#and they WERE actually on his side for a while!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wintrbears · 3 days ago

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All is Fair | JJK

Summary: The Dragons, led by your brother, occupy the East side of the city while the Wolves occupy the West. There is only one rule, and technically, you didn't mean to break it. Stay away from the Wolves.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Namjoon x Seokjin (only by reference)

Genre: Biker Gang AU, Fuck Buddies to Lovers, Romeo and Juliet, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Smut, Fluff (if you close one eye and tilt your phone)

Word Count: 20.4k+

Warnings: minor character death, major character death (not jk or oc), murder, graphic suicidal ideation, dead bodies, depression, reference to drunk driving, orphans/orphaning, running away from home, stealing, beatings, punching, kicking, screaming, crying, nightmares, night terrors, stitches, punctured lungs, major physical injuries, facial scars, hospitals, piercings, tattoos, graduate school, libraries, studying, blood, guns/gunshot, knives, gang violence, motorcycles, gay men(?), rivalries, drinking, pet names (baby, pretty, bug (non-romantic)). SMUT: kissing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (she's on bc), cream pie, coming on skin, cum eating/feeding, choking, spanking, spitting, dick riding, missionary, doggy, big dick!jk bc I always strive for accuracy, masturbation (m), grief sex, semi-public sex, ok that's all folks lmk if I missed any.

Author’s Note: I actually cannot believe I didn't write for two years and then pumped out almost 40k words in a single week. My fiancé misses me, you guys. But anyway this fic... oh this fic. It's very heavy but my entire heart is buried in this so I really hope you take the time to read it. Every single character (member?) means so much to me and I hope you come to love it as much as I do. P.S. for plot reasons JK doesn't have any hand tattoos you'll see what I mean. OK pls lmk what you think it makes my heart so happy bye love you :)

When you inevitably fail your exam, no one will be to blame except your brother and his delinquent friends. The noise-canceling headphones he gifted you last Christmas are doing fuck all against the pounding bass of their music downstairs. They’re the expensive kind, too. You know because they still had the security tag on them Christmas morning. He broke it off with pliers before handing them back to you with a dimpled smile.

Finally having enough, you stomp down the stairs to confront your irritability at the source. Not many of them are home tonight. Just Namjoon and his three closest underlings: Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok. He’s the youngest among them and somehow still wound up the leader.

The Dragons, your brother’s notorious motorcycle gang, are far greater in number than the four downstairs. Ten bikers live here at the house with you, but when the gang rides in total there’s about twenty five men. There are some drifters, but no matter the number they are a force to be reckoned with on the road.

“Hey,” you yell over the music.

Namjoon gestures for Hoseok to turn it down and ushers you forward with a wave of his hand.

“What’s up, bug?”

“Can you please keep it down? I’m trying to study,” you answer.

“Oh, we’re sorry,” Seokjin responds. “You were so quiet we forgot you were up there. You’re usually down here annoying us.”

You roll your eyes. The four of them have been friends for the better part of a decade. They’re the only gang members allowed to tease you. If someone else tries it, Namjoon takes their head.

Your brother is extremely protective of you without being controlling. You appreciate his ability to recognize your adulthood while still wanting to keep you from harm. You can attest without a shadow of a doubt that Namjoon will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. His determination to protect you is how you wound up with the Dragons in the first place.

“Why don’t you go over to your study buddy’s house?” Hoseok suggests.

Right… your study buddy they still believe is a woman. The study buddy they assume helps you study instead of fucking you dumb.

“We don’t study at her house. We study at the library.”

This is a partial lie. You “study” at the library, in his car, in the school janitorial closet, and anywhere else he can get his hands on you. Ironically, your grades have never been better. Call it a lack of stress.

“We’ll keep it down, bug,” Namjoon assures you. “Sorry.”

Once you communicate your appreciation, you travel upstairs again to continue studying. You hear the music turn back on, but this time at a much lower volume.

Phone lighting up on your desk, you lean over to see a familiar name. Jungkook’s ears must’ve been ringing because there’s a photo of his finished study guide on your screen. You reply to his text complaining that you’re not even halfway done yet before turning your phone over so you can actually focus.

You didn’t predict meeting someone like Jungkook this year, or ever, really. When this semester of your Master’s program began you weren’t looking for anything, especially not a fuck buddy. You only ask Jungkook to be your study buddy in the first place because he’s the smartest person in your class by a long shot. Coincidentally, you only spend the early months of the semester as study buddies before advancing to fuck buddies. Sometimes you still actually study together, but it’s few and far between.

Despite Jungkook thoroughly wrecking your body every time he touches it, he’s probably the nicest guy you’ve ever met. No matter the hour he’ll answer questions about assignments or explain complex topics you can’t wrap your head around. He lends pencils to strangers and one time you swear you saw him saving a cat from a tree.

You still remember the first time you laid eyes on him.

It’s brutally hot for the first day of class. The city is scorching with record-breaking temperatures even in September. The vents are located at the back of the large classroom so you find an empty desk in the back corner to occupy.

You’re preparing for the first lecture by placing your essentials on the desk and plugging in the charger for your laptop. Distracting yourself with color-coordinating your highlighters, you miss most people entering the room.

Someone upstairs is looking out for you, though, because when you glance at the entrance it’s at the exact moment an absolute Adonis is walking in. He has wavy black hair that just kisses his cheekbones but is longer in the back, huge starry brown eyes, a button nose, and pretty pink lips accompanied by a tiny mole just under the bottom one. He’s wearing a long-sleeve white shirt, baggy jeans, and big black combat boots. To make matters worse he’s sporting black half-rim glasses.

You quickly realize your mistake in gawking at him because he makes eye contact with you, thus giving him permission to take the seat next to you. Precisely as the unspoken rules of classroom etiquette dictate.

He greets you with an amicable bow before plopping in the chair that shares your desk space. Using your peripheral vision you watch him lay out his supplies and open his laptop.

You’re wearing a crop top and are still too warm, so you’re downright shocked at his outfit choice. He doesn’t even roll his sleeves up.

“Are you hot?”

The words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

Your companion looks at you, eyes wide, questioning whether you’re talking to him or not. When he realizes you are, he glances down at his attire. Then he chuckles.

“That’s a bit forward, don’t ya think?”

If you could crawl into a hole and die, you would.

“I didn’t mean it like —”

He’s cutting you off with a wave of his hand as he laughs off the miscommunication. There’s an awkward silence before he continues the conversation.

“To answer your question, yes I am,” he says. “Not like that, though.” He winks at you and it takes everything in you not to audibly moan.

Despite him admitting to being warm he does nothing to remedy it. You’re not his mother nor his girlfriend so you don’t question him.

That’s the last time you speak that day, but over the course of a few weeks you partake in small talk and learn each other’s names.

You initially ask him to study together the week prior to your first exam. He enthusiastically agrees and you settle on a time before exchanging numbers. The study sessions continue on a weekly basis even once you take the exam.

The night your relationship shifts into uncharted territory is one you’ll never forget.

Jungkook is sitting beside you as he copies notes from a PowerPoint lecture into his notebook. The sound of his pencil scribbling on the paper is familiar now. You're absentmindedly scrolling through last week’s readings to find your previous highlights. The professor surprised you today by announcing there would be a quiz on the article and now you need to re-familiarize yourself with it.

Leaning back in the chair with a huff, you cross your arms over your chest. Jungkook peeks at you from behind his hair. He chuckles before setting his pencil down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t wanna do this anymore,” you pout. Jungkook coos at you sarcastically and you hit his arm with your shirt sleeve in protest. “Shut up, nerd.”

“What do you wanna do instead, huh?”

You eye him from your position until you find an answer. Rather than verbally replying you lean forward and gently steal the glasses from his face. You slip them on and glance around the library to see if you can tell the difference.

“Damn you are — oh.”

Any semblance of thought dies within you the second you look at him again. Like an actual comic book character, removing his glasses magically gives him a Clark Kent to Superman-esque makeover. He’s sitting taller with his shoulders back, his doe eyes are sharp and dark, and instead of his normal dorky smile he’s smirking at you. You actually look around again to see if he stood up and someone took his place.

To be frank, you aren’t entirely sure what happens next. One moment you’re at the table together and the next you’re in the Historical Fiction section and Jungkook is on his knees pushing your skirt up and pulling your panties down so he can make out with your cunt.

The worst part is that amongst the chaos, you’re still wearing his fucking glasses. In fact they rest on your nose through the whole ordeal, all the way until you’re coming on his tongue with a cry of his name. He doesn’t take them back until he’s rising to face you and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Thus begins your first ever situationship, although that doesn’t seem entirely correct. You and Jungkook aren’t in that weird headspace where neither of you know what the other wants. You mutually agree it’s just sex until someone decides to either move on or move up to boyfriend and girlfriend status.

The latter option is definitely tempting. Jungkook treats you well and fucks you even better. Which are pretty much the only two prerequisites you have for a relationship. But your current dependence on the Dragons prevents you from choosing that route.

There’s a knock on your door which pulls you from your reverie. Namjoon’s face peaks around the corner.

“We’re heading out to deal with some Wolves. Be back soon,” he informs you.

“Be safe,” you reply.

He assures you that he will before shutting your door. Anxiety flickers awake in your stomach and travels through your nervous system. Of all the gang activity that surrounds you, this is the shit you hate the most. Stupid boys doing stupid boy things.

The Dragons occupy all the territory East of the large river which slices your city in half. The territory on the West side of the river is owned by the Wolves. There are straggler factions and out-of-towners who sometimes come into the fold, but they’re nowhere near the size of the two gangs. Naturally, the Dragons and the Wolves despise one another and their history dates back long before Namjoon became the leader. He inherited the rivalry amongst many other responsibilities and now he perpetuates it without knowing why it exists in the first place.

You already know when you see Namjoon tomorrow he’ll have split knuckles and bruises on his skin. It makes you sick to your stomach. This life is far beneath what your brother deserves and what he’s capable of. You want so much more for him and for yourself as well. Getting your Master’s degree is the first step in liberating you both from all the violence and decay which surrounds you. Namjoon risked everything to save you as children, and you vow to return the favor one day, even if it kills you.

Contrary to popular belief, you don’t fail your exam the next day. In fact, you leave the classroom with a spring in your step now that your stressor is behind you.

Jungkook watches you ahead of him with a twinkle of admiration in his eyes as you skip towards the parking lot.

“You know, we’ve been doing this for a while now and I’ve never even been to your place,” you say.

“My place…” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”

“Why not?” You stop short and cause Jungkook to barrel into you. “Hold on, you don’t have a girlfriend, do you? Or wait, do you still live with your mom or something?”

“No, mom’s gone,” he answers.

You turn around to face him when you hear his response. He’s saying it nonchalantly but his eyes are swimming with sadness and maybe even guilt.

“Jungkook, I’m so sorry,” you reply. He shakes his head, waving your condolences away before reaching out to pick a fallen leaf from your hair.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” he adds. “And no, no girlfriend. Only you, pretty.”

“So then…” You rock back on your heels. “Can I see your place? I promise I’m not judgmental like that. I mean, there’s a reason you’ve never been to my place, either.”

Jungkook thinks it over for a moment as he drags you by the hand towards his car.

“Not yet,” he finally answers. “Soon, hopefully.”

You accept his response albeit a little disappointedly. It’s not even about you getting into his business like that, you’re just sick of the tight spaces the two of you are forced to hook up in. You’ve never even seen the guy fully naked before because you’re always pulling your clothes aside just enough to get the job done.

He denies it but you know he’s got abs under there and you’re dying to finally get your mouth on them.

Sure, you complain, but when he opens his car door for you to climb into his backseat you’re doing so without another word.

You don’t fuck right away because the parking lot is still packed and you’re not trying to catch a charge. Namjoon would kill you before you even get the chance to stand before a judge.

Instead, Jungkook shows you his newest Pokémon game on his Switch and hands it over to you so you can play. You giggle as your adorable water type does its victory dance after demolishing your opponent. Jungkook watches over your shoulder and directs you when to block and which attacks to use. Somehow, it all feels more intimate than when his cock is in your mouth.

Which is precisely where you two end up about an hour later when the surrounding cars have all left.

Jungkook’s backseat isn’t big enough for you to kneel on the floorboards so he’s lounging across the seats with you kneeling between his legs. You honestly prefer this position because the leather is far more forgiving to your knees than the carpet. His pants and boxers are around his thighs as you bob your head up and down his beautifully large and veiny cock.

Your man is a head pusher through and through and so you welcome the familiar feeling of his fingers against your scalp as he guides you deeper until your nose is brushing his pelvis. He doesn’t force you down around him or fuck his hips into you. The grasp on your hair is moreso for control and because he loves to feel you while you pleasure him.

You gag when his tip touches the back of your throat and you stay there for a moment, letting him feel you swallow around him before returning to his tip and swirling your tongue around it. Keeping your tongue out so it caresses the underside while you move up and down, you continue your movements at a steady pace.

Jungkook groans, his head hitting the window with a dull thud.

“Oh, pretty, you have no idea the things you do to me,” he praises. He uses his grip on you to make you look at him. You moan around his cock when your eyes meet and he yanks on your hair in appreciation. “S’fucking good.”

This man loves a good blowjob and you love to please him. Every time you’re on your knees for him he praises and worships you and your sweet mouth for the euphoria they bring him. He tastes delicious on your tongue and if not for your human need to inhale, you would go all night.

It only takes a couple more messy slides of your tongue down his shaft and your hand playing with his balls before he’s coming down your throat in thick, hot spurts of white. You swallow every last drop, continuing to move your mouth from his head to the base, before finally coming up for some much needed air.

Sitting back on your heels, you place your hands in the space between your knees and bat your eyelashes at him. You know he likes it when you look all innocent despite the nasty things you do together. If things were different, if you were able to be with him in the confines of a bedroom and savor your time together, you’d put on a pretty white set with bows all over just to drive him crazy.

Jungkook clocks your behavior with a tilt of his head, his tongue pushing against his cheek before he yanks you back and flips you over so your ass is facing him. His hand slowly traverses your back before stopping between your shoulder blades to push your face into the leather. You arch your back for him and wiggle your ass to really get him going. You can’t see him anymore but you hear the fond, deep chuckle. He pulls down your tights and panties in one go before flipping your skirt up so he can see you properly.

He grabs your ass in his big hands and pulls your cheeks apart to spit on your hole. Your eyes roll back at the feeling of it dripping down your folds. Hips pushing back against his hands, Jungkook just laughs at your neediness before slapping your ass.

“Oh fuck,” you curse.

He tsks at you disapprovingly.

“You that cock drunk, pretty? I haven’t even touched you yet,” he says.

“I know,” you say through gritted teeth.

He bends down to lay across your back and bites on your earlobe before soothing it with his tongue.

“C’mon, baby. You know I always take care of you.”

He doesn’t allow you to reply before he’s thrusting his cock in and nudging his head against your cervix. Your hands clutch desperately at his seats, fingernails making indentations in the leather, as he rears back before doing it all over again. This man makes you fucking delirious and you wonder if you’ll ever get enough. Lord knows no other man will ever successfully replicate the pleasure he provides you.

Jungkook’s pace is relentless and steadfast and it isn’t long before the friction of his cock sinking in and out of your walls brings you to a climax. He’s an overachiever, though, and he doesn’t let up even as he feels your pussy pulsating around him as you come. He soldiers on, tilting your hips to make you arch even further and send his cock deeper inside you. You feel him in your stomach and it has you drooling where your face is crushed against the seat.

You pathetically moan out a sound that closely resembles his name as he abuses your hole.

Your next orgasm hits you much faster, riding the wave of your first to bring stars to your eyes yet again. Your cunt squeezes Jungkook impossibly tight when you come and it causes him to shoot his load inside you and stuff you full of him. This man’s cock is too good to ever be obstructed by a plastic barrier. You’re on birth control and neither of you sleep with anyone but each other, so raw it is.

When you exit the car to move to the front seat, the stars have appeared in the sky. Jungkook drives you home, or what he believes is your home, and bids you goodnight. Once his car is out of sight, you pivot and walk the familiar route to your actual house.

It’s normal for you to arrive home this late, even before you met Jungkook. Namjoon never questions where you’ve been or you were with, which you appreciate. He understands you need independence and will contact him if you’re ever in trouble. He doesn’t need to study your every move when he only has one rule for you, anyway: stay away from the Wolves.

The next day you're lounging in the living room with your ankles crossed where they rest over the arm of a chair. You’re reading for a different class than the one you share with Jungkook, trying to get the assignment done now so you can enjoy your night.

Your peace and quiet is disturbed when Namjoon walks in looking supremely pissed off. His jaw is clenched and since his hair is pushed back you can see the veins popping out in his forehead.

“Joonie?” You call for him as you sit up. “What’s going on?”

“Fucking Wolves,” he growls. He paces back and forth a couple times before stopping in front of you. “We’re meeting at the river tonight. You need to come.”

“Why?”

“Because word on the street is they’re going to use the meet-up as a distraction to raid the house,” he answers. “I need you with me so I know you’re safe.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to call off the meet-up?” You argue.

“No. I want them to come. So I can rip them to fucking shreds and send those assholes a message,” he explains.

You have no reason or room to question him, so you head upstairs to change. Whenever you’re going to be in the presence of gang members, whether Dragons or Wolves, Namjoon prefers you dress a bit tougher than your normal girly outfits. He knows these men and the way they think, so anything, no matter how small, to show them you mean business is a good thing.

Throwing on cargo pants, combat boots, and a leather jacket over your t-shirt, you use the darker half of your eyeshadow palette and put your hair up. All for show.

You’re exiting the house as the sun sinks behind the clouds. Namjoon hands you the extra helmet before swinging his leg over his bike. He watches you put it on and adjust the strap before he slaps your eye shield down with a laugh. You shove his arm before swinging your leg over and joining him on the motorcycle.

The familiar thunderous sound of the Dragon’s motorcycles coming to life is deafening even through the helmet. It’s about fifteen bikes in total and the remaining gang members will guard the house and catch any Wolves trying to break in.

Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok are directly behind you and Namjoon. One by one they signal to your brother they’re ready to go. You adjust your placement by scooting closer to your brother’s warmth and wrapping your arms around his middle. Your fingers twist around the zipper of his open leather jacket to hold onto him. The engine roars to life and you feel the bike kick beneath you as it rears to go.

“Good?” He asks.

“Ready as ever,” you confirm.

Kicking up the stand with his heel, he signals with his hand before leading the bikers away from the house and onto the dark pavement of the road. The wind sweeps over your bodies in waves as Namjoon speeds down the backstreets leading into the city.

You don’t ride much anymore, but whenever you do it’s always exhilarating. The heat of the bike beneath your legs, your brother’s comforting presence in front of you, and the air wiping around you as it nips at your clothes. Tipping to the right along with Namjoon as he takes a tight corner, you watch as the city grows closer. The monumental buildings and yellow lights along the river make it look beautiful and more peaceful than you know it is.

When you reach the river, the Wolves are already there waiting. The rival gang members lounge on their parked motorcycles as they speak to one another. It can’t be all of them, since you know their numbers closely rival your own, and there aren't more than twelve here. It pisses you off when you realize they really are planning to raid the house tonight. If you find out a Wolf was in your room there will be hell to pay.

Namjoon kills the engine and removes his helmet, shaking his dark hair from his eyes. You follow suit and step off the bike as he pushes the stand back down. Your brother shoots you a look you already know means “stay close to me.”

The agreed upon location is just outside an abandoned warehouse where everything in sight is slowly deteriorating. The road has gigantic potholes and cracks and if you go close enough to the water some of the gravel has already caved in and is eroding. The two gangs congregate near the water’s edge where it laps against the shore and sprays water onto the road.

When the dust settles, Namjoon stands ahead of his gang where he is toe-to-toe with the Wolves’ leader, Bangchan. You move quietly through the rows of Dragons until you’re off to the left, farthest from the water. The position hides you enough to avoid unwanted attention but is still close enough to Namjoon in case of an emergency. Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok stand at the back and sides, respectively, creating an invisible wall of your brother’s closest allies.

Your eyes maneuver over the crowd of Wolves one at a time. Without their leather biker jackets which bear the insignia of each group, it would be impossible to tell them apart. They’re just a bunch of boys pretending to be men.

None of them particularly stand out to you except —

Head whipping back for a double take, the movement is so quick your ponytail snaps harshly against your skin. Your eyes slowly open wide, your mouth dropping open just enough for a sharp intake of air. Because amongst the crowd of Wolves, off to the left next to a shorter blonde guy is…

There’s no way.

