#u can rip them from my cold dead hands | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoseoksluna · 7 months ago

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VAPOR, pt II. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

genre: smut, a great dose of angst

word count: 11.9k

summary: hard times ask for extra care and like the healer he is, jungkook doesn't fail to give you his absolute best.

pinterest board: vapor |��playlist: vapor

warnings: heartbreak, lots of tears, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), praise kink, sucking fingers, female masturbation, fingering, oc is extremely wet and jk is rly rly hard for her <3, squirting, multiple orgasms, jk tells her off kinda and it's hot, pet names, raw and rough sex, the abandonment issues are heavy in one part, mention of a sex toy

note: hi, my loves. this was absolutely painful to write, but i know i made a good decision. unfortunately for those who are waiting for the next series—i'm sorry, but this will have another part. it's already so long and if i kept going, it'd have probably like 20k plus words and i don't want to take up your time. i think i can manage to post the last part THIS week, so look forward to this. one part of the happy ending done. <3 i love you, guys, i hope you like this. don't hesitate to let me know; i worked hard and i want validation skfjslkfjsklfs. enjoy, my loves. <3

A dead man for the fifth time, Jungkook finds the unfolding of the events quite ridiculous now. And he’s not surprised, how could he really be at this point, that there’s radio silence within the chambers of his heart.

The food court is muted, the lights are ever still bright, but the corners of his eyes gain peculiar shadows that cling to the side of your face as you swirl your spoon in your hot soup. His phone is ringing and its obnoxious sound is but a vibration in his hand and the only thing that’s delaying him from sliding his thumb across his device is some sort of consent in your solemn, yet saddened features. He can see translucent threads lining your rounded lips that have sown your mouth shut, preventing you from speaking out your tender heart and it’s predominantly this thing, among the obvious other ones, that drives him to make a scene in front of all of these people crowded around him.

If he has to, he will rip those wisps. Make it as painless as possible because whether he likes it or not, he needs you right now. Needs your word of advice, needs your consent in order to do what the entirety of his organs yearns to do. And if you say no, he’ll willingly turn his phone off and refuse to speak to his once-closest friend.

Just for the sake of your mental health. Just to outrun fate and grasp her wrist to stop her from furthermore scarring your heart.

You have enough of them and he has only one pair of lips to heal them.

Lifting the spoon to your mouth, you keep your gaze on its silver coat and it unnerves him—the fact you won’t look at him, the fact that you so evidently don’t want to be in this situation. Your own boyfriend is chasing you around town, even though he transmitted waves of nothingness your way when he had you under his roof. He doesn’t fucking understand it. Doesn’t understand how he’s capable of doing such a thing and fury rises in his gut, soars high to his throat, which constricts around it so tightly that it forbids him from inhaling any oxygen into his lungs. And he fears that if he speaks, it’ll soak you. Make you even smaller than you are and he’ll hate himself for the rest of his life for it.

However…

He needs to talk to you. Time is pressing down on his shoulders once again and here and now, he’s too burdened, too fragile to bear it. His stoicism has long been fractured, its shards cracking cacophonously under the soles of his sneakers and… the singular tear rooting on his pale cheek hasn’t even dried up.

“Tell me what to do, sweetheart,” Jungkook says, his voice a soft, deep murmur; a plea. His surroundings gain volume, little by little, the lack of air in his lungs causing his mind to spin. His body grows cold and, unwittingly, he bounces his leg underneath the table. “If you don’t want me to pick up this call, I won’t. It’s your decision.”

He knows that whatever it is that will come out of your mouth and change the trajectory of his fury, he’ll protect you nonetheless. No matter what, no matter what it takes. He’ll unleash what’s been swarming in him for a long time in private sometime later if you ask for it—he’ll gladly tell his organs no and they’ll have to listen. That’s certainly not an issue.

What will be an issue is if you remain quiet. He doesn’t know what will happen to him under that circumstance. He has very little trust in something that’s out of his grasp and he has strong disliking for the looseness of it all. Doesn’t feel right.

A quick, soft slurp of your soup. A lift of your weary eyes. A kick in his heart. “I don’t want to make any decision. If you want to pick up the call, you should. I don’t mind. If you don’t, that’s fine, too.”

He must be dead because he’s staring at his own reincarnation.

You’ve walked so far on your pathway of suffering that you reached the point that you don’t care anymore. Don’t care that there’s a risk Yoongi will see you or hear you. Don’t care about what’s going to happen when he does and about the events after. It’s as admirable as it is disturbing and a faint pulse begins to sound in his chest. Thrill nips at his skin; a sense of responsibility uncoiling within, linking to the surety of his instinct to protect you. To stand up for you. To make things right in a way, way different manner than he’s ever tried before and it’s those inclinations that drive his thumb to swipe across the screen.

Though he doesn’t look at Yoongi. No, he looks at you, studying your features. It’s not that he doesn’t trust your words, he does and vehemently so, but this is a difficult situation that you’re both in and it would be only understandable if the gravity of it washed over you all of a sudden and you weren’t comfortable with this anymore. He wouldn’t hesitate to end the call right away. Fuck what Yoongi thinks.

But nothing changes about your weariness. It’s a still pool of water, unmoving and utterly impenetrable, like the pond behind his cabin during cold, winter times. When this is over, he promises to get warm and dip his fingers in, permeate your skin with rosiness and coziness. Stall the change of seasons unfurling in you.

And Jungkook pleats that promise into the palm of your hand as he takes it, his thumb against your head line. Watches you stuff your mouth full with noodles. His own stomach churns, the fury half parting, making a way for his hunger to suffuse his senses. He’s so happy you’re eating that all he can think about is how he’s going to make your life better with this one singular video call.

He leaves you to it and focuses his gaze down on Yoongi. His once-close friend is driving in his car and despite the shit view he has of him, due to his service and the way Yoongi’s phone is angled, he can still see the way he’s swathed by murkiness. The purple marks under his eyes are a stark contrast to the pallidness of his skin and his hair is a mess, tufts of black strands sticking in different directions as if he had been on the verge of ripping his hair out. He has one hand on the steering wheel, while the other runs over his upper lip. Over and over, back and forth, waiting, patiently, for Jungkook’s attention.

He starts speaking once he knows he has it.

“Sorry to bother you, I didn’t know who else to call.” He sighs and explains that he’s calling because of you, the mention of your name causing his voice to crack. “I drove up to her apartment, but she’s not there. She told me she was going to her place when she… when she… left.”

So he heard you loud and clear, and yet he didn’t have the decency to respond to you, make you know that you were heard. Jungkook looks at you and this time you look back at him, too. A tight, painful exchange of glances. He squeezes your hand, even as Yoongi continues.

“She’s not picking up the phone. I’m worried about her—”

Jungkook is swift with his words. “You should’ve thought of that before you let her leave,” he snaps, his whole body tense, hanging yet again by the thread. He keeps his hold over your hand gentle, despite it all—despite the fact that his form yearns to explode. “You’re too reckless. Leave her alone.”

Your eyes widen while Yoongi’s narrow, but he doesn’t regret what he said. He knows there’s utmost truth in them, something that should scramble his brain until he comprehends it. Yoongi’s mouth purses in a tight line and his fist clenches before he places it on the steering wheel with a thud.

“Don’t talk to me like this. I don’t need this,” Yoongi mutters, pulling out his hyung card and while it angers Jungkook even more, he also thinks that’s the biggest load of bullshit that has ever come out of his mouth. “I need to know where she is.”

He gazes intently at you as he says, “It’s none of your business.”

And those big eyes of yours round in a good emotion that he can’t really recognize and slowly, you swallow down your noodles. Speechless, he deduces. A tendril of adrenaline courses in him, strengthening his responsibility and protectiveness over you, kissing it ever so sweetly when you squeeze his hand.

A validation.

Jungkook could stay like this. He wouldn’t mind at all—it feels too nice. Feels like you’re his. And perhaps at this very moment you are.

The feeling is so overwhelming that he doesn’t give two shits about the fact Yoongi is detonating on the other side of the screen. He keeps his eyes on you.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s none of my business? Is she with you?”

It’s at this moment that a proud smile curls Jungkook’s lips. And it’s joy that absorbs his organs, his heart beating loudly and clearly. Even the people around him seem happier in his peripheral vision. He thinks this night tops in the best days he’s ever had.

Tension has grabbed a hold of you, too. But he will make it better. He’s got you.

He continues with the truth and he’s not afraid of it. Not at all.

“Yes, she’s safe with me.”

Those words, most peculiarly, soothe Yoongi’s rage. Silence fills his car, one that forces Jungkook to flick his eyes to his phone because he truly can’t believe what’s happening. Yoongi runs his hand down his face and nods once, the murkiness loosening a fair bit before it pulps him. It’s now that he becomes small. A tiny boy, at the hands of his own repercussions. Displeased, but relieved. A strange, strange sight.

“Good,” Yoongi says and Jungkook’s stomach drops. “She should be with you. You’re better than me in ways I could never be. She doesn’t need me anymore.”

Your mouth parts and a vexation of your own clutches you. Enough for you to drop your spoon and lift your hand, palm up. The adrenaline in Jungkook’s system thickens. “Give me the phone.”

Yoongi's head turns to the screen at the sound of your irritated voice and Jungkook’s smile widens, handing you the device. He knows what you’re about to say will put an end to this difficult situation and he’s eager to hear it, eager for it to happen.

“Careful, don’t make him crash his car,” Jungkook whispers, ever so smug, just for your ears, but on the other hand, he doesn’t care if it finds a way to your boyfriend’s as well. You gaze at him most solemnly, fleetingly, and he can’t read shit in your expression. He’s not troubled by it, however; he wants you to let loose in whatever form of your choosing, of your liking. You deserve it, to be boundless like that. It’s been a long time coming.

His phone in your hand is too large and he finds it so cute that it helps him relax. Without withdrawing his hand, he hunches over his soup, getting his utensils ready.

And his first taste of his meal is as good as the first words you hurl at Yoongi.

“Are you joking right now? Is that all you have to say after everything? You’re actually unbelievable,” you spit, shooting daggers at the screen, your brows furrowed, a lethal glare directed at him. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he hears him sigh. “I’d like you to know that it’s my decision that I’m with him. Not yours. You’re not in control of it and you never will be again. I’m with him because I want to be with him, not because you let me be with him or because you think it’s good.”

Your voice rises in volume ever so slightly, respectful of your surroundings, but untethering your heart free nonetheless. A tortured pain coats it, despite the fact you’re holding yourself strong and it drives Jungkook to let go of his spoon, unable to eat when he feels your agony in all its raw immensity. You struck his awe and all he can do is watch you make order of your life. For your sake and also, most remarkably, for his. A beautiful, beautiful sight.

Love unable to be real turning away, slowly, from the dead end.

“So, we’re over?” Yoongi asks, small—small voice. Jungkook has never heard it before and butterflies zap his stomach with the strongest electricity they could come across.

Your face doesn’t change and you don’t hesitate to unleash your next words. “I think you should go see other people and heal from this mess. You’ve grown too attached to your own fucked up impressions and you need a reality check.”

Such coldness, such brutality. Jungkook can’t breathe—finds it hard to believe this is happening right now, that angels are by his side, keeping his bloodstream flowing. He feels as though he’s dreaming again due to the speck of vagueness in your answer. Yes, you’ve told him to go see other people, but he’s also aware that Yoongi needs the raw truth on a silver platter. If there’s anything he hates with all his being, it’s the abyss of obscurities. It’s the space in his brain for him to make up for the emptiness of your words.

Jungkook intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb fondling the crook between your thumb and your forefinger, giving you the little strength he possesses in him—the last of it, all he has.

Are you breaking up with him or are you taking a break?

Jungkook longs to know, perhaps he needs it, too, even though both options are more than merciful for such a wretched dreamer like him. A dreamer that has stumbled upon gold in a poor, poor world.

“Honey, please.” Yoongi breaks into sobs and it’s now, now as Jungkook hears the sound of a raw emotion from such a detached person that he softens, his fury snuffed out in a blink of an eye, and he can’t feel his arms, nor his legs. He realizes, most strangely, that it’s his friend, one he spent the last ten years of his life with. The aftertaste of copper pools in his mouth again and his own eyes wet. Yours, too, your chin quivering the more you take in his devastated state. “I can’t do this without you. I–I don’t know how to.”

Despite your tenderness, your words remain firm. “I think you’ve managed quite well these past few days. You’ve pushed me away, needed space. So go have it. I won’t suffer through it, though. I’ll do what I want, you should, too. You need to heal in the only way you know how. Alone.”

Yoongi sniffles, taking long breaths to seemingly calm his shuddering lungs. And pity enfolds his heart, pity for his friend that he’s become such a wreck and that he’s a witness to it, more than the cause behind it. He puts the latter to the side, now is not the right time for it.

He knows what will happen to him once he breaks the dam of self-blame. It’s not what you need right now and he will make sure to keep that dam of your own safe and stable. It’s his duty.

“Will you wait for me?” Yoongi asks and Jungkook feels that question curl around his gut. With a light layer of sadness, he returns to his food, his stomach grumbling.

You sigh, swiping your fingers under the skin beneath your lower lashes, perhaps so Yoongi doesn’t see your weakness. Jungkook watches you as he slurps on his noodles, nervous—terribly, terribly nervous.

“I don’t know if I’m able to trust you like that again,” you conclude, taking a big breath and Jungkook chokes on his food, coughing so hard that you untangle your hand from his and slap his back. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.” You end the phone call and gently lay down his phone, rubbing his back soothingly as Jungkook splutters. “Are you okay? What happened?”

What happened? You gave him life. Made a pathway for his dreams to come true. Gave him a leeway to walk upon this earth with no weight on his shoulders. Turned something inaccessible accessible.

Love unreal becomes real, running headlong in the opposite direction of the dead end.

The last of his aching coughs emit out of his throat and he swallows, lungs heaving with freedom and easy, easy breaths. The air is different, the oxygen much sweeter. You put his tall glass of water into his hand, encouraging him to drink, never letting go of him as Jungkook takes a big sip, the cold liquid washing away all of those dark ashes left from the fire of his fury. His vision blurs once he looks at you in this new, shifted reality and there’s a smile to his face, calmness surging through his body, exhilaration most needed twining around it.

“You tell me,” Jungkook says, almost out of breath—out of his mind. “What just happened?”

You go back to your soup, squeeze your fried egg open with your chopsticks. “I’m not letting him hurt me again. I don’t have to be strong and take it, do I?” With the yolk spilling in, you push the entirety of the egg white into your mouth, huffing in delight, rolling your eyes back and chewing, cheeks puffed up like a little squirrel. His own utensils go slack in his hand, watching you enjoy your food, his heart enlarging. But then you furrow your brows and stop chewing. “Fuck, it’s cold, but it’s so good.” You sigh and resume chewing, your eyes flicking across the table, your body bouncing excitedly in your seat. You act as though you didn’t just break your own boyfriend’s heart—as if you led a normal conversation with him, in which he was just checking up with you. Jungkook’s awe is so struck that he can’t speak. Can’t eat. Can’t do anything but watch you with all that love abounding in his being for you. And then you flick your eyes to his and the wrinkle between your brows deepens. “Why aren’t you eating? Is it too cold?”

