#this sucks and its mushy and stupid but its all the truth

[rinhaler]

DEATH IS NO MORE !

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: ty penny for beta reading again! picturing sukuna like this art by @innaillus bc i have had nothing else on my mind for days. Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, violence, blood ♡, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy spanks, dacryphilia, finger sucking, vaginal sex, choking ♡, creampie, squirting ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby). Words: 10k

As your heels snap against the pavement, you can almost feel the pulsing bass from the music surge from your toes and throughout your entire nervous system. The music is loud enough to hear, even from a distance, and it only gets louder as you step closer and closer to the abandoned warehouse.

You shouldn’t be here.

The voice is yours, internally. Though it feels like an out of body experienced as you venture head first towards a destination you have no business being anywhere near. The music muddies your thoughts. It’s confusing you, deeply.

Is there a dress code?

That doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t be here.

The bass is hypnotic. That pounding bass that makes you feel weak and ethereal all in one dizzying bout. It’s like you’re going to a rave, though you’re not even close to being dressed the part. You’ve been at work all day. The last thing you should be doing is trespassing into a building that has been off limits for five years.

You just couldn’t resist, this.

Not with the rumours flying around and the hushed whispers of secrecy luring you in to investigate for yourself.

With the double doors in sight, you finally see that the entrance is being manned. Is it security or just a ticket holder? You aren’t sure you want to find out. They might take one look at you and shoo you away. There’s no way you can leave until you get what you came for.

You slip out of sight as you see another pair of men get out of a car parked near the entrance and approach. Your breathing is egregious, though you try to calm it. The adrenaline swirling through your every vein and muscle is enough to make you pass out. But the agonising desire to enter and see the truth for yourself is holding you steady.

$100 for a ticket.

“Christ.” you whisper to yourself.

You put your hand in your pocket and fish out your purse. As you open it and begin to look, you halt. The way your hands are trembling is abnormal, even for being this worked up. The pumping of your heart transfers to your brain. The pink, mushy organ pounds dramatically against the inside of your skull, and really, you think melodic beat of the music inside must be slithering its way into the creases of your braincells.

There’s a pain behind your eyes. You feel a migraine coming on and you’re all too familiar with the agonising feeling as you often leave your work days suffering from them.

You deepen your breaths in a bid to steel yourself. And eventually, you find the money to pay the fee. So you wait, patiently, for the other two men to enter the warehouse before you reveal yourself from the shadows. There’s an air of confidence to you as you approach the entrance.

Though it fades, slightly, as the man holds his hand up like a crossing guard.

“Women don’t come around here,” he starts, checking a clipboard that looks too small in his comically large hands. He flips through the pages and then looks at you again. “You’re not on the list.”

“I have the fucking money.” you tell him, slapping it on top of his stupid clipboard hard enough for him to almost drop it. He tries to stop you as you attempt to barge by him, though it isn’t a strict action.

More like a warning.

“It’s not a sight a lady should see, I think.” he tells you, still putting your hard earned money into a tin of other generous donations, you expect. His eyes focus on your own as he continues to speak. “You’re rich. Expensive clothes… shouldn’t have worn those here. Gets messy. Be careful.” he tells you. And with that, you enter the warehouse and heed his warning.

You walk slowly, but with purpose. A chill stabs down your spine as you approach a flight of stairs a group of men are running down. They wolf whistle upon seeing you and it curdles in your stomach. You try to keep your head held high as you climb and follow the sound of that intoxicating bass. Wherever the music is coming from is surely the source of the action, too.

The time of day is indicative of the lighting. It’s pitch black outside and it it’s even darker, still, in the warehouse. Though the moonlight manages to break in through the shattered windows enough to illuminate your path.

There’s a smell that you’re beginning to notice that invades your senses. A potent stench that is so specifically masculine and territorial. It’s sweat. Blood, too.

Once you get to the top of the stairs, there are double doors with a red light bleeding through the cracks. The music is louder, too, as well as the vociferous shouting being contained solely by the big, heavy duty doors.

And now, truly, you worry things have gone too far. The doors part and you slink into the shadows, still approaching without hesitation. You’re scared. God, terrified, really. But the adrenaline keeps you from retreating. There’s one goal you have in mind, and once complete, you can return back to your peaceful, suburban life.

A man holds the door as he waits for a friend to leave with him. You watch them walk away together, bragging about their earnings before you slip inside inconspicuously.

The red light contrasts from the rest of the building. And you think your retinas might explode from the change, you don’t let it divert your attention, though. But it’s hard to deny how distracted you are.

As the atmosphere has changed you begin to feel heady from the scent of sweat and testosterone. You do your best to continue undetected as you try to keep to the edges of the crowd. But a few eyes find you. Nudging and laughing when they see a woman, God forbid, enter their sacred male space. You notice there’s no malice mostly. It’s more leering and ogling despite doing all you can to not give them any attention or feed into their sex drive.

But you scream.

Scream could even be an understatement as you feel a tight squeeze on your upper arm flesh yank you away from the crowd and into the background of the room. Your adrenaline seems to die the instant one red eye matching the ambient lighting filling the room like a brothel in a red light district stare into yours.

Half of his face is covered by some sort of black mask.

Protecting his battle wounds, you assume.

There are a few laughs and stares before they’re pulled back to the main attraction. There’s a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you, but you can barely dwell on it as you look up at the man who had dragged you away so carelessly.

He’s easily the tallest man you’ve ever met. At least 6’5 and towering above you like you’re a puny child as you try and stand confidently beneath him. But the little gasp you emit when he bends down to whisper in your ear gives you away, instantly. He smirks, knowing just how scared you are. He knows just how worried you are and how out of your depth you are.

“And just what is a fragile little thing like you doing in my club?” he asks, a tantalising lilt in his words that would have your knees folding like outdoor furniture if you didn’t have one reason and one reason alone for being here. He pulls away from your ear, an intimidating glare staring back at you as he waits for an answer. “You don’t look like you can fight. Not that I’d allow it, anyway.” he tells you.

“I’m looking for someone.” you blurt out, unsure if you should have said that or kept it to yourself. It’s too late, now, and you see a sadistic smile transform his ravenous expression into one of sheer entertainment.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend you’re worried about fighting here.” he laughs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his eyes move from your face to your breasts. They’re covered, entirely. The decision to wear a turtleneck for work has come back to bite you as the sweltering heat feels enough to knock you unconscious.

It’s suffocating.

He isn’t really looking at your tits, however. His eyes instead seem to hone in on the silver necklace you’re wearing. And you can see how his eyes squint as he tries to think of anyone fighting here who’s initial begins with M before letting his dirty mind race at the thought of the letter slipping between your cleavage had you opted to wear something a little more revealing.

“You look like a cop, sweetheart. Not a good place for you to be all by yourself.” he informs you. A cop? You hadn’t even thought about how you’d stand out in that way. “I don’t need the fuzz poking around here, what do you want?” he asks, his voice a little more pointed and venomous as he raises your necklace with a single finger to toy with it.

If you weren’t so frozen in fear, you would have backed away and hid your necklace down your sweater. But you were scared, statuesque. The only movement you were able to perform was moving your lips.

A pretty trait for you to possess, he thinks.

“My brother is here, I think.” you tell him, calmly, hoping your honesty will earn you some favour in his eyes. His eyebrow quirks as he thinks about you possessing a family resemblance to anyone here. “He’s underage.”

He smiles at that. The pieces suddenly all fall into place as he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And he parts space between you both, grabbing the collar of your white, wool coat and pulling you along with him. The two of you get through the crowd with ease until you’re standing at the front.

A shriek leaves you as the losing opponent hurtles towards you, though your self-appointed escort gets in his way before your clothes can become ruined by the blood that has now smeared on your saviour’s skin. You’re sure he’s thankful that he wore a black vest so that you can’t really see the stains on it. Realistically, he probably doesn’t care, you think.

He wouldn’t be running a fight club if he cared about something as tedious as stains.

As he moves out of the way to reveal the victor, your own blood begins to simmer and spill from you. Megumi raises his arms triumphantly, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground next to the wounded man he’s evidently just beaten to a bloody, unconscious puddle. And you could tear his head off with your bare teeth with the rage that you feel.

But you can’t.

Not when the man who led you here steps into the makeshift ring of people surrounding them and hands him his earnings. And your brother smiles, gratefully, as he accepts and counts it.

“There’s someone here to see you, kid.” he tells him, tilting his head in your direction. Your foot taps against the dirty warehouse floor as you wait for him to notice you. And boy does he notice you. “Oh, are you that scared of her?” he laughs, noticing all of the colour draining from Megumi’s face as he processes the fact that you’re here. That you’re really here.

“The fuck are you doing here?!” he asks, running up to you and attempting to conceal the money as best he can. But it’s too late, you snatch it from his hand and look at him with contempt.

“Me? What are you doing here?! You’re seventeen! You’re not Tyler fucking Durden, Megumi.” you slap him upside the head and drag him away from the crowd. “I’m furious, I don’t even know where to start with you.” you tell him as you approach the heavy doors that are keeping this disgusting little community trapped in the sweaty, blood soaked room.

“Get off.” he shakes himself loose. “I left my stuff in Sukuna’s office.” he announces, leaving before you give him permission. You huff, following him up the steel stairs as you continue your onslaught of verbal abuse and anger at his sheer stupidity.

He should see a doctor, really. But you worry he’ll get in trouble if the police get involved. And he might end off worse, still, if he rats out this place and gets everyone else in trouble. It’s too much, you know you’ll have to cover for him.

You could cry, now. But you aren’t sure if it’s anger or genuine upset. And honestly, you don’t want him to see you cry over this. Weakness is not something you need him to see right now, you want to keep it together. You’re his guardian and you can’t be soft with him just because he’s your brother.

He picks up his gym bag from a locker in the room. Your eyes are laser focused on him, all of the trust you felt towards him is long gone. And now, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to take your eyes off him again.

“Megumi… how did you even get involved with this?” you ask him, earning nothing more than an infuriated grunt as if you have no right asking. How dare you care about him and his wellbeing when you’re all each other have? You want to scream, to fucking scream at him for being such an idiot. “I thought you were getting bullied at school. I asked you if—”

“Drop it. Can we just go?” he asks.

“Tsk.” you kiss your teeth. Your gaze suddenly stolen as the man you can only presume is Sukuna walks into the office like he owns the place. He does. You close the distance between yourself and Megumi as his sadistic boss sits on a comfy looking chair behind an old battered desk. “Give me your phone. Go wait in the car. Do not go anywhere.” you warn him as you hand him the car keys.

He sighs, placing his phone in your hand before turning to leave. You don’t look at him, though, too focused on Sukuna to even pay him any mind.

Your blood continues to boil, bubbling under the surface of your skin as you look at Sukuna. A smarmy smirk plastered on his face as he kicks his feet up onto the desk. So, Megumi leaves. He knows better than to push you when you’re this pissed.

“Before you start, princess,” Sukuna stands back up and circles around the desk. Your eyes vibrate with fury as you watch him, backing up as he gets too close. “I didn’t force him to do this.”

“Don’t call me princess.” you tell him, shutting down the cutesy pet name in an instant the minute you get an opening to speak. You rest you hand on your hip as you point at him furiously. It’s rude, you know it’s rude, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not after seeing your little brother like that. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want him involved in this stuff, I’m trying to be a good role model and you’re fucking everything up. He’s not coming back, ban him.”

“Fuck no.” he chortles. “He might be a kid but he’s good. I pay well. ‘n I like him, I do. He’s a moody little brat but he makes me laugh and earns me a shit ton. I’m not banning him for you. Or anyone.”

“Maybe I should call the police, see what they have to say about all of this.” you threaten, immediately regretting it, when the smile drops from his face and is replaced with something akin to bemusement. He hadn’t expected you to threaten him. But the incredulous stare is soon replaced by another smile.

“You wouldn’t risk getting Megumi in trouble… nice try though.” he speaks, leaning back against his desk and crossing one ankle over the other as he folds his arms. He’s thinking. Genuinely thinking of a way to compromise. “What do you do?”

“I’m… a doctor.” you tell him. Earning a set of raised eyebrows and an amused scoff as he looks you over once more. He supposes it explains the fancy clothes and snooty attitude.

But—

“You’re too young to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he wonders.

“I’m a primary care physician.” you tell him. He nods in understanding, but you’re confused now. You shake away his questions and his interest in you before staring at him again with intent. “This needs to stop. I’m not going to call the police but I’m not letting my brother come back here, it’s too dangerous. He’s a child.”

“He’s a man, you’re babying him. He made three grand tonight, he’s earning money and staying out of trouble because he has an outlet for his anger.” Sukuna tells you. The amount of money he’s made surprises you, and you’re holding it in your coat pocket right now. He’s going to be down $100 after you take it out of his earnings, though. But still. Even you can’t deny that it’s impressive. “Stuck up princess. Snooty doctor. Think you can come in my fuckin’ club and tell me what to do? Fuck that.” Sukuna claims.

He doesn’t say anything else as he waits for you to speak. But, truthfully, you’re still thinking about Megumi. The fact that he needs an outlet for his anger is worrisome. You’ve tried to get him to see a therapist, but he isn’t interested in the least.

It’s been hard being a single parent to him when you’re too selfish and irresponsible to even look after yourself, let alone a teenage boy. He probably thinks you’re useless. You have no control over him, really. All you do is make sure he’s fed and has a place to sleep and get his school work done.

But after discovering this, you’re sure he hasn’t even been bothering to attend school.

“Oi.” Sukuna speaks, stealing your stare again as you’re finally brought out of your troubled gaze. “You’re a sheltered little princess, aren’t you? A place like this is just full of scum to you.”

“I don’t care about this.” you laugh, minimally, not really seeing the funny side but you have nothing else to offer by way of expression. He hesitates a little, seeing the defeated look in your eye. “The injuries and psychological damage these places can cause…”

“Not everyone’s got a fancy college education like you, girl.” he tells you, patronisingly, as if you don’t know that. But he doesn’t let you interrupt. “Some people need a quick buck to get out of trouble. Other’s like the thrill. But who the fuck are you to come into my club and tell us all we’re wrong? Comin’ in here in your doctor clothes… looking down your nose at us.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doin’, sweetheart.” he continues. “You get to sit behind a desk all day and tell people what pills to take to feel better and then go home to your cosy house in the suburbs without a care in the world.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” you warn him, though you don’t have the muscle or means to back it up. He reminds you a lot of how your dad used to be. You didn’t particularly take shit from him, and you certainly won’t be taking it from Sukuna if you can help it. “If you’re letting a seventeen year old walk away with three grand, I’m sure you’re making a lot more money than I am behind my desk. I work hard. You’re lining your pockets from other people’s pain.”

“Only a little,” he smirks at that, knowing you’re right but not entirely. “I fight. I bleed.”

And you scoff. It’s so fucking archaic and you can’t help but pace around with your hands on your hips as you try and decide where to even start with that. What can you say, really? Congratulations? No, definitely not. You stop in your tracks as you realise how close he is to you, now, deciding he wanted to close the gap between the two of you while your mind was elsewhere.

You breathe a little heavier as you fall backwards onto the couch behind you while he towers above you. His eyes rake over your body as he drinks you in. The slight fear lingering below the surface, shrouded by a cloud of false confidence as you do all you can to not succumb to his intimidation.

His arms almost cage you in.

Almost.

He’d let you free yourself if you tried to escape.

But you aren’t trying.

You’re just staring into his eye.

And he likes that.

“Watch me.” he orders. The sentence is soft but with a hard, seductive edge. It’s an offer despite it sounding like a command. You aren’t sure what he’s asking you to watch but your heart rate is imploring you to decline, whatever it may be. He tilts his head, it’s barely noticeable, and somehow you do notice. You notice the way his eye flits from your eyes to your lips. Not once, multiple times. He has no shame, he doesn’t care that you know he’s looking. He doesn’t act on it, anyway. “Watch me fight.”

“Pardon?” you ask, instantly. Bewildered that he would even dare to dream that you’d do something so idiotic. Your brother is waiting, patiently, for you to take him home. Unless he’s stolen your car, of course. But you’d like to think he knows he’s in enough trouble than to do something so stupid.

“You’ve never seen a fight. Watch the best at work, you might change your opinion. Watch me.” he repeats.

He watches as your eyes glaze over with a watery sheen, smirking. There is a breeze left in the wake of him quickly freeing your body from his caging arms and heading towards the entrance to his office. Your breathing is intense and your hands begin to shake. You think to text Megumi and check he’s okay, before remembering that you have his phone.

You look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaning over the railing. He’s yelling about something but your ears are ringing in your confusion. The music isn’t helping, either. You look down at your phone to check the time, not even really taking it in before you place both Megumi’s and your own in each of your pockets.

Sukuna returns, entering with a cool swagger before leaning on the edge of his desk again.

“You’ve got ten minutes to decide.” he tells you.

Decide?

You’ve already decided. There’s no way you’re sticking around to watch him beat someone within an inch of their life. Or vice versa if his opponent proves to be too much. But with his physique and confidence, you doubt he’ll lose. And almost as if he’s read your mind, he smirks.