He certainly looks like Jungkook. His hair is falling down in soft waves just like Jungkook’s does and his unmistakable doe eyes are front and center without his glasses on. But this guy has a lip piercing and eyebrow piercing. His ears are decorated with pretty silver hoops and a dangling chain. The doppelganger is wearing a navy blue cut off, which reveals to your eyes that his entire arm, from wrist to shoulder, is covered in tattoos. Dark, colorful, intricate tattoos that look like they took years to build into the sleeve it is now. This can’t be the reason Jungkook only ever wears long sleeves and weirdly refuses to ever roll them up… can it?

You squint to make sure you’re seeing him correctly in the dim light. Jungkook must have a twin he never told you about, right?

But no, that isn’t the answer, because his eyes land on you and widen dramatically. His mouth drops open before it snaps shut and his jaw clenches. From across the concrete where you stand you can see how his entire body is taut with tension.

What. The. Fuck.

The blonde guy next to him notices the change in the air, nudging him with his elbow. Jungkook shoots him a hard glance before returning his gaze to you.

Part of you wants to cry, and part of you wants to scream. All of you wants to run to him and demand an answer. This guy is a straight A graduate student. What the hell is he doing running around with a bunch of delinquent motorcycle gang members?

The sound of your brother’s voice steals your attention away.

“That’s not what we do here,” he says to Chan. You’re unsure what it’s in response to.

“Hmm,” the man opposite him muses. “No I guess not, but you bring your girl around? That’s a little dangerous, don’t you think?”

Namjoon’s jaw ticks and his teeth grind together at the mention of you, but he hides it well. You only notice the movement because you know what every tick and twitch of his means.

“Not my girl,” he corrects.

“Oh that’s right, I heard you have a baby sister,” he replies. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Your eyebrows lift when he calls out to you, but you know better.

“Don’t speak to her,” Namjoon responds in your stead.

When you glance at Jungkook again he looks irrevocably angry, a deep frown messing with his pretty features. His fellow Wolf seems concerned at his mysterious attitude.

Right now, you’re telepathically begging Jungkook to make eye contact again. To offer some explanation even with just his eyes. Sure, you don’t know much about each other’s lives outside of school but the feeling of betrayal slinks under your skin nonetheless. Mostly because of the fucking tattoo sleeve he’s been hiding from you.

His eyes do eventually meet yours, but his expression is cold. Is he upset at you for keeping this part of your life from him, too?

The low grumble of taunts and heckles from both gangs indicates their playtime is over. When you look across the street, Jungkook is already climbing on his bike and putting on his helmet. You know without uncertainty now that it is in fact Jungkook, since a large purple “JK” emblem is painted onto his helmet.

Namjoon is quick to gesture you over to him. Your eyes meet Bangchan’s as you walk to the bike, and it disgusts you how he drinks you up and undresses you with his eyes when you pass by.

You scoff before getting back into position behind your brother and securing your helmet in place.

Jungkook is fucking reeling. He barely waits for the rest of his gang to peel away on their bikes before he’s taking off down the street. Jimin follows close behind him, the older biker probably still wondering what the fuck is going on.

Rides are normally Jungkook’s way of clearing his head, but tonight all he can think and feel is his blood pumping with adrenaline. You are the last person he ever expected to be involved with a gang. It’s almost enough to make him laugh; all you wear are sexy little skirts and shirts with cartoon characters on them. You’re girly and adorable and should be spending your time at the mall, not in the underbelly of this messed up city. Although, if your involvement begins and ends with your brother, he imagines you don’t have much choice.

Jungkook makes it back to the house in record time, leaving everyone else in the dust. He is quick to cut the engine of his bike and toss his helmet aside so he can get inside. His hands run through his hair over and over as he trudges into the house, pulling at the ends as he grits his teeth.

The door slams shut behind him and he yells into the air with his head thrown back. Taehyung is rounding the corner from the kitchen when he hears it. He should be at the Dragon’s Lair right now ransacking the place, but Chan called it off when he found out the Dragons knew what they were planning.

“Uh, you good?”

“No,” Jungkook sneers. “No, I’m not fucking good, Tae.”

Taehyung is about to probe him with more questions when Jimin flies through the door.

“What the fuck was that, kid?” Jimin sets his helmet down on the table and walks over.

“You guys remember the girl I was telling you about?” He asks. They both nod. “Yeah, well. She’s the leader of the Dragons fucking little sister.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Holy shit.”

“Jungkook, what the fuck are you doing sticking your dick in someone involved with the Dragons?” Taehyung accuses.

“I didn’t know, Tae! I didn’t know until I saw her at the meet-up tonight,” Jungkook explains.

“And she saw you?” Jimin asks.

“Oh yeah,” Jungkook laughs incredulously. “She looked shocked as hell and like she was about to cry.”

Taehyung and Jimin share a look while Jungkook practically rips his hair out from how much he’s combing his fingers through it.

“You know you… can’t see her anymore, right?” Jimin poses the question cautiously. “If Kim Namjoon ever found out you’ve laid a finger on her he will fucking end you.”

“I know,” Jungkook grunts out. “I fucking know, Jimin.” Jungkook paces the room a couple times. “Fuck!” He slaps his hands against his face before groaning into them.

“I mean, I know the pussy was good but it will be fine, right? It’s not like you were dating her,” Taehyung adds.

Jungkook just glares at him from between his fingers. He doesn’t think he can talk about this anymore without losing his goddamn mind. He tells them goodnight without any further explanation before trudging down the stairs.

He slams his door and chucks his leather jacket on a chair once he’s in the confines of his bedroom. He wants to scream again, but he doesn’t, tries to take deep breaths instead. The air feels thick and his shirt is suddenly too tight.

His head is pounding with a headache that just sounds like you, you, you.

The same you who is always on his mind, day or night. The girl he never rushes when you study together because he likes to watch the gears turn in your pretty little head. The girl he admires from his periphery as you doodle in your notebook. You, who he wants to kiss more than anything but he doesn’t because he’s terrified of scaring you away.

Jungkook falls to his bed and covers his face with his hands. He’s in pure, unadulterated agony. His knuckles press into his eyelids as he groans. Lately, he’s been picturing so much for you and him. He daydreams about holding your hand and taking you out on dates and making love to you in his bed. It feels like there’s so much potential now shot in the face and gone in an instant.

He knows he can’t continue on with you. It would be dangerous and reckless. Yet he wants to, he wants to so badly he can feel the need in his bones.

He punches his pillow once, twice, and then sits up. He shakes his head as if that could dispel his thoughts of you. No, nothing will ever bring him to forget your brilliant smile, your sparkling eyes, your soft skin. Or the way you moan, whimper, and cry when he’s making you come and fucking you nice and deep. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fuck someone who isn’t you again. No, you’ve completely and utterly ruined his body and mind.

“God fucking dammit, Y/N,” he groans into his hands.

He rips his shirt off over his head before falling back again. His chest is hot with anxiety and his nerves crackle with fear of the unknown. His heartbeat is thumping like a beast in a cage.

Jungkook decides to let his frustration out in the best way he knows how. He kicks his pants off and pulls his boxers down, spitting into his hand to lube himself. A sigh of relief breaks from his chest as soon as he feels his hand around his cock.

He’s not hard yet, not even close. But it’s stupidly easy how fast he gets his blood rushing down to his cock by merely thinking of you. The memory of your voice alone is enough to make him throb.

You looked so gorgeous tonight he thought he was going to totally lose it when he first saw you. The smokey makeup and ponytail were a first for him. He loves the way you look normally, but your sultry eyes and grungy outfit made him want to do nasty fucking things to you. If he could've, he would've bent you over his bike and took you right there in front of everyone. Your goddamn brother included.

His hand falls into a familiar rhythm as he strokes himself. He grunts when his thumb presses down on his head and swipes his precum across it. The rough skin of his hand is nothing compared to your mouth or pussy, but it’s enough to satiate him for now.

“Oh, pretty,” he moans into the air.

His mind conjures images of you for his pleasure. Just yesterday when you were on your knees for him and the other week when he fucked you against the rattling bookshelves of the library. Finally, the first time he ate you out and you cried his name into your hand to keep yourself quiet. You were wearing his glasses that night and he remembers thinking even then that you’d be the end of him.

“My baby.”

Jungkook is coming all over himself before he knows it. He grunts and pants as he fucks himself through his orgasm. Your name leaves his lips in a desperate huff as he finally lets go of his cock and wipes his hand on a nearby towel.

There’s two days before he’ll see you again in class. Jungkook has two days to decide whether or not he’s willing to go up against Dragon fire for you.

Your leg bounces anxiously beneath the desk as you wait for Jungkook to enter the classroom. It’s been two days since you found out he’s a Wolf and your mind has done nothing but spiral. You’re unsure how to feel or even what you have the right to feel.

Is it technically a betrayal when neither of you knew about one another? It’s not like you asked him if he happens to be affiliated with any gangs. You should’ve. You freaking should’ve because now it’s biting you in the ass.

When he does finally enter, he looks like the normal Jungkook again. No piercings. Tattoos covered. Sexy nerd glasses on. It pisses you off more than it should.

He doesn’t say anything to you as he takes his seat and you don’t dare to steal a glance at him. The two of you move in tension-thick silence before the professor starts the class.

It’s a grueling hour and a half as you refrain from looking over or touching him. Normally, he forces his leg up against yours until you finally give in and play footsie with him. If not that, you gently graze his arm up and down, absentmindedly, as the professor drones on about whatever topic he’s covering that day.

Class ends as your professor erases the chalkboard behind him. You stand abruptly and speed walk out of the room. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, then you won’t talk to him. It’s simple, and you pretend your heart isn’t shattering in your chest.

The call of your name stops you in your tracks. When you look back, Jungkook is jogging after you. When he reaches you, he stands at an awkwardly long distance away. Your eyebrows lift and you gesture with your hand for him to get on with it.

“Can we talk?”

You don’t reply, just turn on your heel and walk in the opposite direction. That is, the direction of the parking lot. He follows behind but leaves an obnoxious amount of space. It’s infuriating how his obvious respect for your boundaries gives you butterflies. He unlocks his car with a click and you aggressively plop down in the front seat. Making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and flipping your hair from your eyes.

Jungkook slides into the driver’s side with ease and turns on the heat before turning towards you. You look at him expectantly but he gestures for you to start.

“You’re in a gang,” you state matter-of-factly. “You have tattoos, an entire sleeve, I might add. You have piercings. You’re a fucking Wolf.”

Jungkook nods, licking his lip before he responds.

“That’s all true, yeah,” he says.

“What the fuck, Jungkook?” You finally face him. “You’re a graduate student with your entire life ahead of you. What are you doing running around with those losers?” You groan in frustration. “I mean, you’re like a delinquent Hannah Montana or some shit.”

Jungkook smiles at that. He does a once over of your face before inhaling.

“When my parents died I didn’t have anywhere to go. I was already 18. I grew up with Jimin and he offered me a place to stay at the Wolf’s Den. Rest is history,” he explains. You watch his eyes as he tells his story. “I didn’t plan on going to college. I barely passed high school, anyway. But my parents left me money and put instructions in their will that it was to go to my schooling. I couldn’t let it go to waste. Couldn’t let them down.”

Your hand is grabbing his before you register yourself doing it. Rolling up his shirtsleeve to his elbow, you finally reveal his tattoos before your own eyes. Your fingers trace the intricate details of the artwork. He grabs your wrist in return and you feel his hand shaking.

“How did they die?”

“Drunk driver,” he answers.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. You pull his shirt back down and lace your fingers with his. “But I’m sure they’re very proud of you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he admits.

You take his face in your hand and force him to look at you.

“Jungkook, you're the top of our class. You can be anything you want to be or do anything you want to do.” you say. “If that’s not something to be proud of, I’m not sure what is.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not leading anywhere after this,” he replies.

“Why not? Do you seriously want to be involved in this stuff forever? The violence and the rivalries and all the bullshit,” you ask as your voice raises.

“I’ve never known a life other than this, Y/N! The Wolves are my family. I don’t have anyone else,” he matches your volume.

You pull away from him with a huff. You’re not sure why you’re so determined to convince him to do something more with his life. But if you have to guess, you imagine it’s because you’re trying and failing to do so yourself.

“You have me,” you admit quietly into the air between you. It’s a weighted confession. A piece of your true feelings on display for him to see.

Jungkook’s hand cradles your jaw and he looks at you so adoringly that you want to shy away. His thumb is brushing back and forth across your cheekbone. It’s the most gentle affection he’s ever shown you.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I have you.”

He’s kissing you before you even register it. You moan happily against his lips as they move delicately across your own. Jungkook usually handles you like wants to break you, but the way he kisses is the exact opposite. His mouth and his warmth are mending things he wasn’t the one to break. Your hands snake around his neck to pull him closer and he moans when your fingers thread through his hair.

It’s only your first kiss even after all the time you’ve spent together. It’s magical and romantic and you never want it to end.

Jungkook grabs you by the waist to pull you into his lap. Your back hits the steering wheel and the horn honks. You giggle into each other’s mouths but never once stop kissing. You’re both smiling and it causes your teeth to clash, but not even that stops you.

Jungkook deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before slipping it into your mouth. It tangles with your own as he pulls on the hair trapped between his fingers.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he admits against your lips. “Your brother… he’ll kill me.”

“Then why are you?” You murmur before trailing kisses across his sharp jaw.

“Because I want you too bad to stay away,” he answers. “I want you all the time, baby.”

Your lips meet his again and the kiss grows desperate. Shifting in his lap to move closer, you run your hands up and down the planes of his chest.

“You have me, Jungkook. I’m yours,” you reveal.

He pulls back with a shake of his head.

“Not just like this. Not just sex. I want movie dates and sleepless nights. I want to hold your hand and take you out to dinner. I want all of you, Y/N.” He pushes your hair from your face. His eyes are brimming with adoration and melancholy. “But I don’t know how to do that when you are who you are.”

Your hands grip his shirt as your head falls against his chest. You release a shaky exhale as your mind shuffles through the millions of emotions in your head. It settles on sorrow. Jungkook holds you close to him, cradling you in his arms.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you confess. “I care about you so much.”

You feel Jungkook pressing a kiss to your hair and it makes you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. He’s everything you could ever want and yet nothing you can ever have.

“I care about you, too, pretty,” he whispers. “So, so much.”

“If this is the last time…” your voice trails off, but Jungkook understands.

He maneuvers you over him and works to move both your clothes out of the way. All while kissing you again and again anywhere he can reach. Your lips, cheeks, nose, jaw, chin. He’s trying to savor this and commit it to memory before it’s gone forever. Before you’re gone.

His fingers move along your slit, gathering your wetness before bringing it up to your clit. You moan into his mouth and buck your hips against his hand. He expertly massages your pussy in a way only he knows how until you’re wet enough to take him.

Jungkook stops kissing you momentarily so he can see what he’s doing when he lines himself up. His cock enters you slowly, but you can feel every ridge and curve of him as you sink down deeper into his lap. He kisses your neck as you begin to bounce on him. Your nails bite into his skin as you use his shoulders for leverage.

It doesn’t take long for you both to come, Jungkook’s seed warming you from the inside and bringing forth your own orgasm. The entire time you never once stop kissing, because you’re making up for lost time and saying goodbye all at once.

Except the goodbye never comes. There’s an attempt, and you go one time seeing each other without hooking up, but that’s the only time. The next time you’re in class together, almost the very second it ends, Jungkook is pushing you into an empty classroom. He kisses you until you can’t see straight, then eats you out and fucks you on the professor’s desk. After that, you both realize you’re too weak for each other to ever stay away.

Things go on like that for a while, a few months at most. You don’t talk about the massive elephant in the room when you’re together. Just touch and kiss each other to your heart's content like it isn’t the most dangerous game you’ll ever play.

The realization that Namjoon is aware of your entanglements comes after he suggests a ride together down to the bay, a familiar place you used to go as teenagers. You don’t question it because it’s been a while since you’ve spent some real time together and your brother is a bigger softie than anyone is allowed to know.

You ride along the shoreline together before he stops the bike in the middle of some abandoned buildings a few yards from the bay. Ships are docking for the night and some children play around the rocky shore with their parents close by.

“Aren’t we going over there?” You ask, pointing to the usual spot.

Namjoon shakes his head.

“Gotta show you something first,” he tells you.

Taking your hand, he leads you towards one of the buildings. You watch him quizzically as he pries open one of the rusted doors and holds it open for you. He stands back to allow you to take in the scene.

You don’t realize it’s him at first because his head is down. All you notice is two Dragon lackeys holding someone taut between them as they wait for instruction at the center of the room. But then he pushes against their restraints, grunting and tugging on their arms as hard as he can and you gasp in horror.

You’re running to him before you can think twice. Your hands instinctively reach out for his face, lifting it so you can see him properly. He already has a swollen black eye and a busted lip.

Your pupils shake as tears form in your eyes.

“Let him go,” you command.

Namjoon walks in slowly and takes his time examining the scene before him. Maybe this is a test to see if the rumor he heard was true. Clearly, you failed.

“Can’t do that, bug,” Namjoon says from behind you. “Wolves who touch what doesn’t belong to them pay the price.”

“It’s not like that, Joonie,” you snap. You push some of Jungkook’s hair away from his face. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing giving him air to breathe. You shake your head, hoping he can read your mind that is screaming I’m sorry.

“What’s it like then?” Namjoon crosses his arms across his chest.

“He’s in my graduate class. I didn’t even know he was a Wolf at first,” you say.

Namjoon steps forward so he’s next to you and tugs on your arms so you let go of Jungkook. You take a tentative step away, not recognizing the look in your brother’s eyes.

“Hmm, and when you found out… what did you do?”

“I…”

“When you found out the man you’d been sleeping with was a goddamn fucking Wolf, what did you do, Y/N?” He shouts.

He’s never spoken to you like this. Has never even raised his voice at you. You don’t have an answer for him. You can’t look him in the eye and admit you willingly betrayed him.

Namjoon sneers at your silence. He motions for the men to drop Jungkook and he falls to his knees with a grunt. Your body involuntarily steps towards him until Namjoon shoots you a murderous glare.

Jungkook looks up at the leader of the Dragons from where he kneels before him. You can’t see his expression, but you can tell from his body language he’s resigned to his fate.

Your brother throws a punch to Jungkook’s face and it connects with a crack. You can’t stop yourself from looking away and snapping your eyes shut. Jungkook spits out blood before Namjoon is forcing him by the jaw to look up at him again.

“You really thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?” Namjoon punches him in the same spot again and you bury your face in your hands.

Your brother is relentless in his assault. He just punches and punches until his knuckles split and Jungkook’s face is covered in blood and open wounds. You don’t look up. Your head is too heavy with the guilt to even attempt it.

You’re sobbing into your hands as you listen to the bone-crushing noise. It repeats and repeats like Satan’s broken record. You’re completely helpless to do anything but stand by in terror.

Namjoon lets go of where he’s holding him by his shirt and Jungkook immediately falls over, catching himself with his hands as he pants and tries to inhale through his busted nose and mouth.

Instantly, you’re on your knees in front of him, cradling his head to your chest as you try to wipe the blood with your shirt.

Jungkook groans into you, his hands weakly coming around your waist to hold onto you. You’re crying so hard you can barely see straight, but you force yourself to do anything you can to help him.

“Y/N,” Jungkook moans against your shirt and you bend your head to kiss his hair. “S’okay.” His words only bring forth more tears.

“No, it’s not,” you sob.

Namjoon pulls you away from him by your arm before nodding at the two men. The Dragons begin to kick and punch Jungkook in his ribs, chest, and stomach. It only takes a few hits before Jungkook’s weight gives out and he crashes to the floor. They continue relentlessly.

“No! No, please!” You turn towards your brother while still on your knees. The sound of Jungkook being beaten is piercing your eardrums and throwing off your equilibrium. “Please, Joonie, make them stop.” You grab onto your brother’s legs and sob against him. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just stop hurting him.”

Namjoon forces your head up. He looks so disgusted at your pathetic display of affection for someone he’s raised you to hate.

“Why should I?” His voice is pure venom.

“Because… because I love him, Namjoon,” you admit for the first time out loud.

Your brother’s eyes turn razor sharp. He gazes towards where his men are still having their fill with Jungkook’s battered body.

“Stop,” he orders them. The room goes eerily quiet. Your heart only continues beating because you can hear Jungkook wheezing out breath. He’s still alive. That’s all that matters. “I’ll stop if you swear to me you’ll never see or speak to him ever again.”

“I swear, Namjoon,” you reply without missing a beat.

“If you disobey me,” he threatens. “I won’t have a choice, do you understand?” You nod. “Say you understand, Y/N.”

“I understand,” you shout back.

He steps away from you and you collapse onto your hands. Grabbing you by the shoulder he yanks you up and orders his men to leave first. You don’t look back as he drags you from the warehouse and shuts the door behind him.

When you return home, you run upstairs to the safety of your bedroom. Cradling your phone in your shaky hands, you find the number Jungkook input for emergencies only. Namjoon deleted Jungkook’s contact from your phone as soon as you left the warehouse, but he doesn't know you have a different Wolf’s number, too.