He calls your name, firmly. Leans back in his seat with a big sigh. Rubs his eyes with his fingers. “What just happened?”

There’s simply no way this is real.

You devour your noodles, swallowing spoonfuls of soup. “I ended things with him, Jungkook, and I’m not coming back to him.”

His mouth dries, heart picks up speed. How are you saying this with such ease? Isn’t your heart split in two? Your devotion clung to his guy with every breath you took and back at his cabin, you wouldn’t let him play with you unless Yoongi was present. How come it seems like you’re anything but heartbroken right now?

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks in all honesty, confounded by your behavior.

You push away your bowl, cradling your full belly. “Yes, I’m okay.”

He doesn’t really believe you. Losing your appetite was proof enough. “Positive?”

You look over to the side and your chin begins to quiver. There it is. Your hand flies to your face and you hide the rupture of your pretense behind it. The corners of your face, the only parts he gets to see, flush in red and Jungkook grabs your things with a heavy, sinking heart. Walks over to you and gives you his hand.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

The weeping clouds have migrated not just to your eyes but to his, too. The night is deep and Jungkook feels it, ardently, coming to rest beneath his skin, floating on its back upon the stream of his tears that he’s stifling. He’s holding your hand and your purse as he’s leading you to his place. You didn’t want to see the face of your apartment. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t stand anything that reminded you of Yoongi and you begged him to take you somewhere you’ve never been before. Jungkook only nodded, brushing away the tears that managed to escape. Thought he’d bring you to any place you’d ever ask, just as long as you stuck with him.

He’s gained what he wanted for a long time, but at what cost? The two people he loves the most are broken. One, his dearest, he’s grasping tightly so she wouldn’t fly away. The other is becoming but a memory, ten years going down the drain—never to be seen again, never to be continued.

He has you, but he lost Yoongi. And the realization hangs, heftily, over his clavicles, swinging back and forth, kicking into his chest.

He can’t stand the sight of him either, however. How strange.

Once inside the warmth of his apartment, he can’t help but rid you of the hideous flannel of his that you’re wearing, bunching it up in his fists and throwing it away to the corner of his bench on the side of his wall without you knowing. With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you to his living room and he lets you skim your sight all around it, slipping his fingers under the hem of your tiny top, just touching you there. White walls, brown leather couch, a TV that takes up the most of the space alongside the kitchen with a plain dining area consisting of an old wooden, rectangular table with four chairs. A huge singular space of nothingness that has never felt home-like, not until you’ve stepped inside.

Now, all of a sudden, it has colors. Vibrant, yet soft-toned with each inhale of his breath. You bring your oxymorons everywhere you go and they stay where you reside, even if you move someplace else. The evidence of it is in his very body. While he feels at his most fragile, he also senses himself to be strong. Strong enough to take care of you right at this moment, be there for you and give you anything you’d ever want. And while his eyes are still wet, cheeks bedewed by his softness, he also wants to break this place—self-blame creeping in, threatening to emerge from the hidden spots somewhere within the battlefield of his chest.

This is his fault. Had he never said yes, you wouldn’t be in pain and neither would his friend be. But in that scenario, he wouldn’t know you existed. Wouldn’t have you. Would lead a forlorn life, with his paints and his alcohol.

You would be happy with Yoongi. Radiant, glowy. With your glitters, your little dresses. Your nighttime robes and your little lingerie.

Would you? Has he ruined your happiness? Has he ruined you?

Jungkook turns you around to him. He needs to ask you; he needs to have the certainty, otherwise he won’t sleep tonight. Won’t even close his eyes—the thoughts would eat away his drowsiness. Leave only wakefulness in their wake. Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead, lingering there, formulating his words, carefully. His hands clutch your shoulders. Your frail, slender shoulders.

Yoongi devastated your appetite enough that you lost all your soft fleshiness. He took it away and he doesn’t even perceive it. It was clear to him by the way you pushed your plate away, when your emotions rushed through; you didn’t have to say a word. And although he grieves the personal loss, still this is something he’ll never forgive him for.

“Would you have been happy if you never knew me?” he asks, subduedly, torment clawing at his vocal cords. “Would you have been happy with him?”

A teardrop spills down your cheekbone, plopping onto the material of your top, soaking it. You furrow your brows, seem angry at his choice of words and he regrets them, enough that his mouth rounds in a tender emotion that he’s too weak to stifle back. And then you bunch up his T-shirt, just like you did earlier in the dressing room, and there’s a tendril of relief that maybe he didn’t fuck up so majestically. He wants to weep; holding them back pains him too much and that ease, that repose is all he wants. It’s not that he’s shy or unwilling to let out his feelings—it’s just that he’s putting yours above his, deeming them more important. He wants to be strong for you, someone you can lean on—and how can he do that for you when he’s crumbling on the inside?

“How can you say that to me?” you ask in disbelief and Jungkook wants to rewind back the time. Wants to keep quiet and just hold you through this fateful night. He winces, looking away, his own chin quivering this time and he can’t—he can’t hold back. He possesses no strength. A tear trickles down his cheek, one full of agony, hot against his skin and he whimpers, he whimpers when you cradle his face in your hands, step on your tippy toes and press your lips against his. Your mouth is so warm and he’s shivering with cold; silky while his are ruined by the constant biting he did in the car. He is a ruination—how can you want him? He ruined your relationship. And now even his tears have stained your angelic, pure face.

“I feel like I’ve ruined everything,” he admits and his chest hurts, lungs tight, body trembling in that persisting cold. “I’ve ruined your relationship. I’ve ruined your life. Yoongi’s. Caused so much pain, so much trauma. Only because I let my friends convince me into going out when I came back from the military.”

The wrinkle between your brows smooths down and you pout, caressing his face. Jungkook can’t halt the rivulet of his liquid emotions. Not when he feels your love so awfully intensely, embracing him around and around, tightening, giving him a sense of safety.

“Can I tell you something?” You take his hand in yours and Jungkook already misses your warm touch on his face. He nods. “Where’s your room?”

He leads you there and you crawl onto his bed, patting the space beside you, curling on your side. He mirrors your position and you prop the side of your leg on his, intertwining your fingers with his on the bedding, moving his hand to your mouth.

And your words seep into his fist.

“We were together for five months and I never met his family. Never met his friends, except you. I never really thought about it in depth because he kept me busy, despite the fact all we did was fuck. It was enough for me, I guess, because I’d been alone for a long, long time before I met him. And I’m a bit of a loner myself so I didn’t mind that we spent all of our time in his apartment, fucking and watching movies. It wasn’t until I met you, Jungkook,” you pause, taking a big breath in, fondling his knuckles with your thumb, soothing him, soothing the drowsiness that is suddenly falling upon him like a blanket, waving off his tears, drying them. “That I realized it’s not really supposed to be like this in my life. I remember that night when he was out with you and I was in the bathroom. I thought about when was the last time he took me out and I shivered. I shivered, Jungkook. It was the first seed sown and I didn’t know. And when you came into my life, I spent my weekends out with you. You took me to your cabin, you took me out to dinner dates. Even today you took me to the mall. I realized it’s supposed to be like this. Yoongi never did that.”

Your words tingle across his fist and he’s quick with his own. “But were you happy?”

So are you. You don’t hesitate. “I thought I was, but the way I’m happy with you can’t compare to the way I thought I was happy with him.”

The truth wafts in the air, sweetening it and another onrush of tears come out of his tear ducts. He leans in closer to you, nose to nose, sniffling, sobbing quietly and you kiss his hand. Over and over, breathing against his skin. Light opens in him as the truth unfolds—with the little time he had with you, he managed to make you happier. Not just happy, but happier.

“I had a lot of time to think about this. It wasn’t just today that he didn’t speak to me. He barely did throughout the week, but today was the worst of it all and I couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt, it hurt so much,” you continue and Jungkook knows how much it pains you, when Yoongi abandons you over and over, clawing his fingernails in your scars. He’s glad, brims completely with that gratefulness that it also rolls down his cheeks, mingling with his tears, that you were strong enough to put a stop to it—as hard as it was. “And you know what I think? Yoongi needs someone like that. Someone who’s a much bigger loner than I am. Someone who’s okay with staying home, with keeping things casual. He needs a friend and I’ll continue being that for him, but not in the way he wants. I’ll be there for him, but not as closely as he was used to, you know? It has to be a process. I can’t just disappear out of his life. I don’t have the heart to do that.”

Extending his arm, Jungkook invites you to rest your head against his bicep—only because he yearns to touch you. Without untangling your intertwinement, you lay against him, breathing in his scent and Jungkook wraps the same arm around your shoulders, cocooning you in. Body to body, his lips against your forehead. You look up at him and he looks down at you, a profound exchange of glances. The reality shifts once more, the energy deepens, filling it with something beyond affection and love—fate thickening the air, intense, earnest and impassioned. And submitting to it, Jungkook raises your chin and kisses you, deeply, slipping his tongue inside just briefly. Kisses your cheek, your neck, your shoulder, hides himself in that crook, breathing with you and nothing else.

A brand new reality.

He can’t help but think about how smart you are. How admirable, how good. How well you handled everything, how well you made an order out of your life and ultimately out of Yoongi’s, too. Like Jungkook will take care of you, you will take care of Yoongi—not leaving him on his own with his shattered heart and mental health. He just hopes that sometime soon, he will be able to have a part in it, too. It’s his utmost wish. No matter how upset he was with him, how strongly he disliked him in certain moments, it’s still a person he loves, a person he spent the last ten years of his life with. A family, almost.

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?” Jungkook whispers, squeezing you against his body, drawing you closer until your lungs and his gain that singular synchronization. Your leg straddles his torso and he grows greedy, needing you even closer. Needing to get underneath your skin.

“I’ll try my best to make it happen,” you whisper back, running your fingers through his hair. The light that shines in your eyes faintly illuminates his shadowy room and it’s precisely the one he longed to see. Something tells him it’s here to stay and it drives his thumb to caress your wet lashes, the skin beneath your eyes, your rose-kissed cheek.

Jungkook trusts you. You’re such a badass that you will succeed in anything you set yourself out to do. And he tells you. Asks you if you want to take a bath. Thinks it will distract your heart from what it knows, from what it’s used to. Teach it something new—something you will connect only with him.

And your reaction enlarges his heart to the point that it breaks his ribcage. Your eyes widen, its light erupting, blinding him, and you gasp, lifting your whole body and grabbing his shirt in your fists. He chuckles in endearment.

“You have a bathtub?”

And your eyes almost fall out of their sockets at the sight of it once he carries you to his bathroom and sets you down. He kisses the back of your head, his hands on your hips, guiding you closer to the bathtub, reaching over to lift the tap and let hot water pour down. You both need it after such an emotionally-exhausting day and Jungkook is eager to get in with you.

“Stay here. Don’t strip. I’ll get your candle,” Jungkook says, lowly, squeezing your hips once and caressing your bum as he turns around and heads to the kitchen.

He wants to be the one who takes off your clothes. Plans to do something with you he hasn’t done in a long while, something he deems you deserve after everything you’ve been through. He grabs your mango-scented candle, your bag of cheese balls, a lighter and a chair and returns to you.

You’re crouching by the bathtub, your hand flowing in the hot water, its steam curling, tenderly, your hair cascading down your back. Jungkook pats the back of your head to announce that he’s come back and you smile up at him, your eyes big and twinkling, so magnificent that he grows weak in the knees, butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach.

Lighting up your candle, you watch as he does it, each three knots flaring up to life and suffusing the air with a balmy, tropical scent. He sets it down on the chair and, helping you stand up to your feet, he doesn’t waste a second. His fingers hook under the hem of your top and fling it out. And because he knows you’ve never bared yourself like this before him, he hides your nakedness by pressing you against his chest, your soft breasts a pleasure, his digits sliding beneath your leggings and dragging them down your hips, looking over your shoulder. You shimmy out of them, moving your hips ever so delightfully and before he knows it, he’s on his knees—kissing the apex of your thighs as he takes your feet out of the pant legs. And he thinks he could stay here all his life.

Jungkook looks up at you as he removes your socks, kissing your knee without breaking the gaze, and he hopes that you can sense his love for you in it, the unyielding stability that he will cling to you with his body and soul—simply, with his entire being.

Rising slowly, he kisses his pathway up, leaving behind the translucent evidence of that love. Your mound, which makes you giggle, a celestial symphony to his ears, your full tummy where he hopes your invisible rose tattoos still are, both sides of your ribs, the middle of your breasts, your sternum, your collarbones, your throat, your chin—up and up until his lips find yours. And he devours them. With such vigor that you hum into his mouth, your hands reaching for his shirt again.

Oh, you want him to get in as well. Very well.

He wanted to be the witness to your relaxation, but if it’s your desire that he shares it with you—by all means. He lets you take off his shirt, lifting his arms for you, and you’re quick to allow your hands to discover the parts they don’t know. His mole beneath his left pec that he caught you staring at shortly after that turn of events at the cabin. You press your mouth against it, unravel your love for it there by grazing your teeth against it before you lick it over with your tongue, going as far as marking the spot right beside it. Jungkook sinks his fingers in your hair, reveling in it, tummy tingling, holding you like that as you do what you please. Your own digits descend to his pants, setting him free from them and when you get on your knees just like him, his cock tightens in your face.

And he dies, angels know for how many times today, when you rub your face in this intimate part of him, his heart bursting.

Not now—he can’t let you do that now. He wants your muscles to relax first before he can strain them all over again, in a much different way.

“My sweetie,” he starts, sighing, rubbing your scalp. He takes you by the back of your neck, sliding his hand underneath your armpit, and drags you up. A healthy, radiant flush adorns you and he’s glad for the paleness to be gone. Glad his body is the cause of it. It makes his heart happy. “Not now. Let’s get in the tub.”

Your stiffened nipples brush against his bare chest and he almost doubles over, loving the feeling of it. The sigh that leaves your mouth, so akin to his, too.

“But you’re hard,” you whisper, tugging down his boxers until his cock springs free and you immediately wrap your small hand around it, squeezing him lightly.

He can’t help but to grunt, the faint pleasure dizzying. He missed your hand, missed your touch. Haven’t had it in so long. It fits so well in your fist and he believes, in all seriousness, that it belongs to you. It’s yours.

He brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. His brain malfunctions a little bit, the pleasure you’re giving him zapping his dominance. “You like holding me like this?”

You fondle his tip with your thumb and he hisses, sparks of electricity coursing down his body and he hums at the aftershocks. So good. He feels his arousal drip for you; feels himself lengthening in your hand. You nod, watching it happen, and while it feels nice to be looked at like that, he wants your eyes on him. He cradles your face in one hand, making you look at him, and he pecks you. At the contact, you finally nod your head. Jungkook envelops his palm around your fist and guides you to squeeze him harder, groaning onto your mouth.

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises and embraces you, hiding himself in the crook of your neck again, inhaling you. Petrichor, mango, your personal scent. It’s all he wants to breathe in for the rest of his life. It’s what heaven must smell like. Actually, heaven must be what he’s hugging.

