socks borrowed and never returned. His hoodie living permanently on the back of your chair. Your phone lighting up with ‘Proof of life?’ on days he knows you’re at a low.

Sometimes you kiss. Sometimes you just sit in the same room and don’t say anything. Sometimes he talks and you don’t respond. And that’s okay, too.

It’s not about what it is. It’s about the fact that it keeps happening.

When you disappear, he still shows up. Like today.

It’s not a dramatic breakdown. Not this time.

Instead, it’s the kind of bad week that sinks its teeth in slow. No single catalyst, no big meltdown. Just one exhausting day stacked on top of another, until your body forgets how to move without dragging. Your sink is full of dishes you can’t look at. Your hair’s unwashed. You haven’t eaten anything substantial in days.

You didn’t text Yoongi to come over. You didn’t say much of anything at all this week.

But you must’ve sounded off, or maybe he just knows how to read silence better than most, because around three in the afternoon, you hear the soft knock at your door.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t mean to ignore him, you just can’t make your legs move.

A minute passes, and your phone buzzes from somewhere near your pillow.

Yoongi: Not trying to crowd you. Just wanted to drop off some food Yoongi: Leaving it by the door. No pressure

You muster the energy to roll out of bed and crack the door open. A plastic bag sits at your feet and Yoongi is already halfway down the hallway, hands in his pockets.

“Yoongi,” you call, your voice raspier than you expect.

He turns around.

“Hey,” he says, probably surprised that you’re upright.

You open the door wider. “You can come in. If you want.”

Yoongi hesitates just for a second, checking that you’re sure. Then he nods. He picks the bag up and slips inside without a word, setting it on your kitchen counter.

He doesn’t try to hug you or touch you or ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t judge your apartment, the clothes strewn about, the closed curtains, the dishes piling up in the sink. He barely even looks.

“You eaten today?” he asks, gently.

You shake your head. “Not really hungry.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna make something anyway. Just in case.”

He moves around your kitchen like it’s his. Not because he’s overly familiar, but because he’s not afraid of your mess. He pulls out eggs, rice, a few green onions from the bag he brought.

You retreat back to your couch. You didn’t mean to lie down again, but the second you sit, your body droops until you’re horizontal. So you stay curled on your side, facing the wall. Listening.

The clink of metal. The whoosh of your gas burner catching. The soft sizzle of garlic hitting oil.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, Yoongi is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, cross-legged, a steaming bowl in his lap and another on your coffee table.

You push yourself up slowly. Your head aches, your throat’s dry, but you can’t lie. It smells good.

“You didn’t have to—” you start.

“I know,” he says, soft. “I wanted to.”

You eat in silence. The rice is soft, buttery, a little salty from the soy sauce and the eggs scrambled through it. You’re hungrier than you thought, but you pace yourself.

Halfway through, he glances over at you.

“You wanna watch something dumb?”

You nod.

Yoongi takes your bowl when you’re done, rinses both of them without comment. When he comes back, he takes a seat next to you. He scrolls through streaming apps on your TV until he lands on something you like.

The opening credits roll.

He doesn’t try to hold you. Doesn’t try to tell you it’s going to be okay. He just sits beside you, shoulders barely brushing. When your body droops again, he lets you lean into his side.

Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, he mutters, “You don’t have to be okay for me to want to be here.”

You don’t look at him. Your throat tightens like you’re going to cry. Which is something, at least, after the numbness of the week.

“This could be me next week,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Or tomorrow. So. I get it. That’s all.”

And then the movie continues. One ridiculous scene after another. The light from the screen flickers across his face.

You don’t say thank you yet, but you know you don’t have to.

✧

You still haven’t put a name to it.

Neither of you has tried. There was one moment, maybe, a few days ago. Yoongi was over for no particular reason. He’d looked at you from your kitchen floor, head propped against the cabinets, lips red from kissing, and opened his mouth like he might ask.

But then the takeout came, and the moment passed.

You text like friends. ‘Want anything from the store?’ ‘This customer just asked if we sell records on vinyl. I hate it here.’ ‘What are you doing tonight?’ ‘Absolutely nothing.’ ‘Come do nothing with me.’

You hang out like you’re in a relationship. Eat cross-legged on his bed. Steal fries from each other’s plates without asking. Sometimes fall asleep shoulder to shoulder watching terrible TV.

You make out. A lot.

Against walls. On couches. Outside each other’s doors at night when neither of you feels like saying goodnight just yet. It never quite escalates to the point it did that night—maybe once or twice it almost does, but one of you always pumps the brakes.

You don’t meet each other’s friends. You don’t ask about exes. You don’t introduce him to your sister or take photos together or exchange socials. Because that doesn’t feel like what this is.

You like the bubble you’ve built. The little world where nothing outside matters. Where it doesn’t have to matter yet.

Because outside the bubble, your life is still a mess. Rent’s overdue. Work is torture. You haven’t written anything in over a year and you haven’t figured out how to be proud of yourself again, not really.

But inside it—when Yoongi’s mouth is on yours, when he texts you ‘Made extra ramen if you’re hungry btw’ like that’s not the most romantic shit anyone’s ever said to you, you feel steady.

But, like anything else, it comes with its own set of issues.

The thing about not fucking is that it used to be about not wanting. A lack of drive. A lack of spark. A lack of time or energy or libido or options.

But now? Now, it’s something else. Because you have the option.

Now, it’s starting to feel like a crack in the glass. Like every time you grind against his thigh with your hips twitching and your breath shaky, or every time he pulls your shirt off and buries his face between your tits but doesn’t go lower, the crack gets a little deeper. And you’re both pretending not to see it.

Because the truth is: you want to fuck him.

You desperately want to fuck him.

You think about it constantly. The way his fingers curled inside you that first night, the soft, filthy way he talked to you, the way he looked down at your face when you sucked him off like he was watching a goddamn miracle unfold.

You think about how he’d feel inside you.

You ache with it.

But you don’t bring it up. Because once you do, once you have sex, it’s not a bubble anymore. It’s real, something with expectations.

And you know yourself, you know how you get. You’ll start needing more. Wanting more. And Yoongi, sweet and quiet and lost in his own way, will become another thing you don’t know how to manage. Another thing you don’t know how to keep.

You’re scared of that. Of ruining it. Of letting your body talk you into something your heart might not be strong enough to carry.

So you kiss him like you’re dying, but when his hands drift to your waistband, you laugh, too high-pitched, and pull away. Pretend you’re tired. Or hungry. Or something, anything. Any excuse not to cross that final threshold. Yoongi never pushes. He just nods, catches his breath, and helps you back into your shirt like a gentleman.

But you feel the tension growing. Between your thighs. In your chest. In the way you wake up soaked and aching after every sleepover, body clenching at nothing. In the way your kisses are starting to come with more teeth. With soft little growls in your throat you didn’t mean to let out.

Tonight, he’s at your place again. It’s late. You both know he should’ve left hours ago, and the crack is splintering even further, faster than you realize.

You’re straddling Yoongi on the couch, your knees bracketing his hips, your mouth fused to his. Your hips are rocking down, slow and aimless at first, but building. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, feel the press of him through his sweats as you drag your clothed pussy over him like your body is starving.

Yoongi groans into your kiss. His hands grip your thighs, fingertips twitching. But, like always, he doesn’t push. He just lets you move, lets you grind down on him with that ragged little gasp in your throat, lets you take what you need without crossing the line you’ve both carefully danced around for weeks.

Except tonight, something’s different. You’re different.

Because when he tilts his head and mouths at your neck, hot and slow, and mutters, “you’re gonna make me come in my fucking pants,” you snap.

Completely.

You pull back just enough to look at him, breathing hard, eyes wild. “I want to fuck you.”

He blinks. Catches up slowly, like he’s not sure if he imagined it.

“I want you to fuck me,” you amend, a little louder. Desperate.

Yoongi just stares at you for a moment, mouth parted, chest heaving. His hands tighten on your thighs.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough.

Once you say yes, it happens fast.

Yoongi’s hands are everywhere. Gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up your back to tug your shirt over your head. He peels it off and tosses it somewhere behind you, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You don’t.

Your bra’s off next, fast, and he curses the second your tits are bare, like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s been thinking about it for weeks too, and now that it’s real, he doesn’t know where to start.

So he starts with his mouth.

He palms your breasts and groans low in his throat, then leans forward and takes one into his mouth like he needs it—hot tongue flicking over your nipple, lips sucking gently before he bites, just enough to make you gasp. His fingers find the other, circling and pinching lightly.

“Fuck,” you whimper, arching into him. “Yoongi—”

You grind down on his cock again, still half-dressed from the waist down, the friction sharp and unbearable. You’re soaked. You can feel it. Your panties are useless at this point, clinging wetly to your folds, and you’re half a second away from tearing them off yourself if he doesn’t move faster.

