#until he can; because he gets his fucking finger bitten off and is almost thrown into lava

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Frustrated ~ a blurb

word count: who cares

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Joe was pissed. That’s as simply put as anyone could make it. The second he left the coaches’ room after another bullshit meeting, he was dialing your number.

They lost to the Eagles and everyone is already blaming him. Sure, he was gonna blame himself anyway, but he’s actually starting to get sick of it.

Sick of the organization using him as a coverup. Sick of Taylor not taking any kind of responsibility. Sick of the media flaming him whenever he moves- since when did his hair have to do with how he played?

So when you arrived at his home, in his shirt with your phone up to your ear, he said fuck it. He took your phone, dropped it in your bag, and then chucked it by the door so he could grab your hips and pull you close until your lips shared one breath.

The kiss was harsh, his need to devour you taking precedence over comfort. His fingers gripped your hips as his tongue controlled your lips. He nipped, bit, and sucked on your plump lips until your back hit the couch.

You had no time to wonder how he had moved you without knowing because he was back on you. Sucking dark marks into your neck, moving the jersey, his jersey aside to kiss down to your breasts until there was too much resistance.

"Why the fuck are you wearing this?" His voice is breathless and gruff as he asks what's supposed to be a simple question.

"I watched your gam-

In a flash, his number is pulled off your body, and he's back on your lips, muffling any other words that could leave your mouth. "Fuck the game."

The next few minutes were a blur as clothes were tossed off and his hands seared their path down your body until he was gripping your bare thighs as you sunk down on his thick cock.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He sighs breathlessly, into your ear.

You whine in response, your tight walls trying get use to the burning stretch. Your nails creating crescent shaped indents in his strong shoulders.

Rough groans and grunts vibrate your skin as he leaves slick bites and purple bruises on your neck to hold back from fucking up into you too early.

“Baby, tell me I can move- please.”

A whimper and a light nod give him all the assurance to slowly lift you and give you a harsh trial thrust of his hips.

It doesn't take long for all your discomfort to fade away, and enjoy the pleasure of him kindly bullying your walls.

But you can't not notice his grip on your hips tightening while his hips meet yours hesitantly and almost too softly.

His pearly teeth buried in his plump lip til it's red and raw and his head thrown back but not from bliss.

You slow your hips down to a slow grind, lean forward, and make him face you. "Joe?"

Your small voice calls him from his head, from his frustrations with his job, and he tilts it towards you. "Yeah, baby?"

His voice is filled with a rough need, only one you can satiate. He needs to feel in control, to forget about the outside world, to use his frustrations and feel whole.

You watch the turmoil in his ocean eyes while he waits for you to speak, not knowing where this will go. You gently hold his head, run your fingers through his growing hair's sides, and lean your forehead against his. "You know I trust you, right?"

He blinks, his eyes narrowing, and then he nods. "I know."

You smile, then place a chaste kiss on his bitten lips. "Then ruin me."

And just like that, he flipped the switch and stopped thinking.

⋆ ┊⋆✿°.┊✾.⋆ ┊

Main Masterlist

[toointojoelmiller]

alone together: a last of us fic

Prompt submitted by @eedsknees

read at ao3 here

When they finally stop walking the daylight isn’t far off from fully disappearing.

He doesn’t say anything to her. Hasn’t - not a single word since he’d left Tess behind to die alone and dragged her along, screaming and slapping at him. The only signal he gives that they’re stopping is shrugging his pack from his shoulders and dropping it to the ground.

Ellie glances around them and sees the same thing she has for the last few hours - trees, dirt. There’s a narrow stream of water that trickles downhill towards what looks like a creek, but it’s hard to see very far with the dark starting to settle in around them. 

Joel isn’t looking at her. Doesn’t seem like he’s looking at anything, really - he mostly has his back turned to her, but she can still make out the profile of his face. His eyes are closed. His fists are clenching and unclenching at his sides like he’s trying not to punch something, which is concerning. There aren’t a lot of targets around other than her and the trees.

And she doubts he’s feeling pissed off at the fucking forest.

A ripple of fresh fear rises up like bile in her throat. She fights it - he hadn’t spoken to her since they walked away from that blown up building, but he hadn’t done anything to her either, and she tries to keep that piece of information at the front of her mind to keep herself calm, because getting worked up won’t help anything. It’s been just the two of them for hours, she tells herself. Plenty of time for him to ditch her, if he was going to. Or beat the shit out of her. Or do whatever else the dark anger he’s wearing all over his face pushes him to do.

She’s trying to keep the other moments in mind too - the ones that hinted that maybe he wasn’t as much of an asshole as he seemed, and that she’s clinging to like a life raft.

Like how he’d crawled over to her when that thing was getting closer and she was frozen in fear, about to be ripped apart (and about to shit her fucking pants if she’s honest) - and how he’d thrown his arms up to block it when it lunged at them, pushing to keep it off of her and almost getting bitten in the process.

Or how he’d yanked her arm so hard when the explosion happened that she nearly yelped in shock before she realized he was pulling her behind him as he raised his gun, in case any infected that somehow made it out of the blast. Like he was actually trying to protect her.

“You must have heard that he wants to shoot you,” Tess had said. She shivers and tells herself it’s just from the cold.

“Stay here,” Joel says suddenly, his voice sounding weird. She nearly jumps in surprise, and by the time she registers what he’s said he’s already walking away into the trees.

A flicker of anger sparks up and she forgets for a second that she’s afraid of him. “Where are you going?” she asks loudly, getting angrier when he doesn’t respond. She loses sight of him quickly. “You’re a fucking dick,” she breathes under her breath. And then she repeats it, louder, half hoping he can hear. 

She takes her own bag off her back roughly and swings it hard onto the ground, wincing at her mini temper tantrum.

She can’t believe there are two now. Two people she’s known who’ve gotten infected while she was there, and died - well, Tess blowing into pieces a few hundred feet away wasn’t exactly the same as -

She has to squeeze her eyes shut as it flashes in her mind - the heavy wet splatter that tore out of Riley’s head, the slow twitches that rolled through her body once, twice - was it her or the fucking fungus moving her fingers like that? - she fell on her side as she died - blood spilling out of her mouth, over the lips that Ellie had finally been brave enough to kiss.

At least she’s alone when the tears that have been threatening to spill over all evening finally do. She brushes them roughly off her face and drops to her knees, rummaging through her bag until she finds Riley’s fucking Firefly pendant. She’s too afraid of breaking the chain and losing it to keep it on all of the time, but she puts it around her neck now, tucking it into her shirt and focusing on the feeling of the metal touching her skin. 

Everything is so fucked up. All one big nightmare. Riley kissed her back - after so long imagining it and wishing for it it actually happened. It made her feel soft and warm and happy like she never had before, and then the world flipped over to show it’s rotted underbelly and nothing could ever go back to the way it was.

She hears Joel coming back before she sees him, branches cracking in the trees as he gets closer. He doesn’t even look in her direction when he emerges, going to his bag and digging out the little bundle of wax paper he and Tess had kept their rations wrapped up in. He sits down, leaning his back up against a tree, sighing heavily and groaning as he does like he’s a hundred fucking years old.

It’s a nervous thing she does sometimes, talking when she shouldn’t. She doesn’t know why she bothers with him - especially doesn’t know why this is the topic she decides to break the silence with - but she hears herself being an absolute moron and asking, “What’s with all the like, sticks or whatever in the dirt?”

He looks, finally, for the first time in hours. Glares at her, actually, his brow furrowing even farther down somehow. He doesn’t say anything - just stares. 

She points to them, even though they’re all over and he really shouldn’t have a hard time seeing them for himself - hard, horizontal cords of wood that rise up from the dirt for a foot or so before burying back under the earth.

“Ain’t sticks,” he huffs at her, scowling. “They’re roots. From all the trees?” The ‘idiot’ goes unspoken, but she can hear it in his voice just the same.

It’s annoying as hell, how he looks like he’s mad at her for not knowing that - like she’s ever been in a fucking forest before. She decides to be the bigger person and let it go, because she’s not a miserable fucking old man, but her irritation makes her a bit more bold than she probably should be and she keeps talking.   

“So we’re staying here for the night?” Ellie asks.

He’s back to keeping his face turned away from her as he snaps, talking through the food in his mouth, “Where the hell else would we be stayin’?”

“I don’t fucking know, man, that’s why I’m asking!” She snaps back. “You haven’t said a fucking word to me, how am I supposed to know what’s going on?!”

“It’s gonna be dark in a few minutes - sorry for thinkin’ you might put two and two together.” His voice is harsh as he says it. “Shoulda known better.”

Fuming, Ellie sits down and crosses her arms in front of her chest, glaring at the prick who can’t even look her in the eyes when he insults her.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” she hisses before she can think any better of it.

“Yeah, I am,” he says roughly, and she’s done trying to convince herself otherwise.

Asshole, asshole, asshole. She hurls it at him over and over again in her head. 

Watching him eat makes her own stomach start rumbling. She yanks her bag over to her lap and digs out the last of her sandwich, regretting her hissy fit from a moment before when she unwraps the cloth to see that it's apparently not well built enough to survive being hurtled to the ground.

She stares at the mess of bread and filling for a moment before trying to reassemble it with her hands the best she can. It’s still falling apart, and it would probably be easier to lower her head down and try to eat it without having to lift it up so high, but she can’t resist giving in to the petty and immature part of her that hopes he’ll see her eating it and long for some for himself.

Like I’d share with you, fuck face, she thinks at him as hard as she can.

She just ends up with scraps of food all over her lap.

When she’s done eating, she’s overcome suddenly with the urge to just be alone. Get away from him. She stands up quickly and turns from him without a word, walking down hill, following the little stream of water. He doesn’t ask where she’s going because he doesn’t give a shit and that’s just fine.

Her eyes are still watery, a bit blurry with tears from time to time. When she reaches the bottom of the hill she nearly loses her footing, stepping out of the treeline and off of the dirt onto rock covered ground. She was right about the water running down into a creek, but it’s a lot bigger than she’d imagined. It’s probably a cool sight, when there’s enough light to see by, but right now it feels a bit like the world is going to cave in on her with the way the ground slopes up away from the rocks and water in almost every direction.

She picks a random spot and plops herself down. Bugs are swarming her face. Rocks dig into her legs through her jeans. She closes her eyes and tries to breathe.

He was her partner - he can’t be that bad - another refrain she’d been leaning on to try to keep herself chill about it all. It didn’t seem all that convincing now that it was just the two of them.

There could have been a lot of reasons Tess worked with Joel, and none of them required him to be the same kind of person as her. They were obviously different - Tess was in charge, and he was just the fucking attack dog. There’d been a few times Ellie had seen a FEDRA dog tearing into someone. She wonders how long it’ll be before he does it to her, now that there’s no one holding onto his leash?

Tess didn’t take any bullshit but she wasn’t a dick about it, either. It was almost embarrassing how quickly Ellie had started to like her, but it was hard not to - she answered Ellie’s questions, and asked her own back like she actually gave a shit. Acted like she actually cared if Ellie got ripped apart by a monster. More than she’d gotten from 99% of the adults she’d ever interacted with. ‘You got some balls on you, sister’, she’d said - offhand, and definitely not meant to carry half the weight it had to Ellie.

Thinking about Tess’s absence makes her chest start to feel tight, so she focuses instead on being mad at herself, at how pathetic it is, to get attached to someone she’d known for like, one fucking day. Classic fucking orphan bullshit.

She might be even more pissed off at herself for the way she always gets her hopes up, no matter how many times life tries to teach her that there’s no fucking point. All it ever does is hurt - but Riley said once that she liked that about her. “It’s kinda cute,” she’d teased, and Ellie had thrown her pillow across the room at her, hoping Riley wouldn’t see the way she blushed.

For the thousandth time, she wonders why she couldn’t have just died in that mall with the only person who ever really cared about her. Marlene said she survived because she has a ‘greater purpose’ - and all she can think is that it’d better fucking be true, because right now it just feels like she lost the chance to die while the memory of the best moment of her life was still fresh. It’s only been a few weeks, but that kiss is already starting to feel less and less real in her memory. Fuzzy at the edges.

Ellie sits there for too long. It’s the bugs buzzing in her ears and landing on her face that piss her off enough to finally decide to go back. By the time she gets to her feet and takes a look around she realizes just how dark it’s gotten - she can barely make out which spot in the trees she had come out of on her way down. Stupid - should have brought the flashlight with her.

She takes her time, stepping carefully and slowly on the rocky ground so she doesn’t loose her footing. After a few close calls she finally gets off the rocks and back to the dirt, sighing a little with relief as she starts to make her way back uphill.

It’s a lot easier to walk in the dark with somewhat even ground underneath, so she moves a bit quicker, but the trip back up the hill is really taking it out of her. She’s fucking drained - probably won't have any trouble sleeping, despite having just about every reason to.

She thinks she must almost be back to the spot Joel had randomly decided was their camp for the night when one of her feet catches on something she can’t see. Probably one of the fucking roots. She pitches forward, scrambling not to lose her balance, and thinks for a second that she’s saved herself from falling, but her sneaker lands on a patch of loose dirt. It immediately gives way, sliding out from under her, and it’s game over. She slams down onto the ground, landing with one of her arms bent weird underneath of her. There’s instant pain shooting through her wrist and her elbow. She smacks her chin hard as she hits the dirt, too, flooding her mouth with warm metallic blood as her teeth dig into her tongue.

“Fuck!” She hisses into the dirt, breathing through the first initial seconds of pain before spitting out a mouthful of blood and rolling onto her back. She cautiously lifts her arm and tries moving it to see what damage she’s done. If her wrist is broken it must be a small break - she thinks, anyway, because she can still bend it in most directions if she really tries to - but it feels fucked enough to make her a bit queasy. A throbbing ache is settling deeply into it, radiating up her forearm, and when she tries to extend her arm there’s an unsettling twinge in her elbow.

As a bonus, she notices there’s a long wooden splinter poking up out of her palm, too - she grunts as she tugs it out, barely able to see it. Hoping she got it all. Blood trickles out of the gouge, a dark line running down the pale skin of her palm, just barely visible in the darkness that seems to be getting deeper by the second.

Laying on her back lets the blood from her tongue start to pool sickeningly at the back of her throat. She scrambles to her feet in a rage, wanting to scream until her throat is raw, but not as much as she wants to make sure he doesn’t hear her - nothing would be worse than him seeing her like this - seeing what she’s managed to do to herself when there’s no actual fucking danger around. It’s the sort of thing that will make him take off on her - can’t let him see how much of a fuck up she can be.

She forces herself to grit her teeth and marches the rest of the way back, spitting the blood out from her mouth every few seconds as it keeps building up. Her teeth are aching from how hard they’d clattered.

Joel is laying down by the time she gets back, facing away from her. She looks around in the dark for a sort of flat spot to lay down, as far away from him as she can get, but she cuts the search short and just picks at random when a sound makes it way out of her involuntarily - a bit of a moan, or a gasp. She sounds fucking weird - horrified to recognize it as the way she gets when she’s going to cry hard.

She’d rather get shredded into ribbons by a fucking clicker than cry in front of Joel right now, but her tears start pouring down her face anyway, so she sinks down to her knees, folding forward and pressing her forehead onto the ground. She’s shaking - it’s easier to pretend it’s from the cold, because it’s actually sort of freezing now that the sun is gone, and her jacket definitely isn’t warm enough - but she’s lying to herself.

“Fucking fuck,” she whispers as quietly as she can, biting down on her cheek. She can feel the sobs fighting to make their way through her chest. Only a matter of time before they get out. She slaps a hand over her mouth and scrunches her eyes shut, breathing through her nose and trying uselessly to stop it from happening.

Her other hand wanders up to her neck, grabbing onto the metal chain and tugging until Riley’s pendant comes out from under her shirt. She presses it into her palm and wraps her fist around it tightly, squeezing until the edges of the little circle are digging painfully into her skin.

There used to be a flutter in her chest when thought about Riley. A good sort of trill - it was soft and gentle and accompanied always by a bit of a high. It made her feel all warm and excited and hopeful. It’s all wrong now. The flutter her heart does now at the thought of her - her eyes and her hair and that smile she seemed to only show off to Ellie - how painfully fucking cool she always was, from the moment they first met - now it just feels like she’s dying in small bursts. One blow after another, each beat chipping pieces of her away for good.

A particularly hard sob has her gasping loudly for air on the inhale, and her whole body freezes. She’s going to wake him up, and he’ll be angry with her for it - the last straw. She’ll find out exactly what sort of man he is - exactly what he’s capable of - out here alone with him in the dark woods.

When he somehow doesn’t seem to wake up she shifts to lie down, pulling her pack over to use as a pillow. She folds her arms over top of it and buries her face down into them, trying to muffle whatever sounds she’s about to make.

It’s like her body was waiting for permission to give up the fight - as soon as her face touches the scratchy fabric of her bag she’s bawling. He must be almost fucking deaf, she thinks after a long time, because even when a wail makes it's way out of her against her will and she listens for the sound of him rolling over and telling her off, it doesn’t happen.

She’s so exhausted the crying jag feels like it’s draining the life out of her, but she can’t stop. It feels like she cries for hours.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, so waking up is disorienting. Even with her eyes still closed, she can tell that it’s lighter outside. Her face feels swollen and puffy, the skin around her eyes stinging raw, and her head is heavy, nose stuffed up.

She stays curled up, not ready to really be awake yet - she’d been cold the night before, but she wasn’t now, and the warmth made it easy to want to just stay sleeping. Opening her eyes as little as she can manage to while still being able to see, she makes out where Joel is just uphill from her, sitting awake with his back against a tree. In the barely-there early dawn light, the deep blue of his denim is easy enough to spot. He looks different. She can’t tell why.

He notices that she’s woken up right away and stands.

“Goin’ to the creek,” he says in a flat voice as he walks away.

She knows he’s coming back because he leaves his pack behind.

It’s still so early - she breathes deeply a few times, closing her eyes and trying to get back to sleep - wanting deeply to avoid having to face another day.

Before she drifts off again, she realizes what was different about Joel - he wasn’t wearing the brown coat he always had on. He wasn’t wearing it because it’s draped over her like a blanket. He took it off of himself at some point, and covered her with it while she slept. He must have been cold.

She brushes the soft fabric lining of the jacket with her fingers, and her heart does a little flutter. It’s the kind that feels good again.

ao3 link here

my fics listed here

💙

[noteguk]

bad behavior | jjk | m

This is in the same universe as “bad influence.” It can, however, be read as a stand-alone. 

— summary; in which staying late to volunteer at a self-help meeting was the best decision you made in a while. 

— contents and warnings; smut, the endless adventures of badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, public sex (in a church…), dirty talk, fingering, degradation (name calling) but also praise, unprotected sex, clothed sex, creampie, cum play, there is a window and also reflections, rough sex, cockwarming, jk being a lil shit because that’s his main personality trait, jk smokes (only mentioned), enemies to fuckbuddies: dawn of the first day 

— words; 8.2k

— author’s note; for the anon that asked how their first time was like ;) join me as we explore the lore of this godforsaken couple 

It was your mother’s idea for you to find a new place to volunteer. According to her, it had been a long time since you experienced “the invigorating energy of community work” — last time was when you were trying to level up your college application — and it could really “soothe your anxious soul” during the trying times of college finals. Apparently one tutoring program and two research projects weren’t enough to distract you, but you could see where she was coming from. 

In the end, you accepted. The old places you used to volunteer in had either shut off their programs or were just too far away from college for you to consider. At first, you decided to follow your mother’s suggestion and tried to work with children — “small miracles”, as she called them — in a local daycare. Which ended up being a terrible idea. 

You liked giving back to the community, you really did, but it wasn’t long until you realized that working with infants hasn’t been your wisest decision, and that children weren’t miracles at all. You got tired of going home covered in paint and with pieces of playdough entangled in your hair, and that was when you weren’t unlucky enough to get hit with other, less clean fluids. 

So you eventually gave up — both on the daycare and on the faint idea of one day going into pediatrics — and searched for a new place. After having to yell your way through retirement homes, and getting fed up with washing people’s sidewalks, you finally settled in a program that was flexible and light enough for your intense college hours: preparing (and then later cleaning up) a room that was reserved in a local church for weekly meetings. 

The entire ordeal took about two to three hours off your day, and more than half of it was spent as free time: waiting for the meeting to end, cramming piles of information in a small room next door. You didn’t really know what the meetings were about since they changed practically every month — they were, at first, a support group for teenage mothers, then it became an AA meeting, then a group for drug users trying to quit. Lately, you were starting to think that the church just gave away the room for whoever had the money to rent it, so it wasn’t a surprise when it was reserved for a motivational speaker to give confidence lessons. 

You had researched the guy, some old dude with an unpronounceable name and a sketchy background, and found exactly the type of person you had expected. Yes, you were in the house of Christ, but you were still being heavily judgmental of the fact that he was giving those talks when he had no qualifications whatsoever, and was probably making bank off all the self-help books he regurgitated at least twice a year to prey on vulnerable people. You did share your worries with the administrative office of the church, but they ultimately fell on deaf ears, and you gave up on the idea of kicking his ass out of the holy grounds anytime soon. 

It was after one of those pseudo-motivational talks that you walked into the empty room, ready to clean everything up before rushing back to your place, where your roommate had promised to greet you with some wonderful takeout. The chairs were still placed in a circle on the center of the room, where they had been since forever, and you made sure to align them perfectly before you moved on to the litter that had been thrown around the place. 

One good thing about those self-help meetings was that they were a lot cleaner than a lot of other attendees, so the “picking up the trash until your back started to hurt” part passed by surprisingly fast. You had just moved on to the snack table, analyzing what you could still save, when your soul almost left your body. 

“Hey, you,” you heard a known voice behind you. “What are you doing in here?”

You swiftly turned around, heart thumping violently against your ribcage. You didn’t know how you hadn’t let out the biggest, most blood-curdling scream ever, but that was just the first of many miracles of the night. “Jesus Christ,” you wheezed out, taking one hand to your chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like this.” You swallowed dry, some part of your brain recalling that he had asked you a question. “And I’m volunteering here.” 

“I didn’t sneak up on you, you’re just jumpy.” Jungkook scoffed, leaning against the doorframe with that stupid playful smirk curling up on his lips. You didn’t know they allowed demons inside the church. “And of course you are.” He rolled his eyes. 

Maybe a few months back, his mocking tone would’ve stung a bit more. However, you had been tutoring Jungkook for about three months then, suffering through endless sessions of his whining and complaining, and you’ve grown used to his passive-aggressive antics already. You learned that Jungkook was a shark seeking for blood, waiting for any crack that would allow him to jump into a perverse little joke — about how you behaved, your priorities, or even the color of your highlighter. You, of course, always stood your ground and threw his comments right back at him — which was his initial plan, as you’ve come to realize. Jungkook enjoyed playfully arguing with you, and you thought that it was another level of strangeness and masochism you simply didn’t have time to dissect. 

Still, Jungkook (shockingly) wasn’t the terrible person you once thought he was. Every once in a while — when he was trying to talk you out of teaching him — the conversations you two would have were actually mostly pleasant, and he wasn’t awful to hang around when he dropped the whole badass persona to act like a real human being. You would even dare to say that Jungkook could be actually funny at times, and not in the bitter, sarcastic way he usually was. Sometimes, you dared to think, he could actually be reasonably nice. And also kind of cute. Even hot. 

But you would never actually admit any of that out loud. Or even to yourself, really. 

“And you?” You asked, turning back around to face the table full of half-eaten food. That looked like a battlefield, and you could already tell that there were only a few survivors left standing. “What are you doing here? Repenting?” 

Jungkook chuckled dryly. “You wish. My parents want me to quit smoking,” he said. You could not see him, but you could hear him walking closer to you as you fumbled with the large Tupperware. “We settled on this crap instead of a forced intervention.” 

You scoffed. Most of the food before you was unsalvageable — some of the cupcakes had been bitten once and then placed back, and you wondered how someone like that could function in society. “You don’t seem very motivated to quit,” you mumbled. 

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “I don’t really care.” 

His voice was much closer to you, and you felt the air leaving your lungs for a pitiful instant. You convinced yourself you had only gotten scared again. “You should care about the growing possibility of lung cancer.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not really on the top of my list of priorities at the moment.” 

“And what is?” You asked. 

“Amongst other things…” he trailed off and, suddenly, he was standing besides you, pointing at the chaotic pile of sweets. “I actually came back to grab another one of those cupcakes. The chocolate ones are great.” 

You didn’t know why, but his comment broke the odd tension that you didn’t even know that was there, clicking you back into your previous mentality — the one that you just wanted to finish cleaning up so you could leave soon. “All yours,” you told him, “grab as many as you want.” 

Jungkook hummed in satisfaction, reaching out to grab one special brown cupcake — an untouched one, thankfully. “I love when you talk dirty.” He almost moaned before shoving the cupcake inside his mouth, taking a huge bite off it. Dramatically, Jungkook rolled his eyes and sighed in delight. “These are fucking great.” 

You chuckled, glancing at his direction. Jungkook was dressed in all black, like he usually was, and you were starting to recognize a newfound admiration towards his constant use of leather jackets. What? He looked good. “I’m glad the self-help sessions are paying off,” you commented, swiftly placing the cupcakes inside the transparent container. 

Jungkook was paying attention to your actions now, like he noticed you were there working for the first time. “What are you doing with the rest?”

“The church will probably donate it, give it to the homeless or something.” You shrugged. “Or they’ll eat it, I don’t know. I just clean up the place and leave.” 

Jungkook laughed at that, taking another monstrous bite from his cupcake and throwing himself on one of the nearby chairs. Your eye twitched a little at the thought that he had ruined your perfect circle, but you’d have to fix that on your way out. “Sounds absurdly boring,” he sang. “And they’re not even paying you.” 

You sighed. “After all the places I’ve volunteered in, boring is a blessing,” you told him. You had just placed five hot dogs in the container, and you were starting to wonder if it would be a good idea to feed people in need with those suspicious sausages. “But, yeah, you probably don’t care about any of that.” 

“You don’t know what I care about,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. You didn’t know if he was trying to tease you, but his voice came out so soft and monotone that you couldn’t really be mad about it. It was true, after all: you didn’t actually know what he cared about. Sometimes you thought that he could read you better than you could read him. “Want me to stay here with you? This place is probably empty already.”

You could not hold back your laugh at that, turning around so you could look at him. “Are you offering to be my bodyguard? In a church?” 

Jungkook pouted. There was a thin line of chocolate on the side of his lips, which he quickly licked clean. “I’m trying to be nice.”

You giggled, turning back towards the disgusting food. The rest was mostly trash, but you were happy enough with the amount you had managed to find in a good state. “That’s new.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked. “I’m always nice.”

“Always is a strong word.” You smiled, closing the lid of the Tupperware. You had managed to fill three small containers with the leftovers and, honestly, that was a big victory. “But you can stay or you can leave, I don’t mind. I’m almost done anyways.” 

He frowned. “Is that your answer?” 

You turned around. “What? You want me to beg for your company?” You smiled. “You’re mistaken if you think I’d ever do that.”

“I’m staying.” Jungkook crumpled up the piece of cupcake wrapping and threw it in the trash can besides your body. He watched you for a moment as you started to throw the leftovers away, your back turned to him and a distracted look on your face. When he broke the silence again, you were throwing the last piece of bread in the bin. “Why are you volunteering?” 

“Because I like giving back to the community.” 

Jungkook sneered at your words. “Seriously now. Don’t lie, we’re in a church.” 

“I do, actually,” you stood your ground. There was a vague sound of crickets coming from the half-open window and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you, but, other than that, the city was covered in absolute silence. Perhaps that was why you felt so at peace. “But my mom told me it would be a good thing to keep myself relaxed. You know, take my mind off college stuff.” 

He hummed, and you heard him getting up from the chair. “You always do what your mom tells you?” 

You met his gaze. “Didn’t your parents make you come here?”

He smiled. “Not the point.” 

Before you could hold yourself back, your lips were curling up. Again: Jungkook wasn’t absolutely awful to be around when he actually acted like a human being. “When she says something I agree with, yes,” you told him. “My ego isn’t bruised when it comes to following someone’s idea.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re saying that mine is?”

“I didn’t say that.” You smirked and turned back to the table. You started piling up the used plastic cups, already eyeing all the used plates, forks and knives that you’d have to throw away. The daycare had better eating manners than that. “Thought we were talking about me.” 

“We were,” Jungkook agreed. One of his inked hands moved to the table, and you were about to tell him that he could eat more of the cupcakes when you realized that he had started to reach for the discardable plates, throwing them away. You really didn’t think he’d help you. “Finals are coming up, though, and you care about that shit. Shouldn’t you be using this time to study or something?”

“I study while you’re out here listening to becoming your real self or, I don’t know... waking up the giant within,” you said. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” 

He hummed, his nose cringing up at the disgusting remains of food that stuck to the plastic forks. Jungkook seriously didn’t know how you could do that for fun. “You know there are better ways to relax than cleaning up a dusty room, right?” 

“Probably,” you agreed. The cups were already in the trash, alongside with the plates, and there were only a few crumpled up napkins to get rid of before you tasted the sweet nectar of freedom. “But here I am. That’s what I chose for myself.” 

“Literally any other option would’ve been better,” Jungkook pressed on. “Isn’t that obnoxious friend of yours in cheer or something?” 

“Who? Jisoo?” You smiled at him. No one had ever called her obnoxious, but you couldn’t say that the title didn’t fit. Jisoo could be really… intense when it came to standing up for what she believed in. “She is. She invited me to join her already, if that’s what you’re gonna ask, but it’s not really my thing.” 

“It’s a shame,” he mumbled, leaning against the table. It was a beautiful miracle how clean that room had become just by getting rid of the piles of gross food, and you had proudly thrown the last piece of paper inside the trash bin when Jungkook spoke up again. “You’d look really hot in that outfit.” 

You stopped in your tracks, taking a second to digest the claim he had so mindlessly thrown your way. Just like all-things-Jungkook, a pleasant conversation could not last long, so you weren’t even surprised that he managed to ruin that talk with such a fuckboy-esque comment. 

Also like all-things-Jungkook, he managed to awaken a reaction out of you that you didn’t even know could be there. With a faint heat in your cheeks and a frown blossoming amongst your features, you actually felt a little bit of... satisfaction with the fact that he thought that you’d look hot in that skimpy outfit. At the same time, you wanted to slap yourself for falling into his charms so easily. 

In that conflicting turmoil of emotions, all you could say was a monotone, “You cannot be serious right now.”

Even if you kind of wanted him to be serious. 

“I’m being dead serious,” Jungkook didn’t back down, much to the elation of your ego. You felt like a schoolgirl being recognized by her crush, and the idea alone made your stomach curl onto itself. What the hell were you even thinking about? Yeah, Jungkook was pretty hot, but he was also kind of a douche and you didn’t want to get involved with that mess of a person. Or at least that was what you were trying to convince yourself of. “I mean…” he continued, “you’re even rocking this knee-level dress right now, can’t even imagine how you’d look if—“ 

“You can shut up now, Jungkook, thanks,” you interrupted him. Because you didn’t know how to act when he was so blatantly flirting with you, you switched back to the same passive-aggressive behavior that you had given him for the past three months. Call it self-preservation, call it panic, but your mind simply didn’t know where to go from there. “And I’m also done here, so you can skidaddle back to whatever swamp you came out of.” 

“Awn, don’t be mean, princess.” He pouted. Jungkook was a master at getting you worked up, and you had just given that to him on a silver platter. Maybe if you had mock-flirted back, he would’ve baked away. You would never know. “I was just fucking with you, you’re too easy to tease.” 

You pressed your lips together, hip touching the corner of the now empty table. “You were pretty much harassing me,” you said playfully. 

“I was not.” Jungkook smirked, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his pants. When had the two of you gotten so close? There was barely any space between your chests. “But it’s okay, I’m not gonna compliment you anymore, don’t worry. You don’t have to be so defensive.” 

“I’m not being defensive,” you said, defensive. 

“What, is it the church setting?” He raised his eyebrows, taking a look around. “Is it making you uncomfortable?” 

“No,” you answered, crossing your arms before your chest. Jungkook followed the movement and his gaze got stuck on the shape of your breasts for a second too long, making a newfound wave of heat rise up to your cheeks. “Not as much as you’re trying to make me uncomfortable right now.” 

He chuckled. “You do look cute when you’re shy,” Jungkook teased, taking a step towards you, and you took another one back, pretending you were just going to lean against the table. You sat on it in a weird diagonal position, with one leg still on the ground and the other dangling over the edge. Jungkook was so close that, when he spoke again, voice just above a whisper, you could feel his breath on your skin. “If you don’t want me here, just ask me to go and I’ll go.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. The atmosphere was filled with electricity, your body drowning in the warmth of his presence, the sharp seriousness in his dark eyes, and you could not bring yourself to say anything. Did you want him to leave? 

No, you realized in a rush of adrenaline, you didn’t want him to leave at all. 

Jungkook raised one of his eyebrows. “Hm? Nothing?” He smirked, placing himself between your legs. Every nerve of your body was screaming for you to touch him, to just wrap his mouth with yours, and you simply could not respond to any of its commands. “You’re full of surprises.” 

You found your voice at that comment, heart hammering against your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.” Jungkook placed one strand of your hair behind your ear, his gaze flickering down to your chest. From where he stood, he could see the beautiful mounds of your breasts peeking under the fabric, licking his lips at the sight. “Can I at least say that I like your dress?” 

Jungkook’s palm slithered up your knee before you could even react, moving towards your inner thigh and raising your dress along with it. His touch was electrifying, and you found yourself craving more of it, a sigh caught on your throat at the tenderness of his hot skin. 

“Something tells me that your compliment isn’t so innocent,” you told him, leaning your head back slightly so you could hold his gaze. “Aren’t you gonna complete that and say that I would look better without it?”

Jungkook chuckled. “The idea is compelling, I’ll admit it,” he said, rubbing soft circles on your skin. His other hand slithered around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “But don’t need to take it off to fuck you.” 

Your eyes grew wide at that, brain short-circuiting. You frankly couldn’t believe that was happening — the fact that Jungkook was so shamelessly trying (and honestly succeeding) to initiate sex with you. In a fucking church too, of all places. “What- what did you say?”

“You heard what I said.” His stare didn’t falter. Jungkook was looking at you like he could eat you whole, and you seriously wouldn’t mind if he tried to. You'd deal with the social and psychological implications of that another time. “Just tell me to stop and I’ll do it, princess. No hard feelings, promise.” 

This time, you spoke out and the firmness and certainty in your voice surprised even yourself. “I don’t want you to stop.” 

“No?” His voice sounded like honey, so deep and melodic even through the thick layers of his sarcasm. You had never heard him get so serious, so focused, and the thought that it was all for you was igniting a fire inside your guts. “You wanna get fucked in a church?” 

You bit your lip, blinking up at him. The point was: you wanted Jungkook, of all people, to fuck you. The fact that it was in a church was just the cherry on top, and you didn’t care about it as much as you should — your mom would be weeping blood if she knew what was going on, but you weren’t planning on telling anything to anybody. “And what if I do?” You asked back teasingly. 

Jungkook smiled, knocking the breath right out of you. You could only hope that you didn’t look as horny as you felt, because your pride was still on the line. “Told you that you were full of surprises.” He pushed one of your legs open, making you lose your support on the floor. Now, both of your feet were dangling off the edge, body trapped between his strong arms and thighs on either side of him. “Are you a virgin, baby?”

You shook your head, and your voice reached you a bit later. “No.”

“Naughty,” Jungkook said, leaning in. He stared at you like a lion stalking its prey, his gaze lingering on your parted lips before, at last, he tilted his head to the side, deciding to move towards your neck instead. “But if you have the taste I think you do, you probably had some lame missionary sex with some goodie-two shoes.” 

When he started kissing your neck, you almost forgot to give him a response. You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan, instead producing a low, shaky sigh. “And if I did? What’s the problem with some lame missionary sex?” 

“No need to get mad, I’m on your side here,” Jungkook said, one of his hands navigating up your waist, between the valley of your breasts, before grabbing your boob. That time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped you. “Did he make you cum?” 

“Sometimes,” you said, slightly flustered. You didn’t think you’d be discussing your sexual history with Jungkook, but, well, there you were. “He was alright.” 

“Only sometimes?” Jungkook chuckled, the vibrations of his deep timbre vibrating through the sensitive skin of your neck, his thumb grazing your nipple. The heat between your legs only grew, your entire body practically begging to feel more of him. “That’s a shame, I could do better.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start getting cocky.”

“I never stopped being cocky,” he responded without hesitation. Well, he was right. “And I do have a good track record.” 

“Doubt it,” you said, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game, pressing right at the weak spots of his inflated ego to see how he would react. Perhaps you’d be luckier trying to poke a bear with a short stick. “You wouldn’t know the difference between a real and fake orgasm even if it hit you in the face.” 

Jungkook leaned back and looked at you for an instant. You knew he had caught onto your challenge straight away. He liked it as much as you did, there was no doubt about that. “Let’s see, shall we?” he asked. There was no denying the devilish aura that was all around him now, suffocating you with its tempting heat. “How long do we have?”

“I’m locking up the room tonight,” you said, watching as his eyes sparked with an emotion you could not decipher. “But I wanna get home before ten. Have homework.” 

You could see him fighting against the natural urge to ridicule you for saying something like that at such an odd time, but, at the end, he managed to avoid it. “More than enough time.” Jungkook placed one hand on the back of your neck, gaze darting hungrily toward your lips. “Come here.”

And then his mouth was on yours, and everything else was white noise. Jungkook kissed you much slower than you had anticipated, taking his sweet time caressing your mouth with his; hands exploring the curves of your body and teasing their way underneath your dress. He sighed heavily against your mouth when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, his soft tongue poking out and entering your mouth perfectly. Jungkook was a good kisser, you had to admit it, and he got your knees weak sooner than you’d like. 

His body was hot and firm against yours and you could feel the outline of his abs underneath your fingers as you trailed your hands down his torso; his quick heartbeat drumming on your palms. Jungkook’s breathing got heavier as you hooked your fingers on the hem of his pants and tugged him toward you. Instantly you noticed the outline of his hard cock against your inner thigh. 

Then, something switched. Just as you had reached out to touch his hardness, squeezing it lightly underneath your fingers, Jungkook groaned against your mouth and bit down on your lip. You had barely any time to react before he was pulling away from the kiss, gaze darkening. 

“Such a tease,” he mumbled hoarsely, his breath hitting your mouth in soft waves. His hand was hovering over your heat, his middle finger pressing down on your sensitive nub, making you whimper. “You don’t know what you do to me.” 