You whimper and for it Jungkook tightens his hold around you. Skin to skin. He’ll never get over it. “I love being good for you.”

He hums his approval, following the cascade of your hair down your back with his palm, rooting at your bum, grasping the flesh. “You’re the best girl. Let’s get you clean.”

The loss of contact aches and he can see it even on your face, an adorable pout forming on your mouth. Helping you get in the bathtub, you wait until he joins you and it’s only then that you sit down, unsure of how both of you are going to fit in such a small space like this. Knees in between his, you exchange a few giggles in the awkwardness of it all before Jungkook kisses them and leads you to lean back against him, your spine against his chest, your body getting lost in his.

Turning off the tap, the water is scorching but pleasant, his muscles relaxing, the very little remnants of the fight of his self-blame tearing apart at last. It must be as enjoyable for you because once you settle in and you take in the heat, the effect of the candle, the dimmed light and the soft shower of rain pittering against the windows, you let loose completely, your head slack against his sternum, breathing steadily, eyes fluttering closed. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, your breasts pressed against them, and he loves the feeling of your raw femininity in his hands, in such a nonsexual context. His arousal might be alive and longing for you, but that feeling, somehow, overweighs it in a way he’s unable to understand.

He doesn’t mind; he could stay like this.

And both of you do for some time, feeling each other’s top halves of bodies, resting, thinking of nothing, until you tip your chin and, puckering your lips, you ask for a kiss. Arch your back until your breasts bounce free from his hold. His cock twitches against your back from the sight and you smirk.

Sly little girl. He cages them once again, though this time quite differently. One hand grabs the flesh at the base, the other sneaks to your chin, your other breast nudged in the crook of his elbow. His finger traces the lines of your lips, flattened now, kissing it every once in a while. And as if it was a signal for you to open up when he stalls his movement in the middle, you open up for him. And the feeling of your tongue, the suction of your lips, the sound of it all—it drives him to head down the path of absolute madness.

He might have just found his ultimate weakness.

Jungkook adds a second finger in, when you angle your body, so he can have a good view of it, your head propped against the bathtub wall, lidded eyes fixed on him.

So much for relaxing. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, swiftly, causing your brows to knit in confusion. It humors him, but you’re not getting your way that easily.

“You should relax,” he scolds in a teasing manner, not meaning a word of it. “You’ve had a long day of shopping.”

You laugh through your nose, a soft smile gracing your lips and for a split second, Jungkook wonders if he didn’t ruin the moment again by altering the reality again, bringing back the memory of what’s happened. If he didn’t invite in your guilt, perhaps. You’re here with him, about to be made love to, while the person you still love is dealing with brokenness on the other side of the city.

And he tells you in the form of a kiss sunk into your cheek, drawing your body closer to him, cradling the back of your neck, squishing you against him. It causes you to turn your body to the side, slightly, and Jungkook hikes you higher, letting you lean your face against his cheek like that, pecking you over and over again. There isn’t enough body of water to overspill from the tub, but your shifting caused small waves to lap at your body and Jungkook finds himself transfixed by the sight of it. It seems as though the ripples are worshiping your body and an inkling to do the same, to do better, rises in him—as well as the impulse to tell you with words this time.

He should verbally communicate with you. Just to be safe.

“Did I remind you of it again?”

Your fingertips follow the valleys of his abdomen, half dipped in the water.

“Remind me of what?” you say and there’s a striking gentleness to your voice, some kind of blissfulness that feels terribly foreign to him. “Of my freedom?”

A bearable tightness clutches his chest, interlaced, most heartily, with the simplicity of his shock. Freedom. With his directions, you set yourself free. It should be something to perhaps honor and rejoice over—so why is there still a morsel of pity swarming in him? He needs you to tell him.

A streamlet of tears blurs his vision. Because his clinginess to you intensifies with each move forward, for the most part. Because he feels bad for his friend, for the lesser.

“Why do I feel so bad for him?” Jungkook questions, pressing you harder against him until there isn’t any more space to push you into.

You plop your body onto his. Chest to chest. Tummy to tummy. His cock, a bit soft now, against your femininity. Nonsexually, in all its beauty. You drag your thumbs under his waterline, collecting his essence of pain. His heart constricts.

“My freedom is his,” you say, still holding him like that—both palms on his cheeks. “We’d be stuck in a circle like this. We’d go round and round until one of us would burst and end things eventually. He’d never fully heal in this environment. He’d never look past his own insecurities, not when I’d continue to enjoy myself with you the way I always did.”

He thinks the merry go round had already begun the moment he and Yoongi made up and tried again. And considering the last thing he said to him on the phone today, there’s nothing left to do but to accept it.

Your freedom is his. Those words ring in his headspace, settling there. By unbuckling yourself from the seat of that ride, you did the same for him. And while you got off, Yoongi still remains seated.

For now.

He’ll get out of there. Jungkook believes in him.

“I’m meant to be with you,” you say and his heart goes wild, violently, under your forearm. For you. You’ve said it. You’ve made it official. Brought it into this new reality and Jungkook could weep again—and he does. Touched by his emotions, you kiss his tears, sighing against them. “I’m yours, Jungkook. Have been the moment I looked into your eyes the very first time.”

Your bare, boundless truth drives him to reveal his, too. Such power you have, such strength.

“You know I have feelings for you, right?” he murmurs, an allusion to the way you wept together in the dressing room, brushing your hair back, feeling his tenderness radiating off of his eyes, immensely. How easy it is, to tell you something groundbreaking like that, even as absurdly as he did. “Don’t let go of me. Don’t let go of those feelings. Keep them safe.”

Your own tears pool in your waterline and you nod, a smile glinting upon your lips. So you knew, felt the love like he did, enkindled by your mutual release. He wasn’t wrong. His heart pounds and for the first time upon this trajectory, this doesn’t feel unreal. It feels real. Alive, possible, full of life.

“I do, too. Held them in for so long. Never admitted it to myself for his sake. But that’s over now. I’ll keep it safe. All of you, Jungkook.”

You love him.

His sobs gather in his sternum, his lungs too small to capture them in place.

You love him. And it’s real.

Gripping your hair, he kisses you, deeply. And both streams of tears turn into one river—and both of you can’t halt the hunger creeping in. The hunger for more, for your love to burst at last and absorb your reality. Tongues mingling, tasting something new. Teeth clashing, lips tingling. Breaths hard and ragged. Jungkook can’t take it. Can’t hold back his body from lifting off of the rounded wall of the tub, the water sloshing and splashing all around.

And then you say something that grazes his madness ever so unmercifully.

“Put it in.”

He groans, biting your bottom lip, fingertips making dents on your small waist. Horny girl, asking for something you can’t handle. He swears, his arousal awakening yet again in full speed, taking over him wholly. “I haven’t stretched you out yet.”

You grind your femininity against his tightening cock and he’s done for, feeling your pulse. “Stretch me out like this.”

He squeezes your ass hard, making you moan onto his mouth, in effort to make you listen to him and submit to his better knowing. “It’ll hurt, sweetheart.”

Your breath wafts over him as you close your lips over his, sucking. “I can take it.”

Such a stark contrast to the words you uttered in the dressing room. His madness heightens. So much that he moans into your lip lock, dipping you in the water to make you laugh, clutching onto him as you yelp, your adorable laughter vibrating through the bathroom, bouncing off of the walls and sneaking, in the long run, into the chambers of his heart, coming to live there.

This is happiness.

And the vibrations are too, too much for him to handle. So unusual, so beautiful.

“Hold onto me,” Jungkook commands as he wraps your legs around his torso tighter and rises, stepping out of the bathtub and reaching for a towel in his cabinet while his other hand holds you steady by his forearm under your bum like a child.

Leaving you to your own strength for a second, he wraps the large fabric around you both, bunching the ends in his fist on your back, exiting out of the bathroom and laying you down onto his bed. Your hair sprawls on his bedding and he thinks you look like an angel, maddened just the same by something beyond lust, by something way purer. He kisses your lips, fleetingly, and begins to focus on your neck, unfurling his love there. He sucks your wet skin, licking it all over, scattering his hard kisses there—the ones that drive you wild, moaning loudly and bravely, deservingly so. And he marks this victorious day there with pretty, pretty colors of red and purple. Doesn’t stop. Not until you beg him, writhing underneath him, excited and eager.

“Please, Jungkook, take me.”

Such sweet, innocent words. He listens, cooing, dragging you further up on the bed, so he can lie on top of you and take his hard kisses further down, marking all the places where your invisible tattoos are, bringing them to life all over again. Above both of your nipples, especially on the right one, where that frilly rose was, covering the peak. And he feels you melt, feels you soak his lower abdomen when he sucks on that nub, flicking his tongue, making you cry out so beautifully, so desperately that his arousal for you rigidifies. And when he looks at his artwork, fists propped on either side of you like his knees, it steals all of his breath.

“You look so beautiful like this. All mine.”

All his, wet with the last drops of water, with the pearls of his saliva, with your essence coating your folds. Adorned with red tattoos. He has his own on his arm and hand, except on his chest and he thinks the one he gave you make up for it. Thinks they’re his as much as they’re yours and it causes his length to twitch against his stomach, so terribly needy for you.

“And you look beautiful like this. All hard for me,” you mimic his words and he grows feral, even more so when you continue. “It’s all mine, isn’t it?” You take him into your hand again, but he pins both of your wrists down, above your head. And the smile you grace him with—it makes him yearn to make love to you like this. Bound, while the rest of you would remain the quite opposite.

He growls, kissing you. “All yours. All yours for you to take and come around. All yours, my sweetheart. Always has been.” He kisses you harder and you whimper. Pulls away just to swirl his tongue around yours, open mouth and all, before closing his lips down again in a profound, warm and homely lock. “Spread your legs for me. I’m gonna get you ready for it.”

He does it himself, folding you in half, the glistening of your folds visible even in the slight lack of light in the room. Oh, he can’t have you like this. Reaching behind himself, he turns on his bedside lamp, bathing you in a soft, yellow light that suits you the most. You’re holding your legs apart for him and he places wet kisses on the back of your thigh, ravagedly, to reward you for it, trailing them down until he’s face to face with your drenched princess parts. And it’s a groan of relief that emits out of him when he’s this close to you, hands pushing your knees down, spreading you even more to gratify his hunger.

He’s starving. Terribly starving.

And he rolls his eyes back when he takes the entirety of you into his mouth, tongue dragging upon your slit, up and down, drinking your dew, penetrating only a little bit just to tease you, just to mess around with your madness. And when he flattens his tongue against your swollen clit, you cry out. Surprise him when you grip his hair, enough to cause him to flick his eyes to you. Your mouth is parted, but grinning nonetheless, your own eyes heavily lidded, emitting light and joy and Jungkook simply decides to make this experience better for you.

He lifts your hips in the air and devours you, lapping at your clit over and over again, letting you see what he’s doing to you without taking his eyes off of you, nose pressed against your shiny mound. You whisper your vulgarities and he’d let it pass if he didn’t consider this a holy, spiritual occurrence. He withdraws and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the way your slick trickles down your clit and your mound, rooting in the squishy part of your lower tummy. He hums, delighting in the sight.

“Be good,” he scolds, smiling down at you and your grin widens. You nod your head, your hands still crossed above you without his to hold them down. Scratch his words—you’re already the best girl. He licks up the trickle of your essence trailing down your clit, making you writhe again. “Feel how wet you are for me.”

Carefully, you skim your palm down your soaked belly, gasping, until your fingers reach your nub, the concoction of his saliva and your arousal seeping into your skin. He encourages you with noises of approval to keep going, bending you even more in half, your back leaning against his thighs, the pads of your fingers circling your center, eyes wide at the discovery, able to see just how celestially aroused you are for him. So beautiful. He bites onto the flesh upon the side of your thigh, only because he can’t help it, soothing down the sting with his tongue. And he hums at the sound of your moans, at the sound of your slipperiness when you drag your fingers down to your clit and stop there.

“Hm, yes, sweetheart, rub that pretty clit for me,” he murmurs and his chest explodes at the principle that he’s able to say that to you. That he doesn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. That he can do whatever he pleases with you without any consequences to reap. That he’s free. You must be thinking about this, too, but in a different way, because you hesitate. He’ll destroy that dubiety. It won’t show its face again—as long as he lives on this earth. “You can do it, my love. You’re free.”

The reassurance washes over you and rids you of that fleeting negativity. He understands this is new for the both of you—there’s some still getting used to, so it’s completely normal. He’ll try his hardest to make this as much of an easy ride for you as he can. It’s his duty.

“Don’t be afraid,” he continues, adding your name, softly. “You’re here with me and you’re safe.”

Jungkook leans over and kisses you. You nod into the kiss and he returns to his position, catching you rubbing your clit, slowly, with two fingers, the other spread on your folds. And both of you moan simultaneously.

“That’s it,” he whispers, enthralled, making way for the sound of your slick to overpower the atmosphere. “That’s my good girl. Make yourself feel good for me.”

You whimper his name, buckling your hips in his hold, squeezing your eyes shut and Jungkook can see the waves of pressure charging your tender body. Now is the time for his participation.

He sinks his middle finger inside, making your eyes pop open and stare him down, just for you to submerge yourself under the surface of that sea of lust and let your irises whisk back. Your walls clench around him and he waits until you speed up your circles to join his other finger, biting his lip to push back his desire to sink himself inside you. He tries to pay little attention to the way he drips for you.

But then you use the rest of your fingers to bring yourself to your climax and Jungkook takes it as a sign. Another finger in, he curls them, fucking you the way you like. Fast, grazing your sweet little spot that beckons your sweat out of your pores and when your pussy drools even more for him, he adds another. You gasp and he knows exactly how you’re feeling, how good this is for you.

“You feel so full, sweetheart, don’t you?” he coos, jackhammering his hand harder and you drench it, completely. He flattens his fingers, allowing you to see the thick sheen and you mewl, a litany of his name spilling along. “You’re so wet. So horny for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna come?”

You scream your agreement, squirming, strumming your fingers harder and this is it for him. He changes direction. Fucks his fingers up and down and your toes curl, chest heaving heavily and you just keep on screaming. A delightful sound.

“Come for me, then. Like the best girl you are.”

You clench around him. So much that he can barely move his fingers, sunk in so deeply. He just flexes them, drawing out your orgasm and you give it to him.

And you’re wet all over again. Sprinkled by pearls upon pearls of your pleasure. He is, too, and it worsens his desperation for you.

You’re panting, but he’s not done with you. Setting you down, he laps up the violent evidence of your orgasm, making you twitch in overstimulation and he eases the pressure of his tongue for you. Sucking on your folds, he decides to mark you there. Just below your hip bone, too. Such intimate places. Perfect for a temporary keepsake like this.

Hovering above you, he circles his tongue tinged with your taste around yours, forcing you to moan again. And he kisses you softly. “You deserved that orgasm.”

You whine, red all over, and Jungkook understands you need more. He pulls away, clutches himself to line up at your entrance, but you stop him.

“I want you.”

