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purple-plum-petals · 15 hours

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⊱ You Can Do Better Than Me ⊰ || Boothill X Reader

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Boothill (Honkai: Star Rail) Reader Type: Human, Not the Trailblazer (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Break-up (Miscommunication/Assumptions… Not Permanent), Negative Body Image/Self-talk (Regarding Boothill), Use of Petnames (Boothill calls Reader “darlin’” and “sweets” and Reader calls Boothill “honey” and “love”), Slightly Suggestive Ending. Genre: Drabble, Angst, Fluff (Hurt/Comfort), Pre-Established Romantic Relationship Word Count: ~2500 words Prompt: “What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” Author’s Note: Hello everyone, I come back to you briefly with a random Boothill drabble because this cowboy has been on my brain for the past three months and I needed to get something written for him ASAP. I actually got both him and his lightcone on release day, so I’m still hyped about that (didn’t even need to break my F2P status either hehehe 😎). I will get around to writing a multi-chapter fic for him as soon as my summer semester is over and all of the current requests in the ask box have been answered. I’ve been managing the workload relatively well so far, but it’s genuinely been so overwhelming in terms of content/information that my brain can barely form coherent sentences after class and work. 😭 Anyways, have some self-conscious Boothill and my beloved hurt/comfort. Maybe instead of saving the horse, we should save the cowboy. Also… let me know if anyone is interested in a part two, and I’ll be happy to write it. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Tag-List: @anonima-2 – I know you wanted me to tag you if I got around to writing a Boothill X Reader fic, so here it is! It may not be a multi-chapter one, but I hope you enjoy this little drabble.

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated! ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

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You had known Boothill for quite some time now. You had crossed paths with the elusive Galaxy Ranger throughout the years, so many times that you eventually lost count. Three times was uncommon, five times was rare, but over twenty times? That was absolutely unheard of given the vast expanse of space. It got to the point where you both noticed how frequently you would meet, the two of you making jokes that the universe was pushing you together.

Boothill had thought for a while you were sent to capture and/or kill him by the IPC but, after a particularly intense “discussion” (where he proceeded to hold you at gunpoint, as he frequently did with most people), you were able to confirm that all of the times you two had met were indeed just an exceedingly rare coincidence. It was something you would occasionally bring up to tease him about nowadays, poking fun at the fact he had literally held his future partner at gunpoint. It was a memorable event to reminisce on when asked by others ‘how did you two meet?’.

Years had passed since that unforgettable interaction, and both you and Boothill were happy and content in your current relationship. All of that time together with him had given you insight into how the cowboy typically behaved. He could be brash and rush into trouble head-first, but he was also immensely intelligent and could think of a plan on the fly to get himself out of even the stickiest situations. He was the type of person who frequently spoke his mind, not allowing his tampered-with Synesthesia Beacon to completely censor what he wanted to say… which is why you were as worried as you were lately.

Your boyfriend hadn’t been as talkative as he usually was. He had returned from a three-month-long trek around the galaxy a few days ago, and he had been distant ever since he came back. His replies had been clipped, and he had a strange look in his eye whenever he glanced your way; he hadn’t even looked at you for more than a few seconds since his return.

Tentatively, you made your way over to where he was sitting by an open window in your home, the breeze gently blowing the strands of his black-and-white hair to and fro. You stepped closer to stand next to him as you asked, voice tender as you spoke, “Boothill, honey, what’s wrong? You’ve been more reserved than usual these past few days, and I just want to check to see if you’re ok–…”

Then, he spoke, his voice firm as he cut off the rest of what you were going to say, “…I wanna break up.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach at his words, and you felt your palms begin to clam up with sweat as you whispered, “W… What?” You swallowed harshly, stepping closer to him as you asked, double-checking to see if you had heard him correctly, “What did you just say?”

“I said I wanna break up.” He says once more, voice rough as he turns his head ever-so-slightly to watch you from his peripheral. It felt like the world had stopped moving when he confirmed what you had always hoped you would never have to hear, and you feel your eyes begin to water. He finally, after so many days, looks at you directly after what has felt like eons. Whatever expression was on your face caused him to flinch before he looked away once more, staring at his hat on the nearby table.

Boothill sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he continues to speak, his voice gentler than usual as he tells you, “I don’t think this,” He pauses, taking his hand and gesturing toward himself before finishing his thought, “…is good fer you.”

Your emotions were fluctuating so quickly that your mind didn’t know what to do with all of them. First, you were worried about your boyfriend, then you were heartbroken when he said he wanted you two to go your separate ways, and now? Now you were angry, a sudden burst of frustration filling your veins at his reasoning behind wanting to end your relationship. Your heart aches as you exclaim, trying not to pay attention to the wetness forming along your lashes, “Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?”

Boothill is back to refusing to look at you, so you try to move into his line of sight as you ask, your hands flailing about as you speak in a desperation-laced tone, “What, exactly, isn’t ‘good for me’ Boothill?”

He turns his head to look at you, standing up from where he had been sitting as he holds his hands out, trying to placate you as he says hastily, “Listen don’t – don’t get the wrong idea, alright?”

“How can I not get the wrong idea when you suddenly tell me you want to end our relationship!?” You yell back, feeling the tears begin to trickle down your cheeks. You were angry, sure, but the soul-crushing feeling of separating from the man you loved so deeply pierced your heart like a knife. Your frustration quickly began to be tainted with sorrow, your voice coming out softly as you ask him, your mind desperate for some kind of answer as you place a hand on your chest, “Did I… Did I do something for you to come to this decision?”

Panic floods his expression immediately as he reaches out, his hands resting on your shoulders as he leans down to look at your face. He quickly tells you, one of his hands coming up to gently cup your cheek as his thumb brushes away your tears, “No, no, no, no – you didn’t do anythin’, darlin’. You’ve been perfect in every way, I just…”

He pauses, gaze traveling to the ground as he thinks of what to say. His cold, metallic fingers against your skin are comforting to you in a way you couldn’t describe – comforting in a way no one else would be able to understand. Boothill’s eyes meet with yours once more as he continues speaking with a bittersweet smile, “You could do so much better than me, sweets. I don’t want to hold you back.”

The anger you had felt was suddenly back in full force as you asked him, brows furrowed as you questioned, “How?”

Your hands come up to hold onto his, the one that was still lovingly cupping your face as you ask, leaning forward toward him as you speak, “How could I do better than you? What are you holding me back from?”

Boothill shakes his head, saying with a frown, “There’s so many things I can’t give you… I can’t give ya a peaceful life, I can’t give ya a family…” His voice cracks slightly at the word, but he continues to speak as he begins to pull his hand away from your face, “You deserve someone who’s around more often – someone who can be there for ya whenever you need ‘em.”

Boothill chuckles bitterly, removing his hand from your grasp as walks over to grab his hat off of the nearby table, and you’ve never felt so cold and empty in your entire life. You watch helplessly as he places the hat on his head, staring as he begins to make his way toward the front door as he tells you, “You deserve someone who doesn’t cause you to jump every time their freezin’ cold hands touch ya – someone who can actually feel ya.”

You step toward him, reaching out to take his hand in yours and effectively stopping him in his tracks as you say firmly, “Boothill, shut the fuck up. Aren’t you going to at least ask me what I think about this?”

Boothill sighs, turning back around to look at you as he speaks. He doesn’t do anything to remove his hand from your grasp, instead gently squeezing it in a comforting manner as he tells you, “Listen, sweets, I just think it’s for the better that–…”

“No, it’s not.” You say, your voice strong despite the tears that had begun to flow down your face. You look up at him, bringing his hand to place on your chest as you tightly hold it over your heart, telling him firmly and genuinely despite the way your voice cracks, “I don’t care if you can’t give me those things. When did I even say that’s what I wanted in life?”

“Why wouldn’t you want that?” Boothill asks, looking down at you as if you had grown a second head, as if everything he said he couldn’t give you was something that everyone would want. He looks conflicted as he tells you, trying to take his hand back as he steps away from you and closer to the front door, “You deserve to be happy – you deserve to have someone who’s there for you.”

“What if all I want is you, huh?” You tell him, refusing to let go of his hand – refusing to let him leave your life in such a way. Your hold on Boothill’s hand was tight because you knew, deep down, if you let his hand slide out of yours, you’d never see him again. You look up at him as you speak, a spark of determination in your eyes which causes Boothill’s cheeks to flush a light shade of blue, “No one else can give me you. You’re the one that makes me happy – not some dream life, not some perfect family – just you.”

“You don’t want me, darlin’ – I promise, once I’m gone, you’ll move on an’ another lucky fella will have the honor of being able to love ya.” Boothill tells you with furrowed brows and a smile, his sharp teeth peeking out from behind his lips as he tries to convince you he’s not what you want. You could feel your eyebrow twitch in frustration at his words, your tears slowing down as you refute his claim.

“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” You ask him, a tinge of hurt and frustration mixed in your voice as you reach out to firmly hold both of his hands in your own. Boothill allows you to do so with no fanfare, a conflicted expression on his face; his fingers twitch in your hold. He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before once again looking at him as you whisper, “Listen, if you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you or hold you back, but…” You pause, smiling warmly at him before continuing, “but I want you. I want to be with you, not this hypothetical ‘fella’ you’ve envisioned who would give me a perfect life.”

Before Boothill could open his mouth to try and argue again, you quickly add on as you bring one of his hands to your lips, pressing a light kiss to his digits as you tell him, “I don’t care that you’re cold to the touch – I don’t care that we won’t have a picture-perfect life together…” You feel the tears beginning to form on your lashes again as you run your thumbs along his knuckles, telling him sincerely, “I’ve never imagined a future without you in it, love.”

Boothill looks down at you, his expression a clash between his adoration for you and the heaviness of the situation. He shakes his head, bringing one of your hands to his lips as he presses a kiss to the back of it as he tells you, voice uncharacteristically quiet as he admits, “I… I don’t want to leave, sweets. I just…” He hesitates as he makes eye contact with you, raising a brow as he once again gestures to himself as he asks, “Are you sure this is what ya want?”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life,” You tell him, letting go of his hands as you instead wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as your bodies press against one another. His arms wrap around your waist on instinct, pulling you close to him as you press your foreheads together. You stare into his eyes and bring a hand to his cheek, placing your palm against his face as you run your thumb along the skin under his eye. He leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm as you tell him with a smile, “Rain or shine, good or bad… I want to be beside you throughout it all.”

“Heh, well… I’m glad I get to be by yer side.” Boothill says, opening his eyes once more to look at you. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your temple as he whispers, almost as if he didn’t want the world to hear him – to keep this tender moment a secret between the two of you, “…Thank you for choosin’ me out of the rest of the blokes in the galaxy, darlin’. I’m a real lucky guy to have someone as wonderful as you.”

“I’d choose you in every universe, Boothill. That’s a promise.” You reply with a smile, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, almost as if you were teasing him.

He smirks at both your words and your actions, saying with a raised brow as he leans back, tilting his hat up with one finger as he speaks, “That’s quite a big promise there, darlin’. Sure you can keep it?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” You reply, matching his expression as you huff, “Don’t doubt me, cowboy.”

“I won’t, I won’t…” Boothill says with a chuckle. He pauses, his smile faltering slightly as he looks down at you. Your eyes were still slightly red, and the stains your tears had left on your cheeks were still present. He pulls you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck as he takes a deep breath in, muttering against your skin, “Aeons, I love ya… I love ya so fudgin’ much.”

“I love you, too, honey.” You reply softly, running your hand up and down his back when an idea pops into your mind. It was a mischievous one, and the mere thought of it causes a smirk to grow on your lips. You reach up and grab the hat from his head as you instead place it on yours, asking him flirtatiously, “Why don’t I show you just how much I love you?”

“Well… I certainly like the sound of that.” Boothill replies lowly, his eyes half-lidded as he gently caresses your face, smirking at his hat now resting atop your head. He leans down and kisses you, whispering against your lips in a sultry tone, “Plus, I’d like to apologize for makin’ you cry… Can I, darlin’?”

The tone of his voice was enough to make your heart start beating faster, and you could feel your cheeks begin to warm as you replied quickly with a simple, “Please do.”

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spooksicl-e · 2 years

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domesticity

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highvern · 3 months

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Patterns II

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+), eventual fluff/angst

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Chapter Warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, hand job, dry humping, oral (face sitting), lots of teasing/minor degradation if you squint, overstimulation, breath play

Length: ~9.9k

Note: part 2 is here, let's goooooo! thanks for being so patient and thank you @millennial-fangirl and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing!

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Avoiding Wonwoo post D-Day, as Amina calls it, proves to be surprisingly easy. An entire week of back to back meetings leaves you blocking off parts of your calendar just to use the bathroom. And according to the grapevine, there’s been zero proof of life from Wonwoo’s end either which has caused Mingyu to break out in hives.

But as the weekend draws closer you’re given the greatest gift the universe can bestow.

“Monday is a disconnect day for the client which means all of us are on black out. No emails, no phone calls, nothing.” Mona announces in the team huddle.

Tears of joy bead in your eyes at the news. However, it's short lived.

“We’ll need to hit the ground running when we come back so make sure everything is done Friday. Even if you have to stay late. Understand?”

Your laptop pings with a message in the corner.

Gerard: how does she make free PTO sound like hell?

Y/N: i think she said it was her special talent when we did ice breakers at the beginning of the project

Gerard: oh yeah right after she said she hates puppies

Y/N: and joy

Mona slaps her own computer shut, sending you ten feet in the air before continuing, “If there isn’t anything else. We can wrap this up. Shoot me a message if there are any questions.”

“And how will you be spending your new found free time?” You ask.

Gerard holds the door open as you walk past, “The way the universe intends. In bed, sleeping. Maybe I’ll finally unpack my suitcase from the last trip Mona dragged me on.”

“Wasn’t that like, a month ago?” You ask.

“And?”

The rest of the day is a blur, rushing from meeting to meeting with barely enough time to breathe. It’s only the end of the day that grants you the next glimpse at the world outside the dreary office walls. Albeit through the bright screen of your cell phone.

Once back at your desk, you unlock your phone to find several unread messages. Several from Amina document her jealousy that you and Lisa have long weekends. Lisa offers to kick Mingyu off the long planned trip to the adorable bed and breakfast she found for their anniversary.

Amina 🍑💗: FREE ME FROM THE SHACKLES OF CORPORATE AMERICA

Y/N: Your honor free her!!!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: Girls trip! Girls trip! Girls trip!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: mingyu will understand

Y/N: I am begging you to go have gross emotional sex somewhere other than our apartment

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: we’ve done it plenty of places that arent the apartment :)

Y/N: whore

But a separate thread unleashes a coldsnap in your veins.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): forgot to give these back…

Attached is a photo. A familiar swatch of cotton contrasting with the rich navy of his blanket in the background. His long fingers grip the hem, involuntarily jolting memories of them curled around your body.

Upon realizing you’re sitting out in the open staring at a picture of your panties, you hastily lock your phone and shove it into the deep recesses of your purse. Thank the stars no one else was around to glimpse the crude picture or the sudden sweat along your brow. How dare Wonwoo’s first attempt at speaking to you post hook up be a picture of your underwear in the middle of the work day. Who did he think he was?

Overcoming the initial embarrassment that floods your system, you decide to ignore his bid for attention. If you ignored him then he wouldn’t know the power he held. Plain and simple.

—

The next few days fly past without incident. Wonwoo remains silent and allows you to fall back into forgetting his existence.

As Friday hurdles forward, the usual shenanigans of bar hopping is replaced by plans for a movie night. You aren’t the only one suffering from sleep deprivation; Amina’s job ran her into the ground, and same with Lisa’s.

The idea fills you with dread, spurred by yearning to spend every moment of free time to catch up on sleep. But knowing your friends, the probability of successfully ditching is on the negative side of zero, especially since you’ve barely spoken to one another all week and they’d both be out of town for the weekend.

The atmosphere of the office is sullen. Late Friday afternoons are reserved for pretending to work and gossiping. Unless you work for your team. In which case, you’ve spent the past hour agonizing over different powerpoint transitions and if they convey professionalism yet approachable.

A throat clearing behind you breaks your trace.

“Okay, I need to go home.”

Looking up from your laptop, an aura of visible graveness radiates from Gerard. His theater minor really came in handy.

“Why?” You ask skeptically.

Gerard was nice. But he wasn’t that nice.

“Because I’m already going to be stuck here all night.” He sighs. “And there’s no point in both of us suffering. You have the report ready?”

“Yeah, I just need to make a new powerpoint and get it finalized.”

“Then let me handle it. Mona wants me to re-do the other report you need for the deck so I’ll make it when I’m done.”

Hands moving of their own volition, you shove your scattered belongings into your purse. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He groans. “If I need something I’ll call. Now go. Be free.”

He shoos you without another word, diving into his own computer. Before Gerard can change his mind you’re in the elevator and own your way home.

Thirty minutes later, you find Amina and Lisa already in the midst of a full apartment clean up. A 2000s playlist blasts from the speaker on the counter while Amina shoots daggers at the furniture in the living room.

“Do you think we should move the couch?” Amina shouts at your entrance.

Her lips move but you can’t hear anything over the blasting noise. “Huh?”

“The couch!” She repeats after cutting off the sound.

You nod before realizing you're still in work clothes. Rushing to your room, you quickly change into something more presentable.

When you return, Lisa is in the kitchen putting away dishes. You and Amina descend on the living room, heads bobbing in sync to the music while you work. Under combined efforts, the space shifts from wild disarray to sparkling clean in no time.

Moving in sync, you both work to tetter the furniture into different arrangements. It takes four attempts before she throws her hands up, accepting defeat and moving to the counter to join Lisa. You fail to silence a half hearted cheer before flopping down onto the soft cushions of the sofa.

“Who said they were coming again?” Amina asks, her head resting on her arms crossed in front of her on top of the cool marble.

“Mingyu, Soonyoung, Eva,” Lisa pauses as she scrolls through her texts to find confirmation. “Wonwoo.”

Both Amina and Lisa snap their necks to pointedly look at you.

Much to your own disappointment, your cheeks heat. Avoiding the scrutinous gazes of your roommates, you roll off the couch and busy yourself with replacing the pillows and blankets Amina tossed aside earlier.

“Have you talked to him at all?” Amina questions, walking over to reorganize the coffee table, sweeping their trinkets and books away for the drinks and food that would soon be spread atop it.

“Nope.”

“He hasn’t texted you or you haven’t responded?” Amina’s eyebrows furrow, as if Wonwoo’s silence is the most confusing thing between you two.

“He hasn’t texted.” You lie, pulling at a frayed thread at the corner of the pillow.

Lisa joins the effort, folding blankets and organizing them in piles. “Well that’s lame.”

“I’m sorry? Weren't you the one who threatened to kill him?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “So? A girl can’t be dramatic?”

“There’s dramatic and then there’s you.” Amina chimes.

“Whatever.” Lisa scoffs before looking at you. “Wonwoo’s cool but if he ghosted you then he’s a loser.”

You shrug before responding, “It was just a one time thing. It’s not like I was reaching out to him either.”

“I thought you said he was good?” Amina asks with round eyes.

“He was but it was just a one time thing. Let’s not make it weird, okay?” You wait until they both nod before continuing. “What time is everyone coming?”

“Around seven, I think?” Lisa throws the question to Amina.

“Yeah, seven.” Amina answers, eyeing the furniture again.

Glancing at your phone you spot the time, 4:46PM. Perfect.

“I’m gonna shower and take a nap,” You call, heading down the hall.

Once in the bathroom, you undress as the water warms to a tolerable temperature. Finding it suitable, you make to enter but the dig of your phone distracts you. The screen illuminates and you spot a familiar name.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I was planning on coming with mingyu tonight but if you don’t want me to I'll hang back

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything

Strange as it may be, you're oddly endeared by his consideration. But his last messages sit on the screen just above and cut the warmth short.

Y/N: and yet there’s a picture of you holding my panties that says the opposite

Y/N: im not spooked so easily

Locking your phone, you jump in the shower. The hot water lulls away the anticipation flooring through your veins. It didn’t have to be weird. Tonight would prove it.

The short nap leaves you disoriented but the laughter of friends draws you out from the covers. Bravely, you change out of pajamas into more presentable pajamas consisting of sweats and a sweatshirt. Once settled, you slide into the hall and meet company.

Turning the corner and entering the kitchen, you scan the group. Eva and Soonyoung sit across the counter, both of them smiling your way. Amina is fussing about, attempting to organize the drinks spread across the counter into some kind or order. An expensive bottle of liquor Mingyu no doubt supplied sits in the middle like a prize, however he’s nowhere to be seen along with his roommate and girlfriend. You try to assist Amina but the space between the island counter and the stove is barely large enough for one body, let alone two. Amina shoos you away after barely a minute.

A trio of voices echo down the hallway.

“Every project he doesn’t want to do just gets thrown on me.” A deep voice complains. “I don’t even know what his actual job is.”

The timber sends electricity down your spine. You try not to stare as Wonwoo steps into the light of the kitchen trailing behind Lisa. Apparently Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Lisa were tasked with food duty; however, Lisa's hands are completely empty. A stark contrast to Wonwoo and Mingyu behind her balancing several stacked boxes between them.

You exchange a brief friendly smile with Wonwoo, before he continues with Mingyu. Shoulders sagging, your relief is only momentary. The weight of your friends watching the interaction is unbearable, despite everyone being wrapped in their own conversations. Lisa and Amina argue over the best order to organize everything while Mingyu sets about actually arranging the boxes. Soonyoung and Eva exchange gossip at the counter, their own laughter slicing through the air above them.

Pouring yourself a drink, you snatch the pitcher next to Eva, no doubt containing one of her deadly concoctions. Filling the glass halfway, you take a sip. Fruit and spicy sweetness tingling on your tongue followed by the warmth of cinnamon. The slight burn is masked with a deceptive tang of citrus. It goes down much too easily for the amount of alcohol Eva includes in her drinks. You estimate it’ll take two servings before you’re asleep against the arm of the sofa. Empting the glass, you pour another helping and cast off from the counter.

Heading into the living room, you beeline for a spot on the sofa before anyone can object. Despite Amina’s attempts earlier, a few people would have to take to the floor and you refuse to be one of them.

“Alright everyone, come eat.” Amina calls in the small space.

You forgo the pizza for now. There would be plenty after everyone settled. Wrapping in one of the large fleece blankets, you burrow down into the sofa. Bending your knees, your legs cross while you lean back into the seam between the plush cushion and armrest, head perfectly positioned to see the television.

Your cup empties before anyone comes to join you. Lisa and Mingyu squash into the recliner on the other side of the living room, the shabby chair groaning any time their weight shifts. You hope it's enough of a deterrent for their determined wandering hands. Many movie nights had been ruined because of their less than family friendly activities. Amina settles in front of the coffee table amongst the pile of cushions and thick blankets. Eva and Soonyoung curl up on the loveseat against the wall.

Wonwoo crashes down into the space next to you, sending a tight lipped smile at your responding frown. His legs spread apart as he leans forward to eat. Your shin brushes against his thigh through the blanket but fatigue prevents any sort of reaction beyond registering the presence of his body.