Jungkook was much quicker than your thoughts and, within a second, the motion of your panties being pushed aside made you fumble closer to him; your hands holding tightly onto his shoulders when he finally decided to touch you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned next to your ear, making your mind go blank for a split second. The teasing motions of his digits brushing your entrance were enough to make you whimper, hips thrusting forward in a failed attempt to make him move further. “Look at this, you’re soaking my fingers. Wanna get fucked that bad?”

But he didn’t let you respond. The sudden intrusion of two fingers inside your pussy made your back arch, nails digging in the leather of his jacket as Jungkook opened you up. “I—” you tried to speak, but it was hard to think when he started pumping his fingers in and out of you. The sounds of your wetness were a filthy symphony filling the quiet atmosphere. “Jungkook, what—” 

“God, that’s so tight,” he groaned, speaking through clenched teeth. His voice was enough to shut you up at the spot, a frail moan dripping from your lips. “Relax, baby, you’re too tense. Let me take care of you, alright?” 

You nodded, eyes drifting shut as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. You hated to admit it, but Jungkook was already winning against your ex by a long shot: the way his digits brushed inside you, gradually moving apart to stretch you, got you searching — begging — for more. You were sure you could cum around his fingers and, when he curled them up and they dragged against your sweet spot, the idea became a lot more palpable. 

“Jungkook, you’re taking too long, I’m gonna cum like this,” you complained, chest rising and falling under the waves of your upcoming orgasm. You could feel it building up in your stomach, ready to snap, and you didn’t want it to happen around his fingers. “I wanna feel you.” 

Jungkook breathed out at your needy request, placing a kiss against your jaw. “I’m just getting you ready for my cock, baby,” he said. A loud moan dripped from you when he unceremoniously added a third finger, your legs trembling on either side of his body. “I don’t know if you can take it.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, only half aware of the fact that your voice sounded more like a whimper than a serious comment. “I can.” 

He smirked wickedly. You really were pushing his buttons. “We’ll see about that,” Jungkook responded. 

Within a second, right as your orgasm was about to wash over you, he removed his fingers from your pussy. The frustrated moan you let out was quickly swollen by him, his mouth rogue against yours and the sweetness of his tongue intoxicating you — probably those stupid cupcakes, you thought. 

“Turn around for me,” he asked. 

You quickly did as he requested, putting your feet on the ground before turning your back to him, hands leaning on the table. Jungkook placed one hand on the curve of your spine, pushing you down until you had your chest against the surface, ass perked up and pussy in full display for him. There was a gush of cold air against your flesh when he pulled up the fabric of your dress and tossed it over your waist, exposing your lower body for him.

The boy hummed at the sight, one of his legs kicking your feet apart so he could position himself in the middle of your thighs. “You’re pretty all around,” Jungkook commented, one of his palms grazing your asscheek before grabbing it. His motion was harsh, needy; earning a whimper from you. “Knew you would be.” 

Through the dense clouds of your desire, there was still some part of you that managed to make fun of that situation. “You spend your free time thinking about my ass?”

“Won’t answer until I have a lawyer present,” he joked. 

You felt his fingers hooking around the fabric of your panties, pushing it further to the side so you had your cunt fully exposed for him to see. The drumming of your heartbeat almost drowned out the low groan he produced at the sight of your flushed heat. 

“Princess, your pussy is dripping so much…” Jungkook trailed off, one of his fingers tracing a line between your lips. He felt the urge to eat you out, to lick you completely clean and make you cum on his tongue, but he decided that would have to wait for a different time. “Is this all for me?” 

“Yeah, all for you,” you said, weak. There was a thundering exasperation building up inside you, motivated from your denied orgasm and from the way that Jungkook was taking his sweet time. 

“Good girl,” he mumbled and your chest was filled with pride. “Can’t wait to fuck it.” 

“Then don’t wait,” you practically begged. “Just rush.”

He removed his finger from your heat. “Shh… be patient,” Jungkook told you and you swore you could practically hear the smile in his voice. You could hear him shuffling behind you, the sound of his zipper opening echoing around that still room. “I’m gonna give you whatever you want.” 

You whined at the abrupt feeling of his warm cock rubbing between your folds, its tip hitting your clit after every languid thrust. “Fuck,” you cried out, shaky. Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said that he was big, his length was so thick that you were starting to get second thoughts whether you could take it or not. Not that you would ever admit it out loud. “Just put it in, Jungkook.” 

But Jungkook was having way more fun just teasing you. “Pussy’s so wet for me.” He breathed out, his hands tightening around your hips. You felt him throb between your folds, and the sensation got you searching for air. “You’re soaking my cock, baby. You want it that much?”

“Y-Yeah.”  

Jungkook hummed, leaning in so he could place a kiss on your shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve to be fucked, princess,” he promised, his length still rubbing between your folds. He was so hard and heavy that your mind was spinning, your lungs drowning in expectation. “Gonna fuck you so well that you’re never going to forget it. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” your voice was a pathetic moan, and you hated your body for betraying you so easily. “Yes, please.” 

After another pec on your shoulder, Jungkook leaned back. “Be loud for me, alright?” He asked. “Can you do that for me?”

You swallowed hard — what were the chances that someone would hear you? You had no idea. “Yeah, whatever you want, just fuck me.”

“Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous thing to say.” He moved around behind you, making you flinch when you felt his cock align with your dripping entrance. The anticipation was driving you insane. “Might have to see if you’re up for it another time.” 

There was an answer somewhere in your mind — you could swear there was — but it was quickly forgotten the second that Jungkook pushed himself inside you. The drag of his cock was a delicious torture, streching you out and filling you up to the brim until you were shaking under his touch, both of you moaning at the sensation. 

“Oh my god.” You breathed out, hands turning into fists on the table. Your cheek was pressed against the polished wood, hot breath creating small white clouds on the surface. 

Jungkook released a shaky sigh when he felt you clenching around him, your body desperately trying to move closer to him. “Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his hands holding onto your hips for dear life. Gradually, he moved himself away from your pussy just so he could slam back inside, marveling on the way you trembled at the feeling, crying out his name in the prettiest of whimpers. “Your pussy is so fucking tight. Squeezing my cock so well.” 

Took you only an instant to realize that you were absolutely addicted to the feeling of his cock inside you, the heavenly push of his hardness in and out of you as he slowly started to set a pace. “Oh my god, I’m—” a pitiful hiccup interrupted you, turning your voice into a sharp cry. “That’s so good, Jungkook.”

Jungkook chuckled behind you, his thrusts starting to pick up speed. Your eyes closed in endless bliss, every part of your brain focused on the sensation of his fat length stretching you up. “Told you I’d be, not my fault you didn’t believe me,” he said, but you could tell that his confidence had started to wear itself thin — he, too, seemed to be much more focused on the way that your bodies met. “Do you touch yourself, princess?”

You almost didn’t know how to answer him, a deep heat rushing up to your cheeks. “W-What?”

“When you’re alone, baby,” he practically hissed. You were bouncing on the table then, your body jerking up and down as he fully pistoned his cock inside your heat. “Do you play with your little pussy?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, embarrassed. “S-Sometimes.” 

“Show me how you do it,” he requested in-between huffs, lust dripping from every syllable. Jungkook spoke to you like a siren, effortlessly inducting you to comply with everything he wanted. “Come on. Don’t be shy, I wanna see you play with yourself for me.” 

You didn’t even know if what you were feeling was shyness, but there was a veil of hesitation that covered your actions. As your hands moved downwards, one of them clenching around the fabric of your dress and pulling it up while the other trailed over your mound, you felt strangely vulnerable, exposed. At the same time, you wanted to do what he asked you to, wanted him to wash you over with compliments until your mind was going blank. 

So you closed your eyes and focused on the sensation of two of your fingers coating themselves in your wetness, then their pressure on your clit. You whined at the feeling, pleasure exploding in your veins as you started to rub yourself, tracing small circles on your sensitive spot. There was no way you could ever reach that sensation again, the sweet motions of your fingers combining perfectly with the thrusts of his hard, fat cock inside you. You were doomed. 

“That’s it… just like that, baby,” Jungkook whispered, obsessed with the sensation of your walls fluttering around him. You had gotten so tight that he thought he would see heaven at any second now. “Feels good?” 

“Y-Yeah, so good...” you struggled to get out, “feels amazing, Jungkook.” 

“So perfect for me,” his praise shot straight up to your core, making you mewl under him. God, the way that you were tightening around him was going to drive him insane. “You feel so fucking good, I can’t stop fucking you.” 

Jungkook took one of his hands to your neck, using it to guide your body upwards until you had your back pressed against his chest; his hot lips assaulting your neck. The new position made it so much easier for his cock to drill inside you, reaching even deeper and hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. It wasn’t long before you were moaning out, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you. 

“Just take a look at that, baby,” his voice broke you out of your hypnotized state.  “Look at you. Such a good slut, just taking everything I’m giving you, touching yourself for my cock… fuck. Could watch you like this forever.” 

You had to take a moment to understand what he was talking about, and then you saw it: the window. It stood silently across the room from you, half open, and the glass combined with the darkness of the night gave a perfect reflection of the two of you. You could see yourself, the mess you had become, as Jungkook pounded in and out of you and your fingers worked on your clit; the darkness of his hungry gaze as he followed the motions of your body against his. 

Even if you cried out at the sight, your body freezed up a little at the thought of someone walking by and seeing that private spectacle. The possibility itself was minimal — the window gave way to the side of the land, where a big, thick fence separated it from the nearby houses; most of the ground covered by large trees and bushes — but it wasn’t zero. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the humiliation that would come from being seen like that. 

He, of course, noticed your change of demeanor right away, and you could see in the faint reflection that he had smirked at that realization. “What is it? Are you worried someone is going to walk by?” Jungkook almost groaned against your ear. His cock continued to pump ferociously in and out of you, and you couldn’t even understand your own thoughts for a moment. “That someone is gonna see you get fucked like a good slut?” 

“It’s not—” a moan cut your sentence short. Not like you knew where you were heading, anyways. 

“No one is gonna see you like this, know why?” Jungkook was grunting, his fingers tightening around your throat. You cried out at the feeling, your cunt clenching around him in a way that got him fucking you even harder. “Cause this is all for me. Just for me.” 

Then he was pushing you back on the table, your chest crashing against the wooden surface and his hands yanking you by the waist. Jungkook was fucking you so hard that your worries left you as soon as they arrived, your mind a turmoil of desires and broken exclamations that didn’t give space to anything else but him. 

“You look fucking gorgeous like this, stuffed with cock,” he marveled at the sight. There was a known wave of pleasure hovering over you, ready to crash at any given moment, and you stopped rubbing yourself just so you could prolong its arrival. “Wanna see you cum for me, make a mess for me, baby.” 

The words left you in a confusing, broken order, “Jungkook, I can’t… too much… can’t...” 

“Shhh, you can,” he was slowly easing you into your orgasm, his cock drilling in and out of your pussy. Jungkook fucked like a machine, fast and precise, and you didn’t think you’d be able to forget that anytime soon. “You told me you could take it, so now you’re gonna take it. Don’t you wanna be good for me?” 

“I- I want to… I’m so close,” you cried out, pressing your forehead against the table. You didn’t know how it hadn’t broken yet, with the way that Jungkook was fucking you so mercilessly hard. “I’m so, so close.”

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he urged you on, his member throbbing inside you at the thought. Your legs were so weak that you knew you’d fall facedown on the floor if he wasn’t supporting your weight with his strong arms. “Be a good girl and cream my cock for me.” 

And that was it. That was all that you needed to push yourself over the edge, submerging you in ecstasy and making you squeeze him so deliciously. “J-Jungkook!” You moaned out his name again and again, unsure of how loud you were being, but also not caring as much as you should. Jungkook realized he loved hearing you call his name more than anything else. “Fuck! Oh my god!”

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned back, his thrusts a sloppy, uncoordinated mess. He was hypnotized by the view of your cunt hugging him, your wetness dripping down your thighs as you rode out the last seconds of your orgasm. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect— gonna cum too.” 

You gasped out at the sensitivity that was starting to spread, every movement shaky as you tried to push yourself against him. “Yes, please.” You looked over your shoulder, meeting his hooded gaze. Jungkook looked like a god, his dark hair sweaty and messy and his lip trapped between his teeth. That image would plague you forever. “Cum inside me, please.” 

He groaned loudly, eyes closing for a second. “Fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” he hissed, chest heaving with anticipation. You knew he was close, everything pointed to that, and all that you wanted was to see him reach his high, using your body like it was just a doll for him to fuck. “Didn’t know you’d want to be filled up with cum, princess.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” You smiled — a pretty, fucked-out smile that got Jungkook grunting like a madman. “I want your cum inside me, Jungkook, please.” 

“Gonna fuck you full of my cum, don’t worry— Shit.” The sounds he was making were heavily: those breathy, high-pitched moans that echoed all around you; broken by deep grunts that had your thighs shaking. Jungkook fucked himself in you like he was meant for it, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he finally found his orgasm. “Fuck! That’s it, fuck—”

Jungkook called out your name and mixed it with praises and curses when he came, spilling himself inside your pussy. You sighed at the feeling, taking in the blissful sensation of having his hot cum spilling out of you, dripping down your legs as he continued to thrust inside you, milking out his orgasm. 

At last, he started to wince from sensitivity. His body collided against your back, his heavy breathing fanning your neck as he tried to collect himself. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbled, “you’re amazing.” 

“You’re not so terrible yourself.” You could not help the smile that appeared on your lips, nor the way that you melted against the surface of the table, drowning in his heat. 

Still, you couldn’t stay there for much longer: it was already a miracle that no one heard the chaos going on in that room, and you weren’t trying to push your luck for the night. Especially since you had a pile of homework (and possibly — now cold — takeout) waiting for you at home. 

You raised your body, leaning against your elbows. “I have to leave,” you told him, taking one of your hands to lay on top of his tattooed one, trying to ease his grip from your waist. “Now if you could just…” 

“Shhh, shhh,” Jungkook hushed, unrelenting. He was much stronger than you, and your muscles were too weak for you to try and do much, so you eventually gave up. “Stop moving. Let me feel you around me for just a bit more.” 

You frowned. “Why?”

“I like it,” he said simply. His breath was a faint caress against the skin of your neck, and you didn’t have much fight left in you. “We all have our tastes.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“Don’t kinkshame.” Jungkook pouted, then pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “You just begged me to fuck you in a church, remember?” 

“Yeah, I guess I don’t have much place to judge.” You laughed dryly, then looked over your shoulder. “Why is your cock still hard? How long is this gonna take?” 

Jungkook groaned, clearly annoyed. “Shut up and enjoy the moment.” 

~ 

The so-called moment lasted about two more minutes (which was kind of impressive, you thought) before Jungkook softened and slipped out of you. You hated to admit but you kind of liked the feeling of having him still inside you, completing you as his lips danced around your neck; fingers tenderly playing with your hair. You never thought Jungkook would be so gentle after fucking you like that, but you guessed that you weren’t the only one that was full of surprises. 

Jungkook, apparently, also liked to admire his work. After he had slipped out of you, he made you sit back on the table just so he could stare at his own cum dripping out of you, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark gaze. He had pushed his white release back inside you and smirked up at you, asking, ever so kindly, for you to go home like that, filled with his cum. 

You, of course, promptly accepted it. 

“By the way,” he called when you two had already stepped out of the church, enveloped by the coldness of the night. There was only one solitary light pole illuminating his features, making him look like one of the saints in the chapel — nothing but fake advertisement, in your opinion. “Wanna know how much I got in that immunology test?”

“How much?” You asked. 

“Eighty two.” Jungkook smiled brightly then, and you found yourself joining him. “Never saw a grade so high in my life. And that counts all the times I’ve cheated too.” 

“Seems like the tutoring sessions are paying off.” You crossed your arms before your chest, the hem of your dress swirling around your knees. The night was weirdly peaceful after everything that had taken place. 

“They are.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to the next one. Helps that my tutor is kind of a hottie too.”

You scoffed. “So I’ve heard.”  

“And, by the way?” 

“Yeah?”

“You would look better without it.” He pointed at your dress, a sly smile already sprouting on his lips. “Hope to see it next time.”

“Good night, Jungkook.” You rolled your eyes, already turning around — yeah, like there would ever be a next time. 

~ 

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

TAGLIST: 

@taehyungieskith​ @fan-ati--c​ @btstrasht​ @crazy4myself​ @sashimi-mochi @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky

[sunatooru]

here me out, ushijima’s s/o trying to make herself cum but she can’t because she so use to his stretch. he comes home to find her a hot sweaty blubbering and he feels so bad that he makes her cum so many times that she has to tell him to stop

THANK YOU XX

~

Warning: minors dni, 18+smut, failed masturbation, creampie and some degradation

~

It just wasn’t the same. Your hand cupping and twisting your nipple, your other hand teasing and running down the folds of your pussy. You think about they way your boyfriend’s cock stands up when you grinds against him. His thick head, red and throbbing when he pulls it out before letting you cover him in your arousal.

You push a finger inside you, a soft gasp escaping your mouth as your slowly wiggle it. You sigh when it doesn’t elicit the pleasure you were hoping for and so you add another finger. The width a little better and you start pumping. Your nipple left alone as you aggressively rub your clit. Your head filled with the image of your boyfriend filling you up, groaning when you clench around him and how thick he feels. But it doesn’t help. You can’t compare to the way his fat cock stretches you out. Fingers not long enough to reach how deep he gets. You can’t help but cry at the lack of pleasure, frustration seeping out and you try to mould your body in way to feel good. From humping the pillow with his scent to getting the shower head to add pressure on your clit as you finger yourself. But after the tries, it still doesn’t work.

You almost trip on your way to greet your boyfriend when he comes home.

“Ushi- please pleasse I need your cock please I need it so much...I need you to fuck me!” You wail at him, hands rubbing at your cheeks as you look at him with distraught.

He runs his eyes over you. His scrunched up shirt on you, with your hands moving between your thighs. It’s enough to make his cock twitch. Your skin is wet and lips obviously swollen from how much you’ve bitten them. He didn’t like how his baby was distress, so he was going to help you.

He nods and effortlessly picks you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he walks the bedroom. Hips bucking against him, anything to get yourself off.

“Wait a minute, muffin.” He grunts as you rub against him, his cock straining as he sits on the end of the bed with you in his lap.

He starts to kiss you, his big hand tangled in your hair as you continue to grind against him. He groans when you press against him harder, breaking the kiss and taking off his top and lowering his trousers down so his erection is free. You whimper at the sight. His tip a shade darker than the rest, a thick vein popping out as he cups your cunt.

“Fuck- so wet..” he exhales.

“Pl-lwase I need your cock-“ you cry and his jaw slacks as he watches you.

He lifts you and pulls you down onto his length, a scream escaping your mouth as he pumps you. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he easily jerks his cock inside your cunt.

“My needy whore.” He stretches you out, the feeling of his fat cock filling you completely up. You yell when his tip hits your deep spot, your head thrown back as your nails rake down his back.

“Is this what you wanted?” He hisses when you clench around him.

You choke on your words as you stutter out ‘yes’ with every slam of your hips. He sucks your neck, pulling some skin with his teeth before soothing it with his warm tongue. You eyes scrunched shut as you feel your stomach tense, his grip getting harder and faster, you were finally going to orgasm. You squeeze his cock as your body arches, a drawn out scream filling the room as you cum around him.

The sight of your shivering body makes his balls tighten and quickly flips you on your back to get a better look. Your face looks so fucked out, tired and pretty, he can’t help but snap his hips against yours again. The sudden movement makes you jolt, your cunt sensitive as he slides inside and out again.

“So pretty..”. He grunts and bends your knees so your feet are placed on his chest.

He hovers forward, his balls smacking your ass as he pounds your leaking cunt. You just feel so good wrapped around him, the way your walls pulse as he pushes his sheath harder. But it’s too much. It’s too much after your previous failed attempts at getting yourself off. It’s too much when his thickness stretches you out so wide, his cock pushing so deep into your cunt that you can feel him in your stomach.

You start babbling under him. Hands clawing at big arms. But he’s too indulged into your cunt that he has you pressed in half as he fucks you. They way your pussy clamping around him making him raw you harder.

You scream when your thighs push against your stomach, legs kicking out as you burst around his cock, his cum mixing with yours. His deep groan vibrating through your body and he slips out, admiring your pussy oozing out his thick load.

“No no, too much, no more-“ you pant out when you feel his fingertip run against your folds.

You legs shaking violently, chest rising sharply, as you try to catch your breath. He runs a hand through his hair, grunting at your worn out state.

He’ll just wait until you come begging again.

[pasteljeon]

core pride (m)

❥ summary: ot7 where you’re rich and lonely so you adopt 7 hybrids. chaos ensues.

❥ genre: hybrid au, wolf!namjoon, tuxedo cat!yoongi, golden retriever!hoseok, tiger!taehyung, calico cat!jimin, bunny!jungkook, honey bear!jin

❥ warnings: brief description of assault/violence, panty sniffing, sub jimin, sub jungkook, ur once again the meat in the jikook sammich, bathtub sex, lotta angst, some fluff

❥ length: 6.6k

❥ notes: tis my first ever attempt at a hybrid au. please be kind :( let me know what you think <3

.

.

.

Winter, Year 20XX

The car beeps quietly, the sound piercing the stillness of the night as you glance up, watching as the powdered flakes flutter silently onto your coat. They sparkle in the muted glow of the streetlamp, soaking your hair and tickling your eyelashes.

Snow crunches beneath your boots, your steps freshly printed upon a new layer as you make your way to the door.

It is pointless to try and enter without perforating the peace. There are no lights on, but that is only because they do not need the artificial shine to recognize your silhouette. The sound of the tires pulling into the driveway, the slow beat of your heart, the steady rising and falling of your chest, the smell of damp clothing, the sweet touch of your shampoo and something indescribably you. They know it is you.

“Noona!” The faint, rapid thumping fades as his strong arms wrap around you, ignoring your muffled protests and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Another pair of arms circle your waist, a shiver whispering through your body at the feel of soft lips against the top of your ear.

“Hello, boys,” you sigh, the weariness weighing heavily on your limbs as you sink into their embrace. “You’re getting yourselves wet …”

“We missed you,” the one behind you disregards your weak attempt at chastising them, tail curling around your arm as he scatters featherlight kisses onto your jaw.

Jungkook says nothing, hands fumbling with the belt of your thick coat. He helps you shrug it off, hanging it on the side to dry.

One hand in each, they lead you to the master bathroom, carefully guiding you in the absence of light. As you pass the living room, you notice another body peeking from the corner.

Slitted eyes linger in the pressing darkness, raking over you once, and disappearing on your next blink.

The candles flicker, the lavender scent soothing and casting a warm yellowed glow to the room and you stop to touch Jungkook’s cheek. He exhales shakily, nuzzling your hand. One ear droops, covering the left side of his face, as if to hide his insecurity.

Jimin walks forward respectfully, twisting the knob to adjust the temperature until it is deemed appropriate and waits, perched on the porcelain, for the tub to fill, before dropping a rose bath bomb into it.

“Oh, bunny,” you murmur, watching sadly as he sniffles. Jungkook scrubs his eyes furiously, almost angry at his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

His body sags, arms clutching your waist tightly as he kisses you back hard, tasting salt and copper.

“Sorry,” he whispers, forehead pressed against yours. He dips his head to suckle the bite on your lower lip, running his tongue over it lovingly.

“Take off your shirt,” you say in response. He obeys, lifting his arms as his shirt comes off, fluttering to the ground. He arches at the feel of your hands running down his front. The deep ridges of his stomach are thrown in sharp relief in the shadowed light. This is what he has been working on, you realize, as your fingers dig into the defined v-lines that dip into his sweats. Jungkook whines at the pressure, body jerking as he staggers onto you. His skin is hot, and a shudder ripples down his spine when your palm meets his pectoral to steady him.

“Get in the tub, baby,” you say. Jungkook moves as if underwater, lethargic in the heat that knots his stomach. He kicks his sweats off, nothing underneath, and sinks into the hot water with a lewd groan.

“Kitten.”

Jimin rises at the sound of your voice, shirt gone in the next instant as he sinks to his knees before you. His gaze is reverent, tender, his touch gentle but firm as he strips you slowly. Covering every inch of bare skin revealed with his lips as he unbuttons your blouse, unclips your bra and unzips your skirt. His nose presses against your panties, inhaling deeply as his tongue flicks out to scent your core. The sight is obscene, so dirty it is enough to make you blush, if you were new to Jimin’s obsession with your taste.

“Smell so good,” he pants, suckling your clit through the soaked fabric. The bulge in his boxers is mouth-watering, and you can already feel the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue. His tail twines your ankle, and you stifle a moan at his feverish licks.

“In the tub, love,” you say softly, tugging at his black locks. Jimin mews and nods, shoving his briefs off before settling in the water next to Jungkook. They watch with hungry gazes as you step out of your panties and sink into the bath leisurely.

They wait, unmoving and hardly breathing, as you close your eyes, body loosening as the heat soaks into your sore muscles.

When the ache lessens, you stand, the water line edging just below your breasts, them greedily consuming the sight of the droplets sliding down your shoulder blades and perked nipples as you make your way to him.

Jungkook watches with half-lidded eyes, expression dazed and thoroughly fucked out already despite the minimal stimulation thus far. Your bunny, so easily tamed and pleased, with a sex drive so intense you could scarcely surface for a moment’s rest.

“Nnng,” he gasps when you flatten your palms to his pecs, raking your nails over his nubs. His chest pushes out to seek your punishing touch despite his furrowed eyebrows and cherry-bitten lips as if unable to decide if the stimulus was welcomed or not.

His cock, still impossibly hard, nudges your entrance from below the water. Jungkook has the audacity to blush when he feels it. “I—I’m—mmf,” his apology is swallowed by your kiss, his eyes rolling back as he keens into your mouth.

An arm snakes around to cup your right breast, thumbing your nipple. “Ahh,” Jimin hisses, biting back a needy whimper when you grip his cock.

He presses himself against you, the heat of him bleeding into your back. “My pain slut,” you coo as you release Jungkook. The bunny hybrid slumps back, lips slick with drool as he grinds desperately against you, gaze unfocused.

Your collective sounds echo delightfully in the wide expanse of the room, water splashing over the edges of the tub as the movement of their hips push waves swelling over the surface. They cannot resist the innate urge to brand evidence of their devotion onto your skin, the marks blooming and scattering like the wind over your thighs, stomach, and neck. Between two hard, hot bodies, they grip you with strong arms and you throw your head back, a faltering gasp caught in your throat as Jungkook ducks his head, dark locks plastered to his forehead, to sear a new constellation on your collarbones. Jimin’s sharp teeth are coaxing another violet flower to bloom across your jugular.

Your legs tremble when you finish, exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. The two seem to exchange silent conversation, and Jimin sets you down gingerly before allowing Jungkook to scoop you up. He steps out of the bath, the water a quarter of its initial level.

You open your mouth to protest, but Jimin kisses the pad of your finger. “It’s okay, noona, I’ve got it.”

Jungkook carefully helps you into the shower, the tiles cool against your burning skin. You lean heavily against him, smiling as he rubs your nose with his affectionately. Reaching for the shampoo, he works up a gentle lather, massaging your scalp soothingly. You sigh blissfully, closing your eyes briefly before stretching for the soap, running it over his abdomen.

The frosted glass opens quietly as Jimin steps inside, having finished draining the water. Jungkook rinses your hair, and you turn to Jimin to drizzle some on his while the younger scrubs at his curls. A faint thumping sound can be heard again when you rub Jungkook’s ears. He flushes hotly at your soft giggle.

By the time you are all finally clean and properly bathed, you are feeling slightly more refreshed and awake.

“Thank you. My good boys,” you whisper, kissing the crown of their heads. You smooth over their fringes, smiling fondly down at them. They are sharing the same room tonight, too tired to fight over who would warm your bed. Jimin purrs sleepily, and Jungkook merely blinks up at you tiredly, doe eyes soft and sweet.

“Sweet dreams.”

.

.

.

“Hey. Sorry I’m so late.” He stirs at the sound of your voice, hushed and melodic, eyes remaining closed even as his ear flicks. The mattress sinks slightly under the added weight.

“They were really worried,” he rumbles, raspy from the drag of sleep. “I know.” You stroke his hair, and he chuffs happily, melting. It has been three months already, and yet you have made little progress with some, while others still suffer from severe anxiety whenever you were away for too long. With your chosen field of study, that adjustment was difficult. Today has likely been one of the worst. You know because you are almost six hours late, and there is a stratum of palpable tension that lines the atmosphere of the house, one only slightly weakened by the physical announcement of your return.

“Tell us next time,” Taehyung murmurs, tail winding around your bicep. “Please. They were almost beside themselves. It took hours to calm them down. I worry about you.”

“I will. I’m sorry.” He accepts your chaste kiss as an apology, fatigued as he is. He is already drifting off, hugging the pillow close to him as you shut the door quietly behind you.

.

.

.

Namjoon is on the balcony when you find him. Like his counterpart, he is almost immune to the cold, with only a shirt and shorts. He is gazing at the stars, or what little of it is visible through the smog of the city. His ear twitches when you enter, but he makes no other indication he is aware of your presence.

You draw your shawl closer to your body, moving to stand a few feet apart, knowing he is still wary of you. It has not been easy, this tentative truce. The two of you are still fostering trust. Such a fragile concept, you think. So gruelling a task to establish, yet so easily destroyed.

“I was wondering if I needed to tell the others to pack again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you answer, smile crooked. You know he is trying. It is a joke, if you ever heard him utter one.

He finally looks at you. “Okay,” is all he says. His dimples crease, so you know to read between the lines to hear he really means; good.

“Good night, Namjoon.”

“Good night, owner.”

.

.

.

“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Seokjin offers you a small smile, the one that makes his cheeks plump up like a loaf of bread.

“Thank you.” He lays back down, still watching you cautiously, as if to ready himself in case you struck. Your heart twinges a little, but there is not much you can do tonight. Tomorrow is a new day. You will try all over again tomorrow.

“We really like it here,” the hybrid blurts suddenly. He coughs, embarrassed, as his honeyed skin reddens. You laugh, the ache softening just a bit.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

.

.

.

“Don’t. I don’t care. I was just checking if it was burglar or some shit,” the older of the two grumbles without even turning to you. He is a lump in the dark, curled up in the middle of his bed.

Hoseok simply rolls over.

You take a breath. Tomorrow. You will start all over again tomorrow.

Tonight, you just want to sleep.

.

.

.

“Good morning, noona!”

You smile as the two bound over to kiss either side of your cheek. The mixture of maple syrup, butter and batter must have woken them up, and if they are up, it is likely the other boys are just moments short from trickling in.

“Sleep well?” You place two plates on the table, clearing your laptop and files to the coffee table. One is heaping with pancakes, the other is reasonably stacked.

Jungkook finishes one in a single gulp, and beams. “It’s really good!” You squeeze his hand in gratitude before returning to the stove to finish making the rest just as the boys begin filtering in.

Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi take their individual seats at the table patiently with their phones in hand.

“Hi, beautiful.” Taehyung slides an arm around your waist, brushing your locks back as he smiles, kissing you softly.

Namjoon trails in, shuffling toward the fridge as he yawns. “Ah—” He fumbles with the tall glass and you watch in slow motion as it falls and shatters on the tiled flooring of your kitchen.

“Are you okay?” You exclaim, switching off the stove immediately and rushing over. Taehyung stops you from picking up the pieces, grabbing the sweeper as you gesture at the hybrid to step to the side with you.

Namjoon is frowning down at his hand, and upon spotting the cut, Seokjin, miles ahead of you, moves to pull the first aid kit in one of your cupboards instantly. The wound is already spewing a fair amount of blood, and you would have been more concerned had he been a man with solely human DNA.

“This will sting a bit,” you warn, but Namjoon does not even flinch as you gingerly wipe the gash with white alcohol soaked in a cotton ball. You wrap a bandage around it firmly, and tell him not to press on it before it fully heals. He mumbles a thank-you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Yoongi standing.

“Wait, Yoongi!” You call, hiding the hurt that flashes across your face when you see him roll his eyes. 

“What?”

“I have something for you. Please, eat, and I’ll show you.”

.

.

.

Yoongi trails after you reluctantly as you lead him into the right wing of the mansion. It is scarcely used, furniture mostly curtained off with a thin layer of dust coating the surface of the covers. When they had first moved in, you explained it was because the place was big enough without the extra space. There was nothing interesting within, just more hallways and empty rooms.

It was not entirely true.

“My father always preferred the right wing. There’s more sun here, better views. I spent most of my childhood here,” you begin. Yoongi’s mouth tightens, but he does not protest. It is the first you have spoken about yourself beyond the niceties of your job and how your fortune came to be. He listens attentively, even as his tail swishes agitatedly.

“After they passed, I couldn’t see the place the same. I couldn’t live there anymore. The memories haunted me, I suppose,” you continue. “But out of it all, there is one thing I regretted closing off. I think you might be able to find better use for it.”

There is no door, just an impressive awning that leads into what appears to be a ballroom. Each step muted on the polished floors. You keep this room clean, he realizes with a jolt.

Yoongi skids to a stop, heart fluttering at his throat when his gaze falls upon the clothed bulk in the middle. He could recognize that form anywhere, and his face twists when you pull back the silk fabric. The impact frees a stray piece of hair, the lock falling over his eyes. He makes no move to push it back, face paling in horror and anguish.

“Yoongi? Yoongi? Hey, are you okay?” He refocuses to find your worried expression staring at him, your hand shaking his shoulder gently.

Immediately, he jerks his arm out of your hold, baring his teeth as he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want that shit.” He hurls a venomous look your way, the fur on his tail fluffing out in alarm as he bristles.

“I’m … I’m sorry, I thought—” You are taken aback, hand falling limply to your side as you recoil.

“You thought wrong. You’re better off burning that shit,” Yoongi spits. The anger radiates off him, his ears flattening as he turns on his heel and stalks out.

Snapping out of your stunned daze, you hurry behind him, struggling to catch up, but he has always been lithe and quick on his feet. Yoongi storms through the living room toward his room, startling the boys still loitering in the area when he slams the door loudly. Hoseok gets up immediately and races after him.

They all swivel their attention to you when you arrive moments later, and your expression drops when you realize Yoongi has already disappeared.

“Bogum said he used to play the piano,” you say after a beat, voice small as you stare at your feet. You should be used to the rejection by now, but it still hurts, still makes your heart throb, the disappointment and continual failure swells in your chest like a tumor.

“I have the next three weeks off for the holidays. Let me know if there’s somewhere you’d like to go or something you’d like to buy,” you say flatly, avoiding Jungkook and Jimin’s mirrored concern as you trudge toward your own room.

“___—” You only shake your head, lips pursed. Shame crawls up your spine as you roughly wipe away the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m fine, Tae. I’m just tired. Please wake me at five so I can make dinner.”

Taehyung freezes, hand pausing where it is reaching for you, frown deepening as his heart clinches painfully when he scents the tint of salt in the air.

You shut the door quietly behind you right as your knees give out, collapsing into a heap against the wood. It has been months now, and if anything, your relationship with Yoongi is deteriorating. At some point you think he was starting to tolerate your presence. Hoseok still refuses to so much as acknowledge your existence.

You are just so tired. But Taehyung had begged you, the day you decided to take them in, he had begged you not to give up on them. That they all had personal baggage, trauma enough to drown anyone else. He had asked you to be their lifeline, and you are starting to wonder if you are in over your head after all.

.

.

.

“I wish you would give her a chance. She’s serious about us, you know.” Yoongi snorts, pulling the covers further over his head. “Go away, Taehyung.”

“She’s the one. I know it.”

“She’s just going to toss us on the streets when she’s had her fun. That’s all they do, these rich, bored humans,” Yoongi mutters. He picks at a frayed strand of the quilt he has been meticulously unravelling.

He hears the tiger hybrid sigh, and Yoongi stretches out, resting his head on his arm as he closes his eyes. “Just … please try. She’s a good person. All she’s ever done is try to help us.”

Yoongi grunts, rolling over.

.

.

.

You flinch, nearly cutting off your finger, when Yoongi takes a seat next to you after a week of tensed silence. Life had carried on as usual, with the three that seem to genuinely like you, the two that accept you, and the two that abhor you. You wanted to take them skiing at the alps up north, but Hoseok had dug his heels in and practically growled at you when you tried to suggest it. The youngest had looked so crestfallen you pulled him aside and hugged him, promising you’d take him next year instead, with or without his hyung. You would have gone without him this year, except all your friends had left the country for the holidays and you didn’t want to risk asking a stranger.

“You can’t woo me with gifts,” Yoongi coughs. He is looking away, chin propped on a hand.

“I … wasn’t trying to,” you say slowly, returning to your chopping. You pour the vegetables into a bowl, setting it to the side before you move to the stove, drizzling oil onto the pan.

Yoongi turns to watch you, for the first time a little uncertain as to the way you seem to shy away, avoiding his gaze. You seem almost resigned.

“I’m … sorry.” He cringes at the words. They sound too forced, too cold. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just … I haven’t played in a long time now.”

You make a noncommittal sound, and Yoongi’s nose twitches at the delicious smell of kimchi stir fry.

“I’d like to maybe … give it another shot. Or something,” he mumbles, rubbing the inside of his wrist absently. It’s one of his anxious ticks.

Your heart leaps, your movements stuttering in surprise. Are you allowed to be hopeful? You want to be.

So you say, “Okay.” And set a bowl before him with a small smile. His lips quirk, head inclining in gratitude.

.

.

.

It is a bit jarring, the way Yoongi lets you sit next to him on the bench. He does not move away, even as his body stiffens.

He’s … trying. He thinks you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble as they are placed on the keys, the way his tail sways restlessly. His ears are flattened to his head, the mere act of sitting at the piano taking a toll. You don’t need hybrid senses to know he is struggling to keep face.

“Hey. Don’t force yourself,” you say softly, Yoongi’s hand jerking when you hesitate in reaching for him. “I … I’m fine. It’s time, anyway.”

Then, he takes a breath, loosens his shoulders and presses down on the keys.

.

.

.

It gets a little better. Yoongi takes the days as they come. He rediscovers his love for the instrument, the first he’s ever played. His first love, if he has ever experienced such a concept.

With it come the memories of loss and grief. He cries for a long time the night after his first performance with you. It was cathartic, almost. Like he could be reborn from the ashes of his sorrow, like the awning hole inside of him could begin to heal, finally. And in some ways, it does.

He finds your company reasonable. Comforting, if he had the balls to admit it to himself. You rarely speak when he plays, just listening, and sometimes he catches you with glistening eyes that you hastily scrub away. His pieces are often melancholic. They were angry at first, full of rage and pain, until that too, was swept by the currents of the storm. He was always so exhausted after each session.

Now he has begun composing something new. You would stand, thanking him in that sweet voice of yours, sometimes quivering and other times a mere whisper. You never pitied him, he knew, but your sadness told him it was time to let go of the past.