“Condom,” you breathe. “Please. Where—?”

“Yeah—fuck—yeah, hold on.”

You scramble off his lap at the same time he stumbles off the couch, both of you half-laughing and swearing under your breath. He digs through his bag on your floor, frantic, muttering, “I swear I had one—fuck, wait—yes.”

He holds it up like a prize, and you don’t even give him the chance to rip it open before you’re tugging your shorts and panties down in one go, stepping out of them and crawling back onto the couch.

Yoongi stops cold, stares at you for a second.

Hair messy. Chest heaving. Legs spread. Eyes hungry.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tearing the foil open and shoving his sweats halfway down his thighs with shaking hands. His cock bobs free, hard and flushed and so ready, and your mouth actually waters.

He rolls the condom on with practiced ease and climbs back over you, settling between your legs like he belongs there. Like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams and is finally allowed to touch.

He presses inside you slowly, inch by inch, and the stretch knocks the breath from your lungs. You’re soaked, but it’s still so much, been too long, and you cling to his shoulders with a gasp.

Yoongi groans, forehead dropping to yours.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he rasps. “Fucking wet.”

You whimper, hips already rolling up to meet him. “Been wanting this,” you whisper. “Needing this—”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice shaking. “You gonna let me give it to you?”

“Yes, please—”

And then he starts to move. Just the brutal press of his hips to yours, every thrust deep and deliberate and filthy, like he’s trying to bury himself somewhere he won’t be able to crawl back from.

Your head tips back against the couch, eyes rolling up, mouth falling open on a gasp that barely sounds like a real word. He’s got one hand gripping the arm of the couch behind your head for leverage, the other wrapped tight around your thigh, keeping you pinned wide open beneath him as he fucks into you.

“Fuck, Yoongi—fuck—”

“You like it, baby?” he growls.

You whimper, nodding helplessly, your hands scrambling up under his hoodie to claw at his back, his sides, anywhere you can touch.

Your skin’s on fire. Your thoughts are gone. All you know is the sharp, perfect drag of his cock, the sound of your soaked cunt every time he slams into you, the guttural noises he makes when your walls flutter around him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. “Tight little pussy just gripping me—shit, baby, I can’t—”

His pace stutters for half a second, like your body is pulling the soul out of him.

You cry out when he hits deep—too deep—and he groans, pulling your legs higher around his waist to get the angle just right.

“There,” he growls when you shatter under him, thighs shaking, cunt clenching so hard he nearly loses it. “Fucking cum.”

You come like you’ve lost control of your body. Loud, legs locked, nails in his back. It hits hard and fast and doesn’t stop, rolling through you in hot, humiliating waves. Yoongi hisses, desperate now, chasing his own end, rhythm starting to break.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, even though the condom’s there, even though it’s just a filthy fantasy, and you sob at the idea of it. “Fuck, I wish—wish I could come inside you—fuck—you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me ruin you for anyone else—”

“Yes,” you gasp, not even sure you mean it, but it sounds right. Feels true.

That’s all it takes.

Yoongi groans like it’s been punched out of him, hips jerking as he comes hard, cock twitching inside you, face buried in your neck as he spills into the condom.

You both stay there, gasping against sticky skin through the aftershocks. He kisses your neck once. Then again. And again.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, dazed. “I think you just rearranged my internal organs.”

Yoongi laughs. “Cool. I was aiming for your soul.”

The couch cushions are half off the frame, your legs still trembling where they’re spread open around his waist. Yoongi pulls out slowly, careful, and your body aches from it, clenches down involuntarily, already missing the stretch.

He ties off the condom, looks around for somewhere to put it before settling on the empty takeout bag from earlier. Pulls his sweats back up.

You sit up with limbs like jelly, not bothering to put your underwear back on just yet, and run a hand through your hair. Your thighs are sticky. Your lips are swollen. You feel fucked out and raw and wrung clean.

Your body is so satisfied.

Predictably, your brain is a different story.

You glance over at Yoongi. He’s slouched against the other end of the couch, head back, eyes closed. His hair is damp at the temples, chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t quite come back to himself yet.

He looks gorgeous.

You want to kiss him.

You also want to run.

That tight, itchy feeling—the one you’ve been avoiding since you first let him touch you—comes roaring back. You just crossed the line. You fucked the one good thing in your life that wasn’t tangled in expectations. That didn’t ask anything from you.

You broke the bubble.

He opens one eye and glances over at you.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just…” You trail off. Shrug. “That was intense.”

Yoongi huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. You think?”

You stand. Your legs are still shaking.

“I’m gonna, uh… go pee,” you say, already heading toward the bathroom. “Before I die.”

He doesn’t stop you. Just nods, eyes following you for a second before he looks away.

You close the door and sit on the edge of the tub. Breathe.

You want to feel good. You do feel good. But also… you feel like maybe you’ve fucked up. Or you’re about to. Or like this is going to change something that shouldn’t be changed.

You think about what you’ll say when you go back out there.

You think about whether he’s getting dressed. Whether he’ll leave. Whether he should.

You think, I don’t want this to become another thing I have to recover from.

✧

When you finally open the bathroom door, the light feels harsher than it should, and your skin’s still warm from the shower you didn’t really want but took anyway. Just to delay, to think, to scrub away the sweat and the way his hands felt on your hips and the way your body sang for him.

You step into the living room wearing clean underwear and a fresh shirt. Your face is bare. Your hair is damp. Your expression, despite your best effort, is a little too tight.

Yoongi looks up from the couch, where he’s still sitting, this time in his sweats and hoodie again, elbows on his knees, fingers idly twisting the hem of his sleeve.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t smile, but his gaze softens. Immediately.

“Hey,” he says, quiet.

You nod, cross your arms. “Hey.”

He watches you for a second, then leans back, patting the space next to him.

You hesitate, but you lower yourself onto the couch anyway. Not quite touching, not quite distant. A safe middle.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, disbelieving. “Then why do you look like you’re trying to figure out how to ghost me while I’m still in your apartment?”

You wince, staring at your knees. “I just—I didn’t mean for this to turn into, like… a thing.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“I mean, we’re not, right? A thing?”

You look at him now, really look. Your heart’s racing. Your stomach’s twisting. You’re not sure what kind of answer you want.

Yoongi looks back at you for a long moment. Then he leans back again, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know what we are,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to make it anything.”

You swallow hard, because part of you thinks that should make you feel better. Instead, it just makes your chest ache. You were the one who let him in, even when you swore you wouldn’t. You’re not trying to make him feel like he’s the one at fault here. It’s you. It’s always you.

“But,” he adds, eyes flicking to yours again, “I like you. I care about you. And if we’re fucking now, yeah, that’s gonna mean something to me. Even if we never put a label on it.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?” you ask, voice thin. “If it means something?”

Yoongi doesn’t speak for a long while. You sink into him without meaning to, thigh to thigh, arm to arm. You don’t really know why.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, and says, “Can I tell you something?”

You nod against his shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to be at that convenience store,” he starts, voice shaky in a way that makes you sit up, just slightly. “I mean, I didn’t have a reason to be anywhere. But that night… I think I was sort of… walking around to see if I’d change my mind.”

You still. Your heart trips over itself, because that could mean a lot of things. Because you know, just by the tone of his voice, that he means the worst.

He keeps going.

“I’d been thinking about it for a while. Not in a loud way. Not even like a plan. Just… wondering. If things would be better. Easier. If I just stopped. Just disappeared.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t breathe too loud. You just listen.

“And that night, it felt close. Like maybe I was ready. Like maybe no one would notice.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “I hadn’t talked to anyone in a couple days. I didn’t even brush my teeth before I left the house. I just started walking.”

Your eyes sting. You try not to let it show.

“I stopped at the store because I thought—fuck it. One last shitty sandwich. One last can of cold coffee.” He huffs. “Really poetic, right?”

You let out a breath. “Yoongi—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad. Or because I think you saved me. You didn’t. You just… made it a little easier to stay.”

You’re crying now, because god, you didn’t know, but you know. You know how it feels to always have that in the back of your mind, to convince yourself that there would be relief in giving up. Letting go.

He turns his head toward you now, not quite meeting your eyes, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to say all this out loud.

“I still think about it. Sometimes. Not all the time. But… it comes back. When it’s quiet. When I’m alone too long. But since that night, it’s been easier knowing that someone gets it. That I don’t have to pretend I’m fine all the time.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s not a dramatic, sweeping kind of moment. There’s no soft lighting or music swelling. Just his tired eyes, and your tired heart, and the shared weight of knowing what it feels like to want to give up—and choosing, for whatever reason, not to.

“Maybe that’s all this has to be,” he says. “Not a love story. Not some perfect, clean thing. Just… two people who don’t always want to be here, making it a little easier for each other to stay.”

You can’t speak. You nod, and your eyes blur, and Yoongi presses his forehead to yours like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you for seeing me.