The phone rings three times before someone answers.

“Hello?” You’ve never heard the voice on the other end before.

“Is this Jimin?”

“Who’s asking?” He sounds rightfully suspicious.

“Listen, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but you have to go to the warehouse district by the bay. Jungkook he’s… he’s hurt really bad, okay? He needs your help,” you explain through fresh tears. “Please, you have to help him.”

“Is this who I think it is?”

“Please, Jimin. He’s in the building with the blue door and green-tinted windows,” you tell him. “Hurry.”

You cut the line before he can ask you anything further. The only thing you can do is fall into your bed and wail as you pray his friends make it in time.

Jungkook can’t move from his spot on the cold concrete floor. He tries; tries using his hands to pull himself up but he just falls back with a thump. His breath is coming out of him in thin wheezes and every time he inhales he feels a sharp tug as his lungs. He knows he’ll die here if someone doesn’t find him, which is highly unlikely.

Despite his injuries causing every nerve ending in his body to sizzle and burn, all he can think about is you. Your sobs and pleas and how quiet your voice was when you admitted you love him. It’s pathetic how undeniably happy he was in that moment even as his lungs were caving in and his ribs were splintering.

You love him enough to let him go. Jungkook doesn’t know if he himself is that strong. If in your place he would be able to swear the same way you did. He hopes so, that somehow a piece of your virtue has rubbed off on him through your time together.

He hears the door creak open and his first thought is that Namjoon sent his goons back to finish the job. But then he’s being lifted from the floor and familiar voices filter in through his waning consciousness.

“Fuck, kid,” Taehyung curses as he rolls Jungkook over to examine his injuries. “What did you get yourself into?”

Jungkook grasps at his side as the pain splinters across his back and chest. The pain is scalding and it radiates across his entire body in waves that threaten to pull him under.

“Is he breathing?” Jimin’s voice rings out.

“Yeah. His eyes aren’t open, though. Don’t know if he even can with how bad his face is,” Taehyung explains to his companion.

Jimin curses when he sees his younger friend’s condition. He has to look away for a moment, unable to tolerate seeing his little brother like this.

“I’ll fucking kill those bastards,” he grits his teeth, sneering.

“No, you won’t,” Taehyung sighs. “This is penance. Jungkook is lucky he’s alive right now.”

The two men end their conversation to help Jungkook up from the floor. It isn’t easy. There’s blood everywhere and Jungkook screams in agony as they jostle his broken body around to carry him. He’s heavier than both of them combined and if it weren’t for Taehyung’s recent time spent at the gym, it would be physically impossible.

Taehyung ends up carrying him back to back, with Jungkook lying as flat as possible while Taehyung takes slow, heavy steps towards the door. Jimin carries his feet gently behind them since their similar heights leave the bottom half of Jungkook’s legs dragging on the floor.

Somehow, they make it out and get him into the backseat of the car where they’ve laid towels and sheets down to soak up the blood. Jungkook groans endlessly as the car flies through the city streets towards the hospital.

His friends know he has an emergency fund set up by his parents they can use to pay for his admission. If he didn’t, his fate would be up to whatever member of their gang has the most medical experience.

Jungkook spends the next two weeks in the hospital. By the time he’s discharged he still can’t open his left eye, has more than 100 stitches, and is wrapped up like a mummy to help his bones and muscles heal. His ribs punctured his lungs so he’s on medication to insure he can breathe properly. He’ll be sequestered to his bed per doctor’s orders for at least two months. Luckily, the semester just ended, so he won’t miss any classes while he’s recovering.

His gang members take care of him and help him in any way they can, but they can only assist with his physical injuries. There’s nothing anyone can do about his broken heart.

He lies in bed day and night, just staring at his ceiling as he daydreams about you being here to care for him. Your warm hands brushing his hair out of his face and your lips pressing a peck to his cheek. Jungkook swears he can hear you giggling as you tell him he “still looks handsome, even like this.”

Jungkook knows in his bones that you were a mistake. He should’ve cut things off when he had the chance after he found out who you are. And yet, he can’t bring himself to think of you as such. It’s impossible for him to regret even a single moment of the time he spent with you.

Every minute he’s awake he wonders what you’re doing and if you’re alright. Are you enjoying your time off from school? What activities and hobbies do you enjoy when you’re alone? Are you missing him the way he’s missing you?

It’s ironic, but he also hopes you aren’t still angry with your brother. Being a leader means doing what you have to do and Jungkook hopes you can forgive him. He knows how much Namjoon means to you and he can’t live with himself knowing he’s the thing that’s driving a wedge between you.

When he’s asleep, he dreams of you, and there are varying types of them. There are beautiful, soft, soothing dreams where he just gets to hold you and listen to your voice talk about nothing at all. Ones where he gets to confess that he loves you, too, and that he wants to be with you more than anything in the world. Then there’s the sexy, unbridled, wet dreams that have him gasping and sweating when he wakes up. He dreams of you on top of him as you whisper how much you need him into his ear. There’s another where he’s pounding you into his mattress as he kisses your neck, shoulders, and tits. He doesn’t even know what your actual breasts look like; he never got the chance to see you like that. One night his mind combines both the hard and soft and he dreams up an entire day spent with you. Where he takes you out for dinner and a movie, then brings you back to his place to worship your body, falls asleep with you on his chest, and then wakes up to do it all over again. Jungkook wonders if he should just sleep all the time so he can be with you.

His reality without you is bleak, grave, and dark. There’s no light in his world anymore and he doesn’t know how long he can go without seeing you or hearing your voice.

Jungkook makes a full recovery before the next semester starts. Luckily, he doesn’t have too many scars on his face anymore from the incident. When he looks in the mirror, it finally looks like him staring back again.

On the first day of classes Jungkook prays you’re in the same one again, but he doesn’t see you anywhere. His eyes constantly scan the hallways and classrooms for any sign of you, but to no avail. It’s killing him not knowing where you are.

He spends his days anxiously bouncing his knee below the desk as he attempts to listen to his professors. Sometimes, he’ll see a glimmer of someone who could be you, only to find out it’s not, and fall back into his usual disappointment.

By the time he does see you again, six months have passed. He wishes the reunion had been happy, or that it was even a reunion at all. Instead it’s just him, standing at the entrance of the building as he watches you race in the opposite direction before hopping into a car with a Dragon.

When he gets home he enters with his head down. After getting his first glimpse of you in six months, he isn’t ready to converse with anyone from his gang.

But he doesn’t get the chance to head downstairs right away.

His gang is congregated in the living room. There’s an intense tension in the air Jungkook doesn’t know how to name. He steps into the room and it feels like the air gets sucked out of it. As if everyone is suddenly statues in a graveyard. Jimin and Taehyung eye him carefully as he walks forwards towards their leader.

Bangchan is conversing intensely with some of his right hand men, but he turns towards Jungkook when he notices him approaching. Chan clears his throat and grabs the younger man’s shoulder, then he speaks a truth that has Jungkook’s heart sinking in his chest.

“Kim Namjoon is dead.”

You’re a zombie among the living and you have been for some time now. Ever since Jungkook was forcefully ripped from your life, you’re a shell of the woman you once were. The time off from school moves like honey dripping from a spoon as you spend every waking moment wondering how he’s doing. You don’t even know if he’s alive or not.

There’s a tsunami of relief that moves through you when you find out he’s alive and fully recovered. You only know because you hear some girls in the library talking about him once classes start back up. The jealousy from their whispers about him doesn’t have anywhere within you to take root. The soil of your heart is salted and rotting.

Every single day you fight the urge to go to him, but you refuse to risk his life again. The pain of missing him is incomprehensible. You feel it in your heart and lungs as they work overtime to soothe the ache of being apart. But none of it even comes close to the nightmares and memories of hearing his bones break and his breathing wane. Night terrors overtake you for months following the incident. Images of him bleeding and broken in a heap on the floor while you stand helpless to stop it.

You haven’t spoken a single word to Namjoon since that night. He tries, but you shut yourself in your room or leave the house entirely. You haven’t heard your brother’s deep and melodious voice in six months now. You’re uncertain if you have the strength within you to forgive him. Maybe one day, once the Dragons and the Wolves are just a distant nightmare you never have to experience again.

The day starts like any other. Yoongi drops you off at the university and you thank him before heading to class. The topics and lectures are boring, per usual, as you doodle in your notebook alongside the actual notes you take. You’re out of focus these days but you manage to keep your grades up. It’s hard without your study buddy.

The call comes a little before your last lecture is supposed to start. It’s Seokjin, and you know something is wrong as soon as you answer.

“You need to come home. Something’s happened,” he says.

“Seokjin, I don’t —”

“It’s Joonie,” his voice breaks.

Your heart sinks into an abyss so deep you’re certain it will never rise again.

You’re running before the call even drops. The last thing Seokjin tells you is that Yoongi is waiting for you at the entrance. Propelling your feet forward even though you want to collapse, you bolt out of the building and make it to Yoongi’s car in an instant.

Yoongi is speeding off before the door has had time to shut. He doesn’t say anything. Just stares straight ahead with tears rolling down his face like rain.

When you reach the house, the silence seems to stretch infinitely. There are no birds chirping or trees billowing in the wind. It’s absolutely stone cold silent. You wonder if the apocalypse came while you were in the car. The door to the house creaks open and the sound of people breathing and the AC blasting is somehow deafening in comparison.

Your feet move on their own because your mind is too busy hiding from what it knows is about to come.

Namjoon is lying on the couch with one arm falling limp over the edge of the cushion. He looks like he’s taking one of his infamous naps. The ones that always happen after he’s been reading for too long. The only thing missing from the scene is an open book lying across his chest. You stop a few feet away and stare at his chest, the one you spent your entire childhood lying on and slapping whenever he made you angry. You will it to move with your mind, imagine it rising and falling and attempt a manifestation of the sight into reality. After counting to ten without seeing it rise, you collapse.

A scream rips out of your throat as you bring your forehead to the hardwood floor beneath you. Your entire body is shaking so violently that the zippers on your clothes rattle. Someone who smells like Hoseok comes behind you, holding you up against him as you sob hard enough to make yourself sick.

“No,” you wail helplessly into his shoulder.

Hoseok releases you when you begin to push against his hold. You crawl towards your brother on your hands and knees. When you reach him you caress his face and push his hair out of his eyes. He hates it when it gets in his eyes.

“Joonie,” you whisper to only him. “Joonie, you gotta wake up.” You gasp for air. “I need my big brother. Please, please, for me, you have to wake up.”

He doesn’t respond. You already know he can’t. It doesn’t matter. You’ll speak nonsense to him until his body begins to decay.

Throwing yourself on top of him, you cry into his bloodstained clothes. He’s still warm even though he’s hard to the touch. You aren’t sure if there’s a scientific explanation or if your brother’s soul is just so warm that it left behind a signature.

No one moves. Every member of the Dragons just watches in agony as you mourn your brother. Their beloved leader.

You want to die. You want to take one of the switchblades amongst the men in the room and slit your throat. Let your blood congeal with your brother’s and have them bury you together.

Namjoon probably wants to force his way out the afterlife, barreling through anyone in his path, even God himself, just to yell at you for even thinking about it. He raised you to be strong, but you don’t know what strength is without him.

His three best friends help you up once your cries subside into dry whimpers. They help you walk, one with his arm around your waist, the other two with their arms around your shoulders and arm, up the stairs to your room.

As gently as three gang members can, they lay you in your bed. Yoongi takes your shoes off for you and Hoseok pulls the blankets over you.

You grab Seokjin’s hand before they have a chance to leave.

“Please don’t… don’t move him yet,” you croak through your sore vocal chords. “I need to be there. It should be up to me how we… how we bury him.”

Seokjin assures you they won’t as tears fall from his eyes. The two of you share a meaningful glance. A secret only the three of you shared and will be buried along with your brother.

Your tears put you to sleep. It’s completely dreamless. Just black, empty darkness that feels infinite. You wonder if this endless void is your new reality.

The sound of knocking is what wakes you up. You’re still in delirium as you sit up and attempt to find the source of the sound. When you do, you gasp, pulling the covers away and springing from the bed.

You push your window up, reaching your hand out for the guest hanging onto your ledge with his fingertips.

Jungkook steps into your room one leg at a time, ducking down so he fits through the opening. When he stands to his full height, you think you’re still dreaming. It isn’t until he speaks that you realize you aren’t.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I had to see you, I couldn’t —”

Your mouth clips his sentence in half. Hands tugging at his shirt, you pull him into you as you kiss him. He’s still as a statue at first, confusion evident in the way his brow creases. But then you feel his hands on your waist and he pulls you closer, matching the rhythm of your mouth against his.

Your foreheads touch as you exhale into the air between you. Eyes still closed, you let the feeling of him and his warmth take you under and into his current.

“I missed you,” you say. Jungkook’s hands squeeze your hips. “I missed you so much, Jungkook.”

Your head drops to his shoulder as you cry. He pulls you into him and holds you there with his hand against your head. He combs his fingers through your hair and kisses down the side of your face. Anything he can think to do to bring you some sort of comfort.

“I’m here, pretty,” he tells you. “Not going anywhere.”

He guides you over to your bed as your breathing levels out again. You sit next to one another and Jungkook caresses your hand. Every once in a while bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles one by one.

With your free hand you grab his chin, turning his face back and forth before you breathe out a laugh.

“You’re still so handsome,” you say after analyzing his features. The scars embedded in his honey skin are faint. “I almost forgot how handsome you are.”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“I knew you’d say something like that,” he responds. He pulls you closer so your knees touch. The silent moments between you are comfortable. You don’t need to speak, just be near. After a while Jungkook licks his lips and says, “I’m so, so sorry about your brother, Y/N.”

Your hand grips his fingers harder as reality slowly creeps back in.

“I…” you have to inhale before you can continue. “The last time I ever spoke to him was that night.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen and then soften into something that looks like guilt. As if him being brutally beaten was his own doing.

“Baby,” Jungkook calls to you.

You shake your head. There is no going back now and you aren’t sure you would if given the chance. Maybe just to tell Namjoon you love him one more time, but nothing further. His death doesn’t take away from him hurting you.

“I didn’t know if you were dead or alive until classes started again,” you tell him. “I had nightmares every night about what they did to you. The way your bones sounded when they —”

“Hey, don’t do that. I’m right here. I’m fine,” Jungkook reassures you.

“You weren’t fine, though,” you snap. “I wasn’t fine. He took you from me, Jungkook.” You wipe the tears from your cheeks. “I told him my feelings for you and he still made me stay away.”

Jungkook doesn’t have a response because he knows everything you’re feeling isn’t black and white. The grief is mixing with the anger and the sadness into a devastating combination of emotions. So he holds you instead, pulls you across his lap so your thighs are resting on either side of him. Brushes his fingers up your back in a soothing pattern while you rest your head on his shoulder.

After a while of comforting silence, your lips find the mole on his neck. It’s just a tentative kiss at first, but then you’re kissing him harder and sucking on the sensitive skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His hands caress your hips tentatively, fingers reaching up and brushing against the skin beneath your top.

“Pretty,” Jungkook sighs. “We don’t have to —”

“I need you, Jungkook,” you say as you face him. You don’t mean it sexually, even though sex is exactly what you’re asking for. The need to feel him close is just so great, that his touch is the only thing that can quell it. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, heard him, or touched him, and you’re desperate to feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers just so you know he’s here and he’s alive. “Please, baby.”

Jungkook nods and kisses you slowly, tasting you on his tongue as your hips begin to grind against him. His hands guide you across his lap in slow circles. You feel him growing hard, causing you to moan into his mouth. He deepens the kiss with his tongue, cradling your neck to keep your head still as he chases your lips.

Your hands find his shoulders and use the leverage to grind down harder against the evident bulge in his pants. You groan at the feeling of it rubbing against your clit through your clothes. Jungkook growls deep in his throat when you pick up the pace. His lips are all over you. He kisses down your face and across your jaw. Sucks on your neck and drags his tongue along your hot skin before biting into your jugular. Your gasp slowly morphs into a moan.

Jungkook moves away for a split second so he can tug your top over your head. His eyes drop down to your covered chest to see what he’s been dying to all this time. He cups your breasts in his hands, massaging and pushing them together before bending down to kiss the tops of them.

You reach back to unclip your bra and Jungkook moans as it falls away. He’s never gotten to see you like this before; feel your soft skin under his hands like this. Now unimpeached, Jungkook takes one of your nipples in his mouth while twisting the other between his fingers. You throw your head back as you pant in ecstasy.

“Jungkook,” you whine as he gives your other breast the same attention. “Feels so good.”

When he’s done, he kisses his way back up to your lips. Your hand tangles into his long hair and your nails scratch at his scalp. Your free hand tugs at the hem of his top. Jungkook chuckles at your silent signal before removing his shirt with one hand.

Seeing him unobstructed for the first time is pure heaven. Hands tracing over his shoulders and down his chest, scratching your nails across the abs you knew he had. When he pulls you close, the skin to skin contact you’ve been aching for is like jumping into a pool on a hot summer day.

Jungkook’s warm hands are sprawled across your back as your pussy moves expertly against him. Part of you wants to just keep going like this until you both come in your pants, but most of you wants him naked and beneath you in your bed.

Jungkook obliges without needing to be told. He lifts you enough to lie you back and crawls over you, pushing your thighs apart with his knee. You reach for him and he kisses your fingers before meeting you again at your lips. His hands are working your jeans off you while he ravishes your lips and jaw.

When they’re off, he sits back on his heels to look at you. This is the sight he’s been waiting for and he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. His hands grip your thighs and he squeezes to watch your flesh move between his fingers.

“So beautiful, baby,” he praises you. He starts kissing you again at your collarbones before inching down slowly. After his mouth leaves your breasts he kisses down your stomach. “I love you,” he whispers directly into your skin. You aren’t sure you heard him right, but then he repeats himself as he kisses across your hips. “I love you… I love you… I love you.”

It comes out of his mouth like a prayer and you’re his only deity. Bittersweet tears roll down your cheeks at his confession. Your fingers thread into his hair as he finally reaches your pussy. He kisses you once on your mound before pulling your underwear down your legs so he can taste you.

He kisses you slowly, reverently. At first it’s so soft and light you barely feel him, but then his tongue swipes across your folds and you moan desperately. His hands grip the back of your thighs to pull you closer, burying his face into your cunt. He groans in pleasure, his mouth and tongue alternating between licking and kissing you while his nose teases your clit.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he grunts as he dives back in for more.

You’re a complete mess above him. Hair strewn haphazardly across the pillow, nipples swollen and erect, panting out breaths with dried tears all down your face.

Jungkook moves to suck on your clit and then kitten licks at it, using a finger to push your hood back and drive you into oversensitivity. You cover your mouth with your hand to scream into it. Your hips chase his mouth and he lets you. He just moans into your cunt as you ride his face.

Jungkook grips you tighter to still you, not letting you grind anymore so he can go into overdrive against your hole. He fucks you with his tongue and then licks all the way up to your clit before staying there. He flattens his tongue against the nub and moves his face back and forth. Pulls back and spits directly on it before rubbing it in with the tip of his tongue.

Your orgasm pulls you beneath the waves of ecstasy and you welcomely drown in it. It happens without warning, but Jungkook already knows. He knows your body like it’s his own and he growls as you come on his face and he drinks every last drop.

Gasping for any air you can find, Jungkook kisses across your thighs and bites at your flesh. You grab him by the shoulder to bring him back to you. You taste yourself on his lips, your cum smearing across the bottom half of your face.

Your hands are quick to undo Jungkook’s belt and pull down the zipper of his jeans. You start palming him through his boxers before his pants are fully off. He groans into your mouth before kissing your neck and biting at your earlobe, letting his tongue trace the perimeter of it.

You want to see him fully and appreciate him in all his glory, so you use your legs to wrap around his own and flip him onto his back. He looks a little shocked at you doing anything even remotely dominant, but the fire in his eyes tells you exactly how much he loves it.

His neck is your first target as you lick the sweaty skin and press wet kisses all over his throat and shoulder. As your lips move down his torso, your hands follow closely behind, digging your nails into his skin and creating red marks in their wake. He grunts and bucks his hips as you finish your assault on his delicious abdominal muscles. Your eyes roll back when you count eight of them.

You pull his boxers down and off, all without ever breaking eye contact. Crawling back over him, you take in his entire body laid before you for the first time. He’s so beautiful you could cry.

Pumping his cock with your warm hand, you move to taste him when he stops you with a hand to your shoulder.

“No, pretty,” he starts. “It’s not about me tonight. Just wanna make you feel good.” You pout and he soothes you by sitting up and pushing your hair away from your face. “Will you let me?” He kisses you softly, but with all his devotion. “Let me make love to you?”