He ignores Hoseok’s disapproving gaze every time, opting to pat the space next to him. “This one is a duet. Play with me.”

You look so bewildered he stifles a chuckle. “But I don’t know how to play.”

“I’ll teach you. Come.” You do, and he urges you to relax as he guides your fingers over the correct keys for the first line.

He hasn’t played for the other boys yet. For whatever reason, this feels sacred to just the two of you. It’s peaceful. He wants to keep it this way, just for a little while longer.

.

.

.

“It’s Christmas in three days. Would you guys like to celebrate?”

They look so excited. Even Hoseok glances up from his laptop to consider your proposal. In the background, Seokjin sneezes loudly. You throw his room a sympathetic frown. The eldest hybrid had fallen sick from the snowball fight from two days ago with the maknaes. You’d left his room after feeding him some congee and checking his temperature.

“Great! I’m going to the market for some supplies then. I’m going to pick up some medicine for Jin as well. We can all go pick gifts once he’s better. Would anyone like to come along?” You ask distractedly as you search for your car keys.

Yoongi growls in exasperation when Taehyung nudges him expectantly. Jungkook and Jimin both beam so eagerly the pianist grits his teeth and drawls with great reluctance, “I’ll go.” Namjoon doesn’t protest, only shrugs as if to say do what you want.

You stop in the middle of buttoning your coat in pure shock. He’s been surprising you a lot lately. “Uh … okay, let’s go.”

.

.

.

Yoongi stares up at the sky, streaks of fuchsia fading rapidly as the evening set in with chilly winds. His ears prick uncomfortably beneath the beanie he sports, unused to the compression. He’s waiting outside the pharmacy, leaning against the brick walls, bags weighing on each arm as people pass, laughing and chatting, without a second glance. Hybrids aren’t gawked at, but those without an owner at their side were held with suspicion and likely a dial to the hybrid protection services (read: hybrid prison). It is illegal to be wandering the streets alone.

Yoongi turns when he hears your familiar footfalls exit the store. Wordlessly, he takes the small brown bag you’re holding. He starts walking toward your next destination before you can object.

“Wait, Yoongi—ah,” you dig for your phone, the ringer making him cringe. He does, moving to the side with an audible sigh. You give him an apologetic look before answering it.

“Oh—hi, Bogum! Yes—yes. Ah, about that—I have a draft written up and I was wondering if you could take a look at it sometime soon. Mmm, I know, but it’s important it’s done as quickly as possible, I need it for when I’m gone,” you’re facing the other way, talking animatedly with the cell resting against your ear as you dig for a pen in your purse. His breath stutters, stomach dropping instantly.

“What is he talking about? What do you mean, when you’re gone?” He says sharply, and you glance up to see him right in front of you, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

“What?” You ask, putting a hand over the receiver. Yoongi sneers. “I always knew it was too good to be true. I’m done.” He drops the various bags onto the snow, and you shrink back in confusion and fear when he leans in to whisper, “Go fuck yourself. I’ll make sure you never see any of us ever again.”

“Don’t bother coming back. We’ll be long gone by then,” Yoongi tosses over his shoulder as he leaves. He relishes in the way your expression contorts in horror. He’s much, much faster than you, and he knows this market by heart. It’s not far from your house and he can easily beat you by foot.

“Yoongi!” You cry out, but you know it’s useless. Tears blur your vision as you blubber a quiet I have to go, I’ll call you later to Bogum who calls your name worriedly on the other line before pocketing your phone. You kneel, trying to gather all the bags at once. One is crushed at the bottom and you open it gingerly to find a smashed fruit cake oozing out of its packaging. You can still make out a crooked Merry Christmas Eve! scrawled lopsidedly at the edges.

You won’t make it in time. Muffling a sob, you sink to the ground, ignoring the way the snow seeps into your leggings. You really are pathetic.

.

.

.

“Please! Stop!” You pause, head cocking as you shut your trunk. Were you officially going crazy? Peachy, you scoff inwardly. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“P-please, let me go!” A scream tears across the parking lot. You glance around wildly, and no, you are not crazy because people duck their heads at the sound, whispering to one another as they scurry toward their vehicles. Yoongi is likely already home, and you know he’s smart, careful and capable of caring for himself.

So you grab your phone and a can of pepper spray and head toward the sound. You can’t be like them. You have to be human.

And you think your knees will give out, the pure heartbreak you feel when you round the corner of the street to find a young snake hybrid curled in a fetal position on the ground, three much older, scrawny men circling him, jeering and kicking.

He can easily overpower them, you realize, but he doesn’t want to. If he does, it’s only another reason for HPS to lock him away for good. He would rather suffer this moment than be chained forever. It’s enough to make your lip curl in distaste, fury building at the sheer injustice.

“Hey! Leave him alone,” you shout, marching up to them. The men stop, one squinting at you briefly before bursting into loud guffaws.

“You? What is a little lady like you going to do?” He crows. The last word is caught in his throat as you punch him in the stomach.

“I said, back off!” The other two look at each other, flabbergasted, and the man screams at them to do something as he’s on the floor, clutching his belly in pain. They charge at you, but you only roll your eyes at the added layer of sexism on the list of hell ridden crimes they are already guilty for. You’ve taken many, many lessons as a child, including mixed martial arts.

It can’t even be called a fight. They’re rolled onto the curb in the next heartbeat. You kneel next to the wounded hybrid, who tries to get up. He wobbles, and you coax him into leaning into you for support.

“Thank you, miss,” he croaks. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.” You wipe the blood on his lower lip gingerly. “Where’s your owner?”

“He went to get the car,” he answers softly. You give him a knowing look. He glances away guiltily.

“Yuto? Yuto!” Distinctly, the two of you turn at the sound of a new voice. Headlights sear your eyes for just a moment before someone hurtles out of the driver’s seat. “Holy shit, what happened?” The man cries, clutching at the injured hybrid. Yuto (?) winces, allowing the newcomer to sling an arm over his shoulder.

“I got jumped,” he whispers. “She saved me.” The man looks halfway into tears, reaching over to take your hand. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

You accept his gratitude with an awkward smile, patting his hand gently. “You shouldn’t leave him alone on the streets, especially at night.”

“It’s not his fault,” Yuto protests immediately. “I insisted.”

His owner shakes his head furiously. “She’s right. That was stupid of me.” He turns to you again, eyes shining. “Thank you so much. Truly.”

“Not at … all.” Huh? The world suddenly tilts, and you look down at your hands. There’s something dark dripping on your jacket, staining the fabric and you swipe at it lethargically, bringing it close. Oh. It’s blood.

The pain sharpens, and you gasp aloud at the fire spreading through your veins. Your knees do give out this time, and you can finally make out the sounds of a hiss, a piercing scream and someone calling for you before your body drops to the ground with a muted thud.

The last thing you are thinking is how you’d inevitably failed them after all.

.

.

.

Yoongi shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, the next gust nearly pushing his beanie off his head altogether, and he finds himself wondering if you were cold.

He violently shakes the thought away before opening the door. He sits down to unlace his boots, when Namjoon comes barrelling toward him. The other boys follow in suit; even Seokjin is padding around swaddled in a blanket. He scents the rising panic and anxiety in the house and he straightens instantly, alert.

“Yoongi, where the hell have you been?” Their leader bursts out. Yoongi has never seen the wolf hybrid so frazzled before.

“At the market?” He doesn’t know what kind of answer Namjoon was expecting, but it certainly was not the truth because his face twists in anger.

“Listen, Joon, she’s planning to leave us—” Yoongi goes on, and Jimin steps forward to slap him. The crack of the impact has his head jerking to the side, the sting setting in quickly.

“What. The. Fuck.” He says lowly.

“No. Where the fuck were you?” The typically soft-spoken and sweet hybrid screams. Yoongi stares in shock, flinching at the sound. Hybrid senses were heightened enough to hear the tiniest whispers, and his ears ring at the blow.

“If you mean ___, she’s probably on her way back,” Yoongi answers slowly. “That’s why I left, I found out that—”

“She’s in the hospital, Yoongi.” It’s Taehyung. His voice is hoarse, and he’s standing in a shadowed corner. His tail drags the ground as he moves, bangs hiding his expression.

“What?” The words taste like ash.

“She was stabbed while helping another hybrid,” Jimin seethes. He clutches his wrist, hand throbbing but he can barely feel it. Only registers the adrenaline and fear rushing through him.

“We’re waiting for Luna to come pick us up. She’s ___’s friend.” Jungkook sounds so small, so fragile when he speaks.

Yoongi’s legs buckle and he collapses, unblinking as he gawks at the floor. What did he do?

.

.

.

“There you are. Take it easy, now.” You groan, eyeballs burning as you pry them open with difficulty. It takes great effort to move your arms, and you stop when you feel a sharp tugging into your inner elbow.

“Fucking IVs,” you croak, and Luna’s smile focuses as she leans down to steady you. “How long was I out for?”

“A few days. It’s Christmas. A miracle, some believers might say.” She presses one of the buttons at the side of your bed, and a nurse appears shortly after.

“Your vitals are good. Doctor will be in momentarily,” the worker says, checking the equipment and making a few markings to your clipboard.

“You scared the shit out of them. You scared the shit out of me,” Luna informs you. Taking a glance around, your room is crowded with vases upon vases of your favourite flowers and several handmade art pieces you know are from Jungkook and Taehyung.

You lean back with a sigh. Your abdomen aches, and you know the scar this time isn’t going to fade.

The doctor walks in before you can reply. He gives you a full diagnosis of your condition and declares visits can start as early as tomorrow morning. Luna leaves with him, kissing your cheek and warning you not to overextend. You can only nod, sinking back into your pillow.

.

.

.

When you open your eyes again, the clock at the side notifies you it is just past ten.

And sitting by your side is Yoongi, face buried in his hands.

“Oh, Yoongi,” you breathe. He’s visibly shaking, ears flat and tail unmoving.

“I should’ve never left you alone. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry,” he rasps. He chokes on the words, rubbing his eyes furiously. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He pushes the chair away and gets on his knees, ignoring the strangled sound that escapes your throat. His forehead touches the ground and he doesn’t care that the floor is probably gross and full of viruses and bleach and disinfectant and a million other things. “I’m—so—sorry.”

“Yoongi,” your voice breaks.

“No, no,” he looks up, blinking away the tears as he fixes his gaze on you. “Don’t—don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

“Come here, silly kitty,” you whisper. His lower lip trembles and he lets out a sob. It’s loud and ugly and he scrambles to climb onto the bed, carefully weaving through the various cords and he curls up next to your injured side and he stuffs his face in your shoulder and he cries and cries and cries.

He cries until he’s empty and he falls asleep like that, eyes swollen and red, snot running down your hospital sheet, tail twined over your wrist, engulfed in your warmth.

.

.

.

“My original owner was an old man.” You can barely make out the words, so soft and unsure. He’s speaking into his pudding. Lunch came and went, and you roused him gently, knowing he likely hadn’t properly eaten since the incident.

Hospital food is hardly luxury but it’s food and the poor hybrid had already begun to look malnourished, complexion pale and cheeks sunken in. It was the stress and guilt that ate away at his ability to function.

“I was abandoned on the highway. The runt of the litter, I suppose. I didn’t come from one of those fancy breeding places. I was a bastard child. He found me, digging in his trash.” You stroke his hair, and he finishes the pudding in one bite, setting it down before snuggling back into you.

“He took me in. He was kind, and taught me how to play the piano. He was a retired pianist, and his wife had died the year prior. His son had been in the military. Died the first year out. He taught me to love the piano, to love music. Gave me a light and purpose when I had none. He gave me to the shelter when he passed. I had a lot of pent up anger. I ran away a lot. Didn’t know how to deal with the grief, I guess. He was all I knew. So I started picking fights to work through it, and Bogum would always be the one to drag me back to the shelter. Nursed me back to health every time. He never punished me, and I think the disappointment was what really broke me. I was ready to die. I picked a fight I knew I would never recover from. Hoseok was the one that saved me then.” Yoongi’s wet lashes tickle your jaw.

“Hoseok was also a different man then. He smiled a lot, laughed a lot. He was like sunshine personified. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to him. He taught me to control my anger. Through him, I met the rest. Jimin taught me to understand it. Namjoon taught me to release it through alternative channels. Like composing. I wrote a lot of songs there. Things were good for a while. Then they came.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who—”

“Sorry, but visiting hours are ending.” Yoongi lifts his head to find your nurse smiling at the two of you apologetically. She checks your vitals once more before exiting to give you privacy.

Yoongi untangles himself from you reluctantly, nuzzling your cheek.

“Come back tomorrow, mmkay?” You squeeze his hand.

He nods, unable to meet your gaze even as his own cheeks flush lightly.

“Promise?”

Yoongi shakily takes your hand and kisses your ring finger. This time he does look at you, eyes ringed with gold as he says, “Promise.”

[tharros-auris-black-asimi]

Lay All Your Love on Me (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

Summary: After moving to Knockemstiff, Ohio with your troubled parents, you find solace in the local Seven-Eleven. There, you bump into the Alpha sheriff, Lee Bodecker.

And then you keep bumping into him. There’s just something about that chubby Alpha that keeps drawing you in. Now there’s something going on with the new preacher of the church that you attend. Everything’s a mess.

But you’re an unbonded Omega. Life can turn to shit anyway.

Chapter Warnings: ABO dynamics, age gap (Reader is nineteen while Lee is in his late twenties/early thirties), religious themes, scenting, explicit language. This chapter has loss of virginity, the Pepsi cup scene, car sex, and possessive behavior. Some gun training for Lee.

Word Count: 7,385 words

Author's Note: I literally spent like 10 minutes having a complete and utter frigging meltdown to try and get the "read more" line under here, but I couldn't do it so... sucks to be me, I guess. This is literally going to haunt me for the rest of the day so... yeah. Have fun reading guys.

Additional Notes: So... while having my meltdown, I didn't realize I didn't add a fucking title so that shit's also on me. Call it rushing, lol.

A couple of nights later, back in Knockemstiff with Lee and you…

Footsteps. The front door opening and closing.

That was what slowly woke you up from your nap from where you had been sleeping in Lee’s room. The older Alpha said you could sleep in any room- he had two guest bedrooms after all. He didn’t mind where you were deciding to sleep. But your Omega, oh your Omega. She had whispered to you after Lee told you that he’d be going out for a bit and after he had kissed you on the top of your head, told you he’d be coming back. Then he left. She had told you to head into Lee’s room.

And you had.

The first thing that had struck you was how it just much smelled so much like Lee. It screamed Lee.

His scent was everywhere. The only thing that filled your nose, surrounded you, made you feel like you were wrapped up in a warm blanket was the scent of chocolate and bourbon.

The first thing that you had done was take a shower. Pull some of Lee’s clothes on you, because you didn’t have anything else. Anything to get your father’s scent off of you.

Besides, now with your marked gland, you felt like it was on fire earlier when you had spotted Lee’s clothes. Almost like you and your Omega, you and your designation needed to smell like your Alpha.

Our Alpha, your Omega had whispered in your ear.

Our Alpha now.

It was almost surreal.

You slowly rose up from Lee’s bed, still sleepy. You almost didn’t want to open your eyes. You could hear the familiar footsteps of Lee walking through and down the hallway towards his room.

The door creaked open.

Lee wasn’t surprised to see you in his bed. You were still very sleepy, even debating if you should go back to sleep. You really were tired of all that you had done earlier. Cleaning his house, from top to bottom. You had asked your Bondmate earlier if you could clean. Lee was someone who needed everything to be clean. A fickle Alpha. He had started cleaning more ever since he had met you. Beer cans and bottles had been thrown out. Floors mopped. Rugs cleaned. Countertops too. Walls had been dusted. If Lee hadn’t known any better, he might’ve even second-guessed that this wasn’t even his house.

But nope.

It was his house.

He almost felt like his home was more his home than ever, with you and your mom in his house.

“How’re you doin’, Mega?” His voice was gentle as he made his way towards his bed. You let out a yawn. “M’ tired,” your voice was thick with sleep. Through sleepy eyes, you sorta registered Lee taking off his uniform, sort of hearing him climb into bed. You felt him wrap his arms around you, the scent of chocolate and bourbon filling your nose. You even felt his skin against the fabric of your nightgown. His tongue flattened against your gland, and you melted.

Your nose nuzzled against his neck. Against his gland. A low purr rumbling through your chest. Your Omega was slowly waking up, purring at the sight of her Alpha.

Alpha. Alpha ours.

Through the murky, cotton candy headspace that made your head spin, you could feel one of Lee’s hands travel down, all the way down. Your breath hitched.

“Daddy…” your voice was still thick with sleep. A low buzzing noise echoing in your head.

“S’ alright, Mega. You keep those eyes closed. Just relax. Daddy’s gonna take care a ya. Be a good girl for daddy. Can ya do that, babydoll? Be a good babydoll for daddy?”

Nods.

Nods were coming from you as you started to slip back into that fuzzy, warm headspace. “Yeah… yeah, daddy…” was all that came from you. Lee was slipping his fingers inside you, spreading your pussy open. A low whine filled the room when you felt one of his thick fingers slip in. Making a slick noise echo in the empty room.

You nearly choked on Lee’s fingers when he slipped them in your mouth without warning.

“Keep your voice down. Ya mama’s sleepin’ in the next room, don’t cha remember? Or do ya wanna wake ya mama with how loud my Mega’ gets for me?”

You began to shake your head.

To not prove his point, you kept his fingers in your mouth. Biting down on his fingers as another finger slipped into your wet pussy. Your daddy groaning deeply in your ear, almost rumbling. His pace had started slow. But slowly, the rhythm became faster. The sounds of wet slick noisily echoing in the quiet bedroom.

Drool was coming out of your mouth. Dribbling out at the sides of your mouth. Down your daddy’s thick fingers. You were trying oh so hard to not make noise. Lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking as your pussy grinded onto the palm of your Alpha’s hand, creating more friction. The palm of his head brushed against your clit, giving you even more stimulation. All the while his fingers were trying to find your g-spot. Retracting his fingers out of your slopping cunt, you sucked on his fingers harder, trying to tell him not to stop. Your eyes even watered.

A shake of your head told him that you didn’t want him to stop.

Your body shuddered when Lee let out a dark chuckle. It spread all the way down your spine. Your back might’ve even started to arch up.

You bit down on his fingers hard when his fingers slammed back into you without warning. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Lee’s fingers plunged in deeper and deeper in your pussy, more slick trickling down his hand, to his arm. Your hips were moving up and down, bouncing on his fingers. When his fingers brushed right up against your g-spot, you were cumming. You swore you saw something in your vision. Your pussy didn’t stop throbbing, you didn’t stop moving your hips, or grinding down onto the palm of his hand until you had ridden out your orgasm. Only when Lee pulled out his fingers from your mouth did you stop.

“Such a needy little baby,” Lee’s voice was rough against your ear, making your pussy throb around his fingers that were still inside you. “Always need ya holes filled, don’t cha?”

All you could do was nod.

“Want it, Lee.” Your voice was slightly slurred together due to the amount of saliva that was still in your mouth. And because his fingers were still shoved in your mouth. “Want your cock daddy. M’ please. M’ ready.” To prove your own point, you even bucked your hips against his. Feeling that skin-on-skin contact. You could feel his hard cock against your pussy. Your dripping slick dripping onto his pelvis. You could tell he was hard.

And it wasn’t like you were speaking right through your teeth.

Your slick was running everywhere.

Your gland was on fire.

At least it felt like it.

You didn’t dare touch it, because you just so fucking turned on. His scent was enveloping you. Telling you that he wanted this, too.

One of his hands fell to your shoulder, gripping it.

“Ya sure? This whatcha want? My lil Omega wants to be full, huh? Wants to be full with her Alpha?” Lee’s breath tickled the side of your neck, making you shudder deeply. Your Omega was gleeful. You imagined her bouncing around in her cage in delight.

Your Omega couldn’t put into words, how good she was feeling in this moment.

Gleeful probably couldn’t describe the feeling either.

But finally.

Finally.

She was going to witness her Alpha take her.

“Turn over. On your stomach.”

Unlike most times that you had been with Lee, it was different this time when he spoke. He wasn’t just talking to you. He wasn’t just talking to you, speaking to you gently. Like he always did. There was a note of tenderness in his voice when he spoke to you. Like you were a fragile porcelain doll that needed to be treated with the utmost care. You heard a slick popping noise, and a soft little whine filled the room when your pussy clenched around nothing. Your eyes might’ve even watered a bit too at the realization.

“I told ya, Babydoll. No noises.”

There it was again.

Lee was talking to you. But he wasn’t being gentle. It made your back straighten up. Your Omega preen.

Because when Lee Bodecker was talking like that… using his Tone… well, how could you not listen?

Your whines quieted. Now, now, you were awake. Your mind was sharp. Your Omega was sighing in the most utter bliss.

Finally. Finally, she would be getting what she demanded. This Alpha, her Alpha, the Alpha that had bitten her neck, the Alpha that brought her home, that her Alpha would be the one to lay claim to her body. To fuck it. To breed it. She already wore his mark on her neck with pride. Having his pups… it would complete it. She would get her Pack with her Alpha. The Alpha that she had chosen herself. On her terms. No one else’s. No one had forced her to choose this Alpha. She had done it herself.

Oh boy, did that give her pleasure. Her pleasure was heightened when your fists gripped his bedsheets, hearing Lee’s sharp intake of breath. All he could smell was you. The scent of freshly baked cookies wafted up to his nose. It was nothing compared to his tummy pressing down gently on your back, making your back arch up.

Your breath caught in your throat when you felt the tip of his cock poking against, slipping inside your slippery pussy lips, coating it with your slick. Making it all wet. You felt the burning feeling erupt in your belly as your vaginal walls stretched out for his cock.

Inch by inch, he rocked against you. His hands holding your shoulders down onto the mattress firmly. You were breathing against the pillow, eyes glassed over in pure bliss.

“Daddy,” your voice was muffled because of the pillow, “more.”

Through the past couple of nights, you had asked. Over and over. At first, Lee had laughed a bit, saying things like “are ya sure,” or “don’t wanna hurt cha, babydoll. I don’t think ya can handle it.”

Words and phrases that made your Omega stir. Albeit a little angrily.

Now though, she was happy. Practically bouncing around carefree in her cage in the confines of your mind.

Lee’s hand traveled down, all the way down to your clit. Rubbing your clit with one hand as his other hand rose up, to slip into the collar of your dress, down to cup a breast. His thumb grazing over a nipple until it was hard as a pebble. Your pillow muffled the noises of pleasure. Your back arched. Your hips moved slightly.

Every rock of his hips against your backside made you gasp. Every rub against your clit made you squirm. Feeling the pressure building up in your belly. But you were remaining cautious.

All because you didn’t want to wake up your mother next door.

The things you did for your Alpha.

It was when he was halfway in did he hear the whimpers.

“Daddy, ‘s too much, can’t- can’t take it-” you were sobbing into the pillow.

“C’mon babydoll. M’ only halfway in and you’re already whimperin’ so sweet. You’re daddy’s good girl. You can take it. You’re my good girl, aren’t cha babydoll?” Lee’s voice was gruff. But it was pouring into your ears like honey. The pain of his cock stretching you open was the number one thing you could feel. His hands, gripping your hips. Grinding his cock into your pussy. His rubbing at your clit became harder, quicker. Your whimpers were beginning to rise again as you felt your impending orgasm coming.

“Lee,” your voice was muffled by your pillow, “please, m’ gonna- m’ gonna-”

“I know Mega,” he grunted in your ear, making you nearly choke, “s’ okay. Let go babydoll.”

A muffled cry filled the room.

Lee chose that moment to fully sink in, break that final barrier that was keeping him back. A deep, choked noise came from you at the strange sensation. Tears even sprung in your eyes at the feeling. For a moment, Lee could feel it. Your pain. A hand rose up from your breast to your hair, to tug it gently. “It’s okay,” his voice gentle, almost soothing your tears, “just relax. It’ll be okay.”

In and out. In and out. Taking deep breaths. Lee saw your body moving up and down as you tried to get used to him fully inside of you. You felt like a freaking stuffed turkey at Thanksgiving. Never had you ever been filled this good, this deep before.

It was kind of an unusual feeling. After a couple of more deep breaths, and Lee saw through the dark, your form beginning to relax. He took the initiative to move.

His thrusts were slow. Gentle. He was out of you, an inch, two inches at the max. He never truly left you.

The pain was something you weren’t used to. Your vaginal walls clenched around his dick tightly. It made Lee’s eyes roll into the back of his head. The more he thrusted in you, the more the pain lessened. It began to hurt a little less. Soft kisses were placed down from the back of your neck, down your spine. It made your back arch up.

“Daddy,” your voice was muffled from the pillow, “more, more, more.” Your hips adjusted. Your ass even wiggled.

“Took me so well, Mega. Such a good Omega.” His praise was hushed in your ear. Your Omega, oh your Omega. She couldn’t be any happier. She was still happily bouncing around in glee.

Alpha calls us a good Omega. We’re a good Omega.

There was a part of Lee. A part of Lee who wanted nothing more than to just take and take and take in between your thighs, even if you cried out for him to stop. That part of him that just wanted it. A part of him that would never be satisfied.

Like now.

He could hear that inner voice, telling him, urging him on. To take this Omega that was underneath him that was purring so sweet. And he wanted to. Oh dear god, heavens above, hand on the Bible, god’s green motherfucking earth, did he want to. He wanted to.

But that restraint.

He needed to be restrained.

Almost like he was playing a game of tug-of-war with himself.

He could lose control just as easily and wake up your mother and his neighbors.

However, he didn’t.

Until…

“Daddy,” your voice was breathy and muffled. Your ass wiggling against his front. Your head went up, enough to gulp in some air. “Harder. More.”

A sharp thrust made your face smack right back into the bed. You heard the popping of buttons. Suddenly, Lee was shoving your nightgown up, bunching it together at your waist. His teeth sank into your gland. Your second orgasm of the night rushed through you like a wire being cut. You came so hard around his dick, your walls clenching down on him, gripping his cock so tightly that Lee almost cursed out loud.

“Bite me Omega,” Lee breathed out against your neck. When you eventually turned your head up, your mind was still foggy. Mind still swimming, you kinda saw Lee putting his neck out down towards you. Your fingertips brushed over his Mating Gland. When you lowered your head down, your tongue flattening down against the corded muscle, you felt his hips stuttering against yours.

And then your teeth sank in.

Breaking the skin.

When your teeth pierced, broke the skin, Lee felt the bond complete.

You tasted blood. The taste of copper on your mouth. You had been so surprised.

It was as if someone had snapped a rubber band on Lee. You felt the bond complete. Like you had been made whole.

Lee had come so hard that his body jerked. You whimpered, out loud when you felt it. He spilled his seed, coating the insides of your cunt.

Deep, hollowing breaths slowly filled the room as Lee slumped beside you. Feeling that skin-on-skin contact.

Your voice was thick when he heard it.

“Welcome home, daddy.”

A couple of days later…

Being mated was weird.

You were mated.

Fully mated.

You had Lee’s mark. He had yours. You were his Omega now.

Officially.

It was… strange.

You had noticed Lee’s mark on you for a few weeks before you had lost your virginity to him. Completely gave yourself over to him. Mind, body, and soul. Popped your cherry. You knew that you weren’t his first.

But something that Lee never told you was, well, he had never been with a virgin before. Cause sure, he had been a virgin once. Inexperienced. Not like how he was now. And before you had shown up in his life, all he knew were prostitutes.

That weird fog that had surrounded Lee until he had come home to you in the early mornings was gone. Everyone knew and could see the difference in the sheriff. Lee was happier. Less grumpy. Ate fewer sweets and smoked less. There seemed to be an ease to him now. Not quite a pep in his step. Oh no. He would never admit to that shit.

But his mark on his Mating Gland on his neck, oh he showed that proudly. Your bite on his neck. He showed the hell outta that. Proudly. He was so proud. He finally had a Bondmate. You were his Bondmate. He was your Bondmate. It was as if everything had come full circle. For once, he felt complete. Oddly happier than he had for the first time in a long time.

However, all of that good mood soured when he went to go into the cells, to check up on your father.

He had been in such a good mood before he had realized that he still needed to check up on your father.

The report.

Right.

Right, right, right.

The stupid report.

A scowl came onto Lee’s lips as he remembered.

With a sigh, he got from his chair. Grabbing his leather jacket that had been hanging on his chair, slipping it over him.

It still smelled like you.

A small little smile spread over his lips at that. He could smell your lingering scent of freshly made chocolate chip cookies. Somewhere in him, his Alpha rumbled at the reminder at he’d always be carrying a piece of you at work.

Down to the beasts he went.

Much later that morning, at the Bodecker residence, with you…

Your mother was out.

Gone to see and greet the neighbors in the neighborhood.

You highly suspected that your mother wanted to make fun with everyone since you hadn’t.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your new neighbors. It was just that you could hear the things that they had said about you. You knew that if anyone spoke an ill word against you… well, they’d have your Daddy to deal with. Your Alpha would set them straight. But that wasn’t what bothered you. You didn’t need Lee to put them in their place.

It was just… these past couple of days. It seemed to be going by fast for you. Too fast. You had been recently bonded, yes. But with everything… would you be okay? How were you just hanging on by now? Were you hanging by a thread? Was that all that you were doing now?

Cause it wasn’t like you didn’t love Lee.

You did.

Your love for him wasn’t something you could show like normal people. You weren’t like one of those babes that you would see at dance halls with their girlfriends, all giggly. That wasn’t you anymore.

No.

No.

No.

You were different now.

You were a Bondmate now.

Now… now you had more responsibilities. But you couldn’t help but wonder. If you grew old with him and got ugly, would he still want you? Someone like you? If you had pups with him and got fat, would he still want you?

Those thoughts polluted your mind and distracted you to the point of crying. You had been so busy crying in your shared room that you hadn’t even noticed Lee coming through the front door. The front door locked behind him as Lee walked down the hall towards his room, still fuming.

The visit to your father hadn’t gone well. He had finished writing up the report, however. So at least he could take out his anger on something. His anger loosened when he heard the sounds of crying.

You were crying.

His footsteps came quicker.

By the time he got the door opened, it was too late.

“Mega?” Lee sounded very worried.

“Daddy,” your voice was raspy as you managed to turn your head to look at him. Tears were streaming down your face. Not to mention, the makeup that you had applied earlier this morning had been ruined.

Absolutely ruined.

Mascara had been running down in dark streaks on your cheeks. Your lipstick was still on though. Perfectly painted. But your bottom lip was quivering. Trembling as sobs wracked your body. Your hands were gripping your dress. On your knees, kneeling in front of him looking like an absolute trainwreck.

“What’s wrong, Omega?” Lee asked you again as he walked in front of you, getting down on his knees to pull you close to him. All that succeeded into was you crying even harder. “It’s all my fault,” you sobbed, “s all my fault. I’m a terrible Omega. I’m a terrible Bondmate. Why do you want me? You should just let go. Put me back. Put me back in the cells, please. Just put me back.”

Lee was gobsmacked.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

Noooo.

No.

Nope.

He was not about to do that. You were still blabbering though. He needed to bring you back.

“Mega.”

No answer.

“Omega.”

Still no answer.

He even spoke your name.

And nope.

“Babydoll.”

You had stopped moving. Your jerky movements coming to stop. You froze like a deer in headlights.

He hadn’t wanted to use his Tone. He really hadn’t. But looking at your face, seeing the tears and the smeared mascara all over your cheeks, it was what had to be done. You had stopped being in hysterics, but you were still shaking like a leaf. It ate him on the inside, what was happening in front of him.

“Eyes on me.”

Up went your eyes. They were still shiny. Wet.

“Who did this to you, huh? Who made you cry, angel baby?” His words flowed into your ears like thick syrup. Making your brain feel all fuzzy. Your tummy warm. Like you were almost drunk. “M’ daddy… he called me a… called me a harlot when we was in the kitchen before we both got arrested… don’t wanna… don’t wanna be ugly for you… wanna be pretty… wanna be pretty for ya, daddy…” you still weren’t crying, but you were feeling the emotions kicking in again. Very high.

Lee clutched you harder. Running his tongue against your mating gland, before sinking his teeth into that corded muscle, making you gasp against him. Your cry being muffled from your head being buried in his shoulder. Your body jolted at the sensation, your hands coming up to grab and tug at his dark hair.

He licked his canine teeth. Tasting your blood. The taste of copper filling his mouth. But he didn’t care. You shook in his arms before you managed to gauze your head back up.

“Daddy?”

Never had your voice ever been this soft before.

And then he was picking you up. Bridal style. Hoisting you over, your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Daddy? Where are we goin’?” You asked him again. Lee’s lips conformed into a line. His gears in his mind turning. He was thinking, as he always was.

“Out.”

Out, according to Lee was making sure you had thoroughly washed your face, blew your nose, smoothed down your dress, put on a jacket, and after Lee had come back down from the basement holding a shotgun, you two were back in his cruiser and driving out to god knows where.

The car ride had been silent all the way through.

But you could tell from your mate, from the way his scent was twisting and changing, that something was lingering under the surface. Like a darkness slowly creeping. Bubbling up to the surface.

You watched the streets. Watched the people. You two even drove through the downtown area. Although it was small, you still watched. You could smell food through the cracked, open, rolled-down window. It reminded you of Emma’s house back in Coal Creek, with Arvin, Lenora, and your mother. Your chest grew heavy. You missed them. Were they okay? Were they alright?

You made a mental note to visit them soon. After all, next week was your visit.

Just then, the car stopped. You heard Lee turn off the engine. You turned your gaze towards him.

“C’mon Mega.”

Following him deep into the woods, you were looking around. The sun hadn’t set yet, and all you could hear were the chirping of birds. You could hear the leaves crunching underneath your kitten heels. You were thinking, maybe, just maybe, you should’ve switched out your clothes. You also noticed Lee was holding a bag that was full of something.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Those sounded like beer cans. Were those beer cans?

“Lee… what’re we doing here?”

You saw Lee walking up to you, handing you the shotgun. You were confused. If anything, you were convinced that Lee was scouting for something. So he wasn’t using it. Why was he giving it to you, then?

“Target practice, babydoll. I was thinkin’ earlier this mornin’, with everything that’s happened with ya daddy…” he didn’t miss the look that you gave him. That look of pure, almost horrifying fear at the mention of him. It made his veins hot and the urge to strangle your father was back. That greedy part of him that was telling him to just get it over with, to just kill again so all of your problems could be solved was slowly returning.

Focus.

He needed to focus. Still looking at you, he continued to speak. “I know you did a number on him with ya cast-iron skillet and m’ proud of that for ya, Mega. My strong Omega.” He didn’t miss the way your cheeks colored at the praise either. A smirk was curling its way onto his lips. He couldn’t help it. At this rate, he would be half-hard. “But ya ain’t always gonna have a cast-iron skillet lyin’ around. I would teach ya how ta use a knife, but I’m not as good with knives as the deputies are. One of em specializes in usin’ knives and shit. So all I can teach ya are how to use a shotgun.”

You were nodding.

It made sense.

Still, you felt like you needed to ask…

“So… do you have a collection of guns I don’t know bout?” A wry smile was on your face. Lee chuckled. It was a deep one, one he could feel in his belly. You noticed how his belly shook when he laughed.

There was the Lee you knew.

“A sheriff never reveals his secrets, babydoll.” was all that Lee replied to you with. Handing you the shotgun, Lee began to pull some of the old beer cans out. Watching him set it up as your gaze lowered down to the shotgun. The barrel was long. Probably as long as your arm. Maybe even a bit longer. There was something behind the trigger. You didn’t know what it was. You at least knew where the trigger was, at least.

“What’s this, Lee?”

You were gesturing to the thing behind the trigger.

“Recoil pad,” Lee answered you, finishing up setting up the last beer can a couple of feet away from you. “Helps ya shoot more accurately.”

A nod came from you. Saying that you got it.

“Okay… so here’s what I want you to do… you hold it like this,” Lee helped you grip the shotgun, placing your hand that you were going to use to pull the trigger along the side of the stock wrist. Making your cheek brush up against your cheek. Your eyes at the same level of the barrel. Index finer placed directly on the trigger, Lee gently told you to wrap the rest of your hand on the wrist.

“Not too tight… not too loose either… good job Mega.”

Your Omega preened at the praise once again. Happily bouncing around in glee. It was the happiest the bitch had been in weeks. You couldn’t blame her all that much. If it was you in her shoes, then fuck you’d be so fucking happy too. So could you really blame her?

Not really.

“Okay… shoulders bared… keep your feet apart… mhmm. I want you to look at those cans. You see those cans, Mega? Good. I want cha to shoot at em.”

You gave him another nod.

“Aim for the center. Pull the trigger and then shoot.”

Arm upright. The butt of the gun lodged in your shoulder pocket. Nicely tucked. Your eyes forward.

“Lee… what happens if I can’t pull the trigger?” Your voice came out a little shaky.

“Then just think of your dad.”

When your finger pulled the trigger, the first thing you heard was the ringing in your ears. The smell of gunpowder filling your nose. The gunpowder even exploded and some scattered onto the collar of your dress.

The first shot landed smack-dab right in the center, knocking the beer can back. Then Lee told you to move, adjust your footing.

“Shoot again.”

Another shot rang out. The sounds of the beer can clanking back rung in your ears.

And then you did it again.

Another beer can smacking backward with a thunk.

“Three more beer cans left. You got four more bullets in there. We’ll pick em up after you’re done, okay?” Lee’s voice brought you back. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling, you gave him a nod.

“Okay.”

“Good. Keep going.”

Another nod.

One more shot rang out.

You heard the thunk of the beer can flying back.

Turning your head, eyes narrowing, you aimed.

Bang.

Another clunk.

Two down, one more to go.

The last shot rang out and you heard one last clang.

Slowly lowering the gun, you asked him, “How’d I do?”

You felt a warm pair of arms wrap around you from behind. A gentle rumble erupted from Lee’s chest. Unlike the first time you met, this rumble wasn’t to calm down frantic Omegas.

This one was different.

This one was for Mates.

Your head lolled to the side, leaning into his neck with a dreamy sigh.

“Perfect, babydoll.” Your mate said. “You were perfect.”

The entire mood shifted when you two had gotten back into the car.

Loud slurps of you drinking your slushie were heard. Lee’s own empty cup sat on the dashboard. Happily slurping away at your cherry and blueberry mixture, you didn’t notice Lee’s jaw clench.

Only when you finished your slushie, putting it on the dashboard, did you see Lee’s controlled look. A frown made its way onto your features.

“Lee?”

Your voice was gentle. It almost made the dark, violent thoughts running through his head okay. He almost felt like he wasn’t sinking into that dark place for a second.

“Yeah, Omega?”