✧

Days later, things aren’t better—not in the way people usually mean. Your life is still a mess. His is too.

But something’s changed. Settled.

He lets himself in now. Doesn’t knock. Kicks his shoes off like he lives there, shrugs his hoodie off and drops it somewhere near the couch, grabs two cups and fills them with whatever’s in your fridge.

And you let him.

You sit next to each other, thigh to thigh, flipping through shows you won’t finish. You kiss during the commercials. You fall asleep with his hand on your waist.

You still haven’t said you’re together. You still haven’t said what you mean to each other. But when you’re quiet for too long, he looks up from his phone and asks, “Okay?”

And when he’s too quiet, you ask, “Wanna stay the night?”

And when you both lie awake in the dark, not talking, not moving, you think: I’m still here.

And so is he.

✧

It starts with scraps. Half-sentences in your notes app. A phrase here, a sentence there. Something you jotted down after Yoongi left one night, when your chest felt like it was holding more than usual and your bed still smelled like his shampoo.

Then it becomes a little routine. You open your laptop without the usual dread. You stare at the cursor blinking in a half-finished document and think: maybe I can.

It’s not for meant to be published. It’s not for anyone but you. But it’s something.

One night, Yoongi finds you sitting on the floor with your laptop on your thighs. You’re so focused, you don’t even hear him come in.

He just watches for a second, quiet.

“Writing?” he asks eventually, and you jump.

“Jesus—” You slam the laptop shut on instinct, and he raises both hands in surrender, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“You don’t have to show me,” he says, setting down the drinks he brought. “But… that’s new.”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just… stuff.”

Yoongi sinks to the floor beside you. “You haven’t written since we met.”

“I haven’t written in a long time.”

He doesn’t ask why not. He already knows.

Instead, he leans his head on your shoulder and says, “I’m glad you’re starting to again.”

He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t ask to read it. He just sits with you, there on the floor, eyes closed. Like your writing means something just by existing.

You open the laptop again.

You keep writing.

✧

Yoongi is sitting cross-legged on your bed while you type, cradling a cup of tea you made him because he clearly needed something to do with his hands.

You can tell he’s nervous. He’s got that look on his face like he’s about to say something serious but is trying not to scare the shit out of you. It isn’t working.

“So,” he says, after a long stretch of silence, “I have a friend.”

You glance up from your laptop, blinking. “Amazing.”

Yoongi huffs. “Kim Namjoon. He’s an old friend. College. We used to mess around with production stuff, back when I thought I was gonna be a genius producer with a Grammy by 25.”

You smile a little at that, set your laptop aside. “What’d he say?”

Yoongi hesitates, fingers drumming softly against the side of his mug. “He got some seed money. Not much. Just enough to rent a space, get a couple of half-decent mics, some gear. Says he wants to start a small label.”

Your stomach does a little flip. Not because you’re worried. Not yet. But because of the way he’s saying it. Like he’s trying not to want it too much.

“He wants me in on it,” Yoongi continues, staring down into his tea. “It’d be three of us, working in a basement, surviving off cup ramen. Maybe getting a local artist to sign on eventually.”

You exhale. “That sounds… really fucking cool.”

Yoongi finally looks at you. He’s smiling now, just a little, but it’s tight at the edges. “Yeah. It does.”

“And?”

He shrugs, but it’s not a real shrug. It’s that shoulder-lift people do when something matters too much. “And I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready to give a shit again. I don’t know if I’ll fuck it up. I don’t even know if I still have anything to say.”

“You do,” you say, instantly.

His jaw flexes. “Yeah, well. Maybe. He’s starting soon. Wants me to come by next week. Just to mess around with some demos, get a feel for it again.”

You nod slowly. Try not to let the ‘what if’s start swirling. What if it pulls him away? What if he leaves? What if this tiny, fragile thing you’re building—whatever it is—gets buried under a dream he's only just remembered how to want again?

But you don’t say any of that.

Instead, you say, “You should do it.”

Yoongi searches your face for a long time, hesitant, like he’s trying to catch you in a lie.

“Yeah?”

You reach over and take his mug, set it on the nightstand. You curl into his side, your face pressed to the crook of his neck.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think maybe… we’re both starting to remember how to want things again.”

You feel him breathe out. Slow. Unsteady.

But he nods.

✧

Yoongi doesn’t stop texting. He still sends you memes, voice notes, the occasional photo of his workspace—a cramped basement room with exposed pipes and cords spilling out over his desk, coffee-stained notebooks piled next to a MIDI keyboard.

But he’s not around as much.

The nights you used to spend together—half-draped over one another on the couch, kissing during reruns, sleeping side-by-side without labels—are fewer now. Sometimes he falls asleep at the studio. Sometimes he doesn’t respond until 2 a.m., when you’re already asleep.

It’s hard. You won’t lie to yourself about that. You feel the absence like a low-grade fever. Always there, dull but insistent.

And there’s still no word for what you are. No boyfriend, no girlfriend. Just… you, and Yoongi. And this thing you’ve built together, quiet and warm and undefined.

But when you do see him—when he walks through your door smelling like coffee and sweat and work—you can see it on him. The spark. The momentum. The low, buzzing joy of trying again. Of wanting something bad enough to bleed for it.

He’s tired. But he’s tired for a good reason, now.

And that makes you want to try, too.

So you keep opening your laptop. Not just to scribble down half-formed ideas, but to finish. You sit with the mess of it, the aching in your fingers, the voice in your head that says ‘why bother’—and you write anyway. You dig up old stories, rework scenes that used to make you cringe. You find your voice again, piece by shaky piece.

Sometimes, late at night, you send him snippets. Just to say, look. I’m doing it, too.

And he always responds, eventually. Usually something like:

Yoongi: Fuck yes

Yoongi: Proud of you

Yoongi: Also the studio toilet flooded again. I’m going to kill Joon

You laugh. You keep writing.

It still hurts sometimes. Missing him, wondering what all this means. But now the hurt is paired with movement. With hope.

✧

Eventually, you finish something.

It’s not perfect. Not even close. There are typos and sentences that feel like strangers to themselves, and places where the ending is still a little jagged and wrong. But it’s done.

A full manuscript. Your name at the top. Your words, your voice, your pain and hunger and stupid hope wrapped into a whopping 112 pages.

You think of Yoongi when you submit it with an application to a graduate school program. A program you’ve read and re-read the description for more times than you care to admit. You don't know if it’s good enough. If you’re good enough. But for the first time in a long time, you do it anyway.

And then you don’t tell anyone.

Maybe it’s selfish, but you want the hope for yourself. Just for a little while. You want to keep it quiet and sacred, untainted by expectations or well-meaning encouragement or the crushing weight of what if it doesn’t happen. You just want it to be yours.

You keep seeing Yoongi, of course. When he can. When he’s not tangled up in late-night meetings and studio sessions. You see each other in stolen hours, sleep-heavy kisses, lazy dinners eaten on the floor.

But lately, even those small moments feel bigger.

And then one night, you get a text.

Yoongi: You home?

You are. You say yes.

He shows up ten minutes later, breathless, hoodie damp from trying to dodge light rain, cheeks flushed with joy. Real joy. The kind that lights his whole face from the inside out.

“I had to tell someone,” he says the second you open the door. “I had to tell you.”

You let him in, confused but smiling all the same. You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “What happened?”

He doesn’t even sit. He paces back and forth, rakes a hand through his hair, practically vibrating.

“We signed someone,” he finally says. “Tentatively, but, this artist from Busan, she’s insane, she’s so weird and good and her voice is like—fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. But Namjoon loved her. We all did. And she said yes. She said yes, to us.”

You blink, stunned. “You—Yoongi, that’s—holy shit!”

He grins, wide and unguarded, and you’ve never seen him like this before and it just makes you so fucking happy. You’re up on your feet before your brain catches up.

You hug him tight, breath caught in your throat. Because he’s shaking a little, and he smells so good, and this is what he looks like when he’s proud of himself. When he’s living.

You pull back to look at him, hands on his jaw.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper.

And Yoongi’s expression shifts. Softens. Deepens. He takes a breath.

“I love you,” he says.

Like it’s not sudden. Like it’s been sitting on his tongue for weeks, waiting for the right moment to fall out.

“I just—I do. And I didn’t want to say it while things were still messy, or early, or whatever. But this is what I wanted. That night, at the convenience store. This. You. Someone who gets it. Someone who doesn’t fix me but lets me stay. And I love you.”

Fuck. There it is.

You don’t speak right away. You reach for him instead. Pull him back in. Rest your forehead against his and let yourself feel it. All of it.

And then, soft and steady, you say it back.

“I love you too.”

✧

It’s not frantic, not this time.