You close your eyes and nod. He kisses the skin of your eyelids adoringly before lying you beneath him again. Jungkook doesn’t waste any time. His cock is teasing your clit while he swipes through your folds to lube himself with your cum. He thrusts into you slowly, letting you adjust to the feel of him again after so long apart.

Your nails rake down his back and across his shoulders as he splits you apart on his cock. You can feel him throbbing deep inside your walls and it’s as though your entire body was created for this very moment.

When you don’t show any signs of discomfort, Jungkook begins thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace. He lays on top of you with his forearms carrying his weight. His body is so familiar and yet everything feels brand new.

Your legs wrap around his stupidly tiny waist and an actual laugh escapes you. His questioning eyes find yours.

“What do you have such a small waist for, huh? It’s unfair. It’s smaller than mine,” you explain.

Jungkook tsks at you before kissing your cheek.

“Your waist is perfect,” he says. “You’re fucking perfect.”

His thrusts are slower than normal, but just as deep. The motion pushes you up the bed each time he enters your pussy and Jungkook has to use his hands to protect your head from hitting the headboard. He grinds his hips down in conjunction with his strokes and it forces his cock right into your g-spot.

Your moans are just one endless stream of sound because it feels too heavenly to do anything else. His name filters between them to create a melody meant only for his ears.

His body is bringing you forms of pleasure you’ve never experienced with anyone else and yet you care more about the feeling of his warm body against yours. It’s his skin and sweat, the goosebumps on his arms, his hair tickling your face, that truly means the most to you. He’s here in your arms, heart beating up against your own and it almost brings tears to your eyes again. You almost lost him.

You aren’t able to focus on your sentiments for much longer because he pulls back and lifts your ankles to his shoulders and then bends you in half, the back of your thighs touching his chest.

“Oh fuck, baby,” you gasp. The push and pull of Jungkook’s dick at this angle has your nails nearly puncturing the skin of his shoulder.

“I got you, pretty,” he states.

He kisses your calf next to his face and you feel warm all over. Through your legs you can see the way his thick cock comes out coated in your essence before it disappears into you again. Jungkook is watching the same way you are, his mouth open in awe of how well your pussy sucks him in over and over.

The position is too good for your mind to fully comprehend, but you need him closer. You want your skin pressed together as one in every possible place it can. You grab at him and he gets the message, letting your legs fall back to his hips. His elbows are next to your ears as he stretches your hole open for him repeatedly.

His cock fills you so perfectly that you feel every ridge and vein against your velvet walls. The friction is debilitating and sends your mind into a frenzy. You’re crying tears of pleasure that Jungkook kisses away before devouring your mouth. Gripping his ass, you thrust up against him in an attempt to sink him deeper inside you even though you swear you feel him in your stomach already.

It’s not enough. Nothing with Jungkook will ever feel like enough when your body wants him so insatiably. But right now, you need more.

“Jungkook,” you pant. He makes a sound of affirmation as he mouths at your jaw. “Stop playing nice.”

Jungkook lifts his head to look at you. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to give you a chance to take back your instruction. You stare him down with a matching intensity instead.

The sound of his deep chuckle is right next to your ear and your heart races in anticipation.

In an instant, your hands are forced above your head by one of his own, crossing your wrists over each other and lacing his fingers between the ones he can reach. He pushes at them once, as if telling you not to try anything. When you open your mouth to moan, Jungkook crashes into your lips and spits into your mouth. You’re gasping as you swallow his saliva. His free hand teasingly traces your skin from your hip to your knee, creating fiery goosebumps along your flesh, before he grabs you by the knee and forces your leg up higher on his hip, creating an even closer angle.

He rears back slowly, leaving just his tip in for a lingering moment. Jungkook waits until you whine pathetically at the emptiness, your hips bucking up in desperation. Your pussy clenches around nothing as it begs for him to come back home. Once there are tears pricking at your eyes and he thinks you’ve waited long enough, he slams into you so hard your vision goes out.

He clasps his hand over your mouth before you can scream. His pace is downright fucking demonic as he pistons his cock into you. You’re screaming and drooling against his hand as tears wet your cheeks. You cannot comprehend how this is the same man who kissed his love into your stomach and hips. You worry you’ll look up and his eyes will be glowing red with the fires of hell.

This is months of being separated coming to a head. All the fear, rage, depression, and guilt pooling in your stomachs and physically manifesting into a miasma of pleasure. Every thought and worry you felt for one another is pouring over your bodies like acid, burning you in a scorching heat that only the other can quench.

You’re close and Jungkook can tell by the way your cunt flutters around him. His mouth replaces his hand as he kisses you, letting go of your hands above your head so he can grasp your hips. Your arms snake around his back and into his hair, tugging on the strands to pull him away so you can kiss the veins popping out in his neck.

“Need to feel you come, pretty,” he grunts.

A breathy moan is your only response because words are failing you. Jungkook angles your hips up so his tip is kissing you in just the right spot. His thrusts have slowed again but are deeper than ever, so passionate in his pursuit to pleasure you that your orgasm pulls you into a different plane of existence entirely.

Your hand grips Jungkook’s hair impossibly tight as your pussy spasms around him. Jungkook groans loudly, his head tipping back as you come around him.

Jungkook usually loves to fill you up and watch it drip out, but for some reason the need to paint you in his seed overwhelms him. He pulls out and fists his cock as hot spurts of cum fall across your stomach, tits, and thighs.

You moan appreciatively at the feeling and watch in awe at the way it drips from his tip and onto your skin. Instinctively, your mouth opens as you stare into Jungkook’s fucked-out eyes. He hears your message loud and clear, using his fingers to scoop some of his cum from your belly before feeding it to you. You suck it off his fingers without breaking eye contact until you roll your eyes and moan at the taste of him.

Jungkook is panting, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as he stares at the mess he made of you.

“Fuck, pretty,” he exhales.

You sit up on your elbows and smile at his artwork across your body.

“You could always lick it off of me, ya know,” you suggest.

Jungkook laughs.

“Don’t get me going again, my love,” he responds. “I’ll fucking ruin you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Jungkook’s eyes darken and he runs his hands through his hair. After taking a moment to stare you down, he steals your hands and pins them above your head. His lips are touching yours by just a hair when he responds.

“It’s a promise… for another day,” he states.

You pout and he kisses it away before finally leaving you to find something to clean you with. You nod your head towards your en-suite bathroom and he comes back with a warm towel.

You run your fingers through the front of his hair as he delicately wipes his own cum from your soft skin. When he’s done he bends down to kiss your stomach before returning the towel to the bathroom.

When he returns you’re sitting up and pulling a baggy shirt over your head. Jungkook slips on his boxers and sits next to you, pulling your feet into his lap and caressing your ankles.

Fingers fiddling in your lap, you chew on your lip as you think about the path that lies ahead. There is still so much left unanswered and it terrifies you.

You have to bury your brother and the Dragons need a new leader. Your only tie to the gang is now gone. The gang would never kick you out of the house, but without Namjoon you have no reason to be involved in this world. But you also have nowhere else to go.

Then there’s Jungkook, who is a longstanding member of the very gang who is probably responsible for Namjoon’s death. It’s not like they would welcome you into their fray even with him gone. Everyone knows you’re his sister. You love Jungkook and you want to be with him more than anything, but you don’t know a way around all the obstacles still in your path.

Jungkook gently tucks a stray hair behind your ear, his eyes silently questioning if you’re alright. You affirm him with a nod.

He leaves soon after because you still have so much to sort out. Although, not before putting his number back into your phone and kissing you goodbye. He tells you he’ll see you at the university and you can talk more then.

When you return downstairs, Namjoon is covered by a white cloth. You, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok sit in the kitchen and discuss burial plans. Yoongi has a family friend who runs a funeral home. You finish deciding on the details and a quiet tension fills the room as you all realize what you need to discuss next.

“So, how do we go about finding out who did this?” Hoseok starts the daunting conversation.

“It was obviously the fucking Wolves,” Yoongi snarls.

“Yeah, but not all of them,” you say. “The gang as a whole would never do something so stupid and reckless.”

“You think it was some rogue member?” Seokjin asks.

“That or a small faction who is itching to start a war,” you respond.

“Well they got what they wanted,” Yoongi says as he crosses his arms. “I’m going to Bangchan tomorrow to challenge them to a brawl. On the condition that if they give up the coward who did this, no one else gets hurt.”

“You think it will work?” Hoseok questions.

“Wait, you want more people, our people, to possibly get hurt?” You don’t see the logic in it. The Dragons are already down and out without your brother. A massive brawl between the two gangs will only make things worse.

“Someone has to be punished, Y/N,” Yoongi answers. “I’ll let them decide if it’s one or all of them.”

You know that Yoongi’s decision is final. He was Namjoon’s right hand man and is most likely to take over as leader. But that doesn’t mean you won’t do whatever it takes to stop it from happening.

Jungkook finds you after your classes end for the day. You run straight into his arms when you see him, wrapping yourself around his neck and inhaling his familiar scent. His hands sneak below your shirt and rub soothing circles on your waist and back. He kisses you before you go somewhere private to talk.

Sitting down outside the large double doors of the university, you reach across the wooden table to take his hands. It feels odd, but soothing being here together again after months of not crossing paths. When you glance around, you see the same path you took as you were skipping ahead of him after taking an exam. In the opposite direction, there’s a small cove where Jungkook fingered you and kissed you like he needed it more than oxygen. That was shortly before the incident with your brother. The prettier memories of your relationship are all around you.

Inhaling deeply, you squeeze his hands before telling him everything you know.

“There’s going to be a fight in three days unless the Wolves give up the person or people responsible for Namjoon’s death. If they do, the brawl is off,” you explain.

Jungkook is playing with your fingers as he listens to you.

“That won’t work,” Jungkook states. “We would never give up one of our own even if he did do something as cowardly as murdering someone in cold blood.”

“I know,” you agree. “That’s why we have to figure out who did this before then and give them up ourselves.”

“It won’t be easy, pretty,” Jungkook admits. He lets go and leans back before sighing and running his fingers through his hair. “Everyone knows about you and I. They won’t let anything slip around me or my friends.” You chew on your bottom lip as you contemplate your options. Jungkook watches you before taking a deep breath. “If the brawl goes down… you know I’ll have to be there, right, pretty?”

You nod with a far away look in your eyes.

“I know. That’s why it has to work. I can’t lose you, too,” you whisper without looking at him.

Jungkook kisses the back of your hands, tilting his head to bring your attention to him. His pretty doe eyes are hesitant, not wanting to leave you like this, but you assure him you’re fine before standing.

He still drops you off at the same spot to avoid any unnecessary tension if he’s spotted near the house. You kiss him goodbye through the driver’s side window before venturing home.

Upon returning home, you notice the classical music playing from the stereo before anything else. You recognize the song and already know who’ll be there before entering the room. Seokjin sits with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass of ice in the other. Everyone else must either be out or in their rooms. You sit next to him and gesture for the bottle. He passes it unceremoniously over to you.

“We swore Yoongi in tonight,” Seokjin tells you.

“He’ll do good,” you reply. You look at the bottle and swirl the liquid around inside. “He’s always been prudent.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin sighs.

You put the bottle down and reach for Seokjin’s arm instead. Squeezing it, he looks at you with glassy eyes.

“I miss him already, too,” you breathe.

Seokjin flashes you a hollow smile.

“There was still so much we wanted to do together,” he muses. Seokjin looks down at his hand, stretching his fingers out and flexing it. “He just bought us matching rings. We were gonna wear them on different fingers so no one caught on.”

“Bought? My brother?”

Seokjin genuinely smiles at that.

“Can you believe it? He said he didn’t want something like that to be stolen. That I deserve to be paid for,” Seokjin explains.

You relax against the chair.

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” you say.

“I know you two weren’t on good terms at the time, but it doesn’t change how deeply he loved you,” Seokjin continues.

“I know,” you reply.

“He didn’t…” Seokjin sighs, mulling over his next words carefully. “He was pissed about you sleeping with a Wolf, don’t get me wrong, but he didn’t do what he did out of cruelty. He was our leader. If he looked the other way and people found out, they would've started to doubt his ability to do whatever necessary for the gang.” Seokjin sits forward to meet your eyes. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I wanted you to know. He only ever wanted two things for you, Y/N. To be happy and to be safe.”

“Jungkook does both of those things for me,” you say.

“Good,” Seokjin smiles.

You squeeze his arm one last time before leaving him alone with the whiskey bottle.

Time soldiers on with each tick of the clock, every second bringing you closer to the inevitable truth that this brawl is going to happen. Jungkook tells you he’s doing his best, but the truth is harder to scrounge for than originally anticipated.

The truth comes too late.

The night of the brawl, you do what you swore you never would and drive Namjoon’s motorcycle down the unfamiliar streets to the Wolf’s Den. You’re wearing his biker jacket, too. The Dragons had it cleaned and the patches re-embroidered before gifting it to you.

Jungkook meets you at the back of the house and sneaks you into his room in the basement. Despite your terror about tonight, finally seeing his room brings a smile to your face.

“I like it,” you say as you run your fingers down the leather jacket on his chair.

Jungkook takes a seat on the bed while your eyes comb over the pieces of him scattered around the room. A picture of him and his parents, a drawing of an adorable white dog who looks like a cloud, his boxing gloves. It’s comforting being so entirely surrounded by him.

Pulling you by the waist, Jungkook brings you to stand between his legs. His hands caress you from your thighs to your stomach before he leans in and kisses your navel, then rests his forehead against you. You comb your fingers through his hair, admiring the pretty black strands. He hums peacefully at the feeling. Being with him like this makes it easy to forget reality looming on the other side of the door, lying in wait for you to return to it.

“You’ll stay back as much as possible, right? Avoid the big guys?” You ask him.

Jungkook sighs, leaning back on his hands and tracing over your features with his eyes.

“Pretty, you know I can’t do that,” he responds.

Nodding with your lip between your teeth, you avoid his eyes. Anger and fear mix together in your stomach and make you want to be sick. Your brother is dead and now the man you love is on the precipice of the same fate. You already lost him once and you refuse to do it again.

“So, you just…” your sentence dies in your throat. There aren’t enough words to explain the heaviness you feel.

Jungkook stands and brings you to his chest. You hit him to make him let you go, but your body is already betraying you and melting into his embrace. You bury your face into his shirt, inhaling his scent and letting it envelope you in familiarity.

“Please, don’t go,” you beg him. “I love you, Jungkook. I can’t –,” you cut yourself off before your emotions can drown you. “Just… please.”

Jungkook’s fingers use your chin to bring your lips to his. It’s a quick kiss, barely a peck before he moves to kiss the corner of your mouth and then your cheek.

“I love you, too, Y/N. I love you more than I can even comprehend, but this is my family we’re talking about. I have a responsibility to them, too,” he tells you.

You don’t fight him on it anymore. There’s no strength left within you to do so. Your mental fortitude is cracking and crumbling into ash all around you. Most of all, you don’t want what could possibly be your last moments together to happen in anger.

Harsh banging forces you apart as someone tells Jungkook it’s time to go. He cradles your face in his hands and kisses you ardently. It feels like goodbye and tastes like grief. You use his lips as an altar and pray to the angels and the saints and maybe even the demons to keep him safe and bring him home to you unscathed. You promise them you’ll be joining them soon if they don’t.

Jungkook sneaks you back out as the Wolves gather in the road on their idling motorcycles. He leaves you with a final kiss to your lips and forehead, where he whispers how much he loves you one more time.

You watch helplessly as your eyes trace his figure moving further and further away from you. He throws an arm around who you can only assume is Taehyung as Jimin follows closely behind. You don’t look away until you’re unable to follow him any longer. His bike carrying him away from you along with the rest of his gang.

A twig snaps, or maybe fate pulls at your shoulder, and you look up just as a few stragglers are heading to leave. You recognize the familiar face as though you last saw him yesterday, and not over a decade ago. The blood in your veins courses through you at sub-zero temperatures and freezes around your organs.

Realization slams into you with the force of a brick wall. You need to tell the others that you know who took Namjoon from you.

Running across the yard as fast as your legs can carry you, your hands shake as you work to secure your helmet. Your leg swings over the leather seat and you throttle the engine. The bike roars to life and you don’t waste a second before taking off down the street.

One motorcycle can get somewhere a lot faster than twenty five can, but they already have a decent head start.

Your heart is pounding so loud you can hear it in your ears as the buildings fly by in streaks of blurry light. It rained earlier and the water from the road is whipping up at your legs. All of your senses feel overloaded by the anxiety taking root within you.

You have no clue what you’re going to do when reach the gangs, and if the fight has already started, it will be too dangerous to intervene.

Jungkook flashes across your mind, and you can already picture the expression of worry and concern he’ll have when you arrive. He’s going to be so angry with you for putting yourself in harm’s way, and Yoongi, Seokjin, and Hoseok will be the same. You can’t concern yourself with their potential anger right now. All that matters is getting to them.

The brawl is taking place at the old salt mill which still stands on the edge of the city. It’s a massive open air factory built on acres of farmland. The last time you saw it, the steel walls were beginning to tear and the foundation cracking.

Despite its dilapidation, it’s the perfect location for fifty or so men to beat and kill each other without anyone noticing.

The monumental building comes into view in the distance and as you approach you see all the motorcycles lined up along the road.

Parking next to the familiar motorcycles belonging to the Dragons, you grant yourself the reprieve of a single deep breath before diving headfirst into the danger ahead.

The engine has barely begun to cool when you throw your helmet off. Your feet propel you forward across the wet pavement towards the factory. Your shoes meet puddles as you run and the water splashes against your bare legs.

Looking down at your attire, you almost scoff. Namjoon would be so mad at you for not looking the part. You’re about to run into a room of fifty armed men wearing a pleated skirt and frilly pink blouse. At least Namjoon’s jacket still resting on your shoulders makes you look a little bit tougher.

You can just make out the figures amongst the processing equipment and huge piles of salt left behind by the manufacturers. The mountains of salt surround the two gangs and make it look as though they’re in the center of an arena. As you move forward, you see Yoongi and Bangchan standing in the space between the two gangs.

They’re probably discussing the “rules” and deciding which weapons will be allowed. It’s a pointless conversation to make themselves feel better. You’re certain that every man in there brought a gun to this knife fight.

“Wait!” You shout when you’re in earshot, traversing over rusted machinery and scattered salt. You speak again once you’re inside. “Stop!”

Yoongi is looking at you incredulously, his eyes burning with a protective fury. Seokjin and Hoseok mirror his expression from where they stand on the far right and left of the Dragons. Your eyes catch motion in your peripheral vision, and you see Jungkook already moving through the crowd to get to you.

Yoongi grabs your arm and tugs you back into the crowd of Dragons, standing so that his body is shielding you from the Wolves across the room. He opens his mouth to no doubt scold you and demand an explanation, but he doesn’t get the chance. A cacophony of noises and voices stops him.

“Hey –”

“Get off me.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Dude, what the hell.”

“Heesung –”

Your eyes widen in horror as you take in the scene over Yoongi’s shoulder. He sees your expression and turns to follow your gaze.

The Wolves have all moved back into a U shape which highlights two figures standing to the left, next to a massive pile of salt. The flood lights on the ceiling bounce off the bright white and bathe the two of them in an unnatural light.

Jungkook jerks his right arm back to get the man holding him across the shoulders to let go. He grunts and tries to elbow him in the stomach, but stops short when he feels something cool and sharp press against his jugular.

There’s a silver glint from where the light catches on the blade pushing against Jungkook’s throat. Your eyes snap shut involuntarily as a paralyzing fear overtakes your nervous system.

“Y/N…” The man sing-songs in a tone so eerie it creeps up your spine like weeds.

You didn’t think this through. Didn’t account for what Heesung would do when he’s backed into a corner.

“Heesung, please let him go,” you beg cautiously, not wanting to make a single miscalculation. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

A wave of confusion crosses over Jungkook’s face at your familiarity with his fellow Wolf.

Heesung laughs at your plea and the knife presses harder against Jungkook’s skin. A single bead of blood trails down his throat.

Jungkook knows he’s stronger than Heesung, that he can overpower him with ease, but he can’t bring himself to fight when he sees you across the room. You’re shaking, your eyes so sorrowful it breaks his heart, and your lip trembles where it’s clenched between your teeth. He has something to live for now, someone to come home to, and he can’t risk Heesung’s knife going anywhere it shouldn’t.

“Doesn’t he?” Heesung retorts. “He is your lover, yes? So I should kill him, too, just like I killed Namjoon and leave you with no one so you’ll be just like me.”

His confession permeates through the air, stunning both gangs into a weighted silence. You feel Yoongi go stiff by your side.

“No,” you whimper. “You can just take me instead. That would be enough, right? Enough revenge? Enough penance for what we did to you?”