The two of you were at the next town over. Your head perched on his shoulder, you still looked at him. Frowning. When Lee looked at you and saw that frown, well, he started to frown too.

He didn’t like that frown on your face.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to calm you down? You want me to touch you?” You asked him. Lee swallowed. You could see his Adam’s apple bob. “You don’t have to,” he replied quietly. Undeterred, you shook your head. Your hand traveled down. There was a popping noise. A hiss came from Lee when your hand sank into his pants, fisting his cock with your hand.

“Shit, babydoll,” hissed Lee, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with a deep guttural groan. It sounded almost like a deep rumble from his chest.

“You- you don’t… you don’t have to,” he grunted. Again, you shook your head.

“I don’t have to. But I want to.”

Lee swore he nearly came in his pants at that. A little whimper left him when you pulled your hand out of his pants, both of your hands coming down to undo his belt. Unzipping his fly. He watched you do one of the filthiest things he ever saw in his life. You spit into your hand, a slick echoing through the cruiser. A deep growl came from Lee’s chest. His growl turned into a moan when your spit-covered hand gripped his cock again. All slicked up to take his dick. This time, you weren’t fearful or scared. Timid if you had done something wrong.

No.

This time, when you stroked him, you did it with a clear mind and you probably looked like you had your war face on. Up and down went your hand. All the way from his shaft down the tip of his cock that was red and smeared with pre-cum. You slowly built a rhythm, all the while your pussy throbbed. Your panties growing damper with each stroke of his dick.

Lee couldn’t help himself. Moans, grunts, and whimpers slowly filled the cruiser. A shuddering breath even left him when you squeezed his cock a little. His lips trembled.

“Jesus… shit…” was all that left him.

“I’m your Omega, daddy. It’s my job to balance you out, you know? You don’t need to hide shit from me, okay Lee? I can handle it.” Your words flowed into his ears.

Lee allowed that to sink in.

Shallow, then deep breaths came from him.

He couldn’t almost believe it.

Was this the universe’s way of telling him that they weren’t going to punish him anymore? That he could actually breathe for once? That he actually had someone who understood him? Him and his whole entire goddamn motherfucking package of shit that he carried with him on a day-to-day basis?

He really fucking hoped so.

“O-Okay.” His words might’ve come out a little staggered, a little breathy. Like he needed to believe it himself. A harsh pump made him hiss.

But up and down your hands went. Pumping his dick with the palm of your hand.

“Okay. Glad we get each other, Daddy.”

Pump. Pump. Pump.

“Daddy… you got somethin’? For ya jizz? Or else I’ma just catch it all with my hands…” you trailed off. Not that you weren’t unhappy with catching all of his jizz in your hands. In fact, it was quite the opposite. You were really thinking about that other night in his office, where you had caught all of his cum in your hands. Just the thought made the burning heat in between your legs freaking worse.

Terrible.

He was terrible.

You were probably turning out to be like a fiend now.

“Uh-huh… yeah… think I…” he was cut off with his own grunt, “I got something… in here…” There was shuffling as Lee tried his best to bend down a little. Fumbling around, you heard him grab something.

“Alright, I- shit,” Lee swore. You couldn’t help the smile that was creeping on your face.

“You got it?” Your tone was full of amusement.

“Yeah,” grunted Lee. Humming, you continued your merry task of giving your Alpha a hand job.

Beads of sweat were rolling down Lee’s temples. You could feel his balls tightening, signaling that he was getting close. “C’mon Lee. Daddy. It’s okay. Let go.”

He came with a grunt. Ejaculate spilling all over your hand and into whatever he had found.

Panting, “You got it all in the cup?”

Cup?

“Y-Yeah… and all over my hand too… whatcha wanna do with the cup?” You asked him. “We can throw it out later,” Lee replied back to him. Frowning. Thinking about it. A thought crossed your mind. “Or… I can drink it? I don’t wanna… waste it.”

Something inside Lee snapped. All of a sudden, your back smacked against the door. It made you gasp.

“Lee!”

You sounded very scandalized. Your mate paid no mind, shoving the skirt of your dress up, his hands, his huge hands finding your panties underneath all of your skirts, pulling and tugging them to the side until they ripped. A hand gripping his half-hard erection, he thrust into you without warning.

You cried out at the sensation. Your head falling back against the window. You saw him take off his leather jacket, shrugging it off to the floor, and then his shirt followed. He managed to shove his pants and boxer briefs down to the floor, kicking them off.

His hands came to grip your still-clothed shoulders. Almost immediately, he started pounding into you.

You had been so taken aback that all you could do was take it. Take all that he was giving you. Not that it didn’t feel good. It felt really, really good. Cries of pleasure filling up the cruiser were heard pretty quickly. Lee’s balls smacking against your clit with every single time he bottomed out of you.

Lee swore he could almost feel as if he was in some sort of heaven. Your nonvirgin body squeezed him for everything he was worth. Slick and his seed smeared on your inner thighs, making them all sticky. His thrusts were so powerful that they were sending your head back against the window. Not necessarily smacking it, but you just couldn’t move.

You came screaming.

Yes, screaming.

Your orgasm had rushed over you so quickly you barely realized it had come. Lee hissed and grunted when he felt your walls milking the hell out of him. He still could remember when he took you last night. How tight you had been. Your vaginal walls had gripped his dick so fucking hard that he swore he was in heaven. Like he had fallen into a piece of heaven. It would be worth it just so Lee could get a taste of what the angels would sing about. He knew his soul was damned and that he’d probably be heading straight into hell, and without a doubt, you’d probably be going down with him. But he’d risk it all, just to stay in this piece of heaven for as long as he could.

He continued to thrust into you. Pound into you. Wet, squishing noises coming from your pussy as he took you. His cock was nearly splitting your vagina in half by how hard he was taking you. At this rate, your second orgasm would be coming quicker than you thought.

Which, you were.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan as your second orgasm piggybacked off of your first one, your legs trembling and shaking as you came around his dick again. Lee fucked you through it, swearing in your ear. Praising you. Calling you his good Omega.

His wet mouth dipped down to your mating gland. And his teeth sank into your neck, biting you again.

And then he came. You sobbed out.

You were asleep.

Lee knew your mother was asleep too because he had just checked up on her an hour ago. Your nightgown clung to your body, the nearly transparent fabric falling over your body like a sleeve. From where Lee was stroking your nipples with his thumb, he could feel your nipples harden underneath the pads of his fingertips. The only light that surrounded his room was the dim light of his night lamp.

Soft breathing came from you as you breathed through your nose. Your chest rising up and down as you slept.

For once in his life, Lee was oddly at peace.

Everything was quiet.

It was as if he could breathe again. Like there were no toxic things in his life. Your lovely, sweet scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, with a slight undertone of his own scent of chocolate and bourbon, filled the air.

His.

You were his now.

Suddenly, he heard a car pulling into his driveway. It made him stop what he was doing. His Alpha stirred, sensing that something was happening. Being dressed in only a pair of boxers, he had to slip on a pair of pants and a loose shirt that barely had any of his scent left, due to you rubbing it into his bedsheets.

He really needed to invest in nest bedding now that you were his Omega.

And then he heard knocking.

To make matters worse, you had begun to stir. Soft noises came from you.

“… addy… what’s happenin’?” your voice was full of sleep. Your eyes still weren’t open yet. A soft groan came from you as the knocking on his front door became louder. Another groan came from you.

“Daddy… tell em to go away… tell em to shut up… I need my sleep…”

And he was really thinking along those same lines too.

Something just wasn’t right in his gut as he unlocked his door. Beginning to walk into the hallway, where your mother’s door was still closed. Still probably asleep. You had mentioned to him once or twice that your mother could sleep like the dead. If World War Three were to ever break out, your mother could probably sleep right through it and still be a-okay.

“… Lee! I know you’re home Big Brother!”

Sandy.

That was Sandy.

But what the hell was his sister doing here? So early in the morning too?

“C’mon! Open the door, Lee!” A man’s voice barked out. Lee knew that was Sandy’s husband, his brother-in-law, Carl.

Carl.

A deep burning of anger and hatred bubbled up to the surface.

However, Lee walked to the front door. Knowing that soft footsteps were following him.

You.

You had gotten up when Sandy had shouted, quickly padding down the hall to catch up with your Alpha. Your hand intertwined with his.

The sounds of the front door being unlocked were heard.

The door swung open.

Sandy Bodecker saw her big brother, and a young woman who looked barely looked like she would be roughly nineteen or her early twenties, in nothing but a nightgown, looking into the familiar eyes that her Alpha had. Sandy also noticed that she had a bite on her Mating Gland on her neck. She noticed that Lee had a bite mark on his Mating Gland too.

Realization came over her.

This was her Big Brother’s Omega.

Lee was mated now.

Your gaze went from the young woman who smelled like an Omega, just like you. You noticed that she had the same eyes as Lee. This was probably his sister.

But the man beside her.

This man…

There was an unsettling feeling in your gut. Something was telling you to not trust this man. Even though it was still dark, you could see his mousy brown hair and brown eyes. But something churned in your gut.

And when he spoke, you nearly almost vomited.

“Lee. Care to introduce us?” Carl Henderson said, a grin stretching over his face. The Beta man was looking at you, his scent of something that smelled like cabbages filling your nose. It made you remember that disgusting, spoiled cabbage soup you had smelled once when you used to live in Michigan. You began to feel a headache coming on.

You didn’t trust this Beta.

Not at all.

Your Omega was in her cage, looking at this Beta in pure horror.

Something terrible was about to happen.

Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44, @bxnnywriting

[seokjinsdisciple]

Enemy - two

johnny x reader (this is mostly smut with some fluff thrown in because im soft for this man)

THIS IS BASED ON ENEMY AND WHILE YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ IT TO UNDERSTAND YOU PROBABLY SHOULD

it’s been three months since you got fucked by johnny in the elevator of your apartment building. and much to your own fault, you can’t stop thinking about him

UNEDITED

word count: 4k (this is literally so long for no reason)

warnings: language, fingering, degradation, choking, hair-pulling, overuse of the word kitten and sir and probably baby too, mentions of sex toys, vibrators, mutual masturbation for like a second, size kink if you squint, mentions of punishments, idk what to say... theres probably more because im a whore for johnny

You hadn’t spoken to Johnny since the incident. In fact, you’ve tried to avoid any encounters with him at all. You try to plan your day around whether he has already left or not, and while that's proven rather difficult with your classes, it's been working out ok. You had been avoiding him for a solid 3 months, only seeing him occasionally and practically sprinting away when you spotted him.

Granted, you have had a tough couple of months, sexual frustration forcing your thoughts into the depths of hell more often than not. You 100% blamed Johnny for this, unable to get his face from your mind and name from your lips as you came. And that’s when you were actually able to get yourself to finish. Johnny had ruined you, he had ruined orgasms for you forever. Your one night stands didn’t stand a chance, and not even your favorite black vibrator could get you there half of the time. 

Fuck Johnny and his stupidly gorgeous face, and mind consuming body. The past few months had been going like this. You had memorized exactly when Johnny would be in class, out with friends or doing god knows what. Allowing yourself those moments to take out your sexual frustrations. 

You had been sitting on your couch all day, counting down the minutes until the tell tale sound of Johnny’s front door closing. When you finally heard it, you sprang into action, sprinting to your room and throwing open the drawer of your nightstand. You groaned as you tore your pants off as quickly as you could, already dripping from the thoughts of Johnny that had been swirling around your head all day long. 

You let out a too loud whimper when you finally pressed your fingers to your clit. Taking no time at all to start relieving some of the pressure that had been making you ache all day long. You were certain that if anyone on your floor was home, they would be able to hear your broken moans and whimpers. The sheer desperation outweighing your rational thoughts to quiet the hell down. 

In fact, your thoughts had completely left as you pressed your vibrator against yourself, biting into the pillow nearest to you as you writhed around on your bed. You were moaning broken fragments of Johnny’s name now, so desperate to cum yet so far from reaching your high that all reason had left your brain. 

You sat up quickly at the sound of the knocking. The panic of being caught by one of your neighbors causing you to almost fall as you tugged on your sweats and rushed to the door. 

You pulled upon your front door without much thought, apologies preparing to spill out of your lips until you met the dark eyes of Johnny. His hair had grown in the months you’d barely seen him. Your eyes flitted from his shoulder length blonde hair down to his rosy cheeks and bitten lips. 

“You’re so fucking loud,” he growled, walking into your apartment and closing the door in front of your frozen figure, “Are you always moaning my name this loud when I’m in class, kitten?”

“Johnny I can-,” you started, breath hitching in your chest as he gripped your jaw firmly. 

“I think that was a yes or no question,” Johnny spoke, “Do you always touch yourself when I’m gone?”

You were trembling at his dominant gaze, the stickiness between your thighs practically doubling at both his appearance and his words. You nodded, heat filling your entire body at the sheer embarrassment of him knowing how fucked you had been ever since that day on the elevator. 

“Words,” he growled, “Don’t make me punish you.”

“Yes, sir,” you whimpered, heat thrumming through your body as his thumb rubbed your jaw, raising an eyebrow at the new nickname. 

“Good girl,” he praised, cupping your cheek as he pressed a frantic kiss to your lips. Taking no time at all to deepen the kiss, licking your bottom lip. You opened up for him easily, groaning as his tongue explored your mouth, hands finding purchase on his chest. His lips trailed down to your neck, biting and sucking on the most sensitive parts of your neck. 

“Johnny please,” You begged, your hands finding their way into his hair. Your fingers tangling and tugging at the long blonde locks, smiling in satisfaction at his groan.

“Oh no baby,” Johnny said, grinning up at you and wiggling his eyebrows, “There’s no way in hell you call me Johnny after I hear the word sir leave that sinful little mouth of yours.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him, smacking his arm lightly. “Shut up.”

“Are you familiar with the color system?” He asked, placing a gentle bite on your earlobe. 

“Red for hard stop, yellow for pause and green for all good?” You asked, half moaning as Johnny’s hands slipped up your shirt. 

“Yeah that's the one,” Johnny muttered, “Color?”

“Green,” you whined as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, rolling gently.

“Good, because your brattiness is starting to piss me off, kitten,” he said, bringing his other hand around your neck and putting delicious pressure on your pulse. “Now I’m curious baby, just how long have you been getting off when I’m not supposed to be home? How many times have you come with my name on your lips?”

“Since-,” you started, “Since that day in the elevator.”

Johnny just tutted at you, forcing you to meet his gaze, “And you’ve been hiding what’s mine from me all this time?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s yours,” you smirked, chuckling at the light smack he gave your ass. 

“If it wasn’t mine, kitten,” he snarled, “then you wouldn’t come thinking of me. And by your pretty little moans earlier, we all know that’s not the case.”

At that Johnny threw your form over his shoulder, giving another playful hit to your ass before leading you to your bedroom. He set you gently on the bed, caging your body with his arms and pressing a swift kiss to your lips. You were about to question why he’d torn his lips from you, but you were stopped by his mischievous grin and the emergence of your still vibrating black vibrator. 

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you hit him in the shoulder, “turn it off!”

“Is this the Johnny you kept moaning so loudly about? He so rudely interrupted my afternoon nap you know.”

“You are insufferable!” you whined, trying to cover your embarrassed face with your hands. 

“Use it.”

“What?” you asked, peeking out from behind your hands. 

“I want to see you use it,” Johnny said simply, “You’ve been using this to cum all on your own. I wanna see how lil Johnny has been treating you.”

“Johnny you can’t be serious.”

“Oh I’m very serious,” he said, pulling your pants down for you, whistling lowly at the sight of your arousal smeared across your thighs, “It is a shame you misbehaved so much and need to be punished, kitten. I love the way you look with my fingers inside of you. Too bad.”

“Johnny, please,” you groaned, imagining just how incredible his fingers would feel right about now. 

“I thought I told you to call me sir, hm?” He asked, slapping the inside of your thigh before handing you the vibrator, “Now get to work.”

You let out a little whine as Johnny settled himself across the bed, staring intently at you. You took a deep breath, turning on your vibrator again, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth as you pressed it to your clit. Your eyes met with Johnny’s, his pupils dilated and lust-filled as he took in your already wrecked appearance. 

Your hips jolted, the power from the vibrator enough to have a familiar string of moans leaving your lips. You whined at the sight of Johnny palming himself over his sweats, reaching out with your free hand to try and touch him in some way. 

“Awe poor baby needs help?” Johnny pouted at you, “But I thought you could get off by yourself?”

You just groaned at this, endless afternoons of you coming so close to the edge but never making it flashing in your mind as you tried, and failed to prove him wrong. Your eyes never left his, and you were getting sick of the mischief that was in his. He was clearly taking too much pleasure from teasing you. Well two can play at that game. 

“Don’t you want to play with me, sir?” You asked, moaning as you slid a finger into yourself, never breaking eye contact with Johnny. You let out an exaggerated whine, spreading your legs further apart before pouting, “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.”

Johnny smirked at you, an all knowing look in his eye as he sat up. He pressed a featherlight kiss to your cheek, and then your neck before tugging your shirt off of your body. 

“You’re lucky I’m so nice, kitten,” He grinned at you, turning the vibrator off  and throwing it from the bed before grazing his teeth over your nipples, “And so impatient.”

He may have called himself impatient, but his touches were light and teasing. Barely there, and by the time you had realized where his fingers were they had moved somewhere else. It was torture. 

“Please, sir,” you begged, groaning as his fingertips grazed your clit for a second. 

“What’s the matter, kitten?” He asked, feigning confusion, “I thought you wanted me to play with you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you argued back, voice getting quieter at the dangerous look Johnny sent you. 

“You aren’t being very nice for someone who is trying to get what they want,” Johnny warned, nipping down the length of your body before placing a bit on the inside of your thigh. He let out a pleased sigh as his eyes met with your dripping sex, placing gentle kisses all around it, but never in the place you wanted it. “And you never answered my question, kitten. How many times have you cum with my name on your lips, hm?”

“I--,” you started, sucking in a breath as he pressed a gentle kiss to your core, “I haven’t been able to since that day. I’ve only cum a handful of times.”

Johnny pulled away from your core, a surprised look crossing his face before he gave you a gentle smile. “Fuck. No wonder why you’re so worked up kitten, god. It’s been almost 3 months and you haven’t cum properly?”

You nodded at him, hands intertwining with his as he worked his mouth back up your body. 

“My poor baby, so needy. A pretty little slut like you can’t go that long without cumming,” Johnny said pressing his lips anywhere they could reach, “Let me take care of that for you. Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you."

You ignored his laugh as you desperately shot up, practically throwing him down on the bed. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t spent more hours than not thinking about the way his tongue had felt pressed against your heat.

You could’ve cried when you finally straddled his head. His large hands pulling you down to settle on his mouth. Surprisingly he got to work right away, licking furiously at your desperate clit, fingers spreading and kneading your ass as you melted for him. You couldn’t help but fall forward as his ministrations continued, hands landing on either side of his torso as your eyes were met with the outline of his cock. 

You whimpered at a particularly powerful lick, hands immediately reaching to untie his sweatpants. You tried to wiggle them off, Johnny lifting his hips to help you. You drooled when you finally saw his cock standing proud and red, aching for some sort of friction. Clearly Johnny had a lot more self-control than you. 

You wasted no time pulling his dick in your mouth, moaning around his length as he kept passionately eating you out. He was acting like he was a man starved, messily licking into you and making the most lewd noises. Not that you were any better, suckling loudly around his length. 

“Such a desperate slut,” Johnny moaned, pulling away from you for a second, “I try giving you a reward and you don’t last a minute before trying to fill one of your holes with my cock.”

You moaned around him, his words causing your pussy to shudder as he slipped a long digit into your folds. His finger, partnered with his tongue was too much. It felt too good. With the weight of Johnny’s cock on your tongue, his finger hitting your sensitive spots and his mouth ravishing your clit, you were fast approaching your high. 

You let him slip out of your mouth, an unashamed moan leaving your lips as you started grinding your hips desperately against his hot tongue. 

“Please, sir,” you moaned, “Please please please let me cum, I’m so close. I’ll do anything. I’ll be good, please just let me cum.”

He sucked your clit harsley before muttering, “Cum.”

You came almost immediately, sheer pleasure rocking through your body as you spasmed in Johnny’s hold. Legs shaking as you gripped onto the bed sheets for any sort of hold. 

You could feel Johnny’s hands rubbing soothing circles across your skin, gently flipping you over so you were laying on the bed. He kissed you gently as you came down from your high, thumb rubbing your hip bone gently until your breathing regulated. 

When your eyes fluttered open you were met with a grinning Johnny, pressing a soft kiss to your nose and cupping your face with both of his hands. 

“Hi,” you giggled, smiling back at him.

“Hi,” he smiled back, “Better?”

You nodded at him, bringing him back down into a kiss, a much needier kiss. When you pulled away, you pouted. 

“What now?” Johnny joked, playfully rolling his eyes at you. 

“You are wearing too many clothes.”

He let out a full laugh then, pecking your lips once more before sitting up and throwing his shirt off. You let your hand run up his abdomen, fingers grazing the well-defined sections of his abs, before reaching his cock. You wrapped your hand tightly around his member, opening your mouth easily to him as he crashed his lips against yours. 

“Color?” he asked, breathing heavily as you continued to pump his length in your hands. 

“Green,” you said, “Fuck, so green. Johnny please fuck me.”

And just like that Johnny snapped into his dom persona, his eyes darkening once again. He pushed your hand away from him, his other hand wrapping around your neck. 

“I thought I told you to call me sir.” He growled, slapping the inside of your thigh before sliding two fingers in your cunt. He started a relentless pace, teeth biting at your lips before kissing you. He squeezed your throat a little tighter, eyes flickering to yours to check for any discomfort. When he didn’t see any he latched his mouth onto you nipple, biting and sucking there as he began scissoring you open. Moans were tumbling out of your mouth, your already sensitive body thrumming with pleasure as he ravished you. 

When he deemed you ready enough he threw your legs over his shoulders, your body pressed together as he bottomed out with a groan. His hair was dangling down and brushing against your body, tickling you slightly as he moved. You were absolutely throbbing around him. The stretch of his cock causing your walls to flutter around him. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, feeling him so deep in your that you could’ve sworn you could see a bulge in your stomach. He pulled out slowly as he felt you relax around him, thrusting back harshly. 

He kept a brutal pace, your body inching up the bed at the power of his thrusts. The two of you were loud, Johnny’s grunts spurring on your moans. You could tell that he was just as worked up as you were, biting and sucking any space of skin he could connect his mouth to. 

“God, your little hole was made for my cock, huh kitten?” Johnny moaned, wrapping his hand around your neck once more, the moans flying out of your mouth praise enough for him to keep going. 

You were being fucked so hard you couldn’t see straight, the breath knocked out of you from both Johnny’s thrusts and his hold around your neck. The lack of oxygen to your brain was creating a delicious fog of pleasure. 

You protested as Johnny pulled out, going silent as he turned you over and harshly slapped your ass. You smiled dumbly as he slid his cock back into you, feeling so happy and full. You had been dreaming about his cock being in you again for months, and you couldn’t be happier that he was currently fucking you dumb with it. 

You couldn’t help but clench your pussy around his cock as he wrapped your hair in his hand and pulled. He groaned at the sensation, keeping your hair in one hand and grabbing your hip with the other.  He was frantic at this point, pulling your hip to meet his thrusts. 

You weren’t going to last. You weren’t going to last with your hair being pulled, and him hitting your spots so powerfully. He knew it too, the way you were clenching around him and cursing were dead giveaways. And he didn’t stop as his thrusts lost their rhythm, simply reaching his hand between your legs and circling your clit with his fingers. 

You took this as permission to cum, probably asking him for permission anyways. You had no idea what words were coming out of your mouth. You knew you were moaning, and shaking and so so close. It wasn’t until you heard the fuck fall from his lips and felt the warmth of his cum filling you that your snapped. Body shaking in pleasure as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

White noise filled your head as you clenched and unclenched around Johnny’s cock. Johnny was breathing just as heavily as you were, his body pressed firmly against your back. He took a few moments to collect himself, before gently pulling out of you and flopping to the side. He pulled you gently to his side, tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear as the two of you lay in silence. 

“We should shower,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. 

“I don’t wanna move,” you groaned, “I don’t think I can move after that.”

Your head wiggled as Johnny’s chest shook with laughter, a foreign feeling filling your stomach as you smiled back at him.  

“Well I will take full responsibility and carry you to the shower myself,” he said, sitting abruptly before pulling you completely in his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his torso as he stood up. 

“Shower or bath?” he asked, setting you on the bathroom counter when he reached your bathroom. 

“Shower,” you decided quickly, pouting your lips for a kiss, which Johnny happily obliged, “Then we can eat dinner faster.”

“My thoughts exactly,  kitten,” he smiled at you, checking the temperature of the water before grabbing both of your hands and leading you under the spray. He got started washing your body, giving your muscles a light massage as he lathered the soap. 

He was taking care of you so well, cleaning every part of your body as gently as he could, pressing kisses anywhere he pleased. You couldn’t help but panic a little bit at the domesticity of it all. Just this morning you were calling him your sworn enemy, and now here you were, being cared for by him. Letting him lather your shampoo and wash your hair. It was almost painful the explosion of butterflies you felt, your heart beating out of your chest as you studied his face. His tongue was poking out slightly, focused on massaging your scalp. He was so damn handsome.

“Quit staring,” he laughed, “I know I'm irresistible but I don’t want you to get shampoo in your eyes.”

“Oh shut up,” you laughed, dumping some shampoo in your hand so that you could wash his hair too. 

He toweled you off when you were done, pecking your lips quickly before heading back to your bedroom and pulling on his sweats. You followed behind him, pulling on some comfy clean clothes and heading into the living room. You watched as the muscles in his back tensed while he was looking for any sort of food, and you laughed when he told you to buy more groceries. 

You had definitely misjudged him, a fact that was clearly evident as you talked over boxes of take out. It turns out one of his grandparents had passed away, which is why he didn’t do any work on his group project, and his mom was struggling financially right now so he moved into this cheap place to send her any leftover money he could. 

“I feel like a dick,” you whined, shoving another piece of chicken into your mouth.

“You didn’t know,” Johnny reminded you, gently rubbing your calf, “Although I like the title girlfriend a lot better than enemy.”

“I’m not saying yes until you take me on a date,” you kicked him gently in the stomach, grinning at his fake hurt expression. 

“We all know I won’t have to wait long,” he laughed, “I’m not the one who had any trouble getting off after the frist time.”

You sat up at this, tickling fingers ready, “You are so annoying, Johnny. Don’t get cocky!” 

You both settled down after calling a truce,a smile ong your lips and Johnny’s hand in yours as you watched some stupid movie. Being with Johnny felt right, it felt good. He was easy to talk to, and could make you laugh so hard ramen came out of your nose. That night, when you fell asleep on the couch and woke up on the bed, you knew exactly who had carried you there. A snoring Johnny beside you with his arm draped over your stomach. Yeah, you had definitely misjudged him. What better way to apologize than by waking him up with your mouth. 

So that's exactly what you did. He woke up pretty quickly, groaning as realized the wet warmth that surrounded his cock. 

“Mmm, good morning to you too,” he joked groggily, running one of his hands through your hair as you continued sucking. 

You watched as his breathing started to escalate, abs tensing as he let out beautiful moans. His eyes were hazy, clearly still sleepy, but they were trained on yours. He pulled you off of his length easily, dragging your face up for a slow but intense kiss. You lifted your butt as he pulled your shorts down, lips never parting. Quiet breathy moans filling your room as he pushed his length slowly into you. It was slow and lazy and perfect. His hands held onto your hips as you rode him. 

“You look beautiful,”he whispered, rubbing one of his hands up and down your waist. 

“You don’t look half-bad yourself,” you joked, hips stuttering at the pleasure. It didn’t take long for the two of you to finish, kissing lazily while you fucked and not stopping after the two of you had finished. 

“Hey Johnny,” you started, pulling away for just a moment, “I really really like you.”

“Hey Yn,” he repeated, kissing your nose, “I really really like you too.”

You watched as his eyes crinkled while he flashed you a smile, and yeah you had a feeling you were fucked.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Rafael Barba / I Want to See You

Summary: the Beard Barba Fic™ - Rafael’s been away in Iowa and he shows you just how much he misses you 

Prompts: “there’s no way I’m gonna let you wear that in public” ‘why not?’ “cause It would be a shame to rip it off in front of a hundred people” + ”you aren’t taking me to bed….ever.” ‘who said it had to be a bed?’

Warnings: E (minors DNI), smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation (m + f), so much dirty talk, use of lingerie, no pronouns (reader has a v), beard kink

Word Count: 2,676

I want to see you. 

That text message arrived at 11:36 PM — right as you walked through the door of your apartment — it had been a difficult week of work, that gave way to a work wrought weekend. You dropped your bag on the entryway table, hanging your coat up, kicking your shoes off, before typing a reply. 

Then you shouldn’t have left for Iowa. 

The reply was almost immediate, your lips curling in a smile —

I haven’t been away so long that NYC has taken away WI-FI and video calling, have I? 

You evaded my statement, counselor, don’t think I’m going to let you get away that easily, you step into your living room, leaning against the lip of an armrest on your couch, I didn’t realize our relationship extended beyond the parameters of when you were in New York. 

This one takes him a moment — and you wonder if you’ve scared him off, but would it be so bad? You didn’t know what this was to begin with. A series of one night stands that blossomed into what — a relationship, friends with benefits — but did friends with benefits spend nights talking about cases, about life, about family? 

You didn’t know. 

But then he responds — It does, when I miss you. 

And you bite back a smile, and that was all the answer you needed for now. 

And then he added — and by the way, it wasn’t a request. I want to see you. 

You snort. Just as bossy as ever — take the prosecutor out of New York, but you can’t take the Ivy League out of him. You open the message, leaving him on read — and just for that — you grabbed your towel from the bedroom, slipping into your bathroom, he would have to wait. 

You strip your clothes off slowly as the shower warms, your phone in the bathroom with you because you couldn’t resist keeping the counselor so close, yet so far. You dare a peek at your lock screen just as you are about to step in — 

Are you teasing me, cariño?

I know you want to just as much as I do. 

And there’s a picture —  you bite your lip, a thick heat settling over you as you open it. Cuffs of his button up are undone sleeves pushed up to his elbow, but that isn’t the only thing unbuttoned — his untucked button down hangs open, dark hairs barely visible leading down to a bulge in his slacks and his belt undone, the metal buckle glinting in the dim light of his bedroom. 

Fuck, he didn’t play fair, did he? 

But then again, when did he? 

The first time he took you was the night that the two of you lost a case, a consolatory drink turned confrontation, ending with you calling him an arrogant bastard — the words spat with the frustration achingly rooted in your chests. 

And then he kissed you — only a moment before parting, his breath sharp as he blinks, before you swallow any excuses on his tongue with your lips. And he melted into your touch, your fingers fisted in his now creased suit coat, before curling around his suspenders. His hand gripped your neck, pulling you closer, all teeth and tongue, sneaking his way into your mouth the very same way he did your heart — at once. 

(Not that you would ever admit it). 

And then another text: are you wet? 

The steam from your hot shower began to cling to the air, and it gave you an idea — why not repay the favor? 

You step into the shower, holding your phone outside the shower head’s radius, the hot water soothing your aching shoulders, and take a photo — and write: 

Is that wet enough for you, counselor? 

And then you shower, smiling to yourself as you do, but the ache in you doesn’t subside — you keep thinking about him, what he would do in this shower with you — how he would press you against the cool tile as he parted your legs with his knee, his thick fingers trailing slowly up your thigh, while his lips re-familiarize themselves with your neck, ghosting over your collarbone, before sucking. You whimper as his fingers would ghost over your slick — just as your fingers did now — and his lips would circle back to your lips just as his name left your lips in a gasp when a finger slips in, as if he was tasting his name on your mouth. 

The first press of his fingers is slow — his thumb avoiding your clit with delicate precision — instead one of his fingers presses, ever present but unmoving, and he would murmur in your ear, “Look at you, you’re dripping and we’ve barely even started,” a sweet kiss to your temple, as a large palm lifts your leg around his waist, just as another finger slips in, “what do you think? Should I make you cum with my fingers or my mouth first?” 

“Raf—” and that’s when his thumb would brush against your clit, and you’re jumping against him, his hardness now against your thigh, “fuck.” 

“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” his voice is low, and his fingers would tilt your head up just as he brings to thrust his fingers — just as you are now — but his fingers would be thicker than yours are, his weight pressed against you deliciously as your hips roll against his fingers, “so good for me,” and you keen at the praise, your back pressed against the cool tile. And his mouth would travel from your lips, trace the curve of your cheek and chin, a kiss between your breasts, down your stomach, and one to your hip. And his breath would warm right where you wanted him, your fingers curling in his wet curls, usually tamed by a comb and gel, but no one got to see Rafael Barba on his knees, but you did — and what a sight it was — especially now. 

Because his face wouldn’t be smooth like before — no, because he’s let himself grow a beard — not the five o’clock shadow that found its way between your legs on a particularly difficult case — no, this was a beard that he’s allowed himself to have now that his services were no longer needed in court so often. A grizzled beard helped him wear away that prestige that is written all over his demeanor when in Iowa, and one that you hoped he would keep — keep long enough to scrape against your skin delightfully, his mouth around your— 

And then your phone begins to ring and buzz — you ignore it, fingers deep, until a nagging morally sound voice in the back of your head reminds you that it could be about a case. You slump against your shower wall, grabbing for your phone, after rinsing your hand and shutting off the water. 

You barely have enough time to pick up before he speaks, “How long are you going to make me wait?” his words are a growl as debauched and dark as you were his sure his eyes were. 

“I was taking a shower,” but you hear him pant, and any shred of teasing wears away, “are you touching yourself for me?” 

He grunts, and you know he is, you can hear him, almost see him — his hand curled around himself, erect and weeping, his eyes squeezed shut while he thrusts into his hand, imagining that it was yours instead. And you wished it was, pressing kisses to his head, thrown back against the headrest, swallowing his moans with your lips. 

“What if I am?” he replies, an expletive leaving his mouth soon after, and you knew he was desperate now, his words all bark and no bite — and you couldn’t wait to hear what other noises he would make. 

“If you are, I may have a present for you,” you step out of the shower carefully, wiping yourself off, wrapping the towel around your waist, and all the while the phone balance between your shoulder and your cheek — and you could hear him, muffled curses between bitten lips, “tell me,” 

“Fuck,” and it’s as if he’s a lit a match, waiting for himself to burn and take you along with him, his voice comes ragged, “I wish this was your hand around me—” he hisses, just as you slip into your bedroom, “Or better yet I wish I could fuck that pretty mouth of yours,” Control was slipping through your fingers, as you whimper at his words, “You would like that wouldn’t you? I bet you’re dripping for me? And that isn’t from the shower, is it?” 

“God, Rafael—” and he moans, softly, but sharp all the same, “you can’t come until I say so,” and you can already hear him begin to protest, “didn’t you want to see me? Because I want to see you — I want to see when you come for me, my name on your lips.” 

And you knew he’s biting his lip at your filthy words, “you have two minutes.” 

And two minute was all you needed, pulling out a small back on top of your dresser drawer — to get dressed. 

You slipped the soft fabric over your shoulders, the silk and chiffon light against your skin, and you stepped into the bottoms, pulling them on. 

And you hear him calling your name, just as your tousle your hair, barely damp from your shower, and you grab your phone before slipping into your bed, “I’m ready,” and he’s already requesting to switch to video. 

“Let me see you,” he’s murmuring just as you connect, and then he sees you — wrapped up in red silk, a little thing you picked up for yourself (or for his next visit — whenever that would be). His eyes can’t seem to get enough of you, as he quietly groans, “let me see the rest,” And you nod, panning the phone’s camera downward, and he sees that your fingers have already slipped inside, a dark patch already visible, “Is all that for me, sweetheart?” 

You slip a finger inside and he clicks his tongue, “I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” and you know that voice — it’s the same one he uses in interrogations, the same one he uses when he’s in court doing his cross, the same one he uses when he has you under him, spread out on his bed — “I thought this was for me.” 

“It is for you, sir,” and you hear him take a sharp breath, and you know he’s touching himself again, “I’ll wear it for you again when you come back to see me, after arraignments like last time, right under my clothes in court—” 

“There’s no way I’m letting you wear that in public,” and you’re circling your clit now, pleasure thrumming through your body. 

“Why not?”

“Because,” he leans back, a grin on his lips, “it would be a shame to rip it off in front of an entire courtroom, wouldn’t it?” 

“Raf—” you whine. 

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, “come on, pull it off for me, show me how wet you are, let me see your pretty pussy—” And you’re eager to oblige, slipping the silky fabric down your thighs, and he groans at the sight, “Tell me what you would want me to do,” 

“Rafael,” there’s an edge of desperation in your voice, one you knew he wanted and would push much further, “please—” 

“Fuck—” it’s a guttural noise ripped from his throat that makes you only push your fingers deeper, a third finger sinking in, “I’d do it much slower than that, mi amor, circle your pussy slowly, until you’re begging me to touch you,” and you could almost feel his warm breath against you, your fingers curled in his hair, “suck a pretty bruise against your thigh because you’re mine,” and he’d soothe it with his tongue, “and then fuck you with my fingers — my fingers stretching your walls better than you could.” And they would, “I would fill you, until you’re dripping—” arousal claws through you, dragging, just as his gravelled voice did, “fuck yourself, just like I would.” 

“Don’t be like that, mi amor, use that tongue that you’re so good using,” and you would use it well when the bastard was with you in person — wrapped around his cock, teasing his slit, enjoying the weight of him against your tongue, his thick fingers fisted in your hair — “tell me.

“I want you to taste me,” your pussy twitches — his tongue drawing a thick stripe up the middle of your pussy, “feel your fingers digging into my thighs, your beard dragging against me, burning against my skin as your mouth wrapped around my clit.”

And you’re arching against the bed, doing as he says, and you can almost see him grin, “You teased me so much, made me wait, but you want this just as much as I do, don’t you, cariño?” 

“I—” you’re keening, the throbbing between your legs unbearable, your walls beginning to flutter against your fingers. 

“Tell me,” 

“Fuck, Rafael, I-I want to cum on your face,” and he’s growling — you can almost see his lips and beard wet and shiny with your cum, “before you drag yourself to kiss me,” and you would taste yourself on his lips, your fingernails digging crests into his back, his body pressed against yours, the head of his cock brushing your lips, “I want you to fuck me.” 

He gives a low groan, “I need to see your face, I—”  

And you’re fumbling with your phone, trying to flip the fucking camera into selfie view, and just as you begin to crest, you see him — his head lolled back, mouth hanging open, his eyes growing dark as he sees you. 