Not messy or rushed or born of need. It’s slow, reverent, deep. Yoongi’s hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile, something he’s terrified of breaking now that he knows what you mean to him. His thumbs stroke your cheeks. His breath catches when you tilt your head and kiss him harder but just as slow, open-mouthed and aching.

You walk him backwards toward the bed. He lets you. He goes willingly, grinning against your mouth like he can’t believe this is happening again, that you’re his, and that this time, it’s not just comfort or heat or distraction. It’s love.

He sinks onto the mattress, and you climb over him, straddling his lap, kissing him again and again, hands tangled in his hair, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

But then he pulls back. Barely. His hands settle on your thighs. His eyes are dark and shining and hungry.

“Let me eat you out.”

Your breath catches.

“I—what?”

Yoongi licks his lips. “You don’t get it,” he says, too far gone to filter it. “I’ve been wanting to. Since the night I fingered you against your fucking door, I’ve wanted to get between your thighs and just live there. I love you, and I love your pussy, and I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every single bad day you’ve ever had.”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

Then you exhale, soft and wrecked, and whisper, “Okay.”

Yoongi repositions you onto your back, gentle, lips back on yours. His hands slide down your body like he’s mapping out every inch. He tugs your shirt off, unhooks your bra, kisses down your neck, your chest, your ribs, like he has all the time in the world.

And then he pulls your shorts down. Your panties too.

He groans when he sees you. Like, actually groans.

“God, baby. Look at you.” He kisses your inner thigh, drags his nose along the crease, eyes flicking up to yours. “So fucking pretty.”

And then he licks into you.

You cry out, sharp and sudden, because it’s so much. He’s warm and wet and greedy, tongue flat against your clit, then pointed and precise, then everywhere, like he can’t choose, like he doesn’t want to.

He moans against your pussy like he’s the one being touched. Like he could cum just watching you feel good, because of him.

“Yoongi—shit—” Your hands fly to his hair, thighs trembling, already shaking, already close.

He wraps his arms under your thighs, holding you open, keeping you grounded, mouth working you over like he’s worshipping you. He sucks on your clit, gentle but firm, and you arch off the bed.

“I’m gonna come,” you warn, voice breaking. “Fuck, Yoongi—”

He groans, messy and eager, never once letting up. And then you do.

You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, hands in his hair, eyes rolled back. It’s hot and overwhelming, your body jolting and twitching, his name a broken whimper on your tongue.

He keeps going until you push him away, overstimulated and trembling.

“Jesus,” you breathe.

He grins, climbs back up your body, presses his mouth to yours without hesitation. You taste yourself on his tongue.

“You love me,” he murmurs, like it’s the best thing he’s ever been told.

You nod, dazed. “I do.”

He kisses you again.

“You’re gonna let me do that every day, right?”

You laugh, breathless. “If you keep doing it like that, yeah. I might not survive, but yeah.”

You let Yoongi kiss you for a while, slow and soft and full of so much love, but eventually, you push at his shoulder. He pulls back instantly, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Lie down,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

Yoongi blinks, lips swollen and wet. But he lets you push. “Baby—”

“You’ve been working so fucking hard,” you say, crawling into his lap, straddling his thighs. “Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good. Please.”

Whatever protest he might’ve had dies in his throat the second you reach down and palm him through his sweats. He’s hard—has been since he had your pussy on his tongue—and he groans, low and helpless, as you slide your hand beneath the waistband.

You stroke him slow, loving, watching the tension bleed out of him with every pass of your fist.

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching into your touch. “Feels good.”

You smile. Kiss his chest as he fumbles for the condom in his wallet.

When you finally sink down onto him, Yoongi lets out a groan. His hands fly to your hips, gripping hard, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in his neck when he leans his head back.

“God—” he gasps. “Fuck, baby, you—”

“I know,” you breathe, grinding your hips in slow, careful circles. “I know. Just relax. Let me do this for you.”

You ride him slow, deep, dragging his cock through your tight, wet heat over and over. Every inch of him feels like it was made for you, thick and perfect and pulsing inside you, your cunt already fluttering from how good he made you feel earlier.

Yoongi can’t keep still. His fingers squeeze your thighs, your hips, then your waist, like he can’t decide where to hold on. Like he’s barely holding on at all.

He opens his eyes to look at you and whines, higher than he probably meant to. Because you’re riding him like you love him. Because your tits are bouncing with every slow roll of your hips, and your face is flushed, and your eyes are locked on his like there’s nowhere else you want to be in the entire fucking world.

It springs him into action.

He sits up, wraps his arms around you, mouths at your tits like he’s starving. He sucks at one nipple, then the other, licking and kissing and biting softly like he can’t stop, like he needs to touch you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.

He moans into your chest. Hands moving down to your ass, guiding you up and down on his cock in that same slow, dirty rhythm, like he wants to make this last forever.

“Can’t even think,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good—too good—fuck, I love you—”

You ride him harder, faster, your hands on his shoulders. Your whole body shakes with how good it feels to be full of him, to see him like this—wrecked, undone, yours.

“I’m so close,” you whisper, hips stuttering. “Yoongi—”

“Come for me,” he begs. “Please, baby, come on my cock, wanna feel it.”

You do.

You fall apart in his arms, gasping his name, pussy clenching around him so tight it nearly rips the orgasm out of him too. You’re shaking, sweating, still grinding through it as he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name, fucking up into you just a little, just enough—

He comes with a low, broken ‘fuck,’ arms locking around your waist, cock pulsing inside the condom. He’s so loud, so needy, and god, you’ve never loved anyone like this.

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, still joined, still trembling.

And Yoongi holds you like he never wants to let go.

✧

You stay like that for a while, pressed to his chest, his arms strong around your back, the rhythm of his heartbeat still racing under your cheek. The room smells like sweat and sex. Yoongi’s hand is stroking slow lines up and down your spine.

He hasn’t said much since you both came down, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

You’re the one who breaks it.

“I did something,” you admit.

Yoongi hums, not missing a beat in the way his fingers trace over your skin. “Yeah?”

You nod against his chest, then force yourself to sit up, just enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess. His eyes are half-lidded and lazy, but sharp with attention the second he realizes you’re serious.

“I applied to grad school.”

Yoongi blinks.

“For writing?” he asks.

You nod again, heart hammering. “Yeah. An MFA. I submitted a portfolio. Finished something for the first time in forever. I would’ve told you sooner, I just—” You shrug. “I didn’t want to jinx it.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again, like he’s still processing.

And then he grins. Slow. Genuine. Gums showing and eyes shining.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, sitting up and grabbing your face in both hands.

Your eyes sting. “I don’t even know if I’ll get in. It’s probably stupid—”

“It’s not,” he cuts in, firm and quiet. “It’s not stupid. It’s huge.”

You try to look away, but he keeps your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, grounding you.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “Seriously. I’ve watched you try so hard to find something again, and you did it. Whether or not you get in doesn’t matter. You tried. That’s fucking everything.”

You bite your lip, blinking fast. Yoongi kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth.

“Thanks for telling me,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep it safe.”

And you know he will.

For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so terrifying.

✧

The email comes on a Wednesday.

You’re not expecting it. You’ve nearly forgotten the timeline, pushed it into the back of your mind like a daydream you didn’t want to get too close to. You’ve been telling yourself not to hope too much. Not to want it, even though you do. Badly.

It hits your inbox around 11:42 a.m., and you stare at the subject line for a full minute before you open it. And then—

You’re in.

You read it twice, then two more times. It still doesn’t feel real. You read the phrase We’re pleased to inform you like it’s in another language. Like it’s not something anyone was ever supposed to say to you.

Then you laugh. A startled, breathless sound that turns into something half-sobbing.

You call Yoongi.

He doesn’t pick up on the first try—he’s a busy man these days—but he calls back two minutes later.

“Hey, baby. What’s—?”

“I got in.”

There’s a long pause.

And then, softly, “what?”

You swallow hard. You’re pacing your kitchen now, barefoot and trembling. “I got in. Grad school.”

“Holy fuck.”

You laugh again, breathless. “I know.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I know! Yoongi—”

“You got in,” he says. “You fucking got in.”

He sounds like he’s smiling. Like he’s trying not to cry. You’re trying, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. “So fucking proud of you. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Come to the studio,” he says instantly. “No one’s here today except me. I’ll order food. I’ll roll a joint. I’ll kiss you a lot. Do some very dirty, celebratory things to you on the desk, if you want.”

You’re already grabbing your keys. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Meet me out back.”

When you get to the studio, he’s outside. Leaning against the back of the building, waiting. The joint is already rolled, tucked neatly behind his ear, and he’s got that look on his face—that slow, lazy grin.

“You,” he says, pushing off the wall the second he sees you. “Fucking you.”

You don’t say anything. Just drop your bag on the cracked concrete and launch yourself into his arms.

He catches you easily, wraps you up in him—hoodie and warmth and the faint smell of cigarettes and detergent and Yoongi. His arms curl tight around your waist, and he lifts you slightly off the ground as you bury your face in his neck.