Someone knocks out the lights and your eyes cement shut. The horror movie Lisa chose begins, lights from the screen dancing across your eyelids. It's a shallow rest at best, allowing you to catch snippets of dialogue from the characters and muffled whispers from your friends. But it’s like being underwater, senses dull as you experience it all from far far away.

You even forget about Wonwoo until he leans back into the cushions. The contact from his thigh breaking when he props his legs on the coffee table. A particularly loud scream comes from the TV but it's Wonwoo’s voice that startles you.

“Mind sharing?” He whispers, asking for permission despite already lifting the corner of the blanket draped over your knee.

You shake your head, nuzzling further into the armrest and away from temptation.

Wonwoo untucks the fold of the blanket from under your legs, stretching it across his lap. The heat of his side radiates into you even more. Even in your lethargic state the hyper awareness refuses to fade. It stokes a part of you wishing to move onto his lap and work you both back into the blissful high of a few nights ago. But you refuse to acknowledge the craving to dive into him, press your face into the front of his sweater and allow the beat of his heart to lull you into a rest.

You're fully aware all you need to do to get the first thing is let him give it to you. You were the one who ran away, shunned his attempts for a repeat, ignored him. Wonwoo provided several opportunities for a repeat of Friday night, now it was up to you to accept his invitation.

But try as you might not to care, the dread of what your friends will think rears its head. It's a cop out; no one really cares that it's Wonwoo, only happy you’re finally getting laid again.

You need to act before your nerve fades but in a room packed full of watchful eyes you’re unsure how to proceed. Feigning a yawn, your eyes pry open to lazily scan the room. Soonyoung has Eva between his legs, her back resting against his chest.. From where you are sitting it's evident they both have their eyes glued to the screen, Eva takes movie night too seriously to allow any funny business. Amina slouched down enough you can no longer see the top of her curly hair. Cautiously swiping at Lisa and Mingyu, it takes only a second before you look away. Thankfully Eva insists on blasting the TV volume to a deafening decibel.

The movement of Wonwoo’s chest, lulled by the shallow rises and falls, clarifies in the fliting light of the screen. More memories of flushed skin shuddering with ragged breaths come to the forefront. Following the curve of his throat to the arch of his jaw, you find Wonwoo already staring back from the corner of his eye.

He arches an eyebrow, challenging and curious. It demolishes whatever resolve you possess to not look away. Instead, you focus back on the movie while untangling your legs and resting them on the coffee table next to his, ankles crossing under the blanket. The sudden motion leaves the entire span of your right leg flush with his left, a comforting warmth spreading between the layers of thick fabric between..

In the haste, the top of the blanket falls down to your lap. You tug it back up swiftly, wanting the layer to conceal your next action from the rest of the world. Satisfied with re-arranganged fabric, your hand doesn’t return to its previous home in your lap. Instead, it rests in the small stretch of space between you and Wonwoo, allowing your shoulders to brush lightly and her fingers to ghost along his thigh.

The heat of his sideways gaze continues to heat your cheeks despite your attempt at playing oblivious. Shifting closer, you pause; Wonwoo doesn’t take the opportunity to move away. Instead, he presses back. Some twisted part inside your mind relishes in victory.

Wonwoo’s left arm slouches down from its place on top of the cushion, joining yours in the space under the camouflage of the blanket. The back of your hands timidly brush before he extends his arm. It's sweet for a moment; shy and coy. But Wonwoo doesn’t allow you to sink into the gesture because his hand rests on top of your thigh and squeezes.

Thankfully you’re far enough back that no one can see unless they turn their neck so far it almost snaps off. Even then, the thick fabric of the blanket doesn’t give away what's happening underneath. The only clues are your labored breath and the shit eating grin threatening to split Wonwoo’s lips. The two couples on either side of the room are in far more compromising positions but with Wonwoo’s hand so high on your leg, you might as well be nude.

Calloused fingertips begin tracing across the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. Without thinking, your ankles uncross, letting your legs part slightly to grant him more space. A wince escapes between Wonwoo’s teeth from your nails digging into his own thigh.

Wonwoo’s hands are lazy in their journey upwards. Fingers massaging firmly against the supple skin, pulling at the flesh with a fraction of the intensity he’s capable of. His thumb kneads into cords of muscle, working out the knots he detects along the way. When he grazes the edge of the large bruise, you stiffen.

Most of the hickies he gifted that night healed, some already disappearing completely. The one he’s prodding now stubbornly remained, much to your mortification. With the irritated skin still sore to the touch, you were constantly reminded of its presence each time you moved. In your peripheral, Wonwoo turns his head. A downward twitch of your jaw motions for him to continue.

The scene on the TV is almost pitch black, throwing the room into a similar darkness. Wonwoo makes use of the cover and creeps his hand past the waistband of your sweats. He lets his palm rest against the lower part of your stomach, the pleasant warmth seeping in, soothing the nerves. The respite is short lived when his long middle finger traces along the elastic of your panties, teasing the skin under the band.

Sweat blooms on your brow and your breath grows stunted. It's embarrassing how worked up he has you. Barely twenty minutes into the movie, less than five of Wonwoo’s touch and yet the distinct wetness between your legs swells. But rather than relief, Wonwoo waits. And he waits. And he waits.

What is he waiting for? You think.

Eventually the movie will end, signaling your friends to get up. The second any of them spared a glance at your corner of the room everything will become clear and exactly what takes place under the blanket will become easily decipherable.

But there is nothing you can do to make Wonwoo’s hand dip lower and feel the dampness he spurred. Attempting to distract yourself from suffering, you switch focus on controlling your breath. Counting slowly to four while inhaling, holding for another four, and then exhaling in the same measure. Even your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh follows the rhythm.

Mouth watering at the tense flex of the muscle under your fingers, you indulge in the visual of his room again. This time, he’s in nothing but his sweatpants, shirt nowhere to be seen. Red nail marks marr his chest and his hair is wild. You’re perched in his lap, completely naked and grinding against the evident bulge, dripping a wet spot on to the gray fabric. Wonwoo would watch while you used his body to get off, his hands tearing into the sheets. Fantasy Wonwoo would beg. He’d beg to kiss you, beg to touch you. Nothing like the devil sitting next to you, forcing you to plead for every once pleasure.

Next time Wonwoo would beg. But patience was never a virtue you took pride in.

Your hand wanders higher, finding exactly what you knew you would. Everything in you fights against grinning like the cat who got the canary. Despite the fact that you haven't really touched, Wonwoo is half hard. Even more satisfying is how he strains against his pants with only a few teasing passes.

He releases a heavy sigh when you push against him a little more firmly. Breaking attention from the movie, you sneak a peek at his reaction.

Wonwoo’s features are void of emotion. No matching bead of sweat at his temple and the heat you feel on your cheeks fails to present itself on his. Not even a wrinkle across his forehead. He almost looks…bored. It's a stark contrast to what you can feel under her palm.

But then you look closer and discover a discrete clench of his jaw and the minute flare of his nostrils. A glimpse at his neck highlights the stiff muscles, taunt like he’s fighting to break out of his own skin. You can’t stop looking. Subtle as the signs are, Wonwoo is just as much of a mess as you are. The only difference being he’s better at concealing it.

Wonwoo continues to play with the band of your underwear, content to pull the elastic and let it snap against your skin, providing no solace. It's maddening but gives you a chance to brace for his next move. He really only has two options, pull his hand away and end the game. Or push his fingers down further and indulge.

When a deafening scream blasts the TV prompts everyone to jump, he strikes. Wonwoo’s fingers wedge in the tight space between your legs. The sudden intrusion makes your thighs clench, a detrimental mistake since it forces the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit. He wastes no time before prodding against the soaking fabric curiously. Extending his fingers downward, Wonwoo teases at your entrance through your underwear. You could cry at the relief but control yourself, lip nearly splitting from biting back a squeak. You’d sell your soul to the devil if it meant you could be alone, sitting on his lap as he talks you through it, whispering for you to be good while he stretched you over his cock again and again.

But that's impossible. So you’ll settle for this.

Your friends are none the wiser while you build each other up under the blankets. When you stuff your hand under Wonwoo’s waistband, you find out he is certainly not wearing underwear. Immediately you take advantage, letting your thumb graze against the weeping tip. The angle doesn’t allow for a smooth so you play with the head, letting catch on his slit to over and over. Each pass earns you a shudder of his stomach against the back of your forearm.

Wonwoo pushes aside the thin strip of your underwear, two fingers tracing your entrance before dipping inside, curling up to his middle knuckle. It’s hardly enough to get off but the threat of getting caught spawns more and more arousal. At this rate, your sweatpants will be sporting a wet patch if they aren’t already.

She’s so fucking wet. Wonwoo thinks, the revelation sending a shot of want straight to his cock. He curses whatever he did in a past life preventing him from hauling you into your room and burying himself inside your cunt until he passes out. The irony of the position isn’t lost on him. Wonwoo waited all week for a green light and of course you decided to give it to him in the middle of a packed room with a dozen prying eyes and ears. But he isn’t one to shy away from a challenge. If you want him to get you off under the blanket, then he’s more than happy to rise to the challenge.

Wonwoo repositions his hand, allowing his fingers to play with your clit, abandoning the shallow thrust at your entrance. When his fingernail scrapes delicately over the bundle of nerves, a whimper breaks from through your parted lips and almost blows their cover.

The movie, unlike you or Wonwoo, is at its climax. Loud screams and distorted music occupy the attention of everyone in the room. But still, you both pause, frozen and waiting for a sign someone heard. Wonwoo debates pulling away. He’d seen the film before, and while his mind struggles to remember the plot he knows there's simply not enough time left before the credits roll and the illusion is shattered.

Brain riddled with hormones and lust, Wonwoo faces an impossible choice. Call timeout and hope you’re generous enough to give him another chance. Or, he can make the most of the opportunity literally at hand and pray he’s fast enough.

He’d already waited an entire week, what was another day? And if he waited then maybe he’d get to fuck you properly, away from any onlookers. Where you can sing all the noises that drive him crazy.

The way you play with his cock makes confident he’ll get another turn; so, with herculean effort, Wonwoo extracts his hand from your underwear, moves it back on top of her thigh and gives a minute squeeze in apology. He looks down at your face, witnessing the moments of confusion. Your eyebrows knot under his scrutiny.

“Later.” He mouths, hoping you’ll accept his promise to finish what was started.

In an instant, confusion transforms into cold rage. Features smoothing, your chin tips in defiance. Wonwoo already regrets his decision, tempted to go right back to where he left off but you look like you might rip his arm off if he tries. You turn back to the movie and ignore his existence.

The hand in his pants doesn’t leave, and a chill of fear trickles down his spine. You aren’t prone to violence, but having his most prized possession in the palm of your hand, coupled with the sinister coldness on your face doesn’t inspire any faith that he’ll walk away unscathed.

Wonwoo isn’t sure how much time passes before you act. Seconds drag on, forcing him on the edge of his seat with anticipation. The knee closest to him bends, your foot resting on the end of the cushion, providing a tent of space over his lap. A decisive twist of her wrist catches him off guard. The space between his lap and the blanket hides the rough fists of his cock with their friends only feet away. The motion steals his breath; the way you use the slick to slide across his shaft, squeezing tightly to the point stars float in his vision.

With embarrassing swiftness, he’s close. Teeth pinching at his lip barely prevent the grunts building in his chest; praises for the devil next to him dying on the tip of his tongue. Wonwoo’s hips threaten to cant up, matching the rhythm of your hand with his thrusts. The warning signs of his end sizzle through his veins, the fuzzy snaps of pleasure racing up his spine.

Wonwoo takes one last glance at your face, finding he’s already being watched. His eyes scan the mischievous smirk on your lips and realizes a second too late that he fell right into a trap. Without warning, your hand stills.

You smile sweetly as your hand slips out of his pants, snaking it into the bottom of his sweatshirt to wipe the mess of cum against his stomach. When your hand leaves his body and returns to your own lap, Wonwoo he’s been punched in the gut.

He has no time to ponder what the hell just happened because the credits roll and Amina is already up and moving towards the lights. Wonwoo rubs his eyes, thinking about anything that will make his hard-on deflate before he has to stand up. Cold showers, old neighbors morning sex routine, getting hit with a car… he repeats like a mantra.

On his left, you hop up, all but skipping down the hall and into the darkness. Wonwoo wants to chase and finish whatever the hell just happened given that his cock is soft enough he can tuck it up in his waistband. But his phone buzzes before he can. The screen lights up with a new message from the minx herself.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes with utter disbelief at his life. Your texts burned into his skull.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

Wonwoo: Next time?

Y/N (lisa roommate): you can think of this while you wait

The photo haunted him in his sleep. He stared at it for so long he’s sure he could draw the details from memory.

On your knees facing away from the mirror, your ass is on full display. Wonwoo doesn’t know it is better or worse that you’re lent forward with a lewd curve to your spine. Better because he can see everything. Worse because he received it minutes after you fled to your room, which means the wet cling of your panties to your folds was his doing.

More effective than the picture is the fact you were all but twenty feet away in the privacy of your room, taking nudes while he pretended everything was normal. The entire time he helped tidy up, the walk back to his apartment, and long before he fell asleep, Wonwoo wondered if you were touching yourself. He wanted to ask; ask if you were thinking about him while you did it and if you weren’t, could he give you something to think about?

But every time he opened the thread to message you his finger refused to type. Wonwoo remembered what it was like to have you on your knees. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. But now he has an idea what you look like from the back and it might end his life.

Instead of spending the night with the subject of his desires, Wonwoo found himself the subject of torture. Lisa came back to their apartment so the couple could leave first thing in the morning to some rural bed and breakfast outside the city to celebrate their anniversary. Apparently, they decided to start their celebration early. Hours of Lisa and Mingyu going at it across the hall stretched on with no end in sight.

Their usual antics would piss Wonwoo off but he’d deal with it. However, last night it only reminded him how much he is not getting laid and he has no one to blame but himself. Crushing a pillow over his head, Wonwoo attempted to make up for the sleep he is already desperately missing.

His efforts were hopeless. Barely five minutes passed before he turned fitful, tossing and turning without finding comfort. Every trick he knows failed; counting his breath, meditation, relaxing music, turning off his phone. Nothing works. He gives up after an hour.

When dawn came, Wonwoo’s bad mood set in to plague him the rest of the day.

Sheltering down in his room, he remains hidden until he is certain Mingyu and Lisa are long gone. When he does finally leave his bed, the choke of storm clouds outside have darkened the skies to the point that if not for the clock on his phone he would think it's closer to midnight than it is to noon.

When he decides to step out to grab food, his mistake doesn’t hit him until he’s already shut the door.

Wonwoo’s keys are still on the kitchen counter. Next to his wallet. And his will to live.

Several streets over, your day is going much much better; refreshed from a full night sleep and the thought of what Wonwoo’s face looked like opening the picture.

Lisa and Amina granted clemency last night, cleaning the mess from the evening before abandoning you for the weekend. Lisa off with Mingyu while Amina joined the college friends on their annual retreat (re: party weekend at the coast). Leaving you all to your lonesome for the next two days, nothing but rest and relaxation dancing on the horizon.

The murky darkness of thunder and rain outside the window is staved off by the warm glow from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room and the dancing lights of the TV as a random show whispers quietly. The warm air is clogged with the sweet smell of vanilla and bergamot from one of Amina’s large candles that rests on the coffee table. And bundle on the couch in the same blanket soiled from the night before, you doze off like a house cat.

A rogue buzzing pulls you back from the shallow slumber, eyes cracking open lazily to search for the device lost in the cushions. By the time you find it, the call has gone to voicemail. The notification on the screen means you must still be dreaming.

MISSED CALL: Wonwoo

A flash of panic tightens your chest. A million thoughts race by, all regarding what could prompt Wonwoo to call you. He doesn’t call you. In the year and a half you’ve known each other there isn’t a single instance of it. The complete uncharacteristic nature of it has you calling him back before giving it a second thought.

“Are you home?” Snaps through the speaker after the first ring.

He sounds pissed. It’s not the usual sarcastic lit that graces his interactions. It’s dry and pointed and already grating your nerves.

“Well, hello to you.” You sneer back.

“Hi.” He deadpans. You can feel the eye roll through the phone. “Are you home?”

“Why?”

It’s 9pm on a Saturday night and both your roommates are out… of course you’re home.

“I’m locked out and I know Mingyu gave Lisa a copy of the key.”

“You’re locked out?” You parrot. It’s not that it’s an impossible situation, it’s just ridiculously unlucky timing.

“Good to know you’re listening.” He bites.

“Actually, come to think of it, I’m out of town.”

“Y/N…” He interrupts, voice clearly exhausted.

Normally, you would goad him until blue in the face. His stunt last night doesn’t warrant patience. But you know he’s had a week from hell too based on what Mingyu and Lisa shared.

“Yeah I’m home. But Lisa took her keys with her so I doubt the spare is here.”

“Great, just fucking great.” He erupts.

You wince, “Sorry.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. The measured cadence of his breath echoes through the line. When he finally speaks again he sounds calmer.

“Not your fault,” he murmurs. “Timing is just shit given the week I’ve had.”

“Your landlord can’t let you in?”

“Not answering his phone.”

“And Mingyu?”

“Also not answering.”

After that, words fail you. But given Wonwoo truly seems to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, you throw him a bone.

Readjusting the phone on your shoulder, your hands pick at the frayed hem of the blanket. “Look, if you want to sleep on the couch here, be my guest.”

Silence.

“If you’d rather call a locksmith go ahead.” You rush. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“If you wanted a slumber party you could have told me.”

Apparently, even poor luck can’t prevent Wonwoo from being a complete smartass.

“Have fun sleeping outside!” You croon sweetly, looking for the button to end the call.

“Wai—”

Phone locked and tossed to the floor, you burrow back into the nest of pillows and blankets. Any prior drowsiness transforms into irritation.

Less than a minute passes before your phone begins ringing once more.

It's your turn to snap at him. “What?”

The pause on the other end of the line is heavy.

“I was being an ass.”

“You’re always an ass.” You respond with a deep sigh.

“The locksmith won’t come till morning so…”

Despite your better judgment, you take pity on the poor man.

“Come over.” You concede, cringing at the implication of the phrase. Wonwoo is coming over because he’s locked out. Not for any other reason. He’s desperate and needs somewhere to crash until his landlord can let him in.

“…Thanks.”

The call ends.

Wonwoo knocks on the door twenty minutes later. You can’t believe what you see through the peephole. He’s soaked down to his skin, hair matted to his forehead despite the hood of his jacket. The chill of the hallway makes him shake like a leaf in a windstorm. When you finally open the door to face him, he’s somehow worse than he was through the glass.

If it was under any other circumstances the cling of the hoodie against his broad chest would stir something inside you. But Wonwoo has never looked so… pitiful.

“Oh my god,” You manage, choking on laughter.

“Are we just gonna stand here or can I come in?”

Shouldering open the door, you snicker as Wonwoo steps around. At least until he starts abandoning his wet clothes once inside.

“Wait, let me get some towels.”

Running to the bathroom, you snag whatever towels can be spared. You catch yourself in the mirror before exiting. Messy hair with an indent on your cheek from the crease of the pillow is the least of your problems. There's stain on the front of your sweater from the leftover pizza scarfed down for lunch and you aren’t wearing a bra.

It doesn’t matter considering Wonwoo looks like a drowned cat but you’re still self conscious. The best you can do is splash cold water on your face and remember he is worse off than you.

Wonwoo waits right where you left him by the door, dripping more water with each second. His bare chest glistens in the dim light. When he looks up from his phone you chuck a towel at his head.

“You can wait in the bathroom while I find some dry clothes.”

Wonwoo trudges behind as you lead him back the way you came.

Once again, he immediately unbuttons his pants without regard for your presence. Deft fingers make quick work. You remember where you are when he goes to force them down.

Wonwoo meets your eyes in the mirror, “Staying to watch?”

“I’m just gonna…” You mumble, looking anywhere but at the show he puts on.

The door latch clicks just as the heavy thuds of his soaked clothes land in the sink. Leaning against the opposite wall, your head gently rests against the cool surface. A deep sigh leaves your nose.

You’ve seen Wonwoo naked. Your hand was down his pants less than twenty four hours ago. A picture of your ass lives in his text messages for Christ sake. Seeing him shirtless and wet shouldn’t have you blushing like some virgin.

Ruminating on your momentary lapse of dignity will get you nowhere so you start hunting for the collection of Seungcheol’s clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser. A few months ago the sight would have sent you to tears. Now, it’s comical. The fleeting memory of Lisa’s bewildered face when you choked down sobs after Amina threw out your ex’s toothbrush rears its head. Crazy how things can change so quickly from hurt to nothing.

You're in and out of the bathroom in a flash, collecting wet clothes in exchange for dry ones. Thankfully, Wonwoo doesn’t jest from behind the current.

While he continues to shower, you’re busy with making the couch habitable. Knowing you can’t deal with another of Wonwoo’s uncouth comments, the blanket you previously used is exchanged for the one draped on the armchair. Rather the blanket Mingyu and Lisa sullied than the one tainted by yourselves.

Wonwoo comes down the hallway just in time, toweling at his damp hair.

“Well, this is it.” You say, avoiding eye contact. “There's a charge plugged in near the TV you're welcome to use. Um, good night.”

“Gonna make me sleep all by myself?” He plops on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. Wonwoo’s too cocky for someone who looked like he drowned on dry land twenty minutes ago.

Wonwoo’s triumphant smirk doesn’t last when you plop a heavy knitted quilt over him. He scrambles free but you’re already halfway to your bedroom.

Scoffing, you respond,“What? Are you scared of the dark?”

“If that's the excuse you need to come over here, sure. I’m terrified.”

“Awww,” you coo sarcastically. “You’ll cope.”

In the confines of your room, you manage the first deep breath of the night. You won’t be able to sleep. Not with him so close. Not when temptation is just beyond the door and down the hallway.

How dare he ask you for a favor and then act like an ass. Of course, he’d use something so unfortunate to get his dick wet.

More steam pours from your ears as you ruminate. Pacing back and forth you scoff at his audacity until it boils over and you're stomping back into the living room.

“You know I’m doing you a favor by letting you stay here.” You fume, stopping a few feet away from where the biggest pain in your ass rests. “I could have let you go to Eva and Soonyoung’s and deal with their bullshit but I didn’t.”

Wonwoo lifts on one elbow, eying you silently.

Faltering under his gaze, you continue to ramble. “How dare you ask me for a favor and then act like a pig.”

“You’re right.”

“What?” You choke.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo concedes.

You falter for a second in disbelief, mouth gaping over silent words. It couldn’t have been that easy.

“I shouldn’t have believed you giving me a handy meant more than it was.”

Huffing, you stop and turn back to your room. “You’re insufferable!”

“And yet, you still sent me a pic of your ass.” He snorts, collapsing back into his pillow. “Pick a lane, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Flinging your hands in the air, you return back to your room to stew until morning.

“So that picture was all talk?” Wonwoo yells in your direction.

He wants a reaction and that's exactly what he gets. Pivoting, you storm back in front of the couch.

“Oh! I’m all talk? You’re the one who can’t even finish what he started.”