“I would fuck you, sink every inch into you,” and you press yourself into the mattress, as if you can feel him on top of you, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts into you, ���until your pussy can’t forget what I feel like— so fucking tight for me—” 

A hurried swear rips from his throat, and you know he’s getting close, his mouth hanging open, his eyes fluttering, the squelching sounds of his hand dragging over his cock. And you squeeze your eyes imagining that he was groaning in your ear, and your fingers were his cock now, splitting you smoothly, his balls slapping against your clit. You would feel every vein, every inch— 

“Rafael— I’m so—” 

“Say my name,” he’s groaning, “say my name when you cum for me.” 

Your back arches as you reach that peak, and you do as he says, his name on your tongue as you cum, your walls fluttering around your fingers, his moans a delicious symphony as you come down from your high. Your fingers still, just as you hear him cum, his name wrapped around your name beautifully. 

You’re laying in the bliss, the phone slipping onto your chest a moment, until you’re rolling over on your bed, laying against your pillow, “Hi,” 

He snorts, “I think we’re well past that now,” and he sighs, cheeks flushed, “you know I might be getting back to New York soon,” 

“Really?” and he’s already grinning at your eagerness, as you tamp down your excitement, “Why’s that?” 

“Well the election fraud work I’m doing down here is wrapping up, and I figure the work I’m doing down here now are things I can do in New York,” and his lips curl, “plus, I think I just found a good reason to make a comeback.” 

“Just found?” you scoff, “maybe I won’t let you take me to bed.” 