“I’m going to win.” he informs you, a cocksure grin saturating his lips as he drinks in your reaction to his words. You cross a leg over the other and fold your arms, still determined to remain and appear defiant as you listen to him. He can sense you’re weakening resolve, though. “I always win, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” you remind him, and he tuts in response. You can’t tell him what to do. You can try, but he won’t listen. And he hears the wavering in your words. Your desire to appear cold and callous towards him crumbling the longer you spend time in such close proximity to him.

“I think you like it.” he tells you, smiling. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m thinking.” you tell him in turn, scowling as you decide whether or not to leave right now or actually think this through. If you leave, you know your pride won’t allow you to change your mind.

“Don’t have all night for you’re thinkin’, doll.” he speaks. “Oh… I know, how about we make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon, live a little.” he laughs, menially. He smirks as he hears you gasp whilst lifting you up like you’re nothing. He sits you down on his desk and for some reason you find yourself tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. Your chest heaves, panicked from the process. You aren’t sure how that happened and you can’t seem to shake any of it away. Not when your fingernails are digging into his biceps and your lips are ghosting each other’s. What is he doing? “How about if I lose, I’ll tell Megumi he can’t come around here anymore.”

“You said you’ll win.”

He smirks, at that. Scarred hands nip and grab at your entirely covered flesh. He wishes he could just rip the material off you right here, right now. But he wouldn’t feel right about sending you to your car in torn clothing, telling your little brother exactly what kept you busy for so long.

“That, I did…” he speaks as if recollecting an ancient memory. But he looks at you, eyes traversing your body again. “So what—”

“’m not betting with you. I know you’re gonna win.” you tell him, moving your head back slightly so your lips are no longing tracing each other. Instead, you’re looking at him intently. “You’re just trying to get me to agree to something that I won’t be able to back out of. ‘m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.” he agrees. He tucks some hair behind your ear and grabs your chin so that you can’t break your stare from his own. “I know we both want the same thing right now, though. That pride will do you no good, y’know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, feigning ignorance as the heat between your legs begins to pool and seep into your panties. You hope he doesn’t notice. God you hope he doesn’t fucking feel it. You hope that your trousers will protect you, the fight should be starting soon. “I’m taking my brother home… but I hope you enjoy your little fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere or you would have left already.” he tells you, matter-of-fact. “The things I could say… I’m gonna say it all after I win.”

“I won’t be here. ‘n I’m not giving you my number.”

“You’ll be in the front fucking row watching me.” he sneers.

You inhale a sharp breath as he forcefully moves your head. A finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck, lazily pulling it downward to reveal the bare skin of your neck. His lips are close, breath dancing over the expanse of your skin. It’s a battle to withhold the shudder that is creeping through your veins. It makes your eyes water, a tear threatens to spill but you refuse to let it. You weld your eyes shut as he continues to torment you, and they appear even more watery when you open them again. The way your body trembles is harder to mask, though it’s nearly imperceptible as you accept you need to release it. All you can do is hope that he hasn’t noticed.

But he does.

The intensity of your breathing increases as you think he might kiss your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in preparation, but all he does is tease. And when you feel a near empty chuckle fan across your neck, your eyes widen once more.

“It’s time, princess.” he tells you, pulling away completely. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, heading towards the exit to his office before turning back to face you. “Come.”

And like you’re a voice activated toy, you follow him. He quick steps down the stairs while you struggle in your heels. You cling to the railing as you descend, and he waits patiently for you at the bottom.

He’s agnate to a God in this warehouse. You see how people respect and admire him as he enters the room. People part for him so that he can walk through with ease with you in tow. You’re really going to watch an authentic fight.

You wonder how different it will be in comparison to movies. You’re scared, shaking, but part of you is telling you that you need to see it. You need to see the state that Megumi could one day end up in if you don’t scold him correctly.

“Should I go easy on him, sweetheart?” he asks, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “She’s going to decide your fate tonight, listen up.” Sukuna tells his opponent. You want to kill him yourself for drawing everyone’s attention to you. You struggle to find words, mouth drying every time it opens.

“Just… don’t kill him.” you shrug. “But don’t get yourself killed, either.”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders too. Neither of them look scared, though you suppose that’s the point. Neither of them would be doing this if they didn’t think they could win. They wouldn’t be here if they were afraid of getting hurt.

“She wants me to go easy on you…” Sukuna smirks.

You watch, nervously, as they circle around the ring for a while. He looks at you, briefly, as you fiddle with your necklace as you try and occupy your mind.

A ragged breath leaves you as they both lunge at each other. The way Sukuna dodges and weaves away from each and every attempt that should be hitting him is almost like watching a beautiful ballet.

It’s art, here.

Between these walls and amongst this audience. It is a true art form that is celebrated and enjoyed. The casualties don’t matter, not even a little. Everyone is a willing participant, even you, now. You could have left but decided not to.

It’s for Megumi, you tell yourself.

You need to be better and act better for him. And you can’t possibly do that without the knowledge of how truly dangerous this can be.

But now, seeing it for yourself, you’re starting to understand.

Sukuna is strong. Heavy fists affix themselves to his opponents face again and again until he’s on the ground. Blood pours from the man’s nose and you think he might suffocate from lost teeth and gurgling blood pooling in his throat.

And Sukuna… he’s been starved of this.

You start to think that maybe he doesn’t fight as regularly as he claims. It seems too easy for him, now. No one can beat him, so what’s the point? But he has missed this feeling. The feeling of seeing blood gush from an adversary who whole-heartedly believed they could take him on.

He takes pleasure in it, violence. Particularly the brand inflicted by him. He profits from it regularly, but this is a rare treat nowadays. He’s happy to sit in his office and let idiots do what idiots do as long as his pockets and wallet fill with each event.

This fight… it was on a whim.

Was it just to impress you?

He straddles his opponent as he repeatedly smashes the same fist into his face again and again and again. And he’s laughing. It’s maniacal, borderline insane laughter as you see blood spatter and clots form and congeal against the poor man’s skin.

And why…

Why are you loving this?

You can practically feel hearts and glitter adorning your eyes as you watch on in horror, unable to turn away. You’re mesmerised by it. You should be ashamed, really, you’re meant to be a doctor.

If you were a good person, you’d be breaking this up. You’d be rushing to the man’s side and calling an ambulance to help him. Instead of watching on in astonishment, you should be doing all you can to keep him alive after such a vicious assault. But instead, you’ve sunken to the balls of your feet so that you can be on their level and watch each and every punch land with excruciating detail. You don’t want it to stop. You could watch this forever.

Watch him forever.

You’re sick.

This is sick.

“Sukuna!” you yell, standing upright again and looking down at him. He stops short of landing one final blow to his opponents bulging and split nose so that he can look up at you. There’s worry in your eyes, and it makes his brows furrow. His eyes squint as he examines you. He isn’t sure how to read you or what you might be thinking. But he realises worry isn’t the only thing lingering behind those glimmering, wide eyes.

Something else entirely resides there that he’s longed to see since the moment he set eyes on you.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” he speaks down to the near dead man beneath him. “Were you done or did you want to keep going?”

“D… Don—”

“Thaaaaat’s great.” he responds to the man’s choked attempt to end the fight. Sukuna jumps to his feet, barely a scratch on him, and walks by you without looking back. You hasten behind him, almost unable to keep up in your stupid shoes. You see a man hand him something before walking away. You scrunch your brows as you look between them both.

Oh, he’s been paid.

He reaches the top of the stairs to his office and holds the door open for you to pass through. You duck by him, hiding in the room like you shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t. You feel so small and inconsequential when you’re near him.

It’s his height, you realise.

It’s effortless intimidation. He’s a giant and you have to crane your neck just to look up at him when he’s close to you. His giant frame and bulging muscles don’t put you at ease, either. If you make him mad enough, you wonder how far he’d go. Would he use his strength to his advantage? Maybe he’d just take pity on you.

“You’re still here.” he rasps, locking the door behind himself and closing the blinds to the room. He likes the privacy as he counts his money. It excites you, for some reason, to see so much in a big fat wad. He looks up at you briefly before focusing back on it. “You liked it.”

“No.”

“Yeah ya did,” he laughs. You watch him as he collects a heavy looking bag from another locker in the room. It’s different to the one Megumi used. It looks shinier, newer. Sturdier. “I can tell you liked it.”

“Well, I’m going now.” you start, turning to walk away before he stretches out an arm to stop you in your tracks. He walks you backwards until your ass collides into the edge of his desk. He doesn’t pick you up, though. He just sizes you up, slowly, purposefully. And what a pathetic size you are in comparison to him. “Megumi needs me…” you whisper, meekly.

His presence is truly all consuming as he lords above you. You’re trapped between his large frame and the tattered old desk that resides in this seedy office. He could afford something nicer. But what would be the point if the place gets raided?

“We wanted the same thing earlier,” he starts. His voice quiet but commanding, still. You look between his lips and his pressuring gaze. He smiles, at that, he can see the way your mind is running rampant with thoughts of him. The dirty criminal who wants to fuck you on his desk. “Bet ya want it even more now.”

“N-No.”

“Yes.” he argues, placing a bloody hand on your pristine coat and making a mess of it. His hand snakes around to your waist, eventually. You gasp when you feel him tug your body closer to his by your belt loops, grinning as the little noise you make hits his ears. “Stutterin’ over yours words and making pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Did you get all excited from seeing the blood? Bet ya did… bet you’re wet from seein’ daddy get violent.”

You gulp, heartily, your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. His words rush straight to your cunt and you can barely ground yourself. The only thing keeping you from floating is your fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he continues to tease you.

“You’re fucking frigid.” he continues. Your eyes begin to water as he undoes the button on your pants and goes to pull down the zipper. You grab his hands to stop him, though it’s in vain. “Why are you so frigid, huh? When was the last time you had a good, hard, fuck?” he asks you, each word dripping like venom in a bid to make you squirm.

“That’s none of your—”

“Stop being such a bitch.” he tells you, slight laughter leaving him as he speaks. “Let me guess… got too occupied with your career, right? Bet you had a long term boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you properly if his life depended on it. ‘n then you got saddled with the kid… bought a vibrator and a plastic cock ‘n thought that would make do… you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Stop it.” you tell him. You turn your head away but he quickly forces it back with one heavy, dominating hand. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” he agrees, not letting go or moving aside for you to leave.

Nothing is said, not another word. Several beats of silence pass by as you stare at each other. The hypnotic music continues to play outside, though it’s muffled slightly by the locked office door. It isn’t enough to mask how hard either of you are breathing. Panting. Unable to break your stare from each other as the silence, that cogent fucking silence gets louder and louder.

Not another word is spoken as his lips press roughly against your own. You kick off your shoes and he kicks them aside as you continue to kiss him. Your hands are all over his body, grabbing and squeezing his skin as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips. He forces down your trousers so that they’re resting around your thighs before lifting you onto the desk. You moan, desperately, as he breaks the kiss to fully remove them from your legs.

He lets them fall and kicks them away in the opposite direction of your shoes. The kiss breaks once more as he laughs lightly as your hips begin to rock eagerly for him.

“Knew you were wet for me earlier, y’know.” he tells you, kissing you briefly before deciding to tease you further. “Felt how your cunt was droolin’ when I lifted you on here before.”

“You’re vile.” you tell him, not caring that much as you lock your lips with his again. His attitude, the way he talks, the way he is. It’s all so nauseatingly macho and you thought you were better than this. You thought you knew better and wanted better for yourself. But having it presented so perfectly for you… you were always going to succumb.

“You like it, you like me.” he continues, forcing your snow-white coat down your arms and off your body. The way his knuckles continue to gush blood, you expect the liquid to seep and stain the white material and paint it the same red as his eyes. “Mmmm, I’m right. Why else would you be so wet?”

The air is snatched from your lungs as he pushes your legs apart from each other one at a time. You don’t dare close them as you watch him pull his vest over his head and reveal his perfectly chiselled body in all of its glory. It’s pervasive. It’s gorgeous. You aren’t even sure it’s humanly possible to look this good.

A soft ‘unf’ sound leaves you and you feel him sink his bloody knuckles inside of your panties. Deft fingers swirl and tease around your firm clit, and your mouth seals shut.

“Tell the truth, princess.” he swipes two fingers over your clit at a heightened pace, desperate to coax another utterance of admittance from your soft lips. “You wanna get fingered by a dirty old man. Go on, let me be your bit of rough, sweetheart.”

“Fuck.” you breathe, unable to withstand his filthy mouth. You’re truly powerless to being spoken to like this. Maybe you’re tired of people speaking to you so politely day in day out.

He doesn’t respect you, though.

Right now you’re nothing but a wet, desperate hole, with a pretty face attached.

“Let daddy finger you, yeah?” he asks, and you can’t stop your eyes from filling with water. He thinks it’s adorable. How the mighty hath fallen for nothing more than a few little rubs on your neglected clit. It makes him sick, truthfully, how many precious little things like you go without being touched properly. You’re about to learn, now, just how quickly you can become addicted to a person and the way they touch you.

“I should- I r-really have to go!” you tell him, still so desperate to remain defiant to the bitter end. He knows you’re bound to crumble any second. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, but it will do you little good. Not when you are instinctively widening your legs for him. Wider than you knew they could go.

He pushes a single finger into you, hissing when he feels just how tight you really are. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume you were a virgin. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, constantly adding pressure to the needy nub as he continuously pumps and curls his finger in and out of your sopping hole.

“Sukuna! I can’t d-do this, I shouldn’t be here.” you tell him as you wrestle with your guilt.

“This is exactly where you should be,” he tells you. “You’ll feel better when you cum f’me. Maybe you’ll stop being such a stuck up bitch.” he laughs, again, because you don’t dispute it.

No, instead, you lean back and rest your hands on the desk. Your hips roll urgently against his hand, chasing the stimulation to your clit. He looks down between you, tugging at your panties with one hand until you take the hint. You stop rutting against him, closing your legs so he can pull them down without stopping his rough touches.

They come down enough, the white lace dangling on one ankle as he forces your legs apart again. His vision meets your cunt. The way you’re swallowing one finger with ease now calls him to add another.

And you hiss from the stretch, but your humping doesn’t relent. You’re taking his fingers all of the way to the bloody knuckle until your eyes cross from the pleasure. And he grunts, at that, an attempt to conceal the moan lodged in his throat.

He revels in the way your cunt clenches as he allows a glob of spit to drip to your clit. His jaw hangs low as he massages the heel of his palm into it harder. The way you wriggle from his touch is better than any drug he can imagine existing. It’s addictive, seeing a once so proud woman regress to a needy little pet from the touch of a common man.

“D-Don’t stop.” you whisper, unsure of where that even came from. It was entirely involuntary. Your brain begins to fog as he repeatedly batters your g-spot again and again until your vision turns white. “Fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming, Sukuna! Ah- aaah~!” you cry out.

And just as it was getting good. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he withdraws his fingers.

“You’re a real slut when you get going, aren’t you?” he smiles, landing a wet slap on your twitching pussy. You yelp, but don’t speak. “Barking orders at me like you’re in charge. Remember who’s office you’re in, now. It ain’t yours, princess. You’re spread open on daddy’s desk. Know your place.”

“I’m s-sorry.” you whimper, trying to focus and ignore the aching pulse you feel between your thighs. You need to cum, now. You need him to make you. It’s not fair, you can’t comprehend how close you were before he stopped you from reaching your high. “I’ll be good, d-daddy, just don’t… please don’t stop.” you beg, the title feels foreign on your tongue. But you don’t hate it.

He tuts, slapping your cunt again and again, repeatedly striking until tears spill from your pathetic, wet eyes.

“Fuckin’ love it when you look at me like that. Needy little whore.” he chortles, moving away from you entirely as he goes to grab something. “I’m gonna do something no one else will ever be able to do for you, jus’ because you look so pretty.”

“Wha—?”

“Lose the sweater, now. Wanna see your pretty tits,” he commands, lifting up the bag he grabbed from his locker earlier. “Hurry up. You need to be naked for this, you’ll enjoy it more.”

You do as you’re told, hurrying to strip yourself of the restricting material that has been suffocating you all night. And you toss it God knows where, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel cooler despite the sweaty heat that is trapped in the office with you.

“Good, good girl.” he smirks, unzipping the bag. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to pull out. Some kind of sex toy, you assume. Knowing his ego, it’s probably a mould of his cock, hoping he can double stuff you.

But he doesn’t pull anything out.

Instead, he tips the bag upside down. There’s no time to think about what horrible things he could be pouring onto you. Because it doesn’t happen. Instead, you’re showered in bank notes. You laugh, excitedly, as you feel a never-ending stream over hundred-dollar bills pour over your body and onto the desk.

Sukuna laughs, too, admiring the sight of you dressed in nothing but money.

His money.

And it’s everywhere.

You writhe around on the desk before looking at him. He pulls down his sweats, hungrily, just enough to free his length. And, fuck, he’s huge. You knew he would be just by looking at the rest of him. It’s a scary sight, but you don’t care. He was right, no one else will ever be able to do this for you.

“Fuck me.” you request, opening your legs for him again. “Want daddy to fuck me stupid.” you finish.