He smirks, longs to hear you be more specific. “How?”

You huff. So adorable. “In my mouth.”

He chuckles. Should’ve asked where, but he’s at your service—he’s willing to give you anything you want. “All right, but just for a little bit, okay?” You nod, vehemently, and he pats your cheek. “On your knees.”

Oh, he’ll never tire of the view of your submissiveness, of your hunger for such a private part of him. He makes a mess for you on the towel, dripping more than he ever has, and he holds himself at the base, grabbing your jaw in his hand. Brutality, the one he’s obsessed with, swims past your irises when you gaze up at him. A feral animal, an angel in hiding—he’d love to embellish you with the sticky traces of his fixation, but he shouldn’t, no matter how much he craves it. He can’t stain you, not today. Can’t ruin the holiness. He’ll let you play with him before he seals it for all eternity.

Tomorrow he will. Smear you with it until it’s all your pores know.

Jungkook traces the lines of your mouth with the tip of his length, just like he did with his finger in the bathtub, and you hum, liking it. He can vividly see your yearning to rub your face against him again and he lets you, encourages you in fact, pulling you closer until you nuzzle your nose against his girth, his skin caressing your cheek, and you kiss him all over. Place your hands over his and suck him inside your mouth, drinking his precum. Only to withdraw right away, sit back on your legs without lifting your hands, and look up at him with the vastness of your overbearing innocence and love.

“You’re mine,” you purr, fucking him with your fist.

Jungkook nods, just once. Doesn’t even feel his butterflies anymore, too numbed by you, by the pleasure you’re giving him. “That’s right, my love.”

You suck in a breath, biting your lip hard as if it took all of your energy not to make him come at this very instant. And you lengthen your spine, asking for a kiss again, and he bends at the waist, kissing you nastily, pushing your head back to his cock, inciting you to do what you truly crave to.

And you take him so well, your cheeks hollow, and he’s unabashed, free to let out his male noises, whimpering for you, panting heavily as you bob your head, slurping him, spitting on him. You toy with his tip, tugging at his length, colliding into his fist and it isn’t until you rub your face against his balls that it becomes his undoing. He stalls his orgasm, strains to do so, just to please you and he pries your hands away from his length, lets you focus on his sack. The least he could do to last. But then you grab it into your fist, sucking his balls, one by one, into your mouth, even try to take both of them at once and that’s it. He can’t breathe, his heart wringing painfully with all the love that brims in him for you. No one has ever done that to him.

You flick your tongue against them, your other hand wrapping around his tip again, tugging and he nears dangerously close to the bursting of his orgasm.

“That’s enough.”

He draws you away from his cock, using all of his strength, and pins you down. A splutter of your giggles waft in the air, your chin wet with your spit and he moves his mouth so rapidly against yours that you struggle to kiss him back, growing calm all of a sudden, as if overcome with the gravity of it all.

He looks at you for a long while. Puffy, red mouth, that he craves to bite onto—and he does. Darkened eyes, full of freedom and exhilaration. Neck, chest, tummy and the rest of the delicious parts of you scattered with hickeys, with his own personal keepsakes. He loves you so much that he becomes frustrated, needing to let it out somehow. All of his muscles tense and he clenches his grip on your wrists.

“You want me to die? Is that what you want?” he hisses, speaking of the sloppy blowjob you gave him, gliding his wet cock across your seashell. You lose a breath, drowsy eyes fluttering, spreading your legs for him. No wonder you’re tired—you gave it your all. He sinks his teeth hard into his bottom lip, his frustration rising, brows knitted. “You can’t play with me like that. I was seconds away from coming all over your pretty face.”

“I wanted you to,” you say, loud and clear, and Jungkook is hot all over.

Turning you over to your side, he squeezes the flesh of your bum until it hurts as a punishment, knowing you’re not ready for the full thing. It’s too soon. Your wincing breaks into a low, alluring moan and it fills him with adrenaline. And then you smile at him, light flashing in your countenance. You’re anything but punished; you’re pleased.

Looks like you need another form of punishment.

Fuck it, fuck all spiritual aspects of this. The angels in heaven need to look away for now and cover their ears. He’s going to make love to you in a way they’ve never witnessed before and it’s good that they never will.

“What did you say?” Jungkook feignedly questions, pinning you back down and burying himself in your heat. Having stretched you out well enough, he gives you his half right away, but he doesn’t stop there, not when you lift your chest off of the mattress, not when you lose yourself in the sudden fullness and the music of your mutual moans. You grip him so tight that he forgets, for a split moment, what he’s punishing you for.

You stammer, seemingly forgetting, too. And when his mound kisses yours, your words falter altogether—a crescendo into silence. Eyes wide, unblinking, taking him most courageously. Jungkook hums, immensely proud of you, slowly pounding you into the mattress with hard strokes.

And when he gives you a particularly unmerciful one, you scream, shaking all over in his hands.

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s what you get,” he purrs, grinding his hips, loving the way he toys with your senses, your peaked nubs digging into his chest, and you can’t catch your breath, your whole body tense. “Too deep?”

You nod. “Too deep, baby, I can’t take it, fuck. It’s too much.”

Cooing, he kisses you. The pet name, your tightness—he’s losing his mind and it’s your fault. Your wonderful, wonderful fault. You don’t even let him pull out, you keep him caged in, your walls fluttering against him and he whimpers, shaking like you, unable to continue kissing you.

“Relax, my love, or you’re really gonna kill me,” he croaks out, ascending to heavenly places where they don’t, in most certainty, don’t want to see him. Sitting back on his feet, he thumbs your clit, helping you calm down. “Good girl. Feels good, stuffed full like this? My thumb rubbing your sweet little clit, hm?”

It is a miracle, the way he knows your body and knows what to do with it because your walls loosen, enabling him to fuck you, sloppily, your slick squeaking along with your quickening breaths. You scream out your yeses, driving him to give you his all.

“Just like that,” he whispers, approving, his balls tightening already, the pressure in his lower tummy becoming bigger.

You deserve the full thing, though. Jungkook places your knee on his shoulder. And with each stroke, his mound stimulates your clit, getting you nice and fast to his level.

He cradles your blissed-out face, the heel of his palm putting pressure on your throat. And onto that expression of elation, he uncoils his love for you, brutally fucking you until your whole body ripples beneath him.

“Whose are you, huh?” he moans, driving into you, rearranging your guts. Sweat drips off of his forehead. “Whose pretty girl are you?”

Your own sounds of pleasure rise in pitch and volume and he senses, he knows you’re about to come for him.

“Yours, Jungkook, yours,” you choke out and he’s so proud of you that he hums, his balls slapping against your bum, and he kisses you, giving you his tongue. You suck on it, getting him right there to the edge of his orgasm.

“Fuck, such a good girl. All mine. You know that I love you, right?”

And the once reappearing absurdity of his choice of words pushes over that edge and you squeeze him, squeeze him hard, milking his cum out of you and he growls into your mouth. You take over each and every one of his senses, making them yours, and he fucks his cum into you, his mouth smacking against yours, as you whisper your I love you’s and he swallows them down.

Heaven or something beyond. You created it and he wants to spend the rest of his life there.

Panting, he kisses your jaw, marking you there for the last time. Unbelief grasping him that he finds himself in such a place glazed with love. “You love me?”

You whimper, shuddering all over, your orgasm still seizing you. “I love you so fucking much.”

He licks into your mouth, ending your release. “My best girl. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never let you go. You’re never getting out of my sight again.”

Jungkook lets go of your wrists. They must be cramping, tingling and he massages them in the air, sitting back, his length still inside your homely heat. Your eyes wet again, sobs break out of your mouth and he shushes you most affectionately, his heart twinging. He lifts you and sits you down on his lap, hugging you close to his chest. Skin to skin. You cling to him with everything in you and he holds you together, so you don’t fall apart.

“You’re my savior. My healer,” you wail, gripping his hair. As if your breaking wasn’t enough, your words hit him hard and his vision soaks along with yours. You’ve never told him that before—never told him the roles he has in your life. He appreciates them so much, holds them dear to his heart. Never wants to forget them. “Don’t ever leave me, please. I beg you.”

It’s him who now breaks. Right there on your shoulder, beneath the waterfall of your hair.

“I could never. You’re my life. You’re my everything. How could I ever leave you?”

You sob harder, lifting your head, and the sight of your rawness makes him fall even more in love with you. Jungkook smooths down your hair and wipes away your tears. Kisses you, deeply, and lingers there. And along with the kiss, you and him exchange your last I love you’s for the night.

Tub drained, candle snuffed out, cheese balls devoured, the rain finishing like that chapter of your life—Jungkook feels himself entering a brand new one with you, one where Yoongi isn’t present, as he dresses you in his clothes. For panties, he slinks your legs into his boxers, keeping them warm with a pair of his own joggers. Then, he tugs his hoodie down your head, pushing your arms through the sleeves. Smirks at the way his clothes fit you well. As if they were your own. At the way he matches with you.

He overflows with a thrumming life.

A brand new chapter filled with myriads of different, ecstatic possibilities. And you seal them to completion, when tucked in bed, lying on his chest, you sleepily utter the first prospect that you want to bring to life.

“Will you take me to your cabin tomorrow?”

His breath hitches in his throat. He never thought he’d be returning there so soon, especially not with you. His mouth quirks up, body suffused with a foreign excitement, and right away he deduces the reason why you want to go there.

“You really want that dildo, don’t you?”

You merely laugh through your nose.

Oh, he’s calling in sick tomorrow. Will take you there first thing in the morning. Will do absolutely anything for you.

“I’ll fuck you hard with it until you completely drench it, then. Sleep for now, so we can get to tomorrow.”

You kiss his clothed chest. Nuzzle your face in it. Whisper your thank you. Jungkook pretends he didn’t just get hard all over again.

“Good night,” you say.

He pecks your hair. “Good night, sweetheart.”

BACK to masterlist

#jungkook x oc #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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stuck-writing-sickos · 4 months ago

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In Poor Taste [P9]

(Yandere × Reader)

[Series link]

[Warning: obsessiveness, misogyny, sexism, harrassment, explicit language, violence, mentions of sex]

(Dead from work. Enjoy. Here is what u came for. Anyway, tell me what u think. Talk to me. Ik i havent been responsive (busy) but i wanna read ur comments 🫶 love u stay well and stay away from people like my OCs)

He never knew how good it tastes to bite the hands that fed him.

Better some of you than none of you, Lukas thought when his eyes refused to leave your body as you sat by the pool with a beer in your hands. The humid air hung heavy beneath rumbling thunder, but no rain yet. The villa was quiet sans the sound of wind and waves. Lukas felt sticky under his shirt as he shifted, trying to see your face but couldn't. The bedside lamp casted light through the uncurtained glass wall against your back, soft and yellow like saw dust. You didn't talk. He didn't know what to say - you had Yuki on your mind and he had your brutal fist on his. This wouldn't go anywhere nice.

He clicked his tongue and took a sip from his can.

"Something on your mind?" - you asked, face turned away.

"Nothing at all."

"You seem pensive."

No, you do.

"Maybe just the stress of trying to readjust to a new way of life."

"You're doing well."

"Well... thank you."

Words failed him. His head raced to piece together something to say that wouldn't make the friction between you and him worse. He couldn't. Lukas no longer wanted to make small talks about bullshits like "how do you like Phuket so far" or "how many siblings do you have". He was tired of trying to get to know you politely. He wanted to rip through the layers and get messy - "we're small and scared. Please, let me into your arms", he wanted to say, the fire in his stomach sending heat through his whole body, his fingers itching to reach for your skin.

You were angry at Yuki, no? He probably fucked up - men always do. Yuki probably did what men do best - use and discard. After all, sex is the ultimate currency in their sphere. Lukas wondered if Yuki felt good after having had you. Did he brag? Did he laugh about the way he made you buck and squirm with his friends?

Lukas turned his gaze away, feeling guilt brewing in his stomach. You wouldn't know about all that. You probably woke up in Yuki's arms smiling, thinking that the intimacy meant something. But Yuki would turn cold. They all do. He had you, and he had the nods and murmurs from the douchebags he hung out with. And now there you were, sitting by the edge of the small pool, wondering what you did wrong, asking yourself questions like "was that all I am to him".

Lukas wanted to throw up thinking about it. He tried hard not to realize the reason he could imagine the intricacies of your situation so vividly, but the thought had taken roots. He knew because he had done it all. He wasn't any better.

But he could learn. That was the difference. And what more... he could atone. He would gladly take your punishment. Lukas felt his fingertips playing with the silver chain on his neck, pulling it around as if to scratch an itch he had yet felt. His eyes found their ways back to you who had not said a word, your arms pulling your knees to your chest. He swallowed dryly.

He could learn. He could be good for you. Yuki couldn't do that - the man left you sad and confused, likely unaware that under your calm surface you were a storm. He didn't stop to see the look in your eyes now when you fixed them upom the sky - resilient, yet filled with disappointment. You expected better from Yuki and he failed to deliver. That was on him - he was flawed and spineless, unable to let you in.

But Lukas could.

Before he could think of anything to say, a flash of light cut through the sky. You didn't flinch. "This one will be loud", you said. Lukas braced for the thunder, his body tensing up. "Yeah", he replied, his voice suddenly weak. He jumped at the cracking thunder, his head ringing.

"Are you okay?" - you asked, sounding cold as usual.

"No, yeah", he tried to match your tone but couldn't, heaving, "Just a little startled."

"A Texan who's scared of thunder... what do you know..."

He laughed, barely containing the high he felt seeing that you had engaged in some sort of personal conversation with him for once.

"You got me."

"The thunder did. I'm just sitting here."

He was aware that he was smiling big, but he didn't know how to stop that. Lukas wanted to say something else, but before he could, he felt water on his skin. The rain came down hard and quick. In the moment he took to react, it had already curtained the scene white.

"Ah...", he heard you said past the rainfall. You were sopping wet like him, your thin summer clothes clinging to your skin, showing him almost everything he wanted to see. The rain was cold, yet he could not beat the heat.

You stood up. He followed. You didn't seem to be in a hurry when you pried your glass door open and let him in with you, spashing the curtain and carpet. Something inside him clicked when the sound of rain sounded distant so suddenly, leaving the air filled with your breaths and the dripping of your clothes. Standing around awkwardly, he watched you who returned his gaze. Lukas felt the hair on his arms standing up when you asked:

"Are you cold?"

___

Yuki wanted to peel the skin off his body to see if the crawling discomfort would cease. He felt restless. Squirming in the uncomfortable arm chair, he watched the storm rage on, thrashing against the window. He couldn't even go for a smoke when he needed it most. Biting on his nails, Yuki felt the uncomfortable queasiness all over himself like a swarm of spiders.

He wanted to talk to you.

Yuki knew he handled the first night he spent with you poorly. He talked of family too soon. He still couldn't think of one good reasons why he did it. When you looked away and avoided his question about regrets, a switch flipped in his braim and made him stupid. Did you regret sleeping with him? He would hate that. Perhaps that was why his first reaction was to lock you down with hints of family and marriage. Juvenile and stupid, no different than Lukas. Fuck. He was just afraid to lose you.