And he only grins, “Who said it had to be a bed?” 

~~~

Tags: @qvid-pro-qvo, @locke-writes , @teamsladsandgents, @laneygthememequeen, @bisexual-dreamer02, @averyhotchner, @murf992, @mrs-marcus-moreno, @mrsrafaelbarba, @thetruebornwildchild, @garturbo, @simxican, @serendiptious-esparza, @evrendebirben, @rawrlittlepanda-95, @that-one-failure, @the-baby-bookworm, @a-louise-juliane, @carrot-cheese-cake, @madamsnape921, @evee87, @crazyshannonigans

[theonewiththefanfics]

Because Hearts Get Broken - I Know That You’re Scared (Part 2/3)

Continuation of ‘Because Hearts Get Broken’ - see my masterlist for it :)

Synopsis: She’s trying to move on. He’s still hoping for a chance

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angsty, bruh, but with a sprinkle of fluff and a hopeful (??) ending

Warnings: swearing, emotionally distant mindset... can’t think of anything else, really. 

Word count: 3656

Heartbreak isn’t loud. Y/N doesn’t even know if it had a sound what it would be like. Like glass shattering against the ground? Or maybe like a book being ripped and shredded apart, memories of time spent together ruined. Or maybe it'd like the crackle of a fire, as it slowly but surely crept up and turned everything into charred remains before it became nothing but ash and was carried away by the winds.

        No one in her family talked about feelings. If they did all they received back was ‘suck it up. That’s life’. After that, it was time to move on. So, when she got together with probably the most open-hearted person in the world, it was almost laughable.

        Y/N had always been the friend others went for advice, relationship or not, but she herself never asked for one, simply because she didn’t wanna bother anyone. Not that she thought the others were bothers. It’s just having grown up in a household where emotions were basically suppressed, opening up was quite impossible. 

       Then came Harry. Perfect, impossible, loving, sweet, kind, ridiculously open Harry. God, she just wanted to punch him because no one should be that nice. 

        January 2nd, 2020 he’d called her up, having gotten Y/N’s number from Sarah (after ages of pleading, because as much as Sarah sometimes couldn’t handle drunk Y/N, she’d defend and protect her until the very last breath), and they set up a coffee date.

        Slowly but surely, they spent more and more time together and seeing as her job had her based in LA for a while, visiting Harry was no problem. Then the pandemic hit, and on March 18th the whole stay-at-home order was issued in California. 

        Y/N was in a panic. She was meant to leave LA in ten days, and the hotel her company was paying for had been paid until the 28th. With all flights getting rapidly cancelled, she was scrambling to get one, but even her firm was unable to get her a seat. That’s when Harry had called up, his tone a worried, urgent mess as to if Y/N was alright and what her plans were.

        Of course, him being him, he immediately offered her a place to stay.

        “We don’t even need to stay in the same room, there’s like five other guest rooms you can take up,” he tried to joke, and ease her tension.

        “Fuck, Harry, just rub it in how rich you are.” Y/N cackled, and when she heard him laugh in the background, her heart did that stupid fluttery thing she’d grown so used to. 

        It took a little persuasion from Harry’s side, and reassurance at least seven more times, that Y/N wouldn’t be intruding on his space, and he was more than happy to spend the quarantine with someone else, instead of being alone, and that in no way her taking over a room or two would limit him and his own artistic endeavours. So, apprehensively Y/N packed her suitcases, grabbed an uber, wearing a mask the whole time, and drove to Harry’s place.  

When Y/N saw the gated community and the palace he was living in, the inside of her cheek was practically bitten in half. They’d barely been together for three months, and now she was basically moving in with him, but given how it was either live with Harry in a fucking mansion or walk across the country to New York, she took the first option. 

        As much as Harry loved on her, pretty much shagging her brains out every possible second, and loving on her until her cheeks hurt from smiling, the anxiety about the whole situation never left.

Harry was worried about his mom and sister, Y/N was scared of what was happening in New York. So, when the state boarders opened, immediately, although reluctantly, she flew back to her apartment and her dying plants, but never forgetting to FaceTime with Harry. But they couldn't stay away long from one another.

        Which is why they decided, given how she was able to work from home now, and Harry could do so as well, they’d fly over to one another every two weeks, quarantine together for the next two weeks, and then fly to the other place. Her boss actually loved the idea that Y/N was so willing to go back and forth between the two cities, so all her flights were written off as business expenses, not to mention when she said she wouldn’t need a hotel, he was more than thrilled to let her be in LA whenever she wanted, as long as her work got done.

        It seemed funny to her now, that before Y/N couldn’t wait to get back to the sunny state of Cali. Now when she had to fly over (which was just a couple of times since the breakup), going through JFK security made her sweat, and landing was a vomit-inducing action. And the last time she’d gotten back to the home-base state, she’d actually thrown up, Harry’s last words ringing in her ears.

        It’d been three weeks since Sarah’s New Year party, and three weeks since she’d spoken to him although he still kept calling. Every morning she’d wake up to a couple of notifications of missed calls, and each time she’d listen to the messages; it was all the same – I miss your voice. And every time she’d listen to it, her thoughts were exactly the same. You could say it was almost pathetic as to how many times she’d listened to his albums, just to hear him sing. Almost like he used to do right before she fell asleep.

        But Y/N had no one else but herself to blame for it. She’d been the one to call it quits, she’d been the one who walked out of his apartment, and the one who decided she wouldn’t fight. 

        Now, she was sat by her small magazine table, documents spread out in front of her as if a tornado had rolled through, while an apple and cinnamon candle spread its delicious scent through the air. 

        Y/N would only admit it once because, well, the proof was all over the apartment, but she was very lazy when it came to taking away the Christmas décor. It made her feel warm and comfy. And it reminded her of Harry. How when she’d woken up after their first date, already in the new year, he still had colourful fairy lights strung across the curtain rods, giving everything a soft, cosy glow. 

        He’d also been the one who convinced her that a real Christmas tree was so much better than a plastic one. 

        “Yes, it’s a hassle,” he’d said through slurred words as they’d slinked away from the partying crowd after the countdown was done, and each of them had taken three shots of vodka. “But it’s so worth it. Smells like a fucking forest in your room. Like proper Christmas!”

        And although she’d spent this holiday season alone, Harry had been right. Just like he’d been right about Y/N.

        She tapped her pen against the glass surface and readjusted her position on the floor.

        “This is the periodic table, noble gases stable, halogens and alkali react aggressively,” Y/N hummed as she highlighted the incorrect parts of the paper in front of her. “Each period will see new outer shells, while electrons are added moving to the right.”

        Just as she was about to start off the second verse, her doorbell rang, and her stomach gurgled in response.

        “Ugh,” she groaned to herself. “Pasta come to fuckin’ mama.”

        But when she opened the door, she wasn’t greeted by the Uber Eats delivery man.

        “Harry.”

        Y/N was taken aback. She didn’t expect him to visit her, especially not so soon and especially to fly out to New York (as much as he was most likely there to do other stuff as well, her gut told her he was there for her). 

Sure, she hoped that one day they could be friends, if not acquaintances, he was too important of a person for her to lose completely from her life, but that was looking like five years into the future.

        “I bring gifts.” He raised his hand where her boxes of food hung in a paper bag. “Can I?”

        “Uh, yeah, of course!” She shook her head to clear it from the shock and allowed Harry to enter into the warmth of her apartment and escape from the cold January air.

        “I was on my way up when the delivery man came in, and I recognised by the boxes it was yours.” The smirk on Harry’s face was something Y/N loved to see, but usually, she liked to also wipe it away. Preferably with her own lips. 

        She let out a small scoff, not waiting to see if he followed inside, as she scurried to the adjacent kitchen and grabbed two plates, while he opened up the white cardboard containers and allowed the delicious smell of spaghetti Bolognese as well as a carbonara waft into the air. Y/N had wanted to eat the latter at some point during the night when the munchies hit, but she supposed Harry was probably hungry as well. “Maybe there’s someone else here, who likes Italian.”

        “Probably, but only you would order from the shittiest Italian restaurant just because they have pesto and parmesan bread.”

        “Hey!” She slapped his arm. “They’re not shit. They provide me with everything I need – calories, carbs and bread.”

        “What more does a person need?”

        “Exactly!”

        Both of them let out small chuckles and then settled down on her couch to dig into the meal. They ate in silence, and despite Y/N’s initial shock, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, they were sitting pretty much shoulder to shoulder, as she watched Harry re-read the spread-out articles on the table and use her marker to tick some stuff that could use re-wording. He had a knack for words, after all.

        “I uh…” He wiped his mouth with one of the napkins provided by the diner before clasping his fingers together and looking at the woman sitting next to him, as she slowly set her empty plate on the small cupboard beside the sofa. “I was hoping we could talk.”

        Y/N hung her head. She should’ve known he wasn’t here to just check-in and have some dinner. “We already did. Twice might I add. What makes you think this time the ending will be different?”

        “Third times the charm?” Harry let out a little laugh, and she rolled her eyes. “Look, I didn’t wanna leave everything the way I did. I – I said some pretty shit things.”

        Y/N fiddled with her thumb. ‘I had,’ Harry’s words echoed in her head. ‘Only she didn’t trust that I loved her the same.’ “Nothing that was untrue though.”

        “See, that’s where I think both of us are wrong.”

        That was not what Y/N thought this conversation would be whatsoever.

        “I – “ He cleared his throat. “I know I said I didn’t think you trusted me that I loved you enough. I think you know I did – do.”

        If Y/N still had any food in her mouth she would’ve choked on it, as she bit back the rising lump in her throat, but instead of interrupting him, she let Harry continue. “And honestly, it’s not your fault that it fell apart, ‘s my fault too. I pushed you to do something, you didn’t want to, weren’t comfortable with, when you told me not to… just because I wanted to feel important, ‘nd because I wanted to get a role in your life you weren’t ready for yet. And I’m sorry for doing that. I should’ve never forced you.”

        “Harry…” Y/N was at a complete loss. “I – I don’t really know what to say.”

        He took her left hand in his and clasped it, finally able to properly say what'd been eating away at him. “During the New Year party, I didn’t go about it the right way. I was just – I was just still so hurt, and I wanted you to hurt the same because… it didn’t seem like you cared at all, which I know you did… I know you loved me, and…” He took in a deep breath. “I hope that you still do. At least enough to give us another chance. We can take it at your pace,” he instantly added, knowing how she’d react, expecting the sigh and the almost tired and resigned ‘Harry’ that escaped her lips. But he’d say everything on his mind. “You can take how long you need to feel like you can trust me with what’s bothering you.”

        “Harry,” she repeated, but it didn’t seem like he was about to stop.

        “But I think we can do it, and we can do it right this time. We know where we stand, we won't make the same mistakes.”

        Y/N’s hand came to rest against his cheek, and he practically melted, engulfing her palm with his as to not let her touch leave his skin for even a second. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

        “Look, I know, you’re scared, and the thing is, so am I. I don’t want it to end like that or end. Period. But I do want to try again.”

        And if nothing but to humour him Y/N asked, “And if it does end the same way?”

        “It won’t.” He was so sure of it, she had to laugh.

        “Harry, the big difference between us is – you like to talk about your feelings. You like to go through them and stuff. I don’t. I feel… icky when I even think about talking to someone of what I feel. We’re just too opposite.”

        “Opposites attract.”

        “No,” she pointed a finger at him, stifling her laughter, though Harry seemed not to be hiding his smile. “Do not use science against me.”

        He raised his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not, I’m just supporting my point with facts. Scientific facts, that you can’t argue against.”

        “I mean…” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno… Maybe it was a good thing we ended it when we did. It was ten months – almost ten – amazing months, but… can you imagine if we’d gone so far as to think about moving in together, and then it fell apart? That would’ve been a whole different kind of a mess.”

        “Do you love me?”

        Y/N sighed, resting her cheek against the couch while she smoothed away his brown locks from his face. “Of course, I do. Don’t think there will be a time in my life I don’t.”

        “Then that’s all I need.”

         “Is that really enough for you?”

        “Yes.”

        And there was no lie in that single word. Did he want for Y/N to feel comfortable enough with him that she talked about whatever concerned her, however small? Of course. But he also wanted her to be comfortable enough to be herself. If that meant her keeping things to herself, and trusting Harry to support her decisions, it’d be enough.

        Her Y/E/C eyes hadn’t left his green ones, and they only widened as he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to hers.

        “Haz…”

        Fuck, how he’d missed her calling him that. It wasn’t an exclusive nickname by any means, but when it came from Y/N’s mouth, it was the sweetest sound in the universe.

        He was her Haz when he broke a plate, he was her Haz when she threw her head back as pleasure exploded through her body, he was her Haz when he took her hand in his to quell her anxiety, and he was her Haz when he gave her tissues as they watched a movie, and she couldn’t help but cry each time a dog or cat died (or a dragon, but he was a sobbing mess as well because ‘Dragonheart’ messed with them both).

        His lips were so close, and just as they skimmed over her own, Y/N’s phone rang making her physically spring back, eyes like saucers.

        “S – Sorry,” she stammered, scrambling to find the annoying device between the cushions. It was Sarah’s name that lit up her screen.

        “Hey, what’s up?” Y/N started, voice trembling and shaky. God, when had she suddenly gone so out of breath? And why was her head so dizzy, as if she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster?

        “Yeah, he’s here,” she replied, eyeing Harry. “Yeah, just a sec,” and Y/N handed him her phone with a quiet ‘why’s your phone always dead?’

        ‘Didn’t know it died’, he said, but that was untrue. He’d turned it off so this sort of a situation wouldn’t happen; so a call or text wouldn’t interrupt him at the most critical moment. He had to give the universe a proper talk once he was done.

        “ ‘Ello?” 

        Seconds of silence passed, and Y/N didn’t like how weird it was, so she took the empty plates and put them in the sink to soak.

        “Now?”

        She could see the frustration rise in Harry as his forehead creased, and he let a hand rake through his hair. “Fuck’s sake… yeah, I’ll be there in ten. ‘S alright,” he sighed. “Not your fault Sarah. Tell Jeff not to worry, and that I’m not dead.”

        With that, he pressed the red button and ended the call, drumming his fingers against the screen. God, he really didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not after he’d been so close.

        “Uh, work?” Y/N asked, arms crossed in front of her as if she was protecting herself from the answer. 

        “Yeah, sorry. I uh a meeting from tomorrow got rescheduled for tonight, like right now because there was some sort of an emergency from the label’s side."

        “ ‘S alright, I get it. Showbiz never stops.” Y/N motioned to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

        There were a couple of times in his life Harry wanted to give himself a beating. Once when he was six and Gemma had told on him after he’d broken a favourite vase of their mothers, he decided to get revenge and destroy her favourite plushie. He’d never forget the tears Gem had cried, and how absolutely heartbroken she’d sounded. He vowed although he was the little brother, to never ever let anyone hurt her like that, and if someone did, they’d meet their maker sooner rather than later.

        The second time was when he was still a teenager, One Direction on the rise, and it had gotten to his head just a little bit more than it should’ve. He’d gotten really messed up at a party (which Harry shouldn’t have even been at). The disappointment on his mother’s face as she scolded him through FaceTime was gut-wrenching enough to make him promise to always know the limit.

        And Harry guessed this was the third time.

        He could’ve said no to the meeting. Jeff was there and so was Sarah and Mitch. The three of them could handle it for him. It’s not like he would mind much whatever they came up with if it had given him the time to settle things with Y/N. 

        “It was great to see you, Harry.” She brought him out from the thoughts as she unlocked the door and opened it for him, bringing her jumper sleeves over her palms to hide from the cold outside air. “Really. I – I missed you, and honestly, I’m glad we got to talk. I uh well, take care. And say hi to Sarah from me please.”

        “I – “ he took hold of Y/N’s wrist before she could turn away. “I’m holding a small concert in a week. Here in uh in New York. It’s for charity… I want you to come.”

        “I umm… I’ll have to check if I’m free, but yeah. I will. Thank you.”

        “ ‘S no problem… Sarah missed you like crazy now that you’re not in LA as often… ‘n yeah. Anyway. I’ll put your name on the guest list, so just bring some ID, and they’ll let you backstage.”

        “Okay,” she whispered and gave him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll really try to come.”

        “Yeah.”

        And he was going to go without doing anything else. Harry truly was. But as he released her wrist, going to the stairs, he gave Y/N one last glance back, and it was like his feet had a mind of their own, as they carried him back to where she stood by the still open door, grabbed her by the waist and pressed his lips to hers. 

        He expected Y/N to push him away, but to his very huge delight, she didn’t. Instead, her fingers wove through his hair and her legs almost on instinct rose so he could take her by the thighs, wrap them around his middle and press her against the doorway. 

        The groan that Harry swallowed from Y/N only ignited the fire that’d been burning ever since he met her, but it wasn’t the destructive kind, like the ones that leave nothing but charcoal behind. It was warm. Safe. Like the light of a fairy light. Like the embrace of home.

        “Come to the show,” he muttered against Y/N’s lips, as they broke apart, and he set her down on the ground, not letting go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. “I’ll wait for you.”

        With that, he left because if he didn’t, he’d make sure Y/N would be unable to walk for a week.

        And Y/N watched him retreat while her brain fought with her heart.

        What was it he’d sung in ‘Golden’, as he’d twirled her in the sea of bodies and glitter a little bit more than a year ago? ‘Loving is the antidote?’ 

        Maybe love was the antidote to her fear.

        She closed the door.

        And smiled.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I’ve been listening to ‘Fine Line’, ‘The Periodic Table Song’, ‘Welcome to the Christmas Parade’ (Welcome to the Black Parade mix with All I Want For Christmas) and ‘Rasputin’ Boney M remix exclusively... I feel like a complete crackhead... :D

Decided to tag also those who wanted a part 2 but didn’t necessarily ask to be tagged :)

P.S. I guess there will be a part 3???

P.S.S. if you wanna be added to a tag list drop me a message :)

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It / Rewrite

Right, so fix-its aren’t so much my jam, but there is this one weird, weird, weird thing that I’ve (so far) been unable to meta into any sort of sense. Namely, Mickey looking like that in season 11 while apparently not working out. It’s just… uh… he… what? At one point I hypothesized that he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider or the like, leaving him magically super buff, and to be honest, that’s still the most reasonable explanation I can think of, soooo…

Today I'm back at my nonsense to bring you, everyone and especially our dear @gallavichthings, 2,711 Very Serious words about Mickey being a secret superhero. Well. Except for the hero bit.

Read it below or on AO3.

---

In Which Mickey Milkovich Does Not Save the World

Afterwards, he would always refer to it as the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell, but the truth is that Mickey never saw the thing that got him.

He was going about his business (namely poking around the Gallagher basement for any forgotten shit he could sell for beer money now that all the cash from the wedding had been surreptitiously replaced with I.O.U:s) when he felt a sudden, sharp pain just above his ankle. Cursing up a storm, he desperately waved his foot around and lost his balance and stumbled straight into one of the many piles of boxes that littered the basement. By the time he was back on his feet whatever creature that had dug its nasty little teeth/pincers/claws into his tender flesh had scurried off, leaving Mickey with a throbbing ache and a halfway impressive puncture wound on his left leg.

Muttering darkly about fucking Gallaghers being so used Frank they didn’t know how to keep goddamned monster vermin out of their shitty house Mickey limped up the stairs to pour some Jamison on the wound, and then pour some down his throat because he had the bottle out already so he might as well. He borrowed one of Franny’s colourful pirate-patterned band-aids, and when his nosy as fuck ex-EMT of a husband asked about it later that evening Mickey said he’d dropped a can on his foot, it’s just a scratch, man, no you don’t need to take a look at it, just put your fingers back in my ass, please.

Mickey didn’t make a habit of lying to Ian, but he figured that telling the truth would lead to all sorts of questions about why he was in the basement and having to come up with plausible explanation for that when he should just be focusing on getting railed wasn’t part of his plans for the evening. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian, who’d been getting so worked up over money lately, to distract him with that sort of unimportant stuff while they were banging. Mickey was a considerate spouse.

Thankfully, Ian dropped the subject and proceeded to do his husbandly duty. Mickey went to sleep deeply satisfied.

He was almost as satisfied the next morning when he woke up to realize that the pain in his leg was gone, as were all traces of the wound itself. Mickey had always healed pretty fast, but this was quick enough to have him questioning whether or not he’d really been bitten/stung/whatever at all. Maybe he’d had more beers than he thought and imagined the whole thing… ?

It didn’t really matter, and if that had been the whole of it Mickey was likely to soon have forgotten all about the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell. However, in the next few weeks he started noticing stuff, weird stuff. For instance, it wasn’t just the (possibly imagined) bite/sting that healed far more quickly than normal; it was all the little cuts and scrapes he tended to acquire. A big bruise from running into the table while playing with Franny; faded to nothing the next morning. A cut from the razor; gone within the hour. For the first time he could remember, Mickey looked at his naked body in the mirror and saw not one single wound (though there were still scars aplenty). It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but it was weird.

Then there was that thing with his muscles. Mickey had been in decent shape for most of his life and whenever he got locked up for extended periods of time he made a habit of hitting the gym on the regular. Really wasn’t much else to do in the joint, and having a decent bulk reminded the other inmates that you weren’t someone they could push around; letting people know that you could beat the shit out of them often meant you didn’t have to actually do it, which saved everyone a lot of time and energy and trips to the prison quack. But on the outside, exercise wasn’t very high on Mickey’s list of priorities, meaning he tended to slim down a bit after a while in freedom.

Not now, though. Almost a year after being out of prison, and he was still as built as ever; if anything he seemed to be developing more muscles, in spite rarely engaging in anything more taxing than vigorous fucking. (Okay, so there was a lot of vigorous fucking, but still. If anyone ought to be building their biceps from the sex they were having, it should be Ian.)

Mickey didn’t mind being inexplicably ripped, though. He felt great, looked great – and Ian seemed to be pretty into it, too. Then again, Ian seemed to be pretty into Mickey whether he wore dirty clothes, sported a beard, sported a dress, or hadn’t showered in a week, so maybe that wasn’t saying a lot.

But even given all that, maybe Mickey still wouldn’t have thought too much about it (he was, after all, very busy being on his honeymoon, which required lots of determined sleep-ins, dedicated beer-drinking, and – obviously – lots and lots of banging) if there hadn’t one day come a knock on the front door. At first he ignored itm in the hopes that someone else would get it, but when it became apparent that a, he was alone in the house, and b, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up anytime soon, he grabbed the family baseball bat (even big soft ass Larry would react to Mickey opening the door with an extremely illegal gun in hand) and went to answer the insistent knocking.

Outside stood two women, looking an unsettling mix of sober and apprehensive and eager. One of them reminded him vaguely of Angie Zago; the other was taller and darker and quite possibly brooding.

“Can I help you?” he demanded, not quite as rudely as he might have. He didn’t think they were social workers, but one never knew; they’d been checking up on Debbie and Franny ever since Debbie pleaded guilty to statutory rape.

“Mr. Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?” Not-Angie inquired in a polite sort of tremble. 

“Who’s asking?” Mickey demanded, feeling a little thrown by the use of his full name. The only people who pulled that out was law enforcement, and neither of these ladies had that feel about them. Especially since they seemed to be… excited to meet him, which wasn’t a reaction Mickey was used to getting. Particularly not from ladies looking like they ought to be out collecting for the fucking Red Cross.

They better not be asking for donations for the Red Cross.

“I’m Tania and this is Dreamweaver,” Not-Angie said. “Can we come in? It’s really best if we talk in private.”

Mickey didn’t move. “Dreamweaver? You kick your mama too many times in the kidneys before you were born or something?”

The women glanced uncertainly at each other. “Mr. Milkovich,” the one improbably called Dreamweaver began, but Mickey cut her off:

“You with the police?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, we— “

“You here to give me money?”

“No, you see, it’s— “

“Okay, thank you, bye.” But as he moved to close the door, Tania – displaying more spunk than he’d have given her credit for – took a step forward and blocked the entrance.

“Have you been experiencing any strange body phenomena lately, Mr. Milkovich?” she blurted. “Wounds healing very quickly, perhaps, or increased muscle mass?”

Mickey stilled, eyes darting between the two women. Small, small smiles on their faces now, as if they knew they had him. There was a hint of hunger to those smiles, making Mickey feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The urge to push Tania back and slam the door shut was strong, but…

“Fine,” he said at long last. “Come on in.”

They better not be fucking cannibals either.

---

They called themselves The Guardians, and they wanted him to save the world.

Mickey asked what numbers they were talking and, after getting bored of their uncomprehending stares, clarified: “How much is it gonna pay? What’s my cut?”

Dreamweaver frowned. “You mean… money? As in a… salary?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s my salary?”

“Mr. Milkovich, saving the world is a higher calling and a duty, it’s not something that– “

“Uh-huh. So, just to be clear, you’re not gonna pay me?”

They weren’t. Mickey laughed in their faces, stood from the couch, and told them bye and good luck with that and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

They reasoned with him. They pleaded. They explained, again and again, that after the evil society USCH destroyed The Guardian’s headquarters in a devastating attack, the two of them–and Mickey–was the only thing standing between the world and utter destruction. Surely, he must understand that it was nothing less than Fate that had brought the one remaining Bestower Bot into the Gallagher basement and his path? Admittedly, injecting Mickey with the bio enhancer might have been the result of a malfunction – Tania and Dreamweaver had found the bot dead down the street a couple of nights ago – but didn’t he see that he had been called to serve as a warrior in the fight against evil?

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mickey told them, and then he picked up the bat and waved it around until they took the hint and left.

When Ian returned home a few hours later, Mickey carefully didn’t mention the curious visit or any of what Tania and Dreamweaver had told him. Ian was pretty into saving people and had all these lame ideas about service and honor, and Mickey found it more likely than not that his husband would both be upset that Mickey, rather than Ian himself, had been called as a warrior (it’d be Lip and West Point all over again, Mickey just knew it), and demand that Mickey answer the call and run off like some loon to get himself killed by evil technomancers.

Mickey didn’t particularly feel like dying and he didn’t like the idea of hurting his husband’s feelings either, so he kept his mouth shut and skillfully derailed all of Ian’s attempts at asking about his day by giving him a blow job, teasing him about being a grunt, and allowing himself to be wrestled to the floor when Ian decided he’d had enough of teasing. It was a good evening.

As he lay in bed that night, back against Ian’s chest and with those strong arms wrapped around him, Mickey wondered if it would be worth risking Ian’s reaction by going public. Okay, Tania and Dreamweaver had mentioned how he’d probably gotten a pretty small dose of the bio-whatever-the-fuck, lending him nothing more exciting than enduring muscle mass and enhanced healing, but that should probably be enough to turn him into a cut above the rest, right? He could hire himself out to the highest bidder and make a fortune doing private security or collections or stuff like that. Fuck, he’d even consider taking on jobs for The Guardians, if they just agreed to pay him.

It was a fun thought to play with, but in the end a long life in the shadows made Mickey wary of putting himself out there like that. Besides, he’d seen enough movies to know that it’d probably wouldn’t be long before he mysteriously disappeared to some secret government facility to be experimented on. He’d had enough of the state’s hospitality to last him a lifetime, so thanks, but no fucking thanks.

And that could have been it. Should have been it, but of course Tania and Dreamweaver wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They started showing up at the Gallagher house at all hours, whenever they knew they could get Mickey alone. They accosted him on the way to the Alibi, they sat down next to him on the L, and they left him pictures of puppies with little notes saying stuff like “Only YOU can SAVE him from BURNING. Have a HEART”.

It was exhausting. Fearing the retribution of the cartel hadn’t anything on fearing seeing Tania and Dreamweaver’s disappointed-yet-still-somehow-hopeful-and-terribly-determined faces appear in a crowd, or round a corner, or on the porch when he went out for his evening smoke.

Mickey began to lose sleep. He’d spend the nights tossing and turning, which led to him staying in bed half the day to catch up on much needed rest, and he was often so tired he couldn’t bring himself to put on proper clothes or go outside the door the whole day. 

Ian was on his ass about getting a job; he didn’t get that Mickey had a job, and that job was not getting lured into sacrificing his life for the greater good. If Ian didn’t like the prospects of being a prison widow, how offensive wouldn’t he find the prospect of being an actual widower, after his husband got blown to bits by some big bad villain?

It got to the point of Ian initiating a sex strike to force Mickey to get “a real job”, which struck Mickey as really fucking unfair, considering how all he was trying to do was make sure Ian even had a husband to refuse to fuck.

Enough was enough. Something had to be done. Fortunately for Mickey – and unfortunately for Tania and Dreamweaver – Mickey had a guy for everything. As annoying as The Guardians were, Mickey didn’t have the heart to see them killed, but he figured that having them kidnapped and shipped off to some sweatshop on the other side of the world would serve the same purpose. He felt a little bad about it, sure, but he had given them plenty of chances to fuck off. Not his fault they couldn’t respect a fucking boundary.

Mickey called Johnny, told him the score, and a few night later Johnny called Mickey to tell him it was done.

It was done. Over. Mickey would finally be able go about his life in peace again, giving all his attention to his husband and doing his outmost to make him the happiest man alive every single day, even when Ian was annoying as hell and started asking pointless fucking questions about how Mickey was in such great shape even though he never did as much as one single curl up.

I see. So… you’re telling me that you have secret superpowers.

Yeah. Except, not actually secret anymore. ‘Cause, you know, you told me we shouldn’t have secrets.

… yeah, that was three months ago.

Guess it must have slipped my mind, huh.

Must have. But let me get this straight: you couldn’t get a real job because you were busy dodging secret agents, and your muscles are the result of you getting bitten by some magic robot—

Radioactive motherfucker bug from hell.

—and not you sneaking down to the basement to do weights and cardio almost every day?

… oh.

Yeah, oh. Carl told me about it, asshole. He noticed you using some of the stuff down there. Don’t get why you’d wanna keep that a secret though?

…

Mick. We have to be honest with each other, remember?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.

Okay.

Guess the first time was back when you had that dip a couple of months after the wedding. Few times after that, if we had a fight or whatever and I needed to let off some steam. Then you started working and sometimes I got bored watching TV all day but you were all mopey about your shitty job and me not having any and you have this thing about your body—

I don’t have a thing about my body.

­—so I didn’t really wanna rub your face in me having all that time to work out when you could barely squeeze in dozen push-ups in the evening. And I guess I didn’t really want anyone to know that I… cared, or whatever.

Cared? About what? Being healthy? Looking good? Being strong?

Whatever, man, I told I don’t fucking know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it was a radioactive motherfucker bug from hell that did it.

Of course it was. Come here. Show me what that bio enhanced body of yours can do.

---

Ahahahahahaha, would you look at that. I tried to meta it anyway. 😭😭😭

You might reasonably ask about Mickey’s visit to Kev Fit – how does that fit? WELL, I rather imagine that whatever Mickey does in that basement is enough to keep him fit but still not SUPER hardcore? So when he starts worrying about Ian thinking him weaker than, he decides to take it up a notch and do it properly in a real(ish) gym? And his comment about “not remembering how much working out sucks” is part of the whole “not wanting anyone to know this is something I care to do on the regular”… Yeah, it’s pretty weak. All in all, I’d say the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell is still our best bet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is probably the last time I have one of them tell the other a story this week, but I make no promises. These little ficlets don’t tend to go as planned. (Ha! She said, as if there was a plan to begin with. Oh, well. I guess it’s working out so far.)

[seokustic]

➝ three months into working for min&kim, coming across the forged company audit is the last thing you’d want in your plate. and min yoongi isn’t convinced that you’d keep your mouth shut.

➝ yandere!ceo!yoongi x secretary!reader

➝ 2 242 words

➝ warnings: dub-con, blackmail, coercion, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome

➝ author’s note: read the warnings. don’t proceed if those elements make you uncomfortable.

―

“please, i won’t tell anyone,” you can taste the fear on your tongue as you gaze into yoongi’s unbending eyes.

“i understand i’m not in any position to make demands but please let me go home and i’ll forget this ever happened,” words of desperation and submission leaves your lips faster than the ‘sorry’s you owe every possible colleague that works under you.

“self-aware. i like that,” he husks, tossing the sleek black blazer of his onto the couch as he begins to undo the buttons of the cuffs around his wrists, “no wonder namjoon’s eager to keep you to himself.”

at the mention of that name, a bleached blonde haired man with the kindest dimpled smile flashes at the back of your mind. you remember shooting up from your seat and bowing as he passed by you whilst words of “have a good evening, mr. kim,” leaves your pretty wine red coated lips.

‘will i be able to meet him again?’

the thought chills you to your bones.

‘why wouldn’t i meet namjoon again?’ you internally laugh. if it was an audible one, it would have sounded pathetic yet hopeful.

to think you’re worrying about the future when your present is shriveled with uncertainty.

you watch as the man he calls his brother and partner amble towards you with leisure but dominating steps. like a hunter sizing up his prey.

if yoongi was black leopard, you’d be a white little bunny who’s trapped between the recliner and the glass desk, unable to move even though you’d spot him in your line of sight.

“i-is it money you want?” the words slip past your lips before you can even register them.

when you’re mentally hitting yourself for asking the co-owner of the firm you’re working at if he wants what little savings you have in your account, yoongi is already chuckling. it sounds melodic for someone who looks like he’s about to eat you alive.

“you and i both know i’ve got more money on my wrist than you do in your account.” he stops in front of you, feet wedged between your heeled ones.

as if on cue, the rolex on his wrist glints. as if mocking you as he pulls open the top most drawer, pulling out a miniature tripod with a phone readily attached to it. all you can do is continue to watch as he unlocks the screen.

the sound of you sucking in a sharp breath is the only thing that fills the silence when you see yourself reflected in the square frame. the time played over your wide-eyed gaze begins at 00:00:01.

“oh, that? don’t mind that. i like to look back at the time we’re about to spend together and... reminisce.” he wears a smirk on his face and pushes the hem of your dress up with his hand.

yet the billion dollar smirk you’d be dying to see and would fawn over with krystal from afar now makes your stomach knot with disgust. your heart’s palpitating but the sweat trickling down the side of your face is cold.

“please,” your head shakes, as if that little gesture could touch his heart and make him stop what he’s doing.

the metallic sound of his belt clicking as he undoes it drums it your ears, “get on the desk, sweetheart.”

when silence and your disbelieving stare is all he gets as a response, yoongi’s voice rises higher than the usual smooth, husked tone you’re used as he passed you and bade you good morning these past three months since you started working and min&kim.

“fucking do it!”

you scamper to hoist yourself over the flat surface of the table. both your ass and palms feel ice cold against the glass material.

“spread your legs.”

the tip of your heels teeter on the edge of the desk as you force your legs apart, gaze thrown to the pen holder on the opposite side of where the camera phone is set to capture every angle of your disgraceful position.

a whimper escapes your mouth when you feel something touch you through your panties.

“i must say, i didn’t peg you for a lace girl, ___.” gone is the rage in his voice once you did what he asked and in its place, a deep, appreciative purr. as if it’s supposed to be a compliment.

“won’t you even look at me?” he sounds almost devastated, as if your silence and refusal physically hurts him.

“look at me!” he roars a second later, giving you no time to ponder nor prepare yourself for it.

you meet his gaze with furrowed brows and bitten lip, trying hard not to show how much they’re trembling.

“pretty,” he holds you by your jaw, turning your face to the left and then right, as if conducting some kind of observation, “if only i didn’t take rose as my secretary... we would’ve had so much fun, you and i.”

“i can ask to be transferred here! i’ll keep your secret. just please... don’t do this.” gaze boring into his with sheer disgust while you beg with desperation while the cold nips on your exposed legs.

at your words, his hand seems to stop just millimeters from your clit. as if he’s truly considering the offer. the heart that blooms with hope gets crushed in that same instant as a smile stretches across his face.

“you really think you’re in a position to be negotiating?”

nimble fingers pulls your panties to the side before you feel his digit teases you, “sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.”

as if only realizing the juices leaking down your ass and the full view he has, your legs start to close, only to be tightly gripped by his free hand. you wince. that’s going to leave a bruise.

but before you can think of what excuses you’d use to wear skirts longer than your usual mid-thigh ones, the sound of the zipper grazing as it gets pulled down - brushes your eardrums.

“no, please! i promise i’ll do anything! everything you want! just please! don’t!” s series of pleas pour out of your lips like a broken tap. you don’t realize you’re crying until yoongi’s tall, lean figure becomes blurred from the tears.

“shhh,” he coos, sweet as honey but pushes himself in to the hilt.

the sigh the leaves yoongi’s lips makes your stomach twist.

‘how can he enjoy this?’

your palms clasp over your face and eyes as tears wet your skin. your back is cold as you lose all energy to hold yourself up. your body shifts upwards with every thrust.

but it’s the way he slides right into you that burns you with self-loathe. the way the discomfort you felt in the beginning gradually morphs into flames of wonton as you taste blood in your mouth, biting on your lower lip as hard as you can to not make a sound.

because you’re not sure if it’s a plea for him to stop or a plea for him to fuck you harder that will come out.

and you silently sniffle as yoongi turns you on your side, bent over to hold your body that’s wrecked with sobs and pleasure. the groans that brush your ear sickens you to your stomach but makes you clench around him harder as you near your climax.

“don’t be shy, moan for me, sweetheart,” he says grunts, tugging on your wrist as if trying to get you to stop covering your face.

as if he wants to see you break. see the tears cascading down your cheeks. see the shamelessly pleasured face you’re making as your heart beat to the staccato of his thrusts.

“stop...” you whimper, “stop, please, don’t- stop- ah! oh!”

“what’s that? don’t stop?” he laughs, “i’m not wearing a condom though. you sure you want me to but a baby inside you?”

“fuck, just like that. yeah- yoongi-ah right there- oh!”

you should’ve kept your mouth shut. because once the moans pour out of your lips like an open floodgate, there’s no stopping the salacious sounds from filling the room.

you don’t even realize yoongi pushed you to lay on your back again. don’t even realize how your legs clench around his waist whilst your ankles lock together on his lower back as he fucks you raw like he’s never fucked a woman in a long time.

you don’t even realize your lipstick smudging that area on his shoulder as you bite into his flesh, unable to take the surge of ecstasy coursing through your veins before a scream scratches your throat, your back arching as you see stars behind your eyes.

the warmth of his cum spreads through your lower belly as you lay limply on the desk, muscles still twitching from the sparks of electricity of your after orgasm. your legs dangle off the edge of the desk, still parted and in full view of the cum that pours out of you and onto the carpeted floor.

it takes you what feels like hours to push yourself up. gather your broken pieces, put your panties back on and pat down your skirt, feeling the warm, sticky cum drip down your legs and soils your skirt.

the heat of yoongi’s gaze digs into your pores. even when you’re all dressed up like the way you first walked in and saw the open email of the files of the unaudited expenditure of the firm’s income and the forged one. underneath the email, signed victoria song, the head accountant.

“come on, i’ll drop you home.” he says, the blazer he tossed now draped over his arm.

it’s as if he didn’t just smirk as he rewatched the first few seconds of the video. the sound of your desperate pleading commanding the silence while you laid like a lifeless corpse on the desk, trying to make sense of what just happened.

he’s acting as if nothing happened.

“i’ll take catch a cab,” you send your thanks to the gods for venom in your voice and the glare in your gaze.

“i said,” his husks, ever so gently with a threat that he will have no problems executing, “i’ll take you home.”

the whole ride is silent save for the sound of your sniffles yoongi pretends not to hear.

how gentleman-ly of him.

when the car rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building, you meet his gaze with round, terrified eyes. heart palpitating uncontrollably as he smiles like he’s dropping off his girlfriend after a date.

“how do you know where i live?”

you were too busy wiping away stray tears and gazing out the window to worry about giving him directions.

supposed he doesn’t need it after all.

yoongi doesn’t answer. he dodges it as smoothly as he dives in for a kiss. you recoil, pushing yourself up against the door and as far away from him before realization hits you like a pang of ice cold water in winter.

the glint in yoongi’s eyes is telling enough that he isn’t pleased with the trick you just pulled.

even if it was no trick at all. even if you truly only want to leave.

but there’s a video of you in a phone stored inside his desk 20 minutes from here. and you’d be a fool to think he didn’t airdrop it to his personal phone when he was rewatching the video after that.

who knows how long it’ll take for it to hit the internet if you so much as piss him off more than you do now.

the answer is a no brainer.

in a matter of seconds, min yoongi could ruin your life and rebrand you as a licentious woman who sleeps her way to the top.

those pleas for him to stop?

easily overridden by the way you clung onto him like you don’t want to let go.

“sorry, i was just... surprised,” you blink back the tears, lips curling into one of your professional smiles, heart thumping at the way his expression lightens into a pleased one at your own change of expression.

with a trembling hand, you touch his cheek. it feels soft under your fingertip. you wonder how it’ll look if you’d graze it with your fingernails.

your lips brush his and your stomach knots in discomfort. he deepens the kiss, pulling you by your hair, tongue slipping past your lips, tasting the fear that lingers like an unspoken truth on your tongue.

but it’s the way your arms involuntarily wrap around yoongi’s shoulders, kissing him back without even a word of command - that’s what makes you want to hurl your insides out.

it’s the moan that slips past your lips that makes you push him away. eyes wide. you look at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“i-i’ll see you tomorrow.” it’s almost as if waiting for his reaction has become an instinct to you too fast and too soon.

“yeah, see you tomorrow,” when yoongi reaches out his hand and wipes away the corner of your mouth that might’ve been lipstick that got smudged from the kiss, you grope for the door handle.

and you slip out of the car and walk to the entrance of your apartment building, not looking up even when you hear the amicable “good evening, miss ___, working late, are we?” from the security.

you keep walking until you’re inside the elevator.

and only then do you let out a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding. then the sob wrecks through your cold body.

funny how being trapped inside a metal box gives you more security than any human could provide.

[count-woe-laf]

You can’t spell stargaze without gays

I write? Since when? Yes I’m aware the title makes no sense, I’m uncreative. This was supposed to be a late birthday present for @me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink but it’s super late now, I still enjoyed writing it and planning it with her, I hope you’re having a great day, Silver. I’m sorry I got science facts wrong and I don’t know how to end things or how normal people talk

Logan and Virgil are hopeless pining gay idiots with horrible communication skills, but they’re working on it. (Romantic analogical, very background royality and platonic dukeceit.) 1850 words

"Bring me a diet coke!" Virgil called to Roman as he ran out of the truck, through the gravel parking lot, and towards the bright 7/11.

Logan let out a small laugh from next to him. "You know he's going to spend an hour flirting with the cashier and forget."

"Yeah I know, it's fine. Surprising that he's moved up from panicking around Patton to flirting with him, that's what I call character development."

"Character development that's gone on for ten too many seasons."

"True. But while he's in there I have more time to spend with you," Virgil replied with a smirk, Logan's cheeks reddening.

"You all are disgusting," called Remus from the backseat.

"I agree," Janus sighed. "Though I can do many things, understanding allos is not one of them."

"Then get out of my truck," Virgil jokingly glared into the rearview mirror.

"It's Roman's truck-" Logan started, Virgil shifted his glare towards him. "Ok yeah, get out."

"Think we can find bigfoot, Jan?"

"We're only half an hour away from the city, try again," but Janus let himself be dragged out into the nearby forest.

Logan and Virgil were left alone, thoughts of what had gone on the past week between them running through their heads. The hand brushes, the late night phone calls, the hoodies, the excessive amount of feelings that for once, neither of them minded. There was always more to say though.

"You can see lots of stars from out here," Virgil commented rather nervously. "You should come outside with me and look at them."

It was an offering just for Logan. He was the only one allowed to stargaze with Virgil while others were flirting in a 7/11 and being chaotic in a forest. Logan and Virgil in the bed of a truck staring at the night sky. ...Well, one of them was looking at the stars.

"You know to stargaze you actually have to look at them, right? You can just look at me, V."

"Who's saying you're not a star? 'Cause you definitely are, love."

"Love?" Logan tilted his head towards Virgil's red face.

"Uh-" Virgil looked away quickly. "What is that constellation? It looks like a spoon."

"Do you seriously not know? That's the big dipper, it's part of the constellation ursa major."

"You're the science-y one here, how would I know?" Logan just sighed. "You should keep talking though, I love your voice."

"Oh… Well that's the northern star…"

"Why is it called that?"

"Um, it's the most northern star, I believe astronomers base things off of it."

Virgil snoted, "wow. Star dudes sure are creative."

Logan looked over, an indescribable emotion on his face. "Pardon me, but did you just call astronomers, 'star dudes'?"

Virgil stared back, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Star. Dudes."

"...I will defenestrate you."

"Oh?"

"Do you even know what that means?"

"Yeah," Virgil said. "It means you pick me up and I get to simp over your muscles."

"It also means I throw you out of a window."

"I'll take what I can get." Logan let out a fond sigh. "Ok 'cause your constellations are boring and factual- don't worry I still love them- but I'm telling stories now."

"You're going to kill me."

"In your dreams, babe."

"What's that supposed to-"

"Over there is Elenor, it kinda looks like a bunny, I know. Their boyfriend is Jesse over there-"

"Virgil I swear, I'm leaving you in the forest." Logan's words gave a much different meaning when he was struggling to keep in his laugh.

Virgil chucked. "Oh Logan, so naive, there's so much more. Those three stars? Yeah they're Bo Peep's sheep."

Logan choked, the statement taking him by surprise. "Excuse me? You can't just…"

"Y'know, from Toy Story? Doesn't she have three sheep or something? I swear that was a plot point in one of the movies."

"The threat of being thrown out of a window still stands, Virge." 

"Good, now that star over there…"

"Her name is Jennifer, she got a constellation for making the best bean salad."

Virgil tried to hold in a laugh. "And what did you say that one was?"

Logan was so enamoured with Virgil's laugh that he almost didn't notice him intertwining their fingers. Almost. He still had to take a breath to regain his nearly non-existent composure. Although fifteen minutes couldn't have passed, Logan could tell that it was a good decision to accept Roman's offer for a fake road trip.

"That guy with the belt?" Logan continued. "He was the first person to invent clothes. Quite the fashion icon for his time."

"Oh yeah?" Virgil giggled and Logan's heart stuttered in his chest.

"Yeah, he was also the only straight man in his village. It was very controversial." Virgil hummed in response, trying to calm his laughter.

"We're pretty controversial."

"What do you mean by that?"

"We're lying in the bed of Roman's truck, well past midnight and the city limits, looking at stars. Janus and Remus are probably lost in the forest and Roman and Patton have probably gotten over their gay panic and are planning their wedding together."

"I'm not sure how that's controversial, but it is interesting that we've achieved nothing compared to them." Logan's eyes drifted back to the stars.

"I think not getting lost is a plus." He made a noise of agreement. "And uh… I know we're not as vocal about stuff like the others but… Dating you wouldn't be bad." It came out more like a question, causing Logan to look back at him.

"Fuck- I mean-" Virgil ran a hand down his face. "It would actually be really really nice if I could be your boyfriend because- ugh stop staring at me like that! It's just that you're really great and nice to be around and to talk to and I can't imagine you not being in my life. A-and I know we've been kinda sorta dating but you know how dumb we both are about romance and all that stuff- oh god this is romance, I can't believe that…

"I just really like you, Logan and I need to make sure you know that."

Virgil's words swirled into the air, into the sky, into that great expanse of stars and light.

They laid there and stared at the stars, thinking, considering, and a fair amount of staring on Logan's side.

He couldn't help it, really. He couldn't stop his eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, his bitten lips, the words that previously escaped them were still spinning through Logan's head. And Virgil's hair, his adorably messy hair that was usually hanging in front of his eyes, was pushed to the side, Logan could see a galaxy reflected in his beautiful eyes.

Virgil was his galaxy, his sun, his stars. He had kept him sane through years of school. He constantly went out of his way just to brighten Logan's day a little bit more, and brighten he did.

Virgil meant everything to him and he'd be damned if he went home tonight without showing him that.

"Didn't… Didn't you say you always wanted to go stargazing with your partner?"

"Uhh, yeah." Virgil replied hoarsely.

"I suppose you get to cross that off your list, then." Logan wondered how he suddenly had some semblance of smoothness to his words.

"Oh."

The stars seemed awfully bright that night, especially in the way they reflected off Virgil's freckles.

"Is… Is that a shooting star?" Virgil lifted his free hand, tracing the bright line across the map of stars.

"There's no such thing as shooting stars." Virgil rolled his eyes. "But, I… do believe that's a satellite."

"Then make a wish."

"That's stupid and makes no sense, wishing on a satellite has no affect on my life."

"Just do it, my northern star."

Logan's red face was a reflection off the far away street lights, nothing else. "Am I supposed to tell you what I wished for?"

"Not really, but you can. I'd love to know what goes on in that brilliant head of yours."

"My head is empty, unfortunately." Virgil laughed, he did that quite a bit around him. "I wished that we'd have a good relationship. Apologizes, is that weird, or too soon? I… just mean that we're both terrible at communicating, I hope that we can improve together as a couple."

“Oh."

Although Virgil may not have realized it, Logan noticed as he lightly brushed his thumb over his hand. It was stupidly endearing and soft, just as Virgil was.

"That's probably the cutest thing anyone's ever said that slightly regards me."

"Glad I can be of service, darling."

"So darling is what you go with?"

"Would you prefer something else?"

"...No. If I can call you my boyfriend you can call me whatever you want." Virgil smiled. "…You're my boyfriend. That's nice to say."

"It is. I wonder how I stumbled upon a boyfriend as good as you."

"You- you need to stop doing that," Virgil blushed.

"I'm not doing anything!" Logan shifted closer to him, for heating purposes of course, it was a little chilly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know full well."

"Do I really, Virgil?"

"Shut up and look at the stars."

"Make me."

"Logan I swear-"

"Fine, fine, I will." Virgil mumbled thanks under his breath. "But they aren't as pretty as you."

Virgil let out a noise, a mix between a screech and a cough. There was no way he was showing Logan how fluttery his words made his heart feel. (Although he felt it was common knowledge among them.)

"There's around twenty minutes until the others get back, that's twenty minutes to mess with you."

"I'm already regretting this, Lo."

"As you should, my love."

Yes, their friends may have interrupted their stargazing a few minutes later. Yes, Roman may have forced Patton to leave his shift early resulting in one too little seats and an angry boss. Yes, they may have almost ran out of gas on the way home. Yes, they may have bought fries as Janus looked for a gas station. Yes, they may have fallen onto the floor seconds later. Yes, Remus may have jumped out of the car afterwards because he said it looked fun and almost sprained his ankle. And yes, Roman did have to explain the situation five times to his parents because they couldn't stop laughing about all the shenanigans they got into that night.