“You got in,” he murmurs again. “You really—baby, you did it.”

You nod against him, laughing and sniffling all at once. “I did.”

He sets you down but doesn’t let go. Just pulls back enough to kiss you. Once. Twice. Then a third time, slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize this version of you—buzzing and breathless and so fucking proud of yourself.

When he finally pulls away, he grins and taps the joint behind his ear.

“Celebration?”

You nod. “God, yes.”

He lights it. Takes a drag, passes it to you, and you both sit on the loading dock out back, knees bumping, fingers laced, smoke around your heads. The sun’s low in the sky. It’s chilly, but you don’t feel cold. Not with his hand in yours.

And everything’s… okay. Not fixed. Not perfect. But better.

Because loving Yoongi didn’t save you, and you didn’t save him. You still have bad days. Panic attacks. Guilt. Long, unbearable silences you have to claw your way out of. He does, too. Life is still life.

But he holds your hand through it.

And when things are good—like now, like this—you feel it in your bones: you love him. You fucking love him.

You lean into his side, head on his shoulder, and you think:

I can do this. I can live this life.

Especially if he’s in it.

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hangryyell · 1 day ago

Text

Sweet Treats Sweet Prizes

Trigger warnings: Unprotected piv, creampies, choking, bush, virginOC, missionary

Word count: 7,465

(Author’s note: This started all because I started the second season! So if you haven’t watched the first episode of season 2 this is kind of a spoiler! Viewer discretion is advised! Also I’m writing this as if the problems don’t really exist cause I just want a happy family of Joel and Eillie, sue me lol. Enjoy my horny ramblings as a fat woman it just makes my mouth water thinking Joel doesn’t really have a type and treats all bodies like bodies. This is for the big men and women out there!)

It was Gail’s birthday and your scheduled appointment. You walk up the stairs to her house with a plate of cookies, and go to open the door and it opened first. Out stepped Joel Miller, the pretty texan man that arrived in Jackson five years ago, the one you’ve been crushing on for three of those five years. It was hard not to, he was rough around the edges, who wasn’t during an apocalypse like this, he was kind regardless of the rumors you’ve heard about him. The way he loved Ellie, put her first before him made sure she had everything she could to live a good life here.

“Joel, hello.” you greet him, his hazel eyes dart up to you and then the plate of cookies before going back. He grumbled a soft hello.

“You are welcome to some, I don’t think Gail will notice.” you tell him with a smile, plate held out to him. Like a scared deer he takes some cookies and gives a nod.

“Thank ya’.” he bites into one and closes his eyes at the taste. “Thank you.” he repeates, mouth full of chocolate chip cookie. You chuckle at his reaction.

“Of course, save some for Ellie if you can.” you try and remind him. Joel gave another nod and then made his way back home.

Your session with Gail went smooth, the “normal” talk about being a bigger woman, having insecurities when getting close to those you find attractive.

“You have got to step out of your comfort zone, push the envelope. You never know who out there will treat you like a normal person.” Gail explained. You chew your bottom lip at that, it’s just easier to not be intimate with anyone, keep them at bay and just stay friends.

“I-I don’t know.” you say softly, hands clasped together in your lap. Gail stares at you, long and hard getting her point across.

“You’re grown I can’t make you do anything. It could be fun though. Should try it.” she pushed a little, voice softer than before. Being burned so many times, just seen as a hole and not a person is what’s kept you from even trying to date in Jackson. Yet one set of eyes always catches yours, hazel, stern, cradled in crows feet.

“Okay, maybe. I’ll get someone a drink at the party this weekend.” you tell her, feeling your hair touch the back of your neck making you shudder.

“There we go, that sounds like a good plan. Bring some of your sweets, theres a small murmur about them throughout Jackson.” Gail said.

You shake your head, “my sweets are for those that are worthy. I’m not baking just for anyone.”

“Me, Joel, Ellie, Tommy and Maria? We’re the worthy ones?” Gail counters.

You open your mouth to say something and then close it, heat burning your cheeks. She was right, Tommy and Maria always have you bake their cakes for their birthdays, for Benjamin's birthday. And Joel...Joel you've been pumping full of sweets for as long as you can remember.

"Fine, fine, fiiine. I'll bring Danishes." you huff at her. Hands unclasping to let the heel of your hand dig into your plump thighs. "Good, good." Gail's timer went off at that exact moment. "Well, our time is done, I'll see you next week." "Enjoy your cookies and have a happy birthday." you get up off the couch and give her a half smile and leave. Still a lot to think about, even though this has been a topic you've been going over with her for weeks almost months at this point. Gail's door closes behind you and off you go back to your house. It was still early, you quickly make a list for things to get to bake for the party this weekend. "Get out of my comfort zone. They call it a comfort zone for a reason. It's comfortable." you mumble to yourself as you look around your quiet living room. You rub your face, sighing, "fine. FINE!" You grab your house keys and leave, locking the door behind you.

You just let your feet take you where you want to go without thinking about it before you chickened out. I can do it. I can do this. I've killed infected! Been taken hostage and this is the scariest thing I can think of? You think to yourself as your pushing open the door to the bar.

There wasn't many people there. Oh thank god. You spot a couple of people probably just getting home from patrol, understandable to want a strong drink. Your eyes land on someone off in the corner, you'd traced those shoulders with your eyes a thousand times, the salt and pepper hair, glasses and a newspaper. Joel. "There goes the comfort zone." you mumble to yourself as you make your way to the bar. Feeling eyes on you made your eyes stick to the floor or right ahead. You were wearing jeans, boots and a thick sweater, being around town you tended to keep the jacket for when you're out of Jackson. Even in the winter you overheated easily. Ordering yourself a drink and take a spot at one end of the bar. It was tough to try and keep your eyes to yourself when you could see him from here. Stop being a creep and go over and talk. You thought. Finishing your first drink you order a second and drink about half of it before getting one for Joel. Taking both cups, you walk over. "I-I thought you could use another drink from a pretty lady." came from your mouth as you set his down in front of him and slid into the chair on the other side of his table.

Joel looks up from the newspaper he's reading, glasses on the tip of his nose. "Pretty woman you are yes. A second drink though? I don't know." he gave you a half smile and a quick wink before taking his glasses off. Heat filled your cheeks at that wink. Oh will you calm down, it wasn't anything crazy!

"Oh come on, are you driving?" you teased as you sipped your second drink slower than before. "Did you save some for Ellie? You did take three cookies." Joel looked down into the new cup you brought him to dodge the question.

"Girl like her don't need sugar." he countered. You couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Guess I'm just gonna have to make some for just her." you threaten lightly.

Joel met your eyes this time, "oh you don't hav'ta do that. I'm sure there will be plenty for her to share."

You laugh at that response and nod. "Alright, you've pulled my arm, I'll make a batch for the both of you to share. Okay Joel? Sharing." the elder made a face at having to share and nodded nonetheless.

He mumbled, "I guess."

You stare down into your cup. Come on, just say it! Just ask! Worst he could do is say no. Just ask. You take a deep breath. "Look, yes I came to bring you a drink, cause I'm sure in some compacity you need it, or want to enjoy a quiet night. I have ulterior motives with my bringing it to you." you start. When you finally look up from your cup Joel is staring intently.

"More than okay to say no, my feelings will be hurt and that's my own probl-"

He cuts you off, "I'm old baby, get to the point before I expire." Heat warms your cheeks once more at just him calling you baby. Will you grow up! It's just a playful nickname he calls every younger woman!

"Yeah, right, right. So I want to get out of my comfort zone and be intimate with someone and you are the first, well only person that came to mind. And completely fine if you don't want to, I get it. Me being a fat girl, it's tou-"

Joel scoffs cutting you off, "that's a stupid excuse to tell ya no. I'm a grown man, bigger gal means I can just use you harder."

Every thought you had left your brain, your mouth closed as it watered at his words. You take a couple more sips from your drink, stomach rolling as what Joel said continued to replay in your head over and over.

"You alright?" Joel asked, waving a hand towards you to get your attention back.

"Y-y-yeah, yeah I'm fine..." you start and then shake your head. "No, I'm not alright, you didn't have to word it that way." your cheeks feel like you could cook an egg on them.

Joel huffed a laugh. "It's true, no need to beat around the bush. Now go ahead, get to yer point."

You lick your lips. "In short you are the first that comes to mind when the thought of sleeping with someone." you finish off your drink after that. "I would very much like to sleep with you Mr. Miller."

Hazel eyes just stare at you as he takes in your words; leans back in his chair. "Me?" was what was asked next.

"Yes you Joel."

"Me? Why me?" he questions more. He didn't sound disgusted, just really very confused.

Chewing your bottom as you literally couldn't even think of a lie what was the point? "Honestly? You're a smart, funny, attractive man, the relationship you and Ellie have." you start. "In short I have a crush on you, everyone but you knows, so yeah."