Even now, he still felt the lump in his throat. It sucked that he wanted you so bad. For a long time, he thought he was dead inside when it came to intimacy - he only knew panic, only knew to look for the door when someone got too close. Yuki couldn't find it in himself to put his lips on another's, much less doing what he did to you when he was still in office clothes, smelling of sweat and cigarette. He didn't vomit after. When he finished and look at you still holding onto him in disarray, Yuki thought that he was at the right place. It was simple and natural - he wanted you and you wanted him.

It didn't take him long, though, to flip the script. Maybe he wanted you, and you wanted to escape your family that lurked at the other end of your calls, their shadow looming over you even when their bodies were plane flights away. He thought of that when you fell asleep by his side, the skin on your face no longer carved in by your exhaustion. In that moment, he felt like just another giant of your bad dreams, casting his own shadow on you. Were you running away and just happened to find yourself in his arms? He couldn't sleep well that night, not at that thought, but at another more sinister one he failed to deny.

He would gladly be your safe haven.

The moment that thought took form, Yuki felt a twist in his stomach. He didn't bother to deny the idea - no excuses of "that was just an intrusive thought" or "I only wanted to support her". When he slipped out of bed and into your bathroom, he knew what he saw in the mirror. He was no misunderstood artist, he was no kindhearted colleague, and he was definitely no reliable friend. He was a spider waiting for you to flail your way into his web, and once you did he had every intention to keep you there. He wouldn't mind you getting in more troubles, as long as you come running back to him. He would make it nice and cozy for you. With him, you could surrender your guards and let him take the lead. No more calls from your brother asking for money nor threats from your mother to fly you back. He could legitimize your citizenship with marriage... maybe even a beautiful child. His family may push back, but he doubted they could disown their only son.

Yuki didn't like the way his reflection look, so he put those thoughts away only for them to come spilling out when you were vague about "regret". He hated that he couldn't contain his perversion for long - the desire for you to suffer enough that you would fall into his arm was a poison he wanted to seal away, but alas he didn't have any self control after all. He was just like the new brat that fawned over you, eager to gnaw and rip at your edges.

You didn't care for Lukas' begging eyes when he sat at the corner of your room, far away from you. "Go back to your room", you said for the second time yet, "you must feel less cold by now". Around him wrapped the gigantic towel you found in your bathroom, the one he asked for when you made the dumb mistake of worrying enough to say "are you cold". He looked down shamefully when he whispered "can I be here? I'm afraid of thunders."

You didn't buy it. No way a man this grown would be so scared of thunder. Your face scrunched up as you leaned against the bedside drawer, your arms taking the warmth of the lamp. He wanted to be near you, that much was obvious, but you didn't quite expect this display of pathetic pleading. You wondered if he ever tried it before and if he did, if it worked. You didn't like it.

"Lukas... look, I think you're drunk. Go get changed and sleep it off. I won't tell anyone that you're scared of thunders, okay?"

You felt like you were talking patiently to a pet that would not quite get your idea but may get your tone.

"No, I'm not drunk."

At that, you rolled your eyes and chuckled wryly, finding a twinge of amusement in your annoyance.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable", you tried to talk again, even slower this time, "but this isn't a good look, no? You and I in here... people will talk."

"Nobody is coming, you know?"

His voice was firm now, and much more sober than you expected. Your eyes snapped back at him who returned the favor, awfully calm now. At least you got your confirmation - he wasn't afraid. Never was.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nobody is coming. Not with this storm."

At that, he stood up, the towel slipping off him. Lukas did not stumble when he walked over to you, his footstep quiet and slow the same way a cat walked when it saw a bird perching somewhere in a backyard bush. You didn't find it threatening at all, though. Unlike a helpless starling, you knew what to do.

When he reached you and the modest distance forced you to push against the cold wall, you let out a tired scoff.

"I'm sorry if I ever gave you the wrong idea, Lukas, but I'm not interested in you that way. Please, just leave, and we can pretend that this never happened."

"I don't want to do that."

His voice was soft now, his warm breath brushing your cheek. He did not raise an arm. Neither did you. You didn't want it to come to violence.

"You're overstepping."

"What are you gonna do about it?"

You smiled bitterly, getting weary of his stupid games. Deciding not to escalate the situation, you looked away. He didn't let your lack of reaction stop him from adding to his stupidity:

"Really, what are you going to do? Do you realize what's happening right now?"

You couldn't help but laughed in his face. He didn't find it so funny. Perhaps you insulted his masculinity? They usually hated it when you did that. Curiously, the look he had on right now did not seem like one of anger or lust. He seemed eager... for what, you were not quite sure.

"I'm warning you", you bluntly said, dropping the smile completely, "you still have this chance."

"Seems like you gave me plenty of chances so far."

Your blood boiled. You didn't know from where he got the idea that this was endearing or sexy. This sucked, and you were getting impatient by the minutes. Your right eye twitched, and you could feel the corner of your mouth pulling into a nasty scowl. Getting hot from your anger, you let the way his eyes widen in expectation escape you.

"This isn't funny, Lukas."

"Isn't it?"

His hands reached to you. Instinctively dodging it, you found yourself trapped between him and the wall as he laid his palms to the side of your head, his heap of black hair tickling your forehead. He grinned smugly, baring his white teeth.

"I find it very funny...", he cooed, lifting his hand to try and touch your neck.

You decided that that was enought. Grabbing his wrist and pulling it, you forced his body down and landed your knee on his chest, hard. Lukas let out a pained groan and fell forward, collapsing to your feet. As you stepped over him to get away, you couldn't help but wonder if his body was limp from the alcohol, or if he never intended to fight back. You watched his back while he pitifully trembled, hand clutching where you hit him.

"Get the fuck out", you coldly demanded. He didn't say anything for a moment, still heaving from the shock.

You planned to grab him by the scuff of his stupid button down and drag him out. Before you could, you heard your doorbell ring.

Blood turning cold, you let your eyes dart between Lukas and the door, wondering how to deal with the situation. You didn't even stop to think who could be coming to you at this hour, in this weather. The silence hung in the air, heavy and thick. It seemed forever until you heard a voice trying to get to you past the storm.

"Please, if you don't mind... Would you let me in?"

Yuki.

If anyone would understand, it would be him. You felt a burst of relief exploding in your chest as you rushed to let him in. Your hands had reached the handle and cracked the door open when Lukas, still in pain, had managed to crawl on all four and throw himself at you, his wet arms clinging around your leg as Yuki stared in horror. "Help me", you choked out and swung the door open wide, letting Yuki in along with the rainfall. Under you, Lukas had broken down into sobs.

"Please... don't go. I will be good."

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere reader insert #yandere x reader #male yandere #oc

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marig01ds · 2 days ago

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I LOVE THEM i can’t wait for act 3

graphite sketch i started after watching act 1 right after my heart got ripped out

if u see smudges, no you dont

proportions started all wrong but WE GOT THERE EVENTUALLY!

is it boring, maybe a bit! BUT I LOVE REALISM U CAN PRY IT FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS

does it count as realism if the thing ur drawing isnt realistic

#my art #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane fanart #caitlyn x vi #vi arcane #vi art #caitlyn kiramman #i saw caits little ‘ew’ expression #THAT TAG IS REAL #come back bbg u can be redeemed #cait go get ur girl #caitlyn arcane #caitvi #violyn

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inkmemes · 4 months ago

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never stop blowing up ( 2024- ) e01 : be kind, rewind sentence starters ↪ taken from dimension 20's 22nd season. alter as you see fit ♡

“oh wait, i have to come up with the name right now!”

“this was the thing i forgot to do!”

“oh shit! wait, actually, that's… wait, actually?”

“ooh, look at my lovely cardigan!”

“i did think you were going to say tits.”

“that actually does really help me remember.”

“it's for parties. it's for chill kickbacks.”

“i think that's incredible.”

“it's a giant wrench.”

“without siblings, we're nothing.”

“you're gonna get me in trouble with my boss again. you can't do donuts in the parking lot.”

“it scares away the customers.”

“you're not gonna stay for the whole shift, are you?”

“i don't know what you're gonna eat, but that's not gonna be good when it's cold.”

“hey, you better make a move fast, man.”

“things are scary down there.”

“you do what you want, but at the end of the day, you're wasting your time at a place like this.”

“this is a dead end.”

“you need to take your life seriously, man.”

“i watch anime.”

“webster's is trash.”

“these kids, sweeties, they're not going anywhere. they're not going anywhere, believe me.”

“sorry, i was going to invite you to go out for a drink.”

“what are you gonna do in the big world?”

“i take it back. i take it back.”

“you're gonna bury us all.”

“i'll get the information somehow. you can trust me!”

“do me a favor. step behind this door.”

“what's behind the door?”

“he got squished to death.”

“who are you calling?”

“that's okay, i'll just pick them up from here when i come.”

“that's nice. i do like that.”

“oh my god, i keep calling people about that phone. it doesn't work.”

“what if i have to call i have to scream for them or something. good thing i have life alerts everywhere.”

“say hi to everybody! everybody you see, say hi.”

“you're drawing a spreadsheet by hand?”

“you may not be able to push buttons on that keyboard, but you push my buttons every day.”

“[name], you're my rock, and i am counting on you.”

“what do you need? i'll be right there.”

“can you do me a favor, sweetheart?”

“that's incredible, man. i'm so happy for you.”

“i always wondered what we might have done together, but then again, as you always say, you work alone.”

“i think you'd only slow me down, [name].”

“do you need a ride, or are you just gonna get there yourself?”

“what've you got going on here?”

“i can't believe you guys are closing down. what the hell? that's crazy, i can't believe it. why are you guys shutting down?”

“i just love the vibe.”

“i don't think there's any long-term ramifications of having no sort of collective ownership of actual, real, concrete media.”

“sorry, i just popped a really big mint in.”

“thank god, man. thank god you're here.”

“he looks like anybody, and he looks like everybody.”

“i'll give you one second to change your mind and not embarrass yourself.”

“i'd hate to have lunch with you.”

“dude's kinda weird.”

“what's going on with you?”

“what've you been doing on facebook all day?”

“why don't you let go, [name]? i let go, and i'm feeling amazing, all right?”

“what'd you ask? you want to rip my carpet?”

“i can't believe what that fucker was saying.”

“i could pick them up tomorrow for you.”

“god, it's hot in here. do you want a fan or something?”

“i've never tried that.”

“what the hell? are you okay?”

“you callin' me a chicken, [name]? ’cause i'm actually the cock of the walk.”

“god, that's fucking cool.”

“i think you're technically right once again, there.”

“i'm good, i'm good. living my best life. living my hottest sexy single life.”

“oh, you wrote it down, like old-fashioned style.”

“i left this post-it note in your lunch cubby.”

“we could get cataract surgery together, if you wanted.”

“this is eye-opening for me.”

“you just keep doing it. you just go and you do it again, and then you do it again.”

“you already said your name.”

“we're gonna kind of have a party of sorts.”

“a bottle of wine, then, is called for.”

“i think you can probably hang up.”

“he kind of sounded like a wizard or something.”

“oh my god, the tv's broken. everything's breaking.”

“you know what? i'll come with you.”

“is everything okay at home?”

“it was an accident. she didn't mean to.”

“you spent $400 on pants?”

“i hope i have arrived in time to join the festivities.”

“it was a joint effort.”

“did you eat those seeds yourself?”

“i never grow tired of it. i watch it again and again and again.”

“how do you know my name?”

“sorry, what was your question?”

“little bit of snow for your ski trip.”

“oh my god, i'm hideous!”

#rp meme #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #sentence meme #sentence starters

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kuni-is-daddy · 2 years ago

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WORKING OUT WITH GOJO SATORU. X GN READER.

Ft: Teasing, grinding.

1.1k words of gojo thirsting for u.

Gojo x Female reader smut

WARNING: NSFW CONTENT.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

At first gojo would ask you to come along just so you can watch him dead lift 200+lbs(pounds) or even be his "spotter" so he 'wouldnt get hurt', the spotter part was your idea. But just the thought of watching gojo sweat and breathe heavy gave you butterflies in your stomach. If you two would go to a public gym gojo would 100% FLEX HIS ASS OFF. Lift 200lbs? Nah gojo's going to 400lb. It doesnt matter if these other 'people' look more 'ripped' then him. He'll show them up without a problem. "Yeah you like that baby?" He'd grunt mid lift. "F-fuck..Its all for you love~" You'd scold him for pushing himself too hard but he'd suck his teeth, pick you up without warning and carry you bridal style out the gym. Laughing as you'd punch at him to put you down because it was 'embarrassing'

Gojo who would also send you pictures and videos of him lifting. Captioning how he can't wait to show you his progress. Up close. He'd sometimes even wear more revealing. Clothes during missions you two got paired up in. Turning off his infinity just so the wind can blow through his shirt and reveal his abs. Only for Utahime and Nobara to scold him.

If he's deadlifting sometimes gojo would joke around and act like the weight was too heavy for him or he got gradually tired, it could even be considered as a test of trust the first couple of times he invites you over. He'd smile and blush at how you tried so hard to hold it up for him after he made 'pained grunts.' even using cursed energy slightly because it was too heavy for you. (Gojo was completely fine holding up that much btw). He'd yank the weight off of him. trying to 'catch his breath' only to see you running around the gym that you've never been too before, asking people where you can buy water and cold towels for him. And that was another moment when gojo truly fell in love with you

One day Gojo finds you in the gym before he is. Wearing clothes lighter/thinner then your average attire as you sat on your phone waiting for him to arrive. "Hm? I see you got here before me baby~" He'd walk up to you with his gym bag. Wearing a black tank top, shorts and his iconic shades. Gojo is so tall~ (around 6'3) so even when his body isnt flexed out he towers over you so easily. "Well..I was thinking of joining you this time toru~" you smirk while looking him up and down, watching as he takes off his shades and his beautiful blue eyes glow, Now looking at you with an intimate gaze.

Gojo didnt have a problem with whatever you we're trying to achieve at the gym for any reason. Be it for your mental health, For him, Or just for the sake of being fit or trying something new. He loved the idea of you even doing something as far as exercise because it meant you we're getting stronger. Just.. 'Not as strong as him' he'd chuckle to himself while watching you do warm ups...Specifically squats.

He'd count out how much your doing, constantly telling you to push yourself and keep going 'just f' me' Until eventually it looks like gojo is enjoying himself a little TOO much. He's paying so much attention to your ass and how you'd recklessly bounce up and down from how tired you we're getting. Imagining how you'd bounce on his cock while pleading for him to let you cum "T-toru! oh fuck toru~ please..im so close daddy.." "Hah..Your so fucking good for me, Milking my cock just like that.. Dont stop.." Gojo gets caught out of his hard daze when you stop exercising and just stare at him with your hands on your hips because he somehow went from the number 14 to 69- while counting.