Still, Virgil's arm stayed around Logan's waist like it was the most casual thing in the world. Still, they shared a milkshake once everyone had given up on the fallen fries. Still, they were both filled with such a bright happiness that it was impossible to drag them down. And maybe they fell asleep on a video call that night. Or maybe Logan stayed over and they woke up with their limbs tangled in each other's, feeling content and appreciative of the other as they slowly woke up. Honestly, who's to say? It was just a good night.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Her Alpha ~ JJK [M] [Request]

↱↱↱Word Count: 2.1K

↱↱↱Genre: Fluff, smut, Werewolf!Au

↱↱↱Pairing: Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!Reader

↱↱↱A/n: I’m still new to writing werewolf things as it’s not something I ever saw myself writing but hope this turned out for you, I tried to keep it as different from my other JK wolf fic :)

Jungkook knew the moment you walked past him one day in the hall, he could smell you instantly and the way you opened up his sight to everything almost set it in stone that you were his mate. Your scent was intoxicating to him and he knew from the moment it hit his nose you were the one for him, but when he watched you it was as if you had no idea he even existed when he asked around about you his pack told him you were a new wolf and had no idea about how anything worked. He was worried about you but kept his distance not wanting to scare you about anything about your new life, it was scary for him and he was born into the life. You were bitten meaning you probably had no idea about anything about it all, which was made clear to him when he followed you into the library one day and found you trying to read mythology books about your kind. 

"It's no good, they're old and miss a lot of facts on us." Your eyes widened when you heard someone talking to you and you dropped the book on the floor.

"Us?" You stuttered not knowing if he was being genuine or if he was just trying to joke about it, 

"Werewolves." He whispered in your ear, it was just an excuse to get closer to you to smell your scent once again but he resisted the urge he had to kiss you and ravish you right in the library but he had to hold back. 

"Y-You're one too?" He nodded and stared into your eyes, your eyes were wide with fear as you thought you were the only one on campus. 

"Have you changed yet?" He whispered feeling protective over you, you nodded and shuddered at the thought. Remember how it felt when you changed on the first full moon, your bones breaking one by one and then the killing of animals just because you were a wolf. 

"Yeah." You whispered looking at him and he nodded going on to explain you would learn how to control it eventually and could learn to change whenever you wanted.

"I'll teach you everything I know-"

"I don't even know who you are...how do I know you're not the one that changed me?" You questioned looking at him as he stared back down at you. 

"Because I wouldn't wish this life upon anyone, come on." 

That was months ago and now you were close friends, Jungkook had neglected to mention mates to you deciding it would be better for you to find out in your own time that you were his mate. He didn't want you to think he was just pressuring you into being with him it's not what he wanted at all. 

"Get away from me." You groaned as someone pushed you against the locker in the college hallway, Jungkook looked away from Jimin who was talking to him and saw you struggling to move past three jocks who kept pushing you. 

"You've been flirting with me all morning and now you reject me!?" He yelled slamming your back against the locket, Jungkook growled at the sight and thought of you flirting with someone that wasn't him and he was going to walk over when he saw you push the jock onto the floor. 

"Leave me alone!" You growled at him but it earnt a bunch of laughter from the boys surrounding you, but it only got worse because one behind you grabbed you by the hair and slammed your face against the locker. The next thing you knew he was on the floor and Jungkook was pulling you in the direction of the library, 

"You alright?!" He rushed to look at you, cupping your face in his hands and turning your head around to make sure they hadn't hurt you. His alpha instincts were kicking in and he was going into protective mode wanting nothing more than to go back into the hall and rip their heads off.

"Say something to keep me distracted." He mumbled holding onto your face and you stared up at him, looking deep into his eyes they were flashing red which meant he was trying to stop himself from changing in the middle of the library. 

"Take me home to my dorm...We'll get some food and movies and chill out Jungkook." He nodded and you took his hand in yours pulling him through the halls, 

"Look at the slut! Taking the bitch boy home to fuck instead!" You ignored their comments continuing to pull Jungkook through the halls and out to where your car was parked, 

"Were you really flirting with him?" You looked down at your hands as you got into the car, Jungkook watched you from the passenger seat and took a deep breath in, he could smell that you were in heat which gave you a reason to be flirting with everyone but he couldn't help but feel jealous about it. 

"I-I don't know what's wrong with me...I've never felt this way before." You whispered gripping onto the steering wheel and rubbing your thighs together, your eyes glancing at Jungkook as he nervously stared forward as you drove.

"Like what?" He questioned wanting to make sure you were talking about what he thought you were talking about, 

"I want to fuck everyone I see b-but none of them will satisfy me...Only one will." He glanced at you as you continued to drive and he saw a layby coming up, 

"Pull up." You nodded and did it without questioning what he was getting at, you switched off the engine and he was facing you. 

"Do you know who will..." You nodded slowly and looked up into his eyes, he was closer to you now as he was leaning across the gearstick to get a better smell of you. 

"You." You whispered looking down at his lips and he smirked knowing you were in heat and he would love nothing more than to take you but you weren't aware of anything yet, 

"You're just in heat. It'll pass in 5-14 days depending on you." You stared at him and whined wanting him to take you, your hands reached up to cup his face and he looked at you,

"There's something you don't know..." He started, he had no idea how to bring it up and being bold and open was his only option right now.

"What?" You whispered running your fingers over his soft skin and he almost let out a whine at the smallest of touches from you he'd been dreaming of you for months. 

"You're my mate." He said to you looking at you as you processed what that meant. 

"Is that why I have a strong attraction to you and only you?" He nodded and you leant up to kiss him but he pulled away, 

"You're just in heat, you don't mean this-" You kissed him again grabbing his face and pulling him closer to you,

"I mean everything, since the day I met you I've wanted you Jungkook...Take me," Those were the only words he needed to hear and he began kissing you roughly in the car.

"Jungkook!" You whined as he pulled you through the hallway of his dorms, he'd made you drive back to his place after making out in the car and getting you riled up,

"Just a little further, there's no way I'm fucking you in a car." He growled finding his dorm room and pulling you inside. He slammed and locked the door not wanting any of his roommates to come in when they weren't welcome and as soon as the door was shut you pushed him against it making out with him just as roughly as you did the first time, 

"Fuck you smell amazing." He groaned bending down and picking you up, he walked you towards the bedroom and dropped you on his bed continuing the heated makeout session his hands travelling all over your body, not knowing which part he wanted more. He just loved that he was finally getting to kiss you and you were kissing him back, 

"Jungkook I need you." You moaned out as his hands began rubbing your throbbing clit in small circles through the fabric of your jeans, he practically ripped the jeans off your body after you told him you needed him and they were thrown somewhere in the room. 

"Have you er- had sex-"

"Before? Yes." You whispered shyly and he smirked kissing your neck, at least he didn't have to teach you the whole thing and you whined as he continued to rub your clit, 

"N-Need you now." You whimpered and he took himself out of his jeans pumping his member a couple of times before lining himself up at your entrance, 

"This might hurt a little." He whispered, bending down and kissing you softly as he pushed into you inch by inch until he was buried deep inside of you and you were begging him to move or do something. 

"You need me that bad huh? Does the little bitch need me?" You whined at the name he gave you and clawed at his shirt tearing holes into it but not caring since he already ripped your jeans apart. 

"You're so goddamn fucking tight." He grunted slowly thrusting in and out of you which only made you whine wanting him to be faster with you and as if reading your mind he hooked one of your legs on his arm and angled himself so he could thrust harder and deeper into you, hitting your sweet spot with each rough thrust into your throbbing core.

"R-Right there." You moaned out, reaching your hand down you began to rub your clit to bring yourself closer to your much-needed release, you'd been dying for this for the last week and it was finally happening. He continued his rough and fast thrusts into you not even giving you a moment to get used to the pace changing it up from fast to slow but just as rough.

"You feel so good, fuck I can feel you clenching around me." He grunted pushing your legs down by your chest and hitting deeper than he was before, you could feel every vein along his shaft and you moaned out when you felt him twitching. 

"F-Fuck, stop clenching." He grunted at you but you did it again on purpose and his eyes lit up the bright red colour that made you weak at the knees for him. 

"Jungkook." You moaned out as his hand replaced yours on your clit, his circles were fast and rough and you knew you were going to cum soon. 

"G-Gonna cum." You whimpered to him and he smirked biting down on your collarbone, 

"You wanna cum all over alphas cock? Hmm?" You whined out a yes but it wasn't good enough for him, he thrust deeply into you and held himself just at your hilt making you cry out in pleasure, desperate for him to keep moving. 

"Tell me what you want." He whispered in your ear, your hands reached out the sheets pulling at them as you tried to move onto his shaft on your own but failing, 

"Tell me." He growled and you moaned out his name at the smallest friction he'd made when he yelled, 

"You! I need you to make me cum! Fuck I need you to fill me up Jungkook." You cried out and he began thrusting once more, your hands ripping into the bedsheets as he continued his rough thrusts, you were so close you could feel your stomach tightening and your clit throbbing, 

"Cum for me baby." You whined out as he finally gave you the permission you didn't know you'd been waiting for and it was like an explosion went off, you were clenching around him tightly a white fog was over your eyes as you gripped onto the sheets crying out his name. He pulled out of you as you finally came back to earth and you whined feeling his seed fall out and down your bare ass, 

"Fuck." You both panted as he fell down onto the bed beside you, you rolled over and nuzzled your head into his neck breathing in his scent as you did so. 

"You know that means you're mine right?" You nodded and kissed his chin wanting nothing more than to fall asleep in the arms of your alpha. 

"No more flirting with other people." You nodded again and he tightened his grip around you looking around his room, feathers from the sheets were everywhere and his shirt was torn. He was going to have to find a new place for you both to do this again in, knowing his roommates they would ask too many questions and he knew that as time went on mates tended to get a little heavy-handed and the bed probably wouldn't survive that.

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl​ @lynnthevirgo​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @kpopfanfictionhoes​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @rjsmochii​ @callingmyangel​ 

[gohyuck]

5+9+23 ? With Jaemin.

originally requested by @heyyyun ! my tumblr kept glitching so i copy/pasted your ask into my askbox lol.

based on this post

this was a fun combo of requests lol... and the freaky friday things definitely threw me for a loop. it got lowkey nsfw really fast, too, so there’s that. outright female reader

ft. a horny jeno lmfao

5) roommates

9) freaky friday

23) i thought you hated me but i just accidentally sent you a booty text and you accepted and i am seriously considering it

you aren’t living with jaemin because you want to.

it’s something you make very clear to any and everyone you know - jaemin is your roommate out of your necessity, not out of your choice. he was the first and only person to answer the desperate ad you’d placed in the newspaper when you’d realized you wouldn’t make rent without a roommate, and, before you could find any other option, you were stuck with him.

now, you refuse to be gotten wrong: it isn’t like he’s the worst roommate ever. he can cook, and he cleans up well enough, and he’s never made a late payment. hell, he’s even courteous and about as well-mannered as any guy in his early twenties can get, so you can’t really complain on that front. he’s nice to your friends and always lets you know before having company over, and he doesn’t hesitate to ask if you need anything before he goes shopping for himself. he isn’t a bad guy, by any means.

what he is is an incorrigible and unstoppable flirt.

for his part, he isn’t too thrilled with you either - ‘my little prude’ seems to be his favorite go to nickname for you as of late, and you’d be lying if it didn’t bother you. still, you suppose, you aren’t too gentle in calling him a manwhore to his face. he only ever laughs, seemingly delighted to wear the title like a badge.

even now, you can hear the girl in your living room giggling at something your roommate has said, his own voice just a little too low for you to hear from the confines of your bedroom. he’d texted you during lunch to tell you he’d have a date over, and you’d sent him back four successive eyeroll emojis. he’d taken your annoyance as a ‘yes, please eyefuck your newest fling for two hours while sitting on the couch i paid for’ and now you’re stuck, crosslegged on your bed with your laptop at half mast and one earphone in, other ear listening to jaemin turn his charisma up to the highest it can go for what will culminate in, at most, yet another one night stand that’ll have you wishing for soundproof walls.

you sigh as she laughs again, followed by jaemin saying something along the lines of ‘let me pour you some more’. there’s a faint clink of glasses and a sudden lowering of their voices, and you decide it’s best if you put your other earphone in.

some things aren’t worth the mental scarring.

it’s almost two hours later when you finish with the essay you’re working on, pull your earphones out of your ears and place the case gingerly on your nightstand, and shut your laptop down for the night. you can’t hear anything from out in the living room, and, surprisingly, there’s no unsavory sounds coming in from jaemin’s room down the hall, either. maybe they’ve already had their fun, you ponder.

she’ll slink out of your apartment in the morning, you guess. maybe you’ll be nice and offer her pancakes on her way out.

you grab your phone from where you’d thrown it haphazardly onto your bed earlier. there’s plenty of text messages lighting up your screen, most of which you ignore. one catches your eye immediately, though.

from: jeno ;)

i’ve been thinking about you.

his text has you quirking an eyebrow, but as you scroll up to find the picture that accompanies it, you take a sharp breath, your teeth sinking into your lower lip on impulse.

you’ve been fucking jeno for weeks, but even now the sight of his prominent bulge covered only by thin gray sweatpants has your mouth watering. the two of you are good friends - surprising, considering he’s jaemin’s best friend - and you know what you have will never amount to a real relationship. it’s the healthiest you can imagine a friends-with-benefits relationship to be, and you’re grateful for it.

and for the sex. god, are you grateful for the sex.

you rush to change out of the ratty old band shirt and boy shorts you’re wearing, opting to switch them out for a lace set you’d bought recently that you’ve been dying to show off. you clasp the bra easily before you pull on the matching light pink underwear.

as you settle in front of the floor length mirror that leans against your closet door, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander to jaemin. his little prude, huh? you laugh to yourself, wondering how he’d react if he knew you got dicked down semi-regularly by jeno. just because you aren’t as obvious as he is doesn’t mean you aren’t getting any.

you switch positions until you find a pose that’s just right, capturing your bitten bottom lip, the swell of your breasts, and how the lace hugs your hips. before you can second guess yourself, you snap a picture. 

if only jaemin could see you now.

you type out a short message - see something you like? maybe you should come over and look closer - and hit send, staring at your reflection for a bit longer before pushing yourself off the floor and back up onto your bed. it’s late, far too late for jeno to take you up on your offer, but it can’t hurt to ask. hell, maybe he’ll come over anyways. maybe you can make jaemin wish his walls were soundproof for once.

your phone vibrates in your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts of revenge against your roommate. you glance down, ready to respond cheekily to whatever jeno has said, and -

oh.

from: jaemin :/

fuck

yes

i wouldn’t mind, sweetheart. still, you could’ve asked in person. i’m only a door away, you know

your eyes widen in panic as you realize that, because you’d been thinking of jaemin earlier, you’d typed his name in and not jeno’s, resulting in you sending your honest-to-god nudes to your roommate. you rush to rectify your mistake, your fingers flying as you type a frantic response.

even as you hurry to tell him not to show up to your room naked, which you’re very afraid of him doing whether he has a girl over or not, a voice in the back of your mind can’t help but perk up.

i mean, jaemin is kind of hot, it says, actively laughing at your predicament. you wouldn’t mind being underneath him as he-

"shit!” you hiss out loud, acting as if swearing will distract you for your own thoughts. you press send, cursing the universe for causing your life to lead up to this moment as you do. 

to: jaemin :/

FUCK they weren’t meant for you 

please delete and pretend this never happened

+ don’t you have someone over????

his response comes quickly, and you brace yourself to read them. 

from: jaemin

lol PLEASE as if you have someone to sends nudes to

but yes i’ll delete :(

she left like an hour ago, not really my type

for the sake of your sanity you choose not to respond, only liking his message about deleting the picture you’d sent. you switch out your lace set for the clothes you’d had on earlier, not even bothering to respond to jeno as you’d meant to earlier. as you put your phone on charge and turn out your light for the night, you do your best to force yourself to sleep. 

hopefully, this whole ordeal will have blown over in the morning. 

♕ ♕ ♕

the first thing you notice when you wake up is how insanely bright the sun is. the white curtains on your window do nothing to stop the light from pouring into the room, and you - wait.

white curtains?

you look around, taking in the beat up ryan plushie on top of the bookshelf in the corner of the room and the gaming chair at the desk. as you become more and more awake, your setting makes itself obvious. 

once you realize it, you bolt upright, wondering what the hell you’re doing in jaemin’s room, especially when jaemin is nowhere to be found. you know you don’t sleepwalk, and you know for a fact that you’d fallen asleep in your own bed. 

it’s only as you swing your legs out of bed and happen to glance down at them that you realize what has happened.

before you can say anything, however, you hear a voice - your own voice exclaim a loud ‘what the hell?’ from down the hall. you rush out of your - jaemin’s - room, only to immediately run into what looks to be your own body.

“(name)?” it says, and you gulp before nodding.

“jaemin?”

♕ ♕ ♕

“look,” you say, pinching your - jaemin’s - nose bridge. “we’ve been arguing for like an hour, now. it’s obvious that neither of us know why this happened, so we might as well try to figure out what we can do to make it un-happen!”

“it’s because you sent me that nude,” he says, running a hand through his - your - hair. “the universe reset itself out of shock at seeing you do something remotely sexual.”

“if i was in my own body, i’d kick your ass right now,” you swear, pushing yourself up off of the dining table which you’d been leaning against. you take a threatening step towards jaemin. he laughs. 

“if i was in my own body, i’d... i’d probably be jerking off right now, to be honest. i miss my dick.”

you wince in disgust, staring down at his - your - face. “better not be to my picture.”

he shakes his - your - head at this, though not without raising his eyebrow at you. “i’m not a complete asshole - i deleted when you asked me to.”

“thank you,” you respond, not sure what else is to say. jaemin nods sagely before a grin starts spreading across his face.

“you know, maybe we have to recreate last night to fix it. do the same things, you know? who was the message meant for last night? maybe i’ll send them another one today.”

the thought of jaemin taking nudes of your body makes you feel dizzy in both bad and good ways. you realize he actually expects you to tell him, and you find yourself shaking your head no in response.

he quirks an eyebrow of yours. 

“what, don’t want me to know? it’s not like i’ll tell anyone, you know. i mean-”

“it’s not that,” you hurry to tell him, and he smirks at you in return. 

“no? then what is it?”

before you can respond, jaemin continues speaking, and you realize his question had been rhetorical. “oh, i know!” he says, sounding as if he’s had the realization of a lifetime. “you meant to send it to me, didn’t you? you just lied and got cold feet, after. i knew it! there’s no way you’re actually-”

in your haste to get jaemin to shut the hell up and your current inability to think straight, you cross the space between you two in one stride before pressing your mouth against his (or, you guess, his mouth against yours), desperate to get him to stop talking. your eyes are screwed shut anyways, so you don’t see his slide shut. 

the two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity before you pull away.  

“i’m so sorry-” you start, opening your eyes to peer sheepishly up at jaemin. 

wait. 

up?

you blink once, twice, before bursting out into laughter. jaemin, after overcoming his own befuddlement does the same. 

“oh my god, i can’t believe that fixed it,” you say once you get over the shock of being back in your own body. “holy shit.”

“i can’t believe any of that happened in the first place,” jaemin says, and you nod in agreement. a silence falls between the two of you almost immediately as you both try to figure out what to say to each other now. 

you glance around the room, searching for something to fixate your gaze on. you know jaemin is doing the same beside you. before you can say something embarrassing - you’re seriously considering patting him on the back and going ‘good work out there’ - jaemin rests his hands lightly against your waist, forcing you to meet his eyes with yours. 

“i kind of wish i’d experienced our kiss from inside my own body,” he says, and you search his face for an iota of a joke, something that says he’s messing with you. 

there’s none to be found. you reach a hand up to rest against the back of his neck and, before you know it, you’re cupping the back of his head and pulling his lips to yours once again, though this one is much more passionate than the last. his hands tighten their grips on your waist as he pulls you flush against him, and you tangle your fingers in his hair.

once you pull away, you can’t bring yourself to leave his grasp. instead, you ask him the question that’s burning on your mind. 

“do you want to see the lace set in person?”

your roommate nods, his excited actions directly contrasting his dark, hooded gaze. he lets you take his hand in yours, allowing you to drag him to your room. just as you shove open your bedroom door, however, jaemin speaks again. 

“out of curiosity, who was the picture meant for?”

you stare at him for one, two beats before sighing, wincing right after. he gazes back at you both steadily and expectantly, and you figure you may as well say it. 

“it ... it was meant for jeno.” 

"what?”

[malkumtend]

(Their) Booth. Human Warriors AU.

“This is my booth.”

Crow does not consider that the voice is directed in him, therefore he continues to scroll through his phone.

“Hey.” The voice raises and Crow hears the hint of annoyance. “I said this is my booth.”

His own mood souring, Crow turns and returns the narrowed eyes the girl gives him. She stands with her arms crossed, green eyes flashing, her look is so thundering that it may have looked intimidating, if it wasn’t clear that she was half a foot shorter than him.              

And he was only 5,7.

“What?” He tries to push her away with the growl on his tone.

“You’re in my booth.” She says it again, her frown sharpens.

“Your booth?”

“My booth.”

“Is your name on it?”

Her annoyed glare darkens. “Is yours?”

Crow already decides he hates this girl. Whoever she is. She seems familiar somehow (it would be hard to picture not remembering the dark ginger curls or the peach coloured skin or the dotting specks of freckles) but Crowpaw doesn’t care to find the time to remember.

He takes a sip of his milkshake, clicking his tongue as the tang of mint lingers. “I’m not the one claiming a seat is mine.”

“Well I am, so will you move?”

“Find somewhere else.” He tries to cut it off, turning back to his phone. He knows that she won’t; this break hour is near lunch which means that every table is full and bursting with laughter or chatter.

Still it’s a slightly more polite way of telling her to piss off.

She doesn’t budge. An eyebrow raises. “Why don’t you?” In the crook of her arm rests her own milkshake, her fingers drum on the cup impatiently.

“I’m already here.” There’s no way he would even consider moving, even if she was a friend rather than a nuisance of a stranger. It’s still half an hour before his next class, and without his friends out of their own periods, he’ll be damned if he’s walking out alone for that long.

Her green eyes dart over the booth, “Are you waiting on people?”

His eyes burn as she smirks. “None of your business.”

“You’re taking up a six-person booth, you seat hog.”

He leans back on the chair, his jacket squeaks against the leather seat. “I don’t hear anyone else complaining.” He ignores when she lazily uses her hand to gesture over herself. “Whatever.”

“Are you going to move or not?”

“Are you going to make me?” The silence makes him think he’s beaten her. A split second later, she’s across from him on the other side of the booth. Her feet tuck over the seat, letting her back slip against the wall as she pulls out her phone, scrolling as she uses her other hand to let a straw link her treat to her lips.

Crowpaw stares as she expertly ignores him. “What are you doing?”

Her lips smack as the straw leaves her lips, “Drinking a milkshake. Can I have some privacy?”

“You’re at my table.” He falls into the trap and cringes when she says it, smirking with a grin full of sugary, sickly sweetness.

“I don’t see your name on it.” She coos, “Now a little quiet please, I am letting you share my booth after all.”

Crow felt like he wanted to stand up and start screaming, but they were in the middle of a busy milkshake place, and he would more than likely be thrown out, and this time was the only peace he got to himself. So he glowers, sucking in milk and sugar through the bitten crease of his straw and tries to block out her face with the screen of his phone.

…

Same time the next week, he sits in that booth. It takes ten minutes for her to arrive. She doesn’t even speak before she sits down on the other (her?) side of the booth.

He figures they’ll stay silent like last time, so he just frowns and tries to focus on his drink.

Then she grins again, “Thanks for saving my spot.”

His hand grasps the cup so much a shot of vanilla goes right down his throat. After stifling his cough, he growls. “Haven’t you got any friends to hang with?”

She shrugs and pulls up a bright, sunny yellow backpack adorned with badges of flags. “Got class this period.”

He could say ‘likely story’ but he knows she’ll just throw it back at him. So, he just grumbles a complaint and fails to ignore when she pulls out a notebook and a textbook, something to do with film studies. She opens to a task page and starts writing in her notes.

She notices him looking, “It’s not at the last minute, for your information. It’s for tomorrow.”

He blinks. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

She doesn’t look up. “We both know you were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure.” As she writes, her ginger curls fall over her eyes, blocking their gazes from meeting, ending the conversation. It suits Crow just fine, as he relishes the silence. It means he can tolerate the intruder (was she an intruder it wasn’t his seat either) enough to not feel a vein throb.

Then after filling a page, she speaks again. “Should you really be drinking that?”

Crow’s face twists, “What?”

Still not looking up, she points her pen perfectly at his vanilla bean iceblast, “That? You’re on the track team, right?”

His brow hardens and he sets the drink down. He tries to remember this girl again. “How do you know that?”

The pen flicks towards the gym bag beside him. “Well there’s that, and I don’t think you have the… build for the football team.”

Crow suddenly regrets wearing the thermal top today. He crosses his arms over his lean, but extremely un-muscled, body.

“That’s going to take a two-mile run to burn off, right?”

He scoffs, “You make that sound like it’s a big deal. Not much of a runner, are you?”

She lifts her head to frown at him, “Careful, you’re Miss Ashfoot’s kid, aren’t you? I don’t think she’d like to know what calories your poisoning your body with.” She almost sounds like her, wagging a mocking finger at him with her artificial authority.

She isn’t wrong though. His mother would freak out.

Crow scoffs, putting down his phone, “As long as I burn it off, it doesn’t matter. Besides, I’d still run rings round someone like you any day.”

“Oh, is that right?” The girl says furtively, “You wanna take this outside, then?”

Crow laughs, it’s full of mocking spite, but it’s a laugh. “I think I’ll save you the embarrassment.” He wasn’t going to waste his break over some fight or race he knew he’d win.

She leans back, her chin rising up, her eyes shine a gratified emerald. “Good excuse.” Crow wipes off the trap like dirt off his shoulder. His eyes drag down to her textbooks.

“A film student then?” He might have guessed. Those lot were known for being an extravagant type.

She pouts, placing a hand over her book like they’re in middle-school. “You’re nosy, aren’t you?”

“You seem like the kind of girl who’d be absorbed in a camera?”

She hasn’t taken off her dark green winter jacket, the beige faux fur on the hood surrounds her neck like a lion’s mane. It’s like she’s dressed like she wants everyone to look at her.

She laughs off his comment, sneering. “Says the weedy kid, on his own, dressed only in black.”

Fucking A! This girl was quick!

“And you’re wrong, I’m mostly behind the camera.” She says pridefully, her pen taps on the table with a show of reverence. “I’m part of the directing team.”

“What? The staff intern?”

“Ha ha, weedy. We’re in the middle of a major project.” She looks over her notes again, beaming. “It’s going to be awesome!”

He feigns ignorance with a small huff, but a part of him is interested. Everyone likes movies. Even the shitty ones could be a good laugh.

She writes another set of notes down, then looks up again. “So you’re Crow, right?” Her grin skulks over him. “Like the bird.”

He rolls his eyes, a lifetime of childhood taunts rolling in his memory. It doesn’t bother him so much, but it still makes him groan. “Mhmm.”

Her arm moves and Crow expects the offer of a handshake. Instead he’s met with a not-so-light punch on the arm. She whips the locks out of her eyes as he rubs his arm. “Squirrel.” She says.

“Oh, like the bushy tailed rat?” He says instead of ‘like the daughter of Fireheart, head of the Thunder department’ because he does not want her to feel like she’s special.

Regretfully, it seems she likes his answer more. “You can’t talk, bird boy.” Her laugh is real.

…

He easily wins the track meet, he always does. His heart doesn’t start pacing until the fourth lap, and by the time he’s finished the tenth, the rest are only on the eighth.

“Good work, Crow.” His mother says, permitting him to sit down on the bleachers. “Keep it up.” She pipes on her whistle, waiting for the others.

He drinks his water and rubs the sweat out of his eyes. He checks the stopwatch attached to his hip and purses his lips when he sees he’s twenty seconds off his last run. Oh well, he considers, he’s still at the top. It keeps his mother happy. (keeps him happy) He shakes his head.

He gazes up into the bleachers and smiles when he sees Feather is there. She’s part of the swimming team and they met because of a sports team gathering last term. She’d come up to him and told him he’d left his water bottle in the gym.

After that Crow was pulled into her smile. It’s a smile he always responds too.

Until he sees who’s next to her, waving, still keeping that stupid grin of hers.

After greeting Feather, he sits down and hisses into her ear. “Are you following me?”

“In your dreams, bird-brain. Feather’s my Math tutor, she wanted to come and see you before we head into Highstone Steet to go to ‘Milkshakes 4 You’ before we head to hers to study.”

Crow forgot that Feather mentioned how she tutored some students. “Have you two met?” She asks, her eyes glittering on the two.

Crow grumbles, “Unfortunately.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Squirrel pipes, gleaming Feather with a smile, “Me and him are milkshake pals.”

“We are not!”

“Oh, that’s great!” Feather’s always pleasant and friendly voice rings out, “Should we all head there together?”

Crow sees Squirrel’s fluttering eyelashes that prick him to shout a denial. But Feather’s friendly radiance forces him to say yes.

At the milkshake table (their table) Feather and Squirrel get on really well. Throughout their studying, they laugh and talk and it’s clear this is not just going to be a study meet. They’re friends.

Crow sighs because he can tell this is going to happen again.

After another half hour, they giver their goodbyes (a sweet wave from the actual girl, while the red-haired rat gives him a back-handed flick of the wrist). He’s not sure if it’s her cockiness that pisses him off, or if it’s the fact she’s the one going to Feather’s house instead of him.

…

They’re sharing a lunch table at school now.

Feather has her brother, Storm, with her (Crow doesn’t care about him too much but he’s alright enough) and Squirrel’s brought her sister along (she doesn’t say much but she can tell Crow recognises her, everyone knows about the straight A student since Firestar wouldn’t shut up about how she was one of the few who got perfect marks in her mock tests). Her name’s Leaf and she keeps her eyes behind the fringe of her cut short hair. It’s clear she’s only there because her sister dragged her along.

Squirrel does most of the talking for the table, which annoys Crow since she always offers her own opinion whenever he tries to ask Feather something. He doesn’t dare tell her to button it though. He would not turn into the delinquent that Squirrel likes to believe he is.

So, he keeps quiet and watches the group react to this girl.

It’s clear from Storm’s face that he thinks well of the ginger nuisance. Crow tries to hold back his vomit.

He also learns more about this girl than he cares to.

Her favourite class – Film.

Her favourite teacher – Mr Dustpelt.

Her favourite movie – The Breakfast Club (she stops to claim that Crow would make a good Bender. Crow’s never seen it, but the fact the group are laughing makes him scowl at her.)

Her favourite film studio – Disney (would have guessed)

Her favourite film movement – German expressionism (what the fuck is that)

She pulls her sister into the conversation, despite her obvious hesitance, but that only spurs Feather on. Calm, lulling and welcoming as always. It doesn’t take long before the shy girl has settled into some kind of comfort and safety as she actually begins asking the others’ questions.

“I’ve seen you on the field before! How do you do that without passing out?”

Crow feigns indifference but admittedly it’s always nice to be recognised. “Just practice and practice. It’s just like studying really.” He knows she’ll get that.

She does, letting out a small laugh. “Oh, well I could never do something like that.”

“Well that’s because you’re good at healthcare,” Squirrel nudges her, coyly smirking at Crow, “Something meaningful.”

“And just how meaningful are your little films.” Crow doesn’t hold himself back now, but he doesn’t scowl as the others share a cautious glance. Perhaps mercifully, Squirrel just flicks her ginger hair back with another throaty laugh.

“Don’t be an idiot. Everyone enjoys movies, we all have one that means something to us! Even little kids binge watching Disney films, those princesses and frogs will always be in their memories.”

Crow raises a brow, “So what are you making then?”

She wags a finger at him, “Ah ah, that’s classified.”

Leaf gives him another gentle shrug, “It’s true. She won’t even tell me what’s it’s about?”

“But if you’re interested, they’ll be airing at the end of term at the culture festival.” Crow vaguely recalls the festival where every class portrayed some kind of reflection piece, he also recalled staying far the hell away from any sign-up sheet. He wasn’t competing in some damn triathlon.

“Oh!” Feather bursts up, “That’s so cool! Could we come see it!”

Oh no no no no no!

“Of course!” Squirrel pulls out her phone and emails what Crow can only assume is an invitation. “It’s $5 for entry. But I’d say that’s not so bad!” The invitation is confirmed when his own phone beeps and he sees that Feather has forwarded it to him as well.

“I’ll be there!” Feather pipes, Storm soon follows suit. All eyes turn to Crow, Feather’s excited, Storm’s expectant, Leaf’s sheepish and Squirrel’s smug. So very smug.

He realises that if he turns this down, he’ll turn into this ginger haired director’s antagonist. For a moment he wonders if he can feign sickness on the night, but it’s a night four months away, and it will be oh so obvious what he’s avoiding.

So, he nods. And gives her this round.

…

A month later, their group has become normal. Feather’s still a complete angel, Storm seems to have realised how Crow sees his sister (if the stone cold eyes weren’t telling), Leaf’s a little more hard to get out due to her consistent studying phases but when she turns up she’s fine enough (she keeps to herself and is oddly polite whenever she speaks to him), and Squirrel is now a little less of a constant grievance.

Crow presumes it’s like one of those dark films where a person has been kept in a constant state of torture long enough that it seems almost calm now. What kind of torture punishment would she be? Crow’s stuck between waterboarding and being stuck in a basement for a month with the same terrible song on repeat.

They’re now waiting for her film class to finish so they can head to Highstones for a bite to eat (yeah waiting to be annoyed, that was what his life had come to). But he couldn’t argue. They all waited when Feather was caught up in Swimming practice and they all waited when he was running behind in the track meets.

They all had to deal with each other now.

He can hear her barking orders in some kind of movie nerd language he didn’t really get. It didn’t seem like some mindless drivel; she clearly had some idea of what she was talking about. But he still felt pity for the poor actors she was leading, lord know he wouldn’t be able to handle getting shouted at by the likes of her.

Eventually it ends though, and the director and her team exit the doors, red-faced, but shivering with excited, well-done, glee.

“Great work guys!” She yells after her waving friends; Crow recognises none of them. She points out to one short boy with curled brown hair. “Remember to work on your stunt moves, Shrew!” She hits her fist against her palm with spicy exaggeration, “We want real action, not Pinocchio caught in his strings!”

The boy presses his palms against his cheeks in mock shock. A real actor, Crow can tell. “Ouch! That hurts, ginger!” He rolls his eyes as he turns away, “I’ll knock you off your feet, next time.”

“That’s what I’m counting on!” She laughs for a moment, then finally turns to the waiting group. “Sorry to keep you guys waiting.”

“It wasn’t that long.” Stormfur says, a little too smoothly to be natural. Crow, disgusted, meets Feather’s eyes, she shrugs with a gentle chuckle.

“Are we heading over to Highstones then?” Leaf asks.

Squirrel nods her approval, but her eyes dart around the corridor for a moment, as if searching. It’s only for a moment, but when she smiles back to the group, Crow notices a slant along the natural perk of her shoulders. She hides it well.

Crow isn’t sure why he’s noticed it.

He isn’t sure why he can see her face tilt back and forth as they all walk from school to the high street. Still scanning for something unknown. Her smile stiffens and trembles as they begin to reach their destination.

Crow considers saying something, but he knows how well that would go down. Besides, it wasn’t his business. It wasn’t his concern.

By the time they’re at their table, her eyes aren’t smiling anymore. Crow can see a vague disappointment.

He says nothing about it.

But he does pay closer attention to her. Especially when she doesn’t have the energy to make quips at his expense today.

Crow wonders if he’s worried. Then brushes away the thought like dirt.

…

It’s next week when Crow sees Squirrel get angry for the first time.

It is approaching the end of the lunch period, and the four are leaving their newly established table when Squirrel’s head perks up.

Approaching them is a boy. A tank of a boy at that. If this guy wasn’t part of the football team, Crow was sure that the teachers were begging him to join. A golden ‘T’ badge is clipped to his bag. Clearly this guy was well thought of in the Thunder department.

He must stand a good foot over Squirrel, but he smiles at her, not really looking down. “Hey.”

Squirrel straightens her posture, her eyes half closing, “Oh, hey Bramble. How’s everything?”

“Can’t complain. Your dad’s giving me ear-ache though.”

“Heh. That’s a surprise.”

“Yeah. So, he wanted me to ask you when you’ll be home? I’ve got a meeting with him about the sports faculty later so I just thought I could tell him then.”

He doesn’t sound patronising, but Squirrel still coils back in offence. Her hair sways as she groans to the side. “Ugh! What? Does he not want me studying?”

Bramble raises a brow, “I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s worried about.”

“Um, excuse me.” A polite but firm voice steps in. All eyes turn to Feather. “Hi, I’m Feather. I’m the one who’s tutoring Squirrel for math, and you can tell Firestar that she really is working hard!”

Bramble’s eyes widen, and Crow can see the surprise. His gape stands while he marinates on his words. “Oh, really? Um, sure. I’ll let him know.”

“You don’t need to let him know.” Squirrel says under her breath, her emerald orbs losing the shine they’d had before. “I’m working on it, I just have other things to work on as well.”

As if snapping his fingers, Bramble’s chestnut hair whips up with realisation that makes Squirrel’s face fall. “Oh right, the film thing!” He clearly doesn’t catch when Squirrel winces. “How’s that going for you?”

Squirrel takes a breath that is too fragile to lay her exasperation. “Well-”

“Bramble!” A sharp voice cuts in. Another tank of a lad comes over. Not as warm as his predecessor. He stands taller than Bramble, more defined and muscled as well. His hair is the same colour, but it looks darker above the icy blue of his eyes. He looks over the group absently, it only takes that brief second for Squirrel to blast him with a look gleaming with hate, before he truly fixes his attention on Bramble. “Are we heading out? We’ve got to train for tonight, remember?”

Bramble’s lips thin, but he nods. “Yeah, I know Hawk. I’m coming.”

‘Hawk’ doesn’t move away, he stands there, dull impatience creasing his lips into a frown.

He might have looked bad if it weren’t for the storm taking place on Squirrel’s face.

Bramble turns, offering the group a generous apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve got to get going.”

“So, he said.” Storm chimes in, trying to lift the chill that has clearly overcome them all.

Only Bramble and Feather laugh, both equally weak.

“Yeah. I’ll see you later though. Oh, and I’ll make sure to let your father know to expect you late.” Bramble says that over the shoulder gripped by his mysterious accomplice.

Squirrel flushes with a spark of frustration and anger but once again, the ice thin polite voice of Bramble beats her voice. But he isn’t talking to her.

“Oh yeah! Leaf! Congratulations on getting first in the state Healthcare exams!” He chirps, casting her a swift thumbs up.

Leaf’s eyes widen, and her eyes slide from side to side nervously. It’s like it wasn’t a compliment she received, rather an arrest warrant. “Oh, uh, thank you.” Crow has heard her enough to know when she sounds genuine rather than hollow.

Then he follows where her hopeless look lands. And it becomes clearer.

“It’s all that keeps Firestar in a good mood these days!” Bramble chuckles, “So, thanks for making my life a little easier.”

“You’re welcome.” Leaf nods her head in a way that should share a joke, but her tight voice is almost a plead for him to go away.

Now Feather notices it as well, placing a gentle hand on the shaking shoulder.

The brown-haired boy is finally pulled out of the cafeteria by his growling friend. In his wake, a group of friends are left, all anxiously glancing at their tight-fisted, clenched-jawed, unmistakably gutted friend.

“Squirrel.” Leaf starts gently, her tone carrying something the others cannot peg.

Her sister brushes a stray ginger lock out of her eye and starts forward. “Let’s just go.” She doesn’t wait for another word of concern. She doesn’t even say anything until they reach the milkshake bar.

Well, more she doesn’t start yelling until they’re there.

“Piece of shit!” Squirrel bursts, chewing on the end of her straw. Her emerald eyes are now balls of green fire. She would more than definitely be making a scene if the place wasn’t at full capacity. “That pompous, know-it-all meathead!”

Crow’s sure that’s an oxymoron but he keeps his mouth shut for concerns of having his head snapped off.

“’Am I studying?’ The freakin’ nerve of that idiot! How’s it his business?”

“He was just asking for Dad.” Leaf says carefully, she’s been trying to calm her sister down since they got there. It hasn’t worked.

“Then he needs to mind his business as well!”

“He’s just worried.”

Squirrel’s eyes narrow into viper like slits, “He doesn’t need to be. I’m doing fine.” She leans onto a palm, her head sinking into her hood.

There’s something troubled on Leaf’s face as she turns away slightly. It’s clear to Crow that there may be a reason that Firestar is worried about his loudmouth daughter. But the dark-haired girl is smart enough to not say anything.

Crow sits there, half-lidded, pretending not to listen, and inwardly groaning every time Storm tries to bark some sugary compliments to the angry girl across from them. It does give him some mild pleasure to see the disappointment on his face when he realises that Squirrel clearly isn’t listening to him.

Still, it was aggravating to see the girl so damn moody. Crow wasn’t so sure why, but seeing her so clearly pissed made him pissed as well, the kind that makes your stomach shift and your breathing heavy.

Luckily, he’s able to get away from that when Feather returns from her assumed break to the toilet carrying back three milkshakes. She slaps them down in front of him and Storm, before sliding into the seat beside him, beaming.

Crow’s cheeks cruelly heat up. “Oh, come on, you didn’t have to-”

“It’s fine!” She pipes, gesturing to the drink before him. “You have to try this! It’s new here and I think it’s one of the best things I’ve tasted in freakin’ years!” Her eyes sparkle and her silver hair swirls in the excited movements of her head.

He sucks on the straw and a deep twist of caramel and honeycomb exploded on his tongue, coating him with a sweetness that could only be equal to Feather. It might be too sharp for his taste personally, but he smiles at her, relishing the fireworks that go off in her eyes.

“Told you so!” She exclaims.

“It’s a little too sweet for me.” Storm says. Off of Feather’s look, he quickly adds, “But it’s still really good!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you guys one.” Feather said, shyly looking to the two sisters across the table. “But you guys had already got yours so-”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Leaf sooths. Squirrel only makes a passive murmur as she scans a page of crudely drawn diagrams.

“Thanks Feather,” Crow blurts out. The words feel like a tongue twister to Crow, embarrassment and hesitant glee melting in his mouth.

Her blue eyes light up again, and her hand pats a spot on his shoulder that instantly tingles. “No need. Next time it’s on you though.”

Crow manages to let out a laugh. It was easy when he was entranced in her happiness.

…

It’s two weeks later, and Squirrel isn’t at the lunch table.

“She’s filming with her group today.” Leaf says. Crow wants to take this moment to relish for the opportunity at a little silence, but Feather looks worried.

“Is she okay?”

“I think she is. Why?” It seems that Leaf does know why but doesn’t want to be a bad sister who spills secrets. It might have worked, but she was a terrible liar.

“Whenever she studies with me now, she looks stressed.”

“Isn’t stress another word for studying.” Crow jokes. He hopes to get a smile from Feather, but her worry keeps her mouth turned down.

“Well, how is she doing study-wise, anyway?” Storm asks.

“She’s definitely improving.” Feather considers, delicate fingers rubbing her neck. “But she was doing well enough before, in my opinion, and she wasn’t so…” She sighs. “I don’t know, I just thought that something might be bothering her.”

Crow’s frown tightens, he hates seeing Feather worried. He sighs, long and tight, “Maybe she’s just worked up about her film? She never tells us how it’s going. Maybe she’s behind schedule on something.” He’s grasping at straws but he’s trying his best.

Storm murmurs a sound of agreement but neither Feather nor Leaf give him a reaction that says they’re reassured.

“Maybe.” Feather twirls a silver lock in her hand.

“You don’t need to worry about it, sis.” Storm remarks, offering her one of the fries on his plate. “You’ve said she’s doing fine; she’s probably just worried about getting the grades. Like all of us!” He laughs. “It can’t be easy studying when you’ve got a department head at home breathing down your neck.”

Leaf quivers in her seat, the salad leaf on her fork trembles off and falls to the floor.

Everyone notices and now not even Storm is smiling.

“Leaf?” Feather probes gently.

The girl looks up, then down, then up again and swallows hard. “For the love of God, please don’t ever say anything like that to her.” She sounds as dry as sandpaper.

Storm’s jaw loosens then shuts with a clip. Nobody says anything about it, as if mentioning it further would call forth bloody Mapleshade herself.

But the thought is there in Crow’s head, remaining like a scorpion in his skull. Not because he truly understands what the issue is, he is not psychic. But-

It can’t be easy studying when you’ve got a department head at home breathing down your neck.

He wishes he didn’t, but he gets that.

In more ways than the others could understand. Certainly more than he would ever tell them.

He feels sick now. He actually sympathises for that ginger brat.

…

Crow is surprised when he finds her studying at their table the next day. Studying Math to say the least? It’s early in the break and the others will be on their way soon. For now though, it’s just him and the girl biting the end of her pencil with a scowl.

“Having trouble?” He smirks, sitting across from her.

“Piss off.” She growls but doesn’t look up. Her freckles look like small stains underneath the shadow of her fringe. Another frustrated groan leaves her lips as she scribbles out what looks like an angle diagram on her sheet.

Crow obliges her mood and pulls out his phone. After a series of three more grunts and four rips of paper being ruthlessly scratched, he gives in. He already knows he’ll regret it.

“If you don’t get it, just wait for Feather to get here.”

Her green meets his blue, her irises twitch like hungry fangs. “I’m just fine on my own, thank you.” She finishes poisonously, dimming back into her work while obviously trying to avoid his gaze.

Crow looks away, “Whatever, just don’t ask me for a sharpener when you’ve killed that pencil.”

Her hand makes an exaggerated line on the page, “I’ve got my own. I need it to be nice and sharp when I stick it in your eye.”

Unconsciously and conceitedly, he snickers. “If only your Math was as good as your comebacks.”

Now she is really glaring at him like she wants his head to erupt into flames. The hand gripping the pencil turns white and Crow actually wonders if she is straining from jabbing the instrument into his retina.

Instead, she hisses through clenched teeth and bores down to her scribbles of failed solutions.

This round goes Crow’s way.

There’s a twitch to her lips that makes him wish it hadn’t.

To hide his awkwardness, Crow makes sure his focus is on his phone before he speaks. “I don’t get why you’re so worried. Feather told us all you were doing just fine. It just looks like you’re worrying over nothing.”

He means to be (somewhat) nice, but Squirrel only shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who said it. What’s the problem, she said you were doing good? Newsflash.” His hands stretch out dramatically, “That’s a good thing.”

She’s clearly multi-tasking with ignoring him and realising she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing. Her free hand digs into her head, strands of soft hair fleeting through the cracks. “It’s not good enough for me!” She hisses.

“Why? Did you get an F in your last exam or something?” He teases, though part of him braces for the possibility that that was the truth.

It wasn’t. “B-”

Crow’s mouth hung partway open while he blinked slowly a few times. “So, what the heck are you worked up over?” A B-? Crow used to get a trip to Purd E Cheese when that happened to him!

The pencil is dropped and lies still as she directs a stony gaze at him. There is no trace of animosity or bite, just plain out exhaustion. A dull emerald bore into him. “Different house, different expectations. I’d be happy getting a second in one of your little track meets.” She leans forward, a finger tap-tapping on the notes below her. “Would you?”

Damn. That makes Crow’s mouth feel like it’s full of glue.

He keeps quiet as he imagines the idea of not coming first in track. The shadows that would appear before him.

Point made, she slinks back, and they don’t talk. Either embarrassment or anger keeps them in this icy space. She still audibly struggles with the work, looking more and more drained by the minute.

Finally, she sets the notes down with a defeated grimace. “I’m getting a drink.” She says tonelessly, hands hidden in the deep pockets of her coat.

Crow doesn’t move, but his eyes fall on the abandoned notes, or scribbles, or whatever they were and were not meant to be.

He considers. Glancing back at the worthless news feed on his phone, then at the girl sulking in the line to the bar.

The shadow comes back to his mind. And then he sighs and relents.

She understandably isn’t happy when she finds him on her side of the table, scanning through the notes she was actually embarrassed about. She’s on the cusp of snatching her humiliation away from him when he says in a stoic voice. “You’re using the wrong formulae.”

She glowers, but she doesn’t argue. “What?”

He taps the page, “You’re using the theorem for binomial series here, you should be using the arithmetic series.” Off of her clueless expression, his brow raises. “Have you gone through this with Feather yet?” He doesn’t imagine she’d make that kind of mistake.

Squirrel blushes. She actually blushes, and it’s clear this was unknown territory for her. Crow stifles a chuckle while she crosses her arms and turns away. “I don’t remember any of that.”

By God, being nice to this girl could be a chore. Crow exhaled, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“I don’t need your help.” She bites, still not looking at him.

Crow’s about to lash, but he bites his tongue, considering his words. “I’m not helping you. I’m just studying for myself.”

She gives him a half-lidded, uninspired glance. “Of course.”

“Just shut up and sit down.”

She doesn’t shut up, her mouth is full of questions (which he guesses is fair enough, least she’s actually trying) but she does sit down next to him and listen as he goes over the formulae. To be very fair, she’s a quick study and once she knows the right theorem it takes her half a minute to get the question done.

When they’re done and Crow rises to go back at his own seat, he winces as his arm feels her fist again. He’s about to snap when she looks up, and Crow has enough reasonable certainty to see the lightness in her eyes. Her smile is about as slippery as an eel, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

She wouldn’t be smiling if she was mad. He knew that much about her.

A punch was a strange, annoying way to thank someone. But he supposed that fit her rather well.

When the others finally arrive, they’re too focused on returning to their original seats, shouting that it wasn’t what it looked like, that they don’t notice the brief sadness coating the eyes of Feather and Storm.

…

It’s next week when the siblings finally tell their friends.

Squirrel, unsure, like the rest of them, of what to say, keeps her voice whispered. “What do you mean you’re running away?” She leans across the table so they can hear her over the din of the bar’s patrons.

Feather and Storm sit side by side, both equally unhappy, looking down at nothing but a stained and chipped table. “It means what it means.” Storm says, breaking off a piece of his chocolate bar. He nibbles on the ridge.

Crow feels like he cannot move, his mind thumps and crashes like it’s being pummelled by a heavyweight boxer, but he barely manages to speak. “Why?”

Feather holds her head up with a hand, tired, but encompassing all the strength she has left. “Our parents decided on the divorce terms.”

Crow tenses, he remembers hearing how shaky things were at their home. They used to make jokes out of how they couldn’t get sleep because of their parents screaming. Neither had looked perturbed, so he hadn’t thought much of it.

“Joint custody?” Leaf anticipates wearily.

Storm shakes his head, “We fucking wish. Our mom wants Feather to move out with her at the end of term, I’m meant to stay here with my dad.” His fist clenches, “No way that’s happening.”

Crow looks from him to his sister, they’ve both clearly made up their minds. They would not be separated.

He wants to admire them, but he can’t help how his chest stings.

“So what will you do then?” Squirrel asks.

“We have some family that live down in River County, once the term ends, we’re heading down there.” Feather’s voice shakes as she explains. It must have been a plan they perfected over the week but saying it out loud is a completely different ballpark.

“That’s just two months away.” Squirrel muses out loud, for once her voice doesn’t carry any kind of bite. Her eyes widen like a puppy being abandoned by its family.

“Our folks down there need to prepare for us arriving.” Storm sniffs, he gives his sister a small sideways look. “Plus, we need to decide what to take with us.”

It really was a plan they had thought hard about.

Two months to plan.

Two months until Crow would never see Feather and her glowing smile again.

He feels like he knows he should say something. Just a small wish of good luck, a nod of acceptance, and buried deep he knows he should reveal what he’s always wanted to say to Feather.