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers are shoved between your lips for you to suck as he lines his threatening cockhead up with your throbbing cunt. You’re too distracted by the taste of his fingers to properly react to how he stretches your hole.

The taste of copper stains your tastebuds along with the flavour of your essence. He watches you, intently, as he bullies his cock all of the way to the hilt without remorse. Though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while examining you, panting desperately when he’s fully sunken into your restricting walls.

“Took that like a champ,” he praises you, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and opting to squeeze the sides of your neck instead. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, swallowing me like this.” he smirks, thrusting his hips shallowly to help you adjust. But the composure is lost when he feels how tight you’re wrapped around him. Like you’re claiming what yours as if he belongs inside, buried deep in your cunt to depths no one has been before.

He's yours.

“Fuuuu—” you start, cutting yourself off as you pout and groan through every pummel of his hips against yours. “Daddy! D-aaddy!” you wince, unable to believe how perfectly each vein adorning his cock stimulates you so beautifully. His leaking tip serves as a painful reminder to how irresponsible you’re being to fuck a literal stranger raw.

But you don’t care.

You honestly don’t care as you think about the desperate desire you feel burning between your thighs for him to fill you up like you’re his. To be claimed in such a disgustingly primal way by this behemoth of a man while you just lie there and take it is the only thing higher on your list of priorities than actually getting to cum yourself.

“No one will fuck you like this again, hear me? No one.” he reminds you. And all you can do is nod dumbly as you can’t even find it in you to formulate one word on your tongue to say in response. “Not a doctor, not a lawyer. No one will fuck you in the money they earn like this. And you look so pretty, princess. Knew you’d like it, can act high ‘n mighty all you like, but you like the blood money, don’tcha?”

“Y-Yes.” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Yes what?” he repeats.

“Y-es, daddy,” you pant, forcing yourself to fix your eyes on him as you speak in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. “I l-like the money.”

“Little money slut.” he chuckles, the angle he fucks in you seeming to hit deeper and deeper the longer it goes on. “I should fuck you up against the window, let everyone see how fucked out you are. Hah? Show everyone you’re not such a stuck up princess after all.”

“N-No, please, don’t.” you beg, gasping as he pulls his cock out of you and drags you away from the desk. He pushes your face against the window and you instinctively close your eyes. Your back arches as he slots himself into you from behind, powerless to his body as he starts fucking into you again. And you’re so thankful for the blinds, despite the fact the ridges dig into your skin as he ploughs you. “Fuuuuck, ‘Kuna, fuck, s’big!” you tell him, feeling him deeper still as he hits you from behind.

“I should let them all see what a whore you are.” he laughs, fingers gripping deeply into your sides as he uses you for leverage to pull you down on his length whilst battering into you. “Pretty mouth is droolin’ for me, look like you’re gonna break.”

Your heart begins to race as he reaches for the cord to open the blinds. There’s no doubt in your mind that it’s something he’d do. You brace yourself, preparing to be put on show for all of the lecherous men below to see.

But instead, he picks you up and forces you to bend over the table again. Your feet don’t even touch the ground as rams his cock into you again and again and again.

“Megumi wouldn’t be able to live it down if everyone knew how much of a slut his sister is,” he tells you. “He’d get the shit kicked out of him every time someone described what your face looks like when you cum.”

Fuck, Megumi.

You’d forgotten all about him, waiting in the freezing cold car for you while his pseudo-boss fucks your brains out.

“Don’t,” you huff, “tell him, about this.”

“Of course not, I’ll be your dirty little secret.” he laughs. “You are a vessel for my cum and nothing more.”

You’ve never felt such self-hatred for yourself as those final, scathing words have you cumming violently around his cock. You tremor and shake as you finish, collapsing entirely onto the desk as he continues to plough into you.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cry, feeling even more embarrassment wash over you as you think you might have pissed yourself. But he gasps, amazed, admiring the stream of clear liquid gushing from your cunt drenching him and his money on the floor.

“Awe, baby just squirted. What that your first time?” he laughs, fucking into you harder so that he can follow you along in your bliss. He bends over, his mouth lining up with your ear so he can whisper more of his rendition of sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re shaking ‘cause of me. A-And now, you’re gonna have to drive your little brother home with every drop of my cum in your cunt.”

“Please, please fill me up. Need it s’bad. Wanna be full of you…” you babble, reality still not fully resonating with you as he carries on fucking into you at a brutal pace.

He grunts and moans as he cums deep inside of you. You’ve made some mistakes in your life but this has to be one of the better ones. Despite your healthcare knowledge telling you that you should know better, you’ve never felt so content as you feel him shoot rope after rope of searing hot cum into your womb.

He pulls out, wiping his dick off on your ass cheek before fingering you slowly.

“Keep my mark inside of you.” he utters, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together so you don’t waste a drop while he gathers your clothes for you.

He hands you your underwear first while he keeps looking, and you pull them up quickly. It feels so revolting and lewd as his cum leaks into the seat of your panties. You sigh as you feel the cold letter M on your chest before you can dress yourself.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here.” Sukuna speaks, not looking at you as he hands you the rest of your belongings.

“I’m fine.” you tell him, quickly pulling on your sweater and instantly feeling sick as the warm material meets with your hot, clammy skin.

“I’m not.” he tells you, watching as you pull up your trousers and fasten them in a hurry before slipping into your high heels again. “Bet you have one at home. You’re a doctor, you’ve gotta look after people.”

You eye him up, cautiously, before your expression changes to a smile. “You’re asking to come home with me?” you wonder, pulling on your coat and making sure you still have two phones in your pockets as well as your purse and Megumi’s wad of cash. “But Megumi will—”

“I’ll drive behind you. C’mon, princess, don’t want my cuts do get infected, do ya?” he asks.

You cannot believe you allowed his dirty fingers inside of you. As good as they felt, it was so stupid. You’re sure there’s probably blood stains on your inner thighs because of him.

Though the thought of him all over you makes your cheeks fill with warmth.

You just nod, opting not to speak as you head towards the office door. You walk ahead of him, finding confidence in your strides again. He puts his vest back on and makes sure he’s decent before leaving the office. He watches you leave ahead of him and stops to talk to his favourite subordinate.

“Clean the mess up there. And I’ve counted the money so don’t get cute.” he says, handing the key to the office over before following your path out.

He’s a little surprised how far ahead you’d gotten. Long gone from the building as you approach your car.

The guilt of leaving Megumi alone for so long got to you, he thinks.

“Hi.” you say, simply, sitting behind the wheel of your car and hoping not to have to talk much for the ride home. He’s a moody teenager who rarely has a word to say to you. And for once, you’re hoping it’ll stay that way. You adjust yourself and quickly put on your seatbelt so that you can drive off without another word.

“What took you so long?” Megumi asks, huffing as he looks at you. His eyebrows knit as he sees his bossapproach with a confident swagger. He wonders if he forgot something or he didn’t pay him the right amount.

Sukuna leans into his open window with a shit eating grin on his face. He wants to question it, to question you. But his eyes meet your not so pristine white coat as he turns to look at you again. “Is that blood?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he waits for an answer.

You look down at your jacket, holding your eyes closed with a sigh as you realise what a nightmare it’s going to be to remove the stains. Megumi leans in closer to you, moving your hair out of the way as he examines you.

“Um…” you mutter, too frozen to even continue starting up the car.

“It’s on your face and neck too. What did you—?” he stops, turning around to look at Sukuna and see if he can fill in the blanks in his mind with any form of answer. But they’re filled, instantly, as his eyes fall to see Sukuna’s bloody knuckles. “For fuck sake.” he speaks, quietly, covering his face with both hands as the revelation dawns on him.

“I’ll be right behind you, lead the way.” Sukuna winks as he walks away from your car and heads towards his own.

You don’t say anything, copying your brother’s action as you both sit in silence and absorb the never-ending supply of cringe filling the atmosphere. Until eventually you decide, this won’t do. Sukuna honks the horn of his Mercedes to signify that he’s ready.

So you start to drive, fleeing the scene while your partner in crime follows behind.

“Fucking good role model you are.” Megumi speaks sarcastically. “I can’t show my face there again. Why do you ruin everything?”

“Nothing happened!” you lie, earning a scoff from him.

“Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me to stop fighting, and then you fucked the man who pays me to do it. So, am I allowed to fight or not?”

“Obviously not, Megumi.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” he scathes, turning his head to face away from you while he sulks. “You can’t tell me what to do after this. Some fucking moral compass you got there.”

“Oh shut up.” you respond, trying to keep a cool head as you continue. “Nothing. Happened. I watched him fight and I hated it, we talked it out and here we are. Stop being so pissy.”

“Why’s he following us home, then?” he wonders, turning to face you and see if he can detect an honest answer or a lie from you.

“He doesn’t have a first aid kit.” you tell him, which is true though it isn’t really an answer. And you feel his green eyes burn into the side of your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m a doctor, he needs his wounds tending to.”

“… Oh my God.” he starts. “Oh my God you actually fucking like him. You’re so embarrassing.” he huffs, pulling a cigarette out of his jeans. He closes the window to light it and opens it again just as quickly. You’ve never liked that he smokes, but you know nothing you say or do will stop him.

Just like the fighting.

And then, you find yourself laughing. Unable to stop yourself as you think about what a stereotypical angsty teen your little brother is. And, God, you’ve made yourself into his biggest enemy just because you care about him. But now… Christ, you’ve gone above and beyond.

“I lied. We fucked. And it was great.” you laugh harder when you see Megumi’s horrified expression the longer the conversation goes on.

“I can’t stand you.” he sighs. “He’s never gonna let me forget this. What is wrong with you?”

“Serves you right, you little shit. Lie to me again and see what happens.” you warn him, your laughter lets up a little as you try and focus on being serious.

You’re never going to be his mother, and you’d never want to be. But what you can be is his big sister. You can be an annoying pain and embarrass him whenever he acts up. But you’ll always be here to take care of him and keep him on the right track when needs be.

“I love you, shit head.” you smile, and he sighs.

“… love you too… bitch.”

© 2023 rinhaler

m.list | chapter two

[sapphicmikey]

happy sweet sixteen my angel!!!

here it is!! another long, sappy, mushy, gay paragraph thing for my one and only love and birthday angel, trinity @pixibee!! and as you probably know from my previous dumb paragraphs i’m really bad with words but!! here i go!! 

*queue dramatic intro music* its been a while since we’ve met hasn’t it? a year now?? thats a long fucking time and in that time you’ve made my life so much brighter. i love talking to you about whatever comes to our minds! you’re one of the kindest people i’ve ever met in my entire life and you deserve the entire world. its like the heavens opened up and blessed everyone on this world with you (which i wouldn’t doubt at all tbh bc u are the biggest blessing ever!!!) you are my dog buddy, my other clemmings stan, the fucking luke to my micheal, and the brightest star on my darkest days. i will never forget the first time i wished you a happy birthday aka the day that we met and you became one of the most important people in my life. i wish i could give you everything!! dogs, all the stars in the universe, bouquets upon bouquets of sunflowers, bees, more dogs, iced coffee!! i also wish i could take you to all the places i’ve been bc i know you like traveling and i wanna do anything your heart desires and wants. i have met a lot of people in my life but i can tell you that none of them are as kind hearted, beautiful on the inside and out, and sweet as you!! you make me so happy trinity words can’t describe!! you manage to make me smile no matter how i’m feeling and fill my body with nothing but good things. everyone who has had the chance of meeting you is lucky! me included. i’m sad that i’ve moved further away from you but that doesn’t mean that we can’t create our little sunflower farm with dogs and bees! that will still happen, i know it!! and even though we are far away from each other you are in my heart and in all the dogs, flowers, sunny days, and bees i see. also, ANDY GRAMMER LOVES YOU SO MUCH!! i still don’t understand why you don’t like him (rip) but thats ok bc he loves u so fucking much! (-: he wishes u the best happy birthday ever! but moving along dsjdjdnj my life has been hard the past four years and it still is but you have managed to make it bearable, to help me through so much shit even if you don’t know it. i thank you for all the times you’ve cheered me up and made me laugh. ur the sweetest fucking angel ever and i’m literally gonna cry and my heart is gonna burst with so much love!! ))-’: i know im not the easiest person to be around but i love u so SOSOSO much and thank u for sticking around, it means everything to me. ur so important to me, trin!! i really wouldn’t know what to do without you and i hope our friendship lives on forever and ever and ever!!! i will always be there for u like you’re there for me, no matter what happens! once again, I LOVE U WITH MY WHOLE ENTIRE BEING and george does too and wishes you the best fucking birthday EVER!! happy 16th bday my soft n sweet bubbie, i love u the most!!!  ♡♡♡ 

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

Missing Her - Part 2

Dean x Reader; Reader x Jim (OMC); Reader x Ollie (OFC)

Part 1 

A/N: This was intended to be a sequel (and end) to the first part, Missing Her, however, the idea has taken on a life of its own and well, this is now just Part 2 of I have no idea how many parts. "Unbreak My Heart” by Toni Braxton, suggested by @ravenangel33 inspired this part. The song I have one planned for the last chapter, you may all hate me for. I already hate myself for it, tbh. Oh well... here we go.

Summary: Dean is back from his time in Hell, and wants to see Y/N and meet Ollie before he continues with the mission to stop Lillith from breaking the 66 Seals.

Warnings: Language, Canon Divergence, 

Words: 4.3K

SPN Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @wings-of-a-raven  // @kazosa  // @lefthologramdeer // @grace-for-sale // @rockyhorrorpictureshowstyle // @geeksareunique // @moonchild-shoshanna // @tiquismiquis // @mrsbarnes-rogers  // @yorkeylover// @fictionalabyss // @gettinjoyful // @teller258316 // @spnhollis // @sweet-things-4-life // @hobby27 // @sweetlythoughtfulbird // @theoriginalvicki // @dreamchester67 // @xxwarhawk // @babykalika2001 // @negans-wife // @superwhovianfangirl81 // @toobusynerdfighting // @vickyfarley // @missihart23  // @letsby // @hyphymanatee // @ravenangel33 // @thewinchesterchronicles  // @wayward-gypsy  // @closetspngirl // @fatestemptress // @rebelminxy  // @22sarah08 // @witch-of-letters // @cole-winchester // @rainflowermoon // @adoptdontshoppets // @foreverwayward // @waywardvalkyrie // @a--1--1--3 // @fandomoniumflurry // @gnrfanfic // @blackcherrywhiskey // @jessieray98  // @lyoly

The coffee pot had beeped more than a few times, but you didn’t hear it. Your mind was a million miles away thanks to the phone call you’d gotten the night before. No sleep had come after that and really, how could it? Learning that Dean was alive and wanted to see you were really all you could think about.

“Mommy,” Ollie said softly from beside you, her small hand pulling on your sleeve. “Are you alright? Your coffee is done.”

The spell was broken, and you looked down at her. “Hmm? What was that?”

She pointed at the coffee pot. “It’s done.”

“Oh, thanks.” You gave her a lacking, half smile and poured a cup.

“Are you ok momma?” she asked, pulling herself up onto one of the counter stools and reaching for the pack of chocolate chip muffins next to her.

You smiled again, trying to make it more genuine this time, and reached for the bananas. “Yeah, I’m fine baby. Here, have this with that, please.”

Ollie rolled her eyes, as most eight-year-olds do, and took it reluctantly. “Why? They’re so gross and mushy. Can’t I just have the muffin? I promise to eat the apple in my lunch today.”

You gave her a knowing look, which she ignored and concentrated on her muffin.

“You and I both know you will trade that apple for whatever sugary treat your bestie brings in today.”

“She likes to share!” she pleaded, her little green eyes ablaze with mercy.

“I’m sure she does, but I like you eating at least one piece of fruit a day. So, it’s the muffin and banana, or the apple at lunch.”

“Fine,” she relented and peeled the banana. Ollie took a bite and glared at you while doing so, which just reminded you how much she looked, and acted, like Dean. “Having a mom who is a nurse, sucks like crap through a straw.”

“Olivia Kate! What have we talked about?”

“Language.”

“And?”

“Sarcasm…”

“And?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Use both in moderation.”

You shook your head and had to resist the urge to say something like ‘you are more and more like your father every day’. The truth was, Ollie was so much like her dad, it sometimes sent you for a loop. She not only bore his physical features, but his mannerisms and facial expressions. Olivia had never spent a moment in his presence, yet she was his ‘mini-me’ in so many ways.

“So, after school today, what’s the plan?” she asked, already putting the admonishing behind her.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, nearly choking on your coffee. “Plan for what?”

“After school, mom. Is Daddy picking me up today, or are you?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure. Is it my day?”

Ollie shrugged. “I dunno. I’m the kid here, shouldn’t you remember?”

“Fair enough. And yes, I should remember, I’m sorry. It was a little bit of a rough night.”

Ollie’s face turned serious and she gazed at you curiously, her head ever so slightly tilted to the side, her petite but pouty lips pointed in a frown. “What happened? Did Aunt El call with someone who was hurt again?”

“No, baby, everyone’s fine. But I did get a call from an old friend, and it just sorta surprised me.”