“Y/N,” Jungkook snaps at you, but Heesung shushes him.

Heesung studies you for a moment before shaking his head, the knife pressing down again and making Jungkook gasp for air.

“No, Y/N. Nothing will ever be enough,” Heesung snarls.

Time seems to slow once the words leave him, because before anyone in the room can even take their next breath, a gunshot rings out.

“No!”

Your scream is nearly simultaneous with the gunshot itself, following it by only a millisecond.

Your view of Jungkook and Heesung gets forcefully taken from you in an instant. The only thing you see is blood splattering and dispersing into the air where their heads were a moment ago. The ricochet and a body falling to the floor sends salt up into the air and covers the entire scene in a white cloud.

There are no words for the emotions that overtake you in the moment before the blood and salt settle. It feels like fear at first, but the word is too small in comparison. Panic, terror, dread, none of them are heavy enough. Grief moves in like fog across the morning air. You wait with bated breath to see if it will break and the sun will peak through the clouds.

Someone coughs, and then they stumble out from the cloud of salt with ragged breaths and wide eyes. He’s covered in blood splatter, the thick liquid matting down his hair and soiling his shirt, but it’s clear none of it is his own.

“Jungkook!”

Your feet can’t bring you to him fast enough. When they do, you throw your arms around his neck as your entire body shakes. Jungkook is still delirious, the gunshot throwing off his equilibrium. But then he feels your warmth against him, grounding him, and his arms latch around your waist.

“It’s okay. I’m alright,” he assures you. His hand sinks into your hair as he pulls you closer, causing your back to arch into him and your heels to lift from the floor. He kisses across your temple, cheek, and hairline.

Your very soul releases a sigh of relief as you sink deeper into his embrace.

The sound of a pistol chamber clicking back into place catches your attention. As the salt slowly falls to the ground like snow, you turn your head to see Seokjin standing behind it. He’s cleaning the gun with a rag as he looks at the body before him in disgust.

“Seokjin,” you say to grab his attention.

He looks up at you with the tiniest of smiles on his lips. If you didn’t know the features of his face you wouldn’t be able to notice it. It’s solemn and peaceful, like he’s finally laying something to rest.

“Didn’t mean to ruin the fun, but that asshole was really pissing me off,” he states. “Can we call this an eye for an eye and be done, Bangchan? I’m not sure you want someone willing to kill one of his own in your ranks anyway.”

Bangchan looks so utterly confused at the whole display that he has to shake his head before gathering his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he finally answers. “We’re done here.”

His words give way for the Wolves to mosey out of the factory, their whispers of confusion following them out to the road. Yoongi tells the Dragons to get home, too, before making his way over to where you’re still clinging to Jungkook.

“You want to tell me what the hell just happened?”

Jungkook squeezes your waist, nods and tells you it’s alright, before letting you go and joining Taehyung and Jimin near the exit. You watch Jimin grasp his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. Taehyung messes with his hair affectionately.

You ride home on Namjoon’s motorcycle while his friends lead the way. No one speaks until you’re sitting in Yoongi’s room together, passing a bottle of whiskey around. You only begin to talk after taking a slow, poignant sip of the liquor.

“You guys already know Namjoon and I ran away from home because our parents were physically and verbally abusive. But we swore never to tell anyone about what happened the day we left. Namjoon couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud even if he wanted to,” you begin before taking another burning sip of alcohol. “We left just after midnight and snuck out of the house down the fire escape. Our neighbor, Mrs. Lee, spotted us as we were climbing down. She realized what we were doing right away, so she grabbed me so we couldn’t run. I fought against her so hard, but she just wouldn’t let go.” You place your hands between your knees to stop them from shaking. “Namjoon shot her so we could get away. He didn’t have a choice. Our parents would’ve killed us that very night if he hadn’t.” You exhale somberly. “We only realized as we were running down the street that her son was outside and saw the whole thing. We grew up with Heesung. He was our friend. It… it was never meant to happen that way.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Hoseok grabs your hand and it makes you smile just a hair.

With Heesung’s death comes relief, and your hunger for vengeance is satiated, but the cruelty of fate still nips at your subconscious.

Heesung and Namjoon are two sides of a tragic coin. Neither one deserving of the cards they were dealt, and bound by the lingering strings of a tragedy which became their demise. The domino effect of a lifetime worth of decisions now ends with you, the last one standing.

“You and Namjoon both endured far more than you deserve,” Yoongi says. “But that’s all behind you now, and that Wolf of yours seems to make you pretty happy.”

You laugh and it feels real for the first time in a while.

“I think we can make an exception to the rules, don’t you?” Seokjin asks his new leader.

“Yes, I believe so,” Yoongi agrees.

Yoongi tells you Jungkook can visit as long as you’re with him the entire time, and he doesn’t leave your room. He allows it because you’re his best friends’ little sister and he loves you like his own. You’ve been through so much in your life already, and he isn’t going to keep a source of happiness from you. You’re so thankful that you force him into a tight embrace, which he pretends to begrudgingly accept, when he’s actually more than happy to return the affection.

Jungkook comes over, with permission this time, the very next day. You lie between his legs on your bed while he shows you how to drift in Mario Kart. You’re downright terrible at it, and he has to place his fingers over yours to prevent a loss on his account. When you inevitably do lose, and his overall ranking drops, his tongue presses to his cheek as he stares you down.

The next thing you know, he’s taking the Switch from you and gently setting it down on the nightstand before turning his attention back to you. He moves his hands down your body from your hips until he reaches your inner thighs and tugs your legs apart. His fingers are quick to find their way to your folds, touching you over your underwear. Your head falls to his shoulder as you moan softly.

“I should piss you off more often,” you muse.

His fingers are just running up and down your slit over the lace of your panties and it’s both not enough and too much simultaneously. He pushes down, causing the fabric to rub against your clit and you gasp, your hand gripping his arm to keep yourself steady.

“I wouldn’t try it,” he warns. His lips are right against your ear and the deepness of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Then he’s kissing your neck and your mind becomes too hazy to reply.

Jungkook moves your underwear to the side as he’s sucking on your neck and pushes into your cunt without warning. Your other hand curls around his head and grabs onto his hair. It’s pathetic how wet you already are, but the squelching sound your pussy makes as his fingers pump in and out is worth the embarrassment.

You’re restless, needing more of him than he’s currently providing you.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him between your moans and sharp intakes of air. Jungkook is more than willing to oblige your request.

Which is how you end up on top of him, his cock meeting your cervix repeatedly as you alternate between bouncing up and down and grinding against his hips. His hands are everywhere at first, tracing your outline and massaging over any skin within his reach. But then his right arm, which is so beautifully decorated in tattoos, traverses the familiar path of your chest, stopping to pinch your nipple, before wrapping around your throat.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as your head tips back. The position gives you such a beautiful view of him and his tattoos. You remind yourself to ask him about them soon. A pretty tiger lily is staring you in the face, but then Jungkook squeezes your throat and it becomes a blur of orange and black.

“Always so good for me,” he whispers while sitting up. His lips find yours, his arm securing you to him so you can bounce on him easier. His hand is still on your throat, softly squeezing the sides of it to pleasure you without harm. “My pretty baby,” he says once he moves to sucking on your earlobe and down your neck, just above his own fingers. "Always take my cock so fucking well."

He makes you come twice, because he just loves you that much, before fucking his cum into you as he thrusts his swollen cock into your cunt.

Once your pussy is battered and filled to the brim with his cum, you fall over onto his chest. You can feel him softening inside you, but don’t want to lose the feeling of him just yet.

Jungkook kisses you slowly, licking across your bottom lip and pulling at it with his teeth. You lazily make out as your hands traverse his naked chest. His fingertips create goosebumps where they skim along your spine. You could stay like this forever without a single complaint.

“I love you,” he whispers on your lips. He says it so quietly, as if he’s trying to hide the proclamation from the rest of the world and keep it just for you.

You’re smiling when you kiss him again.

“I love you,” you parrot.

After he finally does pull out, you lie naked together under the covers as Jungkook plays with your hair, twirling it and attempting a makeshift braid while you draw shapes on his skin with your fingers. It’s quiet and peaceful inside your mind for the first time in a long time. Jungkook kisses your forehead and you look over at him with a smile.

Jungkook licks his lips and pulls you up with him until your backs are against the headboard. He finally asks you to enlighten him about why he had a blade to his neck the night prior. You relay the story to him as you did with your brother’s friends.

Jungkook looks rightfully shocked, but he processes his own emotions quickly to offer you comfort instead.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, pretty,” he says. “If you ever wanna talk about it some more, you know I’m always here, right?”

“I know,” you affirm. “I’m here for you, too.”

“God, we’re both fucked up,” Jungkook chuckles.

You nod in agreement.

“It doesn’t have to stay that way, you know,” you propose. “We graduate next year and with Joonie gone there isn’t anything left for me here. I’ll stay until I can afford a place of my own, but then I’m putting this life behind me.” You readjust so you’re looking at Jungkook directly. “And I want you to join me. You’re so fucking smart, Jungkook, and anywhere would be lucky to have you.”

Jungkook hums, tilting his head as he thinks over your words.

“I don’t know what I want right now, pretty, but I do know that I wanna be wherever you are,” he confesses. You’re smiling at him as though he hung the stars in the sky himself. “Is that enough for now?”

Your eyes flit over all the details of him. His wavy black hair, big chocolate brown eyes, and the piercings decorating his pretty lips and eyebrow. He looks so different from the boy you met at school and yet everything is so irrevocably him. You smile, bending down so your noses touch.

“It’s more than enough,” you tell him.

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clockwayswrites · 2 days ago

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The Haunting of Danny Fenton

Chapter 6 Part 2

materpost (no edting/concrit pls. did you know 8+ moderate-sever migraines in a month are too many? ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ)

“Oh, you’re a real freak of nature, aren’t ya?” Constantine said as he looked Danny over.

Danny grinned at Constantine like a wolf grins before it rips something’s throat out. “Yep.”

The weird thing was, Constantine actually looked a little afraid. “They know what you are?”

“Okay,” Dick said as he moved between the two. He wasn’t afraid to push either of them back a little. “Yes, we know that Danny is a half ghost, but that’s not actually the important part here.”

Constantine blinked at Dick. “Say what, bruv?”

“I know, we had it backwards at first ourselves,” Dick said. “But if everyone will just sit down for a moment, we can talk through it.”

Constantine looked like he was actually going to argue before he took the chair next to Zatanna with an exaggerated huff. Bruce, who’d of course been standing off to the side, swept over to a seat himself. It was the signal that everyone else needed to sit. Dick took the head of the table with Danny nervously to one side and Wally flanking the other.

“As the Justice League knows, our Flash disappeared while on a solo investigative mission a little over three months ago. Initial investigations by both the Titans and the Justice League found nothing. During that time, the Flash managed to make contact with Danny Fenton,” Dick explained with a little motion towards Danny.

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “As Nightwing said, I’m Danny Fenton. For a few years as a teen, I was a local hero known as Phantom in Amity Park. The usual lab accident origin story gave me my powers. I’m half ghost. It’s along story and not actually important. Mostly these days I’m just a psychopomp; sometimes I get visited by ghosts and I make sure they move on.

“I assume that’s what Flash was once he showed up, but he also felt wrong right away. He also caused seizures if he touched me, which wasn’t great. That had me reaching out to Miss Wilhelmina Aleshire. She’s a local oracle and friend I made through the pyschopomp mess. After trying a tea she gave me, I was able to make clearer contact with Flash. He gave me a message to take to Titan Tower.”

“And caused a heart attack,” Wally said, guilt heavy in his voice.

Danny just shrugged. “Not the first time my heart’s stopped. Anyways, once I was awake I checked myself out of the hospital, came here with the phrase, and got in contact with the Titans.”

“They called me in,” Barry picked up, “and we worked on using Danny’s connection as an anchor to isolate Flash’s reading. Main players were Danny, Raven, and myself. Obviously once we got Flash to the point that we could see and hear him, he helped also.”

“Obviously, not dead,” Wally said. “I’m trapped in the Speed Force. Unfortunately, my existing and using Danny as an anchor is continuing to cause health issues.”

“Which is fine,” Danny said with a little glare, “but when we got the signal as clear as it seemed to get, meant rethinking things. It’s when I realized that I’m not able to see Flash and serving as his anchor because of being a psychopomp. He’s right, he isn’t dead. One of my… mentors in the Infinite Realms is a being known currently as Clockwork. He’s basically a god of time. We call them Ancients there. He’s been pretty determined to take me under his wing. There might be some powers at play, but I’m certain that the bigger reason that I’m able to be Flash’s anchor is because I have a medallion of time as part of my being.”

“Wow, more of a freak than I thought,” Constantine said, squinting at Danny.

“Says the man with mince meat for a soul,” Danny snapped back.

“I can slap him for you, if you want,” Zatanna offered calmly.

Danny smiled sweetly at her. “Would you?”

“Ow!” Constantine squawked as Zatanna backhanded him right in the sternum. He rubbed at the spot with a pout. “We’re teammates, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m your teammate, but when you’re being an idiot I’m not on your side,” she said with a viciously pleasant smile.

“Anyways,” Dick interrupted. “Because we want to make sure that Danny survives—or at least revives from this process—we called in you all. Flash and Batman to continue to help us refine the signal isolation machine, Constantine and Zatanna to try and safeguard things from a magical perspective, and MM to keep a track on things mentally. Obviously our Flash, Cyborg, and Raven will continue to help. We have a medical team standing by. It’s my opinion that we should expect Danny’s heart to stop.”

“Nightwing… might be right about that. I seem to have an annoying habit of it,” Danny said with a little shrug.

“He’s also annoyingly unconcerned about it,” Wally added with a sigh.

“What exactly is the plan?” Bruce asked, finally speaking.

Dick gave him a nod. “We will set up in the reinforced training room and the connecting observation room. Danny will transform into Phantom and remove the medallion. Flash will make contact with both it and Phantom. We believe that while he’s doing so, his signal will become stable enough for us to isolate and lock into this timeline. Luckily, that’s science that we’ve done before for different reasons.”

“We have to expect a large amount of electrical discharge from that,” Wally added. “Which won’t effect me, but will Danny.”

“Lessened because I’ll be Phantom, but none of me gets along with electricity much. It’s likely to snap me back into this form which is where the heart stopping might occur,” Danny said.

“So, as soon as Flash is locked, we need everything can to protect Danny from the effects and then medical in there the second the secondary effects have died down,” Dick stressed. “Anything that we can plan in to help Danny, we need to plan in. We’re not making an exchange here. I expect both of them to be just as alive at the end of this as they should be. Understood?”

With a course of agreement, the teams split up into magical, medical, and science to brainstorm. There would need to be a lot of cross talk, and some like Raven and MM would jump between a few groups, but it was a place to start. Dick would play leader. At least it was a roll he was well used to.

Bruce slowed his steps to hang back from the science group and walk with Dick. “You care about him.”

“Danny? Yeah. Wally developed quite a crush on him, which I get. He’s kind, smart, funny—lots of things. We’re going to go on some dates once Wally’s solid enough to do so,” Dick said. “I don’t know if I’m gone like Wally, I’ve been more focused on getting him back, but that’s what dating is for, right?”

Bruce hummed in agreement. “But?”

Dick sighed. “But he has to survive, and I’m worried about that. There’s also some things that the Titans or the JL need to look into about ghosts. Danny has been through some shit and that’s with him only alluding to it as he tried to brush it off. I don’t know, I just… Wally has been isolated for months. Danny has anxiety about being a lab rat and for this to work we have to make him into one. I’m worried about both of them coming out of this aright.”

“You’ll be there for them,” Bruce said.

“Of course, but will I be enough?”

Bruce was silent for a bit, watching the group in front of them. “Maybe not. But the Titans are there too. As are the Wests. As your family is.”

Dick couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah, you going to explain polyamory to Damian?”

“I’ll make Tim do it.”

Dick snorted. “You just want to make Tim realize his own bullshit.”

Bruce just smiled that Bat smile of his and increased his pace to catch up with the rest of the group.

#hopefully this part isn't too boring #dp x dc #danny/dick/wally #thodf

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levigarden999 · 2 days ago

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dumb!bakugo x reader °❀.ೃ࿔*

theme : you’re crushing on bakugo, but he just doesn’t get it ♡︎

you’ve been crushing on bakugo for months now, while mina and ochacha both have questioned your mental sanity after you told them about this. you understand where they’re coming from though – bakugo isn’t exactly the brightest or the most charming guy out there. but you just can’t help yourself.

often you try to follow bakugo around and have casual chat with him, even subtly flirt with him. however, even though how straight forward you try to be with your flirting, it just seems like this guy is completely clueless about the fact someone could be interested in him like that.

one time – no, for the millionth time – you followed him after another training session. he was walking with kirishima next to him, but you quickly caught up to them. ”kats, hey!” you exclaimed and touched his shoulder gently. you were blushing and your heart was pounding at the sight of his bare, round, muscular shoulders under the tanktop.

”what, extra?” he sighed and didn’t even bother to look at you, as if he was fed up with your antics.

”um, i-, i was just wondering, you wanna hit the gym tomorrow with me?” you asked. kirishima was snickering next to him, obviously realizing what was going on here.

bakugo turned his head to you, a shocked look on his face. as if you had done something illegal, asking such things from him.

”huh?! why are you even asking that? of course not! i prefer going alone, you idiot!”

yup. why did you even like him?

you often also tried to sit with him at lunch and 'accidentally' have physical contact with him. today you had abandoned mina and you were glued to katsuki’s side in the cafeteria, your knees subtly touching. he was sitting at the edge of the bench, so he had nowhere to move.

”have you heard about a concept called personal space? why are you acting like that?” he asked through gritted teeth, those red eyes piercing through you.

”i can sit wherever i want” you said back and held your head high, not moving an inch.

he rolled his eyes. ”ugh. brat.”

kirishima was sharper than bakugo (not that it required much intelligence to notice your feelings for him) so he easily noticed the way you got flustered wherever you were near katsuki. the way you held back your smirk whenever his shirt raised to show a teasing amount of his abs, or the way you blushed every time katsuki said a word to you.

”have you really not noticed?” kirishima asked bakugo one night when they were alone in the common room.

”yes, i’ve noticed she’s gone insane or something. such a nuisance” bakugo hissed and crossed his arms, referring to the fact how much you had been clinging to him recently. kirishima laughed.

”no, idiot. she has a crush on you. are you seriously that blind?”

bakugo’s eyes widened and a grimace appeared on his lips.

”huh?!” he snapped, eyebrows furrowed.

”yup. dude, you’re so slow.”

after that conversation, bakugo looked at you differently. he started to reasses the situations and moments you two had had together, and he quickly understood that kirishima was right. there was no other possible explanation to the way how desperately you were acting around him.

since then, he had been a little, a little, nicer to you. he didn’t yell or snap at you anymore – if he was annoyed, he merely grumbled something under his breath and crossed his arms like a petulant child.

he started to notice you were actually quite… good looking. the way your eyes sparkled with something innocent, something sweet every time you looked at him. the way your outfits during practice always hugged your body perfectly, the way you were so determined to be the best hero out there.

after weeks with his conversation with kirishima, bakugo became the flustered one around you.

you were blunter and more straight forward now since you realized he was finally catching on. your flirty smirks and seductive words about his appearance and the subtle touches to his hair and face made him feel like a little boy who had no idea how to act around a girl.

bakugo found a new attribute about himself that he didn’t like that much – blushing. it was as if he blushed every time you spoke to him and he hated the way he felt so awkward and helpless with you smoothly flirting with him.

however, he also loved it. he was curious yet also a little scared to see where this would eventually lead.

❀ lmk if you're interested in a part two / small series

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harrywavycurly · 3 days ago

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Delicate: Temporary

Masterlist: Here

CW: language, smut (oral m and f reviving, masturbating, unprotected sex and fingering), explicit dirty talk (Harry is a freak for his bestie we already know), size kink and a small dash of angst.

A/N: Sorry in advance but just remember there is still one part left and thank you all so much for the love on this little mini series, yall are the best and I hope you enjoy!!🌟

Word Count: 9.7K

Tag List: @masochistfork @dipmeinhoneyh @sunshinemoonsposts @sweetmoonlove0214 @maudie-duan @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @blckburd @triski73 @prettygurl-2009 @hopefullimaginer123 @somewiseguy @emmie2308 @delanie881dlover13 @frankyrose7 @matildasatellite @run-for-the-hills @mema10 @indierockgirrl @mads3502 @robinsue87 @finelineryy @spinninc @angeldavis777 @swiftmendeshoran @sassamanda77

Summary: Harry goes out of town for a week and things start to feel different🌟

“Fuck fuck-shit.” Harry pants as his grip in your hair tightens, hips bucking causing the tip of his cock to nudge the back of your throat. Your hand firmly wrapped around what you can’t fit in your mouth as you moan around his thick shaft. “That’s it muffin-shit yes just like that-oh fuck.”