“And what did I start?” He sneers, sitting up.

You know what he’s doing. Attempting to rile you up until there's no choice but to give in. And it’s working. Wiping that stupid smirk on his face is as simple as swallowing his cock until he’s nothing more than a twitching mess. But if Wonwoo wants you, he’ll need to try harder than goading a response out of you.

Biting back you prod his chest, “Nothing worth my time, that's for damn sure.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asks, rising to his feet. “Didn’t seem that way last night.”

Chest to chest, he’s more intimidating but you won’t falter. Instead, you switch gears. Your finger skims dangerously close to the waistband of his pants.

“I’m a really, really good actress.”

A battle of wills ensues. Wonwoo stares you down, unflinching at your smirk. He’s pissed at the implication. It's clear in his body language; tense shoulders, shuddering breath.

Your fatal mistake comes when his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. The memory of what they felt like jolts an ache in your bones.

A tilt of his chin is all the invitation you need to drag his mouth to yours.

Wonwoo has you perched on his lap in an instant, legs splayed over his spread thighs and his hands pulling you forward. It's clumsy but eagerness blinds you both to anything beyond the powerful drag of your core hips against the tent in his pants.

Twisting a hand in the short hair at the base of Wonwoo’s neck, you tug hard enough to move him how you want. A throaty moan is the only response he gives, easily following your demands. But the way his large hands grab at the curve of your ass move you how he wants.

He groans into the curve of your shoulder with the next cant of your hips. “God, you’re so hot. Shit.”

Despite the chill that has creeped its way inside the apartment, you’re burning up; skin flushed and hot to touch. The hand not tangled in Wonwoo’s hair slips under his shirt, nails skating up the taunt muscles of his abdomen. His own hands echo the path, finding their way beneath your sweater.

Wonwoo lifts your sweater and swiftly drops it to the flooring, busying his hands with cradling the soft skin he’s uncovered. He leans away to break the kiss, but you manage to drag him back.

“W-Wonwoo, fuck,” you curse, clinging tighter when he breaks the contact and drops his mouth to your chest.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, leaving you dizzy and desperate. Head in the clouds, you fold and bend as he tortures your breasts. The rough pad of his thumb leaves goosebumps in its wake, skating across your nipple until it pebbles. One reflex you twist the fist of his hair harshly when he pinches and are rewarded with a moan and rush of his cock into your covered cunt.

A hot trail of sloppy kisses sends your heart into a tailspin. Wonwoo must feel it with the way he licks and sucks your nipple; pulling until it pops out of his mouth before he leans back to repeat the motion once more.

Eventually, Wonwoo’s borrowed sweatshirt is abandoned on the floor as well but neither of you find the rush present from your previous romp. You follow when Wonwoo leans back, flat against his chest.

Hazy fatigue swells around the edges. The feeling of skin on skin, lips on lips, and roaming hands brings everything to a calming lull. Without the fog of alcohol or the threat of nosey friends, you explore each other with feather light touches that turn into gentle gropes, and hot wet kisses that transform into drags of teeth and lips. From shared exhaustion, running on nothing less than minutes of sleep and a near lethal dose of caffeine, you sluggish trapeze through the motions.

Taking advantage of the moment, you discover exactly what Wonwoo likes. When you rake a hand through his hair, nails pulling through the damp locks to scratch against his scalp, then Wonwoo shudders and sucks at your chest with more enthusiasm than before. He likes when you bite him, his hips rutting up harshly with each nip at his throat.

Each breathy sigh you release spurs him on. Melting into a needy mess, you can’t find an ounce of embarrassment; even as Wonwoo massages your cunt through your sweatpants and pathetic whimper after pathetic whimper pours from your throat.

Having his focus on you makes you crave him more. A never ending cycle of want.

“Please,” you beg. The second the word is out of your mouth, Wonwoo is ushering you towards your room.

You trip through the living room with Wonwoo’s mouth still latched to your chest. Pinned between the back of the couch and his body, he sucks until your shoulders cave and you force him from his hiding place.

“What?” he smirks into your jaw. “What do you want?” His hand sneaks its way under your pants, squeezing a palm full of your bare ass before slipping down further. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He nips at your chin, fingers dipping into your entrance. “So messy for me.”

Your hands scramble for something to comfort from the onslaught. Wonwoo is already back between your breasts, humming around the flesh every time you shudder from his ministrations. He twists his fingers into your core, the noise loud despite the cover of your pants.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you rasps under the prod of his thumb against your clit. Rather than succumbing to the mind numbing assault, you jolt into action.

Wonwoo angles his hips just right when he realizes your aim. It’s too easy to force your hand under the fabric and find him hard and waiting just like last night. But unlike last night, you don’t have to hide. And the freedom dooms him from the start.

Anchoring one hand on his chest, you push until he’s upright. He’s a wreck; eyes half shut behind the lens of his glass and lips a delectable shade of red. You pull your hand out of his pants and lap away the evidence of his arousal, delighting in the way a vein on his neck jumps when you give them a lewd suck.

Turning, you saunter down the hallway, shedding the rest of your clothes as you go.

“Coming?” you call over your shoulder, pinning Wonwoo in place as you bend to slip off your sweatpants, flashing him the barest peak of your cunt, before continuing to your room.

You don’t hear him following until you're at the threshold. A rush of footsteps and then he’s emerging from the darkness, eyes taking in your naked form. Wonwoo looks like he’s been starving and you’re the first meals he’s about to have in years.

Wonwoo pins you to the wooden door, one hand finding your jaw while the other bats your legs wide before roughly swiping at your sensitive clit.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he rasps into your ear.

Two fingers tap against your lips. Without hesitation you present your tongue, lapping the digits like you would his cock. Wonwoo watches with so much heat in his gaze you can’t stop a moan from slipping free when he puts pressure on your tongue and causes you to drool. He makes to pull away but stops when you grab his wrist and force him in place.

You suck his fingers deeper, eyes never leaving his the entire time. The pressure against the inside of your cheek leaves you reeling. Pure desire inks your brain and makes you desperate.

Both unsatisfied, you let Wonwoo go. He’s quicker than you imagined. A force full grab of your jaw tugs you away from the door and into his mouth. The slide of his tongue against your own verges on pornographic but you're too busy focusing on the same fingers you’d just been sucking on splitting your folds before stretching your walls.

Slowly falling to his knees, Wonwoo shoulders under your leg until your pussy is splayed for him to enjoy. The trail of hot kisses across your hip do nothing to comfort you. Not with the swift pace of his hand.

“Are you gonna do something or just stare all night?”

The strip he licks up your core, tongue flat and heavy, makes you double over. Wonwoo remembers exactly what buttons to push to shut you up, overwhelming you with his mouth and hand buried in your cunt along with the hand continuing to tweak your nipples.

“Fuck,” you mewl. “You can do—shit—better than that.”

The raze of his teeth on your clit is punishment enough for the outburst. But Wonwoo loves to prove a point. His pace becomes slower than ever, still hard but the tempo of his hand is reserved. It makes you hot all over. Choking on air, your brain melts and bones jelly under the lashing of Wonwoo’s tongue.

Just as he finds the perfect angle, he falls back.

You snap. “What the fuck?”

He doesn’t answer. Wonwoo pulls away his hand and rises to his feet. Once nose to nose, he smiles. The sudden change is disorienting. Even more so when he leaves a gentle peck against your cheek and heads for the bed.

Perching on the bed, he leans pack on to his palms and presents his lap like a throne. “Come here,” he commands.

Scrabbling into his lap, Wonwoo catches you off guard. His hands strike across your waist as he leans back, shuffling you up his chest until your knelt over his face.

Your hands steady on your thighs, brushing his. In an uncharacteristic act of sweetness, he tangles his fingers with your own.

The gesture leaves you reeling. “Wonwoo?”

His hands curl around your thighs and force you down onto his waiting tongue. There's no build up, only hunger. Wonwoo points his tongue and uses it to trace hard circles around your clit before suck so harshly you buckle in half.

If Wonwoo minds he makes no show of it. Instead, he pins your tangled hands in place and licks deeper, tracing anywhere he can reach. Every muscle in your body jerks from the sloppy way he eats you out.

Sweat blooms on your skin. Each breath stilted and you’re drooling when cracks open an eye to take him in. The flex of his biceps when you lurches against a vulgar suck of his mouth. Even the mop of his hair buried between your thighs makes you whimper.

One hand leaves your, reaching around and pinching your ass punitively.

“Work for it,” he hums into your pussy.

Not needing to be told twice, you rock where your bodies meet. Your free hand tangles in his hair and uses the leverage to grind against his tongue. Wonwoo’s hand continues to follow the curve of your ass until he’s able to tease your entrance.

Foul noises radiate from where he works you, from his hand and your mouth. Spit and arousal smear on his cheeks and you can feel it against your thighs bracketing his head.

You want to see his face. The heat in his eyes when he’s focused on something, focused on you, making you cum. You pull Wonwoo’s hair again.

“Focus,” His muffled voice is thick and broken, like he’s getting off just as much as you are.

Whining from the vibration against your clit, tears threaten to fall from how tight you pinches your eyes shut from the onslaught.

“Wonwoo, I’m—” you sob. “Please, fuck. Please, I’m gonna cum.”

The world holds its breath. And then it shatters into a million pieces.

You’re whole and not. No more than a supernova. Whine after whine claws its way out of your lungs until you choke on them.

Wonwoo pays no mind, continuing to work you until you try and fall away. But he expects it, moving with you and staying between your thighs like you haven’t cum at all.

“Too much,” you gasp when he spits on your ruined cunt.

Flashing the pink of his tongue, he sneers your own words back with acidic sweetness. “You can do better than that.”

Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he digs in again.

It hurts. Wonwoo isn’t easing you into a second orgasm. If anything, he’s bullying it out of you.

And you take it.

“I can’t,” you plead, dipping your chin to meet his eyes and beg your case. “Too much, Woo. I—”

Wonwoo leans back and slows the three fingers buried inside you. The hand pressed to your stomach rises to cup your face, his thumb tracing the bow of your lips.

“You can.” He coos. His thumb slips into your mouth a second before he spits on your clit and uses his soiled hand to slap.

The scream ripping its way out is silenced by the digit in your mouth. Wonwoo dives back in, taking zero mercy. Your hips buck into his mouth involuntarily and the bastard laughs.

“See? You want it so bad, don’t you baby?”

His thumb pops from your mouth but not before you manage a quick nip. The look on Wonwoo’s face tells you it was the wrong answer to his question.

Your breath falters when the faintest amount of pressure ghosts along your throat, waiting for your okay before committing.

Spreading your legs wider and tucking your hands behind your knees, you nod, “I want it.”

Pupils blown wide, Wonwoo goes rigid before exploding into a frenzy.

He sucks your folds into his mouth, hastily laving you in his spit before forcing another finger inside your tight hole.

“C’mon, you can do it for me. Give me one more.” He demands while coming up for a breath. “Such a fucking mess for me.”

Your hips snap harshly, nails digging into his wrist resting on your chest. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

Feet planting onto the mattress, you rock against his face with more force than before. A cacophony of vulgar squelches and desperate whines fill the room. He squeezes until stars dot your vision from the lack of blood flow only to release with a rush of lightheaded bliss. Using your hands to tug at your sore nipples, you finally give Wonwoo what he wants.

“W-Wonwoo, so good.” You pant.

He cleans up the mess the same way he made it but with a gentler touch. It doesn’t stop the quivers of overstimulation from wrecking your nerves but he whispers an apology for each one and rubs it into the crease of your thigh when you wince.

With a final peck to your clit, he releases you.

Wonwoo’s chest heaves, eyes drooping in lust or fatigue, you don’t know. Maybe both. When he rises from his spot between your legs, you scramble for his face. Mouths meet in a slow kiss, nothing more than a languid press against one another and a few deep breaths. You taste yourself but ignore it. You’re too tired, too sated, to care.

You try and palm his cock, eager to return the favor but Wonwoo shifts away. He crowds you up to the pillows, pulls you into his chest, and sends you off to sleep with his lips against your forehead.

You simply lay there, curled around one another until sleep claims you.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi

Series Taglist: @aaniag @sdoulc @wonvsmile @jeonwonwooscutie @wonrangwoo @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @yogurttea @4cheezflatbred @fragmentof-indifference @p-dwiddle @icedearlgreytea @cottoncheol @hoshiskimchi @listxn @kwonshiho @kyeomofhearts @beananacake

#ksmutsociety #kvanity #svthub #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt smut #🫡 highvern

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virgincels · 6 months

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STAY SOFT, GET EATEN !

ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

tags. p in v, incest, dub-con that is basically non-con idk

note. unedited cuz i got lazy omg. umm ignore typos :3 sorry my writing is so jolty lately im finding it hard to write so it’s all coming off very clunky but :3 rbs n feedback appreciated !! this is like not actually that smutty I’m sorry 💔 if u see me reusing bits from other old fics pretend it’s new

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

Your dad is hot, an indisputable fact. He’s a total babe, kinda looks like he should’ve been in Baywatch during his prime, got a rack that rivals C. J. Parker’s. Ever since you hit twelve, and the girls in your class suddenly got all boy crazy, you’ve been hearing nonstop about how cute dad is.

Sleepovers were held at yours so they could get a glimpse of him, and your dad might be friendly, but he’s clumsy with conversation, not much of a talker, so he made himself scarce. Then came the slew of questions, you think it was Ashley Graham, the one that didn’t know how to quit it. Airheaded with eyes like chipped peridot.

Hey, where’s your mom? Is she still around, I’ve never heard about her? What kinda girl does your dad like?

My dad doesn’t like kids, freak.

He might, and I’m not a kid! I mean, I turn thirteen in January. I bought a bra at PINK the other day, I even got measured, the lady said I’m an A cup.

Even my dad's are bigger than that, loser.

I’m, like, so not a loser! My mom said I could get a boob job when I turn sixteen, and by then your dad will be, like, what? Thirty?

He’ll be forty-three, dumbass.

Yeah, forty-three, that’s perfect. We can date then as long as you don’t have a mom. I did see a picture on your desk, but that’s your sister right? ‘Cause if that’s your mom, she never picks you up from school, so she’s either dead or they broke up or she hates you, right? I’m so right, aren’t I?

You’re wrong, stupid. My mom just works a lot.

Boo, I totally thought she was dead, well, whatever, if they break up by the time I hit sixteen, I’ll totally be your new step-mom.

For a lack of better words, you wanted that bitch dead. She meant well, you’ve just never met someone so out of touch, the type of girl that hands out Chanel handbags at the food bank.

A few years later, when you turned eighteen, it was Ada Wong, you had this co-dependent, whirlwind friendship that had you by the throat. She was cool, a few years older, and everyone thought she was hot. You were lame, and wanted everyone to think you were hot. What you don’t understand is how on earth it ended with her hand down the front of your dad’s pants at your graduation party. He was totally out of it too, she took advantage of a poor, drunk old man, and the worst part about it? That wasn’t what made you mad. Not that she touched him when he was slurring, tripping over his own feet, you were mad ‘cause she got to touch him in the first place.

When you tell your counsellor, I have a crush on my dad, she falters. She’s this older lady that reminds you of your Auntie Claire, they have the same button nose, and that makes it harder to talk to her. She presents herself professionally, and takes herself a little too seriously, also in the way Auntie Claire does at times. Bitch thinks she’s a psychologist. She has an office tucked right into the corner of your university’s humanities department.

“Well, is your dad absent?” She starts, chews on the lid of her ballpoint pen, the type you get in a pack of two hundred. See, if she were a real psychologist, she’d have a fancy one, with runny ink, and a metallic barrel.

“No, my dad raised me.” Your lips twitch upwards, wanting to scowl at her. ‘Cause this is your thirteenth session, and she knows how close you are to dad.

“Well, then, has your dad ever hit you?” She blinks real slow like it hurts to blink.

“What? No, never.” You’ve asked me these questions before, you stuck-up cow.

“Well, then,” Her eye twitches, you think she might report you to the authorities for being a freak, “Has he ever behaved inappropriately with you?”

The worst your dad has done is ask if you’re on birth control, only once, and he was rightfully worried. “Never, he would never do that.” I don’t know if you’ve been listening, I’m the one that wants to sit on his dick.

She taps her nail on the oak desk, popping open a button on her blouse. Some counsellor she is, mouth drying up ‘cause you have a crush on your dad. “Listen, if it’s not me overstepping boundaries, or being impolite, I’d like to refer you to a therapist.”

No fucking way. Jackpot. You’ve been waiting three months for this, all it took for her to cut the crap was an incestual confession? Although, you really do need to get that fixed, there’s this part of your brain, the cerebellum you believe, that’s been cut out and replaced by a hunk of meat that resembles your father. Whoever did it made a shoddy malpractical mess that you’re left to clean up with scarce supplies and medical knowledge.

“I'd really appreciate that.” You tell her, mustering your toothiest of grins as you pack up your shit and pass through the doorway, never to turn back to advice that consists solely of ‘talk it out’ and ‘use daily affirmations’ and other baseline shit they cover in Cosmopolitan articles you could read for free.

Therapy turns out to be no help. Not ‘cause of the content of the session, this is your first one actually, more ‘cause your therapist resembles dad. A little more on the polished side than your father, with salt and pepper hair that would look so good on him. Leon refuses though, to grow old, that is, to look anything more than thirty - he’s far past that, you think he’s looked old ever since you were born.

It’s going to be a distraction, you might leap out of your seat and fuck this man half to death if he scoots his chair any closer, if he keeps scratching his chin in the way dad does. There’s a copy of Nineteen-Eighteen-Four on the desk behind him, the one with the fabric cover to be specific, embellished by tiny labouring hands to sit pretty on the best-seller shelf in some overpriced independent bookstore. More importantly, it’s the copy that collects dust on your dad’s bedside, the one he insists to have read, but the pages still have that fresh scent to them, and not a single one is dog-eared.

There’s a ring on his ring finger, just like dad’s, and that might be a stretch, ‘cause every married man has a ring on their ring finger. Still reminds you of dad though. His is gold, and dad’s is silver ‘cause mom likes silver. You like silver ‘cause it looks pretty on dad.

He introduces himself, his way of speech is refined, and you can tell he thinks before he speaks unlike dad. Leon is clunky with words, oftentimes crude without realising. Cancellation and no-show fees, your rights, confidentiality, he runs you through all of it - the whole time you’re focused on his lips, the prominent curve of his Cupid’s bow, the double lip line that makes them appear fuller from afar. Just like dad’s lips.

The receptionist frowns when you request to see another therapist, then she begins to click, click, click away at her keyboard. She stops midway to file her nails, then she pops her gum and gives a very simple shake of the head, ponytail moving with her. You doubt the slow bitch even tried, so you make your way home, a heat in your stomach that refuses to fizzle out, an ache so deep only dad could reach it. With his dick, obviously.

Dad’s keys jingle and you hear wedding bells. You check the time, he’s home early, he toes off his shoes and tucks them into the cubby hole shelf mom placed by the door. She’d be down his throat if he left them scattered for her to trip over again.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Leon smiles kindly, the same smile that’s seen you throughout your life. The one he gave you when he first held you, the one he gave you when you fell off your bike, and he brushed the crumbly gravel off your knees and kissed the tender scrapes on both. When you graduated, and he held back tears but acted all tough about it, he smiled all the same.

“Hi, dad.” The one you give in return is meek, the apples of your cheeks refusing to raise upwards into your eye-line.

“Oh,” Dad is perceptive, he throws his jacket over the bannister, keys tucked into one of it’s unzipped pocket - they dangle haphazardly, and you’re sure he’ll forget about them and toss that jacket in the washing machine, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You shrug Leon’s hand off of your shoulder when he takes the seat adjacent to you. It’s cruel, the expression on his face sours, your heart lurches. Making him upset is your farthest intention, you just don’t know how much skin to skin contact you can handle with him.

Nonetheless, it was the wrong move, ‘cause he shuffles closer, “Hey now, don’t push me out, what’s wrong?”

“Dad, I promise, nothing's up.” You aim to soothe him with your words, but his agitation grows, your discomfort is palpable - he tastes it on his tongue, it’s the blood in the back of his throat. There’s no getting past him. “Therapy was bad.” No harm in telling a lie or two.

“Therapy,” Leon waves his hand through a nonexistent cloud of smoke, “You don’t need that.”

Here we go. All you need is a hug from dad! A kiss from dad. And you’ll be all better, sweetheart.

“I do, dad.” You glare at him, he smooths his thumb over your wrinkled brow and your heart drops to your ass. Dad needs to stop touching you before you touch him back, that’s a silent threat, your fingers twitch to grab him, mould his soft flesh into the shape of your fingertips.

“I did a good job with you,” Leon states, “My dad—“

My dad hit me, my dad threw me through a glass table once, busted my ass and made me crawl through the shattered glass and then he set wild dogs on me - your grandma just watched - I been through all that and I don’t need to go to therapy. He says something along those lines, albeit less cinematically thrilling.

“You did a very good job with me,” You nod, reassure him in a maternal tone almost ‘cause all dads are children that need to be praised, “It’s not your fault, dad, I love you lots.” Well, it is, for raising you so well, maybe he raised you too well. Or maybe you’re just a bit sick in the head, or maybe it’s his fault for looking how he looks.

“Then you don’t need therapy,” He sinks back into his dent in the leather couch, “You just need a hug, bring it in, kid.”

No, no, no. You do your best to fend him off, all for his own sake, but he draws you close to his chest, smothers you by pushing your face right into the dip. He smells good, cologne gradually having worn off as the day progressed, the slightly tangy undertone of his sweat coming through.

“And a kiss.” He coos at you, pinches your cheek, clicks his tongue in an attempt to coax you.

God, no. Don’t kiss me. Don’t do that— Mwah! Smack bang on your forehead as he tips your chin upwards, blinking down at you with sticky toffee lashes. And you, stupidly, in your lovestruck haze, pull him in to place the most disgusting, sloppy kiss on his lips - one that does little to hide your ardour for dad.

Leon’s neck almost snaps with how fast he pulls back, then he stares at you open-mouthed, and you hate to say it, but you’d kiss his lips swollen again. A man of his age, especially your father, should not be pretty or doll-lipped, but he is and you hate it. He’s your hamartia of sorts.

“Sweetheart…” Dad shambles aimlessly through his words, umming and ahing.

“Oh, god, you totally think I’m a freak, right?” You take your hands off of his chest, where they had been firmly planted, giving him a real good squeeze without even realising. “Dad, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, it just came out, you were just really close to me and I got nervous.” Now you sound like him, a lack of conversational tact is exactly what you got from dad.

“No, it’s alright, it’s okay, sweetheart, just give dad a minute.” He pats your shoulder, then he stands up, about to march on forward to grab his keys and leave. You know your dad, so you take his wrist in your hand, beg him to face you.

“Dad… I’m sorry, can you look at me?” You add a ‘please’ in the most desperate tone you can manage, brows slanting downwards as your bottom lip trembles.

Leon struggles to do so, his arm flexes when he tenses, stiffening in your grip. He sits back down when you begin to sniffle, too lamb-hearted to sit through your fit of tears. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay.” Dad rubs your back, but he avoids moving his face close like he usually would, this is his cue to kiss the tears from your cheeks, but he doesn’t.