You leaned your elbows down on the counter near where she was eating her breakfast and thought about how you should proceed. Not bringing up Dean before had been a conscious choice because how you left things, and then after that, he had asked you not too. But now, things were different. He was alive, and he wanted to see you.

“Which friend?”

“No one you know,” you said and finished with “yet” in your head.

“Oh. Anyways, after school?”

“I’ll get you. But I do need to talk to daddy, so maybe I’ll pick you up and bring you there for a while? You can play with Max and Cody while he and I talk about a few things.”

“Are you gonna fight again?”

“No, baby. We won’t.”

“Alright. Cause its scares, Max and Cody, then they get crazy.”

You gave her that knowing look again. “It’s the dogs that don’t like it? Or you?”

She shrugged and concentrated on her half-eaten banana. “Maybe both.”

“Promise kiddo, no fighting.” You kissed her on the top of her head and moved about the kitchen readying her lunch and yours for the day.

  After school, you picked her up curbside and headed to Jim’s house. Luckily, he had answered your call earlier that day and had free time that afternoon to talk. When you got to his house, he answered the door, right along with his two golden retrievers, Max and Cody, who immediately began swarming around Ollie and licking her face.

“Easy guys,” Jim warned in a deep, commanding voice, to which they immediately obeyed. They sat and patiently waited for Ollie to remove her coat and greet them properly.

“Thanks for this,” you said, removing your own coat and hanging it up.

“Sure thing,” he said and turned to Ollie. “Hey kiddo, I got snacks and the tv going in the playroom. Can you head in there so—”

“Yeah, I know… grownup time. Come on guys,” she patted her leg and the dogs followed obediently.

“She’s good with them,” you mused, watching her walk away.

Jim cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. It was his way of putting up a wall where you were concerned.

“So, what do you need to talk about?” he asked curtly.

“Do you remember a few months back, when I asked you to take her because I had to go out of town?”

He nodded slowly, still clearly a sore spot for him. Jim hadn’t exactly been happy about it, and not because he didn’t love being with Ollie, but because he knew it had something to do with Dean.

“Well, I know that you know, why I went. I went to meet up with Dean.”

“I figured,” he growled.

“It’s a long story and one I don’t think you care to hear, but he called again last night.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me this, Y/N? You know how I feel about this guy…”

“I know. But, he’s her father.”

“I’M her father,” he barked and angrily stuck his finger into his own chest, the veins in his neck popping with anger. “I’M the one that took care of her for the last five years! Not this ass—”

“Hey! Just stop. I promised her we wouldn’t fight!”

He glared at you and shook his head in disgust. “So, what? You want my blessing to take her to meet him?”

“Yes and no… I don’t know. I don’t even know if I should. But, you are also her father. So, I guess I wanted to include you in this. Forgive me for being so stupid to believe that you could just think about what’s best for her, and not be angry with me.”

“Best for her? This… Dean guy,” Jim spat the name from his mouth as if it were poison, “he’s what’s best for her? I assume he knows about her now, right? That’s why you went to meet with him last Spring, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t want to meet her then, right? He bailed, again, right?”

“It's not that simple, you don’t know the whole story,” you said quietly and peered down the hallway to see if Ollie was listening. “It's complicated, from beginning to end, so very complicated.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, regretting even including him in the conversation.

“Oh, even better. Bring an eight-year-old little girl to meet some sperm donor you knew from almost ten years ago and wreck her world by telling her this scum bag is her biological father.”

“You better watch your fucking mouth, Jim,” you growled lowly at him, suddenly very angry and defensive of your feelings about Dean. “He wasn’t some sperm donor. I loved him. I still do. He thought he was going to die, that’s why I told him about her, but he got better and he’s ok. So, yeah, I am going to tell her about him, but I wanted to give you the courtesy of a head’s up first. Something I am beginning to seriously regret.”

He laughed in disbelief and crossed his arms over his chest. “Clearly you’ve already made up your mind. But, if it backfires, and it will… it may be time to revisit our custody arrangement. Legally I am that girl’s father and I will do what I have to in order to protect her.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, honey. I would. I won’t stop you from bringing Ollie to meet him, but if she’s hurt by this in any way, you will have me and the court system to deal with.”

  The drive home from Jim’s was quiet. Ollie wanted to spend the night since she was supposed to be going to his house the next morning anyway. Halfway between Jim’s and home, you pulled over to the side of the road and grabbed the burner cell from your purse. You found the number that called from the night before and waited for him to answer.

“Hello?” Dean’s voice came through. “Y/N?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, it's me. I’ve been thinking about last night, and, uh… let’s meet, ok? Where are you?”

“Not that far from you, where do you want to meet up?”

“My house. I’ll text you the address.”

“You sure? What about—”

“She’s with Jim… my ex. It's his weekend to have her.”

Dean was silent for what felt like forever but was maybe on 30 seconds. You could hear him exhale and just imagine his fists clenching opening and closed trying to quell his frustration. “Alright. Send me the address. Be there as soon as I can.”

  True to his word, Dean arrived within a couple hours and without Sam. You heard the rumble of the Impala’s motor the minute he entered the neighborhood, which gave you a few minutes to compose yourself. Stopping at the hallway mirror, you fixed a few strands of hair that fell out of place and smoothed the lines of your shirt. His car stopped in front of the house, the creak of the doors acting as the final announcement of his arrival.

You opened the front door before he could knock. The sight of him approaching down the narrow walkway made your heart start pounding in your chest. Dean looked up and saw you standing there, hesitating for only a second. It made you think of how he looked when he saw you at the hotel months earlier. There was no anger, now. This time, he was smiling nervously.

He was in the doorway, his eyes scanning you slowly from head to toe before he could say anything. Finally, he reached out for your hand and meet your gaze. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied sheepishly, allowing him to mingle his fingers with yours. The spark... that damn spark was still there and you both felt it the instant your fingers touched. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

You threw your arms up around his neck, holding him tightly and burying your head into his neck. Dean hugged you back, lifting you off your feet in a fierce embrace. He exhaled unsteadily, finally returning your feet to the ground. He didn’t say anything else. For a moment he just studied your face and gently caressed the side of your cheek with his thumb. His tongue darted across his bottom lip, and in his eyes was a sea of unspoken feelings you could so easily drown in.

“Come on, come inside,” you said and closed the door behind him. “Can I get you something… coffee? Water? Um… I think there’s some apple juice---”

“A beer, maybe. If you have one. If not, I know you have a stash of whiskey somewhere. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

You turned and gave him a playfully exasperated look. “I don’t know what you're talking about Dean Winchester. I would never…”

“Uh huh. I seem to remember a two-hundred-mile trip to get tacos where you just happened to have a fifth of Jack hidden in your bag. Oh, and there was that one time we were at your apartment, I had come over after a fight with dad and you just happened to have two bottles in the back of the closet.”

“Your point?”

“I know you got something somewhere in here,” he teased, the crinkles around his eyes becoming more pronounced with his growing smile.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed out two glass tumblers from the cabinet before going into the back of your pantry and retrieving your bottle of Gentleman Jack.

“Aaaand there it is,” he said, happily taking the bottle from you and pouring the liquor into both glasses.

You raised yours up in salute. “To you, and the whole being alive again thing.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed and threw back the booze. “Happy days.”

“So, you wanna fill me in? Last I saw or head from you… you left me a note saying goodbye. I get a text from Sam a month later saying you're gone. Now… you’re not. I hope details of your resurrection are forthcoming.”

Dean pulled out one of the counter stools, unknowingly the same one his daughter sat in that morning. He saw the same pack of muffins on the counter and seemed to consider taking one before pushing them away.

“Werewolves, vampires, ghouls, ghosts, shapeshifters… all real. You know that. You experienced it, yourself. Hell, even demons… all real. But never in my life did I believe that angels existed.”

“I swear if this is some cheesy pickup line to avoid the conversation, Dean—”

“No,” he laughed and poured another whiskey. “I wish it were, but no, that’s not it.”

“Then, what?”

“Angels are real, too. I was dead… in Hell, Y/N. And then, I wasn’t. I was in a box buried in the ground where Sam put me. Dug my way out of the dirty, and found Bobby, then Sam.”

“How long? I mean, how long were you—”

“In Hell? Forty years...” he trailed off, his eyes fixed on nothing ahead of him as he absently brought the glass to his lips.

“Forty—what? That makes no sense.”

“Four months up here, forty years in Hell. The details… I can’t… but then God thought I was worth saving. One of his angels, Castiel, pulled me up and put me back into my meat suit,” he downed the whiskey before shrugging off his coat and pulling up his sleeve to reveal a raised scar in the shape of a handprint.

“Jesus…” you muttered and lightly touched it.

“I don’t know about him… but Angels, God… they exist.”

You glared at him and rolled your eyes, then looked back at the scar. “I don’t know what to say… why? I mean, I am grateful they saved you, but why? If you made the deal Sam said you did…” you trailed off, still trying to take it all in.

“Because they need me. There’s something brewing and, they—the angels—want me and Sam to stop it.”

“What? Dean… what’s brewing?!”

“I didn’t come here to worry you, or anything like that—”

“Then tell me. Or I’ll just call Ellen and find out.”

“Ellen doesn’t know. She may not even know I’m back,” Dean said with a tinge of regret as he slid off the stool. He stood in front of you and took your hands into his. “I just wanted to see you again. Talk to you about maybe seeing Ollie. I don’t want to disrupt her life, you don’t even have to tell her who I am. I just… Y/N I need to see her.”

“Why?” you asked, unable to hide the tremor of fear that was present in your voice. “Why now? Are you afraid you’re going to die again? Because I can’t go through that again… I know we hadn’t seen each other in years, but, after the motel and being with you again—”

The thought of having to feel the loss of Dean again was enough to trigger a swell of panic and despair you never wanted to know again. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Y/N, I can’t promise you anything. I don’t know what is going to happen. I just know that I will fight like Hell to get this done and get back to you. Most importantly though, I can’t continue this mission unless I know you’re both safe. That none of this will come back to touch your lives.”

You felt your knees go weak and rested on the counter for support. John Winchester’s words floated through your mind, as did Jim’s warning, and your need for another whiskey was steadily rising. Sensing your thoughts, Dean poured more in your glass and slid it to you, raising his eyebrows with understanding as you threw it back, immediately pouring another.

“We’re quite the functional family, huh?”

You snorted a laugh and felt the slight burn of the brown liquor touch the inside of your nose. “I hate you…” you chortled in return, making him smile. It may have only lasted a moment, but any time that Dean would smile, it lifted you up as well.

When his expression turned serious, you knew that he feared dying again, but there was something else, too. “Dean, what aren’t you telling me?”

He hesitated, but when his eyes met yours, you thought maybe he felt comfortable enough to confide in you again. “It’s Sam. Everything going on… he’s in trouble. I don’t know how to help him other than to fight and try to stop the seals from breaking, stop what the demons are doing...”

“Seals?” you asked, but the lump in your throat prevented there to be much volume behind it.

Dean nodded slightly. “Old school testament shit. Like I said, angels, demons… God. It’s all real, or so they tell me. This war is Biblical, and if we can’t stop it, if the bad guys win, its not going to be good for anyone. I can’t lose Sam in this. Or you, or her. Before this goes any further, before we take on any more of these seals, I just needed to see you.”

“To meet Ollie,” you mused, more to yourself than to Dean.

“Yeah,” he said, lightly taking your chin in his fingers and turning it back to him. “And to see you. I wanted to come as soon as I was topside again, I hated leaving you like I did. It's just, everything happened so fast. Trying to catch up on four months of time. Then there was Sam… the demons… it was chaos.”

You felt your skin go cold at the idea of demons. You heard some hunters talk about them over the years since spending time at Harvelle’s, but to know they were getting closer, more of them were walking around, made everything inside you quake with fear.

“I’m scared, Dean. I don’t like the sound of this, at all.”

He pulled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head before resting his chin there. “I won’t let anything hurt you or Ollie, Y/N. I promise you that.”

You stood that way, just holding onto each other for a while. With your head against his chest, the sound of his heart beating comforted you. If Dean was alive again, things would be alright. Years may have passed since you really spent time with him, but your reunion at the hotel months before, and the time you had now, just reaffirmed what you always knew… he was the love of your life, the father of your child, and you would do whatever you had to, to help him.

“Dean,” you said softly, without lifting your head from his chest, “will you stay tonight? Stay here with me? Tomorrow, I’ll go get Ollie so you can meet her. But for tonight…”

“I’m all yours,” he said and pulled back slightly from the embrace; just enough to bend down and kiss you softly. “And not just for tonight, either.”

  The next day dawned to a rainy, overcast morning. Waking in your bed, you rolled over to see if everything the night before had been a dream. Spending hours, tangled in the sheets with Dean, slowly getting reacquainted with each other, unlike the rush and desperate need you had months before. When you found the bed empty, it was a treacherous case of Déjà vu of when you woke in the motel and he was already gone. Had he bailed again?

Fear shot through you as you lept out of the bed and grabbed your robe before haphazardly throwing it on and sprinting downstairs. Halfway there, the smell of crisping bacon and the sound of eggs sizzling instantly calmed you.

Entering the kitchen, you saw Dean standing at the stove and moving the eggs around the pan, so they didn’t stick. He was in his black T-shirt and jeans, his hair still soft and puffy from sleep. He had a tune playing in his mind that he was absently bopping his head too, little hints of mimicked guitar riffs coming from his lips of some Zeppelin song.

You were able to watch him for a minute or two before he sensed your presence. He moved around your kitchen like he had lived there for years and it felt like you were getting a glimpse of what life could have been if you didn’t send him away when you did.

Though he’d forgiven you, guilt still lived in your heart where that decision was concerned, and you were determined to find a way to make it up to him.

“Morning,” you said, finally entering the room. “Since when did you become so domestic?”

“Oh, this… nah… this is just breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, coffee—the basics.”

“It smells great,” you said dreamily, inhaling the aroma of the coffee on the counter. “I feel spoiled.”

Dean put the spatula down and killed the heat on the eggs. He approached you, backing you into the corner where the two lengths of counter space came together. Dean put a hand down on the counters on either side of you and leaned in close. “You should be spoiled. Now that the past is in the past, and once this other business is done, I plan on doing just that.”

“Tell me again…” you whispered, recalling the night before and what he had said to you as you drifted off to sleep.

“I love you and I’m not gonna leave again,” he rasped before his tongue ran nervously across his lips.

Even with the weight of what he told you the day before, and the nerves around him meeting Ollie, you felt overwhelmed with love at that moment. You took his face in your hands and kissed him. His hands found their way under your robe and grabbed your hips, pulling you in and resting on the small of your back. He withdrew one hand and wrapped it around the back of your neck, elongating your kiss the kiss into something that could easily put breakfast on hold and make you go back upstairs.

Just as his lips parted, and the silky touch of his tongue mingled with yours, you heard the faint sound of car doors slamming from outside. Dean heard it too and swiftly pulled away from you, while you tightened the bathrobe’s belt. The muffled conversation was approaching the house and you realized then, that it was Jim and Ollie.

You looked at Dean, slightly panicked. Yes, he was going to meet her, but you hadn’t even called Jim yet to see if you could pick her up early. Again, sensing your thoughts, Dean gave you a knowing look and ducked into the TV room that lived off the kitchen, flushing himself against the wall so he wouldn’t be the first thing they saw when entering the house.

Jim’s key was in the lock just as you dumped the whiskey tumblers from the night before into the sink, trying to hide the evidence that you weren’t alone.

The front door opened, and you tried to look like you had just made breakfast, then realized how much food Dean had already made.

“Mommy?!” Ollie called out from the entryway, most likely kicking off her shoes and tossing them near the door like she always did. “Are you up?”

“In here, Ollie,” you called, hoping that the nerves in your tone weren’t noticeable to her or Jim.

Ollie’s small form bounced into the kitchen, her ponytail swinging behind her. “I forgot some stuff, so daddy brought me here to get it. He said you wouldn’t be home though,” she added with a frown. “Whoa, breakfast! Can I have some? Oh, and is that a new car outside?”

It hadn’t dawned on you until then that Dean’s car was out front, and it wasn’t exactly a car that easily blended into your neighborhood.

“That’s quite the showstopper,” Jim’s voice echoed from the hallway before rounding into the kitchen. “Haven’t seen a ’67 Impala in years. Looks mint, too.” He was keeping his tone jovial for Ollie’s sake, but resentment burned into you from his eyes because he knew exactly who the car belonged to. “Belong to someone you know?”

You could sense Dean’s frustration radiating from behind the wall of the living room. You imagined that he was desperate to walk in here and start balking at Jim for any number of things; especially now that Dean was more informed about your past with him. The night before, you had spent a good amount of time going over the years you missed together, which included a full accounting of your relationship with Ollie’s stepfather. Dean was not Jim’s biggest fan. Or vice versa.

“It belongs to a friend of mine. He’s in town for a visit and he stayed here last night,” you said to them both, but the direction of your glare went straight to Jim.

“Your friend who called the other night?” she asked before grabbing two pieces of bacon from the plate.