There wasn't anything left in your cup, so you resulted to putting your hands in your lap, wringing your fingers one by one. One of your legs shaking as you just waited for an answer.

"Me?" he still sounded confused. "A crush? For how long? And what do you mean everyone else knows but me?" there it is.

You look down at your lap as if you'd been scolded. "Three or so years." you trail off quietly.

Joel runs fingers through his hair and takes you in. A smile spreads across his face as he chuckles. Great now I'm being laughed at. Fuck you Gail and your fucking getting out of your comfort zone.

"I am very dense." came from Joel. "Ellie, she told me I'm dense when it comes to things like this." he chuckled again.

"I could of also said something, so it's on both ends." you try and counter.

"Yeah, but the food should have been my clue though. Breads, cakes, cookies, turnovers, left over soup, stews." he listed.

“I bake for others.” you try and counter and Joel shook his head.

“No the girl told me about you having a crush on me, I just took it as you being nice. Feeding us.” the elder explained. “I’m old baby, like maybe ten years tops. You really want a piece of me?”

“I think old age would be too peaceful for you Joel.” you tease. The texan huffed a laugh at that and nodded. “But yeah, yeah I definitely want a piece of you. It doesn’t have to be a full blown relationship, bu-“

Joel cuts you off again, “but you’d love for me to write my name inside ya huh?” he picked his cup up and drank, letting his question stew.

You shook your head. “Joel Miller. Where is all this language coming from?” the question is out of your mouth before you can even stop it. You liked it, of course you did.

The brunet laughed a little harder than before. "Just like to see you speechless, another clue that should of tipped me off." he countered.

“You can have me darlin’, we’ll just go with the flow.” cup in hand Joel finished the rest of his drink.

“Alright.” was all you said, really wanting another drink or just something to do with your hands. You look down at the table with empty cups. “Uh, could I put a rush on that delivery?” you ask. Joel gives you a smirk and nods.

“Oh you weren’t going home tonight after telling me that.” the brunet explained. Your stomach filled with liquid heat and you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together. Now noticing how wet you were. Your cheeks back to burning again.

“Good actually.” you try and get the courage up to say anything remotely as lewd as Joel. Your brain was already short circuiting from this whole interaction.

"I'll take the cups up then and we can get out of here." you stack the cups and bring them back up to the bar.

"Thank you. I'll be back this weekend for the party." you tell Seth.

"Z? Coming to a shindig at the Tipsy Bison? Very rare." Seth teased.

"Yeah, well I'm trying to be better at socializing." you shrug. "Have a good night." you turn to head back to the table you and Joel had shared and found he wasn't there anymore. You looked over to the coat rack, catching Joel pulling on his jacket.

"Are you coming for the thing this weekend?" came the question as you opened the door and followed Joel out of the Bison.

"Maybe, probably to just drop Ellie off and grab myself a plate of food." the elder shrugged about it. "Oh I forgot to ask m-"

"We can go to yours." you cut him off. "Don't want to make you have to head from the other side of town. Old bones in the cold and all." you toss in to tease him.

Joel scoffed at that, "I may be old, I ain't that damn old."

You followed Joel back to his house; you've made this trail a lot over the years. The reality of the situation actually clicking now, you start to play with your fingers as you walk into Joel's open door. He closed the door behind the two of you. "Take your shoes off, make yourself at home." came from the elder as he hung his jacket up.

"Alright." you say softly, kicking your boots off, dropping off in about an inch and a half in height. "I should mention...I," you start, chewing your bottom lip. Joel looks at you, gesturing towards the stairs of his house, large hand on the small of your back. Your skin grew hot under his palm, stomach in your throat.

"Take your time." came the soft reply as you both climbed the stairs. He leads you to his room, the bed unmade, a thick book about space on one of his bedside tables. The way his hand traveled along your spine made you shudder, goosebumps rose under your shirt.

"I’ma virgin." you spit out, coasting further into his room. Unfortunately putting more distance between you.

Joel watched you leave his side and walk away from him. A soft chuckle came from him. "How old are you darlin'?" he questioned, hands settling on his hips to look at you.

"I'm thirty five this fall." you reply, chewing your bottom lip. "I've read enough books to know what I'm kind of doing, I mean there's enough DVDs at the library if I'm being honest. I’m also real good at direction..." you ramble. You didn't notice Joel moved closer, reaching to take your hands that you had been playing with the whole time as you spoke.

"You're alright Zuri. We’ll take it slow, at any point you need me to stop I’ll stop.” Joel explains softly. “And if yer into me not stopping when you say, well, we can get into that next time.” the elder chuckled.

Your brain short circuited from that last sentence, heat filling your stomach again just thinking about that. “Next time?” you say.

Joel looked at you, still smiling. “Darlin’ I’m simple. You have kept me fed and showered with treats. I’ve been smitten too.” came his reply. “You think one time gonna be enough?”

You open your mouth and then close it, shaking your head in agreement. "No, no I don't think one time would be enough." came the quiet reply.

"We can go slow, sum kissin', touching where you're comfortable. You tell me when it's okay to continue." Joel outlined, still letting his thumbs run along the back of your hands. He was warm, the heat coming off him made it feel that all the ice you've kept up was slowly thawing.

"Now 'fore you try and tell me how I should be feelin' about this, I wanna kiss you." the elder gently teased, pulling you closer. His large hands settled on your hips and moved nowhere else.

"When I tell you I've been thinking about that for so long." you laugh, leaning forward to press your lips to his, hands cupping the sides of his face. The feel of his facial hair against your palm helped to know this was actually real. You open your mouth to him, Joel wastes no time in claiming you, tongues dancing, teeth sinking into your bottom lip when you try to pull away for air. God, he tastes just how I thought. Coffee, whiskey, and my cookies. You think to yourself as the kiss turns desperate the longer it continues, soft hums and groans coming from the elder had your stomach churning.

One of your hands move up into his hair, gently gripping at the nape of his neck. You pull away for air fully this time, your bottom lip swollen, your heart hammering, your underwear absolutely soaked. "This okay?" came the question from Joel as one of his hands on your hips moves, sliding up along your side to rest on your back. It almost made you want to pull away, having someone close to your rolls always made you uncomfortable. It being Joel, him asking just made you melt a little. You nod and press yourself closer to him.

"Good. How about this?" his other hand is moving before he finishes and that warm hand cups one of your plump cheeks, squeezing and helping you fit closer to him. It sends a shiver through you straight to your cunt.

"Y-yeah, that's fine." you tell him in a soft voice. Joel leans forward to kiss you again, a soft hum coming from him as he explores your mouth once more. The elder pulls from the kiss this time, lips make a trail along your cheek, jaw and down to your throat. The scratch of his facial hair made you squirm with a soft giggle; it tickled and also lit a fire.

You stare behind Joel as he's nuzzling into your skin, the scraping of his beard just continued to send a thrill through you. His teeth lightly nipping the skin, sometimes sucking a mark into you. Your neck was your weak spot and gods did Joel hit every mark. "F-fuck." you pant quietly against his shoulder, tugging his hair.

After switching to the other side of your neck he marked that one. A muffled moan escaping your mouth as you pressed into his shoulder to keep quiet. "I wanna hear everythin' you gots to say." Joel rasped in your ear, breath ghosting along your neck. When the brunet finally pulled from your neck you could still feel his teeth and tongue.

You lick your lips and just stare at his mouth. "You okay to keep going?" came the question.

"Yes please." you hum, nodding your head along with your answer. "I'm so fucking wet." your eyes dart up to his this time.

Joel's chuckling next, "good to hear."

You let your hands smooth along his shoulders and down his chest before they're settled at your sides again. "How do you want me cowboy?" you ask with a little smile, now the nerves kicking back in. Joel reached for you, gently tugging the hem of your sweater. "Yeah, that would be helpful." you agree, pulling the sweater up over your head and letting it pile on the floor. The shirt you had on was a crop top, your nipples were hard pressing through the fabric. Your stomach rolled over the top of the jeans you were wearing, stretch marks on display. The want to try and cover up; now that the pullover was gone was so damn strong.

Joel gave you a little smile, reaching to take his own shirt off it met the same fate as your first layer. He had a couple more layers than you did, he had you help him with some of them. The final one you bit the bullet, running your hands up under the fabric feeling hot skin dusted with hair; you were sure salt and pepper just like the hair on his head. You pushed the garment off and found the answer to your question.

The palms of your hands smoothed over his chest and arms, you could feel the muscle, you'd seen this man take on a couple of infected alone; regardless of the old age he complains so much about. Joel's hands went to your hips again, pulling you closer, letting his hands wander along your back, your ass, tease under your crop top. The callous feel of his hands on you had goosebumps rising on any ounce of skin that was exposed to the air.