“It’s not, dad,” You hiccup, choking on an ugly sob that manifests into an even uglier yelp, “I didn’t mean to do that, I’m just really lonely.”

“Baby,” Leon’s voice is sweet like a glacé cherry, “I didn’t know you were feeling like that, I didn’t know you were lonely.”

You are, but that’s not why you kissed dad. You kissed dad out of your own free will, ‘cause you’re in love with him. “I am really lonely, dad, I don’t know what to do.” The snot and tears don’t bother him, he wipes it away with the back of his hand. You’re his baby, you know that. So if he can do that, why can’t he fuck you? It’s ugly in the same way, he’ll wipe his load off your stomach instead, or your ass if he wants to take you from the back.

“Hey, it’s okay, we can— we can fix that, I promise.” The only thing you need him to fix is the leak you’ve sprung, plug it up or whatever. “There’s no use cryin’ about it, alright? Dad doesn’t like seeing you cry.”

His guard drops, and you’re kissing him again, harder, till he’s breathless and confused and yet unable to push you off. ‘Cause dad is so weak-willed when it comes to you. If only you’d had the guts to get to him sooner. “I won’t cry… I won’t cry if you kiss me, dad, I promise.” It’s a shitty tactic, threats, making dad’s heart jump like that - gonna send him into cardiac arrest.

Leon hesitates, softens like butter when your hands come to fist the fabric of his shirt, “Okay, just, just a kiss, alright? And mom can’t find out ‘bout this.” He stammers, cupping your face in his big hands, his fingers trembling. “And… And just one, yeah?” His flimsy assertion of dominance has your lips curving into the slightest of smiles, dad’s cute.

“Just one.” You agree, his spiky lashes cast shadows on his face, he shuts his eyes tight as your lips ghost over his for a moment, then you take his face in your hands and press them together. Lip to lip. Heart to heart. You swing a leg over his, situating yourself in his lap. Leon’s eyes open, no longer bracing as he glances down at your spread thighs, then up at your face.

“What’s up?” Leon tries, it’s hard to miss the apprehensive edge to his tone, how he burrows backwards into the couch pillows, shoulders shrinking to get away from you. His kid.

He’s not moving. Not pushing you off, which he could easily do, not calling mom and telling her you need to be checked into a ward of some kind - with others akin to you. Would be like a slumber party really, getting to indulge in fantasies that haven’t left the confines of your sick little head. Dad is looking on ahead, glassy-eyed and sad. And you kind of get it now, what you’ve heard about dad being easy back when he was younger. Not easy, but soft. Pliant against his own will, even when he has the capacity to say no, you’ve given him plenty of chances to say no.

“Dad, I’m sorry, I’ll be quick.” That’s a promise, you’re worked up from therapy with the cleaner version of dad. “And I’m sorry, we don’t have to do this ever again.” Unless you want too is left unsaid. You hope the implications are clear enough, that he’s picking up what you’re putting down, but dad is slow in that sense. He’s a hands-on type of guy.

You give him a minute, dad blinks, and there’s no explicit refusal, so you lift up to wriggle out of your jeans. Dad’s come undone a little easier, he raises his hips when you ask him to do so, and he flinches when you unzip them - fingers coming into contact with the softness of his cock through the fabric of his boxers. Leon’s not hard. It’s a blow to your already crippled ego, then again you’ve heard mom talk about Viagra to him before - so maybe it’s not a ‘my kid is groping my dick’ issue, but more of an old age issue.

The tip is velvety on your skin when you tuck your fingers beneath the waistband to tug them down, with the way he’s reclined back in his seat, his dick flops onto his stomach. Heavy and stagnant, much like dad himself. Doesn’t spring up and whack you in the face like dicks tend to do in porn, doesn’t have a mind of its own, it just sits there awkwardly.

Leon closes his eyes, you notice how ragged his breathing is and wonder if he’s getting any enjoyment out of this, or if he’s two minutes away from flatlining. To comfort him, you stroke a hand over his cheek, fingers curling beneath his square jaw as your other hand curls around his flaccid cock. He flinches, and for the first time in your life, you see dad cry. And it turns you on. The last time was when you were born, you don’t remember it, for obvious reasons, but he reiterates it every birthday.

“Oh, dad,” Your brows knit together, “I didn’t… Please don’t cry, I really didn’t mean to upset you, dad. Gosh, I’m just, I just needed to do this dad— Can you speak to me, please? I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Leon’s voice wavers, his body is wracked with shivers, chills prickling his spine, “I want to make you happy.” You’re all he's got, you and mom are the only speck of normalcy in dad’s life and you’ve gone and ruined it. For reasons even your counsellor couldn’t process, reasons that are unfathomable to you. A prion disease so severe that even your therapist likely fears there’s no chance. “I’m sorry.” He says finally, and your stomach hurts.

“Dad, don’t say sorry, that’s stupid.” You lift your hips once more, spitting on your palm and smearing it over his dick has done little for lube, but he’s not all that big - and you’re dripping down your thighs, it’ll be an easy fit, ‘cause dad made you. Half of you is him, and that means he’ll be just right. “It’s not your fault.” You tell him, but you doubt it lifts the guilt from his shoulders, it weighs down his tender heart instead.

Dad doesn’t think that way. He blames everything on himself. Leon’s the one that raised you, he's the one that went wrong. You don’t know how else to tell him there’s something sick inside your head, and it’s infected every single part of you.

It’s hard to guide him into your hole, the tip bumps over your twitching clit a couple of times, up and down your slippery folds as you try to line him up. Leon’s face twists when you take him in, walls breached by the tip alone, you wonder if he’s relieved to find out you’re a virgin. You’ve been saving it for dad, didn’t know the opportunity would come so soon. Your cunt squelches when you take him to the hilt, squeezing around his shaft till he hardens inside of you. There we go, so dad does like you after all? Or is this a natural response? Or is he thinking of someone else, his eyes have been closed for an awfully long time.

“Dad, will you look at me, please?” That’s the second time you’ve asked so nicely and he obeys all the same, cracking open his eyes, foggy like stained glass, just as bright too.

Two hands come to rest on your torso, Leon’s keeping you at arms length. You want dad to let you in. The rocking off your hips elicits the slightest groan from his parted lips, you grind yourself into his lap, fat head leaking and jabbing at that spongy spot deep inside. See? Dad’s made for you. Dad knows you.

“Dad,” You whimper, clammy forehead sticking to his, the tip of your nose bumping his broad one, it’s romantic you think. In the same way A View from the Bridge is romantic - to you and you only. “I love you… I love you so much.” His hips jolt upwards, dad’s sensitive you suppose, he didn’t mean to do it ‘cause his face contorts with pure, unadulterated disgust.

Shakily, you take his bigger hand in yours, he’s limp in your grip. You jam his hand between your sweaty bodies, force him to rub them against your thrumming clit. Dad does it. ‘Cause he loves you, if you didn’t get that by now. His thumb rubs figure eights into your bud, the nimble touch, along with dad’s dick right where you want it, lodged deep inside your pussy - it tips you right over the edge.

Your thighs tremble, snapping shut around his hand, and his cock slips out. He’s only got a semi, or maybe he came earlier, but you don’t know much about dick specifics so you curl into his chest, and dad holds you tight even after you totally violated the poor guy.

“Should clean up ‘fore mom gets home.” Leon’s voice is unsteady, lilting up and down, all over the place. God, did you make dad cry again, you stupid bitch?

“Yeah,” You agree, scratching the back of your head ‘cause what do you even say after fucking your dad? Couldn’t even ask google that. “Dad, do you still like me?”

“I love you,” He answers instinctively, “I’ll love you no matter what you do to me, kid.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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lautski-week · 2 months

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Lautski Nation, we are so back!

(Q&A + general info under cut!)

Welcome to the third semiannual Lautski week. This event occurs twice a year, once in the summer and once in the winter, to commemorate the shared love so many of us have for Hatchetfield High's most unlikely it couple! Mod is @peterstankoffski and uses they/them pronouns, and you've probably seen me lurking around the lautski tag since it was created. It's been a lovely little 2.5 years getting to enjoy this ship with everyone.

This year the summer event will be in July instead of May so everyone who is interested has plenty of time to prepare. I understand now through June is fairly bust for many people due to finals, so moving it later into the summer was definitely for the best (thank you to everyone who voted in the dates tiebreaker poll the other day!)

And with that, some FAQ!

Q: What are alternates?

A: Alternates are two extra prompts in case one of them leaves you stumped! They can be used any day, or they can not be used at all! It’s up to each individual participant!

Q: Do I have to do all seven days?

A: You’re free to do as many as you want! You can do all seven, you can do just a few, hell, you could do all nine in you wanted! This isn’t a challenge, it’s an event. The main goal is to make some posts about this ship we’re all brainrotting for and having fun.

Q: What can I make?

A: Anything you want! Art, fics, edits, memes, etc. Nothing’s off the table.

Q: How do I post?

A: I’ll reblog anything made for the event to this blog and my main. If you’d like to be featured, please @ THIS blog. Additionally, I’d recommend tagging works with #lautski week so everyone’s works can all be found in the same place.

Q: I was late! Can I still post?

A: Of course! I’ll keep reblogging new posts tagged #lautski week and/or mention this blog through July 17!

Q: Can I post to AO3, then link it back here?

A: Feel free! This year I will also be setting up a Lautski Week collection, which I will link on the blog closer to time. Feel free to use it!

Q: Can I post to (insert any other fanfic site here) then link it back here?

A: Same as AO3. Go ahead!

Q: One of my wips fits *insert prompt here!* Can I post it for that day?

A: You can, but please don’t post before the event begins!

Q: Am I allowed to write smut?

A: Yes, but please have it properly tagged on both tumblr and AO3. On this blog, I will use the additional tag "smut warning"

That's it for now! I'll reblog this occasionally between now and July, plus advertising and answering any additional questions, but other than that, enjoy the rest of your spring (if you're in the Northern Hemisphere anyway)! See you all again soon 💜

#lautski #lautski week #peter spankoffski #pete spankoffski #stephanie lauter #starkid #steph lauter #team starkid #abstinence camp #nerdy prudes must die #npmd

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 4 months

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You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 12

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Series Masterlist

taglist: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @jeyusos-girl @jeyusosgirl @reci1996 @melaninsugababy @bemybabiibish @jstarr86 @baconeggndcheez @nbanenefrmdao @purplehairgawdess @arination99 @alyyaanna @m3llowww @jeysbae @empressdede @theninthwonder @badbitchcentralinc @bluesole16 @leaderofthebadbitchbrigade @bebesobrielo @venusesworld @babysyhsyh

**if your name is bold, tumblr won’t let me tag you**

February 4th 2021 - Pensacola FL

It had taken 3 weeks to get Josh moved into his new place and have it up to par for when Tracy brought the boys down. Tracy had insisted that she needed to make sure that her kids weren’t being brought to some ‘crack house’.... those were her exact words and it pissed Josh off, and brought on an argument that had her pushing back the boys visit another week.

“So you ready to see your boys?” Airielle had as she excitedly bounced on her toes. She was beyond happy for him because she knew how much he missed them and Josh couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, no matter how hard he tried.

“Hell yeah.” He said, grabbing his keys off the counter. “You sure you don’t wanna come with me to pick them up” Airielle nodded her head.

“I’m sure. You spend the day with your boys and I'll meet up with y’all for dinner.” She cupped his cheek when he gave her a look. “I promise I'm not tryna run away or anything. I’m really excited to meet them. It’s just…” She paused and bit her lip.

“Tracy” He said and nodded his head in understanding. “Aight, i’ll call before comin’ to pick you up.” She nodded and grabbed her purse before walking out the door with him. She let him walk her to her car and placed a kiss on his lips before driving away.

Airielle groaned as she entered her apartment and saw Joe lounging on her couch.

“Don’t you have a home?” Joe rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but I like being here. Whatchu’ doing here anyway. I thought you were meeting Jahair and Jahmir?” Airielle grabbed two waters out of the fridge and sat down on the couch passing him one.

“Yeah later on. Their mom wants to see Josh’s apartment to make sure it meets her standards or something,”

“You ain’t wanna see her? Size up the competition?” She sent him a glare that made him laugh and hold up his hands. “I’m kidding” she hummed and rolled her eyes.

“I can deal with him having kids, but the whole baby mama slash ex-wife thing,” She shrugged “Imma have to work up to that.” Joe chuckled and nodded his head.

“Yeah, Trace can be a bit much at times I don’t blame you.” Airielle shrugged again

“I mean, if I wanna stay with Josh, imma have to meet her eventually just not now.”

The butterflies in Airielle’s stomach intensified as she heard a knock on the door. She knew Josh liked to actually meet her at her door instead of her coming down to his car, but she thought him having his sons that he would make an exception.

All of the nervousness left her body when she opened the door though. Josh stood there with his usual bouquet of flowers but his two sons also had one rose each in their hands. “Hey,” He smirked and handed her the bouquet and his sons followed suit with their single roses.

“Thank you.” She said smiling at the youngest, Jahmir who blushed and hid behind his father's legs.

“I stopped to get ya’ flowers and the boys wanted to get you some too.” Airielle placed a hand over her heart and thanked the two boys again before letting the three of them in so she could put the flowers in the vase.

“Thank you guys. My other flowers were starting to become withered.” Josh led the boys over to the couch before grabbing Airielle’s hand and going into her bedroom, cracking the door. “What? What’s wrong?”

Josh sighed and grabbed her hands, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of them. “Don’t be mad at me aight?” When she nodded, Josh continued. “Tracy is coming out with us tonight.”

“Oh.” Airielle said, pulling her hands out of his grasp and wrapping her arms around herself. “I thought she was just flying down with them and leaving.”

“She was, but uh- Mir brought you up and she said there was no way she was letting her kids meet you without her meeting you first.” Airielle sighed and sat on her bed. “I’m sorry Rih”

“I mean I guess it’s okay.”

“You sure?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “Cause it’s okay if you don’t want to meet her.” Airielle shook her head.

“No, it's cool. I wanna spend time with you and your boys.” Josh nodded with a big smile on his face.

“Aight bet, come on before they start tearing up ya’ living room.”

AirielleJones

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Airielle had never felt more awkward in her whole entire life. Josh had warned her that Tracy could be a bit much but.. Jesus she was insufferable. Everything was cool at the arcade, Jahmir and Jahir had pulled Airielle and Josh all around the arcade while Tracy stayed at the table with their stuff.

Airielle could avoid Tracy at the arcade by walking away when she was around, but it was at dinner that they sat across from each other and Tracy kept sending Airielle glares when she would try to talk to Jahir or Jahmir, Tracy would answer for them as if she didn’t want Airielle talking to her kids.

Josh glared at Tracy as he leaned closer to whisper into Airielle’s ear. “Don’t worry bout her aight? As soon we done eating me, you and the boys can leave.” Airielle sighed and nodded her head. She had no clue as to why Tracy was making everything so difficult.

Yeah, they used to be married and they were together for a long time, but from what Josh had told her, Tracy had been moved on and the boys had already met her new boyfriend without any interference from Josh.

“So Arabella-”

“Oh, it’s Airielle.” Tracy shrugged and waved her hand dismissively

“Same thing.” Airielle let out an exasperated sigh as she grabbed her cup and took a sip. “So I hear you work for the WWE too.” Airielle nodded. “Are you a wrestler as well? I don’t remember seeing you on T.V”

Airielle resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “No, I’m not a wrestler, I'm a backstage interviewer.” Tracy frowned her face up.

“Oh, that sounds boring.”

“Oh well it’s not” Airielle shot back immediately then cut her eyes towards Josh who had covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his smile.

“Daddy, I'm tired.” Jahmir interrupted and Airielle sent out a silent prayer. Finally she could get away from Tracy. Josh gave Airielle his card so she could pay and took the two boys to the bathroom. Airielle immediately took the card and rushed over to the counter so she could pay.

“Is that my husband's cuban?” Airielle’s hand flew up to the chain on her neck. “It looks just like the one I got him for his birthday last year.”

Airielle sighed. “Ex-husband and No, it’s not his.” Was all Airielle said, getting the receipt and walking out of the restaurant with Tracy hot on her heels.

“You know,” Tracy said once she and Airielle were outside “I think you would look so much better without all that make-up. Your skin is probably crying out for a break.” Airielle let out a loud laugh, tilting her head. Her eyes twinkled with amusement. Tracy was trying to get a rise outta her but it wasn’t going to work.

“My skin is fine, thank you very much.” She rolled her eyes, still laughing. It was at the moment Airielle wished Josh gave her the keys to the car because if Tracy said one more thing to her, Airielle wasn’t sure if she’d be able to hold it together. Luckily Josh and the boys finally came out. Airielle stood there awkwardly as she and Josh waited for the boys to say goodbye to their mother.

Tracy turned to Airielle and gave her one final up and down glance before saying “I guess it was nice meeting you.” And walked off before Airielle could say anything back.

“Thank you.” Josh said, breaking Airielle out of her thoughts. He had just finished putting the boys to bed. She finished wrapping her hair up before turning towards him, a confused look on her face.

“For what?” Josh shrugged and patted the spot on the bed next to him so she could come lay next to him.

“I know you wasn’t too happy about having to spend the day with Tracy” He said as she climbed into the bed next to him. “So thank you for still coming and spending time with me and the boys.”

“It was no big deal.” She shrugged. “I mean, no I wasn’t ready to meet your ex, but it was gonna happen eventually right?” She laid down and propped herself up on her elbow. “Besides, I’m happy I got to meet your kids today. they’re cool as fuck.” She smiled and Josh knew right then and there he was in love.

AHHHH! they're so cute 😭🥰

sorry in advance about the next couple chapters

#wwe #jey uso #jey uso x black reader #jey uso imagine #main event jey uso #jey uso x reader #wwe x black reader #jey uso fanfic #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fluff #jey uso x fem reader #jey uso x oc #wwe x fem reader #blackwriters #black reader

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preciousthingsareprecious · 11 months

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Tumblr Fic List Part 1

Hi everyone! With AO3 currently down, I thought I'd remind you all that almost all of my fics are also available to read right here on Tumblr! For years I've had the habit of cross posting just about everything so if you're looking for a particular fic, you should be able to find it on good old Tumblr.

I tag all my fics with: Precious Posts so you can also use that to find anything newer I haven't added here yet.

This is all my older fics, from my Masterlist. When I get a little more time I'll do a part 2 with my newer stuff.

To Teach a Robin to Cook: Jason teaches Damian how to cook

Baby Bat Vs the Evil Librarian : Steph and Damian take a trip to the library

Grayson’s Guide to Robin Boys Movie Night (IMG): The list of rules Dick wrote for movie night

Guide to Robin Boys Movie Night (FIC): Dick decides to write some rules for movie night, the other Robins have opinions

Movie Night: The Mummy: Jason does not like bugs

Movie Night: Cheeto Bomb: Dick thinks Jason planted a Cheeto bomb in the DVD player. Jason insists otherwise.

Lost Boy: Tim’s mad at Damian (again) and takes a walk to cool off

Fireworks: The Batboys attend a fireworks show for the 4th of July and Jason has flashbacks. Angsty

Baby Teeth: Bruce notices that Damian has lost a tooth, and decides to play Tooth Fairy. Fluff pure and simple.

Talk Yourself Out of This One: Dick get’s kidnapped and is forced to wait for help to arrive.

Kidnapped With You: It’s all Jason’s fault. Or is it Damian’s? Either way both managed to get kidnapped and now have to get along until Batman arrives

Misplaced Mail: Tim decides to go to college and doesn’t tell the other Robin boys.

De-Aged Tim: Timmy gets shrunk down to a six year old and Damian has to help him get back to normal.

Magical Mix Up: Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian all get body swapped. Will they fight or get along long enough to fix things?

Lights Out: Jason finds himself in a situation when Tim passes out on him while his chest taser is still on

The Hunt: Bruce and Damian go on the search for a missing remote

Prank War: It’s Batboys vs Batgirls

Something in the Tea: Damian drinks hallucinogenic tea and can’t escape the visions of what he wishes his family would be like.

Party Chaos: Duke just wants to survive this party, unfortunately for him the rest of the Batboys are at the party and intent on causing trouble.

Trust: DickBat era fic where Damian gets into some trouble after a fight with Dick.

Karma: Damian’s got the hiccups so Dick tries to help him out on patrol.

Comfort Sweater: Damian get’s caught stealing one of Dick’s sweaters.

Play Lessons: Mindless Fluff as Dick and Dami play Cheese Viking together

Burdens: Written for Dynamic Duo Week 2016 day 6: Leave Me Alone

Discovery: Dick and Damian do a science experiment with Geodes

It’s Called a Hug: DickBat era. Damian doesn’t understand that hugs aren’t just a reward for good work.

Like Any Other Kid: Damian can’t stop having nightmares, finally he decides to go to his father for comfort.

Nightmares and Dreams: Bruce has a nightmare that Damian’s still dead and decides to check up on his son.

Cuffed: Dick and Tim end up handcuffed together and have to rescue Jason

Chosen: Based on a HC where Damian has trouble believing Bruce really wants him.

Album: Tim’s looking through one of his old photo album’s when Dick and JAson find him.

Father Time: Tired from the night before Bruce decides to stay in bed all day. His children decide he needs company.

Favorite Colors: While Dick and Damian are shopping for a new hoodie for Tim Damian makes an interesting purchase.

Lost Not Gone: My version of Damian’s reaction to Tim’s ‘death’

Super Sleepover: Jon sleeps over at the manor

Father Daughter Dance: Bruce and Cass go to the Ballet

Learning to Ride: Bruce teaches Jason how to ride a bike

Adoption: Alfred pushes Bruce to adopt Tim

If I Live to See the Dawn: Jason’s hurt and Damian’s got to get him home

Learning to Ask: Dick takes care of an injured Bruce

Heartbeats: Takes place between Batman Rebirth issues 16-17 and follows Bruce taking care of his kids

Target Practice: Damian and Steph play laser tag

Anxious Heart: Damian deals with some latent fear toxin, Bruce helps him out

Art Show: Tim runs into Damian while going to see one of his photos on display

Family Attire: Dick and Damian go clothes shopping. DickBats era

Unintended Consequences: In trying to hide his own illness Damian ends up getting Tim sick

Always Interesting: Cass buys a waxing kit and all the boys want to try it

Not a Burden: Tim gets hurt on patrol and doesn’t want to bother the family

With Love and Patience: Dick muses over taking care of Damian, there may also be suspenders involved. DickBats era.

Long Overdue: Jason offers to take Damian on patrol with him

Some Kind of Normal: Sometimes Bruce forgets just how young Damian is

Trapeze Training: Dick takes Damian out on the trapeze

Sick Day: Bruce is sick and Damian wants to make sure his father gets proper rest

Haunted Manor: Damian and Jon explore a haunting in the manor

Checking In: The batboys start to worry when Bruce is out of town and hasn’t contacted anyone in a while

Preserved Heartache: Damian sees a video of his own death

Hugs and Cookies: Dick brings a ‘get-along’ rug for the holidays

Like Old Times: Bruce and Dick on a stakeout

Safety Net: Snapshots of Damian learning to trust Dick

Irritating: Damian picks on Dick

This Stupid Family: First person pov. Jason’s little brother’s realize he too is a little brother and act accordingly.