“Mhm, yeah. Would you like to meet him?” you asked her directly but passed a warning glance to Jim from the corner of your eye.

“Sure,” she shrugged and quickly gobbled both pieces.

“Well, uh, we don’t have time for that right now, sweetie,” Jim interjected. “We just stopped in to get your books, remember? Gotta get moving if you want to get to the library before—”

“Oh, I imagine there’s a little time to say hello,” Dean said with a smug grin as he rounded the corner from the living room, sinking daggers into Jim. But the moment his eyes found Olivia, it faded into a sweet, gentle smile.

You watched his expression as he took her in, examining everything from the strands of hair on her head to the socks she wore that had little pizzas on them. He briefly looked back at you, and what you saw in his eyes was everything you had hoped for. The moment he laid eyes on his daughter, Dean Winchester fell head over heels in love.

Part 3

[sweetheartjeongguk]

blow me (a kiss) (m)

pairing: min yoonji x fem!reader

genre: fluff, mild angst, smutty smut, high school au

rating: nc-17 (explicit sexual themes and cursing)

warning(s): brief mentions of vomit, smoking & alcohol, jealousy, insecurity, explicit sexual themes (characters are of age), loss of virginity, jungkook doesn’t know when to shut up but they thank him for it later (but still will beat his ass for one corn chip)

word count: 7.1k

summary: yoonji refuses to believe that she’s in love until one day, she just might have to prove herself before someone else does. 

part I | part II | part III / masterlist

Yoonji refuses to believe it. Nope, she couldn’t care less.

Nope, nope, nope.

“Yeah, they said something about her going to the party with Jimin?” Namjoo replies to Nayeon, her mouth stuffed full of rice and meat.

Somehow, Seokjin still looks at his girlfriend with the biggest heart eyes the universe has ever seen. But then again, Seokjin has made it his mission to let Yoonji know all about her so-called “emotional constipation”.

Fair play, Kim.

“Didn’t he break up with Sana last week?” Nayeon frowns in confusion.

“Jin, you’re friends with him.” Namjoo finally swallows the mushy wad of food. “Is it true?”

Yoonji ignores the uncomfortable itch in the pit of her stomach and tries to focus on finishing her own food before the bell rings for her next class to start. 

“Jimin did mention to us that he wanted to find someone to go with to Seulgi’s party on Saturday, but I didn’t think that he would ask her.” Seokjin hums. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, it makes sense why he’d ask her. They’ve been spending a lot of time together afterschool ever since Mr. Kang made them partners for the anatomy project.”

“Oh, doing what?” Namjoo asks innocently.

Obnoxious giggling erupts from Yoonji’s right.

“Probably exploring their own anatomies.” The youngest of the group, Jungkook, snorts as he goes to take a sip of his milk.

Suddenly, all eyes are on Jungkook as he squawks in pain, spewing the milk across the table and slamming his knee against the underside of the table.

“Oops, leg twitch.” Yoonji deadpans.

Jungkook awkwardly turns back around to Taehyung who hands him a napkin before Yoonji could threaten to break one of his limbs (again). Namjoo sends Yoonji a knowing look that read “stop harming the poor boy” and “I know why you did that”. Like always, Yoonji goes back to chewing on her rice.

Out of sight, out of mind.

However, it’s kind of hard to keep what is bothering her out of sight when it’s everywhere she goes.

In her biology class, in her P.E. class, and afterschool in the parking lot. Even in her dreams.

You’re constantly on her mind, and Yoonji hates it.

It’s too warm and bubbly inside her gut, almost as though she’s a little kid waiting in line for a rollercoaster, finally brave enough to get on only to realize that it was a huge mistake.

Yoonji has two choices – forget you and suffer through the horrors of high school life until graduation or suck it up and make the first move before Jimin could.

Ever so the pessimist, Yoonji prefers to play it safe and suffer in silence. Namjoo, ever so the enthusiastic enabler, has another idea.

“Hey, Y/N! Jimin!” Yoonji’s shoulders stiffen immediately. “Come sit with us!”

“Hi, guys! Sorry we’re a little late, lunch line was long, and Old Man Jung wouldn’t give me another milk carton.” You sigh dramatically as you drop your schoolbag onto the crusty cafeteria floor.

Yoonji’s heart flutters at your dulcet tones, almost as if honey drips from your lips.

She wonders if they would taste just as sweet.

“What’s up, man?”

Yoonji twitches at the blond-haired boy who slaps palms with Jungkook and Taehyung, performing a stupid handshake that they no doubt made back in middle school. His cheery smile might distract you, but Yoonji could see through the façade – the stupid façade that she has decided she hates with all of her might.

“Hey, Yoonji,” you greet sweetly as you settle into your seat in-between Namjoo and Jimin, right in front of Yoonji. “you ready for the stat exam on Friday?”

The mention of the dreaded math exam drags Yoonji back into reality. Yoonji groans as if in pain and smacks her hands over her face in frustration, uncaring that she may have wiped away the winged eyeliner Namjoo applied that morning. At the sound of Namjoo’s huff of contempt, she probably did.

You laugh heartily, “I feel the same way. If you want, we can study together beforehand?”

Yoonji perks up instantly at the idea of spending an entire afternoon with you. Perhaps this will be her chance to step her game up and finally tell you the truth, hopefully ending with the ultimate happily-ever-after.

Get your head out of your ass, Min.

“Just not tomorrow though, Jimin and I are going to see Infinity War.” You roll your eyes playfully. “He’s been whining about it ever since the first trailer came out.”

You nudge Jimin’s shoulders who breaks away from his conversation with Jungkook to shove you back with an equally teasing smile. You are completely oblivious to the dramatic fall of Yoonji’s grin and the sympathetic glance from Namjoo before she turns to her boyfriend as he retells his story about eating ten lobsters in one sitting during his family vacation last year.

Despite all the people crowding around her, Yoonji still manages to feel like an outsider.

“Y-yeah, that’s fine by me. Wednesday then?” Yoonji scratches behind her ear.

“Totally, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

She wouldn’t miss it for the world, huh? Suck my nonexistent dick, Park.

“Oh!” You exclaim abruptly. “Are you going to the party on Saturday? Everyone’s coming – me, Namjoo, Seokjin, Taehyung, Jimin…”

Your voice slightly trails off as you shove a spoonful of rice into your mouth while talking with the girl in front of you. Yoonji grins as she reaches over to flick away the grain of rice that attached itself to your lip. Realizing what she just did, she coughs and pulls her hand back into her lap, acting as if nothing had just happened.  

Namjoo snorts as she watches from her seat. ‘Whipped!’

“Eh, parties aren’t really my scene.” Yoonji forces a casual shrug. “Plus, someone has to watch over Holly over the weekend.”

This is a slight lie – Yoonji’s brother Yoongi would be at home all weekend with her, being (somewhat) capable of taking care of the little dog. At the same time, however, Yoonji knows her brother well enough to know that his carelessness might lead to Holly running out into the streets and Yoonji being the one to chase after him because his legs would just so happen to start cramping.

It's a miracle the boy is still functioning as a human being.

“Oh yeah, how is he? I miss seeing him around the neighborhood when you’d walk with in the morning!” You coo at the thought of the cute little chestnut brown poodle.

“H-he’s good.” Yoonji coughs. “Still doesn’t know how to use the bathroom outside, but he’s getting better.”

“Yeah, maybe next time you can bring Holly when me and Jimin go to walk our dogs! It’s been really nice weather so far.” You suggest brightly.

“M-maybe…” Yoonji’s voice fades into a low mumble.

Yoonji is brought out of her self-pity mode when the lunch bell rings, signifying the end of the period and the transition into the second to last class of the day. You pout when you realize that you haven’t finished your food.

“Come on, babe, off to English.” Jimin said teasingly as he takes your tray from you and leads you away to the exit.

Babe.

Yoonji watches pathetically as you wave goodbye and follow Jimin out of the lunchroom to attend your English class.

“See you later, Yoonji,” Namjoo calls out. “Don’t be late.”

Yoonji wishes she could ignore the double meaning behind her best friend’s words.

Wednesday comes faster than Yoonji had anticipated. The butterflies swarming the pit of her stomach can’t seem to calm down, even after Yoonji’s quick smoke outside the schoolgrounds during their lunchbreak.

Not one of her best habits, but it does its job for the meantime.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late!” Yoonji turns in time to watch you dash across the parking lot. “Mr. Lee kept us late because Jungkook thought it was funny to dump a milk carton on the stack of homework.”

“Sounds like a drag.” Yoonji’s lips slant in sympathy.

She grabs your backpack from you, ignoring your refusals and tossing the bag into the backseats. The two of you slip inside and drive back to Yoonji’s house for some much-needed studying for the devil test you two had in two days.

It’s probably not a good idea to study just two days before the exam, but who studies nowadays?

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Yoonji drawls as she unlocks and push through the front door, “that’ll be 50 dollars.”

“Wow, Min, you trying to drain me of my savings already?” You tease back, kicking off your shoes and putting on the cute yellow house slippers that waited for you by the shoe rack.

“I got to make a living somehow, sweetheart.” The nickname slips before Yoonji could stop herself, but you thankfully don’t mind it.

Unbeknownst to Yoonji, you loved it.

Holly greets the two of you at the top of the stairs, yipping happily at the sight of his owner and a familiar guest.

“Hi, Holly! Did ya miss me?” You giggle as Holly licks your cheek, his little tail wagging intensely at all the love he’s receiving.

“Hey, don’t steal her away from me.” Yoonji scolds sarcastically.

Yoonji can practically hear Namjoo in her head. ‘Min, you corny bitch.’

Patting the poodle one last time, you follow Yoonji into her room, laughing at the amount of paper stacked on her desk and the massive laundry load inside a wicker basket just waiting to be folded. Her bed is neatly made, but you can spot a bra or two peeking out from underneath the bed. Yoonji’s lucky that she stashed away her small collection of…special toys…in the closet – she couldn’t imagine the embarrassment if you found one of them poking through.

“So, you ready to fail this exam on Friday?” You sigh as you plop down on Yoonji’s mattress.

The image of you undressed and spread out across her bedsheets, begging for her – whining for her to do something – pops into her head with no warning.

“…Yoonji, you good?”

Yoonji shakes out of her thoughts. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just tired from today.”

“You’re telling me.” You yawn tiredly. “I can’t wait until graduation. Then – we’re finally gone! Goodbye hell school!”

“Yeah…” Yoonji trails off. “Gone.”

Yoonji hasn’t given much thought to where she’ll go after graduation, but all she knows is that she wants to make music. Whether it be producing, songwriting, or working in a recording studio – she couldn’t care less. The atmosphere she feels when she’s hearing new music and making her own tracks is unbeatable.

Knowing you, you’d be onto bigger and better things – maybe settling into a big city in a country where there’s always something to do and new people to meet. You’d be happy there while Yoonji wastes away in a town that threatens to swallow her whole every day.

At least you’d be happy.

“I’m thinking about applying to the college that’s about two hours from here, but then again I don’t want to move so far away from you guys!” You theatrically twist your limbs on her bed as if in a tantrum.

Yoonji rolls her eyes jokingly. “I don’t think you should plan your life around us. Do what you feel is right, and we’ll keep in touch regardless.”

“You promise?” You mutter softly.

“Of course…” Yoonji trails on awkwardly, fiddling with nonexistent dirt underneath her already to-the-nub fingernails. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Aw, Yoonji, I knew you had a soft spot for little ol’ me.” You wink teasingly.

Yoonji almost wishes that she could use this moment to confess and to just let go of the baggage weighing down on her chest.

But life’s imperfect that way.

No matter how much we want something, the world has a funny way of telling us no.

“Ha ha, you wish.”

You and Yoonji busy yourselves with studying and homework, only really seeing and talking to each other on Friday when you have your math exam in the morning. You spot her from across the classroom and send her two thumbs-up, mouthing “Fighting!” with a cheerful expression. Everyone is nervous about the exam, but at least you take the initiative to stay positive – something Yoonji struggles with on the daily.

After sitting through the horrid hour exam and downing two and a half cups of coffee in one sitting – Namjoo finally makes Yoonji to drink water and eat a bagel – she walks with Namjoo to her car, textbooks secure in her arms and keys clutched between two fingers. The day is finally over, and Yoonji could practically taste her afternoon nap.

“How’d you think you did?” Namjoo swings her housekeys in a back-and-forth motion, nearly smacking Yoonji in the arm but thankfully redirecting her aim when she catches Yoonji’s glare from the corner of her eye.

“Probably terrible. Like I always say, math is the worst subject ever to be created besides P.E.” Yoonji drones robotically.

“You’re not wrong about that.” Namjoo trails off as she drags her eyes across the parking lot, almost in search of something.

“Her and Jimin seem to be getting pretty serious.” Namjoo says abruptly as she spots the two of you walking together towards Jimin’s car.

Yoonji glances at you for a minute. For the first time, Yoonji hates your smile. She hates how you direct it towards someone like Jimin, someone who had never given you the time of day until after he broke up with his girlfriend and went to go look for “fresh meat”.

It is selfish thinking, and Yoonji knows it. You weren’t hers to claim – all she could do is hope for something, some kind of sign that her feelings aren’t for naught.

Life’s looking a bit disappointing as she wishes to erase the look of happiness shared between you and Jimin, the look of happiness that she wishes she could have for herself.

“I suppose so.” Yoonji clenches her jaw.  

Namjoo stifles a disappointed sigh at the lack of response. She decides that she needs to step it up a bit.

“Don’t you think they’d look really cute together?” Namjoo coos excitably, “I heard from Jin that he’s trying to go to the college she’s going to, so mayb—”

Slam!

Namjoo’s heart nearly flings out of her chest at the sudden bang, almost like a gunshot. She didn’t notice that she and Yoonji had already arrived at Yoonji’s car – the loud noise from Yoonji slamming her textbooks down on the roof of the car.

“Yeah, cute.” Yoonji spits. “Couple of the year, I’m so happy for them.”  

Her eyes tear up from anger, but she would be damned if she is going to let herself cry in front of all these strangers in the middle of her high school parking lot. These motherfuckers didn’t deserve to see her tears, especially not Park Jimin.

“Let’s go.” Yoonji sniffs, not bothering to look at Namjoo as she slips into the driver’s seat and start the car, desperate to leave the memory of your smile behind in the parking lot.

Social media booms with Instagram updates and Snapchat stories the next day about the “totally insane” party Seulgi is hosting at her house with the help of her four best friends. Yoonji stays off her phone to avoid seeing the texts from Namjoo teasing her about not being game enough to attend and worst of all – seeing photos of you with Jimin.  

Namjoo was quick to apologize for taking the joke too far, to which Yoonji forgives her. She knew that once Namjoo started apologizing, she was going to burst out into ugly tears. Yoonji brushes this off by her usual devil-may-care attitude. She knows that her best friend means well (most of the time), but like a lot of pain, it lingers.

It is like a papercut that doesn’t seem so bad at first until you pour alcohol over it. Suddenly, it’s almost unbearable.

“Hey, loser, what are you still doing here?”

Yoonji rolls her eyes at her brother who stands at her doorway, holding a can of beer and his cell phone in both hands. He had come back from his friend’s house a couple hours ago and wanted to take advantage of the supposedly empty house until their parents come back the next morning from their trip to Yoonji’s grandparents’ house.

“What does it look like, genius?” Yoonji retorts, taking one look at her phone and rolling her eyes at how she nearly goes to grab it.

Nobody’s even talking to you, they’re all busy getting wasted and hooking up.

Yoongi rolls his own eyes before striding inside her messy room and plopping down on the edge of her bed. “Well, I heard that Seulgi’s hosting a party that all your friends are at. Why aren’t you there, stupid?”

“Not my style.”

“Y/N’s there.”

Yoonji shoots a dangerous glare, but Yoongi is unphased. “How do you know about her?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, genius.” Yoongi smirks devilishly. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that you’re lusting over her tits—Ow!”

“Hey!” Yoonji punches his arm, satisfied in his squeak of pain. “I don’t like her just for her tits.”

“Oh?” Yoongi questions. “But you’re not denying that you like her?”

“U-uh, no, I don’t.” Yoonji stutters.  

“I knew it,” Yoongi claps his hands in satisfaction. “you like her – tits and everything else in between.”

“So just fuck her personality, then?” Yoonji deadpans as her brother hops up in excitement.

“Come on, man!” Yoongi stomps his feet childishly. “Go out and get some ass! We’re almost graduating, and you still haven’t talked to her about you-know-what.”

“Because she doesn’t like me, dumbass.” Yoonji grumbles, picking at a frayed thread on her sweater.

“Wow, first I’m a genius, now I’m a dumbass.” Yoongi laughs sardonically. “You are a certified terrible liar, just like Dad whenever he tells Mom that he remembered to send Grandma her birthday card.”

Yoonji scoffs as she stands up to go sit at her desk, logging into her computer to pull up the tracks that she has been working on since the beginning of the schoolyear in hopes of getting some real work done. She is in dire need of forgetting this entire week and focusing on more important things like her budding music career (or lack of, according to Yoongi).