Gojo would pout and tug at your arm for you to keep exercising because you look so fucking hot. "Cmon baby..I promise i wont look...so much.. kay? You just..Do what your doing over there and ill be over here lifting-" he'd smile and give you a thumbs up while scooting over to the weights. "okay toru~ if you say so..." You'd constantly stop mid set to take a peek behind you to see if gojo was being a pervert, But everytime you would he'd just look 'normal'. When in reality gojo was talking glances at you, lifting with one hand and rubbing against his clothed length with the other. Mumbling how good you looked for him, How your sweat coated your body so well, watching as you perked up your lips when taking a sip of your water. "Yeah baby..thats what im talkin about' Dont stop.. your doin so well... fuck yeah..sweat for me~" You'd look at him dumfounded and ask if he was alright. "Yeah baby im great~ you keep exercising for me alright? get that heart healthy f' me~ you and that good form of yours. So fucking good" He'd take off his shirt, his chest glistening and pumping out through his sweaty body. You'd choke on your water while examining his body. "heh..Like what you see baby? Didnt get these over night~" he'd place the weight down and begin walking towards you, Flicking his hands through his hair. "How about I give you a treat baby? You've been so good f' me, working so fucking hard~ how about i help you out.."

You would shyly look away, calling gojo distracting because you we're trying to 'focus' but he loved that even more~ how dedicated you we're..how persisent you we're..All for him. He'd pull you into a sloppy kiss, picking you up and sitting on the bench. Your hands would begin to trail along his chest, Feeling his hot body against your own. "You can touch this body all you want baby~ its all yours." he pulled away from the kiss, trailing his mouth along the side of your neck, sending you chills down your body. "T-toru..we shouldnt do it here..What if someone comes in and see's.." You'd tug at his sweaty warm body. "mmm good then baby, let them see. Want everyone to be fucking jealous. So dam lucky to have you in my life, love you so dam much~" Gojo began to bite at your shoulder, tugging at your top. "shit..Wanna take you on right fucking now y/n. Cmon~ let daddy touch you, let me reward you~"

Your shivered at how touch gojo began to get, Not even trying to hide it anymore as he shifted his hands down to your waist, Moving your body over so you'd grind right against him. "T-toru...Toru.." youd moan out his name. holding onto his built arms while the intense heat of the gym ambushed your body as you could feel gojo's pent up length now grinding on your. "fuck...Yes baby?" "T-touch me..please..i want it~" "oh yeah baby~ know' you wanted more. Addicted to this cock yeah? say how much you want it~" he laid his head back against the bench, slapping your ass while you grinded against his length. "G-Gojo~ please...oh shit..please~ I cant, I wanna cum~ I wanna cum for you gojo~ I want you so bad daddy~" "Fuck yeah..thats what i wanted to hear baby~ beg for me more like a slut while daddy rewards you~"

#gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x y/n #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo x gender neutral reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x y/n #gojo headcanons

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infernalodie · 2 years ago

Note

OKAY SO I GOT THIS REQUEST — former!ellie x reader, current!abby x reader; based on the song Left For Dead by Kiki Rockwell, specifically the part “my lover left me for dead, my pretty little body keeps the wolves fed.” The lover being Ellie and the wolves (obviously) being Abby😫 just a bunch of angst and smut (if possible😗). Where Ellie chooses Dina over r in a life or death situation and like Abby (coincidentally) finds R half dead from other humans and takes her back to her hideout or whatever and like nurses her back to health:) sorry it’s so long and it’s fine if you don’t want to, can just ignore this🫶🏼 luv u and your writing!!

a/n: Took me a long time to pick this one up, but here we go!

𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 || 𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

Inspo: Jacob Banks - Devil That I Know Kiki Rockwell - Left For Dead Max Richter - The Young Mariner

Pairing: Abby Anderson x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: Left for dead with a heart of love...

Warnings: Angsty as fuck with a large bit of torture

Part Two - Finale

Words: 4858

Ragged breaths filled the air of the small janitor’s closet. The surface of the workbench and small shelves holding cleaning chemicals are covered in dust. Dirty old rags on the ground. Some left previously, and new ones that had crimson seeped into the fabric. Pieces of medical tape were ripped and discarded along with the garments that had been torn to fashion some sort of bandage.

Your mouth was gagged by your shirt and jacket you bit down on. The soft cold breeze inside the room sent chills down your exposed stomach as you pressed the fabric from your shirt against the bullet wound. A groan fell from your lips as you ran a stripe of tape over the fabric, feeling extra pressure causing white hot pain to flash behind your eyes.

Pants fell from your lips as you released the articles of clothing from your mouth. A speckle of spit left on your lips as you blinked tiredly. “Fucking, Wolves.” Your soft hiss slipped from your lips as you grabbed your gun from beside you. Carefully, you sit up near the door and press your ear to the wood.

It’d only been minutes ago that you had been chased down. Left for dead by your now ex-girlfriend and friend, who you weren’t even sure made it out. If they did and if you made it out of here, you were going to kill them, literally. After saving their asses countless times back in Jackson, this is how they were going to repay you? Oh, yeah, you’re going to fucking gut the two of them.

But that would be the last thing you ever did as footsteps approached the closet. And before you could even respond, the door swung open. Light projected into the room, blinding you as you raised a hand to try and allow your eyes to adjust.

“I found the demon!” The person called as your brows furrowed together.

You crawled back, lifting your gun and aiming at the large figure before gunshots filled the air. The air lost in your lungs was regained with your gasping when seeing the Seraphites body thud against the ground. You kept to the corner of the room as a full-on firefight took place beyond the doorway. But with your mind still in a daze from your wound, you weren’t to put up a fight. Needing more rest than anything else.

It took a while but the gunfire soon seized to exist. Incoherent yells were heard outside as you blinked tiredly, swallowing the lump in your throat as you held your stomach. Footsteps approached, then stopped. “Manny, Mel, we have an outsider!”

Still, in a slight daze, you lifted your head. Your eyes shot wide as saucers as you made eye contact with her, Abby. The entire reason for you being out here and following Ellie to Seattle. Hell, in a way, Abby was the reason why she was bleeding to death in this janitor’s closet alone.

Two other figures, Mel and Manny you guessed came behind Abby. “You know the orders, Abs,” Manny stated, sending a knowing look to the muscular girl.

Their knowledgeable conversation left a horrible dread in your stomach. But you knew that if you put up a fight, you died. Even if you didn’t they would kill you nonetheless. And either way, you hadn’t killed someone before. You were out here to keep Dina and Ellie alive with your medical skills, not kill anyone.

So, it piqued the trio’s interest when you slid your gun their way. Staring down at the Baretta before back at you, finding you shaking your head. “Kill me if you have to,” you breathed. “I’ll put up less of a fight than Joel and Tommy did.”

With the mere mention of the two men, one she killed, Abby felt her chest tighten. “You’re from Jackson?” Abby asked, coming over and dropping to a knee beside you.

A shaky laugh fell from your lips. “Born and raised,” you said half-heartedly. “I shouldn’t even fuckin’ be here right now. Goddamnit, Ellie.” You muttered aloud, feeling Abby carefully lift the hem of your shirt to see your wound.

The bandage you had crafted had done very little to stop the blood flow. It caught a decent amount, restraining the slash of the blade performed by one of the cult members you ran into, but it wasn’t enough to hold everything else in. The cotton had become so damp that your blood began to slither past the bandage and down soaking into your pants and down your waistline.

“Is there anyone else with you?” Mel asked, coming to join your side, shrugging off her backpack and beginning to take out a medical kit.

Manny, who seemed confused by the two girls helping you, said, “Guys, Issac told us to deal with any Outsiders if we encounter them-”

“Manny, shut up for a second, alright?” Abby interjected, silencing him. He pursed his lips, turning towards the door to keep watch.

“There were people with me, but they left me for dead,” you answered the doctor’s question. “I thought I killed one of your people, but I don’t even know who the fuck is out there. I mean, I can’t kill anyone - I’ve never killed anyone - and it was just in the heat of the moment and I- I-”

Your rambling was stopped by Abby, who placed a hand on your shoulder. The touch made you flinch away, mind still conscious of the fact that this was the same girl that killed your mentor. A man who had cared for you and saved your life a handful of times. And you should be exacting the revenge you sought out here to do. To get payback, but truthfully, you were more inclined to not do it in spite of Ellie.

But you knew Joel wouldn’t you risking your life for something he caused to save Ellie. Unlike your ex, you weren’t clouded in rage. Sure, you were angry that you lost someone close to you, but that was the way of life. You mourn them and then you have to carry on. Nothing more than that. And Joel would’ve wanted you to have a healthy and careful life.

When Mel began to apply a new bandage, you cried out. Hand flying to Abby’s arm where you held on for dear life. Head thrown back against the wall as your face scrunched up in pain. “There others here, in Seattle,” you told them, trying to distract your mind from the pain surrounding your abdomen. “I don’t know where they are now. But your friend, the guy with the scar across his face and Leah, they’re both dead.”

The trio looked at you, shock evident in their eyes as you stared at them uneasily. “Leah was killed by those cultists and Ellie… she killed the other guy when he had a bag over my head,” you said. “If I could, I would’ve saved him and talked to him civilly. But my girlfriend was more inclined to make fun of him. I’m sorry.”

“What’s your name?” Abby asked, changing the subject purposefully. Although it surprised you, you cleared your throat with a groan.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/L/N,” You answered.

She nodded. “Well, Y/n, we’re going to get you proper medical treatment,” she told you. “Can you walk?”

You pursed your lips in doubt, and she opted to just lift you up, arm under your knees and the other around your lower back. A squeak falls from your lips with your arms wrapping around her neck. Tucking your face in her shoulder to hide the evidence of pain on your face. Abby successfully got you out of the janitor’s closet of a school that Ellie and Dina left you some time ago. Leg’s still aching from the debris that had prevented you from following the pair in a classroom somewhere down the hall. That and the door Ellie had consciously blocked with a desk, leaving you inside with a Clicker.

Stepping outside, you were quick to spot the truck that had a dog inside, sitting and waiting patiently. “Wait. Wait, a sec.” Abby stopped at your request, looking down at you in question. You bit your bottom lip, looking at her and the truck and shaking her head. “If Ellie finds me with you, she’s going to kill us. Maybe you should leave me here or something. I promise you, I’ll be out of Seattle before you know it. I don’t want to be locked up in a cage or killed by-”

“You’re coming with us.” The soft, yet, the unwavering firm tone in Abby’s lips silenced you. Lowering your head as Mel popped open the hitch and helped Abby pull you inside. “Manny, drive us back to the stadium. Mel and I will see how we can help, Y/n.”

“Abby, Issac’s going to kill us for bringing an outsider back-”

“Manny, just fucking drive,” Abby ordered. “At most, he’ll question her about the people that she was with.” The Hispanic man pursed his lips, cursing quietly before hopping into the truck and starting it. Leaving Abby to close the hatch and crouch by your side with Mel on the opposite side.

Retrieving items from her bag, Mel pulled out a set of bandages. “I’m just gonna replace the one you made so we can stop you from losing any more blood,” she explained. “When we get back to the base, I’ll clean the wound and stitch you up.”

Although the idea sounded great, you shook your head. “We need to disinfect it now,” you told her. “In my pack are a few bottles of Vodka. We can use that as an antiseptic until we get to your base.”

“You’re a doctor?” Mel inquired, eyes slightly widened in surprise.

You nodded. “Learned enough to know how to patch me or others up,” you explained. “Father taught me.”

Grabbing your bag, Mel grabbed one of the bottles you spoke of and took off the lid. “This is going to hurt like a motherfucker.”

“Oh, I know,” you chuckled, teeth slightly gritting in anticipation. “Let’s just get it over with.”

There seemed to be a pause where you built up the preparation in your mind and Mel tried to find confidence in doing the action. But those milliseconds didn’t carry on for too long before you were screaming in agony. Head slamming against the truck bed, nails creating crescent moons in your palm. You hadn’t even realized the sudden flailing of your arms and legs.

“Abby, hold her down!” The taller girl did as told, placing her hands firmly on your shoulders as you cried. When the stream of the intoxicating liquid seized, you were painted on the pale side of the visual. Mel quickly worked to bandage the wound and Abby tried to keep you at ease and not throw up anywhere or pass out.

Which was fruitless when you let out a sigh before your eyes fluttered shut from exhaustion. Abby clenched her teeth as she sat on the side benches along the edge of the truck bed. “Her body is just tired and in pain, Abs,” Mel stated. “But you need to know that Manny is right. Once I patch her up, Issac is just going to put her in a cage and torture her for information.”

“I know.” Abby ran a hand down her face, unable to retract her gaze from your sleeping features. So at peace and finally calm after all the bullshit you had been through. Truthfully, she had no reason to believe you and she didn’t, but she did believe you when you said you shouldn’t be out here. You were smaller in frame and height than Mel. Standing at full height, you were around Abby’s bicep and you didn’t have any defining muscle on you that screamed power in any fight. And that fact that you hadn’t killed anyone and were out here chasing after her showed that you were mentally strong. She just didn’t know if that would be able to carry on when Issac got his hands on you.

A groan shook at the back of your throat as you stirred awake. Face wincing in pain as your body ached and wished for you to rest for longer. Attempting to move your arms resulted in the harsh burn of something around your wrists. Eyes flickering open to find yourself in the center of a poorly lit room. An old fashion torch lamp was set on a few crates near a window that was blocked out by the sun by some white curtains.

Looking down at herself, she found herself in her old pair of dirty jeans with the same shirt on. But her wrists and ankles were tied together. Restrained to a chair with the harsh burn of rope being her reminder of defiance.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” You watched with fearful eyes as the man stepped inside with a bottle of water. Shutting the door behind him and locking it before making his way over. Grabbing a discarded chair and dragging it towards you. The sound of the hind legs scratching across the ground made you wince. Sitting in the chair opposite of you, the man took a seat and smiled. “Now, we can talk about why you’re in my city.”

Issac. That was who you guessed this guy to be. He didn’t seem like some middle-class wolf taking orders from a higher power. He maintained a level of intimidation that came off as something natural. The way he talked, walked and even looked. Nothing got past this man without his say-so. And telling by how he seemed already annoyed told you that you were suspect number one for some of his troops roaming the city were dying.

Sloshing the water bottle around in front of him, he silently held it toward you. Looking between the bottle and the man, you let out a strangled sigh through your nose and nodded. Twisting the cap off, he held the open end to your lips and tilted it back enough for you to take a sip. Parting when you felt the dryness of your throat subside.

“Now, tell me where you’re from, who you’re with and how many of you there are,” Issac said in his gruff voice. “If you don’t, I’ll make this helluva lot worse for you.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you let out a slow controlled breath. “I’m from Jackson,” you started. “Came here by myself when I ran away from home-”

A loud laugh fell from Issac’s lips as he shook his head, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. His dark eyes never strayed from your own. “Do I need to bring in my three soldiers that saved your life and ask them what you told them?” He asked, leaning his arms on his knees. “Or am I going to have to force the truth out of you?”

“I am telling you- MOTHERFUCKER!” You groaned eyes clamped shut at the feeling of a blade stabbed into your thigh. If he had stabbed any higher, he might’ve hit your femoral artery, but this would be easy to patch up. Of course, that’s if you survived past Issac’s torture.