But what did that matter? She’d be gone soon.

There was no point at all.

So while Squirrel and Leaf speak about how much they’ll miss them, and while Feather and Storm apologise and thank them for understanding, Crow continues to stare and stay silent, making a case to look away from those tender eyes so desperately trying to reach his.

If he was going to lose them soon, why should he even try?

…

For the next two weeks, he spends most of his time on the track, practicing. Preparing for the final track meet before summer.

His mother is pleased, but obviously perplexed. Her son was just naturally gifted when it came to the field, he never trained more than every three days usually, now he was there most days from five till nine, just running again and again. Lap after lap. She makes sure to tell him to not overwork himself, but it doesn’t look like he’s listening. Even when she gives him the death stare that usually sent him to bed without a second thought, as a child, he just turns his head, drinks some water and gets back to the track.

She doesn’t know what it’s about.

She doesn’t know what’s he running from.

He runs until he can feel his muscles sting and his head goes blurry, that way he goes home focused on something else. He can’t focus on them. No point gripping to something that would soon let you fall.

He saw them appear once. Looking for him. No doubt wanting to question him about why he’s never at their table, at school and the bar, anymore. Storm looked pissed for reasons Crow didn’t care to know, Leaf was holding back a furious eyed Squirrel from storming up to him and screaming in his face, and Feather just looked sad.

Incredibly, shamefully sad.

He knows to turn back to the track again when he wants to go over and hug her.

So once again, he’s running, hiding and forcing them out. Reluctantly, one by one, they seem to get the hint, walking away from the field. Crow couldn’t help but watch to see if any of them looked back.

Only one person did.

Her green eyes were in a tight scowl, rigid with scorn. They lock on Crow’s sweating, pounding face for a moment. Then she shakes her head, slowly, at him, and leaves him there.

They don’t return for the next week. Crow is left running, burning, and aching on his own.

So, there’s nobody there when one day on the track, the muscles in his blazing ankle finally give in on him. It happens within the intake of a breath. For a suspended second, his foot hovers above the air, then hits the ground and fire chokes his tendon. He falls like a fat sack of flour, too amazed by the overwhelming pain to even utter a whimper. He tries to stand but falls on one knee with every attempt. He has to crawl to his bag to get his phone and call his mother to rush over from her office. Nobody else is there.

There are no tears running down his face, no sobs or moans creasing his throat, as he limps with one arm on his mother’s shoulder he just feels a deep, pulsing emptiness, a drainage in his gut that he feels could swallow him whole and he wouldn’t even complain.

…

It’s just a strained tendon, is what Dr Bark says; just two months taking it easy off the right foot; just one track meet, the final one, that Crow will have to miss.

Dr Bark actually had some relief to his voice when he explained it. Apparently, Crow is lucky that it’s not as bad as it could have been. You could have ruptured the tendon. Then you’d really be in trouble.

Crow does not feel lucky.

He is not glad that his time sitting on the bleachers, watching his teammates actually able to compete for once, will last just a little less than it could have.

He was still on the side-lines. His right ankle wrapped in a flurry of bandages that throttled his skin like a thick mess of barbed wire. He doesn’t need a crutch, but the weight of the bandages, as well as the thin cast stiffening his foot, makes him limp.

He knows, every time he passes a face, where the eyes will fall.

All pathetic pity. All the more knives that dig into Crow’s back.

They’re everywhere, Crow feels them, the thin smiles, the smouldering eyes, the low whispers, all of their bitter empathy. They stared at him as if he was some kind of invalid instead of the track champion for the past year.

All of those stupid get well soon cards his mother had gathered from his team-mates, he’d hidden under the bottom drawer of his cupboard. He knew what they really thought, they relished this, he would have. Now they had the chance to shine above him for once; hell, he wouldn’t even be considered. And yet, his mother thought it would be a good for him to turn up for the final race, just to show support for his team.

As if.

He spends the next week wandering, anywhere really, just so he can avoid those pathetic stares. Whether it was in the corner of the library or needlessly searching the computers of a barren class, he made sure that whatever free time he had, he spent it alone.

He’d rather be a shadow than a crack on the wall.

Unfortunately, some couldn’t seem to take the hint.

Thankfully, he’s able to avoid them. But his phone is a non-stop traffic jam of messages. He only gave his number to one of them.

Every single time, his finger lingers over the block button. It would make it so much easier; he’s practically blocked her in real life after all. But the messages, desperate, pleading, keep coming and coming like fingers digging into his shoulders. I hope you’re okay. We’re here if you want to talk. Please, Crow. I’m worried about you. Please! I’m sorry! Can you please call me back? … Call me if you want to?

Crow stares as they flood his phone, his finger still shaking over the words as he imagines them all in her voice; her trembling, hopeless voice that he hated to picture.

His arm limply falls every time, and the messages continue.

He knows he’s being unfair. He knows she’s hurting more because of him.

But he can’t do anything but sulk.

Unlike his father, he’s never had the guts.

…

“Hey!”

Crow cringes as the book falls from his hands. He hears the furious shushing of the librarian and the quiet ‘sorry’ the girl responds with. He pushes the weight into his swollen ankle, ready to get out of the library as soon as possible. He can’t be bothered to deal with her now.

But a hand, heavy and determined, forces him down into his seat, and she is there beside him. As furious as always. He remains impassive, undisturbed. He can’t lose his cool now.

“What do you want?”

“That’s a nice way to greet your friends!” She scoffs.

“We’re not friends.” Crow returns himself to his book, anything but her.

“Yeah?” The book burns his hands as she snatches it away, forcing him to glare at her. “Well I’m the closest thing you have to one right now! And that’s your own damn fault!”

She follows him past the snarling librarian and out into the courtyard. Crow grit his teeth, wishing he could limp any faster. The early rays of summer make the fabric feel like a constrictor around his ankle.

“Stop following me!”

“Didn’t you say you could run rings around me?”

“Fuck off.”

She doesn’t. She walks on, clutching her bag over her shoulder, never leaving his side.

“I know she’s messaged you.”

Crow tenses. “So what?”

“So why don’t you quit ignoring her, you asshole; what’s your deal?” She asks, as stabbing as possible without even realising it.

“None of your business!”

She makes a scoffing sound that is ripe with astonished disgust, “Uh, when my friend is crying because of you ghosting us all, I think it is.”

It’s only for a moment, but Crow’s pace slows. The image of her tear-stricken face flashes in blue luminance. His chest suddenly aches terribly. But he tosses it away, still storming off, his foot now stinging from his increasing speed. If he doesn’t get rid of this pest soon, he knows he’ll either have to stop from the pain or will fall down himself.

So, he lies. “So what?” He hisses as if she’s nothing but dirt on his shoulder. “Why the fuck should I care about her?”

Crow doesn’t know what he expects. Her to stop out of shock? Her to storm off with fire in her belly? Maybe her jumping on him with blazing fury?

He doesn’t expect the small, cold laugh. Or the words that leave her mouth. “Because it’s clear that you like her.”

Now he truly does stop. His burning foot sets like a stone he could never lift up. She stops right beside him, a thin gaze cutting into him. His head rolls up with a hollow exhale.

“What makes you say that?”

She snorts. “From what I’ve seen,” She responds, “She’s the only one who you ever smile at.”

Ouch. Crow would like to think he didn’t know why that hurt as much as it did.

The boy notices how heavy his steps had become. He sat down on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard, the nearest place, soon joined by his ginger accomplice. The boy shifts himself about so that he can face her directly without having to turn his head, now with his arms resting on his knees. But he waits for her to inevitably speak first.

Eventually, after what seems like a lifetime of her cold stare, she sighs herself, her ginger locks glistening as the sunlight flashes between the water and her hair. “Why do you have to be such a moron?”

He briefly wonders if she’s talking about his attitude or his foot. He now secretly considers the idea that he may be a bit of a moron.

“She misses you.” The girl says.

A month ago, he would have been overjoyed to hear those words. Now, in the face of an outcome he wants to abandon, it just leaves a terrible pain.

“Great.” He responds, hollow.

“No, it’s not.” She declares with a frown. “What the hell are you trying to prove by ignoring her? You think that’s going to make her stay?”

Crow stares for a moment, then his eyes dip. Admittedly, that was a good question. What was he trying to prove? Nothing really. He just didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Won’t you miss her?” He asks.

“Of course I will!” Squirrel says, letting a hint of anger bleed out of her assurance. “That’s why I’m trying to spend, you know, actual time with her before she goes!”

His eyes narrow. “But she’s leaving.” He finds himself saying aloud.

“She hasn’t yet.” Squirrel says plainly, like she knows she’s in the right and is tired of trying to explain it to the incarnation of self-pitying foolishness sat next to her.

Christ. Were those actually his own thoughts…

Shit…of course they were.

This girl was a pest of many variations, but that didn’t stop her from pointing out the obvious.

The truth that he’s been trying to flee.

His neck cranes forward again, staring at his feet. The pain in his foot has dimmed, leaving a tingling, but blank, pulse around his injury. “I don’t want her to go.” He admits, finding it easier when he doesn’t look at her.

Amazingly, she doesn’t say anything for a moment. Predictably, but deservedly, though she sniffs. “Neither do I. But moping around feeling sorry for yourself like some emo isn’t helping anyone!” Her voice punches him. “It’s not like she’s looking forward to leaving as well. But what else can she do? Her and Stormfur don’t want to be dragged apart because of their parents’ bullshit. You can understand that can’t you?”

He does. But it does not mean he likes it?

But then again, neither does she probably.

His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as it begins to sink in just how in the wrong he is? Is it too late to drown himself in the pool? He doesn’t know how long he can take her vindicated glare.

“I guess.” He admits, dragging his voice like a corpse.

It’s not enough to sate the girl. “You guess.” She snorts, “You know there are better ways of saying you fucked up.”

He leans back, crossing his arms, remaining stupidly silent.

Her mouth creases down, her eyes sliding away from him. “Whatever. So, you going to apologise to her then, or are you just wanting to sit here remaining a jackass?”

“What good what it do?”

“What? You being a jackass? Not much.” She smirks when he growls at her. “What the hell do you mean? ‘What good?’ Does it really matter? It’s just apologising so you can hang out with her again, dumbass.”

His mouth sharpens to swing another sword of insults, then it dulls as the thought lingers. Hanging out with her again. There is some dark, small voice buried somewhere that reminds him how much he wants that.

Tilting forward, his voice is softer than he thought possible. “But she’s going to leave. What does it matter?”

That’s what happened to him. People were here, then they went, and Crow was left missing them. That was his life; the kind of bad joke you would find in a Christmas cracker.

He hears something rough start up like a boxer stepping into the ring, before a dry sigh follows. Something bumps against his arm, but it doesn’t hurt, it just gets his attention. She’s still there, sat beside him, relaxed, her eyes still sharp, but her mouth is curved into something flat and unjudging.

“If we’re going to miss her either way,” Squirrel says, far too smooth to be recognisable. “We might as well make up the time we’ve got left with her.” She adjusts herself in the cold, yet comfortable way that only she could. “Look, she misses you, man. Just come to the bar and talk to her.”

It’s so gentle there might as well be the ‘please’ on the end that she refuses to say.

She’s keeping a little bit of her pride.

Crow can admire that much; he’d be a hypocrite otherwise.

His own pride wants him to scoff and turn away from her, carrying on the same way he always has. His pride has always been the leader ahead of his brain.

But something’s catching up in that race.

Something that makes Crow stumble up, silently resigning himself to what he truly wants. He doesn’t wait for the clearly surprised girl to stand as well. She’d catch up soon enough. And she does. Crow half expects her to take a clear lead, walking backwards, grinning at his expense as he plods along like a fallen soldier.

Instead, she walks beside him, never taking a lead and slowing down when he needs to. He must have been going crazy; he almost swore he saw her hand reach out to steady him whenever he slightly stumbled. She looks away whenever he glances to see.

Hazily, he changes the subject.

“She really missed me?”

“Yep.” She snaps her jaw, beside him he can see the conceited sneer grow on her face. “God knows why? It was beginning to get peaceful without your miserable ass.”

The quiet part of him softens, pleased and guilty by the clarification.

The loud part of him is wounded by the insult.

“Oh really?” He scoffs; same old bitch she usually was. “Then why are you here?”

Her emerald eyes open halfway, a thin line across her mouth. “Feather was too scared you were mad at her, and Storm pretty much hates you.” She shrugs, “No one else would give you time.”

“Right.” He scoffs, nudging her with a force that’s halfway between play and pain. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You should be grateful that I will.” Her teeth gleam in the sunlight. “Otherwise, you’d be limping your sorry ass back to crying in your room again.”

He rolls his eyes, annoyed that he’s gifted her another point. “Prick.”

She gently nudges him along. “Love ya too.

…

Every chemical in his brain is sparking. The thoughts rising up in a thousand screams that demand him to turn around.

At the door to the bar, the flashing neon lights seem to hurt when they meet his eyes.

Get out of here. They roar in flashing cries. She’ll never forgive you.

A hand softly pushes him on.

They’re all at the table. Their table. Her beside her brother, upset and anxious. Leaf on the other side, awkwardly trying to raise broken spirits. The empty seats make their space look lonely. Or maybe it’s for the best.

They’re better off without you. Just like you’re better off without them.

Squirrel raises a hand, calling over. They all turn to face the pair.

Crow wonders where their eyes linger, what they all hold.

You know where they’re looking right. Cripple.

He swallows, trying to taste whatever they see in him. Feather’s blue orbs shimmer on him.

She just feels sorry for you. You can’t make it right.

He slowly trudges to the table. Feather rises out of her seat. Storm puts up a limp hand cautiously.

See that. He doesn’t trust you. He hates you, and he should.

Storm lets the hand fall, lets her walk slowly up to where Crow stands.

Crow begins to feel spots blinking across his eyes, she gets nearer and nearer. His cast is beginning to warm up, the heat milking over his body, he thinks he can feel himself sweating a little.

She’s only a step away, her eyes close then open with direct intention.

Crow breathes in the silence accepting the hate she’s sure to give. The hate he now knows he deserves.

Then she hugs him.

Tells him she’s glad to see him, that she was so worried after hearing about his injury, that she’s sorry for not coming to see him herself. She pulls back, holding him dearly, smiling like only she can do.

Crow breathes in and out. In and out.

She’s going to leave.

She is. And it will hurt.

But he can’t let himself see her hurt again.

So he apologises.

She accepts it.

And they all blissfully move on.

…

They only have a month left. They all know that. There are days where Feather and Storm take the time to pack and plan, careful to not alert anyone. They all realise how quickly this time will fade in the hourglass before they can never see each other again.

So they use that time wisely.

Every moment they can, they are all together. Storm picks them all up in his car, sometimes early enough that they can get breakfast together, then it’s classes, breaks, lunches, and finally getting together so they can finally put their evenings to good use.

Movie nights and pizza meals where they laugh as Squirrel overanalyses every detail.

Final study groups where they all take turns being embarrassed by Leaf’s overwhelming knowledge.

Drinks at the bar where Storm and Feather sneak drinks out to the younger members before running as security spot them (those are Squirrel’s favourite nights apparently).

Sessions at the karaoke place – Crow refuses to take part for a while, watching as Feather sings Beyonce like an angel and Squirrel (admittedly perfectly) spits out every rap song from Hamilton. He eventually gives in when the bar added songs by The Strokes to the list and nobody else knew who they were; it was time to teach them about real music.

But even before that, Crow knows that, for the first time in years, he’s truly having fun.

Because when they’re together, laughing, not out of any mocking reverence, but true laughter, and he sees her smile in the way he loves, everything feels right. Perfect.

There is a part of him that stings, like a thorn twisted in his arm, at the thought that these days are slipping and fading through their fun, growing closer to the separation that rains on them all.

But for those smiling moments, he doesn’t care.

Because it’s only those moments he should ever care about.

…

“You’re coming, right?” She asks.

She’s sat beside him as they watch the final track race of the year from the bleachers. They all talked him into seeing it. Sure, he still had another week before his cast would come off, so of course he was side-lined, but it gave them all some more time to kill. Plus, apparently Storm was friends with some guy on the team (Crow pretended he recognised the name) so if Crow didn’t go, he’d be on his own.

Reluctantly, he’d acknowledged his pride wasn’t worth the bullshit of that.

So they all sat there (except for Leaf who was helping her friend Moth study), buried in the small crowd, wrapped up against the cold air (he’d never realised how cold these nights were when he wasn’t pumping air and blood throughout his body) watching the team actually compete for once.

They are all in the fourth lap when she asks.

“What do you mean?” He asks, stiffly looking ahead. He’s only playing, but there’s something different in the brief glimpse he can make of her. Her mouth is coiled into a frown that doesn’t look right. He lets the game go early. “Oh, the premiere? Yeah, sure. I’ve got time to kill.”

“It’s not killing time,” She scoffs, pulling the gloves from her hands to click her fingers. “It’ll be making it.”

“Is that a promise, or will I get a refund in the inevitable chance it flops?”

She tries hard to look angry at him, but there’s something twitching her mouth upwards. “Nope. You turn up, that money’s ours.”

The team ascends into the fifth lap and Crow scoffs, spotting that half of them are clearly running out of energy, they’d all drop before they got a winner. “It better be Oscar worthy then?”

The gloves slip gracefully back onto her hands. “You shouldn’t expect anything less.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great!” Feather coos from the other side of Squirrel. “You’ve converted it for me, haven’t you?”

“Naturally!” Squirrel promises. Feather and Storm will be able to attend the premiere, but the girl had begged Squirrel to burn the movie onto a disc for her. A parting gift. Feather spoke like it was already a masterpiece instead of a secret project none of them knew about.

“Sick! I can’t wait!”

“Well, you’ll have to. Just two more days.” Squirrel says, her dark ginger hair flares up as the light of her phone screen brightens on her face.

Just two more days before the film. A day later, their group decreases.

Crow sips down his coffee, the bitter taste mercifully numbing his thoughts.

“Come on, lad! You can do it!” Storm’s grunts resonate.

Crow watches as his (kind of) friend’s friend sprints near the front, sweating and panting in ways Crow could never do this early on. He keeps that to himself. “He needs to slow down a little.”

“Slow down in a race?” Storm’s tone is enough to scratch Crow with a stare. “Great idea.”

“Yeah, I know, numb-nuts.” Crow bites back, “Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to fall worse than I did.”

“There’s still like ten laps to go.”

“All the more reason to take his time. From the looks of it, he’ll be able to walk past a track of dead bodies if he holds back compared to the rest.”

“This is the team you were part of, right?” Storm’s leer prick from an eye corner, “Do you have a nice word to say about anyone?”

Crow gives him a look.

“Never mind.” Storm retreats, his sigh steaming in the cold.

“I don’t know,” Feather grins, “You might actually have a challenge when you’re back on the field, Crow.” Her voice is a tender prod that makes both her brother and Crow smirk.

“Oh, I’m shaking.” They all find themselves laughing.

Almost all of them.

Only Crow notices, but he doesn’t try to look like he does. Squirrel is staring at her phone screen, a dull look burrowing into a series of messages Crow can’t get a good look at before she buries the phone away.

Then she gets back to smiling. In that filtered, artificial way that Crow has begun to perceive with weak malaise.

…

Something is definitely wrong, Crow identifies.

The whole group had been able to get front row seats. Surprisingly, the film team made the hall look really damn impressive. The Home Ec class had sent a section of their team to cater at the front of the hall, and the whole room was pungent with the airy tang of buttered popcorn and hot dogs.

At least sixty chairs had been set up around the room, and each one was occupied, probably mostly by friends or family members, but hey, they all paid. Plus, another twenty people were stood at the back of the room, also eagerly awaiting. Crow sees Squirrel’s parents among them, both holding bright, jubilant smiles as they await for the introduction by the film team.

Crow remembers the way Squirrel felt when they were studying, the pressure on her shoulders.

Surely her father’s excited face would make her know that there were some who believed in her.

Crow doesn’t wonder anymore why that satisfies him.

It had been a great turn out, all things considered. The kind that Squirrel had wildly mulled over all these months. The kind that she should have been proud to see.

That’s what makes it so much more troubling when she steps out with her class. The group is a sea of faces, nervous and proud, but her face sticks out. Because after her eyes glaze the room, examining every seat, her face, actually done up with a little make-up, drips into disappointment.

Her voice, high and passionate as she thanks them all for coming, is enough to trick the audience with a mockery of eagerness. But Crow finds the small tics, the breathy snaps in the joy.

His stomach curls as she walks off to her own seat at the side, the green glow of her eyes darkening to grey, her fiery hair extinguishing, as the lights fade off.

Crow almost feels guilty that it isn’t the film that takes his attention for the next hour and a half. He catches on enough: it’s some stylised action-comedy about a group of teens who rebel against their domineering teachers and take several of the worst teachers and bullies’ hostage. It goes well enough, Crow feels. The audience laugh when they’re meant to, some in deep hysterics, it’s directed fairly well, especially for a student film (how they got the permission to set a car on fire, he’ll have to ask her), the actors are genuinely really good (though that Shrew kid is certainly melodramatic when he has the chance), but it goes by.

And it’s undeniably Squirrel. Crow isn’t sure how much of a hand she had in the script, but the jokes and one-liners he knows so well (usually since they’re at his expense) fly off the screen like bullets. The scenes are energised, fast, dragging every pair of eyes like they were on the back seat of a crashing plane.

It’s all her.

And Crow finds he likes it.

Hell, Crow actually chuckles at one or two jokes, that’s something they could put on the poster.

But still, his attention is driven away, like an itch on his neck, a pinch that convulses his head sideways, towards her.

The placid line, the lacklustre stiffness that makes her expression like a plastic doll, it never leaves.

There is a screen that is literally screaming everything he knows is her, and when he looks at the flesh, he doesn’t recognise what he sees.

Not even at the end, where the cast are bowing to a room of applauding, whooping, undeniably entertained people, she fakes the smile, her eyes give her away.

Crow doesn’t understand. Not why he’s worried. Not why she’s like this. Not how he’s the only one who’s noticed. A sigh to his left proves the last thought contrary.

“Leaf?” Crow prompts her as they exit the seats. “What’s going on?”

Unlike what he’s seen on the screen, Leaf’s acting is terrible. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” She stammers, blinking three times in a second. Storm and Feather follow a group of people to the front of the room where the film team are being congratulated, they join Squirrel and her parents, helping the adults gloriously praise the director. Squirrel smiles thinly and nods her head.

“Yes, you do.” Crow presses, his eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with Squirrel? Did something happen?”

“I’m not sure.” Leaf lies, she doesn’t meet Crow’s gaze. “Not that I know of.”

Somehow, Crow suspects Leaf is one of the few that does know about it.                 “Come on, cut the crap.” He snaps. “You know what it is!”

“I- No, I don’t.” She tries to join the group, but Crow gently hold her arm. She turns to him, worry filling her eyes. “Let go.”

Realising himself, he does, but he speaks quickly. “I’m sorry. Look, I just want to know what’s wrong?”

Leaf does calm down, enough that her own eyes thin on the boy. “Why?”

(She helped him get over himself)

(She told him how much he had upset Feather)

(He hates how she looks when she’s upset)

“She’s my friend.” He admits and lies, bleakly, letting go of his annoyance at how hot his face becomes. Be calm. Keep cool. It’s not that big an admission, whether they say it or not, they’ve been hanging out with each other for almost half a year now, they definitely were not just unfortunate acquaintances anymore.

However, Leaf still looks at Crow like he’s grown a second head.

But after a moment of tense silence, and a promise by Crow to not tell Squirrel who told him, she admits that Crow is right and what it is that’s upsetting his so-called friend.

It takes him a minute to remember the face that matches the name. Bramble. He does eventually remember the brown-haired jock from months ago. Apparently, he used to be Squirrel’s English tutor before Feather. Leaf says that Squirrel used to get on really well with him. Enough that their sessions on Shakespeare had begun to turn into something else. But then he had to quit as her tutor because he wanted to spend time with his half-brother.

“Hawk.” Leaf says the name like she’s chewing on wire.

Crow doesn’t see the problem until Leaf explains more. Hawk is trouble, real trouble. Leaf has met him before, since her best friend is his sister. He’s terrible to that sister, Leaf says. Terrible in ways that are conducted by threats and insults. There are rumours that he is involved in crowds that are more, and worse, that plain out teenage vandals.

Squirrel had tried to warn Bramble about him. He didn’t listen. He continued to stick with Hawk, continued to stay over the line that was growing wider between him and the girl that had clearly liked him. He had made promises to meet her, to show he wasn’t giving all his time to one person, and had failed every time.

Failed again and again.

And tonight was one of those failures.

The night that had meant the most to Squirrel, the night that Bramble had sworn to uphold in every apology he had made before, it was a night where he hadn’t shown up. It seemed it was the final straw for whatever friendship Squirrel had thought still remained with the boy.

By the end of it all, Crow understands. And, though he knows he can’t really hate someone he doesn’t know, the thought of the brown-haired boy makes Crow’s fist clench and his jaw tighten.

Crow had hated Squirrel when he first said he would turn up, and he had meant what he promised even then.

“It really upset her that much?”

Leaf looks down, letting the silence speak. “Squirrel doesn’t like anyone easily.”

“I can believe that.” Crow mutters, exhaling. He wonders why his breath steams in a room as warm as this. “Do you think he might call her?”

Leaf huffs, anger looks wrong on her features. “Oh, he will. Just not when it matters.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Leaf nods sagely, craning her head for a moment. She’s staring right over his face, like a hawk watching a mouse.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She says, turning away. “Come on, we better go see her. At least someone can be there for her.” The awkwardness between them lets up a little at that shared goal. They both hated someone who had hurt their friend. They both now wanted to cheer that friend up.

But Crow didn’t know how to do that? It sounded like Squirrel really liked this guy. He must have meant a lot to her if his absence had caused that look to cross her face. What could he possibly say?

Well, he had to say something at least.

They walk over to where she stands, still soaking in the compliments like a wet rag. “Hey.” She says simply when she finds them. Her mouth crookedly curves up. “Did you enjoy it?”

As Leaf goes on about how much she did, Crow sees everything. The attempted blushes of make-up, the smooth dress she wears so differently from her winter coat, the way her hair has been smoothed down in red shining tails. Everyone had dressed in some formal style; this was different.

She’s made such an effort.

Squirrel takes in her sister’s words with lazy nods and a weak smile. Soon enough those hazed eyes will be on him, waiting for his own words that will fall off her like dust.

Crow’s stomach dances like a maniac, internal claws poking and prodding him to think of something that won’t just pass through her like a ghost. His breath hollows in his throat, and his fingers twitch in his pockets.

He didn’t know about this kind of-

Oh shit. Yes he did. Not the same way, but it was there. Liking someone close to him, and then feeling betrayed by her actions.

But unlike him, Squirrel was innocent. Still, he got it. Of course, he did. It was her who had come to him when he was like it anyway.

Leaf finishes her tune of praise, and Squirrel doesn’t look much better. Leaf can see that, but she doesn’t say much else, just gives her sister a close hug. Maybe there are some whispers that Crow doesn’t catch. Then they separate like rain off of glass.

And those green eyes find him. Crow straightens. She rolls her eyes, not in the way Crow likes, and her brow creases. “This ought to be good.” She sighs, reserved, “Okay, put me on the chopping block.”

Against his better judgment, Crow laughs lightly. He isn’t sure why. Around the two is an endless noise of celebration; whatever light revealing them mounts the shadow of a spotlight. Their own personal staring contest, as if they were waiting for the other to say something. But no, it’s Crow who has to speak, now or never.

Someone more cunning than Crow might have figured out the perfect thing to say. But Crow wouldn’t know wits if it spat in his face.

He’s always been up-front and honest. So that’s what he is. “It was good.”

The lines on her face break as Squirrel raises a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. You all did a good job.”

Despite the noise, it feels quiet. “Oh.” The girl purses her lips, “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

It’s plain and simple, that is Crow, but that’s not her. Crow’s mouth trembles open again, his mind digging. “Um, so, that part where Anita smears paint over her teacher?”

Her head raises slightly, “Yeah?”

“Was that inspired by Tarantino?”

Squirrel snorts, “Was it that obvious?”

“Kind of.”

“Are you saying I plagiarised? There’s such a thing as influence.”

It’s not the joke, but the snappy nature that makes Crow smirk. “You want me to write that in your defence notes for the trial?”

A tight sound escapes Squirrel, her hair curls out a little from the snap of her head. “Well, at least I know I got his style right.” She mumbles.

Crow shrugs, “You got a lot of his stuff right actually? Is he one of your favourites or something?”

“Pfft! I’m still convincing my dad to let me hang his movie posters in my room to this day!” She shakes her head a little, “Excessive violence, my ass. So, what else of his ‘stuff’ do you mean I got right?”

Crow doesn’t hesitate, “The humour.”

Now, a real chortle of laughter escapes the girl. Her eyes close, then open again, spunky and full of light. “Humour? Knowing you, I’m not sure if that’s really a praise!”

Crow stiffens himself with a coy shrug, “Well, it made me laugh. Whether the scenes were meant to or not,” His teeth expose in a real grin, “That’s a different question.”

The punch lands softly on his shoulder. “Jackass!” She pipes in a voice Crow can actually recognise.

He takes the chance. “Still, I wouldn’t like to be the idiot that missed this.”

Her smile remains, like an age old painting. But there’s something questionable in her eyes, and its hard to tell if she thinks he knows anything or not. “Yeah…” Her face flickers momentarily like a dying lightbulb. The silence comes back as her head falls a little, the smell of hot dogs becoming overshadowed by the fizz of cheap soda.

Crow swallows, “They don’t know what they missed. I guess that’s their loss, right?”

Her poker face is not as good as she likes to think it is. Crow is glad it’s not. Under the lights, he sees every detail buried in the screen of her emotions. The silent stare, the drop of her face, then the slow rise of the sun, and the settled, content smile that finally looks normal.

It’s probably not the end of it. Crow knows it wasn’t even really over for him.

But for now, it’s enough. The shine of green that lingers on him proves that much.

“Damn right.”

…

Crow is sad the next night.

For one, he stands in the cold air as Storm finishes packing the small luggage into the back of his car. They had to all be on time if they wanted to make this right. Feather hugs both Squirrel and Leaf close, they’re all making wet, crying sounds.

“I promise I’ll be in touch soon!” Feather exclaims, her face must be freezing from how much the tears streak down her cheeks.

“You better!” Squirrel hold back a real sob.

In touch. Crow suspects that’s a nicer way of saying I’ll never see you again. The cast is now off of his leg and he’s able to walk surprisingly well.

But it still hurts. Everything hurts.

As the women cry, Storm wipes his hands down, walking over to Crow. His impressive build is imposing and powerful in the red headlights. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“I guess.”

One of Storm’s hands lazily finds his pocket, the other waves aimlessly in the air. “Feel free to call if you want.”

Was that a last minute effort of a truce? Crow can’t tell as Storm’s face is remarkably stony; he guessed he had to be when his sister was crying her eyes out. The dark-haired boy nods, “Sure.”

“Great. Um, good luck on the field when you get back to it.”

Crow sniffs, “I don’t need luck.”

“Cocky little shit.” There’s a rattle of humour in his response. His hand extends out. Crow takes it. They shake and part without struggle. “I’ll see you.”

“I hope not.”

As he enters the car, Storm leaves crow with a smirk on his face, and a gradual nod.

Now it’s her turn.

Linking their eyes for the final time was harder than any race Crow thought he’d ever done or do. This had been the climax he’d hated to think about for the longest time. This was it. If there was anything he wanted to say to her, he had to say it now.

He doesn’t say it.

Partly because he knows it would do neither of them any good.

Partly, and more surprisingly, because when he found those blue pools he’d adored, they didn’t pull him in like they remembered. They were just the eyes of a good friend that he needed to say goodbye to.

A good friend.

And that’s how they part, after a long, tender hug, and more promises to talk over wires and electricity. He’s have to cherish that voice in the future, he knew that much. But it’s not as hard as he imagined. They pull away from each other, her eyes wet, his eyes beginning to leak, and then she calls a final goodbye as she enters the car, not looking back.

Crow feels like he’s only blinked once, his hand still in the air, when the red eyes of the headlights fade over the road and into the darkness.

It’s just the three of them now. And it’s then that Crow realises another reason why he’s sad. The link in his friendship with these girls was gone now, they had no reason to remain friends of friends anymore. It’s certainly that way for Leaf at least as she turns off, still rubbing her eyes.

To Crow’s small, slowly realising hope, Squirrel met him for a moment. Her eyes are red and raw, but she’s keeping herself tight and composed.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Apparently, hope was like a dominatrix, a real pain lover. It was only pity that Squirrel had for him. The pity for some heartbroken sap; that was all he was. Crow looked away.

“We’re going to have to be, aren’t we?”

Squirrel exhales, her breath fogs over the creamy glow of her skin. “She’ll call.”

“I know.”

He wants to leave yet wants to stay. It’s what she thinks that makes his lips tighten. But can he blame her? For a while, it was undeniably true. Not anymore, but it was still there, she was in her right to think that.

The quiet sticks, making the air sickly and humid, until Leaf pipes up. “Squirrel, Dad just text; we need to get back soon.”

“I’m coming.”

She lingers there. Her ginger hair un-straightened and blazing. The fire begins to cool as she turns one last time to the boy. He stands there, feeling stupid for so many reasons, his stuffy throat keeping him infuriatingly silent.

Once again, he’s running away, this time while being cowardly still.

She must realise that nothing else will come, as her pitying eyes only loom over him a second more before she nods slowly – a last goodbye – and walks off with her sister.

He stands there, watching another fire go out. In the cold. Alone. Once again.

He zips up his hoodie over his mouth and walks off home. Still terribly cold.

…

It’s the first day of summer vacation. The break towards a new start, some idiots have said. All he feels is an ending.

Feather has called him like she promised. Her and Storm have made it to River County. Crow is happy for her. He thanks her like the good friend he likes to think he is and talks about track and the swim team up there before they call off with another promise to speak again.

By the time he’s finished the call, he’s made it to the milkshake bar.

He’s terribly thirsty. Terribly drained. He’s ready to sip in the sugar again, this time at a new, smaller table.

He walks in.

They’re both already there. Sat at their table, two sisters talking between themselves. Crow thinks the seats beside them look full already. This was a bad idea. He swallows down the empty air before turning.

Then he hears his name. Then a nickname.

“Hey bird-brain, we’re over here!”

The name hits him like a dart. But it’s enough for his hand to fall off of the door. When he looks over, staring, still, he waits a tense moment to see if his hopes will be kind to him for once.

She’s standing up, her winter coat shaking gleefully in the summer air conditioning, not caring a bit as other patrons look her way. He doesn’t care either. Her hand waves frantically, “You still having trouble walking? Get over here, dumbass!”

Her sister scolds her volume and language. Squirrel laughs, pitchy and playful, then calls for the boy to come over again, exaggeratedly patting the seat next to her.

Crow doesn’t hesitate to take it.

“I would have called you, but,” She shrugs, “Turns out I don’t have your number. So, I got you this, just in case.” She pulls a shake up from next to her knee and holds it out to the boy.

Crow, like he did a while ago, blushes fervently, “Is this some kind of extortion scam?” He says, smiling, pulling out his wallet.

She smacks his hands down, “No, it’s a milkshake. This round’s on me!”

“What is it?”

“Try it and see.” There’s a glint in her eyes Crow finds charming and worrying all at once. He tries to see if Leaf knows if he’s about to be poisoned or not. The girl just smiles and shakes her head unknowingly.

He knows the chances that he’ll regret this far outweigh the chance that this will be something he’ll enjoy. He wouldn’t expect anything less from this girl. Yet he still grins as he gratefully takes and tastes the drink.

His face twists. Gleefully. Banana, cream and caramel leaps over his tongue, forcing a tidal wave of pleasure down his throat. They surge around his taste buds like a thousand fire-crackers.

It isn’t too sweet either.

It’s as sweet as the syllables of a name that feels warm in his mouth.

Just perfect.

His expression is clearly enough. “Thank God for that.” Leaf sighs.

“See! I told ya I had good taste, Leafy!” Squirrel punches him lightly on the arm and Crow thinks nothing of it. The girl may be infuriating, but she’s also remarkable.

But, he wouldn’t give her the round that easily.

He sets the drink back down on their table, flicking the girl’s ear. “If this makes up most of your taste, little bushy-tailed rat, that smirk of yours will go black.”

For now though, her smile is a beautiful, a really beautiful, white. “Laugh all you want, just know that whenever you get that in the future, I’ll be wanting an interest rate from you.” Her hand lands on his back, and it doesn’t leave. “How’s fifty percent sound?”

“How about I tip fifty percent of this over your head?”

“As long as you pay me, I don’t care.”

And they all laughed.

…

[jenonctcity]

Destroy Dick December - Renjun

Huang Renjun – Smut, Crack, Fluff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, spanking, male masturbation, oral.

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: 00’s line take part in Destroy Dick December

 Like No Nut November, Destroy Your Dick December is a month-long challenge related to orgasms of the penis persuasion.

On the first day of December you orgasm once, on the second you orgasm twice, on the third you orgasm three times, and so on.

 Series

Day 1:

Renjun had stuck to his words. He refused to let you anywhere near his dick, so you sat across the room from him with your arms folded across your chest and a glare pointed angrily at him. He was breathing harshly, his hand working over his cock so fast it just looked like a blur of skin to you. He kept glancing up from his hard on to look at you, meeting your glare every time and biting hit bottom lip to stop himself from laughing.

“You know, it’s really hard to masturbate when you’re looking at me like you want to cut my penis off.” He panted out, the pitch of his voice going higher as he gave his cock a squeeze.

“I do want to actually.” You spoke in a monotone voice, narrowing your eyes at him. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes as he pumped his shaft harder.

“Oh baby I can’t wait to stuff my cock in you.” He moaned out, his eyes squeezing shut and his chest rising and falling fast just before white ropes splattered onto his bare abdomen. “Fuck.” He whispered, riding out his orgasm and milking his cum from his dick as his eyes slowly opened.

“Shut up! You could have fucked me, but you were being an ass.” You stood up, walking to where he sat on top of the bed, pulling back the blankets and getting underneath with your back to him. “Ass.” You grunted, closing your eyes tightly and snuggling into the blankets. He tried not to laugh at how cute your angry face was as you angrily got into bed. He grabbed a tissue and cleaned himself up, gently patting your butt over the blankets.

“I love you; we can have some really good sex tomorrow.” He leaned down, moving your hair from where it covered your cheek and gently placed a kiss to your soft skin.

“No, we can’t. You have a full days’ worth of schedule tomorrow and I’m busy too.” You sighed and relented to his touch, letting him wrap his arms around your middle and spoon you from behind.

“Damn.”

 Day 3:

Renjun had invited himself to your home, just letting himself in with the key you gave him and waiting on your bed for you to come home. He’d already taken off his shirt, and was palming at the bulge in his boxers, his jeans and t-shirt laying haphazardly on the bedroom floor as he waited patiently. You had no idea he was in your room, throwing your bag down and kicking your shoes off as you entered your home. You were humming to yourself as you made your way to your bedroom, opening the door and screaming in shock at the nearly naked boy on your bed. He jumped too, startled by your scream and stopping his palm on his dick.

“Renjun!!!” You clutched your chest, pressed to the door and letting out a long sigh. “You scared the shit out of me! Why are you here? And why are you in your undies?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him, slowly walking closer to where he sat on your bed. He smiled widely at you, biting his bottom lip and pulling down the front of his boxers to reveal his half hard length. When he didn’t verbally answer you, you raised an eyebrow and spoke again. “No way.” His face fell, his eyebrows creasing and mouth hanging open slightly.

“Why?” He sounded almost offended, as if he hadn’t deprived you of sex for over a whole month and couldn’t understand why you were abstaining from spreading your legs for him now.

“Because I’m simply not in the mood.” You lied. You wanted nothing more than to pull down your jeans and panties and to sink down onto his cock. But your pride stopped you.

“You’re joking…?” He sounded as if he was in disbelief at you denying his proposal.

“Nope.” You shrugged and grabbed a blanket, throwing it over his lap to cover him up.

“But I still need to have two more orgasms today!”

“Then by all means, have them. But don’t make a mess in my room.” You smirked to yourself when you had you back to him, leaving the room and closing the door behind you. He sat on your bed with his mouth open, shocked and disappointed that he wasn’t going to get any sex today.

 Day 7:

Masturbating so much each day was starting to get to Renjun. When he’d originally accepted the challenge the boys given him to do Destroy Dick December, he’d planned to have so many sexual endeavours with you that it seemed enjoyable at the time. Had he known that he would have been spending the month with his hand being his company, he would have declined the challenge. So far, you’d only gotten him off once, and that was only because he bought you Chinese food when you’d pleaded for it, and you were so grateful that you stuffed your hand down his pants and finished him off to completion.

Your phone buzzed as you sat on the bus, your earphones plugged into your ears with the soft sounds of music flowing through them. You glanced down at the message on your home screen, you saw it was from Renjun and opened it quickly.

“I can’t do this anymore.” His text read, it made your stomach drop and heart rate speed up, not knowing exactly what he was talking about. Did he want to break up with you? You gulped, hastily typing out your reply to find your answer.

“What do you mean?” You bounced your leg up and down nervously as you waited for his reply. You saw that he was typing, and you held your breath, sighing in relief when you read what he’d wrote.

“Destroy Dick December! I need you to help me with it baby or I won’t be able to complete it.” You giggled, glancing around at the people sat around you, hoping they couldn’t see your phone screen.

“You’re just being dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, putting down you phone momentarily as the bus stopped and people climbed on, luckily no one sitting themselves beside you, so you picked your phone back up.

“My wrist hurts! I’ve used it so much because of you and now it aches!” You could almost hear his whine in your head as you read the text, stifling a laugh with the palm of your hand. When you didn’t reply, he sent you another message. “I only have one more orgasm to complete today but I’m not sure the pain is worth it…”

“Ask Jeno to do it.” You grinned widely at your own joke, not really sure how he’d reply to that. You gazed out of the bus window at the blur of the passing city, your phone tightly held in your grip. You didn’t even notice that it hadn’t buzzed, not checking the screen again until you’d gotten off of the bus and started walking to the Dream dorm. You knocked on the door as you approached it, standing patiently as you waited for it to be opened. It swung open to reveal Renjun stood there with a frown on his face.

“You think you’re funny don’t you.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the dorm. Completely skipping over a normal greeting. You sniggered, being dragged through to his bedroom fast and thrown onto the bed.

“You sure are strong for someone with a sore wrist.” You smirked as you watched him slowly crawl up the bed and hover over you. His eyes bore into your own, his face completely void of any emotion as he was about to retort with something just as sarcasm laced as your own words. Until he changed his mind and suddenly smiled at you, his eyes crinkling, and tongue bitten between his teeth.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, ducking down and capturing your bottom lip between his own. He sucked on your bottom lip and gently bit it between his teeth before tugging at it teasingly. You knew exactly what game he was playing, and you were more than happy to let him play it. “I love you.” He dragged out the last word, tucking his head in the crook of your neck and placing soft kisses to your warm skin. Very slowly, he subtly lowered his body to lay flat on your own, his mouth sucking at your neck and causing shivers to run down your spine. He trailed kisses back up your jaw to your mouth, taking you by surprise when he drove his tongue into your mouth, giving you a filthy kiss that made your stomach tingled. You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He ground his hips against yours, his tongue working against yours with vigour. You twirled his hair between your fingers, tugging it gently to get his attention. He pulled away, his lips glistening with spit from the severity of your kiss. He stared at your lips, waiting for you to speak.

“I’m not gonna have sex with you Junnie.” You smirked up at him, holding back a laugh when his face fell, and he rolled off of you, turning his head to shoot you a dirty glare. “Looks like you’ll have to endure the wrist pain my love.”

 Day 25:

You woke up on Christmas morning with a smile on your face. You were tucked up in Renjun’s arms, warm and content with how your plan for the day was going to plan out. As the day went on, you did normal Christmas stuff. You opened presents with Renjun and ate more food than you could both cope with. As Renjun had settled into bed, you snuck off to this bathroom to change into something you’d been saving for a special occasion. Day 10 is the day that Renjun had officially given up with destroy dick December. He couldn’t hack it anymore and had been two more orgasms away from completing the day when he’d touched his dick and nearly cried from the oversensitivity he was feeling. Despite this, you still hadn’t let him fuck, not that he was desperate for it. At one point he was so overwhelmed from all the orgasms that he’d sworn to be celibate for the rest of his life. A week later you walked in on him jerking off to porn, so all you’d discovered was that your boyfriend was a drama queen.

Taking a deep breath, you slid on a black, silk robe, tying it at the waist so that it covered up your body like a present messily wrapped. Exiting the bathroom, you slinked into the bedroom, leaning against the doorway and clearing your throat to get Renjun’s attention as he stared at his phone. He glanced up, looking back at his phone without realising what he just saw. When his brain started to work, he took a second look, his eyes now glued on your exposed legs, his tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip.

“You have one more present to unwrap.” You spoke in a sultry tone, dropping your eyelid to wink at him. His eyes raked up and down your body, excitement pooling in his stomach and causing his dick to twitch in his pyjama bottoms.

“Come here.” His voice was deep and tone commanding, making you comply immediately and cross the room to the bed. You climbed on top of the bed, sitting on your knees and waiting for his next commands.  He was sat underneath the covers, and you felt him shuffle around as he wiggled his pyjama bottoms off, throwing them out of the bed and across the room. You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from full on laughing at him. “Lay down.” As you laid down on your back with your head at the foot of the bed, he climbed on top of the covers. You noticed that his cock was already at half mast, obviously just seeing your exposed legs with the anticipation of what’s to come being a huge turn on for the poor sex deprived boy. He took the ribbon of your robe in-between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a gentle tug and smirking as the bow came undone. He used both hands to open up your robe, unwrapped the robe from your body as if he was opening up the most delicate present in the world.

“Do you like it?” You asked with a smug look present on your face. He stared down at the red lace lingerie clinging to your body, gulping at the sight of his ethereal girlfriend laying in front of him ready for the taking. His eyes scaled your body multiple times, making sure he had every detail of your body stained into his mind.

“Fuck yeah.” He dived in and kissed your red stained lips, the red lipstick smudging on your mouth and printing onto his own messily, but he honestly couldn’t give a fuck. The kiss was dirty, his tongue not wasting time in breaking past your lips to flick against your tongue. As he kissed you, his dick was getting harder and his libido becoming overpowering. Pulling back to rid you of your panties so he could bury his cock within your warm walls, you decided now was the perfect time to surprise him. Up until that point, you’d kept your legs shut, waiting for him to pry them apart. As he gripped your knees and parted your legs, he gasped, his lips pulling up into shocked smile. “Crotchless?!” He bit his bottom lip and smirked. “I love you so much.” Renjun had a kink for fucking when you still had on your lingerie. Liking nothing more than driving his cock into you from behind with the sight of lace or silk covering your beautiful skin. However, it was often a nuisance for him to keep pushing your panties to the side.

“How do you want me?” You bit your bottom lip, juices starting to pool in the entrance to your tight cunt as Renjun pressed kisses down the valley between your breast.

“Stay still.” He pressed your legs up, so your knees were bent and pressed against your chest. He spared no time in lapping at your wet hole, dragging his tongue up to your clit. He let his tongue circle the swollen bundle of nerves, going between quick flicks and tantalizingly slow licks. You gasped, moaning softly with your head flat against the covers of the bed. He took the material of the panties in between his teeth and playfully tugged, growling in excitement of having the material on you but not covering up all the parts he wanted to enjoy. “I’m gonna fuck you now baby, roll over.” He sat back, waiting for you to fulfil his demand. You lowered your legs and rolled onto your front, propping yourself up onto your elbows and knees, wiggling your ass at him to entice him in. He bit his bottom lip, staring at your lace covered ass before bringing his hand down firmly to slap your ass. You gasped and a moaned slipped from between your parted lips in surprise.

“That’s for refusing to have sex with me all month.” His voice was dripping with honey and lust, causing your stomach to flip in suspense. You couldn’t see him, but you felt the bed move as he wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a squeeze and a few pumps. He ran the head of his cock up your folds, letting his pre-cum spread and mix with your own wetness. You took a deep breath and held it in, waiting for him to push into you. He smirked, taking his time to tease you before pushing one of his slender fingers inside.

“Renjun hurry up…I can’t wait any longer.” He pulled his finger out, swirling your juices around your hole and dipping two fingers back inside of you. He pumped them in and out of you slowly curling them up to try each time he sank them deep inside you.

“It’s not nice to be teased and constantly on the edge is it, baby girl?” He removed his fingers, wiping them against the lace of your panties. He knew you were on birth control, so he had no queries when he stuffed his cock into you without a condom on. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the feeling you had missed for nearly two whole months. He fit inside of you perfectly, and you felt like you filled to the brim, your walls tight from the lack of penetration you’d had. “You’re lucky its Christmas otherwise I’d drag this out.” He leaned over you, his bare chest pressed to your back and his mouth beside your ear. “You’ve been really naughty this year (Y/N)…but I’m not going to punish you.” He gripped your hips, leaning back so he was supported only by his knees. “Yet.” He pulled his hips back, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls before he snapped them back. All you could do was whine and let him destroy your needy pussy.

“Fuck! Oh fuck me.” You whined, leaning your head into your arms as you tried to cope with the overwhelming feelings your body was going through. He was relentless, moving his hips fast and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your whines and his grunts echoing around the room. His grip on your hips was tight enough it would surely be sore to the touch in the morning. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as he hissed when he pulled out of you.

“Over.” His hand clipped your ass again, it only stinging slightly but being enough to spur you on to flip your body over without hesitation. He threw your legs over his shoulders, slipping back inside of you and tucking his face in the crook of you neck as he pounded into you.

“Renjun I’m so close…right there!” You squeaked in a high pitch as his cock brushed against your sweet spot. He kept his hips at that specific angle, your nails dragging down his back and leaving aggressive red marks on his skin. His thrusts became sloppy and uneven as he neared his own high. The butterflies in his stomach whirling up into a lump that was about to explode. He moaned in your ear, moving to connect your lips messily as he came inside of you. The feeling of his cock coating your insides with white ropes and his hips snapping into you at a slower but harder pace was enough to shove you over the edge, your own orgasm hitting you like a wave of heat and you both moaned into each other’s mouths. He disconnected your lips, dropping your legs down from his shoulders and opting to press himself flat against you, resting his head in the warmth of your neck once more. Neither of you dared to move as your both caught your breath. He continued to lay on top of you and softly chuckled, nuzzling his nose to your sensitive skin.

“I’ve missed this.” His whispered, slowly raising his head to look you in the eye. “I was seriously starting to think you were never going to have sex with me again.” He pouted at you, clearly trying to gain some sympathy from you.

“I couldn’t go any longer without it.” You still sounded slightly out of breath as you spoke, your arms loosely wounded around his neck. He sighed in contentment, placing a kiss to you cheek before whispering.

“Best Christmas present ever.”

 Destroy Dick December: Huang Renjun – Fail.