“Fine then…” Yoongi takes a swig from his beer can and moves to the doorway. “But just so you know, I heard Jimin was gonna ask Y/N out tonight and maybe even to go back to his place... if you know what I mean.”

Yoonji nearly smashes her keyboard.

“Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you!” Yoongi yells as he escapes her room and heads downstairs to continue his Tokyo Ghoul marathon.

‘Even Kaneki and Touka are better communicators than she and Y/N are, and homies haven’t even talked to each other throughout the whole third season!’

Yoonji stares blankly at the computer screen, manipulating and adding the finishing touches on her tracks. She hopes to send it to the record label she wants to work at this summer – and hopes to sign with them in the near future.

Wishful thinking but a goal nonetheless. Her guidance counselor would be impressed.

As Yoonji saves her work and shuts the computer for the night, the image of your smile floods her vision once more. Suddenly, it gets harder to breathe inside the stuffy bedroom. The image of Jimin touching you, being inside of you – enough is enough.

No more waiting, no more stalling.

By the time her car parks alongside the driveway of Seulgi’s house, the bass of the music is already rattling her body. It’s as though the whole neighborhood packed themselves inside the house with a sprinkling of teenagers both inside the house and outside on the lawn. Red solo cups once filled with strong concoctions of 1% juice and 99% alcohol litter the driveway, and Yoonji gags at the vomit and shit lining the sidewalk as she enters through the front door.

‘God, this is why I don’t go to these parties.’

She unapologetically shoves through the half-drunk crowd in the hallway in a desperate search for the familiar face. Jungkook and Taehyung are busy playing beer pong – and utterly failing – in the dining room while two girls from Yoonji’s Art History class make out on the couch, hands gripping at each other’s bodies as the music switches to a sensual Weeknd song.

“Yoonji! You made it, you big grinch!”

While Namjoo is indeed Yoonji’s savior in this weed-drenched, sweaty hell pit of a party, she is not looking for her.

“Hey, yeah, great to see you too.” Yoonji rambles quickly, “Where’s Y/N?”

“Oh,” Namjoo chortles mischievously, “what for?”

“It’s important!” Yoonji groans. “Just tell me!”

Namjoo hiccups drunkenly as she points down a hallway teeming with party-goers. “She was sitting outside with Jimin last time I checked...”

Without another word, Yoonji shuffles past her drunk best friend and semi-dashes down the hallway, avoiding the couples grinding against each other to the beat of the music and the single men trying to shoot their shot with her. Just as she is about to give up searching through the freakishly tall crowd blocking her way, she notices a lone individual on the balcony.

You.

As she inches closer to the glass door of the balcony, Yoonji mentally prepares her little speech for you.

While it wasn’t a long shot that she is pretty much deeply in love with you, she doesn’t exactly think that ‘Hey, Y/N, I’m totally in love with you and if you want to fuck my brains and then cuddle me afterwards, that’d be great!’ would be a good opener to begin with.

“Hey, you…”

You turn your head in surprise. You had been in deep thought for the past hour, your night with Jimin cut short after his mother called him to alert him that they were coming home early. In a frantic escape, Jimin yelled a quick goodbye and left you on the balcony, a blunt burning lamely between your fingers. Hearing her out of all people after your brief moment of solitude creates a fuzzy feeling inside your gut – a feeling you knew all too well ever since you moved to the town.  

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” You flick away the sad stub into the empty flower pot on the coffee table. “I didn’t think parties were Min Yoonji’s style.”

“Well, here I am…” Yoonji jokes lamely. “Should I not be here then?”

“No…” Yoonji’s lips turn down into a pout. “Wait, I mean, yes, you should be here. With me. H-here. Yeah.”

“Where’s Jimin? I thought you guys came together.” Yoonji questions carefully as she goes to replace the seat he had been occupying an hour ago. She didn’t want to seem too interested in his whereabouts, but it was suspicious how he just up and left without taking you with him.

Yoonji is ready to fight a bitch if he did anything to hurt you.

“Oh, he had to rush home to avoid getting killed by his parents.” You laugh quietly, running a hand through your messy hair. They came back from their Maldives trip early, and Jimin left his brother at home with leftover pizza and no supervision.”

“Oh, t-that sucks.”

What a romantic, Min Yoonji. Women just swoon at your every word.

“Yeah, but it’s okay, I understand. I’ve just been sitting out here, thinking.” You stare up at the full moon shining brightly into your pupils before turning back to face the brunette. “Now, why is the infamous Min Yoonji here instead of sleeping in on this glorious Saturday night?”

“Oh, well, the t-thing is…” Yoonji stammers gawkily. “I have s-something to say…to you.”

“Oh?” You perk up. “What about?”

“Us.”

“Oh.” Yoonji feels her heart plummet to the ground. This is already such a bad idea. “What about…us?”

Here goes nothing, Min. You can do it.

“I—”

“Hey guys! What’s going on out here?”

Yoonji clenches her hands into two tight fists at the intruders, their snarky smiles plastered on their sweaty faces. It’s almost as if destiny is telling Yoonji to go fuck herself and give up already.

What’s the use anymore?

“Hey, Jungkook. We’re just hanging out and talking.” You smile politely.

If Yoonji had just looked a little closer, she would see how you strained your voice, holding back your irritation at the appearance of your two dumb but strangely lovable friends.

“Oh shit!” Yoonji doesn’t like his condescending tone. “I see what’s going on here.”

Jungkook starts giggling like a madman to himself. Taehyung rolls his eyes but keeps his silence as he watches the conversation – more like telenovela – unfold.

“What’s so funny?” You mumble irritably.

“Did she tell you that she’s in love with you yet?”

Yoonji just might throw up. Right here, on Jungkook’s expensive sneakers. Fat chunks and all.

“Oh, man, did you not get that part yet?” Jungkook slurs as he notices your eyes bulge from your head. “Oh well, now you know. She’s been thirsting over your tits for the past year and a half.”

Yoonji hates how the embarrassment comes too natural to her. Tears flood the corner of her eyes, and Yoonji is too weak to stop them this time. It’s like nothing she tries works out and instead, she’s forced to watch you crush the pieces of her broken heart.

“I’m sorry.” Yoonji chokes on a sob as she stumbles past Jungkook’s heavy shoulder in a mad dash back inside the house and to her car.

After this, she doesn’t know if she can look at you again. Maybe her parents will understand why she wants to drop out of high school and become a hermit living at home for the rest of her natural-born life.  

“Yoonji!” You cry out, barreling past Jungkook and Taehyung as you chase after her.  

“Way to go, Jungkook.” Taehyung snorts. “Can’t wait for your ass to get kicked on Monday.”

“Hmm?” Jungkook hums drunkenly. “They’ll thank me soon enough.”

“Yoonji, wait!”

Out of pride, Yoonji continues towards her car, clutching to her car keys for dear life. Ignoring your desperate calls behind her hurt, but being outed before she could confess to you in her own way hurt even more.

“Yoonji, please stop!”

A tiny hand grabs at Yoonji’s elbow, pushing her back against the car door. Yoonji is slightly surprised at your show of strength, but it quickly disappears at the sight of your distress.

“What do you want?” Yoonji mutters, her eyes staring at the piece of gum stuck to the asphalt.

“You can’t just leave, especially not after a bomb like that…”

“Look, I’m s-sorry if I make you uncomfortable.” Yoonji stammers past the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, and I understand if you’re disgusted and never want to talk to me again.”

Your own eyes widen, “Yoonji, no, don’t think that! I’m…”

With a deep breath – in and out – you start again. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. In fact, it’s the complete opposite.”

Yoonji quirks an eyebrow in confusion, sniffling as she waits for you to finish.

“Every moment I’m with you, I feel whole.” You swallow the lump of nervousness building up in your throat. “You’re the only person in this entire town that makes me feel this way.”

Yoonji freezes. She couldn’t believe your words, but when she looks into your eyes, all she sees is truth. Pained truth that not even you could smother behind a fake smile.

“Not even Park?” Yoonji mumbles, sounding like a kicked puppy.

“I know what everyone thought we were a so-called “thing”, but they were wrong.” You sigh as you take another deep breath before releasing the major Bomb of the night.  

“The fact of the matter is that I’m gay as fuck and I’m in love with you.”

If Yoonji was drinking water, this would be the perfect moment for the most epic spit-take. You nearly giggle at her dumbfounded expression – cute pouty lips and bulging eyes.

Talk about plot twist of the century.

“Should I have not said that?” You laugh hoarsely, suddenly feeling tiny underneath Yoonji’s wide gaze.

“Wait, hold up…” Yoonji shakes her head vigorously. “You’re telling me that all this time, I shouldn’t have been threatened by Park because you hate dicks with a passion like I do and you liked me anyway?”

A snort escapes your lips. “What a crude way of asking, but yes…I am hella gay and do indeed hate dicks with a passion. And yes…I like you a lot.”

This is the best moment of Yoonji’s life. Hands down, the best moment in her life. She doesn’t know if it’s acceptable for her to jump up and down like a little elementary school student, so she asks for the next best alternative.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your mouth curls into a dark smile. “What are you waiting, Min?”

The drive back to Yoonji’s place consists of hasty kisses at stoplights and not-so innocent thigh caresses. Yoonji thanks the Lord that she decided to wear a skirt to the party, for your soft fingertips trail her inner thigh teasingly. At the same time, she wishes you’d stop teasing or else you two would find yourselves in an embarrassing car wreck pretty soon.

‘I don’t think getting fingered and having an orgasm from the heavens is a good enough excuse for my parents as to why I totaled my car.’ Yoonji scoffs in her mind.

“Can’t wait until I can get you home.” Yoonji shifts impatiently at your sultry words, pushing her hips forward in an attempt to brush your fingers towards her core. You retaliate by slipping your hand back down her thigh, resting a palm on her knee.

“You’re going to pay for that.” Yoonji’s knuckles grow white as she grips onto the steering wheel tighter than usual.

“I hope so.” You wink cheekily.

At this point, Yoonji doesn’t give a shit if Yoongi is still in the house. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll just stay in his own bedroom and listen to his music on high. Once the two of you are inside, the nervousness that left Yoonji back after your confession floods her veins.

What if you didn’t want to have sex? What if you wanted to take things slow and you’re just testing her in order to see if she’s truthful to her feelings?

However, your hands up her skirt confirm your true intentions.

“Bedroom?” You press a soft kiss against her jawline, trailing up until your lips reach hers with a soft smack.

Yoonji intertwines your fingers and practically drags you up the staircase and into her bedroom, thoroughly locking the door in case Yoongi decides to come wandering in. In a flash, she presses your body up against the door and captures your lips with hers. Your mouths sloppily slotted together feel as though they were meant to be, working in harmony to create a warmth inside both your chests and your panties.

“God, you’re such a good kisser.” You breathe weakly. Yoonji is glad that you are just as affected as she is – reminding her that you want this as much as she does.

Your fingers trail down to cup Yoonji’s round cheeks. You can’t help but groan at how soft yet so firm they feel against your palms. Yoonji blushes at your tight grip and works hard to hold back a whimper as you massage her ass, spreading the cheeks apart with each knead.

“This ass is mine now.” You bite and tug down on Yoonji’s bottom lip as a claim of ownership. “Can’t wait to fuck it.”

Yoonji needs to stop choking every time you say something or else she’ll risk a very early death even before she can lose her virginity.

Speaking of, it is happening. Somehow, the nervousness lessens with each touch. If it is to happen tonight, Yoonji’s happy that it is with you.

“Lie on the bed for me, babe.” You kiss her button nose before stepping back to tug your sweater and jeans off and unceremoniously drop them to the floor.

This leaves you in the sexiest lingerie Yoonji has ever bared witness to, the red lace perfectly cupping your breasts and the matching panties accentuating the curve of your ass.

‘I can get used to this.’

“You like?” You whisper as you straddle her thighs and put your hips flush against hers. “I wore it for you, baby. Do you like?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” A seductive smirk appears. “Now take them off me.”

Yoonji doesn’t hesitate to switch places with you, laying your body out on the sheets while she hovers over you. Her fingers hook around your nearly transparent panties and tug them down, flinging them off onto the floor with the rest of your clothes. With the same smirk, you spread your legs to reveal the darkest of temptations hiding between your plush thighs.

You were so soft and pink that Yoonji doesn’t think that she’d be able to stop herself anytime soon.

“G-god, you’re so sexy.” Yoonji nearly sobs at the silky wet perfection inches away from her face.

“Want a taste?”

Oh, does she ever?

Yoonji relishes in the musky scent of your lust permeating from your wetness. This is the most intimate thing Yoonji has ever done with a person and considering the fact that she’s doing it with you? Let’s just say that Yoonji has nothing to complain about for the next 100+ years.

“God, you smell so good.” Yoonji’s tongue peeks out for a small taste of your slick. “You taste even better.”

You curl your fingers in her hair, tugging as her sinful tongue traces around your clit and down your slit, collecting the growing wetness that seeped through. Yoonji has absolutely no clue what she is doing at all, but judging by your desperate whines and sharp grips of your nails on her scalp, Yoonji keeps at her pace.

“Y-yes, Yoonji, fuck me with your tongue.” You cry out, uncaring if anybody can hear you.

Yoonji tries not to laugh at the image of Yoongi being completely mortified for the rest of his life.  

Flexing her tongue to a point like she’s seen in the amateur pornos she watches, Yoonji digs deep inside your pussy, moaning at the velvet sweetness that caresses her tongue.

“Oh my god, please don’t stop,” you sob with pleasure as you grind against her tongue, “it feels so good!”

“Come on my tongue, baby.” Yoonji demands in desperation. “I want to taste all of you.”

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your blissful end, releasing all over Yoonji’s tongue. While it’s not sweet like the romance novels Yoongi teases her for reading, it’s certainly an addiction that Yoonji can’t wait to taste again.

“God, I came so hard.” You reach up to wrap your arms around Yoonji’s neck, pulling her down to place your soft pink petals against hers. “You’re so good with your tongue.”

Yoonji smiles as she pulls away from the kiss, “Maybe I should write my next rap about my so-called tongue technology. You can feature on it as proof.”

You fake a cringe. “I won’t let you fuck me again if you do.”

Yoonji stammers a comeback, but you pull her closer, chest against chest. Lips against lips.

“Can I have you?”

Yoonji is too weak to deny you. More so, she’d be a fool to reject you.

“You’ve always had me.”

Without another word, you shove her onto her back and straddle Yoonji’s hips once more.

“Why are you still dressed?” You grunt impatiently.

Yoonji is quick to fling off the offending clothes, blushing as she watches your eyes scan over her naked form.

“You’re so hot, I can’t believe I was so nervous to ask you out.” Yoonji’s heart soars at your confession. “I’m kind of glad Jungkook’s dumb ass blurted it out because I don’t think I could’ve waited this long.”

To know that your feelings are mutual and that the apprehension she had felt throughout your whole friendship was equally shared makes Yoonji want to never wake up from this wonderful dream.

A finger trails against the small valley in-between Yoonji’s breasts. She was never that endowed which she has always felt insecure about – but to you, they are the cutest things you’ve ever seen. Shadowy gaze trailing down, you stare shamelessly at her crotch. It’s almost as if you’re formulating something in your head, and Yoonji is curious to find out.

At this moment, you suddenly jump off Yoonji for a moment and head over to her closet and pulling out a medium-sized box, more specifically the box marked “Don’t touch!”. Yoonji squeaks at how fast you located her “secret stash” – she thought she hid it pretty well.

“I saw this poking out of the closet last time. When you went to the bathroom, I went to go look at it and what do I come to find but your cute little collection…” You smirk as you open the box and pull out Yoonji’s favorite – a violet purple dildo with an attachable harness.

“Cute…who’d you buy this for?”

Yoonji hides her tomato red face behind her palms. “U-uh, I bought the wrong one, I didn’t mean for—”

“Liar.” You laugh darkly, but it doesn’t sound mean or accusatory – if anything, it riles you up even more. “Turn over for me, baby. I’ll put this to good use…”

Yoonji listens obediently, earning her a nice smack on her left cheek. She yelps in surprise, but it’s clear to the both of them that she loves the brief pain that accompanies the soothing pleasure. Reaching inside the box again for the strawberry-scented lube (you nearly coo over Yoonji’s cute innocence even in the dirtiest of things), you slick up the dildo with one hand while one finger from the other hand prods teasingly at Yoonji’s entrance.

“I know it’s your first time, so I just want to know if it’s okay?” You relish in Yoonji’s quiet whimpers as the finger slips inside. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

“Y-yes, fuck…Please fuck me.” Yoonji holds back a sob at the euphoria she felt as one more finger inches inside of her, her tiny hole stretching out deliciously.

She had always found herself disliking fingering because she could never seem to get herself off in the way she wanted. That’s why she had always stuck with the good ol’ trusty vibrator – she just needs to press it to her clit, and boom – coming in under three minutes.

This time, the tense atmosphere and the image of you completely fucked out after Yoonji eating you out makes the feeling much more intense and enjoyable.

“You’re such a good girl, Yoonji.” You catch her earlobe with your teeth, tugging gently on Yoonji’s little hoop earring. “Will you be a good girl for me and take my cock?”