“Y/n.” The use of your name on the man’s tongue was vile. It left a shiver running down your body as your eyes opened to find the man staring at your pained expression intently. “Your girlfriend left you for dead, right?” You let out a shaky exhale, tears brimming in your eyes with your lips pursing. The man frowned, shaking his head slightly as he asked, “So, why the fuck are you protecting her?”

Your lips wobbled, eyes flickering shut with your hands clenching. Breaths began to be choked up as you shook your head. Letting out a quiet cry at the thought of the auburn-haired girl. The girl that saved you from Clickers on a patrol run. The girl that had promised to keep you safe and one day, have a family with you.

Where was that now?

Where was she?

Hadn’t you risked enough coming out here with her and Dina? You lied to your father and left Jackson, your home. You’d given every waking moment of your time to this girl for the past 5 years, and this was how you were repaid. Being tortured for actions that you hadn’t condoned or acted upon. All you wanted was to keep her safe, but she must’ve not wanted the same as you.

With tear-soaked cheeks, you lifted your chin and shook your head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you wept. “I came here alone and sought out Abby for killing-”

Your scream was muffled by the door that was dividing Abby from you. Her face scrunched up in aggravation. How could you be so loyal to someone who left you for dead? She couldn’t wrap her head around it because you shouldn’t be putting yourself in your girlfriend's place. Issac had promised Abby that he would allow you to rest before eventually sending you on your way, but that had been if you would tell the truth. Yet, you were putting up a useless fight for someone who wasn’t coming to save you.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as Issac coursed the knife down your forearm. Red breaching through the crack of your flesh and staining your pale flesh. Body trembling in the hot restraints of the rope that strained against your clenching limbs. Feeling the mounting pain to fizzle to a gentle stream of stinging when Issac pulled the blade from your flesh. Sitting back in his chair to take in your dishevelled and broken figure. From his doing, cuts were inflicted along your arms, legs, and one along your cheek. The blood slithered down your skin and sunk into your clothes. Hair astray from his hands that grabbed locks when he cut your face. And your eyes were bloodshot from the tears that never seized to fall.

“I came here alone,” you said through sobs. “I sought out Abby for killing my mentor.”

Issac sighed, shaking his head in slight astonishment. “You’re resilient, I’ll give ya that.” He rose from his seat, water bottle in hand. “Fighting for someone that isn’t coming to save you. It takes guts and I respect that. Really, I do. But I wonder how long it’ll take until you realize that your girlfriend left you behind- No, keep your eyes open.” The man tapped your cheek, forcing your head up. Finding your eyes hollow of emotion as you stared back at him.

“She isn’t coming to save you, Y/n,” he said quietly. “Whatever you thought of your girlfriend was a lie and you need to realize that before you die for someone who didn’t give a shit about you.” Crouching down in front of you, the man took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “If you tell me the truth, I can guarantee you that your girlfriend will be brought to justice. I’ll make my men go out and find her. From there, you can do as you wish. Kill her, torture her- I don’t care. But I need the truth, Y/n.”

In a drowsy state, you managed to keep eye contact with the man. Licking your dry lips as you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m from Jackson. I came here alone and sought out Abby for killing my mentor.”

All the man could do was stare at you, shell-shocked. You choked on your breaths, keeping the man’s gaze. A knock at the door grabbed your guys’ attention, seeing the door slightly open with Abby stepping inside. Her eyes focused on your dishevelled and broken form that was barely holding up. Eyes glossed over with tears as you broke the eye contact, bowing your head.

“I’m in the middle of something, Abby,” Issac grumbled. “Whatever you have to say is going to have to wait.”

“Issac, we both know she is going to keep this up until you kill her,” Abby protested. “If you aren’t going to do it, then let her recover. This isn’t getting us anywhere in finding her girlfriend.”

The man stared at you, taking in his soldier's words for a moment. Standing to his feet, placed the knife down on the chair and looked at Abby. “Keep her awake and give her this.” Placing the bottle in the girl’s hands, he walked out without another word. Leaving Abby to hold onto the bottle and stare at your figure that could be mistaken for dead if it wasn’t for your rising chest.

It was sad, honestly. How you could still hold love for someone that left you for dead was astonishing to Abby. Of course, she didn’t know your life story and she didn’t know shit about what you and your girlfriend had been through. But what she did know is that you weren’t made for this. You had skills that people dreamed of having, yet, you were out here hunting her for reasons that you may relate with, still didn’t change the fact that you weren’t built for surviving in the wild.

Walking over, Abby moved the knife, placing it in her lap as she sat down. Twisting the cap as she said, “Have some water.” You didn’t respond and you didn’t move. “Y/n, look at me.”

Still nothing. So, with a gentle hand, Abby grabbed your jaw and lifted your head. Finding your eyes heavy with exhaustion. Standing to her feet, Abby placed her thumb on your bottom lip and gently parted your lips. Realizing what she was doing, you willingly opened your mouth, allowing her to slowly pour the refreshing drink into your mouth.

Although she was your enemy, her touch was warm and soft. Treating you like a fragile ornament that could break with the faintest amount of squeeze. She cared. Her eyes watched you softly with the faintest hint of darkness that you couldn’t distinguish. She was worried. It was all that you had hoped to find from Ellie right about now, but you were receiving it from the woman you had been told was a monster. A woman who killed a man you deeply cared about. Who was she, truly?

Greedily drinking all of the water, Abby pulled away, placing the bottle on the floor. Taking a seat, Abby leaned back in the chair, eyes intently taking in your sorrowful expression. “I can’t understand you.” Her words made you raise your bloodshot eyes to her in question. Abby groaned, leaning her elbows onto her knees, closing the space between the two of you a little more. “How can you still love her after what she did to you?”

You bit your bottom lip, breaking eye contact and looking down at your legs. The steady ache from the stab wound had numbed to a point as long as you didn’t move the limb, you could forget it. But you couldn’t forget the wound so freshly cut into your mind. One that seemed to come up every single time Issac questioned you about your reason for being in Seattle.

“She changed me,” you finally answered, breaking the silence. “It’s something I can’t repay, but I thought… I thought that if I did everything to save her from trouble, maybe it would be enough.” You chewed on your bottom lip, shaking your head in thought. “I just can’t believe she would leave me behind. I can’t.”

Sniffling, you looked up at Abby. “That doesn’t make me foolish, okay?” You defended. “Ellie won’t leave me. She loves me. She loves me more than killing you, alright?” Exhaling deeply, you shook your head. “So, please. Just… Just let me go. I’ll convince her to go back and we’ll leave. She needs to know I’m ok.”

Abby stared at you sadly, pursing her lips at your denial. It was hard to hear that you, so pure of heart, wanting to do everything you could to support someone, were so clueless to signs of your fate. Ellie wouldn’t stop. You and Abby knew that. But you were too caught up in love to realize the pain you were trying to protect yourself from. Bargaining for something that wouldn’t come true.

Then it popped into her head, why would someone hurt you this bad? Or, how could someone hurt you this bad? It was damn near soulless the way Ellie had been able to inflict this much pain in one action in seconds. No verbal response, just a single action.

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” Abby whispered, piquing your interest. “I’m sorry for what I took from you.”

You frowned, staring at the girl in question. “What do you mean?”

“Joel,” she answered, making your expression lower into sadness. Abby ran a hand down her face, shifting forward slightly. “If I didn’t do what I did, maybe things would be better for you. You wouldn’t be here and dealing with what you’re dealing with.”

A faint tremble of your lips could be seen as you glanced up at her for a split moment before looking down. Letting out a shaky sigh and blinking away the fresh set of tears that were brewing in your eyes. Inhaling sharply as you bit the inside of your cheek. “Why did you do it, Abby?” You inquired quietly, looking up at the girl. Finding her expression shifted into one of regret as you shifted in your seat. “Abby, he was my mentor, a friend, the last person I got to call my father. He was one of the only people I had left, and you took him from me. So, please, I need to know why you took him from me if I can trust you.”

Abby let out a shaky breath. Hands clasping together as her lips parted. A fumbling of a sentence formed in her mind before she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Joel killed my father in Salt Lake,” she confessed. “I never got over it. I gathered information and searched for answers that could tell me where he was. So, when I found out he was in Jackson, I hunted him down with my group, and I killed him.”

Her confession left the room in a cold stillness as she waited for your response. So, she continued. “I hated him so much for what he took from me,” she muttered. “Finding my dad stabbed in the throat, having no chance to say goodbye or to give him a hug. Joel took that from me and I took that from you, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

Looking up, she found you staring down at her empathetically. “I’m sorry for your loss, Abby.” That was the last response she thought to receive. She’d taken so much from you, yet, you still had a softness in your heart that wasn’t afraid of being given out. “We’ve dealt with enough pain and I don’t want anymore. I just wanna go home with Ellie and be happy, you know?”

Falling to a knee, Abby grabbed your hands and held them softly. “You gotta listen to me, Y/n,” Abby said. “Ellie, she left you behind. As much as I don’t want to agree with Issac on this, he is right. If she loved you, she would’ve done anything to keep you safe and alive.”

A hard pill to swallow, that statement was. It felt like the imaginary knife Ellie had stabbed into was twisting further and further into your heart. Stealing whatever love that you had left for the girl and using it for her own personal gain. Because, in the end, that was the whole point of you coming. Getting guilt-tripped into seeking revenge for a man that only wanted the best for you. You didn’t even get to mourn his loss. You were just thrust into this quest that you wanted no part of. But your love for Ellie was something you couldn’t extinguish. It burned brighter than any flame imaginable.

And she used it against you.

Burning your heart and leaving a permanent scar that reminded you of how your trust could be twisted and forced against you in a selfish act.

“We were travelling with another woman- Dina,” you said out of the blue, making Abby frown. “I don’t know where they’re staying, but we were on our way looking for somewhere to set up camp until we found you.” Inhaling deeply, you closed your eyes. “She has a revolver, a Baretta, and a hunting rifle. Dina is pregnant, so if you go looking for them, don’t hurt her, please-”

“Y/n, you don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.” Abby surprisingly placed a hand on your cheek. Her warmth and comfort were enough for you to lean into the touch. The cold pinch of your tears covered her palms as you opened your eyes.

Pursing your lips, a thin-lipped smile appeared as you shrugged. “What else do I gotta lose?”

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weretheones · 2 years ago

Text

All You Got | Part 5

Part 5: Liar

Series Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.1k (this was supposed to be short...) Warnings: descriptions of violence, death, blood, injury, all that crazy stuff. more angst but it will get better 🙏 A/N: ok so. not an early update... if u wanna blame someone blame my uterus for giving me a hellish period this week. but also give her a hug because she hurts </3

The grass was damp from the night before’s rain. It left green stains on your knees, and smears of dirt along your palms.

Your lip quivered.

Just a minute ago, your grip had been firm. Decisive; live or die, and you’d decided.

That same grip melted away from the sear of hot metal against skin. Fingers softening, resolve crumbling away with every little shake. The gun fell to the ground with a quiet thump. Just like that woman had.

Moisture hung in the air, a tinge of iron drifting. A fog settled, blurring each and every one of your senses until you could barely hear your own quiet, shaky breaths. The only thing that seemed to break through that grey haze was her face, marked by the trail of blood dripping past a wide-eyed stare. The type of stare that was absent of any thought or recognition.

Dead.

You looked to the ground. Cold, soft dirt. Fingers dug in, trying to forget the weight of the gun you could still feel in your hand. The throbbing across your forearm had dulled. The pound of your heart against your ribcage was nothing more than an echo.

Something tickled your hand. A slow sensation to drag your attention back, beckoning you out of the fog and back into reality. Your eyes flickered to where the little ant crawled across your pinky finger.

Then he was there.

A warm pressure settled on your shoulders, gripping your left arm right above the spot a stream of blood started. It felt like a dream; him moving so fast, you slow and quiet. His mouth opened and closed only for the words to be lost between you. Eyes, the same colour as yours, flashed from you to the woman, shot dead, ahead. She still had that knife laying in her limp palm, decorated with a thin line of your blood.

“It's okay. I’m okay,” you said to your brother, who looked so young with those wide, scared eyes.

Your mouth parted, expression slack, and repeated, “It's okay.”

—

“Don’t move a fucking muscle.”

You were frozen, anyway.

The realization of a gun aimed at the back of your head made your stomach sink, weighing you down. It kept you steady, even if your hands were already slick with sweat.

“We can talk about this,” you swallowed. “If you need food or—“

“Shut up,” the woman growled. Her tone was exhausted, already fed up with you at the mere implication of a truce, and you worried if you kept talking, she might’ve just pulled the trigger to get you to stop. “Put your hands up— slow!”

The steadying weight inside of you seemed to falter then, waved by the increasingly worrisome demeanour of your attacker; your hands shook as you raised them, muscles twitching with adrenaline. Her breath got closer, fanning across the back of your neck as the barrel of the gun pressed into the top of your spine. From the corner of your eye, thin, blood-splattered fingers undid the buckle of your knife and pulled the blade out.

Two gunshots echoed in the distance.

Your heart dropped.

Daryl.

As if the gun at the back of your neck wasn’t enough to have you cursing whatever fate put you and her here today, you were silently screaming for Daryl’s wellbeing. No matter who fired that gun, if it was Daryl or one of her friends, it meant something bad.

She seemed to know that too.

“Did those assholes just—” she huffed in frustration before she seemed to remember your presence and bit her tongue.

It was odd. It didn’t feel like she was forgetful, per se, but perhaps that was a biased opinion, on account of her gun pressed into the nape of your neck and all; to be held up was one thing, to be held up by someone who didn't even have the brain to keep their focus on you, was another.

Unfortunately, the alternative wasn’t great, either. If she felt confident enough to let her attention slip off of you, it was safe to assume she was a brute force to be reckoned with. Two long years in this world taught you about people like that. People who fought their way to the top, who stole and lied and killed. Who looked down on the ones who just couldn’t, even if it was their best chance to survive.

You’d known a few of those people— hell, even the way she sighed was achingly familiar.

After regaining her composure, she whistled.

Glancing out the backdoor, you saw Daryl tumble out of the woods— literally. Two men, frames almost as big as his, followed behind. One landed a heavy kick to his stomach, rolling him across the damp grass. Even from across the backlot, you heard his groan of pain. Saw the red dripping down his left arm; fresh blood where you assumed a bullet must’ve hit nearby. The man who’d kicked was aiming Daryl’s own crossbow at him, the other holding up a shotgun.

The sight of it all made you take in a sharp breath. Your thoughts raced. A mix of dread, panic, and regret.

How the fuck did you end up in this?

You could feel that fog fill the air again, sinking into your lungs and choking every breath you sucked in. You remembered the pull of the trigger, the snap of the gun as it fired. The smell of ash and gunpowder.

You didn't know if you could do that again.

One of them yanked Daryl to a stand, dragging him into the gas station. When your eyes finally drifted off his beaten body and the weapons raised, your heart stopped.

Ross and Lee.

“Holy shit,” Lee muttered, his gun’s aim still steady on Daryl. Though the second your name left his lips, everyone’s attention snapped toward you.