He looks down at you on your knees while he’s standing near the foot of your bed, having surprised him by tugging his jeans to his ankles and wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock after coming home from taking you out for a nice dinner that included flowers and a little gift when he came to your door to pick you up. Your eyes are watery and you have drool dribbling down your chin as you hold his hip with the hand that’s not wrapped around his thick shaft and right now to Harry you look like an actual dream, not that he’d ever admit he’s dreamt about fucking his cock down your throat before. When he feels you moan around him as your hand slides off his hip he lets out a few deep groans but when he glances back down at you that’s when he notices your hand has disappeared under your skirt.

“Hands muffin.” His voice is that mixture of stern and gentle that would have your panties soaked, if you were wearing any as you remove your hand and place it back on Harry’s hip just as he thrusts his cock deeper down your throat making you gag just a bit before pulling off him to catch your breath. “I’ll take care of you don’t worry.” He gives you a smile as his hand that’s not in your hair reaches down and wipes some of the drool off your chin. “Just let me fuck this pretty little mouth first okay?”

“Okay.” You say breathlessly before you swipe your tongue over his leaking tip making his eyes snap shut and a deep moan to slip past his lips.

“Feels so fucking good.” He lets out a groan as you take him as deep as you can, his hand in your hair keeping you still so he can pull his cock out so just his tip is wrapped around your plush lips before he pushes it back in with a gentle thrust of his hips. “Fuck muffin gonna come-fuck fuck.” His hips give a few harsh thrusts making him hit the back of your throat, your low moans vibrating against his shaft make him let out a choked moan of your name as his hips still and he’s shooting his warm load down your throat. The moan you let out around his cock has his eyes rolling back as your mouth and hand work him through his orgasm until he’s gently pulling you off by the loose grip he has in your hair.

“Such a messy little muffin.” He coos as his hands cup your face, wiping the few tears off your cheeks with his thumbs. “Did so good.” He praises you with a smile as his hands slide down to the side of your neck. “Always make me feel so good so now it’s your turn.” He watches your lips curve upward as he takes a step back, effectively kicking his jeans and boxers off before helping you up off your knees.

“What do you want hmm?” He asks as his hands land at the waistband of your skirt. “Want to fuck my fingers until you’re a soaking wet mess that I’ll just clean up with my tongue?” You’re practically shaking with a deep rooted need for the man that’s staring at you like he wants to devour you as he unzips your skirt letting it drop to your feet. “Fuck you’re so pretty.” He says with a deep sigh as his eyes roam over your body, his lips press against yours in a hungry kiss as his hands roughly grip your hips.

“Need you.” You whine when he pulls away and spins you around so your back is against his chest. “Please Harry.” The way your voice turns all soft with a slight whininess to it when you beg for him to touch you has quickly become one of Harry’s favorite sounds.

“I know what you need muffin don’t worry.” He leans down and places his lips on your neck as he urges you to take the few steps forwards to your bed. “Gonna take care of you.” He promises as he places his hands on your hips as you lean forward on your knees so your face is pressed against your soft sheets and your ass is up towards him.

“Oh muffin you’re a mess.” You let out a whine as he slides his hands over your ass, your glistening pussy on display for him as he steadies himself behind you on his knees. “You liked having my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours didn’t you? Fuck-you’re practically dripping.” You just moan and nod your head in response as he teases your soaked entrance with his middle finger while his thumb finds your swollen bundle of nerves. “Shit you’re already squeezing around me and it’s just the first one.” He has to close his eyes for a moment as your warm wet walls clench around his middle finger, sending a shot of arousal straight to his cock.

“M-more Harry-oh please please.” Your words are muffled by your sheets but Harry knows what you need, he always seems to know what you need especially when it comes to your body, ever since he started paying your rent and buying you random gifts almost a month ago, he’s come to be very familiar with your moans and whines and what exactly they mean.

“There you go.” He adds two more fingers into your wetness, thrusting them into you at a pace that has you pressing back to meet his slow thrusts, feeling a very familiar pool of pleasure already starting to build low in your belly. “That’s it muffin feel how full you get when you fuck my fingers? Just think how you’ll feel when you finally get my cock tucked inside your tight little cunt-fuck it’s gonna feel so good.” Your eyes roll back and your hands grip your sheets at his filthy words as Harry reaches up to hold onto one of your hips as his thumb increases its pressure on your clit making you shudder and clench around him.

“Faster-oh oh god.” He takes your request and quickens his pace making your room be filled with the wet sounds of you fucking yourself on his fingers, pressing yourself back against his hand until the heal of his palm is tucked against you, the cool metal of the rings on his fingers a pleasant sensation as they disappear inside you.

“Oh that’s the spot isn’t it muffin-fuck you’re squeezing so tight just let go-that’s it make a mess all over my hand.” Your orgasm hits you hard and quickly making your hips press down on his hand in a sloppy but determined pace, his fingers curving inside you to hit that spot that has you seeing stars as you clench around him as you soak his fingers and his hand. “God I love how messy you are.” He moans as he looks down and watches your arousal drip down the back of your thighs when he slides his fingers out of you.

“Harry want-want your mouth.” He can’t help but grin as you pant out what you want from him, and Harry hasn’t ever enjoyed telling you no so he happily leans over and kisses your back over your top before he grabs your hips to help scoot you down the bed so he can stand at the end of it, your ass still up and your dripping center waiting for him to dive his tongue into.

“Got one more for me muffin?” He teases as he grips your hips before leaning in and licking up your soaked folds to your swollen clit, giving it a flick with his tongue.

“Harry!” You cry out his name when he shoves his tongue into your wet pussy, swirling it around while his hands slide down grabbing and kneading the soft flesh of your ass.

“I could lick your sweet pussy all day and never get enough of it.” His breath is hot against your center as he lets out a groan of pleasure when he slips his tongue back inside and starts licking you up and down, he drops a hand down to wrap around his hardening cock giving himself a few slow pumps not wanting to get too close until he feels you soaking his tongue and his chin.

“Oh god oh god oh-oh god.” Your body shudders as your hips grind down onto his tongue, a wave of pleasure crashing down on you like a tidal wave. “Harry harry-oh god Harry.” You would normally feel slightly embarrassed by how whiny and loud you’re chanting his name but Harry has a way of making you forget about anything other than how good you feel as you chase your second release of the evening. You works your hips to meet the rhythm of his tongue as he fucks it into you desperate to have you come undone on his tongue.

You let out a loud cry as you climax, not as intense as the first one but still strong enough to leave you breathless and your mind in a blissful haze, he laps up your release with his tongue. His low moan vibrating against your core making you grip the sheets so tight your knuckles turn white as Harry helps you ride it out with slow licks and a firm grip on your ass.

“So good-you taste so good.” He mumbles as he gives your center one last swipe with his tongue before he soothingly rubs his hands over your hips and down the side of your thighs. “Roll over for me muffin I wanna see that pretty face.” He helps you roll onto your back, he watches your chest rise and fall rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “There she is.” He says with a smile as you spread your legs for him to stand between.

“I’m gonna miss you.” You say softly as you reach your hands up to grab at Harry’s face. “Are you gonna miss me?” You ask as Harry leans over you so he can playfully bump your nose with his before capturing your lips in a kiss that starts off sweet and gentle but then as he reaches down and grips your knee so he can hike your leg over his hip, it turns heated and desperate as he rolls his hips into you letting you feel his hard cock pressed against your wet pussy. His tongue slips past your lips as your hands tangle in his hair as your legs wrap around him trying to pull him in closer letting the tip of his cock poke at your entrance.

“You know-fuck- I’m gonna miss you.” He says between pants when he pulls away from your kiss swollen lips. “Jesus Christ muffin you’re gonna kill me.” You let out a filthy moan when Harry grips his shaft and drags the leaky tip of his cock up and down your pussy lips.

“Please give it to me.” You beg as he pumps himself a few times, letting you feel his tip throb against you making your back arch and your pussy clench around nothing. “Want your cock Harry please.”

“Muffin.” He drags your petname out as he tries to keep himself from spilling all over your pretty cunt with how much you’re begging for him to fuck his cock into you. “Not tonight-when I get back you can have my cock okay? I’ll give it to you as many times as you want.” He tells you making your eyes get watery and a pout to take over your face causing Harry to let out a soft sigh.

“Please-just-just the tip? I can handle that.” You try to negotiate as Harry ruts his hips up against you letting his shaft rub against your sensitive clit earning him a moan.

“I know you better than that muffin.” He says with a deep groan as he gives himself a slow teasing pump with his hand. “You’ll want more than just the tip and you’re already worn out-don’t want the first time you feel my thick cock being stuffed inside your tight pussy to be when you’re half asleep.” He explains as he continues to give his cock slow strokes.

“Please Harry.” It’s the way you say his name that has him cursing under his breath and closing his eyes trying to stop himself from just pushing into you and fucking you into the mattress until you’re a withering mess underneath him. But he knows by the way your eyes are hooded and your cheeks are flushed with a dusting of light pink your legs are still shaking as they squeeze around his hips that you’re still not fully recovered from the two orgasms he just worked out of you with his fingers and his tongue.

“Don’t be greedy muffin.” He tells you as he leans over, pushing your top up so he can place open mouthed kisses to your chest. “Got my fingers and my tongue tonight-you’ll get my cock when I get back in a week- I promise you won’t even have to beg me for it.” His voice is gentle and soothing but with a hint of an edge to it that tells you he’s not going to give in, you just let out a breathy sigh making him smile against your skin before he drags his tongue over and around your nipple.

“Want you to come again.” You say with a soft gasp when Harry gently nips and sucks at your nipple. “Can feel how hard you are.” Your back arches as your hands tangle themselves in Harry’s hair when he moves over to your other breast while he slides his leaking tip up and down the front of your pussy.

“It’s all because of you.” He mumbles against the soft skin of your chest. “Gonna come all over this pretty pussy.” He says with a moan as he begins to give his shaft more firm and quick strokes, his hips jerking as he fucks his cock into his hand. He feels your hands give his hair a harsh tug making him groan in pleasure as his orgasm hits him.

“It’s all mine isn’t it? No one else makes a mess on this tight cunt but me isn’t that right muffin?” You let out a gasp when you feel his warm load paint the front of your pussy lips.

“Yes Harry- it’s all yours.” You say with a gasp as your hands drop from his hair as he leans back and works himself through it, a few drops landing on your clit and lower tummy.

“That’s right-s’all mine.” He growls as he rides out his high, he releases his now softening cock and looks down between your thighs, reaching out with his middle and index finger he smears his release around your entrance before slipping his fingers inside your weepy little hole.

“Harry.” You flinch away from him when his thumb does a few gentle circles on your clit, still feeling sensitive. “T-too much.” You whine making Harry slide his fingers out of your wetness.

“M’sorry muffin.” He tells you sweetly as he leans down and kisses your hips and then your tummy as you close your eyes and let out a sigh. “You okay?” He asks as he leans over you, a hand on each side of your head, when you just nod Harry can’t help but chuckle because he can tell how exhausted you are.

“I’m good.” You answer with your eyes still closed, Harry smiles as he leans down to nudge the tip of his nose against yours playfully.

“You gonna let me clean you up or are you going to be a little pouty mess about it?” He asks as his lips find your jaw, giving it a soft little pecks as his lips travel down to the side of your neck.

“Don’t need to be cleaned up.” You tell him as he nips and sucks at what’s become his favorite place to leave little reminders of him for you to see throughout the week, happily replacing them with new little love marks whenever they start to fade away. “Want to have you on me all night.”

“While I adore what a filthy little muffin you are-you can’t sleep like this you’ll be all sticky and wake me up at three in the morning when you start to cry after banging your toe on that obnoxious dresser you have on the way to the bathroom.”

“It’s not obnoxious you just don’t watch where you’re walking.”

“Fine it’s not obnoxious it’s just hideous.”

“Don’t be rude.” Harry lets out a laugh as he stands up and slips his boxers back on. “I don’t want to get up.” You tell him with a pout as you finally open your eyes, Harry just nods as he turns to walk towards your bathroom.

“That’s fine just lay there like the princess you are and I’ll do all the work like usual.” He jokes making you glare at the back of his head before he disappears into your small bathroom. When he walks out a few minutes later he has a shirt in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other.

“Is that your shirt?” You question with a raised brow as you sit up onto your elbows. Harry just nods as he places it down on the bed next to your leg as he kneels down so he can begin gently wiping the warm cloth between your thighs, giving you soft kisses to the skin of your inner thighs when he hears you let out a small hiss when he runs the cloth over your sensitive button.

“God you’re gorgeous.” He says with a sigh as he stands up and looks you in your eyes making you blush and look away from him. He smiles as he tosses the damp cloth into your dirty clothes bin by the door of your bathroom.

“Thank you.” You mumble as you sit up so you can take your top off, handing it to Harry as you grab the soft worn out band shirt that was in your clothes hamper, knowing you would want to sleep in something that smelled like him, a little thing he’s noticed you tend to do whenever the two of you stay the night with one another.

“What are you thanking me for? Calling you gorgeous? Dinner? The multiple orgasms you’ve gotten tonight?”

“Don’t make me kick you out of my bed and force you to sleep on the couch.” You threaten as he climbs into bed. “Because I’ve done it before so we both know I’m serious.”

“Oh you kicked me out a year ago because I kept shoving my feet between your legs which I still think was extremely rude because you’re the one who’s heat wasn’t working properly so you can’t blame me for seeking you out for some warmth.” He argues as you immediately snuggle into his side once he’s laying down, your cheek pressed against his bare chest and his arm lazily wrapped around you so he can rub his hand up and down your back in a soothing motion.

“I don’t get how your feet are so cold when the rest of you is like a furnace.”

“Well feel free to use me for all your warming up needs next time your heat goes out.” You laugh as his hand gives your side a playful tickle. “Wish you could come with me.” He says a few minutes later, you let out a sigh as you tilt your head so you can look at his face, silently appreciating the view of his jawline and the slight stubble from not having shaved the past few days.

“I know but I really did promise Amelia to hang out for a few days while she’s in town. Haven’t gotten to see her in months and she’s-”

“Hey it’s okay I understand.” He softly hushes you with a few kiss to your forehead and a reassuring smile as he looks down at you. “Just gonna miss you that’s all.” You feel a weird fluttering in your tummy as his words hit your ears, and it’s nothing he hasn’t said to you before when you’ve been unable to accompany him on trips but something about how he’s looking at you right now as he says it has your head spinning just a bit.

“I’m going to miss you too.” You mumble into his chest as you close your eyes.

“Goodnight love.” He whispers softly as he leans down to places a kiss to the top of your head when he looks and sees you’ve fallen asleep to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

The sound of your soft whimpers and delicate moans coming through the phone fill Harry’s New York bedroom, having been gone for five days on a spur of the moment business trip Jeff set up. When you told Harry you couldn’t go he didn’t try to beg you to change your mind, he might’ve mentioned how he wished you could come but while he may be paying for your life at the moment that doesn’t make him think he controls you and can force you to do things with him. But he’s not going to lie and say he wasn’t bummed, you’re his bestfriend and he enjoys spending time with you, that hasn’t changed since he started taking on a new role in your life, if anything it’s made him crave your company in more ways than one but that’s normal for how close the two of you are or at least that’s what he tells himself.

He knows this time is different than how he normally feels when he’s missing you because he’s been waking up painfully hard every morning and can only seem to get himself off to the the thought of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt or how your lips feel wrapped around his cock. He misses the way you feel when you fall apart for him, how his name sounds when it’s tumbling from your mouth like a prayer, how smiley and cuddly you are after he cleans you up and tucks you into bed. These are things he knows he shouldn’t be missing about you, but he can’t help it.

Now luckily for him he can tell by the way you’re practically humping your pillow with a hand between your thighs as you moan his name that you miss him too, miss the blissful pleasure that only he can bring you. It might be a little sick for him to get a small ounce of satisfaction watching you struggle to find relief without his help, but he can’t really control how his cock stiffens in his hand as he watches you fuck yourself and let out tiny moans and the prettiest groans of frustration as you grind your hips into the pillow.

“Look at you muffin.” His voice is thick with lust as he watches you try so hard to find relief, he knows you’re struggling to finish as you let out a whiny groan. “You look so good fucking those pretty little fingers-can hear how wet you are.” He tries his best to gently encourage you as his hand lazily strokes his cock, giving it a firm squeeze at the base when he hears you moan his name.

“Not enough.” You whine as your hips buck into your hand, your legs straddling your pillow that Harry uses when he sleeps over so it still smells like him, three fingers tucked inside your soaked pussy and your thumb circling your clit trying to reach your release but nothing is working. Your eyes are watering and you’re on the brink of begging Harry to come home early because you need him, and the thing is you know if you asked him to he would because you’re his bestfriend and he’ll do anything you ask, even if what you’re asking for is to be fucked by his fingers so you can finally feel relief.

“Need more-need you.” You pant as you close your eyes and increase the pressure on your clit in hopes it’ll make the pressure that’s building in your lower tummy reach it’s delicious end and have you tumbling into a pool of blissful pleasure.

“Two days muffin and you can have me.” He reminds you in a soft tone, he lets a smile take over his face as you keep your eyes closed while your hips roll into your hand that’s tucked between your pillow and your center. “Been thinking of how you looked on my lap right before I left-looked so pretty when you made a mess on my jeans.” You let out a moan as the memory begins to replay in Harry’s mind.

“Gonna miss you.” You mumble into the crook of Harry’s neck as you straddle one of his thighs as the two of you sit on the plush leather couch he has in his living room. “Don’t want you to go.” Harry lets out a small chuckle as feels you roll your hips seeking some sort of friction on your swollen clit that not even half an hour ago was being sucking between Harry’s plump lips as you gripped the headboard while you rode his face until you came so hard you swear you saw stars.

“Yeah? Want me to stay here with you all the time huh? Never leave the house and just have you on my lap all day?” He asks as his hands fall to your hips, his thumbs rubbing at the skin poking out from where your shirt ends a little above the waistband of your soft shorts.

“Yes.” You say with a sigh as you rub your clothed center over his jean clad thigh. Your hands grip his shoulders as you roll your hips making a soft breathy moan roll off your tongue.

“Such a needy little muffin.” His voice is teasing but also soft as his hands guide your hips so you’re rubbing yourself up and down his thigh, creating friction where you need it the most. The little whine you let out has Harry’s cock hardening in his jeans but he doesn’t have time to worry about that, his driver due to pick him up for the airport in a little under ten minutes, he wants to make sure you get what you need from him before he has to leave.

His hands tighten their hold on your hips, he hears your breathing turn heavy as you find the perfect angle and begin rolling your hips into him in a determined rhythm. The pressure beginning to build in your tummy as you lean your head back and grind down onto his thigh more firmly. Harry takes the opportunity to lean in and place his lips on your jaw, kissing his way down to your neck as soft moans of pleasure fall from your open mouth as you chase your release.

“That’s it muffin take what you need.” He encourages softly as he nips at the spot below your ear, your hands tighten their hold on his shoulders as you quicken your pace. “So pretty making a mess on my thigh.” He feels your legs squeezing around his thigh as his name rolls off your tongue, he guides your movements as a surge of pleasure rolls through you.

“Harry I’m-” Your words get cut off by his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss, his mouth moves against yours as you firmly grind down onto him making him swallow down your moans as you climax and start to tremble as your release soaks through your shorts making a wet spot on his jeans.

“Harry.” Your voice whining his name brings him back to the moment, his eyes looking at you through the screen of his phone as his hand is firmly gripping his cock giving it a few quick pumps. “I-I wanna come so bad.” You let out a groan as you grind down into the pillow.

“I can tell you’re close muffin you just have to relax okay?” He watches your hips stutter their movements as you let out a few deep breaths trying to do what he tells you. “There you go now curve those fingers of yours-”

“Oh.” Harry smiles when your mouth parts as you curve your fingers as you thrust them into your warm center, he watches you work yourself closer to the edge as your hand that’s not tucked inside you reaches up and grabs the headboard so you can steady yourself while increasing the pace of your hips.

“That’s it muffin doin so good.” His hips buck as he thumbs over the tip of his leaking cock, your moans get louder as you apply more pressure to your clit as you fuck your fingers while your thighs start to shake as they straddle your pillow. “Such pretty moans-keep going wanna see you soak those fingers.”

“Wish it was-oh shit.” Your grip on the headboard tightens as the pace of your thrusts quickens. “Wish it was your cock.” Harry lets out a deep moan as he fucks his fist while listening to the sounds of your fingers pumping in and out of your wetness.