Then and Now: Bruce dealing with Jason’s death juxtaposed with the family now

In Charge: Jason and Bruce make lunch while Alfred is out. Robin!Jason

A Little Craft Project: Damian asks Babs for help cheering Dick up

A Bad Night and Good Tea: Bruce can’t sleep, thankfully Alfred’s there to help

To Pass Through this Night: Dick died during Forever Evil. His brother’s find out and help him deal with it.

Faking It: Damian fakes being sick, Dick reacts to it. DickBats Era

Dreams of Wires: Damian’s feelings on the chip his mother put in his spine

Don’t Get Sentimental: Tiger takes care of Dick

Robin in the Batcave with the Rope: Damian get’s kidnapped by the Riddler and Scarecrow and forced to play clue

Breathe In Breathe Out: Damian gets buried, Dick worries Part 1 2 3

This Weight Off Of Your Shoulders: Damian gets sick, Alfred takes care of him

After Everything We’ve Seen: Dick finds Damian curled in the corner of the couch

Bone Tired: Dick is tired, Bruce is there to help him out

Just to See You: Temporary blind Damian, Big brother Dick

You Won’t Wake Up Alone: Dick knows he’s about to die, he just doesn’t want to do it in front of his little brothers Part 1 Part 2

First Breath After A Coma: Dick ruminates on his death, Damian’s, and all the terrible things that have been happening lately. Angst, no fluff

Your Job or Mine: Bruce gets hurt, Dick takes care of him

New to This: Dick’s getting used to his new busy life, and learning to take time for Damian

Accustomed to Standing Alone: The first time Damian’s kidnapped as a civilian

Bleeding Heart: Damian finds a dying doe and sits with her, Dick helps take care of the rest

Sun Spot: A lazy day with Dick and Damian

Of Baskets and Braids: Dick can’t sleep so he goes to find Bruce, and they get lost watching Youtube videos

As the Years Go By: Dick is growing up, and Bruce isn’t really sure how to deal with it.

A Bird in the Hand: Damian gets turned into a robin…for real. Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Those Days We Miss: After Damian picks a fight with Dick, he ends up kidnapped and pretty sure no one is going to come for him.

Stay Here, With Me: Damian gets soaked on patrol, and as a result he ends up sick. Rest and medicine should help, but Damian finds himself getting worse and worse. Thankfully he’s got Bruce (and later Dick) to help sort things out.

You Always Bring Me Home: When Batman is caught by an explosion he calls the person who can always find him, Alfred.

The Care and Yeeting of Robins: Bruce comes home to find Jason in his bed. Jason refuses to move, so Bruce does what he has to in order to stand his ground and decides sleeping on the floor is the only option.

Flash/Prompt Fics:

Damian and Tim: That’s Not a Dog

Dick, Damian, and Cass: No, no, it’s okay, I’ll be your bridge. You can walk all over me

Damian and Dick: I stabbed my last twelve brothers. Why should you be different?

Jason and Steph: Not only am I a late bloomer, I’m late for everything

Young Dick: Not only am I a late bloomer, I’m late for everything

Steph and Damian: I stabbed my last twelve brothers; why should you be any different?

Tim and Damian: Would you mind not setting my stuff on fire every time you get angry

Older!Damian: I find this to be highly illogical, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely irresistible. Let’s play

Damian and Alfred the Cat

Tim and Damian: Damian attempts to irritate Tim

Tim and Jason: Tim’s tired and saying weird things

Batman Voice: Damian’s got a ‘Batman voice’ and it comes out at the best of times

Shrunken Sweater: Bruce’s sweater has shrunk to the perfect size

Being Sick is Stupid: Robin Dick and Bruce fluff and minor sick fic

Damian gets tricked into sleeping

Dick and Damian angst-fluff

Long Fics:

Super City: Damian and Jon on an adventure in Metropolis

Losing You: Dick loses his memories of Damian and the two try to deal with it while going after the villain responsible (plus Tim and Jason get to help)

Finding Us: The sequel to Losing You. Explores Jason and Tim’s relationship to the Batfam

#my fics #master list #tumblr fics #damian wayne #dick grayson #batfamily #fanfiction #fic list

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jadedwolf18-blog · 1 year

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Mini Phantom Invasion.

Hi, I plan for this to be a series of inter connected one shots based on some of my favorite prompts. I’m a huge Tim Drake/Red Robin x Danny phantom shipper, so for now most of my fics will feature them. Once I’ve end this series, I’ll try branching out to other relationships Danny could have with the bats.

I can’t remember where I got all of them but I’ll try to tag as I find them. If anyone notices a prompt or plot they’ve seen please let me know or tag the person it came from. I’m knew to posting on Tumblr so I’m still getting used to how to tag and insert links. Thank you.

🤍🖤💚💙💚🖤🤍

Chapter 1

Danny was not having a good day. He’d had a fight with his parents about ghost hunting, stating clearly that he had no interest in their bias views on an entire species based on one encounter when they were young. It had escalated to the point where they blamed his lack of interest on the fact that he was spending to much time with his sister and his female friends.

He’d had enough! He left mid argument and was contemplating just packing up and moving into the Ghost Zone permanently. As he’d slammed the door he could hear his parents shouts for him to come back and once again blaming his behaviour on a ghost.

What did his sexuality have to do with ghost hunting? And what was wrong with wanting to be more feminine sometimes? He honestly didn’t understand why they found it so weird or wrong for him to swap between genders and pronouns? Jazz, Sam and Tucker accepted him as he was, they didn’t but an eye when he would randomly say ‘she’, ‘they’ or ‘him’, they just continued the conversation with the new pronoun and that was that. They understood and accepted that sometime he felt male or female or neither. He was lucky to have them.

The day just seemed to continue down hill from there. It was summer vacation so Sam was forced to spend time with her parents at some rich holiday resort, Tucker had won a spot in some sort of tech camp and Jazz was still at College working on a finals thesis and was unable to come back for the summer. He was essentially alone for the summer. He could hang out with Val but she was working a lot and he didn’t want to bother her. He still felt guilty about her dad losing his job, even if it wasn’t entirely his fault.

*****

After leaving the house he’d found a place to transform and let the cool rings of light soothe him and took off into the sky. After finding out they could survive in space it became their favourite way to relax, they’d spend ours exploring space, even hang out on the moon. Thank you high speed and portal powers. Their Phantom form had changed in the last two years. People could no longer tell if they were male or female and he looked less human now. Thankfully, they looked nothing like their alternate future self. When their legs melded together their ghostly tail looked more eel like and their ears were longer and thiner, resembling delicate fins. Jazz and their friends had joked about how the acted like cat ears. Lastly their face was now a pale mint color, almost white and translucent, his eyes were still the same luminous ecto-green with deep blue pupils. The only similarity to Dan, that they could see, were the fangs and longer hair both of which were also present in their human form.

*****

They had been flying around Amity, a somewhat lazy patrol of his claimed haunt, it was a calm night. Ever since they had defeated Pariah Dark the other ghost had calmed down and came to Amity less frequently. A few still came to bug them, namely Skulker, Ember, Johny and Kitty. Young Blood and Boxy more frequently than the others and of course Cujo came by often. Their visits were more to do with fulfilling their obsessions than anything else. Danny’s obsession was Space but so was Protection. They needed to fulfil both to some extent or suffer from a form of ghost hunger. It was a win win situation even if they did go back… home? Was it really still a home?

Before they could go down that dark spiral again their instincts took over and they narrowly dodged a bright green shot that had been aimed at their head. Whirling around and flying higher out of range they looked at their attacker and just stared.

“of course it’s them.” They muttered. Before repeating it with more venom than they thought they were capable of. Which was shocking because not even Vlad had receive as much hatred in the entirety of the time they’ve known him than in that split second they felt it towards their own parents. “Of fucking course it’s them!”

They blink away the shock of such an intense emotion and huffed. Not even bothering to acknowledge them they turned around to leave. That had been a mistake. They’d barely made it a few paces before pain bloomed across their back as an Eco-blast shredded the fins on their lower back and bit deep into their flesh. They bit back a cry of shock as they felt themselves plummet from the sky. It took a moment but they gathered enough concentration to open a portal. He didn’t care where they ended up as their only thought was ‘Somewhere safe.’

They fell through and just before they lost consciousness, they heard their parents yell after him.

“Get back here you ghost scum, so we can rip you apart molecule by molecule!”

“We won’t forgive you for corrupting our Danny!”

‘Of course… It’s always Phantoms fault…’ Danny’s world turned black as he continued to fall. Maybe when they opened their eyes again all of it would have been a dream.

*****

Somewhere in the infinite green a Grandfather clock chimed. A screen flickered. Time flowed on.

“All is as it should be.”

Chapter 2

(I'm Not A Cynic Song by Alec Benjamin)

Danny pulled their little floating ducks out of their personal pocket dimension and set them to gently drift in the hot spring. They had found it while wandering the forest. Their lower back still ached and they were a little worried about how it hadn’t healed completely yet.

*****

They didn’t know where they were or how long they had been in this dimension but they were safe and alone for the time being. When they’d woken up, the first thing they did was try to figure out where they were. thankfully no-one had discovered them, tucked away in the underbrush of the forest they had landed in. They’d let invisibility wash over them and flew high enough to get a view of the land. They recognised asian architecture and flew in the direction they had spotted a small farming village. With a closer look they determined they had landed in some version of Japan. Instinctually they knew they were not in their home dimension. Everything, even the air and feel of the atmosphere felt slightly shifted to the left. It was like that feeling of entering a hotel room, they were all essentially the same but there were the little details that told you it was a different hotel.

*****

Brushing the thought, and everything associated with the reason they were injured and alone in a foreign dimension, aside. They coiled their tail in the centre of the spring and sank down until their lower back was submerged in the healing warmth of the spring. Closing their eyes in content they began to hum. Their eyes shot open when they felt a gentle nudge against his arm but smiled gently at the little wisp as it bobbed and drifted in the breeze. They continued to hum and watched in amusement as more joined the first. The little orbs of light ranged in color from soft pale blues to vibrant greens and warm reds, oranges and yellows.

They lost themselves in their song as they twirled in and played with the water, creating little floating ice crystals that caused mist to form around them as hot and cold air danced around each other. Humming soon gave way to words as they swayed to the rhythm only they could hear.

“I'm just bein' realistic, bein' honest with myself

I've tried bein' optimistic but it doesn't seem to help

So I'll just have to admit this is the hand that I've been dealt

I'm not bein' pessimistic, just bein' honest with myself”

They were thankful to Pandora, who had taught them to sing in an effort to train his ghostly wail, for realising he was taking on the form and habits of a triton.

“I'm not a cynic, oh, today's just not my day

I've tried to spin it 'bout a thousand different ways

But from every angle, oh, the outlook is the same

I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today”

They poured all the hurt, betrayal, anger and loneliness into their voice, allowing them to release it all in a more melodic call than his previous wail. That, as pandora explained, had been an unhealthy burst of emotion and they were lucky they hadn’t blown out their vocal cords the last few times they used it.

“I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it”

Through their practice they found they could influence emotions but not out right control them. They were glad, influencing them was bad enough, he didn’t want to manipulate anyone. They didn’t want to spend their life wondering if the people around them truly cared or if they had somehow manipulated them into caring. They may me a budding empath but they still struggled to tell the difference between a sincere emotion and a projected emotion.

“You only get that which you're given, it's not always up to you

Not every Sunday is a picnic 'cause the sky ain't always blue

You can't just change the weather by changing your point of view

Some days you have to wait until the storm just passes through”

Danny’s voice grew louder as their emotions poured out into the lyrics. They knew they still had their friend, their sister, Elle and everyone in the Infinite Realm. They were also the Half Ghost son of ghost hunters and scientist with a heavy bias against Ecto-entities. They will be the rulers of an entire realm in only a few short years.

“I'm not a cynic, oh, today's just not my day

I've tried to spin it 'bout a thousand different ways

But from every angle, oh, the outlook is the same

I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today”

They gave a bitter sweet smile as they watched the wisps duck and weave between the ice crystals. They looked around for their ducks and their smile turned a little more sad as they waved their hand and the little ducks joined the dancing lights and crystals. Each one was modelled after his favourite comic book vigilante. They’d had to save them from the dump truck once, they’d been looking for them when he’d asked his parents, their father had made an off hand comment about how he should throw out old toys and they’d panicked. They’d manage to find and save them all just before the truck arrived.

“So like a boat on the ocean, I'll rock with the waves

God, I'm so sick of this notion that I have to fake

Fake my emotions and pretend I'm okay

So like a boat on the ocean, I'll just rock with the waves”

Jazz had bought them for them, after they had told her about being gender fluid and pan, they were probably one of their most treasured possessions. Jazz had gone on a whole spiel about how it’s important that she show support and provide a safe and understanding environment. They hadn’t been listening, they’d been crying. To caught up in their overflowing emotions and happiness. It lasted a day, their parents had been less than understanding, with their passive-aggressive comments and actions.

“I'm not a cynic, oh, today's just not my day

I've tried to spin it 'bout a thousand different ways

But from every angle, oh, the outlook is the same

I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today”

Their frown returned. They had shot them, that in itself wasn’t unusual, as Phantom. Isn’t that a sad thought. What was was that there had been no prior warning. It was a sniper shot, from their mother. Only their heightened hearing and instinct had saved them from ending up dead dead instead of a Halfa. That bothered him

“I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today”

They returned to humming the last notes of their song as the dunked under the water to rinse off. They popped back up and gathered their ducks, floated up out of the spring and laughed as the wisps twirled around him. They landed on the ground, allowing their legs to form and walked off into the forest, dancing lights trailing after them. Completely unaware of their watchers.

*****

The shadows slunk away to report their findings. While two birds hesitantly returned to their temporary nest, One worried and wanting to help the being that reminded him so much of his younger siblings. The other having felt a connection to a being that had shared similar experiences, someone they wanted to help and if they wanted to end the beings loneliness… that was no one’s business but their own. Both slept little that night, both determined to find the being again and offer what they could to help.

*****

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2

@alinmenttreasure

@blackroserelina

@blacksea21090

@seraphinedemort

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hp-yuletide-bliss · 7 months

Text

Welcome to HP Yuletide Bliss 2023!

Hello, hello, we're soon opening the Christmas season! Are you excited?! I most definitely am! 🎄

The formula stays the same as last year, but the prompts for December dailies are very fresh, and I hope you have fun with them! As usual, tag me if you promo them on tumblr, and I’ll share them! Let’s spread some love 🥰

Prompts and fest rules below!

The event is hosted by @girl-with-goats 💚

Fest Rules:

You can pick up any of the two prompts for the day or combine them or skip a day altogether.

You can write as many stories as you want.

There’s no word limit, no minimum or maximum.

Write whatever the heck you want with whatever characters you want.

You can change the dates of the prompts.

The only thing not allowed are AI-generated works.

Please tag me when you post the story <3

You can post the stories to the collection here and/or tag the event on Tumblr.

Collection name: HP_Yule_Bliss_2023

Collection link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HP_Yule_Bliss_2023

Prompts:

Parents/children relationship | “I love your drawing. Is that a cat?”

Only one blanket | “We’re not sharing that. It’s mine.”

Dressing up | “You’re not wearing pyjamas.”

Christmas with pets | “Well, the Christmas tree fainted.”

Christmas argument | “Do you even hear yourself?!”

Last-minute Christmas shopping haul | “I didn’t expect to see so many people. I did not predict that—”

Gingerbread cafe latte | “It’s a perfect mix of sweet and bitter! And the cream just has the perfect texture, see? Just try it!”

Being (love)sick on Christmas | “Just how many tissues does one need?”

Winter ball | “It’s like magic.”

Baby, it’s cold outside | “Stay home with me.”

Warmth | “Are you cold?”

Patience | “Wait for me!”

Reindeer tracks | “We’re going to look for reindeer tracks and wait for Santa to come!”

Fairy lights | “They are shimmering!”

First snow | “My car is not working because of all this snow.”

I gave you my heart | “And you broke it.”

Gift-prank | “How about the floating mistletoe?”

Season of love and understanding | “I might find my Prince(ss) Charming!”

Santa brought me you | “Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?”

Starless night | “How is Santa supposed to come if there are no stars carrying his sleigh?”

Gingerbread House | “No! It’s not for you!”

Grinch | “I hate Christmas and you won’t change my mind.”

Sleighing | “Well—I might have some new bruises, but I had fun. Really. Thank you.”

Meddling | “No, I’m not spending Christmas with him!”

Cider | “You’re getting a bit drunk, aren’t you?”

Christmas Cards | “Wait, who is it from?”

Poinsettia | “Looks ugly. Uglier than mistletoe.”

Christmas Market | “How about hot chocolate?”

Christmas traditions | “It’s a tradition!”

Magical mistletoe | “I have something to tell you.”

The clock striking midnight | “Is it midnight already?”

#hp yuletide bliss #hp fests #christmas hp fest #december dailies

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kingofbodyrolls · 7 months

Text

Friendcation (m) | myg | six

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

Summary: Your vacation is coming to an end but your thoughts are spiraling and filled with anxiety as a tiny mishap makes you question your future with Yoongi.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female)

Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin.

Genre/AU: best friends to friends with benefits to lovers, non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!Yoongi, humor, slight angst, smut and fluff

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.)

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Status: completed!

Word Count: 11.3K

Warnings (general): angst, anxiety, talk about feelings and future, teasing friends and mention of pregnancy. Warnings (explicit): explicit sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, protected sex, oral (female and male receiving), dirty talk, nipple/breast play, ass slapping, hair pulling.

Author’s note(1): Wow, these last weeks have been hard on me to be honest. For a moment I really struggled with dwindling engagement for the series, and it honestly made me want to quit the whole thing and not finish it… I had to realize who I write for (I concluded it’s for me) and whatever I receive is just a really nice bonus 🫰I felt like the decline in engagement meant you didn’t like the series (which is fine if you feel that way), but it hit me hard. I understand a part of it can be the recent long chapters (I’m truly sorry and I’ll be better at keeping it at 10K for a smoother reading experience in the future). I have so many stories in my head that I just want to put to paper, so I’m going to keep doing that. I think I’ll keep posting whatever new stuff I write in the future, because I think it’d just be a waste to have a full fanfiction parking in my Drive.

I tried to pour my heart into the last chapters, and I’m really proud of it. To be honest, it’s mostly smut (and sexual teasing) – because well 🤷

I really hope you enjoy this chapter (and the final one). Love you 💜

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts, @constancelayon, @wobblewobble822, @ktownshizzle, @moonchild1, @ultimatefangirl0, @baechugff, @jimintaemin, @parapiop7, @fckkntired, @iluvfndms, @citypop-princess, @tarahardcore, @bergandysam, @massivelyfullenthusiast, @tatyhend, @gimeow *strikethrough means tumblr isn’t letting me tag you :( **you can still be added to the taglist, just drop a comment here, on any chapter or the masterlist and I’ll add you 🌸

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there.

These past couple of days have left you with a strange, unsettling feeling.

It’s not just the relentless banter from your friends, teasing you about what they term as ‘sickening love and adoration’ between you and Yoongi.

No, there’s something more, something that eludes definition but refuses to be ignored.

As your friends continue to jest and joke about your relationship, a knot of unease tightens in your stomach. It’s not a matter of their words bothering you; rather, it’s a lingering doubt, an unspoken concern that seems to dance at the edges of your consciousness.

Your mind is filled with tension, and you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

It took an unusually long time for the realization to sink in – the absence of your period.

How could you have missed something so significant?

Perhaps it was the whirlwind of fun and excitement, the joyous moments shared with Yoongi and your friends, that allowed this crucial detail to slip through the cracks of your awareness.

As the truth settles over you like a sudden storm, a wave of introspection crashes upon your thoughts. Why had you not noticed sooner?

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you meticulously do the math, tracing back to that one moment you and Yoongi had sex without protection in the forest.

The pieces fall into place, forming a picture of uncertainty that leaves you standing at the crossroads of emotions.

Regret, fear, and maybe a hint of excitement swirl in a tempest within your mind. The weight of the realization becomes a stormy sea, tossing your emotions like relentless waves. You grapple with conflicting feelings, torn between the potential of new beginnings and the fear of the unknown.

For years, you made a conscious choice to steer clear of hormonal contraception.

The decision wasn’t made lightly; it was a journey of self-discovery and resilience against the societal norms that often dictate women’s reproductive choices. You recall the moments when hormonal contraception wreaked havoc on your body, the side effects casting shadows on your overall well-being.

It was then that you decided it wasn’t the path for you. The journey to this decision was marked by personal reflection, moments of doubt, and a fierce determination to take control of your reproductive health. Condoms became your chosen method of both contraception and protection. The decision was not just a practical one but a statement of agency over your own body.

Sure, you’re a grown woman, and you should have been more cautious.

The irony isn’t lost on you; after all, it only takes a few determined swimmers to set the wheels in motion for a baby.

The realization brings a mix of emotions — surprise, anxiety, and a touch of disbelief. You can’t help but question your own judgment.

As the weight of the situation settles in, you find solace in the fact that it’s with Yoongi, a man you not only adore but love (even though you haven’t spoken those words to him yet).

The history you share, the years of friendship and the open conversation about future possibilities soften the unexpected blow. He’s expressed openness to the idea of children down the line, creating a glimmer of hope in the midst of uncertainty.

As the revelation sinks in, your mind becomes a battlefield of conflicting emotions.

The foremost among them is the relentless uncertainty that echoes through every corner of your thoughts.

Did Yoongi genuinely mean what he said about wanting kids, or were those words spoken in the heat of the moment? The weight of the questions threatens to drown you, leaving you grappling with the unknown.

In the tumultuous sea of your mind, the uncertainty stands out as the dominant wave. You find yourself questioning the timing— is it too early in your relationship to venture into such uncharted territory?

The prospect of an impending headache looms, a physical manifestation of the mental strain that accompanies the myriad thoughts swirling within your head. The room feels suddenly smaller as you navigate through the maze of emotions.

Each question begets another, creating a web of doubts that threaten to entangle your sense of clarity.

Who knew a tiny stick could unleash a whirlwind of chaos in your mind?

You can practically feel your thoughts spiraling faster than a rollercoaster, and you haven’t even taken a goddamn test yet! It’s like your brain decided to host its own circus without your permission.

The prospect of a simple test morphs into a mental acrobatics show, complete with somersaulting doubts and high-wire uncertainties. You catch yourself mid-thought, berating the overthinking brain of yours— Calm down, it might be nothing, right?

As you camp in the serene outskirts of Gunsan, surrounded by the symphony of nature—crickets singing their nightly lullaby and the earthy aroma of the rural landscape—you find yourself at the crossroads of revelation.

The revelation, however, is a delicate secret that you’re hesitant to share, not with your friends and certainly not with Yoongi, at least not until you’re certain.