"Let's get rid of these." came from Joel, reaching to remove his jeans. You watched and then did the same, undoing the button and pushing the zipper down. Your jeans hugged every inch of you, pushing them down to your ankles and stepping out of them. Under you wore a pair of boyshorts, they also hugged you in all the right places. You squeezed your thighs together, thoughts of how many different ways this could go. Cheeks heating as embarrassment also flooded your brain. You chewed your bottom lip as you took a deep breath and just pulled the crop top up and over.

Joel looked you over and gave you a smile. "My, can't wait to see what you taste like." he drawled. You blushed at that, the way his words felt like hands along your body. The elder took your hand and led you on over to his bed. You turned the tables on him and pushed him onto the bed. Joel smirked up at you, he was hard and already staining his boxers. You squat in front of him between his legs, hands gliding along his legs, up his thighs. You catch how his muscles tense as you touch him.

Seeing him standing at attention like that had your mouth watering. This wouldn’t be your first time doing this, you were pretty good you’d say so yourself. You wrap a hand around Joel, he jumped in your hand, he was thick and hot and throbbing. Leaning down to let your tongue lick him through his boxers, right where he’s made a mess of himself. He’s musky, almost earthy to you in his taste. A soft groan comes from him, his hands fisting the sheets on his bed to keep them to himself.

Joel shuddered, “Should take these off baby.” You look up at him, those pretty hazel eyes dark with want, his lips swollen from all the kissing you did. Letting his length go you take off his boxers and see him spring to action.

“Oh.” You gasp softly, seeing him now he’s big. You reach to take hold of him again, he jumps once more. He’s smooth in your hand, you can touch your fingers around, tip of your middle finger to the underside of the tip of your thumb. You lean forward, nipples catching the dusting of hair along his thighs it rose goosebumps on your skin. Joel reached forward to take one of them in his hands, rolling your nipple between his index finger and thumb. You hum at the feel of those callous fingers abusing the nub. Licking your lips you lick up the elder’s shaft, loving the feel of him, you suck and lick until you can get the tip into your mouth. Swirling the muscle around him, feeling him gush in your mouth. You close your eyes and enjoy this, taking more of him, the weight of him on your tongue is everything to you.

A groan from the brunet above you. “Fuck baby.” Joel watched intently, your free hand coming to cup his balls as you took more of him into your mouth. His free hand came around to help keep your hair out of the way. You started to finally bob your head, tongue teasing the underside of his shaft. You kept your eyes on him as you took more of him into your mouth, gagging and coughing, slurping and moaning. He spread his legs wider and you got closer, closing your eyes now to savor this. Moaning around him had the elder cursing under his breath.

“You keep up like that and I ain’t gonna last long to be inside ya.” came from Joel, he was breathing hard, his cheeks were red. You finally pull off, licking your lips and seeing how sloppy and wet he was now. You were soaking wet, if you didn’t have your underwear on your juices would be making a mess of your thighs by now.

Joel patted the bed. “Come on up, it’s your turn to be tasted.” your stomach rolled at that, chewing your bottom lip you get to your feet. The elder hums softly looking you over again, he leans forward to kiss along your stomach, large hands fondle your thighs and sides. Then he’s taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You card fingers through his hair, earning a moan from him, he sucked harder and added some pressure with his teeth.

“O-oh fuck.” you pant, leaning into him. His hands coming up to cup your ass and press you closer. He switches nipples and abuses the other one, lightly raking your nails along his scalp has him working harder and biting hard on this nub. “J-just like that.” you whimper. Those calloused hands continue to touch and grope your thighs like he wanted you to sit on him. Just from the way he was holding you could feel his strength, that he could possibly be able to take your weight. Joel pulled from your breast and started to kiss along the valley between them, hands coming up to cup your breasts and tease both nubs at the same time now.

“J-Joel please.” you whine, squeezing your thighs together. You felt so damn empty and so fucking wet. He looks up at you and nods, pulling away and letting you get on the bed. He had you lay with your head on his pillows, large hands roamed along your calfs, lips kiss and nip skin as they go higher along your limbs. You can’t help but squirm, it still felt weird to have someone touching you like this. Joel spread your legs slowly when he needed room, callous finger tips brushed your inner thighs, lips kissed your fupa.

“It’s alright.” came the soft words from Joel. “I’ll talk you through this part. I’m gonna be a tease and play with you through your underwear.” He spread your legs wider, not being able to help himself from pressing his face into one of your inner thighs, kissing, gently biting. All of it went straight to your cunt, your hands stood at your sides, grabbing the sheets under you to have something to do with your hands.

You stutter, “D-do you want me to do anything?”

Joel shook his head. “Nope, just sit back and enjoy, if ya want me ta stop I will.” you nod your head and just look down and watch him. Your stomach rolled with nerves. It’s okay, we’ve gotten this far, he hasn’t done or said anything to make you uncomfortable, we got this. You thought to yourself as you watched. Joel switches thighs and does the same thing, you want to squeeze your thighs together so bad. Just seeing his board shoulders between your legs has you throbbing like never before.

“Alright, I’m gonna start usin’ my hands and mouth okay?” the brunet looked up at you, arms curling the underside of your thighs to hold you open for him. His fingers dug into the tops of your thighs, another show of strength you felt if you tried to move you wouldn’t be able to. That made your cunt throb, god you never thought you’d be into something like that.

You whine, squirming in his hold. “Joel please.” those hazel eyes crinkled, cradled by more crows feet as he chuckled softly. He bent and lightly licked you through your underwear, the feel of that heat had you gasping softly. Your legs tried to close around him, his hold held fast and that just made you squirm even more.

"Fuckin' soakin'. This all for me?" he questioned. You watched his eyes dart down to see the mess you were making in your underwear. This man was going to be the death of you, you knew it. You let go of the sheets you had been gripping since you got into this position. Joel continued to tease you with his tongue, his nose brushing your clit through the fabric. The feel of electricity that went through you, you could see his eyes look up at you when he heard an intake of breath. He did it again, this time pointing his tongue to abuse that bundle of nerves. The way your legs threatened to close very time, the curses falling from your mouth, one of your hands reaching to grab one of Joel's wrists. The other hand taking hold of the sheets once more. Your legs shook in his grip, wanting so bad to close around his head. He stroked your folds through the damp fabric, not letting up no matter how much you tried to move away from him he followed.

"Where you goin'?" he started, "Show's 'bout to start." his voice ran over your body in a wave then went straight to your core. Joel pulled away, letting your legs go. "Keep those open." the elder ordered, just as you were about to try and hide. He stood on his knees before you. He helped you pull your underwear down and tossed them to the floor like the rest of your clothes.

Joel got back into position, this time lifting one of your legs to go over his shoulder. Your instinct was to try and pull away cause of course your leg was definitely too heavy for him. "Ah, no. I'm a big boy, I can take it." he told you. What the fuck? Can he read my mind?

The elder chuckled, "Your face kinda gets this look like you're scared." He kissed along your stomach, hands soothing over skin on your thighs, your hips and stomach as well. It made you shiver at the feel of those rough hands touching you. He settled back between your legs, the leg not over his shoulder is kind of pushed to the side to open you up a little. You chew your bottom lip, the last time you got this far you having not shaved was an issue. Nothing from Joel yet, you were waiting for it.

"Yer fine princess, trust me. Ain’t no bush hurt anyone."

You finally let your bottom lip go, eyes darting down to the man between your legs. Joel didn't wait for an answer, he spread your folds open and you felt the first swipe of the flat of his tongue. The contrast between your pubic hair and his facial hair had your stomach doing summer salts. He didn't stop, tongue swirling around that bundle of nerves this time before he puckered his lips and sucked.

"O-oh!" came the quiet gasp from you. You watched as Joel didn't come up for air, the feel of his nose taking up the mantel for his tongue. "F-fuck." you curse, hips trying to press into his face more. Joel took that sign to press himself closer, hands slipping between your ass and bed cupping your cheeks to hold you there so there was no space between the two of you. The hand that had been gripping the sheets came around and ran through his hair, a groan came from him. You watched as he rutted into the bed as he continued to please you.

Your stomach tightened, mouth falling open as his tongue started to dart into and swirl around where you wanted him the most right now. Fingers tightening your grip in his hair had him doubling his efforts now, the sounds of him groaning and slurping whatever juices he brought to the surface. Your legs shook as he continued to devour you slowly, he took his time. Toes curling, arching into his mouth, soft moans and curses falling from your lips. That first orgasm hit you slow and hard.

"Fuuck Joel!" you sobbed, he held you as you shook apart right in front of him. Legs finally able to close around him, rutting against his face. Nails sank into his shoulder, marking him. You either wanted him closer for more, or to push him away from too much. You just wanted him inside you now for the love of God. The elder finally came up for air, beard covered in your juices, panting and licking his lips.