“Two days muffin and you can fuck yourself on my cock all you want-shit you’re gonna look so pretty bouncing on me-oh fuck gonna make me come just thinking about it.”

“Want you to fill me up-want your come Harry please.” Harry has to close his eyes as your words tumble from your mouth as you let out a moan that has him nearly spilling all over his hand.

“Oh fuck-whatever you want muffin-shit shit you can have whatever you want.” He says between moans as he opens his eyes just in time to see your eyes roll back as your hips start to get sloppy with their movements and your walls clench around your fingers. “That’s it ride it out muffin-fuck yourself through it nice and slow.”

“Harry want-want you to come.” You pant as you try to come down from your high. “Need you to come for me want to see your face when you fall apart just like you do when you make a mess all over my pussy-please Harry.” It’s your sweet voice telling him such filthy things that has his hips jerking uncontrollably and his moth falling open as he spills his load all over his hand and lower tummy.

“Jesus.” He lets out a sigh as his head leans back against his headboard. “You know just how to wear me out muffin.” He hears you giggle as you reach over to grab your phone that was perched on your nightstand for the best view.

“Tired already? I was hoping for round two.”

“Oh round two? From the girl who was struggling so hard to finish round one?”

“Harry Styles.” Your voice is laced with faux shock making him give you a playful smile. “That was rude.” You tell him with a dramatic pout as he grabs his phone and heads for the bathroom to clean himself up.

“Sorry muffin. Feel free to punish me when I get home.” He says with a wink making you roll your eyes as you roll onto your back, the pillow you were using pushed to the side. “Don’t get too comfortable you-”

“If you tell me I need to go take a shower I’m going to hang up on you.” You threaten as Harry places his phone on the counter next to his sink so he can wet a washcloth and wipe off his hand and stomach. “Oh guess what.”

“What? You bought that dress you were drooling over in that little boutique the other day?”

“Well yes I did buy that while shopping with Amelia but that’s not what I want to tell you.” He raises an eyebrow as he finishes washing his hands, he can tell it’s something sort of big as he notices your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, something you only tend to do when you’re feeling nervous.

“What is it love?”

“I have a job interview next week.” Now Harry was semi prepared for you to tell him a lot of things, but informing him of a job interview wasn’t one of them. He has to check his face as he feels his eyebrows furrow and his lips roll together, an unwelcome feeling he can’t quite put his finger on beginning to form deep in his chest.

“Really? That’s great.” He says with as much excitement he can muster and a smile he knows doesn’t reach his eyes, but he has a feeling you’re just taking his mild reaction as him being tired since it’s near midnight for him in New York and he will happily play into that if it helps you not ask questions.

“Will you come with me to find an outfit to wear?” He nods his head as he looks around for his boxers he had on before your nightly FaceTime call that you made him agree to before he left.

“Of course.” He answers quickly, probably a little too quickly but you don’t seem to notice instead just grinning at him as he slips his boxers back on.

“Perfect.” He smiles as he sees you moving to get off your bed and head into your bathroom. “I’m going to go take a bath-”

“Oh can I watch?” You roll your eyes as he wiggles his eyebrows at you, doing his part in making sure you don’t sense a single ounce of weirdness coming from his side of the phone.

“Not tonight.” You tease making him laugh as he walks back into his bedroom. “I’ll talk to you later okay? If you fall asleep before I’m done then goodnight and I can’t wait to see you when you get home.”

“Two days.” He reminds you for what feels like the hundredth time today but he can’t help it, he’s excited to get back home. “Have a nice bath love, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye Harry.” You blow him a kiss that he dramatically catches and places on his cheek before you wave goodbye and end the call.

“What the fuck.” He groans as he tosses his phone onto the bed and runs a hand over his face. “She’s your bestfriend. Just your bestfriend. You need to be happy for her.” He tells himself as he lays in bed, his back against the soft sheets and plush pillow. “This was always temporary.” He says with a deep sigh, he feels as if his heart weighs ten times its usual amount as it sinks to the bottom of his chest.

“Just temporary.” He mumbles as he tries to shake off the weird feelings that are creeping up on him.

Harry can’t even hold back the grin that takes over his face as he lets himself into your apartment, the sun is barely beginning to rise making a soft glow peek through the curtains in your room. He makes sure to make as little noise as possible placing his duffle bag down near your bedroom door, slipping his jeans and t shirt off with ease before he climbs into bed. You’re cuddling a pillow close to your chest and his heart swells when he sees you’re wearing one of the t shirts he left you, wanting to make sure you had things of his for when you missed him while he was gone. His hand gently slides over your hip making you flinch when he pulls you into his chest.

“S’just me.” He whispers in your ear when you let out a sleepy gasp, your eyes barely open as you release your hold on your pillow so you can turn around in his arms.

“What’re you doing here?” Your words are jumbled together as you wrap yourself around him, almost as if you don’t really believe he’s actually here and not still across the country like he’s supposed to be for another day.

“Missed you.” He mumbles into your hair as he pulls you closer, having missed the warmth of your body pressed against his. “Got an earlier flight.” He answers having decided that if this whole thing between the two of you really is temporary then he’s not going to let a moment of it go to waste, so he got on the earliest flight he could to come back home, to come back to you.

“Missed you too.” He smiles as you rest your cheek on his chest when he lays on his back, his hands running up and down your back making you let out a soft sigh. “Missed your hands.” You mumble as your hand rests on his chest.

“Yeah? Just my hands?” He asks in a hushed tone as he lets his hand roam further down your back, softly grabbing at your ass making a faint gasp leave your lips.

“Harry.” Your voice is full of a need that he hasn’t heard before as you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“I’m right here muffin.” He tells you softly as his hand travels under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up until it’s over the roundness of your ass making him let out a soft moan when he notices you’re only wearing his shirt and nothing else. “Tell me what you need.” He says as he moves so he’s hovering over you, a smile taking over his face when you reach up and run your hands through his hair.

“I just need you.” You answer as you pull him down for a kiss, your arms loosely wrap around his neck as his lips lazily move against yours not feeling the need to rush anything. He slips his tongue past your lips and feels you pull his down closer as he explores your mouth with his tongue. It’s not until you moan into his mouth that he realizes his hips are rolling his clothed cock against your core. When he pulls away he reaches a hand down between your thighs and lets out throaty groan when he slides his index finger through your slick folds.

“Missed how wet you get for me.” Your hands grip the tops of his shoulders when he slides his finger into your wetness. “Oh muffin.” He moans as he pumps his thick digit in and out of you slowly a few times before pulling it out and bringing it to his lips so he can get a quick taste. “Fuck I need more-can I get a proper taste of you?”

“Yes yes.” You pant as he ruts his hips into you making his hard cock nudge at your clit. Harry leans down and kisses you down the middle of your chest over your shirt until he’s placing soft kisses to your tummy as he lowers himself between your thighs, tossing your comforter to the end of the bed so he has all the access to you he needs. “Oh god.” You moan as Harry dips his middle and index finger into you, his eyes lock on yours as he takes his time pumping his fingers into you, earning him soft moans and a gasp when he curves them just right so he’s hitting that spot that has your hips bucking to meet his thrusts.

“God I missed your sweet little pussy.” He says with a groan as he slides his fingers out of you, collecting your arousal on them before he sucks them clean. “Oh fuck.” He moans as he slowly leans down and licks a stripe up the front of your pussy before dipping the tip of his tongue inside your tight hole.

“Missed your tongue-oh god Harry.” One of your hands tangles in his hair while the other one grips at your sheets as he slowly fucks his tongue into you, his thumb rubbing teasingly slow circles on your clit as he swirls his tongue inside you.

“So good-shit.” His hips roll into the mattress as the sound of your breathy moans go straight to his hardening cock.

“Want your-oh fuck Harry I want your cock.” You pant as Harry’s tongue begins to fuck into you a little faster, your grip in his hair loosening as your hips roll up to meet the pace of his tongue. “Wanna come on your cock.” You tell him with a whiney moan that has Harry pulling away from your glistening cunt, his eyes are a swirling mixture of lust and something else as he looks up at you.

“You sure muffin?” He asks softly as his your hand releases its grip on his hair, his hands resting on your hips as his lips place soft kisses to the inside of your thighs.

“Yes-yes please want your cock.” He smiles against your soft skin of your thigh, giving your pussy one last swipe of his tongue earning him a moan as he hovers above you.

“How do you want me?” He asks as he leans down and drags his lips across your jaw, your hands go to the waistband of his boxers making Harry close his eyes as you push them down until his cock springs free and he kicks them off making them land on the floor.

“Inside me.” You answer making a soft chuckle leave Harry’s lips as he kisses down your neck. “I want you inside me-just you.” You mumble as your hand wraps around his shaft giving him a few slow pumps.

“Muffin what does that-” his question gets lost in his throat as you wrap a leg over his hip and pull him closer to you so his tip is right at your entrance.

“Please Harry.” Harry has to bite down on his bottom lip and close his eyes as you whisper in his ear. “Wanna feel you.” You pant making him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck while your hands grab onto his arms when he slowly pushes the tip of his thick cock into your soaked cunt.

“Holy shit.” He groans as he pushes deeper into you feeling your walls clench and throb around him, he pauses letting you adjust to him as your hands grab at his back at how overwhelming it feels to finally have his thick cock inside you. “Gotta relax for me muffin.” His voice is strained but still soft as he kisses up your neck and up to your jaw.

“So good.” He smiles as he picks his head up so he can look at your face as he slowly pushes the rest of his cock into you until you’re full of him.

“I knew you’d feel good but fuck-you feel like heaven.” He doesn’t move as he rests his forehead against yours needing a moment to take in just how good it feels to be tucked up deep inside of you. His lips find yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless as he rolls his hips into yours causing the tip of his cock to nudge a spot deep inside you that makes you arch into him as a shockwave of pleasure zips through you all the way down to your toes.

“Oh god Harry.” You moan as Harry’s hips finds a pace that has your nails digging into his back at how slow and languid his thrusts are. He pulls back until just his tip is inside your snug pussy and then slowly pushes back in, making your eyes close at how you can feel every inch of his thick cock as he pushes inside you.

“Takin me so well muffin like your pussy was made for me.” He says with a groan as his hips quicken their pace just enough to get your hands to drop to grab the sheets. “Fuck you’re soaking my cock.” You let out a gasp when he leans back gently grabbing one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder as he looks down where the two of you are connected, letting out a deep moan as he watches his cock disappear into your tight hole.

“So deep-oh fuck.” You say between soft moans.

“You like how deep I can get like this muffin?” He asks as he reaches down and presses his thumb over your swollen clit making your hips jolt up to meet his thrusts as you cry out his name. “Oh shit-that’s it fuck you hear that? Hear me making your sweet little cunt a soaked mess with my cock?” The sounds coming from your bedroom is music to Harry’s ears as he quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming more determined as he pulls all the way out just to push back into you making the wet sounds of his cock fucking into your pussy fill the room.

“Oh god oh shit-oh shit oh god.” Your moans get louder with each thrust of Harry’s hips and tight circle his thumb rubs over your clit. “Harry-oh fuck Harry- oh god Harry.”

“That’s it baby let your annoying neighbors know who’s making you feel this good.” The petname rolls off his tongue without his permission, but instead of ruining the moment it only seems to make you clench around him causing him to let out a choked moan as your walls pulse around his thick shaft.

“Don’t stop-oh yes yes right there Harry-fuck.” He begins thrusting into you harder now as feels how close you are to coming undone on his cock.

“Wanna be buried deep in this pussy all day-shit baby you feel too good wrapped around me like this.” He watches as you bring your hands up and grab your breasts as your back arches. “Oh shit-fuck never gonna leave you again just wanna fuck my big cock into this tight cunt all the time.”

“God yes- oh you’re so big Harry.”

“Yeah you like my big cock don’t you baby?”

“Yes yes love it-oh I’m gonna come-oh oh.”

“That’s it baby come all over me.” He says between harsh thrusts that have the tip of his cock nudging that sweet spot inside of you that makes yours eyes snap shut and your mouth to fall open. “Fuck you’re so pretty when you come-shit can feel you squeezing me-oh fuck.” You cry out his name over and over as your release hits you like a ton of bricks with how intense it is, you grab your breast and arch your back off the bed as you soak Harry’s cock making his eyes practically roll into the back of his head at how good it feels when you start to pulse and tighten around his cock.

“So good for me baby you’re doin so good taking my cock so well.” He praises you as he lightens the pressure his thumb has on your clit as he fucks you through your orgasm, his own release not far behind as he watches your chest rise and fall rapidly trying to catch your breath. “Shit shit-fuck baby I’m so close.” He tells you with a deep moan, your wet tight walls clench around him as your hips rise to meet his thrusts that have become harder and more determined as he chases his release.

“Fill me up Harry want to be stuffed full of you.” You pant as he fucks into you, when his eyes find yours he swears he could’ve bursted right then and there with how angelic you look as the soft morning light casts a soft glow to your face, you give him a smile and a nod that answers his silent question and that’s all it takes.

“Jesus-fuck.” His head falls back as his thrusts turn sloppy, his hip gives you one last harsh thrust plunging his cock as deep inside you as it can go before he feels his abs tighten and his warm load is being shot deep inside your tight pussy, your name mixed with a few curse words fall from his lips as he slowly fucks himself through his own release. “Gonna fill you up baby-stuff you full of my come until it’s dripping out of your sweet little hole.” His words have you moaning as he slowly pulls out and then pushes back, the squelching sound of him pushing back inside you make his cock twitch as your pussy squeezes around him and drains him of every last drop he has.

“Holy fuck.” You try to catch your breath as Harry places your leg back on the bed and leans over you, still tucked inside you and presses his lips to yours for a short but sweet kiss.

“You okay?” He asks checking on you once he pulls away, you give him a sleepy grin as you nod and place your hands on the sides of his face.

“I’m amazing.” You tell him making him grin as he leans down to place a kiss to your forehead.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He says as he slowly pulls out of you, he kisses your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you let out little whines at the emptiness you feel without him deep inside you. “S’okay baby we have all day-can have me as many times as you want.” He reminds you between little pecks to your lips making you smile as he moves to lay down beside you.

“M’not getting up to shower.” You tell him with as much sternness as you can making him have to hold back a laugh.

“We’ll do that after we take a little nap okay? Know you’re tired.” He reassures you with little kisses to the side of your face.

“You came home early.” You mumble into his chest as you cuddle into his side, Harry just lets out a soft chuckle as he reaches down to grab the blankets.

“I did.” He says as he pulls the covers up to your chest. “Missed you too much to stay one more day.” He explains making you smile against him as he wraps an arm around you.

“Missed you a lot.” You tell him as you close your eyes. “Next time I’ll go with you.” He smiles at how jumbled up your words get when you’re sleepy, he just pulls you closer into his side and places a kiss to the top of your head, it’s not long that he finds himself drifting off to sleep to the soft sounds of your breathing and your warm hand on his chest holding onto him almost as if you’re worried he’s going to slip away while you sleep.

“Is this what they call girl dinner?” Harry asks in amusement as he watches you pick up your martini to take a sip after just shoving a handful of fries into your mouth. “Because if it is then I can see why it’s so popular I mean who doesn’t love a dirty martini with a side of truffle fries?” You send him a playful glare as you swallow down a sip of your drink before placing it back on the table.

“Normally I also get a salad but wasn’t feeling it tonight.” You tell him with a shrug as you lean back into the booth the two of you are sitting across from each other in that’s tucked away in the corner of a restaurant Harry brought you to after taking you shopping for a new outfit for your job interview next week.

“What do you want to do after this nutritious meal? Fancy a walk around that park with the mean ducks and that goose who likes to nip at your shoelaces?” He asks as his hand finds yours that’s resting on the table, you smile as he mindlessly traces little circles on your palm before interlocking his fingers with yours. “Because I think it’s a perfect night for a walk in the park.” He adds as he brings your hand up to his lips so he can kiss at your knuckles.

“We can do that.”

“Perfect it’s-”

“Oh my god!” Harry’s head snaps in the direction of a loud shriek and he’s ready to tell whoever it is that he’s not in the mood to be bothered but then he sees it’s a woman who appears to know you, not him or if she does recognize him she’s keeping it very well hidden.

“Cindy? What-oh my god.” You all but match the woman’s greeting as she approaches the table, you quickly drop Harry’s hand as if it was burning you leaving it to fall into his lap as you turn your attention towards the person who is interrupting his dinner.

“I’m in town for a work thing I didn’t-” Cindy’s eyes scan the table and when they land on Harry he can’t even offer her a fake smile, no he just lets her have a tight lipped smile and a head nod making her cheeks get pink as if she can feel the annoyance radiating off of him. “oh where are my manners I can see you’re busy just call me-”

“Oh don’t be silly it’s just Harry.” Your voice is friendly and sweet making the words that just left your mouth seem to sting that much more as they hit Harry’s ears. “We are having a drink and some-”

“Fries? Talk about a well balanced meal.” Cindy says making you laugh as Harry’s jaw tightens and his hands are clasped together in his lap, not finding the current situation amusing in the slightest.

“Are you with anyone? You should join us-would that be okay?” When you finally turn to look at him Harry is already sliding out of the booth, you raise an eyebrow at him as he motions for your friend to take his seat.

“I’ll let you two catch up.” He tells you with a smile he knows you’ll be able to tell is forced. “Lovely meeting you Cindy.” He says as she slides into the booth across from you.

“Are you sure? You don’t-”

“I’ll talk to you later.” He is about to lean down and press his lips to yours in a kiss but he catches himself and it lands on the top of your head instead. “Have fun.” He whispers into your ear before standing up and giving the two of you a little wave as he turns to head towards the door.

“Is that your boyfriend?”

“Oh no-no no no he’s just a friend.” Harry’s heart feels like its being stabbed as each word leaves your mouth, having forgotten his phone at the table causing him to turn around and of course he would arrive just in time to hear them fall from your pretty lips.

“Sorry forgot this.” He apologizes as he grabs his phone off the table, slipping it in his pocket and avoiding your eyes as they practically beg him to look in your direction. You know he heard you, you know it upset him by the way the corners of his mouth are turned downward in a almost hidden frown but she’s been friends with him for too long not to know the signs that he’s upset.

“He’s cute and seems nice.” Cindy states with a wiggle of her eyebrows once she’s sure he’s out of hearing range. You just let out an awkward laugh and shrug, not knowing how to tell her that Harry is way more than nice, he’s about as perfect as someone can be.

“Yeah he’s-he’s wonderful.” You tell her as you reach for your drink suddenly feeling as if your throat has gone completely dry.

Harry runs a hand through his hair as he walks towards the park the two of you were going to take a stroll through after dinner. Needing to clear his head before going back to your apartment to gather his things and head to his house for the night, he’s not ready to be alone in a house that oddly is beginning to feel less and less like his home and more like a temporary dwelling between his nights spent with you wrapped around him in your tiny apartment.

“Just Harry.” He mumbles to himself as he sits on a bench. “Just a friend.” He says with a sigh as he closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. “It’s all just temporary.” He knows he doesn’t have a valid reason to be upset, and it’s not that he’s upset with you it’s more so he’s upset that it’s taken him this long and this twist in your relationship for him to realize something.

“I’m just in love with her.” He says to himself with a heavy sigh, not sure what to do with his newly discovered feelings he does the only thing he can think of as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and hit call on the third person under his favorites.

“Hey H! What’s up mate?” Niall’s voice is happy and bubbly through the phone and the way it irritates him just further proves to Harry that he is in need of some cheering up or at least some distracting so he feels anything but miserable about the idea of being in love with you while you see him as just Harry your temporary sugar daddy but more importantly just a friend.

“You in town and fancy a night out?”

“Hell yeah let me get dressed an I’ll meet ya out.”

“Perfect I’ll send you my location.” With that Harry hangs up and heads for the pub him and Niall usually go to when both of them are in town and have the time for a few drinks. He knows this isn’t the healthiest way to deal with unwanted feelings but he figures is you’re getting to enjoy a few drinks with your friend then he should be able to do the same thing. Besides Niall will make sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself, or at least that’s what he hopes as he walks down the street towards the familiar pub.

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hellsquills · 2 days ago

Text

Reason To Believe

Man it struck me kinda funny Seemed kinda funny sir to me How at the end of every hard earned day People find some reason to believe

tw: drugs mention

Ford had been receiving mystery calls for a while. They weren't very common, but in the last seven years he had got over 50. They were all fairly similar: he would answer the phone introducing himself, then asking who was on the other side of the line, and then he'd hear some quick breathing and other assorted street noises. Whoever they were, they would always call from a phone booth, not a closed space like a house. Sometimes, especially at the beginning, Ford would wait a few moments to try to get the other person to talk; he never succeeded. Then, as time went on and he became busier with work, he would snap at the caller, demanding them to reveal themselves, because he had no time for stupid games. The worst part came later, when he was in contact with different institutions that were offering him grants and he would be forced to always pick up the phone and wait for an answer, just to be met with more sighing and silence. It was driving him crazy.