Yoonji whimpers her response, too eager to mutter out a proper response.  

With a satisfied grin, you pull your fingers out to rub against her clit while you continue slicking up the dildo until you’re absolutely determined that it wouldn’t be painful for Yoonji.

“Are you ready, baby?” You pull away to run the head of the dildo between the seam of Yoonji’s pussy before lining up at her entrance.

You wait for Yoonji’s nod of approval before pushing in slowly, a small portion of the length disappearing between Yoonji’s wet folds. Yoonji lets out a cry of pleasure. There’s some weird discomfort and stretching but nothing she couldn’t handle after a couple moments of adjustment. The sight of Yoonji’s pussy stretching around the large cock as you bottom out nearly shatters your composure.

Shaking away your moment of weakness, you start a slow pace – pushing in and out while holding onto Yoonji’s hips for dear life, guiding her back and forth until she’s practically fucking herself on you. Yoonji whimpers at the delicious drag of the silicone length inside her.

Even though it is just a dildo, Yoonji imagines that it is actually you inside of her – fucking you and waiting for her to come before releasing your seed deep within her.

Squelch!

Yoonji’s cheeks burn crimson at the sudden wet sound echoing throughout the room.

“Uh…that wasn’t me! I-I mean, it was me, but I didn’t…”

You burst into laughter, rubbing her hips in a loving manner that sharply contrasts your dominating behavior from just five minutes ago. “I know, baby. It just means that you’re all nice and wet for me…”

“Y-yeah,” Yoonji moans into the pillow, focusing on reaching the end of her pleasure while ignoring the awkward wet sloppiness echoing each time your hips connect with the back of her thighs. “I’m all wet for you, just for you…”

“You wanna come, baby?” You reach down to rub at her abandoned clit, satisfied in her loud mewl. “I know you want to, you’ve been waiting this for ages…”

Her carnal desire begins building to a wonderful crescendo, encouraged by your dirty whispers into her ear and the light touches against her clit as you continue fucking the dildo into her tight entrance. You watch in heated amusement as Yoonji cries at the overwhelming pace as you grasp her hips and force to fuck herself on the toy to climax.

There is something about seeing Yoonji so desperate to come that you feel as though you could come untouched at any moment. You are pulled from your muddled thoughts when Yoonji cries out, her entire body trembling as she comes down from the immense high. You begin a rough pace as you fuck her through until she smacks at your thighs after overstimulation takes over.

“Oh my god,” she pants, “what have we been missing out on?”

A giggle escapes as you wrap your arms around her sweaty body, uncaring of the sticky wetness that stains your skin and the sheets below. Yoonji calms her breathing down before flipping over and wrapping a bare leg around your waist, tucking her head between your cleavage.

“Y/N?” Her whisper is nearly inaudible.

“Yeah, baby?” You mumble tiredly, sleep starting to take over.

“I love you.”

You smile.

“I love you more.”

[spilledinkstories]

Mushroom Soup

  "You can't leave the fort until you say it, Emma" Adam said bossily. We had been friends for our entire childhood, and got along pretty well, and I had never known Adam to be a bully.

   "What's the point in saying it if it's a lie," I argued. The truth was, he was scaring me a little. At eleven years old I was old enough to know there were dark and mysterious forces in this world, but too young to tell how they worked, or to know the difference between harmless fun and Scary Stuff. And, when I was eleven, most stuff was Scary Stuff. 

    "C'mon, we'll both be late for dinner if you don't just say it." 

    My knees were beginning to ache from kneeling on the boards of his treehouse. He and I were kneeling, facing each other, holding a weird shiny rock he had found that he insisted was a moonrock. When I had questioned the authenticity of such a rock, he'd told me last night when he let his puppy out back to do it's business, there was a moonbeam, like a spotlight, shining in the middle of their lawn, and he saw this rock fall from the sky. 

    I'd wasted no time telling him I thought he was mental. 

    So here I was, holding a corner of a rock with my best friend, being told I'd be locked in the treehouse if I didn't chant with him that aliens were real and we wished to be "taken to their leader". 

    "What's the chant again?" I asked him dully. Might as well get this over with, right? My mom was making baked Mac n' Cheese, and I did not wanna be late for that. 

    "I wish, I wish, upon a star, for you to take me where you are. I believe that you are real, aliens, hear our appeal." He looked at me with the utmost pride in his eyes. 

    "That is without a doubt the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

    "Fine, if you like the treehouse that much," he said grumpily, as he made to stand up. 

    "UGH. Fine. Get back down." He obeyed with a smug little grin. 

    "You know it then?" He asked, and I nodded. "Okay, on three." 

    "One," I said. 

    "Two," he said, eyes wide with excitement. I felt so incredibly foolish. As if anything was going to happen. We were gonna say this, stare at each other for a second, and then move on with our weird little lives. 

    "Three," I said flatly, and then we both spoke in unison. 

    "I wish, I wish, upon a star, for you to take me where you are. I believe that you are real, aliens, hear our appeal."

    "Are you happy?" I asked him, smirking despite my annoyance. 

    "What's that sound?" He asked. We were both still clutching the rock, and his eyes had grown wide as saucers. 

    "Lawn mower?" I said, a little nonplussed. 

    "No, listen." 

    But he needn't have told me. The rumbling and rattling had grown past the usual neighbourhood commotion. It was as though a transport truck was doing donuts around the treehouse. It grew from grumble, to rumble, to roar in a matter of seconds. 

    The boards under our knees began to rattle and shake. We were still holding onto the rock. 

    "What is that?" Adam yelled over the noise. 

    I finally let go of the rock, and went to the door of the treehouse to look out. 

    "Adam!" He came up beside me, peeking through the cutout in the wood door that we called a window.

    I had no words for what we saw. It wasn't what you'd expect a UFO to look like. It wasn't a silver flying saucer with a little bubble type thing coming out of the top, like you might see in a space-themed comic book. 

    The shape of this was essentially a giant can of soup. A cylinder, black like onyx, with a slight sheen to it. Directly in front of the treehouse door, a small slit appeared. Whether it evaporated, or part of the wall retracted into itself, I've never known.

    The roar died for a moment long enough for us to hear the hissed word that followed. 

    "Enter." 

    "At least the aliens speak English!" Adam said cheerfully. 

    The next few moments passed in a blur of motion that I was far too stunned to fight against. Before I knew what was happening to me, Adam had grabbed my hand, opened the treehouse door, and ignoring our step ladder literally just leapt into midair, trusting that there would be some sort of magical alien magnetic beam that would draw us onto the ship. 

    Apparently he knew what he was doing, because that's exactly what happened. 

    The gap in the wall closed behind us, and the roar picked up again. For a painful two minutes or so, I felt like my eyeballs were being sucked into the back of my skull, and like someone was pushing down on the top of my head and my stomach all at once. 

    "We must be leaving the planet," Adam said to me in an anguished voice. I guess that made sense, the air pressure would be pretty intense. 

    "There was a ride at Disney World like this, where you can see what it's like for astronauts, and this is how it felt," he explained. Fair enough, then. 

    After several minutes my brain returned to a functioning capacity, and I opened my eyes again. I realized I was still clutching Adam's hand, and I quickly let go. 

    "I wonder if they came to take it back," Adam mumbled. I looked at him inquisitively, and he held out his other hand to show me that he was still holding that stupid rock. 

    "Oh, my god. If it was that important, why would their stupid ship have crapped it out in the first place?" 

    "Maybe theirs didn't," he said with a shrug. With that, he stood up, looked around and decided on a direction, and started walking down a random hallway. 

        The inside of the ship was pretty nondescript. The walls were a beigy-grey colour, and were flat. No nooks, crannies, seams, screws, just flat wall. Here and there it was interrupted by a door, the kind of door you might expect to see in Star Wars. Sort of like a techy looking sliding panel, I guess. I didn't watch the movies, but Adam loved them. I mean, he loved them. I kept cutting glances over at them, and he never stopped beaming. 

    "Stop," said a hissing voice from behind us. We froze, but unable to face the idea of a creature slinking up behind us, I whipped around. Then I swallowed my laugh. 

    Slouching toward us was a creature that couldn't have been higher than my waist (and I was eleven, after all). It looked like a cross between a mushroom and a monkey, with a big umbrella-like top to its head, complete with spots and freckles, but a relatively humanoid face. For it's body the torso was like the stock of a mushroom, in that it was sort of pale and mushy looking despite also resembling a tree-trunk, but for arms and legs we were back to monkey. 

    As aliens go, it wasn't too scary, and let me remind you that most stuff to eleven year old me was Scary Stuff.

    "You have it?" The creature rasped. 

    "Sorry, we didn't mean to steal it," Adam said earnestly, holding out the rock. 

    "How did you come to acquire it?" The being asked, turning to walk away. Adam immediately fell into step behind it, and I followed a little ways behind, listening. I wanted to go home. I didn't want to be floating through space talking about a pebble while my mom and dad wondered why I hadn't come home for macaroni night.

    "It fell into my yard, where you brought us on board. It had light all around it, so I picked it up." 

    "Why would it have chosen you?" 

    "I don't know. What is it?" Adam was trotting to keep up with the creature now, and I reluctantly struggled to keep pace with them. We had backtracked to where Adam and I had first been brought on board, and were now heading down a separate hallway. This one had black walls and red floor, and I couldn't help but think that in movies, those colours meant they were the bad guys. This hallway had many more doors off it, and I really hoped one of them didn't lead to prison cells or something. I hadn't seen as many space movies as Adam had. I didn't know what to expect, and I was beginning to feel genuinely scared. My breath was feeling more ragged, and my eyes felt bugged out (though that could have been from them almost exploding or whatever a few minutes before). 

    "It is one of the ancient crystals. Each solar system has but a few, forged in the hearts of stars. The lore informs us that whomever the crystal is bestowed upon must play their part in our history, on the intergalactic scale." The creature was still speaking at barely above a whisper, and I almost missed what he was saying over the sound of my panting to keep up. Luckily, we seemed to have arrived at our destination, and my gosh it was a strange thing to behold. 

    We were standing in what can only be described as the bridge of the ship. Soup can. Ship. Whatever.

    We were surrounded by about twenty of these mushroom-monkey-men, all milling about their various duties. As you'd hope, there was a giant window or screen (who's to say, with these things?) which seemed to be plotting our course and providing various information. While the mushroom-man who'd accompanied us so far had been speaking English, the text on the screen was illegible to me. 

    "Sorry, did you say intergalactic scale?" I said, addressing the creature for the first time. 

    "Indeed, child," it said to me in a grave voice. "We will be taking you to the council." 

    "No, we can't go. We have to get home," I said shrilly. The creature had said Adam had to play out his fate here or whatever. I couldn't spend the rest of my life in a soup can. We were both so young, so...that was a long time to spend away from home. Would our parents never hear from us again? Would they organize search parties, doomed to live with grief and panic instead of their children?

    "You have no choice, child. If they have a short task for you, you may perhaps return home some day. It is for the Masters and the Oracle to decide."

    "I've heard about Oracles," said Adam enthusiastically.

    "I don't think reading Percy Jackson counts this time," I said to him quietly. He ignored me. 

    "All this because he picked up a rock?!" Listen, I hadn't meant to yell at the mushroom-monkey-men. But fear, anger, and hysteria sometimes decide to plunk you in the passenger seat in life, and you find yourself in the midst of losing your crap. It was of course a mistake to give way, for the mushroom-monkey-men did not take kindly to hostility. 

    "Rock? You have an honour bestowed upon you that many hope for, train for, live for for their entire lives, and this is the gratitude you can muster? No. No, child. You will be grateful. You will fulfil your quest, or whatever the oracle and council see fit to shoulder you with." The hissing was awful - not quite a full whisper, or a rasp, but not really a voice either. It was like nails on a chalkboard, and made me want to punch the creature in his stupid head. His eyes were boring into mine now, beady, milky purple eyes that looked like they contained galaxies of their own but also cataracts.

    "For now, we shall keep you away from here, so we can work." And with that the being led us back off the bridge down the hall a little ways, seeming to be deciding which door to open. 

    "Can we at least get a room with a window?" Adam said, with the hope of a child asking to open just one present on Christmas Eve. "I've never seen space before, not like this." 

    "Indeed, you should become acquainted with it," said the being, seeming to weigh Adam's comment quite heavily. 

    He finally selected a door, and we were told to wait in a little chamber with a window instead of an outside wall. I barely took note of the fact that despite being on a soup-can-space-ship the table and chairs and solitary lamp looked like they were from ikea. 

    Instead, I went immediately and wordlessly to the window, with Adam right beside me. We were floating through a sea of stars. That was the only way I knew how to describe it. They were above us, below us, behind us, in front of us, to the side...engulfing the very matter in which we existed. They shone, while seeming to give off very little actual light. They twinkled, various specks of silver and yellow and blue and purple, and despite my lack of interest in science fiction movies that Adam loved, I finally understood why he loved the night sky. It seemed to suggest infinity, possibility, both hope and despair, everything and nothing. And it was beautiful. 

    There was a knocking at the door, but I couldn't turn around to see who was coming in. The knocking continued, but my vision was blurring at the edges. The stars faded from view, and so did the window. 

    It was all black and blurred, and still the knocking continued.

    "Emma, come on, come out of there. It's unlocked." 

    I didn't remember the alien knowing my name. The blackness was everywhere. I couldn't see. I felt my head lightly rolling against something, some kind of hard surface. 

    "Emma, are you still in there? Open the door." 

    I lifted my head, and opened my eyes. I was laying on the floor of Adam's treehouse, where he had locked me in the night before. I was clutching the white moonrock he'd found – i remembered now. My stubbornness had won out, and I'd stayed the night in the fort. His stubbornness had won out in that he'd left me there, but at least he'd slept in a comfortable bed. 

    Next to me on the ground was an empty can, one from what we called our "rations" or emergency store of food that wouldn't really go bad if left in a treehouse. 

    Apparently I'd treated myself to cold, canned mushroom soup for dinner.

                                                   ***************

Fun prompt from theprose.com: “that time you were abducted” posted on Prose in their challenge section :) Was in the mood for sci-fi today :P

** also, ignore the fact that I used the name Adam in my last story too, lol. I didn’t realize until I finished writing this, and did not have the required gusto to go back and fix it. :)))))

[90sgrungewriter]

3. Untitled - Eddie Vedder

Status: Unedited

Most of the walk was spent in silence. Well, that and smelling his cologne through his flannel. He smelt pretty damn fine.

"You let me know if you get chilly. I'll give this back to you." You motioned to the article of clothing with your finger. He chuckled, not making eye contact.  

"I'm alright. Still a bit sweaty from that show to be honest." He murmured. He was doing that fucking thing he does with his cheekbones again. Or maybe he wasn't doing anything at all. Either way it seemed to captivate you and  you were most likely staring like a lunatic at this point. He noticed and squinted his eyes a bit.

"You ok? What, I got something on my face?" His hand rose to greet his nose, as he felt around his face. There was a certain playfulness to his tone. You giggled. 

"Are you playing a joke on me?" You questioned, stiffling your laughter. His face broke out into a smile, and there it was again. Those pearly whites. 

He was cute.

Your cheeks flushed and you felt the need to look away. It was then you noticed you were on your street. 

"Well, this is my street. My building is a couple down, I'll be fine from here." You slowed your pace, maybe he didn't even want to walk you and he was just doing it to make Stone happy, so you didn't want to make him do more than he had to. He kept walking though, ignoring you completely.

"I promised Stone I'd walk you to your door and if I don't he'll have my head on a platter...He really likes you." He said the last part rather crudley. There it was again, the Stone liking me thing. What fucking mushrooms have these guys been taking and where the hell could you get some?

"Why the hell do people keep saying that to me tonight?" You sped up to catch up with him. "My apartment is in the building across the street." You motioned, making your way down to the road. 

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. "S'Obvious isn't it?" He said nonchalantely. You exhaled loudly. "I'm pretty sure if it was obvious I would fucking know by now. I've known the guy since grade school." Your voice laced with annoyance. Eddie stayed silent till we reached the door of my building.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset. I shouldn't have said anything." He pinched the bridge of his nose, guilt was evident. You grabbed his arm gently and removed his hand from his face, and watched it fall gently back to his side. He was looking directly at you and it almost made you feel nervous. You tried to play it cool.

"Its okay. I'll see you around, alright? Have a good rest of your night, man." You spoke softly. He nodded. 

You both turn and went your separate ways. 

Finally getting into your apartment, you take off your boots and remember the flannel you bore over your shoulders. You curse under your breath. Why didn't he ask for it back? Its not like he wasn't looking right at you wearing it. You sighed. You would just have to give it back tomorrow or something. You threw the article on your bed and started to get ready for some Zzz’s.

You did your nighttime routine, you weren't very drunk or stoned at this point anymore, which was a good thing. When the time came you got to finally lay down and get some rest. You were exhausted and definitely weren't looking forward to going to work tomorrow.