A few more days, and you’ll leave for another city, and hopefully you can sneak in a pregnancy test at a store without anyone noticing.

Amidst the bustling thoughts of your mind, your boyfriend’s voice cuts through the noise like a familiar melody. His warm, loving smile, revealing those endearing gums you adore, welcomes you back to the present.

“Hey, babe, are you coming?”

His voice, tinged with affection, carries a hint of playfulness. His eyes, like windows to his soul, flicker with concern as he notices a shift in your mood. A subtle furrow in his brow goes unnoticed, replaced by a comforting smile that stretches across his face.

“Yeah,” you nod in response to him. His silhouette is framed in the doorway of Holly, and the tantalizing aroma of barbecue chicken and pork wafts into the air, teasing your senses.

The savory scent wraps around you, awakening your appetite.

A playful breeze carries the distant sounds of laughter and clinking utensils from the gathering outside. The chatter of friends intermingles with the sizzle of the grill, creating a symphony of anticipation.

With a soft smile, he holds the door ajar, casting a warm invitation into the confined space. The golden hues of the setting sun paint the scene, casting long shadows that dance on the interior of the van.

“I’ll be right out,” you assure him.

As you step into the outdoor feast, the savory fragrance intensifies, enveloping you in a culinary embrace.

As the sun begins its descent on your next-to-last day in Gunsan, the air becomes infused with the tantalizing scent of barbecue. Yoongi and Seokjin, the culinary maestros, have orchestrated a feast of flavors, transforming the open fire into a canvas for their culinary artistry.

The crackling flames dance beneath skewers laden with an assortment of barbecue delights – succulent chicken and pork, each morsel dripping with savory juices. The aroma, a symphony of spices and char, teases your senses and ignites a ravenous anticipation within. The sizzle and hiss of meat meeting open flame create a hypnotic melody, luring everyone closer to the culinary spectacle.

As you emerge from the cozy confines of Holly, the brisk evening air kisses your skin, carrying with it the mingling scents of grilled delights and the lively chatter of your friends. The crackling sounds of the open fire draw you closer, promising a reprieve from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling within your mind.

A sense of gratitude swells within you. God, you love their cooking. It’s more than a meal; it’s a celebration, a manifestation of the bonds that tie you all together.

You settle into the chair beside Namjoon, the sturdy wood offering a welcome support beneath you.

A cool beer materializes in your hands, a gesture from Namjoon that elicits a small, appreciative smile. As the effervescent bubbles dance in the amber liquid, you find momentary distraction in the tactile sensation of condensation on the cold bottle.

The ambient hum of conversation surrounds you, friends exchanging anecdotes and laughter. However, their words become distant echoes, mere background noise, as your mind undertakes a journey into the realm of more pressing thoughts. Could you be pregnant?

The crackling of the nearby fire, the occasional gust of wind rustling the leaves, and the laughter of your friends create a symphony of sounds. Yet, within the symphony, your thoughts stand out like a solo, demanding attention.

As you take a sip of the cold beer, you suddenly remember that maybe you shouldn’t and put down the beer as you catch a fleeting glimpse of Yoongi, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken understanding – does he somehow know?

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, his concern palpable in the furrow of his brow and the gentleness of his inquiry.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his words a lifeboat in the sea of your turbulent thoughts. The concern in his eyes is mirrored by the gaze of your friends, a united front of worry that surrounds you.

“I’m fine,” you offer a weak smile, the words slipping from your lips as easily as a silk thread. The campfire’s glow dances in your eyes, casting flickering shadows that betray the turbulence within.

You catch the subtle exchange of glances among your friends, a silent language they’ve perfected over the years.

Namjoon arches an eyebrow, a silent question lingering in the air.

Hoseok’s voice breaks through the haze in your mind, and you blink, realizing you’ve been somewhere else entirely. He wears a furrowed brow, a genuine concern etched on his face.

“Did you even hear what we were talking about?” Hoseok’s question hangs in the air, a lifeline thrown to a drifting mind. He glances around at the others, a silent plea for confirmation that you’re still tethered to the conversation.

“I’m sorry,” you admit, a genuine apology tinting your words. You glance around at the concerned faces of your friends, a slight frown forming on Namjoon’s forehead.

“No, my mind was elsewhere,” you confess, your eyes momentarily dropping to the beer bottle in your hand. A swirl of conflicting emotions dances in your gaze – the weight of unspoken worries, the fear of the unknown, and the delicate balance of a secret you’re not ready to share.

“Something going on?” Seokjin’s question hangs in the air, his eyes reflecting genuine concern. Normally, their fond and caring hearts would be a source of comfort, but at this moment, you wish for solitude.

The weight of immense turmoil presses against your chest, and you offer a weak smile to mask the turbulence within.

Your heart flutters, caught between the comfort of their understanding and the fortress of secrets you’ve built around yourself. The crackling of the fire seems to intensify, a background chorus to the unspoken truth lingering in the night air.

“No, I’m fine,” you assert, but your attempt at a reassuring smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The weight of unspoken thoughts sits heavily on your shoulders.

“Just tired,” you add, stretching your arms above your head in an attempt to shake off the invisible burden. The forced yawn escapes, a theatrical touch to your performance.

As you exhale, the weariness is palpable, not just in your body but in the weary creases that temporarily mar your forehead.

You catch Yoongi’s gaze, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes betray a hint of concern. It’s a silent exchange, a language only the two of you understand.

Worried stares linger for a moment, probing, questioning. You deflect them with a half-hearted smile, a feeble attempt to reassure both yourself and your friends. Thankfully, they relent, returning to their earlier discussion with an air of nonchalance. It’s a welcome diversion, giving you a momentary respite from the mounting unease.

But as your friends immerse themselves in chatter, your attention is captivated by Yoongi. His gaze, softer and more perceptive than the others, lingers on you with an understanding that goes beyond words. In the depths of his eyes, you sense an unspoken connection, a recognition that he, too, perceives the silent storm brewing within you.

As the aroma of grilled meats fills the air, your thoughts drift away, carried on the scent of uncertainty. The upcoming days loom ahead, casting a shadow on your once carefree demeanor.

Each passing moment feels like a countdown, the ticking clock resonating with the pounding of your anxious heart. The idea of taking a pregnancy test, a seemingly simple act, now carries the weight of your fate.

A symphony of laughter erupts, a harmonious cacophony that almost mimics a melody. Your gaze sweeps across the group, catching each friend lost in the infectious mirth. Their joy is palpable, manifested in hearty belly laughs and eyes crinkled with delight.

However, as your eyes dart over to Yoongi, you notice a stark contrast.

His demeanor doesn’t mirror the jovial atmosphere; instead, his expression remains stoic, a subtle tension etched on his features.

Your gaze flits from one friend to another, their laughter echoing in the warm air. They share an inside joke, a moment of camaraderie that has eluded you. A subtle unease settles in your chest, the feeling of being adrift in a sea of amusement, disconnected.

Caught in the undertow of your own thoughts, you find yourself lost in the laughter, unable to decipher the humor that dances between them. It’s not just a missed punchline; it’s a fleeting moment of connection slipping through your fingers.

Hoseok’s eyes light up like twin stars as he bursts out, “Now, that’s a brilliant idea!”

His voice, brimming with infectious enthusiasm, resonates through the campsite, attempting to suppress the laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. His shoulders shake slightly with restrained mirth, and a mischievous gleam dances in his eyes, hinting at the amusement he’s struggling to contain.

The air crackles with the energy of the moment, as if Hoseok’s excitement has sparked a lively current that electrifies the entire campfire. The others catch on, their own laughter simmering beneath the surface.

You turn your gaze to Hoseok, brows furrowed in both wonder and confusion. “What’s the brilliant idea?” you ask, your voice tinged with curiosity, as if you’re about to embark on an unexpected adventure.

Hoseok grins mischievously, his laughter evolving into soft chuckles. “We were thinking of giving you and Yoongi some alone time tomorrow,” he suggests, the glint in his eyes hinting at a secret plan.

Seokjin smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“So you can,” he begins, drawing out the words with a pause for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes at his theatrics, but then he raises his eyebrows suggestively.

Suddenly, your ears and cheeks flash red as you realize the implication of his words, and the campfire bursts into laughter, leaving you caught in a delightful mix of embarrassment and amusement.

They all burst into laughter, and you catch Yoongi rolling his eyes with a mock sigh.

You wish the ground would just swallow you up, but you manage a playful glare in his direction. “Thanks for the moral support,” you mutter under your breath, earning a teasing grin from Yoongi, who clearly enjoys the banter as much as the others enjoy the spectacle.

Yoongi nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, his ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ attitude on full display. You’re well aware he truly doesn’t care about the teasing, but no matter how many times your friends crack jokes about your intimate life, it never gets less awkward.

You shoot Yoongi a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow.

“Really? This again?” you quip, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. It’s a game you all play, and deep down, you know it’s all in good fun. Yet, you can’t help but wonder if they’ll ever tire of it.

“You seem like you could use it,” Namjoon adds, his voice laced with concern as he gently nudges your shoulder.

You’ve buried your face in your hands, hoping the shield of your palms could protect you from the lingering embarrassment. The laughter of your friends echoes around you, but you can’t bring yourself to look up just yet.

The warmth of Namjoon’s touch seeps through your hands, a comforting gesture amidst the teasing storm. As you finally gather the courage to peek through your fingers, you catch a glimpse of his reassuring smile, a silent understanding passing between friends. It’s moments like these that make you appreciate the bonds you’ve built, even if they come with their fair share of playful ribbing.

“Please don’t say stuff like that.”

You plead, the cringe evident in your voice as you instinctively recoil. A shiver of discomfort crawls down your spine, and you find yourself desperately wishing for an escape from the awkwardness that lingers in the air.

The weight of their words presses on you, and you subtly shift, trying to distance yourself from the subject at hand. The vulnerability of the moment tugs at your conscience, leaving you exposed in the face of their laughter.

“With that stunt you pulled at the restaurant, I think you have a lot of pent up sexual frustration.”

Hoseok chuckles, and the teasing tone in his voice causes your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, memories of that daring encounter at the restaurant flooding your mind.

The heat rises in your face as you recall the unexpected aftermath, as you had walked out to the table with Yoongi’s cum on your face, and a wave of self-consciousness washes over you.

The campfire suddenly feels too warm, and you find yourself desperately wishing to change the subject. Hoseok’s laughter lingers in the air, a constant reminder of that daring escapade, and you try to suppress the vivid images that threaten to resurface.

“And we would rather not be here when you let off some steam,” Seokjin adds, his laughter echoing through the air. You roll your eyes playfully, a mix of amusement and embarrassment coloring your expression.

The teasing banter continues, and you sense the warmth of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

A fleeting glance at Yoongi reveals his nonchalant demeanor, his composure unbroken. Inspired by his cool attitude, you decide to take a page from his book. With a smirk and a playful glint in your eyes, you raise an eyebrow at your friends, challenging them to bring it on.

“Thanks,” you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes, looking around your friends.

“I could definitely use a good fuck and Yoongi’s thick cock just hits all the right spots,” you chuckle, adding a playful wink to your statement. The campfire falls silent and it’s almost deafening.

“So thank you so much for thinking about my vagina and Yoongi’s dick. It’s really appreciated and we’ll look forward to tomorrow.” You say with a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

As your friends sit in stunned silence, you bask in the unexpected power of your words.

With a confident grin, you raise your beer and offer a casual shrug.

“What can I say? You asked for it!”

Your tone exudes a mix of playful confidence and nonchalance. Meanwhile, Yoongi’s proud gaze intensifies, and you can almost hear him whispering, ‘Well done’ without uttering a word.

As the weight of your words settles in the air, Namjoon breaks the silence with a low whistle. “Well, I guess that’s one way to shut us up,” he chuckles, shaking his head in both disbelief and amusement.

The group erupts into a mixture of nervous laughter and awkward glances, uncertain of how to respond to your unexpected boldness. You’ve found a bottle of ice cold water and take a sip of it, maintaining your confident demeanor, and exchange a knowing glance with Yoongi, who seems thoroughly entertained by the unfolding scene.

The remainder of the meal unfolds in a symphony of laughter, shared stories, and the clinking of utensils against plates. Conversations shift seamlessly between topics, from future plans to nostalgic memories. The camaraderie of your group takes center stage, overshadowing the earlier teasing.

Each moment is filled with genuine connection, reminding you of the unique bond you share.

The midday sun casts a warm glow over your lunch with friends, the flickering flames of the campfire dancing in the background. Laughter intertwines with the aroma of yesterday’s leftovers, creating an atmosphere that is both familiar and tinged with anticipation.

As you savor each bite, you can’t help but feel a subtle tension in the air, a delicate undercurrent that stems from the impending alone time with Yoongi.

Your friends, oblivious to the internal struggle you’re facing, continue to share stories and jokes, but your mind keeps drifting back to the unspoken dilemma that lingers like a shadow.

The prospect of finally being alone with Yoongi excites you, yet the fear of him unraveling your internal turmoil weighs on you.

The crackling fire mirrors the conflicting emotions within you, casting shadows on the faces of your friends. You steal glances at Yoongi, wondering if he senses your unease.

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the campsite as your friends bid you farewell after a satisfying lunch.

There’s a subtle understanding among them, a shared unspoken decision to give you and Yoongi the precious gift of time alone. As they discuss their plans to explore the nearby town, you can’t help but appreciate the warmth of their friendship and the unspoken support they provide.

With cheerful goodbyes, your friends set off, leaving behind a trail of laughter that gradually fades into the distance.

Now, as the tranquility of the campsite settles around you, there’s a palpable shift in the atmosphere. The rustling leaves and distant chirping of birds create a serene backdrop, underscoring the anticipation of the solitude that awaits you and Yoongi.

Turning towards each other, you and Yoongi share a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment of the precious moments ahead.

The air is charged with a mix of excitement and intimacy as you prepare for this secluded interlude, grateful for the thoughtfulness of your friends who understood the significance of this time for you and your boyfriend.

As you and Yoongi cocoon yourselves in the comforting confines of Holly, the air becomes infused with a sense of tranquility.

The soft glow of his laptop casts a gentle illumination, creating an intimate bubble within the vehicle. The flickering light from the laptop dances across your faces, casting shadows that playfully intertwine with the laughter and stolen glances.

As Yoongi’s lips graze the delicate expanse of your shoulders, a shiver dances down your spine, eliciting a delicate sigh of contentment.

His nuzzles become a tender exploration, mapping the contours of familiarity that make your body a cherished landscape for him. The warmth of his touch creates a cocoon, enveloping you in a sanctuary where time seems to linger.

You revel in the softness of the moment, the gentle pressure of Yoongi’s affectionate gestures making you feel cherished and understood. The rhythmic pattern of his nuzzles mirrors the quiet cadence of your breaths, creating a silent language that speaks volumes in the tranquil cocoon you’ve woven together.

Yoongi’s fingers, like skilled maestros, trail a symphony of comfort across your shoulder, their tender dance ascending to the curve of your neck.

As his touch transforms into a soothing massage, you feel the knots of tension unravel beneath his fingertips. The rhythmic kneading becomes a balm, dissolving the worries that had taken residence in the recesses of your mind.

In the gentle cadence of his strokes, you find a haven where each movement is a whispered assurance, a silent promise that you’re not alone in whatever may be troubling you.

The warmth of his hands carries an unspoken invitation to share the burdens of your heart, creating a space where vulnerability is embraced. As his fingers work their magic, the stresses of the day seem to dissipate, carried away on the currents of his affectionate touch.

The sensation is both physical and emotional, a tangible reminder that you have someone by your side who cares deeply for you.

Yoongi’s voice, soft and laced with concern, further reinforces the sanctuary of this moment.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

He inquires, his words a lifeline thrown into the sea of your thoughts. The genuine curiosity in his eyes invites you to open up, to let the weight of your troubles be shared and lightened by the strength of your bond.

In the cocoon of Yoongi’s touch, you find solace and a momentary escape from the complexities swirling within. His fingers, tracing soothing patterns on your shoulder, evoke sensations that transcend the physical.

As you sink deeper into the bliss of his massage, the barriers around your heart momentarily soften, allowing vulnerability to seep through.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet.” You confess, the words slipping from your lips like a whispered secret. The timbre of your voice, tinted with a mixture of fragility and desire, hangs in the air. In this moment, you feel pliable, molded by his care and affection.

With a tenderness that mirrors the flickering warmth of a candle, Yoongi turns your gaze toward his, locking eyes with a sincerity that speaks volumes. His touch is both a reassurance and an unspoken promise, a reminder that within this cocoon of shared vulnerability, there exists a haven for your thoughts and emotions.

“Okay.” He utters, the word carrying the weight of understanding and patience. In the silent exchange of glances, there’s a recognition that time unfolds at its own pace, and the space he provides is a canvas for your unspoken words to manifest.

As he cradles your face in his hands, his touch becomes a conduit for reassurance, a silent pledge that he’ll be there when you decide to unravel the intricacies of your thoughts.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

The depth of his gaze invites trust, assuring you that this haven isn’t bound by a ticking clock or the urgency of spoken words.

In the quiet cocoon of Holly, gratitude for Yoongi blooms within you like a delicate flower. His intuitive understanding, the way he navigates the uncharted waters of your emotions, is a testament to the depth of his love. It’s more than just appreciation; it’s a profound acknowledgment of the bond you share.

As you rest against him, the subtle rise and fall of his chest a comforting rhythm, the weight of your feelings finds solace. His ability to read the unspoken nuances, to dance with the ebb and flow of your emotions, is a symphony of understanding.

It’s not just about giving you space; it’s about crafting a sanctuary where vulnerability is met with patience, and time is a gentle companion.

In these moments, the love you harbor for him swells, an ocean of emotions that transcends the need for words. His presence becomes a balm, soothing the edges of uncertainty, and you find yourself enveloped in a warmth that extends beyond the physical.

You revel in the simplicity of his knowing glances and the way he respects the sacredness of your thoughts. It’s the silent assurance that he’ll stand by you, unmoved by the passing seconds, until you’re ready to unfurl the chapters of your heart.

“I can help you take your mind off whatever’s troubling you?”

His lips linger on yours, leaving the taste of warmth and affection as a gentle reminder that in his embrace, solace awaits. The simplicity of his offer carries a wealth of unspoken understanding, a silent promise to be your anchor in the sea of uncertainties.

As he speaks those words, his eyes, windows to a soul that intimately knows yours, search for a sign in the language only you two share.

There’s an invitation in the way he holds you, an unspoken pledge to share the weight of your troubles.

Perhaps, in the sanctuary of each other’s presence, you can find respite from the storm brewing within. His touch, a soothing melody, offers an escape into a realm where words are unnecessary, where the language of love becomes a salve for the wounds of the heart.

You consider his offer, the genuine concern etched on his face, and for a moment, you allow yourself to be carried away by the prospect of a temporary reprieve.

The weight of his desire reflects in the shadowed depth of his gaze, a silent confession that transcends words. His eyes, normally a window to his soul, now betray the subtle dance of passion and want. As you lock eyes with him, you find yourself ensnared in the magnetic pull of his longing, a current that sparks anticipation.

The soft droop of his eyelids harbors a secret world, one where desire takes the lead and whispers promises only lovers understand. There’s a languid rhythm to the way his gaze caresses, each blink a heartbeat echoing the pulse of the moment.

In the subdued light, the flames of passion flicker within those dark orbs, leaving an indelible impression of the fire that smolders beneath the surface. You feel the intensity of his silent plea, a plea that beckons you to acknowledge the uncharted territory where your desires intertwine.

“I wouldn’t say no to that.”

A playful chuckle escapes your lips, a mischievous melody that dances in the air, echoing the lighthearted rhythm of your connection.

As you lean in, your teeth graze the edge of his bottom lip, not just in a tease, but in a silent declaration of your shared desire. The playful nip is a prelude to the symphony of sensations waiting to unfold.

His responding grunt is a low, primal note, a testament to the delicious tension building between you.

As you pull away, a knowing glint in your eyes, you leave behind a promise lingering in the air—a promise of the unrestrained passion that simmers just beneath the surface, waiting to be set free.

“Then lay down and let me make you forget your own name.”

A surge of anticipation electrifies the air as his words wrap around you, a sultry promise that sends shivers down your spine. The confidence in his voice resonates, a magnetic force pulling you deeper into the allure of the moment. You surrender to the rhythm of his suggestion, feeling the weight of the world lifting as he guides you gently to recline.

His eyes, dark pools of anticipation, reflect a hunger that transcends the constraints of time. There’s a deliberate slowness to his movements, a silent vow to savor every nuance of pleasure that unfolds between you.

As he expertly slides down your sweatpants (you did not steal those from Yoongi, you swear!) he unveils your desire-laden form, leaving you in nothing but your panties. The room seems to hum with a charged energy as his eyes meet yours, the spark of lust reflected in that magnetic gaze.

Your longing gaze locks onto him, capturing the fiery essence of your arousal. His long, ebony locks frame his handsome face.

“You know you’re so damn beautiful, right?”

He murmurs, his fingers orchestrating a slow, tantalizing symphony as they traverse the path from your toes, ascending with deliberate grace up the landscape of your legs. Each stroke is a promise, a prelude that sends a shiver of anticipation racing through your veins, your skin awakening with goosebumps.

The sensation is electric, every inch of your skin tingling with anticipation. The journey of his touch creates a symphony of shivers that dance in harmonious tandem with your rising desire.

Your cheeks flush with a rosy hue as his gaze lingers on your legs. Feeling a twinge of self-consciousness, you stammer, “Um, don’t pay too much attention to my legs. I haven’t shaved recently,” your words escape in a hushed admission, and you instinctively attempt to shield your face from his gaze.

His fingers delicately peel away the protective shield you’ve built with your hands, revealing your blushing cheeks and the vulnerability that lingers in your eyes.

A soft hiss escapes his lips, and his gaze intensifies with a fiery determination. “I don’t care,” he declares, his voice a low, husky murmur that hangs in the air, “every inch of you is beautiful.”

He gently tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes with an affectionate gaze. He reassures you, his fingers tracing a delicate path along your jawline, his touch a comforting affirmation that transcends the superficial.

There’s an intensity in his words, a raw honesty that sends shivers down your spine.

A soft moan escapes your lips in response to his words, the praise sinking into the depths of your being. Your breath quickens, and a tingling warmth begins to pool between your thighs, a visceral reaction to the arousal ignited by his intimate acknowledgment.

The air around you thickens with anticipation, and you can feel the subtle friction as your panties cling to your skin, a tactile reminder of the desire that courses through your veins.

His hands, like gentle phantoms, trace tantalizing patterns over the fabric covering your core. The teasing caresses send shivers down your spine, creating an electric dance of anticipation on your skin.

As his fingers weave through the unseen pathways, you find yourself instinctively arching your back, a silent plea for more, a desire that threads through the very fibers of your being.

Each feather-light stroke becomes a whisper of promises, a seductive invitation that beckons you to surrender to the impending ecstasy. The subtle friction against your clothed core intensifies the yearning, creating a magnetic pull that draws you closer to the edge of desire.

The anticipation in the room crescendos as Yoongi, his eyes heavy with desire, firmly grips the edge of your panties.