"That was appetizers baby. You're gettin' the main course soon. It makes it a little easier, won't hurt too much." he explained. Joel wiped his face and got to his knees once more, he took you in. He bent and kissed up your stomach and along your breasts before meeting your lips. You kissed him back lazily, your body felt like jello, small after shocks went through. When Joel pulled away from the kiss you stared up at him, catching your breath.

“Mr. Miller I need you inside right fucking now.”

The elder chuckled, “Alright, alright. It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care, I want to be filled.” you demand.

Joel gives you a smile at that, “Yes ma’am.”

The elder moves towards you, one of your legs pressed against him, he kisses your ankle. Joel takes your other leg and looks at you. “I need you to hold this one for me baby.”

“Okay,” came your answer as you wrapped your arm around your leg and brought it towards your chest.

Joel praised you, “Jus like that, very good.”

“Fuck look at you. Making a mess of my sheets.” he licks his lips as he just stares. He takes cock in hand and gently slides himself through your folds. A groan came from him at how wet and hot you feel. You moan as the tip of him brushes your clit, nails sinking into the underside of the thigh you were holding.

“P-please, please Joel.” you whine, staring up into his face pleading. “Fuck me, write your name inside me like you said.” you bite your bottom lip as your cunt throbs empty and neglected.

The brunet meets your gaze, nodding as he gently slaps your folds with his length a couple of times. The sound of how wet and ready you were had you squirming under him again. He hits your clit and your eyes are darting back down between you. You wanted to watch him disappear inside you.

“Please, want you so bad. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me please.” you beg. Your free hand slides between you and you take hold of his cock, pushing his hand out of the way. You rub him against you some more before the tip of his dick was catching on your hole.

“Right here please Joel?” you ask eyes meeting his face again. The elder groans at the feel of you and nods.

“Alright baby, I gotta go slow though. Going in all at once is gonna hurt.” his voice is husky, you can feel him throbbing in your hand. The leg pressed against him he pushes it back towards you by the back of your knee. He does this with the other, you feel him probing your entrance.

You didn’t hear a damn thing that man said all you were focused on was your core. He took the leg you were holding and did the same. You reached with your free hand now and spread your slick folds for him. “Right here, want you so deep I can taste you please.” you desperately ramble.

Joel groans as he watches you spread yourself for him. “Fuck baby. Want me so bad.” he groaned. He slowly started to feed you inch by inch. Your mouth fell open at the stretch, it was uncomfortable yeah, but after what felt like hours being empty it was perfect,

“Yesss.” you hiss, nodding. “D-don’t stop I want it all.” You reach for his hips to pull him closer, feeling more of him sink into you. The sharp pain was nothing compared to any other pain you've gotten, shot, stabbed, this added to the pleasure of being filled.

“Jesus christ Zuri.” he groans as he finally bottoms out and his hips are pressed to you. You moan as your filled completely, your hands run along his sides and up his chest. You couldn’t breathe it was so much and still felt like not enough. Joel pulled out a little then thrust back in. A moan falls from your lips. He does it again then again.

“Shit princess pussy grippin’ me so tight.” he pants watching himself disappear inside you. The sound of how soaked this man had you was music to your ears; you bit your bottom lip to keep quiet eyes fluttering close as you just enjoy the feel of him.

“Ah, I wanna hear you.” his hips stop moving and you whine. Your eyes open and you meet that heated gaze. “I don’t want you quiet.”

“O-okay, okay. I won’t be quiet please.” your eyes are locked on where you two were connected. Joel turned his head and kissed your calf as he started up another slow pace. You nodded watching him slide in and out of you. More curses and moans fell from your lips, soft breaths of his name. Just like before with his mouth he was taking his sweet ass time. Your hands roamed along his stomach and chest, nails gently raking his sides. The elder hissed at that, pressing his hips into you, trying to get himself as deep as possible. You nod, licking your lips as you stare up at him. Joel moans as he slides out, letting one of your legs go to settle on the bed. Your eyes dart back down between you and shake your head, reaching for his hips.

"No, where you goin'?" you question huskily, eyes meeting his again. The elder takes hold of his cock and slaps your folds again. A whimper leaves you, one of your hands reaching down to circle your clit with your index and middle finger as he teased you.

"Baby girl 'M 'bout damn near close to cummin'," he explained. Large hands glided along your body as he continued to rut against you. The slick slide of him between your folds drove you absolutely crazy.

You shake your head. "What happened to using me harder?' you asked. His hazel eyes met yours when you asked that.

"Fuck me into the bed Mr. Miller, wanna feel you long after you're done with me." you express. Something in his eyes told you he took that challenge. You reached for his arms and pulled him closer to wrap your arms around his neck; lips trailed a line along his throat, you kissed the skin there.

"Gonna be the death of me sweetheart." he panted against your shoulder. He pulled away just enough to kiss you, exploring your mouth once more. You reach between the two of you and line his cock up with your pussy. Joel slides back in and groans into your mouth. He pulled for air and to watch again as he sank into you over and over.

You sob, "Yes, harder. Fuck me harder Joel."

The brunet’s pace was slow deliberate, he slipped one of his arms under one of your legs to open you up a little more. The sound of your juices making both of you a mess, the feel of his balls teasing your puckered hole with every thrust. You moaned as he filled you again and again, hands settling on his biceps to hold on, to have something to do with your hands.

“H-harder please,” you whine staring up into his face. Joel nodded and started to ramp up his thrusts, soon he was pounding you into his bed. “Y-yes, yes, yes, yes.” you chant, nails sinking into his skin, your head nodding along. The leg that wasn’t being manipulated by Joel you wrapped around him wanting him closer if that were possible. The sound of Joel groaning into your breasts, the squelching from your weeping cunt as he pummeled your insides with his cock.

“Don’t stop, please so close, so close Joel.” you pant. You babbled to him, moaning loudly as he bit into one of your breasts. The elder sat up a little, hips never wavering. Hazel eyes taking in the mess between you two.

“Fuck baby, pussy makin’ a mess of me.” he licked his lips.

“I’ma try sum sweetheart let me know if you want me to stop.” came from Joel, he was panting. You nod starting up at him just whispering don’t stop. One of his hands came up and wrapped around your throat, he groaned as your cunt squeezed him at that. Your heart hammered in your chest at the feel of his large warm hand holding you by the neck.

“T-tighter,” you whimper, hand coming to grab his wrist. “Please.”

Joel tightens his hold. Your stomach rolls with want, you were so close. You close your eyes with your blood flow being hindered and him drilling into you. Finally that cord snapped and you came with a shout, nails digging into Joel’s wrist and bicep. He lets go of your leg and throat, you continue to babble his name. The elder cursed and kept going now chasing his own high.

“D-don’t you dare pull out.” you rasp looking up at him. His resolve was crumbling in front of you, he bent and kissed you quiet as his hips stilled and he filled you with a groan. Your legs tightened around him holding the texan to you, your arms going around his neck. When he pulled from the kiss he was panting, catching his breath.

“Holy shit.” came from the brunet as he laid on top, his full weight sinking into you.

“Holy shit is right,” you slur eyes still closed as your heart beat returns to normal. Hands roamed along his shoulders and back as you two laid there in the aftermath.

“I am so sorry for your sheets.” you apologize.

“Shut up.” Joel huffed a laugh. “Means you enjoyed yaself I’m not complaining.”

It was quiet for a little the room cooled, sweat dried on the both of you. Joel had closed his eyes and listened to your heart beat.

“Joel?! JOEL IS EVERYTHING OKAY?!” came from across the room. The elder jumped a little hearing his name being called. He wiped his face and sat up.

“No, don’t get up yet.” you whine, letting your hands drop to your stomach, legs falling open as he pulled out with a hiss. He went to the dresser where you can see a walkie talkie on it.

“Ellie, everything is fine.”

“I heard screaming, you sure everything’s fine?” came her reply. Your cheeks warmed from embarrassment at her words. You were so loud! Ellie fucking heard from the garage.

“Everything is fine. Just have a lady friend over.” Joel explained, shaking his head.

It was silent for a couple of seconds. “Oh…I’ll play a record then bye!”

Joel chuckled and turned the walkie off, stretching bones popping and a groan coming from the elder. You couldn’t move even if you tried to. Your legs felt like jello, your brain was still mush after that.

“You alright darlin’?” drawled the texan.

“Just a couple minutes,” you slur, turning onto your side cuddling into the pillow you were laying on. Joel watched as you got comfy a chuckle leaving him as he walked over.

“Take all the time ya need sweet.” he said letting his hand run along your thigh and pat your cheek. “Showers all yours when you need it.”

You yawn, “Thank you.” You nuzzle into his bed and end up falling asleep.

@munsonmondays @sincity60 @neverneedyeverlovelyjul @honey-flustered @perfectlytenacioushologram @staley83 @xo-maddie-xo @saucyplague7432

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