The next morning came, and you awoke to a pleasant aroma. Your eyes still being shut, pictured a shirtless Eddie laying next to you. But you knew that wasn't the case. And why the fuck were you thinking this shit anyway? Oh my god, get a grip Dani. You scolded yourself, and decided to finally open your eyes. Your face was laying in Eddie's flannel, explaining the heavenly scent. You looked at your clock. 8:46 AM. It was now or never.

Once you were fully awake, you showered and got dressed. You worked at a dingy art store just around the corner from here. It was an ok job, and you were by yourself most of the time as the store rarely got busy. You just did whatever most of the time. You only worked on weekends, sometimes evenings, since you had classes during the week. You were a student at the Gage Academy of Art, and currently had a bachelors degree in graphic design.

Needless to say, the first half of your shift went by pretty quickly. It was nearing 2:30, and there had actually been a decent amount of people that came in. Your shift was done at 4:00, and you were certain an hour and a half would go by quickly. 

You had just finished eating your lunch when none other then Stone Gossard waltzed in to the store.

You decided to fuck with him a bit. 

"Hey there, lover." You said in a mock-flirtatious tone. His eyes widened slightly and he stammered a bit, but quickly recovered. You brushed if off and punched his arm when he made it to the counter.

"W-what? The fuck are you talking about?" He wouldn't look directly into your eyes and your smile faltered a bit, confused. Maybe he was offended? You couldn’t believe he wasn’t saying something ‘insulting’ to you. Was he feeling okay?

"You won't believe what I've been told by three different people." You spoke as though you were going to tell him the best joke he would hear in his lifetime. Well, you kinda were. "Get a load of this shit." You laughed plopping right back onto your stool. Stone approached you closer and leaned on the desk, intrigued. 

"Go on."

"Apparently, you're totally in - love with me!" You snorted, laughing like a fucking mad person. "I mean, according to Kim, Chris and Eddie."

Stone laughed too, but not as much as you did. You took a minute to catch your breath, you put a hand on his shoulder.

"I mean, can you believe that? What fucking drugs are you guys taking behind my back? I want some." Your voice laced with sarcasm, this was all so funny to you. He still stayed a bit quiet, but a small smile lay upon his lips.

"I mean, Eddie's been here five minutes and says its 'obvious'? I mean come on!" I shook him jokingly. "I'm pretty sure I would have known by now if you were in god damn love with me!" You spoke again, your hands heading for your coffee that was in front of you.

"Yeah, thats ridiculous. Love you? You suck." He mocked. 

You just shook your head. "Anyway, what are you doing here Stoney?"

"Well, the boys brought a few cases of beer over, and we were going to order pizza and have a chill night. Things have been pretty hectic, y'know? Eddie's barely had a second to actually communicate with people outside of a venue." He explained, looking around the store. He rarely came in here, so you guessed he was just observing a bit.

You thought about it for a second. You had to give Ed back his plaid anyway, so why not? 

"Sure, I'll be there. Your place right?" 

"Yeah." There was a honk outside. "Sorry, Dave is in the car, we couldn't find a parking nearby so I told him to just drive around a few times while I was in here." He started to make his way to the door, with so little as a glance your way.

"See you later, Danica." And he left.

You had a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. He never called you Danica. Maybe you made him uncomfortable? 

In all the time you've known him, you never thought of him that way. Not because he wasn't good looking or anything, cause in truth he was a handsome guy. But because you didn't want to risk ruining the best friendship you would probably ever have. He meant a lot to you and if that were to fall apart over stupidity, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself. And you pretty certain he didn't see you that way anyway, which was a good thing.

The rest of your shift flew by and before you knew it, you were at home changing your clothes to go to Stone's. You wore your dark ripped jeans, a Soundgarden shirt and a dark baseball cap. Knowing the walk would be cool, you grabbed your dark green hoodie and put it on. You laced up your boots and made sure to grab Eddie's flannel before you left the apartment. 

The walk was a quick one. Stone only lived about 20 minutes away, and you enjoyed them. You were smoking a cigarette and finished it as you approached the door. Without knocking you entered. There were boys sprawled all out in the living room, all with beers in their hands, watching some movie. Their eyes darted toward you in the doorway and you smiled, waving your hand. So far, it was just the Mookie boys. 

"Hello boys." 

There was a chorus of greetings, and Jeff made his way over, grabbing your purse and the flannel, setting it down on the table. He engulfed you in a bear hug. 

"Glad you could make it! Pizza should be here any minute. Let me get you a cold one." He stalked over to the fridge.

"Me too. Who else is supposed to be here? I thought this was going to be for Eddie to meet some new people." You questioned. Eddie already knew everyone in the house.

"The Alice guys are going to be here any minute. They haven't met Eddie yet, but Soundgarden is playing another show at the Off Ramp tonight so they won't be here. Maybe they'll show up later. I think Mark said he would try and make it but that’s yet to happen." He spoke cheerfully, leading you to the living room. 

You and Ed made eye contact and he gave you a tight lipped smile.

"Hey you. I brought your flannel. Why didn't you remind me last night? I don't want to steal your things." You joked, taking a seat next to him on the couch. It was the only spot that was available actually, because Jeff was in it beforehand. 

But he had gone off somewhere, maybe the pizza was here.

"Thanks. I didn't want to say anything. It looked better on you anyways." His eyes that were glued to the TV took a minute to meet yours and it was a sweet moment. It was funny how he could literally just look at you and have you feel this weird mushy feeling in your stomach. You didn't like it. It scared you.

Before you could say anything about his comment, Jeff shouted that the pizza was here. Yes it was, and it smelled like fucking heaven. You were pretty hungry. You took a swig of your beer and stood up, along with everyone else and made your way into the kitchen.

"How are things, Krusen?" You smiled politely at the band member you were  the least closest to. It wasn't anything personal, you just hadn't known him your entire life like the other guys (minus Eddie, obviously). 

"Not bad. Still above the ground." He joked. You snorted. You always thought his sense of humor was hilarious.

"Yeah, I feel you bud." You patted his arm gently. 

"And you Dani? How are things up your alley?" You's made your way toward the couch with your beer and pizzas. This was going to be a good night. 

"Alright, I guess. Nothing ever really happens." And that was true, nothing ever happened to you. Your life was actually pretty boring. But when you hung out with these guys, it was different. It was never a dull moment with them. And you loved it. You always had a good time.

"Well well well, digging into the pizza before we even get here? Didn't your parents ever teach you manners!" Jerry Cantrell.

[sketch-rambles]

Sanders Sides Appreciation Month: Patton/Morality Week, Day 7 - Father’s Day

[Based off of this post by @cefmua56. Check it out and join in the fun!]

Challenge: He loves his Dark Strange son! Use platonic Moxiety as a great transition from Patton’s week to Virgil’s week. Could be Virgil showing appreciation to him on Father’s day. (Their father-son dynamic gives me a lot of emotions, so now you have to feel those emotions, too.)

----------

The Sides don’t have parents.

This isn’t sad. It’s fact. They weren’t born any more than ideas are born; which is to say, they were, in a sense, but “conception” takes on a far less biological meaning. It’s difficult to credit an idea’s birth to any one person or group. Could you consider Thomas their father when they came to exist as facets of his personality due to outside circumstances? When the basic idea of their existence is arguably as old as humanity itself? Hardly.

So they don’t have parents and it isn’t sad. It really isn’t. Which doesn’t explain at all why it bothered Virgil for so long.

He doesn’t have parents and he doesn’t want parents. Or, at least, that’s what he’d tell anyone who cared to ask, not that anyone ever did. Parents tell you what to do, stick you with labels and expectations and disapproving looks when you fall short. You get that from society as a whole enough as it is. Virgil doesn’t want parents to misunderstand him and tell him what to be and what to think, to hold his hand every step of the way like he’s a baby, or even to back off and “be there just in case,” which is bull because you can feel them breathing down your neck even when they say they aren’t, that’s just how parents work. You want to impress them, or at least satisfy them, you want to prove yourself worthy of love and support and praise, and that’s the last thing Virgil needs.

He doesn’t want parents, he’d tell the zero people that want to know, not when it means all that. Objectively, he is perfectly fine not having parents, thank you very much, and isn’t he just the prime example of objective reasoning? So, since logically he doesn’t want parents, obviously, logically, it doesn’t upset him that he doesn’t have any.

This is one of the better articulated lies he likes to tell himself.

Because the truth is, it bothers him a lot, and he doesn’t know why because he hasn’t let himself think about it long enough to figure it out. Good at overthinking as he is, he’s managed to avoid dwelling on that particular problem for any extended amount of time on most accounts. And when he can’t? Well, sometimes Thomas gets a random urge to call his parents and check in on them. And maybe that’s not always Patton’s doing. These things happen.

For the longest time, Virgil figured he was the only one who got hung up on stupid things like this. It would make sense. He’s the anxious Side, the one that can make a mountain range out of a piece of dirt a mole brushed off its back. He’s got to be the only one who feels an ache at the mention of parents like he’s missing something he never had, because that’s exactly it, he never had it. He doesn’t have parents and he doesn’t need parents and he shouldn’t want parents, and there’s nothing he can do about any of it. He can only sulk and pretend and be secure in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets upset about this crap sometimes.

Right?

He’d expect Logan to prove him wrong on absolutely any topic except this one. He’d figured, absently, that if he ever brought any of this up with Logan he’d get nothing but a vocalization of all the logic he’s already cooked up himself. What he doesn’t expect, what he never saw coming, is his childish and uncalled for comment mid-debate about hypothetical mothers to get so very under Logan’s skin.

“Let’s leave the mother’s out of this, alright?” Thomas requests, and then thinks to add, “Especially considering the fact that neither of you have a mother,” like they don’t already know that.

“If she did exist she’d be preposterous and pointless,” Virgil says, unwilling to give up the immature comebacks so easily.

The way Logan screeches back “FALSEHOOD!”, the way is echoes around the room before Logan regains his calm, it sticks with Virgil in a way he won’t examine until after the debate is long done. Because as much as he tries to tell himself otherwise, as much as he tries not to “jump to conclusions” or whatever, one thought has lodged itself in his head and won’t leave no matter how hard he tries: it bothers Logan, at least a little, that he doesn’t have a mother.

He elects to do nothing whatsoever with this information. He doesn’t want or need a heart-to-heart with Logan, and it won’t help the situation; they still don’t have parents, and they’re still going to have to suck it up and deal.

His plan of ignoring the Parent Problem is going marvelously (or, well, as marvelously as it ever goes) right up until his decision to duck out. More specifically, right up until everyone actually goes looking for him. More specifically, right up until he calls Patton a funny guy and Patton looks around with pride and says, “I love my dark strange son.”

That comment gets stuck in his head like a children’s game, a talking toy so old that it only says one thing, and some kid got their hands on it and won’t stop pressing the buttons. Over and over and over again until he can’t do anything but crank the music up to eleven and try to drown it out. “My dark strange son.” His son. His son. And then there’s the card, the “UR FAM ILY” crap that he’s got hanging on his wall now in a place he hopes none of the other Sides ever think to look. That gives the metaphorical toy another noise to play ad infinitum.

Son. Fam. Son. Fam. Son. Fam. Son. Fam. ILY.

Father’s Day was a month ago. Virgil learns that you can still find cards pretty easily. He also learns that all of the cards are either horrible and cheesy or reference some sort of stereotypical father-son bonding experience or both at once. This only clinches his certainty that this is a Stupid Idea that’s gonna make him look ridiculous and sappy and awful and it’s gonna make everything weird and uncomfortable and he should stop even considering this, what is he doing.

He settles on a simple card. Two colors, two sentences. No cartoons, no puns, no heartfelt mushiness. Then he stares at it for a good fifteen minutes before writing “thanks” and signing it and calling it good enough.

He wants, really desperately wants, to leave the card somewhere Patton will find it so he can drop it off and retreat back to his room to pretend he isn’t having a crap-ton of internal conflict right now. But he can’t think of a good way to do it without running the risking of someone else finding it first. So, steeling himself for the most awkward and painful exchange he’s had in, oh, probably ever, Virgil stands in front of Patton’s door and knocks.

“Virgil?” Patton answers the door in his cat onesie, which isn’t surprising given the time of day and also who he is as a person. “Hey, what’s up, kiddo? You wanna come in?”

Virgil considers it. He really does. But he’s almost positive that stepping foot in Patton’s room is only going to heighten any emotions he’s already feeling, and he will start crying if he lets that happen.

“I just - I wanted to give you this,” he says, thrusting the card at Patton. Something keeps him rooted to the spot, stops him from turning of his heel and running away the second Patton has a hold of the card. (Some internal need to impress, or to satisfy, or to prove himself worthy of love and support and praise, maybe, but best not to think too hard about that.)

“What is a dad?” Patton reads aloud quietly to himself. He flips the card open. “You. You is a dad.”

It’s a ridiculous card, and the only reason Virgil thought it was funny is probably because Tumblr has irreparably messed up his sense of humor, and it 100% does not warrant the beaming smile that Patton trains on him the second he’s done processing.

“Oh, Virgil!” Patton cries, and the next thing Virgil knows, he’s being pulled into a warm hug that’s doing its best to push his emotions over the edge in all the ways he was trying to avoid. He can feel that hot pressure building up behind his eyes, same as it always does when he’s sad or angry, but he’s neither of those things right now, he’s just... he’s feeling something, and he’s feeling a lot of it.

“Yeah, well,” Virgil manages. “Happy late Father’s Day.”

If he starts crying a little when he finally gives up and reciprocates the hug, well, Patton doesn’t mention it.

He’s a good dad like that.

[theliterateape]

Sloppy, Stupid Journalism is the New Black

by Don Hall

There are a host of positives when it comes to the expansion of citizen journalism. A truly democratic collection of voices and opinions, voices previously unheard from now present, the ability to publish articles that a major house wouldn’t. On the other hand, there is the new tendency of lesser known publications to publish click bait shit and fudge facts in favor of hyperbole and impact.

A recent example popped up in my RSS feed this weekend:

This white girl got dragged for her racist ‘The Little Mermaid’ tweet by Nahila Bonfiglio The Daily Dot

“A new version of The Little Mermaid is headed our way, and some people are not thrilled with the casting.

The announcement that Halle Bailey, half of the R&B duo Chloe x Halle, would be portraying Ariel was met with mixed reactions. Many people greeted the news with euphoric joy, but, of course, the news was also greeted with its fair share of angry reactions. One angry comment, in particular, took a uniquely tone-deaf approach and was promptly dragged by half of Twitter.”

Nothing screams RELEVANT and HERE’S SOME GOSSIP more than a stupid white person tweeting an opinion seen as hopelessly racist and then being ‘dragged’ for it. It also immediately draws attention to the target so they can get a bit more of a thorough helping of personal destruction. It’s quite horrifying and glorious.

The issue is the use of bad statistics to make the point. This is the heart of the argument about fake news the Stain in Chief drones on and on about.

According to the article, 

“Almost immediately, the tweet was soundly ratioed, with a collective 8,700 likes and retweets and a whopping 19,000 replies.”

Even if one was to assume that this collective of likes, retweets, and comments all constituted a ‘dragging,’ 28,000 tweets and comments make up for about 0.0075% of Twitter. Half? 50% of Twitter? Are you fucking kidding me? It’s not even one percent of Twitter.

Granted, Nahila Bonfiglio  is a culture reporter with other articles like:

Stranger Things 3: The Game is the video game companion to season 3 Cardi B wants you to ask your favorite 2020 Dem a question on Instagram Lauren Love banned from Walmart after pretending to fire employees in YouTube prank

Her bio states she “reports on geek culture and gaming. Her work has also appeared on KUT's Texas Standard (Austin), KPAC-FM (San Antonio), and the Daily Texan.”

So, given the lighter nature of her beat, perhaps we give her a pass, right? Wrong.

We are living at a time when the very nature of words matters more than ever. Ambiguous language choices are labeled ‘hate speech.’ Certain words in the language are heavily discouraged from use because of their triggering effects. The President has declared war on the Fourth Estate for fake news and even that label has mushy and ever-expanding meanings.

Certainly, the story that ‘this white girl got dragged for her racist ‘Little Mermaid” tweet’ isn’t quite the story if Bonfiglio adds the truth: One angry comment, in particular, took a uniquely tone-deaf approach and was promptly dragged by less than one percent of Twitter.” All of sudden the collective shrug of “So fucking what?” is the reaction. So why publish the story in first place if less than one percent even give enough of a shit to ‘drag’ her? It’s either sloppy journalism or journalism with an agenda and both suck. The first is lazy, the second confirms exactly what the Serial Sexual Assaulter in the White House spews nearly daily.

I watched All the President’s Men recently and the thing that struck was that these two young, hungry reporters could not get their articles published until their facts were unimpeachable. Woodward and Bernstein absolutely had an agenda in play but Ben Bradley held the line that it didn’t get put out for people to read unless it was right. At no point, would these two be allowed to print “With the break-in at the Watergate Hotel, the burglars bugged half of the DNC.” because that number isn’t even close to the truth.

For the sake of all that is holy, the sake of our democracy, don’t be the journalistic equivalent of Jussie Smollett, making shit up that supports an already rabid conspiracy in order to get attention. Get the facts right or stick to Op Ed pieces about Cardi B.