A firm hand landed on your shoulder before the woman at your back spun you. You faced her wide-eyed look for a second before the barrel of her gun— Emily’s gun— drew your concern. It didn’t take long for her eyes to turn dark again, anger twisting her delicate features into something cruel and mean.

Emily had always had a fire inside of her, and her aggression had a long intimidation behind it. Back at the camp, her opinion was always made abundantly clear, either by malicious looks or a harsh tongue. It wasn’t uncommon to call in Martinez to calm her down, less common for it to work. If she hadn’t been such a good shot, you swore he would’ve given up on her months ago. She and Mitch were alike that way, dominating through fear and force.

It made sense that she got out.

Of course, Mitch’s story ended differently— at the prison, with your bullet in the back of his skull. After his force had finally lost him his own life.

She scoffed something under her breath, glaring at you beyond thin curtains of dark hair. You tried to follow the fast pace of her lips, remembering her impulsiveness and its cruel outcome combined with that anger in her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here? Why are you with him?”

“I—“

“You buddies with this asshole?”

Amidst her rapid questioning, she never lowered the gun from your chest. Even so, your eyes flickered back to Daryl, now kneeling on the tiled floor and staring at you through his messy bangs.

He looked drained. Tired. There was already a bruise blooming across his jaw, a slow drip of blood from his parted mouth. You didn't know if it was from a cut on his lip or if he’d been shot somewhere else, too, and was coughing up his own blood. The mere thought of that made your lungs squeeze—

A rough grip twisted in your tank top yanked your attention back to her.

“Huh?”

“I— I was alone,” you stammered. “He knows how to fight the dead, how to hunt. I figured I’d do better with his help.”

It was hard to keep your eyes off that gun now pointing to your sternum, but you managed to center a shaky focus on her narrow, suspicious stare, instead.

“He didn’t know I was there— at— at the prison. He thought I was just some… some survivor.”

Electricity ran through every inch of you, waiting for the second you were forced to fight or flee. But as Emily’s stare continued to pick you apart, unsure how to feel about your admission, you willed yourself to hold still and wait.

Or for her to call bullshit on your lie and finally fire that gun.

The seconds ticked by, and finally Lee stepped forward from the corner of your eye.

“Em,” he urged. This world had made him strong and mean, but he was still the kindest of the trio. Had almost even been a friend back at camp.

“Let her go.”

She did— reluctantly, from the cruel look in her eye, and the way she practically threw you back.

“Either you finally grew the fuck up or you learned how to tell a half-decent lie,” she hissed.

You bit back that sigh of relief.

“Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I don’t know how to survive.”

She scoffed. Then looked down at Daryl, a few feet away.

“Use what you can use,” she said under her breath.

“Yeah.”

A bitter taste settled in your mouth. The implication that you were just using Daryl made your throat sting, but you knew that nauseating assumption was the only thing keeping the both of you from being riddled with bullets.

You only hoped Daryl knew that too; that his fallen head and the squeeze of his eyes in pain and regret were all an act.

“Well, he doesn't seem to have much use anymore,” Ross spat. He was still holding Daryl’s crossbow, waving it in front of him as a childish taunt.

You dragged your eyes away from him, afraid of the look in his eye if he’d met yours back, and cautious of giving any hint that you did care about him further than whatever use he could provide.

“How’d you guys find me, anyway?”

Me— not us.

“We were already close. Smelt the fire,” Lee answered.

“Right.” You nodded, silently cursing yourself. “I guess I’m just lucky it was you three.”

“You are,” Ross added. “If it was his people, they'd kill you in a fucking heartbeat.”

“How are you so sure?

“Everyone’s dead. Brian. Mitch. Lily.” Lee sighed. Your heart dropped at the mention of the little girl. “We’re the only ones that got out.”

“Did you see Tara?”

Emily rolled her eyes. Ross was too busy glaring down at Daryl to give you the time of day.

“Last I saw she was hiding behind the tank, jumping at her own shadow.” Lee shook his head.

You nodded. Tara was a sweet girl and had been more of a friend than anyone else back at camp, even if it was only for the short time before Brian took over and led you all into a losing battle. It was only because you were searching for her that you came across Mitch and that little boy in the first place. You guessed it was likely she was dead, too, considering everything they’d said.

“But wait, if you thought you were the only survivors, why follow the smoke?” Your brow furrowed, glancing across the room at the various faces. Blood and dirt splattered all of them, while your hair was just barely dry, skin clean. They looked like they’d been through hell. “Why risk it?”

Emily scoffed from behind, beckoning a glance over your shoulder.

“They killed our people. All of them,” Ross answered, tone firm.

“They don’t get to live.”

You managed to bite back your retort— maybe if we hadn’t attacked them, they wouldn’t have killed any of us. But the look on your face was harder to control. Growing up, your brother used to joke about your eyes offering a glimpse into your mind; it was cheesy, but unfortunately true.

Lee saw through it, he always did have that skill. It was that inch of softness preserved beyond all those scars and trauma that made sniffing out your weaknesses a type of second nature. Thankfully, the hotheads of the group, Emily and Ross, were a different story.

“You don’t agree?” asked Lee.

“I— I just…” You shook your head. Your words had to be careful— precise— if you wanted to keep this facade up long enough to survive. “You know I’ve never been one for killing. But after everything, I get it.”

Your eyes fell to Daryl, reluctantly, and your lip almost quivered with the next question.

“Have you found any of them?”

They all knew what you meant— have you killed any of them?

Any more.

You could still see that sword slice into the old man’s neck.

Tempted by your question, Daryl palmed the ground and gave himself the leverage to position his battered body an inch straighter. His bangs still hung in front of his narrow eyes, dirt smeared across his tense, right forearm that took on his weight, his left side still dripping with blood. It’d been about thirty minutes that you’d seen him clean, now he looked as beaten as ever.

Ross’ boot slammed into his back— throwing him back down to the ground. The breath was knocked out of Daryl’s lungs, rough coughing echoed throughout the room between low whimpers of pain.

“Stop moving, asshole.” Ross grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his neck back to growl in his ear.

That was it— seeing Daryl’s neck stretched back, veins tense with adrenaline and his teeth barred made you snap.

“Ross!” You stepped forward. “He’s—“

Emily was quick to push you back, hand heavy on your chest. But she didn’t raise the gun again. Her intense stare was almost as terrifying, anyway.

“Well you definitely haven’t grown up,” she mocked. You’d always had an aversion to violence back at the camp, which was uniquely odd in this world. That was probably why she didn’t like you, to begin with. “So the question is, are you lying to us? Or him?”

You huffed, “I already told you.”

When her gaze didn’t lessen, you sighed in defeat, “Em.”

She scoffed at the nickname.

“Y’know, I saw you back there,” Emily sneered. “You didn’t shoot a single bullet.”

That wasn’t true— but you’d probably be dead if she knew any better.

You inhaled.

“I was going to say that he’s not worth it. Look, he’s already hurt. Shot.” You tried not to choke on that last word. “There’s a herd not far from here, and those shots you fired are gonna draw them in on us, so we should just get the hell out of here already.”

You hadn’t seen a biter in two days.

It might’ve been a lie, the kind that always raised your voice an octave higher, but unless she was willing to risk her life to call your bluff, you figured it was your best shot.

“You thought it yourself, right? When we heard the shots?”

Emily’s expression faltered for a moment, eyes darting to the store’s front. Newspapers painted the wide windows, blurry rays of sun shining through. Her hand fell off you, again, only this time she seemed to be deterred by her own distraction.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" she hissed.

"It can be hard to think straight with a gun in your face."

Ross stepped forward, past Daryl’s crouched state.

“Thanks for the warning.” He nodded at you, before turning to half-heartedly reason with Emily, who's face was twisted after your retort. “She might be a coward, but she’s still one of us.”

They held each other’s stares for a second until Lee’s tired sigh interrupted the tense air.

“No one’s gonna check the damn street?” he muttered while crossing the storefront to peel an edge of the newspaper back.

“Shit,” he gasped. “She’s right. They’re coming.”

Your heart squeezed.

Fuck.

Of all the times to be proved right…

“Find our exit,” Ross barked.

Lee followed his order, running to the back of the gas station and propping the steel door open. He glanced left and right, then called back out, “Got a minute, maybe two. I’ll find a path.”

Ross glared down at Emily. “There’s no time to argue. You ready for this?”

“Whatever.”

An apathetic agreement was enough, all things considered. Ross grabbed your knife from her grip and turned on his heel to face you. “Here.” He handed the blade to you first, then shoved a spare pistol into your other hand. “Might need that, too.”

“She ain’t gonna use it anyway,” Emily scoffed, walking past you toward Daryl.

"What are we gonna do about this prick?"

"Leave him for the biters if you want." Ross shrugged. "Asshole ain't going anywhere on his own."

"I'd rather no loose ends."

Your throat tightened, eyes lingering on her gun and the way determined, malicious fingers wrapped around the trigger.

Ready to pull.

You knew that look. You’d had it twice before. You were sure it had been more than that for Emily. She seemed too disinterested, too disconnected from the reality of being on the cusp of taking a life.

Ross followed her, walking toward the backdoor. Neither of them, for all their firey hostility, had eyes for you; arrogance had taken root, rotting away any precaution. It didn't matter that you'd survived two years before finding their camp, or that you'd survived the prison massacre that, by their own admission, left everyone dead. You were weak to them. Harmless. No one other than Daryl was interested in the way you handled that gun, checking the chamber and cocking it, slow and silent.

They certainly didn’t have the diligence to notice how your expression suddenly mirrored Emily’s.

Before she could, you pulled.

One shot into the back of her skull, then two into his spine. Ross was farther, harder to aim at, but he dropped just like she did, nonetheless.

“Guys?” Lee’s voice echoed from outside.

You charged forward, kicking the brick from the door frame before the heavy metal slammed shut. From the other side, you heard him yell a curse and the loud thump of his shoulder hitting the door. But the lock was automatic, and the steel was too thick to break down.

Then there were shots. Screaming.

The growls of the dead.

You stepped back and felt something sticky below. Blood— Ross’ blood— coated your shoe. Your mouth parted, staring at the thick red pool, filling in the gaps where your sole had been. With a shaky hand, you grabbed the lone backpack— Daryl’s bag was still outside, probably crushed under the dead’s feet— then ran back to him. It didn’t matter how thick that steel was, once the dead surrounded the building they’d bring down the windows in seconds.

Lee would keep the dead busy long enough to get out.

At least, you hoped so.

Bloody footprints marked your path through the building, stumbling back to Daryl who was grabbing onto the shelf of an aisle, trying to lift himself back up.

You knelt in front of him, not even thinking before you moved his bangs away from his face. Your eyes flickered across his hurt, noticing the cut on his lip was just that, a cut, and the redness at his jaw wasn't the only bruise forming.

“They only shot your arm?”

“Mhm. Hit me over the head, too.” He winced as you brushed your fingers over his forehead, feeling a bump hidden in his hairline.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

Another thump against that door.

You pulled off your zip-up hoodie, tying it around his shoulder. Hell, you didn’t even know if that was the right technique or if he’d be better off with one of those padded bandages in your bag instead of some half-hearted tourniquet, but you didn’t exactly have the time to think it through, either.

Daryl hissed from the pressure, but bit back a groan. "My bow."

You blanked for a second, brain foggy under the pressure, but once you snapped back into focus, you dashed back to Ross to grab the crossbow he'd been swinging around. Then, back by Daryl's side, you bent down to lift him.

“Come on,” you huffed, dragging his body by his right forearm— the one that wasn’t marked with streaks of blood. He groaned in pain as you pulled him up, wrapping his arm and weight around your shoulder. The crossbow, the backpack, and him were all heavy— too heavy. You tried to take a step forward and stumbled, just narrowly catching yourself.

“Put it on my back,” Daryl mumbled.

“O— Okay, just stay still.”

His arm slipped off you and you buckled the strap around his chest. It weighed down his already hurt body but he nodded, anyway. You wrapped his arm back around you and started limping forward again.

The front door Emily must’ve snuck through was slightly open, a ray of sunlight beckoning you through. You and Daryl followed it, shuffling out to the open road. It was wide and bare of biters; they’d all been distracted by Lee.

And you, you tried your absolute hardest not to be.

The dead were relentless. Anyone around these days was well aware of that. Though that expectation of their brutality never seemed to be enough because every time you were actually faced with it, reality hit you in the gut all over again.

Lee’s screams were cruel. Torturous. The haunting gurgle of pain and blood caught in his throat as he died a slow and excruciating death. Even if you hadn’t seen the rip of his muscle and skin between yellow teeth, you could hear it, imagine it— you almost did, before your grip on Daryl slipped an inch, pulling your attention back.

“It's okay. We’re okay,” you gritted between clenched teeth and continued forward.

Daryl shuffled beside you, your head frantically turning left and right to watch for any biters. Your grip on Ross’ pistol was always tight and ready. Even if firing a bullet next to a herd, no matter the size, was the last thing you wanted to do.

It went on like that for a while, until he was pale, and the distance between you and the gas station felt far enough.

Walking down a stretch of small, run-down cottages, you stopped at one with a broken tire swing and overgrown grass. Even the stone path to the peeling white porch was difficult as Daryl almost tripped over any imbalance underneath him.

You had to clear the house, you knew that, but you didn’t want a bleeding, almost unconscious Daryl to be stuck on that porch like a giant ‘eat me’ sign, either. Just in case that herd was still moving. Once you got the door open, you led him inside too, resting him against the wall of the front hallway. He sighed when you finally unbuckled the crossbow strap and dropped the weapon to the floor, next to his feet.

“I need to clear the house. Can you stay here?”

He slipped down an inch, and you grabbed his waist out of instinct. Something warm coated your hands, something thick and bright red.

“Fuck, you’re still bleeding.”

“‘M fine,” Daryl slurred, “jus’ need to sit a minute.”

“Come on,” you groaned, then led him around the small foyer, into a living room. With his arm thrown over your shoulder again, you hurried to the couch before you almost collapsed under him.

He fell onto the firm cushion with a low groan. You dropped the backpack next to him and decided clearing the house could wait until you got Daryl settled— so long as you were quiet enough.

You grabbed a pillow and ripped the case off, folding it into a pad.

“Here, put firm pressure,” you mumbled.

Daryl listened, but his energy was dwindling. Every creek in the floorboards, whining under the weight of your knees, had your heart skipping a beat. Panic was soaking your muscles, making you twitch with every shift in the goddamn air.

“Go,” he rasped. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You wanted to protest. Didn't want to leave his side until the bleeding had stopped and his skin pinkened up again.

But, despite his exhaustion, Daryl's stare was firm.

“Just stay awake,” you whispered, unsheathing your knife. “I’ll be back soon.”

————————————————————

-> part 6

A/N: oops? funny thing. my first draft for this was like 1700 words and I thought I'd just have a short part to share. well... it ended up at 4.1k lol

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #Daryl Dixon / you #Daryl Dixon / reader #Daryl Dixon x you #daryl x you #daryl / reader #daryl / you #norman reedus #the walking dead #twd #twd fanfiction #Daryl Dixon series #all you got

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