A subtle yet deliberate tug sends a thrill through your body, and you instinctively arch your back, offering yourself to him in a silent dance of longing. Your ass lifts in a graceful surrender, a gesture that speaks volumes without the need for words, inviting him to unveil the secrets hidden beneath the fabric.

He slowly peels your panties down your legs, each inch of exposed skin kindling the flames of desire. His unhurried touch is both a torment and a pleasure, awakening a craving within you that only he can satisfy.

The fabric trails over your thighs, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. As your panties reach your ankles, you find yourself teetering on the edge of vulnerability and excitement, the cool air of the room caressing the newly exposed skin.

The pace is torturous, yet the sweet torment only adds to the fervor of your need for him. Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in rhythm with the silent crescendo of desire, as he takes his time, savoring every moment of the seduction.

Yoongi’s lips descend with a feather-light touch, igniting a cascade of sensations that ripple through your core. The warmth of his breath, coupled with the gentle press of his lips against your clit, creates an electrifying dance between pleasure and anticipation.

“Already so damn wet for me.”

His words, a whispered declaration against your skin, send a jolt of desire straight through you. The tenderness in his kiss contrasts with the building heat, a delicious paradox that has your body responding eagerly to his every move. Your body aches for the touch of his hands, for the intimacy that promises to follow his seductive declaration.

As he explores the delicate contours of your pussy, his hands expertly coax your legs apart, allowing for an unhindered journey into the realms of ecstasy.

The velvety caress of his tongue on your most sensitive spot sends shockwaves of pleasure cascading through you. Your body, a canvas for his artistry, responds with an involuntary moan, a testament to the electric connection forged between you.

Each languid stroke, each artful flick, becomes a brushstroke painting a masterpiece of desire.

With an artful blend of tenderness and hunger, he delves into the intimate landscape, leaving no territory uncharted. The sight of him, a devoted architect of pleasure, navigating the peaks and valleys of your pussy, etches a sinful image in your memory, a visual symphony that resonates with the raw, primal energy between you.

His exploration is thorough, a sacred pilgrimage that transforms your most intimate sanctuaries into altars of pleasure.

As his tongue dances with purpose, each exquisite movement sends ripples of pleasure through your body, eliciting gasps and moans that punctuate the charged air.

Your fingers entwine in the velvety strands of his midnight-black hair, a tactile dance that blurs the lines between pain and pleasure. The sensation of your grip sends a seismic shiver through him, a tangible expression of the fusion between your desire and his arousal.

His groan, a harmonious blend of both agony and ecstasy, resonates in the intimate space between you.

His adept tongue orchestrates a tantalizing symphony, each rhythmic stroke sending waves of pleasure through your core. The artful dance of his lips and tongue creates a crescendo of desire, a masterful performance that leaves you gasping for breath.

As he delves deeper into the artistry of your desire, his movements evoke the most primal and exquisite sounds — a melodic fusion of slurping and sighs that harmonize with the symphony of your escalating pleasure.

In the languid exploration of your body, his tender touch becomes a testament to the depth of his affection. Each deliberate caress is a celebration of intimacy, as if he’s unraveling the layers of your being to expose the essence of your bond.

The unhurried pace of his movements whispers of a profound appreciation for the canvas of your skin, savoring every nuance as if committing the map of your body to memory.

The love you feel for him, and the love he showers upon you, intertwine like vines, creating a tapestry of shared passion that envelops both of you in its rich, intricate patterns.

As you lie there, engulfed in the warmth of his adoration, an unexpected realization strikes you — he possesses the qualities of an extraordinary lover and, perhaps, an incredible father.

Your mind, caught in the whirlwind of emotions, begins to spiral. It’s not a descent into chaos; rather, it’s an ascent into your possible future. The thought flickers through your mind like a gentle flame, casting a soft glow on the image of your shared moments. How loving he would be towards a child, how amazing he would be. You can feel the telltale signs of anxiousness slowly seeping into your body.

In this moment, you can’t help but acknowledge the depth of your feelings for him. Damn, you love him so much.

As Yoongi tenderly explores the landscape of your pussy, your mind, like an unwelcome guest, insists on revisiting the uncertainties that have been haunting you. The touch that should be a remedy becomes a battleground between the present moment and the lingering worries that threaten to steal your focus.

In this emotional tug-of-war, you find yourself caught between the desire to surrender to the sensations and the compulsion to confront the uncertainties head-on.

As Yoongi’s skilled touch ventures into your warm walls, your senses respond with an electrifying awareness. The moment he slips a finger inside, a surge of pleasure cascades through you, momentarily eclipsing the persistent thoughts that have plagued your mind.

The explicit bond between you and Yoongi becomes a lifeline, grounding you in the immediate sensations that demand your attention.

“Ah, fuck,” you moan, wanting more of his electrifying touch.

In a slow and deliberate rhythm, Yoongi withdraws his finger, creating an exquisite tension that leaves you yearning for more. The anticipation builds as he re-enters, his finger becoming a conduit for both pleasure and promise.

With every measured thrust, the world around you blurs, and the only reality is the electrifying connection between you and him.

As his finger dances within you, the dual sensation of his intimate exploration and the tantalizing strokes on your clit forms a harmonious symphony of ecstasy. It’s a delicate balance between sweet torture and the promise of release, a dance that makes you teeter on the edge of losing yourself entirely.

Your mind, once clouded with uncertainty, now revels in the intoxicating sensations he elicits.

Each stroke of his finger becomes a stroke of liberation, freeing you from the shackles of doubt and leading you into a realm where pleasure reigns supreme.

As he introduces a second finger into the dance of pleasure, a new dimension of sensation unfolds. The subtle stretch sends tendrils of pleasure through you, and you find yourself instinctively meeting his every thrust.

His fingers, now working in tandem, navigate the depths of your pussy with an intimate familiarity. Each calculated movement is a testament to his skill, an artful exploration of your most sensitive realms.

As he delves deeper, you can’t help but surrender to the crescendo of pleasure building within you. The hunger for more intensifies, an insatiable craving that propels you both into uncharted territory.

The precipice of pleasure looms ever nearer, a tantalizing edge that threatens to consume you entirely. Every caress, every thrust brings you to the brink, and the intensity becomes almost overwhelming. The electric current of desire courses through your veins, a pulsating reminder of the ecstasy that hangs in the air.

Your breaths come in shallow gasps, mirroring the urgency of your body’s response to the impending release.

“Yoon, I’m so close!”

The words escape your lips in breathless pants, carried on the wings of passion that envelop both of you in a cocoon of desire.

The room is filled with the husky hum of satisfaction as he skillfully introduces a third finger into the delicate equation, causing your breath to hitch in a symphony of pleasure.

The subtle, rhythmic sound of your mewls, like a sweet melody, harmonizes with the intoxicating atmosphere of shared desire.

A whirlwind of thoughts engulfs your mind, a tempest of emotions and musings that dance in a chaotic waltz. It’s as if a storm of contemplation has descended upon the landscape of your consciousness, leaving you breathless and slightly disoriented.

His teasing suction on your clit becomes a rhythmic pulse, each pull and release sending ripples of sensation through your body. Your spine arches involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the pleasure that courses through you like a current.

Your breath catches in your throat, a melody of moans and gasps escaping in harmony with the rising pleasure.

You’re losing yourself in the cadence of pleasure, surrendering to the rising tide that threatens to pull you under.

As his fingers expertly navigate the landscape of your pussy, seeking out the elusive treasure of your G-spot, the anticipation within you becomes a taut string, ready to unravel in the most euphoric crescendo.

Each deliberate stroke against your G-spot is a seismic pulse, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core.

The knot in your stomach tightens with every rhythmic press of his fingers, the tension reaching a point where it can no longer withstand the impending release.

As the wave of climax crashes over you, every muscle in your body tightens, a testament to the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

The sheer power of the moment finds its voice in a raw, unrestrained scream of his name, a primal melody that reverberates through the van. The sound is a visceral release, an unbridled declaration of pleasure that echoes in the air.

Simultaneously, your vision blurs, the world reduced to a kaleidoscope of colors as tears stream down your cheeks.

In the aftermath of your climax, Yoongi moves with a swiftness that speaks volumes about his care and concern.

He withdraws from your core, his face adorned with the glistening remnants of your orgasm. The concern etched across his features mirrors the tenderness in his touch as he strokes your cheeks, his fingertips collecting the tear-streaked evidence of your emotional release.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he inquires, his voice a gentle melody that resonates with genuine care.

As the haze of passion begins to dissipate, you become acutely aware of the tears streaming down your face, each droplet a silent witness to the complex interplay of pleasure and emotion.

It’s a realization that unfolds gradually, like the petals of a delicate flower unfurling under the touch of the morning sun.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting Yoongi’s concerned gaze, the soft orbs reflecting a myriad of emotions—care, tenderness, and a silent inquiry. The unspoken question hangs in the air, inviting you to share the intricate tapestry of feelings that now envelop you.

As you tenderly cup his face, the warmth of your touch conveying a myriad of unspoken emotions, you draw him into a soft, lingering kiss. The sensation is a delicate dance, a symphony of lips meeting in a silent exchange that transcends the need for words. In that fleeting moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and all that remains is the intimate connection between your souls.

As your lips meet, there’s a subtle play of emotions on his face—confusion mingled with a growing awareness. It’s as if your kiss serves as a revelation, unraveling layers of uncertainty and paving the way for a deeper understanding.

“I’m…” you choke on the words, the weight of them hanging heavy in the air. Your voice trembles, a symphony of vulnerability as you muster the courage to confess, “I’m late.”

He sits up on his knees, the subtle play of emotions flickering across his face—confusion, concern, and a tinge of fear that he’s trying to mask.

The world around you seems to pause, caught in the gravity of the revelation. The soft glow of the room casts shadows on his features, emphasizing the lines of his furrowed brow and the intensity of his gaze.

“My period.” You exhale the words, each syllable a confession carrying the weight of uncertainty. The air in the van seems to crystallize as the truth hangs in the space between you two, a revelation that both defines and challenges the contours of your shared reality.

There’s a palpable shift, a seismic ripple that traverses the emotional landscape.

As you release those two words into the room, you can almost sense the burden lifting from your shoulders, the unspoken fears and the silent cacophony of questions dissipating.

Yoongi’s ‘oh’ escapes his lips like a subtle revelation, a key turning in the lock of understanding. His laughter, a melodic cascade of mirth, breaks the tension that hangs in the air, diffusing it like a gust of wind through a dense forest. As he laughs, his eyes crinkle at the corners, and you can’t help but be captivated by the sheer joy that emanates from him.

You turn to him, an arched brow, an unspoken inquiry, a silent prompt for an explanation to unravel the mystery of his amusement.

“Is this what has been on your mind lately?”

Yoongi’s chuckle resonates in the air, wrapping the room in a light, casual ambiance. As the sound tickles your ears, you find yourself frowning, an unexpected twist in his reaction catching you off guard. This wasn’t the response you anticipated, and it leaves a flicker of confusion in your eyes.

His chuckle, like a riddle yet to be unraveled, compels you to seek clarity. The lines on his face soften into a playful smile, but you sense there’s more beneath the surface—layers of emotion waiting to be uncovered.

You gracefully sit up, your hands instinctively finding support behind you. As you rise, there’s a subtle grace in your movements, a dance of poise and strength.

His voice, a soothing melody, envelops you in a comforting embrace as he reassures, “It’s okay, babe.” There’s an innate understanding in his tone, a blend of empathy and strength that makes you feel seen and supported.

As he utters those words, his eyes become a safe haven, inviting you to share the weight of your concerns. You notice a subtle glint of concern, a reflection of his genuine care for your well-being. It’s not just a question; it’s an invitation to share the burden, a bridge to traverse the uncertain terrain together.

“Have you taken a test yet?”

Your head shakes with a slow, deliberate motion, a silent admission that echoes in the stillness between you two. “We haven’t really been close to a store these couple of days,” you mumble, your words carrying the weight of circumstance and a touch of vulnerability.

Yoongi’s voice carries a soothing cadence, a melody of reassurance that wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

“Then you can take one when we get to Ansan, and then we’ll know, okay?” His words resonate with a mix of tenderness and practicality, casting a lifeline of certainty in the sea of uncertainties.

Your voice trembles with genuine curiosity as you turn to Yoongi, searching for the calm center in the storm of your emotions.

“How are you so okay with this?” The question lingers in the air, heavy with the weight of your uncertainty.

“I told you before. I want kids, so I don’t mind. And I love you,” his voice, filled with a sincere tenderness, caresses your ears like a cherished melody, a symphony of reassurance. As Yoongi’s words wash over you, carrying the warmth of his love, you find yourself enchanted by the sincerity in his voice.

“I love you too!”

Your words spill forth like a cascade, infused with a passion that dances in the air. The sincerity in your voice creates a melody that resonates in the space between you and Yoongi, a sweet harmony of shared emotions. He can’t help but chuckle, a tender sound that mingles with the affectionate atmosphere, like a secret language only the two of you understand.

“Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. Pregnancy or not, I want to be with you,” he declares, sealing his words with a kiss that carries the weight of unwavering commitment.

“Now lay back down so I can make sweet love to you,” he murmurs with a playful slap on your ass, drawing a light chuckle from you. As you comply with his request, the air crackles with anticipation, and the van seems to buzz with the shared energy of desire.

With your tears now dried, a renewed sense of elation washes over you, lifting you into a state of weightlessness. The earlier worries and anxieties have dissipated, leaving behind a serene anticipation for his tender touch.

With a subtle yet confident movement, he draws you back up, skillfully assisting you in shedding your shirt. The air crackles with a charged energy as he guides you back down, each motion deliberate and unhurried.

As he hovers above, fully clothed, a sudden intensity sweeps over the room.

He descends urgently, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss that eclipses time. The embrace is fervent, a fusion of desire and hunger. He bites your bottom lip, a delicious intrusion that elicits a gasp, and as your mouths meld, tongues entwining in an intricate dance, the van seems to vibrate with the electric charge of longing.

His moan reverberates within you, sending delightful shivers down your spine.

His hands travel down your body, his destination becomes clear as his lips find your breasts. A wave of pleasure courses through you as he takes one of them into his mouth, his tongue dancing with a rhythmic intensity. Simultaneously, his hand expertly caresses and squeezes the other, creating a symphony of sensations that leaves you breathless, lost in the exquisite rhythm of his touch.

His mouth envelops your nipple, coaxing it into a hard bud as he skillfully circles his tongue around it. The teasing bites send electric pulses of pleasure through your body, and you can’t help but moan in ecstasy.

A surge of arousal courses through your body, igniting every nerve and leaving you acutely aware of the growing intensity between you and Yoongi.

It’s as if a tidal wave of desire has been unleashed, sweeping away any lingering tension and leaving only the magnetic pull drawing you both closer.

Yoongi shifts his attention to your other breast, and a shiver runs down your spine as his skillful tongue creates a tingling sensation that sends waves of pleasure through your body. Each gentle bite and swirl of his tongue feels like a carefully orchestrated symphony, and you can’t help but arch your back in response to the electrifying pleasure he’s unleashing.

Your breath quickens, and the anticipation of another orgasm builds within you.

Yoongi, attuned to your heightened arousal, allows his free hand to navigate the landscape of your pussy. With deliberate intent, his fingers find your throbbing clit, and a jolt of pleasure courses through you as he gives it a teasing pinch.

The dual sensations from both his mouth on your breast and his skilled fingers dancing on your most sensitive spot send shivers down your spine, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

“Ah!” an involuntary cry of pleasure escapes your lips, a raw and unfiltered expression of the ecstasy coursing through your body. Your breaths come in ragged pants, each exhale a testament to the overwhelming sensations Yoongi is coaxing from you.

His fingers dance skillfully over your clit, expertly pushing you closer to the edge. Simultaneously, his warm tongue flicks sensuously across your nipple, intensifying the pleasure coursing through your veins.

In a crescendo of sensation, the knot in your stomach unravels, and you succumb to the powerful waves of ecstasy crashing over you.

Ecstasy courses through every fiber of your being, causing your toes to curl involuntarily. Your breath comes in hurried pants, and the world around you blurs into a hazy abstraction.

As you slowly open your eyes, you find yourself ensnared in the gaze of Yoongi, his eyes reflecting an ocean of love that threatens to engulf your very soul. In those deep pools of affection, you sense an unwavering connection, a silent promise that transcends words.

“I don’t think it’s fair that I’m the only one completely naked,” chuckling, you playfully swat at Yoongi’s sculpted chest.

With a surge of desire, you sit up, pushing him backward. The room crackles with anticipation as you grab his shirt, flinging it haphazardly onto the bed. Your lips crash against his in a hungry kiss, an unspoken urgency that reveals the depths of your longing for his touch.

Your fingers trail a fiery path down his chest. The heat between you intensifies as your hands venture lower, reaching the confines of his pants where a pronounced bulge yearns to be released—a silent plea echoing the passion that simmers beneath the surface.

In a fleeting moment of daring desire, you tease him with the tantalizing touch of your hand through the fabric, evoking a frustrated moan that hangs in the air. With an intoxicating mix of boldness and anticipation, you deftly pull down his pants and boxers, unveiling his throbbing dick.

As the last barrier of clothing drops away, leaving him gloriously exposed before you, he joins in the mirth, a playful chuckle escaping his lips. With an affectionate gleam in his eyes, he guides you back down, eager to continue the symphony of passion that has only just begun.

As his lips meet yours in a tender dance, his eyes lock onto yours, a silent exchange of emotions passing between those beautiful orbs. In that moment, it’s as if the entire cosmos is reflected in the depths of your gaze, and the world outside fades into insignificance.

As he reaches for a condom, you raise a questioning eyebrow at him.

“One last time before we find out if you’re pregnant or not?”

With a playful smirk, Yoongi holds the foil in front of you, his question hanging in the air like a sweet promise.

As the anticipation lingers in the air, you find yourself questioning the necessity of the condom. The unspoken desire for a deeper connection, to feel him without barriers, tugs at your thoughts. Yet, you understand the significance of this moment, a delicate balance between shared passion and the impending revelation.

It’s a bittersweet dance, the choice wrapped in a poignant acknowledgment of the unknown future, making this last embrace all the more meaningful.

“Fine, one last time then.”

A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you surrender to the shared decision.

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you wrap your fingers around his impressive hardness. A playful stroke elicits a deep, appreciative moan from him, resonating in the air like a sweet melody of desire.

His breath hitches, and he whispers, “You don’t have to, babe,” the words laced with desire.

“I still want you to forget your name,” he whispers against your ear, his breath creating a delicate dance of sensations that sends shivers down your spine.

You hum, a pleased and sultry melody resonating through your words. “But I want to. Please let me suck you; you taste so good.”

He pants, his breath hitched with a blend of desire and amusement.

“Fuck,” he mutters, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “How can I say no to those sweet eyes and that dirty mouth of yours?”

With a languid motion, he settles back on the bed, creating an inviting space for you between his well-defined legs.

You crawl between his legs, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips. Slowly, sensually, you run your tongue along the length of his throbbing dick, savoring the moment before releasing a teasing droplet of saliva that glistens in the soft light.

You take him into your mouth in one smooth, deliberate motion, the warmth and wetness engulfing his cock entirely. A primal hiss escapes his lips, a symphony of pleasure echoing in the van as you work your magic.

With determination, you savor the taste of his precum, deciding to be bolder. You inch your way down, taking him deeper until your nose brushes against his coarse pubic hair.

As you breathe through your nose, hollowing your cheeks, the obscene sounds escaping him become a symphony that resonates through your core.

His fingers entwine in your hair, tugging gently, a visceral reminder of the intimate connection between you.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping with desire and approval. The sensation of his touch, both tender and possessive, sends shivers down your spine, creating a delicious tension in the air.

As you pull away, a satisfying pop resonates in the room, accompanied by the symphony of your shared breaths. Gasping for air, you meet his gaze, and a playful chuckle escapes his lips, filling the space like a melody that only the two of you understand.

You plunge eagerly, your tongue tracing a sinuous dance around his length, creating a tantalizing symphony of pleasure. As you hum with a subtle vibration, the sensations reverberate, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice a low rasp as you feel his dick twitching in your mouth.

You pull away once more, savoring the moment, and playfully trace the contours of the head of his dick with your tongue. Without further delay, you take him back into your mouth, the shared pleasure deepening with each devoted stroke.

You sense his hands in your hair, a gentle yet urgent pull, as he tries to guide you upward.

“As much as I love your mouth on my dick, I really want to make love to you.”

He murmurs, drawing your head towards his, initiating a fervent kiss. The taste of himself on your tongue is a fleeting reminder, you know he doesn’t mind, it only fuels the passion between you.

He presses you gently into the sheets, the heat between you intensifying. With a swift motion, he retrieves the discarded foil from the tangled sheets, tearing it open before expertly rolling the condom onto his cock.

As he lines up his dick with your eager entrance, a shiver of anticipation courses through both of you. With deliberate slowness, he eases into your folds, a dance of pleasure that draws out the exquisite tension in the air.

The languid pace of his movements creates a sweet agony, a tantalizing dance that turns seconds into eternity. His unhurried rhythm, though almost maddening, speaks volumes of his desire to etch this time into the very fabric of your memories, turning the passage of time into a canvas for your passion.

Ecstasy courses through your veins as he delves deeper, the exquisite stretch sending a shiver down your spine. A symphony of sensations unfolds, and a breathy moan escapes your lips, a testament to the delicious ache that accompanies the perfect alignment of your bodies.

With each rhythmic thrust, he unearths your most sensitive places, creating a euphoric melody that resonates with the primal rhythm of desire.

Your voice, laced with a desperate plea, dances in the air as you succumb to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you moan, the words a fervent hymn to the ecstasy that engulfs you.

His grunt reverberates through the van, primal and intense, echoing the raw desire coursing through both of you. He begins to thrust with a tantalizing combination of slow, deliberate movements and rapid, passionate surges.

Every deliberate movement is a languid dance, a symphony of intimacy orchestrated by his tender touch. The deliberate pace allows you both to savor every sensation, each gentle thrust a declaration of his love and desire.

As he descends to capture your lips, it feels like a plunge into a world where time stands still. The kiss leaves you breathless, suspended in a moment that defies gravity. It’s not just a meeting of lips; it’s a celestial dance, leaving you weightless, floating in the ethereal connection between you and him.

Your thoughts dissolve into an exquisite haze, the only clarity emerging from the waves of pleasure he orchestrates. It’s as if the symphony of sensations has drowned out everything else, leaving only the echoes of ecstasy reverberating through your mind.

The knot in your stomach, a manifestation of building pleasure, tightens with every deliberate and passionate movement. Your hands instinctively seek solace on his biceps, anchoring you to the reality of the intimate dance unfolding between your entwined bodies.

As he bends down, his warm breath tickles your earlobe, and in a husky whisper, he confesses, “I’m close, babe.”

The words, laden with raw desire, send a delicious shiver down your spine.

In the heated passion of the moment, his kisses are fervent and demanding. As his hands explore your body, a surge of desire courses through you when he skillfully pinches both your nipples with his calloused fingers. The sensation makes you arch your back, an involuntary response to the electrifying pleasure that his touch ignites.

In the throes of ecstasy, you can’t help but vocalize the overwhelming pleasure. Your breathless confession, “I’m close too. It’s so good, Yoongi,” escapes in a sultry melody, a raw expression of the intense pleasure coursing through your veins.

With a skilled move, he shifts his hand from your breasts, seamlessly guiding one of your legs over his shoulder. The new angle intensifies every sensation, his every thrust reaching new depths, causing you to release a symphony of moans that echo the escalating pleasure pulsating between you.

“You feel so good around me,” he murmurs, the praise mingling with his ragged breaths. As he maintains the unhurried rhythm, his skilled hand works wonders on your breast.

An electrifying surge courses through you, an unstoppable wave of pleasure crashing into every nerve, leaving you breathless and temporarily adrift in orgasm. As the echoes of ecstasy reverberate through your body, you find yourself in a cocoon of bliss, tethered only by the warmth of Yoongi’s presence above you.

“Fuck!”

Ecstasy courses through him, a guttural exclamation escaping his lips as the rhythmic clenching of your warm walls becomes his undoing. He succumbs to the wave of release, finding solace in the intimacy you both share.

As he releases your leg, it descends gracefully to his side, a silent testament to the shared intensity that just unfolded. Your bodies, now entwined and damp with shared desire, settle into a momentary stillness. His head, heavy with the weight of shared pleasure, finds a resting place atop yours.

He seals the moment with a lingering kiss, a sweet echo of the passion you both just shared. Gently withdrawing from your pussy, he eases himself down beside you, and discards the condom to the floor.

You witness the rhythmic dance of his chest, an intricate ballet choreographed by the ebb and flow of his breaths. Each rise and fall seems like a silent symphony, a testament to the shared intimacy that still lingers in the air.

You gracefully position yourself on his lap, catching him off guard with the sudden move. The subtle sway of your breasts becomes a tantalizing dance, drawing his gaze irresistibly. A mischievous smile plays on your lips, a silent promise of the passion that’s about to unfold.

As you bask in the afterglow, a surge of emotions overwhelms you, and you can’t hold back the confession bubbling within. “I love you so much. No matter what. I’ve loved you for so many years,” you whisper, laying bare the depths of your heart.

His eyes mirror your affection, and a serene “Me too,” escapes his lips, carrying the weight of years and years of longing. With a tender smile, you lean into him to seal the moment with a soft, lingering kiss, sealing your love in the quiet intimacy of the shared space between you two.

Hoseok’s frustration spills out as he declares, “I told you it was a bad idea to take Joonie there; he breaks everything!”

The edge in his voice carries a hint of irritation, directed at Seokjin. As they make their way back to the van, the tension in the air is palpable.

Namjoon, wearied by the perpetual reminders of his purported clumsiness, rolls his eyes. It’s evident that the narrative of him breaking everything has grown stale, and his expression reflects a mix of resignation and mild exasperation.

His steps come to an abrupt halt as the mesmerizing sight unfolds before him. The camp comes into view, revealing a sight that seizes his attention – you, cradled in Yoongi’s arms covered in blankets, perched on a stool by the flickering warmth of the campfire.

The scene, painted with the hues of the dancing flames, captures a moment of intimate togetherness that momentarily holds him captive.

He playfully smacks Hoseok’s chest, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Look at that,” he chuckles, his finger extending to showcase the van standing proudly in the distance.

Seokjin’s eyes soften with warmth as he gazes upon your tranquil figures. “Aw,” he gushes, captivated by the peaceful scene before him.

As you gradually awaken in the cocoon of Yoongi’s warmth, your eyes flutter open to find the circle of your friends seated on stools beside you. Their eyes meet yours, each reflecting a unique blend of affection, camaraderie, and unspoken stories.

Yoongi grunts a sleepy “hi,” his voice carrying the weight of the peaceful slumber you both shared.

Hoseok’s laughter rings out, breaking the serene night air. “Hi, sleepyheads,” he chuckles, searching for a beer in the dimly lit surroundings.

Namjoon’s voice breaks the quiet night, daring to remark, “You look tired and glowing.”

You release a soft breath, snuggling deeper into Yoongi’s pectorals, fingers intertwining with his.

Seokjin begins to utter, “Did you finally f–” but you abruptly cut him off, declaring, “If you finish that sentence, I’m gonna skin you alive and wear your dick like a party hat.”

Your words hit like venom, leaving Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok gasping, their eyes widened as if about to fall out of their sockets.

Yoongi’s chuckles resonate underneath you, the melodic sound wrapping around you like a warm embrace, a symphony you wish would play on a loop for eternity.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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playboifenty · 9 months

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╰┈➤*.⋆🎬 ❝ 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒖 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅?

🩷 • 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐳 x 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 headcanons!

SPOTIFY • YOUTUBE MUSIC • TAGLIST • INFO

📃. 〄 . ᗢ . ?

🎧 ⋆ NOW PLAYING: WHAT YOU HEARD ━ SONDER. 🎶

―🌟TAGS ! fluff, angst, toxicity, hurt/comfort ish. 🎞 SUMMARY: ❛ fuck yo mind up, waste time. ❜ high hopes, unrealistic dreams, empty promises, and bottles of expensive ass champagne is the foundation of the relationship between the two. ⋆ ★ w/c: 1.1k . . . . . ☢ content warnings: a lilllll teeny tiny bit (a lot a bit) of toxicity... (its brent idk what you expected), comfort if you squint n bend your morals a bit, suggestive-ish themes, brent is a lil sassy cause why tf not, use of the n word, and ermm..lmk if i missed anything else!! ― 🔖 one , two .

ʚ 𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 ! 👁️‍🗨️

omg, omg, omg, hiii!!!! this is like..my first fic on tumblr and my first piece of writing in a whileee, but i wanted to write something cause i kinda sorta have nothing on my account 😭. and this fic lowkey has like a toxic relationship in mind for their relationship but its not overly toxic. (i understand the whole media for impressionable audiences thing but just scroll past it if you not fw it, relaxxx.) so this is just a lil sumn for and to get the hang of things, so let me know if you like it!! feedback is definitely appreciated, but not harsh feedback cause im lowkey sensitive 🥲. i also do not condone, romanticize, or encourage toxic, abusive, or unhealthy relationships!! this is purely just a work of fiction. enjoy!

It started off with a few stolen glances and a sudden gift disguised as a piece of chocolate cake arriving at your table…

“Courtesy of the table across from you.”

And it’s been history ever since.

“I know you seen me looking at you, you know how to grab a nigga’s attention fasho.”

“Mhm, you know you playing wit’ fire right?”

“Fire aint nothing forreal if you know how to handle it.”

He was always finding some way to make you fold and he knew exactly what he was doing too. Stringing you on with quick but sensual kisses, “I gotchu, jus’ be patient.” licking his lips whenever the energy of his heated stares was matched by you, his hands rhythmically rubbing up and down your thighs, his eyes always being locked on you whenever you spoke. . .There was no way in hell you were going to make it out unscathed.

Quick and flirty banter is definitely a pillar in you guy’s relationship, feeling comfortable enough to go back and forth with each other.

“Don’t miss me too much! i’ll see you soon, baby.”

“Dont miss you too much? I’ll be missing you the whole week, ma.”

He loved buying you bracelets and necklaces with his or your name engraved on them, cute lil’ bags he be seeing you eyeing whenever you walk through Chanel, giving you personalized free VIP access to his shows, shit...sending drivers to pick you up and bring you to said shows. And he always made sure you ate and did whatever you needed to do.

“You eat? Nah fuck that, you hungry?”

“...Maybe.”

“...Don’t play with me, y/n.”

Brent is definitely a sweet-heart in the beginning, well...in his own little way. He’s a romantic but not hopeless. He knew how to show you he cared while also not overplaying his part and things would definitely need time to build up into an actual relationship too. You weren’t stupid, you knew that even though you knew him on a deeper level than all the fame and even as far as to say you knew him as Christopher, he’s still gonna Brent Faiyaz at the end of the day. There were still going to be precautions, external problems, internal problems, and then internal problems egged on by the external ones; loving him was going to be anything but easy. But your connection started to change in different ways too, the relationship would start off with lots of excitement and rose-tinted lenses until feelings started growing and shit got serious; you was thinking it was going to give Jackie Brown and a dash of search & rescue baby...but in reality, it's giving what you heard and session 32 😭. (coughs in this nigga has avoidant attachment issues)

As soon as he realized what you two had going on was developing into something deeper, he started getting distant. Missing calls, ignoring texts, even coming up with half-assed excuses for missed dates and blowing you off.

“My bad, I had a lot of shit going on.”

“I was in the studio, you know how it be, y/n.”

“I got too caught up in London, that shit was crazy.”

“You think i could call you back though?”

And soon the arguments came and you two started staying mad at each other for days on end, not even bothering to try and smooth things over like in the beginning of the relationship. It was hard and it gave you a lot of anxiety. You wouldn't say that you felt unsafe perse, but you definitely didn't feel comfortable. “You mean to tell me that you can't answer the fucking phone for three seconds, Chris??” You shouted, frustration built up in your voice and it was obvious that you were fed the fuck up. It didn't help that the man sitting in front of you was quick to roll his eyes and smack his teeth, but what definitely didn't help was his smart-ass mouth. “Ain't nobody tell you to hit my jack and start losing yo shit, y/n. That's the shit that be blowing me.”

“I don’t hear from you for days and you expect me to not get worried? You’re mad at me for giving a fuck about you??”

“Whatever, man.”

The whole thing would just progressively get worse as you two went back and forth. you saying petty shit while he just dismissed your feelings until he decided that he would just tell you shit you wanted to hear so the situation would be deaded.

“I’m sorry, y/n...” he’d say soothingly in your ear, massaging your hips in circular motions as you’d lay your head on top of his chest, close to where his heart beats. “You know I be missing you like crazy. you can't stay mad at me for too long, baby.” and he was right. This routine repeated and repeated itself over and over again until he stopped ‘comforting’ you and just seemingly stopped caring altogether.

“Nah bro, you tweakin’.”

“Okay, y/n. stop calling my phone then, problem solved.”

“And you swear you don’t see how your point doesn’t make sense?”

“You got it, y/n.”

With time, you two just broke away from each other, but never ended things officially. It went from short brief phone calls to text messages and eventually, those stopped too. A hole was left in your chest and you couldn’t help but feel as if you wasted your time, continuously punishing yourself because you gave out a part of yourself you won't get back ━ but you couldn’t help but miss him. You’d find yourself compensating for his absence, making two plates of everything, migrating to his unspoken side of the bed, never taking the flowers he got you out of the vase you put them in; even though they long withered away. “I can't believe this nigga got me out here wasting food, groceries are expensive...Eggs are almost four fucking dollars! I can't do this shit, I need to get a grip and be fucking forreal.”

But let's not pretend he didn’t find himself trying to make sense of your absence, too.

⋆ ⤏ FINAL WORDS ! 📢 honestly this doesn't feel like it's 1k+ words but it is 😭. i'm so tired chile and i start school in 4 hours. i'm actually content with how this came out, fw it!!

PART TWO COMING SOON.

📸 TAGS !

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ghostly-wisp · 1 year

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NIGHT TERROR.

💌: Joel Miller x gn!reader

🎞: The Last Of Us (HBO adaptation)

👥: Joel Miller, Mentions of Sarah Miller, Tess Servopoulos, reader

✒️: ghostly-wisp on Tumblr

word count: 2616

synopsis: Joel is subject to night terrors — you aren't exactly sure why, they seemed to have come out of nowhere.

warnings: night terrors, mentions of child death and violence, death overall, Joel is sad :(, angst, brief mentions of suicide, swearing, major character death

Joel Miller has had a very troubled life.

Even before the cordyceps, life wasn't a walk in the park, but he got by. He managed, mostly for his daughter though. Sarah made him whole; Sarah was his moon and stars. Before cordyceps, everything he did was for her.

When she died, so did he. Just not physically.

He couldn't feel that spark of joy anymore, the motivation to get out of bed every morning to work, or like he had anything to go home to. Sarah was gone, so why bother being home before nine? if you could even call the old withering apartment a home. Joel was hollow inside, nothing but a physical being. It's like he wasn't human anymore. There was no Joel Miller without Sarah, now he was just Joel. That's all he was known as at the QZ.

Joel's entire life at the QZ is working countless hours, getting as many ration cards as he could. He terrified people around him, and for a while, there was a rumor that he was soulless.

He felt like it, too. That he truly had no soul. That's how he could wake up some mornings and go to work tossing bodies into a fiery pit. Sometimes, people couldn't dare to throw the bodies of children that would come in, and it was left to Joel.

Joel has no real purpose at the QZ, until the day he meets you.

You both were on a job, working pretty later than most. You said you needed as many ration cards as you could get—you whispered to him that you and one of your friends leave the QZ in an attempt to get any other supplies that weren't left in the quarantine zone. He said he wanted to get as many as possible just so he could leave here someday.

"Why do you want to leave here?" You ask, "I don't mind it for the most part, there's shelter and some food. More than you'd get out there."

Joel isn’t exactly the most talkative person in the world, he's silent. You assume that he's not going to say anything, after a few minutes you finally hear him mumble something.

“I need to go look for my brother,” and that seems to be all he wants to share. You decide not to push for any more information on that part, instead you ask him, “Do you have anyone to leave with?”

“No.”

“You should, it's not safe out there alone.”

God damn. He thinks, why do you care so fuckin’ much? “I can handle myself.” You keep to yourself for the rest of the shift – you figured that you’d pissed him off. Understanding why everyone said that Joel was not the kind of person you can just casually be friends with. He's cold, cruel and frankly mean. So, you steered clear of him after your shift, and occasionally when you’d see him in the streets — and you wonder how his search for his brother was going. If he's even officially started it yet. Though you never say anything to him, you never interact.

Until he initiated it.

It was during a lunch break, you were sitting at one of the picnic tables, “When are you friend leavin’?” he asks, his accent is thick, you notice that seems thicker than the last time the two of you talked. He had to have been from the south somewhere. “Soon, why?”

“Can I tag along?” he asks, you raise your eyebrows.

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I uh – I tried goin’ out last week,” he explains, “I had a close call and it’s freaked me out since.” You smile triumphantly, you were right. It feels so good being right. “I’ll have to ask Tess.”

That was quite a while ago, now. You, Joel and Tess would leave the QZ every once and a while in search of supplies, occasionally Joel would search for hints about his brother, he’d even give some hints about him – You found out that his name was Tommy, and younger than Joel. He seemed further than what Joel anticipated. So, the search began for a car battery, among other parts.

The more time you spent out together, the closer you and Joel got over time, at some point you started sleeping over his apartment. It first happened after one late night trying to plan your next expedition, but you gave into your exhaustion. When you woke up the following morning, you were in his bed beside him.

“Mornin’” he grumbles, clearly exhausted. You found yourself in the center of his bed, like you had completely taken over. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t sleep well.” he says shortly, “I was reviewing the map all night. I think I have a good path for us.” Though, you couldn’t find yourself to care. You found it sweet that Joel was so concerned with finding his family—but you didn’t want him to be exhausted while you were out there, you needed him to be alert. “Joel,” you whisper, pushing yourself out of bed. “You need to rest; we can show Tess what you found later.”

“No, I think I finally did it! We need to talk to Tess now.”

“You haven’t slept in hours Joel. Just – please.” His eyes soften, he sets the map down. He thinks, maybe you’re right. “Why are you so worried about me?”

“I want you to be alert, what use are you if you pass out from exhaustion?” you ask him as he crawls into his far too uncomfortable bed. He hums but doesn’t say anymore words.

You assume he's asleep when you can hear him lightly snoring, he has a slight drool on his pillow as well. He looks so peaceful, not worrying about every little thing and resting. You figured he was a light sleeper, because even the creak of the floorboards gave him a response. So, you reviewed his little notes on the map while he slept.

He began to stir, shaking, eventually he would scream things still slightly incoherently. Though you could hear mentions of the name Sarah.

You leapt to your feet and started to shake Joel, begging him to wake up — this was your fault. He protested going to sleep, had you just listened, he wouldn’t be having whatever nightmare he was having. Maybe this is why he doesn’t sleep well. He continues screaming for a little, but something finally wakes him, and he springs up. Glancing around the run-down apartment. When he sees you, his eyes soften once more, and he brings a hand up to cover his face.

“Sorry,” he grumbles. “Happens. Night terrors.”

“Is that why you don’t sleep well?” you ask, you still have your hand on his shoulder, but you move to sit beside him on the bed. He silently nods.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, you finally ask, “Whose Sarah?”

His face hardens, you just asked him an extremely sensitive question. You’re afraid you just crossed a line, that he’ll get upset with you.

“My daughter.” he says coldly. “She was killed, when the outbreak started.” That's all the information he gives, and that's all you’re going to ask for. You move closer to him slowly, loosely hugging the side.

Joel Miller did not have a purpose. He had no motivation until that day, you became his reasoning. What would he do without you?

You never quite filled the hole in his heart that Sarah had left, but nobody could fill that hole. For now, he was content, Joel Miller wasn’t as hollow as he once was, not with you around.

He began to enjoy your expeditions more. It wasn’t just two girls and him tagging along. Now it was him, you and his friend, Tess. You started sleeping over more, he found that when the two of you shared a bed and you’d hold him in his sleep, that his episodes happened less. He could get a good night's sleep, the first time in twenty something years. He was happier, he felt almost like how he did all those years ago.

Sarah was his moon and stars, but you were his sun and sky. The post-apocalyptic world wasn’t as bad with you in it. Finally, they got almost everything they needed for the truck. Tommy would love you. He thought, someone in my life that makes me happy again.

You, Tess and Joel left the QZ. It was supposed to be the last time — you never would have to turn back, you could tell that place to go fuck itself, it was going to be you, Joel and Tess against the world until you got to Tommy. He hadn’t felt this hopeful, this exhilarated god knows how long. A world previously so cruel lightened just a little bit more.

Although everything had to come crashing down at some point. Nothing can be upwards for Joel Miller forever.

You forgot something back in your apartment, which normally you’d leave behind – but this was a prized possession to you, it was a necklace that Joel had found. He gave it to you once you got back to the QZ. Normally you had it on at all times, but you took it off for some unimportant reason. Necklaces were hard to come by, and Joel had given you this one. So, you agreed to sneak back in just to get it, then you could officially leave the Boston QZ forever. It could be a thing of the past and something you could forget about. It wasn’t that far of a turn around.

“I could always find you another one, I’m sure.” Joel tells you as you start seeing the walls of the Boston QZ. You turn to him, “This one is important.” You reply, “It's the first one. If I’m not mistaken, this one was hard to find as well!”

“Jesus Christ.” Tess tsks, “You’ve made them go soft, Miller.”

“Shut up, Tess.” you chuckle, looking ahead.

You didn’t know infected would be so close to the wall, and it ran up on you before anyone could notice. Too busy laughing about some necklace. It tackled you a lot faster than you could ever imagine. Joel and Tess had pretty quick reactions, but just not fast enough. It just was able to bite your shoulder. There was no hiding it.

The infected lays dead beside you, but you don’t make an effort to get up. Joel is the first person to notice the mark it left on you; he becomes shaky. Falling to his knees beside you, whispering your name. Your breath is shaky – and you feel an anxious feeling in your stomach.

All for some stupid fucking necklace. Tess is quiet, her best friend is being held by their partner, and all she can think about is that this is for some stupid cheesy fucking necklace Joel found in some store. If you never turned back, if you never noticed that you didn’t have it on, you would be on your merry way.

“We have to go back in.” Joel says, standing up and dragging you to your feet.

“Joel, I can’t.” you reply, “It would be stupid if you were to bring me back in—don’t do that.” you say, steadying your feet, fixing your shirt a bit. The bite itched, but you didn’t want to scratch it.

Joel Miller had so many dreams with you, slow dancing in some house the two of you could find to old classical songs or whatever he could find. Getting gray hairs together or dancing in some kitchen. Tommy meeting you and everything starts to feel almost like it was all of those years ago. He loses it all in a second. Over a necklace? No way. What is he supposed to do without you? Everything only felt possible with you there. He thinks of Sarah, that she was taken away from him in a matter of seconds, a flash – and now you too? Why can’t he catch a break? What did he do to deserve such misery? Such cruelty?

Joel shakes his head. “No, I’m getting you that necklace, god damn it.”

“Joel.” Your tone is soft, your eyes are watery. You’re blinking back whatever years you had.

He finally looks at you, your face, your eyes. He's suddenly so aware of your hands holding on to his arm. Begging him not to go. Joel's face doesn’t change, but his heart breaks. He feels it shatter all over again, the wholeness in his heart is gone and you’re not even dead yet.

“Please,” he begs. “Let me get it. I want you to have it.”

“It’s not going to do me much justice, if I’m dead you know.” He retaliates your grip, his eyes turn watery now, like it's all just hit him.

“I can go get it.” Tess offers, “You two can stay here and have whatever moment you need to have. We have to go soon.”

She's right, and you both know it. Soon it’ll be day, and someone will surely spot you if you stand out here much longer.

“Joel, I can’t turn into one of them.” you whisper, all he can think about is the life he had dreamed. If he had only met you before anything. Maybe if he had been more alert he could’ve seen that son-of-a-bitch coming. You’re going to die because he couldn’t protect you. His reaction time wasn’t fast enough to protect the person he loves. “Sweetheart,” he replies. “You can’t be askin…”

“Please, Joel.” You want him to kill you? Is this some sick fucking joke? “I can’t.” he says, it feels cold, but you know now that that's just his defense mechanism. “You have to, I can’t do it to myself.” His entire being is filled with some mixed feeling of sadness, fear and anger. “How do you expect me to do this, huh?”

Tess feels like she's intruding, like she should walk away. But she can’t, God forbid something happens as well. Joel hopes something runs up on him, too, kills him and spares him from this hell. He wouldn’t have to kill you; you could be infected together or maybe Tess could take both of you out. Spare the misery. You’re the love of his life, and he has to kill you?

And so, he does it. It takes a lot of tears, a lot of shaking. But it's what you wanted. You didn't want to be one of them, and he can’t really blame you for that.

Your last words to him haunts him, I love you until my dying breath, Joel Miller. He finds some comfort in the idea that maybe he’ll see you on the other side, but he loses faith in that with each passing hour, day, whatever. Tess has to be the one to drag him away from you, he's distraught.

Him and Tess go back to the QZ together. He simply wouldn’t be able to make it through all the miles they’d need to walk in order to get to their destination. They don’t leave again for months.

Joel's night terrors return, worse than ever. They’re not just about Sarah anymore. Tess started helping him out, just as you would. It calms him, but he doesn't quite feel as content as he did when it was your arms holding him every morning.

The necklace stays on him at all times, he keeps it on. His last piece of you. Joel is just a shell of who he once was, and Tess doesn’t think she’ll ever see Joel Miller again.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #no pronouns #gender neutral insert #x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller x reader #gender neutral #no use of y/n #angst #joel miller angst #the last of us show #joel miller x gender neutral reader #reader insert

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