He had tried everything: he had waited patiently; he had talked into the phone in hopes the receiver would articulate a single word back; he had changed his phone number a few times and only shared them with scholars, his family and Fiddleford; he had threatened the mystery caller with calling the police, trying in vain to intimidate them... None of that ever worked. In the last few years, he simply settled for ignoring it. Not because he didn't want to know who it was, but merely because he didn't have time for another theory to solve. He had to focus on his work, and he made the stranger know just that.

“It's you again? Wonderful. Make sure you listen to me. If the next time you call I don't hear a word as soon as I pick up, I will track you down. I have the technology to do it, and I will. This is my final warning. Do you understand?”

As per usual, no answer. Ford had hung up feeling like he finally made some progress, even if that was just partially true. He had made Fiddleford aware of his situation after the previous time, in which his friend was in the room when the call came through. The taller man, as usual, had matched his curiosity and was rather interested in the mystery, and he had begun building a tracking device. With their very packed schedules it was taking longer than they initially expected, but it was coming along. It was ready just in time for the next call.

“F! Get your invention, quick!”

The aforementioned jumped out of his bed and looked under it, pulling a box with God-knows-what in it.

“Are you ready?”

“Yessir.”

“Stanford Pines speaking.”

A beat of silence. Expected.

“Stanf-”

“Sixer...”

Ford's eyes nearly popped. He couldn't believe it.

“Sixerrr... tallk t'me...”

Actually, he could believe it.

It was so obvious. Who could have access to his phone number if not the people he gave it to? Easy: someone who got it from someone he did give it to. It also had to be someone close to him: he had thoroughly insisted on keeping this number private and to not share it with anyone he didn't know about. Of course, his mother (definitely not his father) had found the legal loophole and sent it to his only brother that didn't already have it.

Now it was his time to sigh. “Stanley?”

“Heyyy... what's up, whatcha doin'? How's life?”

This was unbelievable.

“Are you serious?” he began, his tone severe but under cont– “Are you serious?!”

No more self-control. Ford had exploded, destroying any remaining patience and curiosity he had before he heard his brother's voice. Even Fiddleford had stopped in his tracks, looking at Ford like he just grew an extra head. He knew about Stanley, his friend had told him about him when he found an old picture of two identical boys on top of a boat in between all of Ford's papers. He hadn't elaborated further, and Fiddleford hadn't pried.

“It was you? All of this time, it was you who was calling me?! For what, just to play with me? Was this just a sick prank of yours?!”

“...”

“Don't you dare stay quiet now!”

“I won't... 'm sorry.”

“Yeah, I bet you are sorry. Sorry because I caught you, I presume. What sort of prank is this?”

“S-Sixer pleas’... liss'n t'me...”

“Maybe I do not want to, Stanley! I have tried to listen to you, and you would not answer! Why should I listen to you?”

The sound of a slap against flesh was his only response, followed by a loud metallic thud. For a split second, Ford's anger turned into concern.

“What was that?” No reply. “Stanley, what was that?”

“Me,” his brother said. “'m tryna stay 'wake.”

“What do you mean awake–” Ford's concern quickly dissipated. The rage that followed was like nothing he had felt in a long time. “Have you been calling me while drunk?!��

It all made sense. The sighs, the silence, the very noticeable slurring that Ford hadn't discerned due to his agitated state... and now the self-beating. His brother was drunk, very drunk, and he was dragging Ford along with him for his miserable ride. The absolute nerve.

“Are you fucking serious, Stanley?! You've been calling me for years only to say nothing, making me paranoid that someone was stalking me, making me lose sleep over this, just because you were getting drunk?! And what, you decided that being miserable on your own wasn't entertaining enough, so you would call me… for what exactly? What were you trying to achieve with this stunt? Are you that much of a coward that you wouldn't even speak as I picked up?”

More silence, only broken by a nearby motorcycle.

“You're unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable. Almost ten years and you haven't had the guts to call me once, to apologize, to even start a conversation. And now it turns out you only do not care to speak to me, but also that this is some sick joke to you!” Once again, Ford's anger was turning into something else, and he knew what it was. He tried to focus on his rage rather than on the tight feeling that was taking over his whole heart. “I don't know what compelled you to do this dozens of times, but whatever you just drank, I need you to sober up and listen: Stop. Calling me. I was already mad at you and I was already mad at the mystery caller. But knowing that you're the same person is just too much. If you want to spend your time making poor decisions and ruining your life go ahead, but don't rope me into this no more! So for the last time, what do you want?!”

Ford's ears were ringing. He didn't think he had it in him to blow up like he did, but there it was; the accumulated frustration he had been feeling for almost a decade, let loose in a few minutes. He was furious, not only at the situation, but also because he didn't want this. He didn't want to explode like that. He didn't want his brother to be the mystery caller. And, above all, he didn't want to know Stanley was only calling him while intoxicated. Like their relationship was something so unimportant that a drunken conversation would do. Like he cared so little that a drunken joke was his way of entertainment.

For as much as he wanted to hate his brother, he couldn't. He could be angry, but not hateful. He had tried for years, but just imagining Stanley stopping by his college to apologize and make up was enough to give him hope. Such useless thing, hope.

“I jus' wanna say goodbye.”

What was that? “What?”

“Goodbye, Ford.”

A chill ran down Ford's spine. He should be angry, why was Stan's voice worrying him?

“What do you mean 'say goodbye'?” His voice was way less demanding than he would've liked. Ford looked up, only to see Fiddleford staring at him with his eyes fully open. At least he wasn't the only one taken aback.

“You won't hear from me again, doncha worry.”

“Stanley, clear your drunken mind for a second and speak. What are you talking about?” Stan said he'd leave him alone, why hadn't he hung up on him already?

“'m dead, Sixer. They're gonna kill me.”

Great. Just what he needed, a paranoid drunk brother.

“Stanley, for god's sake, you're just–”

“I'M NOT DRUNK, SIXER!” Stan screamed, loud enough that even Fiddleford on the other line flinched. “They... they found me... they gave me some'ing... but I ran. I'm out.”

Ford couldn't speak. If this was his brother's last attempt to gain his pity, it was working. He wanted to believe this was some drunken delusion, but Stan sounded incredibly scared. Stan was never scared. And if he was, he wouldn’t show it. In the very offhand chance that he was right...

“They'll find me. The car's outta fuel, and I... I can't even think. Whatever they put in my arm, it's strong. I can't go anymore. I'm so tired.”

A gentle hand on his knee brought him back to his senses. Fiddleford, who was sitting right in front of him on the floor, mouthed the words what's happening?.

“'m so sorry, Ford,” Stan said all of a sudden, and Stanford's heart fully broke. His twin was crying. His brother never cried, not even when he tricked people as kids. When was the last time he'd seen Stan…? Oh. Oh, no. “For everythin'. You're right, always, like always. I tried, I really did, I promise, but I just... I couldn't even be the only thing I was born to be... a brother.”

Ford opened his mouth, only to close it again at the sound of another, harder slap on the other side of the line.

“Listen, I put all ma money on this call, so please... please don' hang up.” Stan's voice was the slightest bit clearer after that second slap, but Ford could only focus on the way his voice was raspy, shaking, and pleading. He couldn't find a single trace of lying.

I won't, he said, only to himself.

“'m so sorry for everything. Everything. Not only whatcha thinkin' 'bout.” Even through the phone, Stan could read him like a book. “'m sorry for not being enough, ever. I wasn't smart 'nough to go study with ya, or strong enough to defend ya from all those assholes at school, or rich enough to get us both outta New Jersey like we wanted.” Ford was trying to make a mental note of everything his brother was saying, and he restrained himself from denying Stan’s words. “I always knew I was useless, but... you were still with me. And I would think it was because we're just twins, but... but you would tell me you liked having me around. Even if I was useless, you wanted me by your side.” Ford could almost see his brother smile while talking about him. “I didn't get it, and I still don't. I know it's different now, and I promise, I know that you want nothing to do with me, but I... I needed to call you before I'm gone, 'cause... I love you. I love you, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”

With his brother openly sobbing on the other side of the line, it shouldn't have surprised Ford to find a tear running down his cheek, but it did. It was a wakeup call, a sign that time was still ticking.

“... I'm sorry, I love you, Sixer, I–”

“Stanley, where are you?”

“... what?”

“Where are you, Stanley, come on.”

“I... why?”

“Just tell me!” The anger was there, but it had definitely shifted. His worry was taking over. If what his brother was saying was true, he had to go get him right now. If he was lying... at least he could go and spit in his face in person. Unfortunately, everything in the last five minutes was telling him it wasn't a lie. “Please, before the call cuts. Tell me.”

“What, you're gonna come pick me up?” Stanley laughed humorlessly, and Ford's mind replayed some moments back in their teen years in which Stan would scoff exactly like that.

“What, you're gonna come sleep in my bed?” That time when they were 12 and Stan had such a panic attack that he would not fall asleep.

“What, you think he's wrong?” That time when they were 14 and a teacher screamed and called Stan everything under the sun for not being able to read a text out loud.

“What, you think I didn't deserve it?” That time when they were 16 and Ford learned for the first time that their father had been hitting Stan since they were little.

All those times, Ford had surprised Stan by telling him the opposite of what we was thinking: yes, I'll sleep in your bed if it helps you stop shaking; yes, I think it's wrong that a teacher insults you because you have trouble reading; no, I don't think you deserve to be beaten up by your father. His brother had been shocked to hear those words every single time, like anyone in their right mind wouldn't say the same thing. Or maybe he was shocked that it was Ford who said them. Either way, he had always reminded Stan that he had his back.

When did that turn into this?

“Do you want me to?”

“...”

“Stan, I'm going. If what you're telling me is true and you really are in danger, I'm going.”

“...”

“Stanley, don't fall asleep!”

“'m not...” Stanley's voice was tired, too tired. Ford wasn't sure who would give up first, him or the phone. “Six', I... 'm already dead. It's not worth it. I'm not worth it, and y'know it. Deep down.”

Ford closed his eyes tightly. This self-loathing wasn't new, but it was terrible timing. His brother would shut down whenever he was like this and he wouldn't speak another word on the topic. He couldn't afford that. He needed to make him talk.

“Stan.”

“Yeah.”

“You said you love me, right?”

“...”

“Stan.”

“... more than anything, Six.”

“Then if this is our last talk, please, tell me. Where are you?

“'m... in New Mexico.”

“Okay, New Mexico, good. I need you to be more specific. Albuquerque? Santa Fe? Las Cruces?”

“I don't... I can't remember...”

“Stanley, you have to. Where was the last place you went to?”

“I... was on the run. From Mexico.”

“Mexico and New Mexico are not–” Seriously Stanford? Is this the time for a lecture? “Listen, are you positive you are in the US?”

“Yeah, 'm sure.”

“Alright, so if we've established that, I need you to focus, okay? What city is closer to you?”

“I don't know, I don't know Ford.” Stan's voice was getting increasingly weaker, and now the panic was seeping through.

“Okay, Stan, listen to me.” Stanford's mind was screaming at him to comfort his brother now; he could hear Stanley's breath getting faster, and his voice was getting higher. He was seconds away from a paralyzing panic attack, and he knew for a fact that a 'calm down' would not work on him. He just had to get him to talk, answer his questions, and nothing else. “How much does your payphone charge per minute?”

“Uhh... 15 cents.”

“How much did you put in?”

“I don't know, I think... like four bucks?”

“Okay, good, we have some time.” They did not have time. “After you left Mexico, do you recall the name of any city?”

“Some... they were mostly in Spanish.”

“Okay, good. You were good at languages, I bet you know what they meant. Which ones do you remember? What did they mean?”

“El Paso. The Step… Oscuro. Dark... Corona. Crown... Estancia. Stay.”

“Alright, and the one you're in right now, is it in Spanish?”

“No, this... I stopped here... because I knew the name.”

“What name was it?”

“It's... from a book. I book you read to me.”

“What book?”

“I thought... it was funny. And I stayed here. Before the car broke down.”

“Stan, what book was it?”

“Ford...”

“Tell me the book, come on.”

“I... I can't see.”

“Stan, just tell me the book, or the name, anything! Please, just anything!”

“It's... fine. I'm sorry, Ford.”

“Wait, Stan!”

On the other side of the line, a loud thud was heard against the pavement. Ford shouted his brother's name urging him to stand up, to wake up, to please say something. It only lasted a minute, though, until the signal went dead.

#hells writes #stan twins #stangst #if i keep looking at this any longer i won't post it so here you go! hope you enjoy it #the song is Reason to Believe by Bruce Springsteen (specifically the meadowlands arena live version what a MASTERPIECE)#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #stan pines #ford pines #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fanfic #tw drugs #cw drugs

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zepskies · 1 day ago

Text

TOMORROW

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: It’s another one of those dreams he won’t remember when he wakes. For now, it has no qualms about torturing him. He’s alone…until he’s not.

AN: Well, here we go! My first little attempt at writing Joel Miller and for TLOU. 🫣

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: Jackson!Joel, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

He twitches in his sleep sometimes.

Twitches and mutters, broad shoulders shrugging in on himself while he lies on his side. His long legs curl a bit more under the cotton sheets. The quilt has tangled down around his waist somewhere.

It’s another one of those dreams he won’t remember when he wakes. For now, it has no qualms about torturing him. Sweat beads above his brow. His stiff fingers clench and claw fruitlessly into the mattress.

But the point is that he does wake up.

The room is pitch black. That hasn't changed since the mid-afternoon, thanks to the wintertime shift in Wyoming. It’s also fucking cold, freezing his toes, his hands, his nose. Joel sniffs, glances over his shoulder, finding the space behind him empty.

He’s alone.

Until he’s not. You pad back into the bedroom on bare feet, no matter how many times he’s reminded you to wear socks at night. You make sure to stoke the dimming fireplace back to life before you slip back into bed, covering both of you more securely with the quilt you knitted in greens, soft browns, and reds. The colors that remind you of him.

You let out a breathy hum while wrapping your arms around him from behind. You shuffle in closer, your knees bending behind his, and you press a kiss between his shoulders. He closes his hand around yours against his chest and hopes you can’t feel the pat-pat-pat racing of his heart.

“Where were you?” he asks.

“Mind your business,” you quip, smiling into his shirt. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

His lips pull at a smile too. “Jesus. What’re you planning now?”

“What’d I just say?” If possible, you snuggle deeper against him and sigh. “Sleep, baby. You’ll find out tomorrow.”

A few beats of silence tick on while Joel lays there and thinks (broods, actually), and you pretend not to hear his mind cogs turning.

“I told you I don’t want anything. Don’t need anything,” he grumbles.

You’re tempted to laugh.

“Too bad. It’s fucking Christmas, Joel.”

A few more halting seconds of contemplation, and then…

“What’d you get me?”

“You’ll find out, Mr. Grinch. Now go back to sleep.”

He huffs at the nickname. You bite your lip in amusement. You know he isn’t used to celebrating holidays, or even birthdays for that matter. Here in Jackson, it’s one of the more obvious, sentimental ways to reclaim a piece of the world you and Joel used to know.

Ellie’s not that much better, but even she’s working on something for him: a collection of cassettes of his favorite music.

Of course you’ve done your best to get him something special, but practical—a new(ish) rifle you traded from Seth. You also had Tommy engrave the hilt with two sets of initials: S.M. and E.W. You just finished staging it out on the coffee table.

“I might’ve, uh…got you something too,” Joel says.

You blink in surprise. New warmth laces down your spine.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand. In fact, he brings it to his lips. You feel the familiar scratch of his salt and pepper beard against your skin.

“Hmm…” A softer smile retakes your face, and you shimmy up the bed to rest your chin on his shoulder. You curl your warming toes against his hairy calves. “What’d you do?”

“Nuh, uh. Tomorrow, right?” His voice is nearly a rumble with the remnants of sleep, even with that hint of teasing. He does like getting you back.

And when he does, he doesn’t fucking miss.

Joel’s a man of sparing words when it comes to the heart, but he often lets his actions do the talking for him. In the morning, he’ll do it for the woman who’s accepted him, despite who and what he thinks he is. He’ll do it for the woman who wasn’t afraid to give him hell while becoming his peace.

He’ll do it with a modest ring.

AN: Let me know if you want to see more Joel! I have ideas brewing for these two...

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Joel Miller Masterlist

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Aside from those who added themselves to the tag list, I'm just tagging some of my lovely friends who encouraged me to dive into TLOU! 💛

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killerplink · 2 days ago

Text

OVERTIME

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: Jason ignores you for hours, so you get on your knees and make him pay for it. With your mouth, your hands, and a smile he should've known meant trouble.

A/N: This one's for the bestie who wanted Jason try to gather intel while the reader is busy being cheeky and giving him head under the desk 🏃🏻‍♀️

Jason's in the living room, hunched ever so slightly over the big ass desk he set up in the far corner like some kind of broody Batcave satellite station. It started as just a place for him to "do some light recon", but you both knew that he was full of shit.

Fast forward two years and the man's basically turned it into a full blown command center—monitors glowing low in the dim light, shelves stacked with case files and scattered ammo boxes, that drawer he swears is "organized" but you're pretty sure is just where he dumps all the flash drives and burner phones.

And the desk? It's massive. Solid oak. You had to help him carry it in—well, he actually carried it, you mostly complained about the splinters—but the thing is perfect for him. Tall enough for him to sit comfortably and big enough to fit those thick ass thighs when he's planted in that expensive ergonomic chair he won't admit is actually from a gaming store.

You, on the other hand? You're draped across the couch like human roadkill, legs tossed over one armrest, head dangling off from the middle of the couch. There's a bad movie playing on the screen, some half melted latex creature growling at a screaming woman, but you're not really paying attention.

You thought he'd be done two hours ago—shit, you even brought him coffee and snacks to help speed it along—but it's pushing four now and he hasn't moved except to mutter "motherfucker" under his breath at whatever asshole he's currently after. And yeah, you get it. Intel, crime, important shit.

But you're also horny. And the way he's sitting there all focused, forearms flexing, tapping away at that keyboard with his pretty mouth pursed in concentration? He's really not helping himself.

You sigh. Loudly. Dramatically. Theatrically, even. He grunts, but doesn't even flinch. So you do it again, dragging out the exhale like some dying Victorian ghost hoping to be asked what's wrong. This time it's louder, with more flair. Nothing.

You sit up slightly, propping yourself on one elbow, and peek over the backrest of the couch like a nosy cat. Just to check. Just to see. And the second your eyes land on him, all annoyance flies out the window, replaced by a sudden throb between your thighs that makes you swallow a soft sound.

When did he take his shirt off? Because now you're just staring at him—his broad, sculpted back flexing with every precise move, every tap of his fingers against the keyboard. The muscles in his shoulders bunch when he leans in to squint at something on the monitor, that thick line of his spine dipping down to the soft slope of his waist before it vanishes into the waistband of his gray sweats.

Your brain short circuits for a second. Just a second. You blink, trying to remember why you were mad. Oh, right. Four hours of being ignored.

God, you love this man. You really do. With your whole fucking heart. You love the way he brings you snacks in bed without being asked, how he buys fluffy socks because you're always cold, how he kisses your temple when he thinks you're asleep.

Yeah, sure, you also love his stupid jokes and the way he buys you chocolate when you're mad at him, and how he talks about you like you hung the damn moon. You love the way he always insists on walking on the side of the sidewalk closest to the road, the way he holds your hand without thinking, the way he says your name like it means something.

You love how his scary ass reputation melts into soft eyes and dry humor around you. But let's be real, you also love his stupidly hot body. Those muscles he barely even acknowledges like he's just naturally this stacked and still thinks he's "average". The V-line, the thighs, that back. It's actually a hate crime at this point.

You pout like a little brat, voice all whiny and needy, "Jay, when are you gonna finish there?"

At first, you think he's ignoring you. But then, after a beat, long enough to make you think he might not answer at all, you hear him murmur, "Just a few more minutes, doll."

Oh, hell no. You know that tone. That was a delayed response. The kind of half assed "don't bother me" answer you've heard way too many times when he's elbows deep in intel. That man's not getting up anytime soon, and you know it.

You flop back onto the couch with a groan, legs still hanging off one armrest like a bratty display of boredom, staring at the ceiling like it just personally offended you. Your brain starts working overtime, trying to figure out how to unglue your very sexy, very distracted boyfriend from that goddamn desk.

You consider stripping. Just walking over there, butt booty naked, maybe doing a little stretch in the doorway to "relieve tension". But honestly, you could stand there doing jumping jacks with your tits out and he'd probably just glance up, nod, and say "lookin' good, baby" before going back to his files.

Sitting in his lap and playing with his hair? Been there, didn't work. He just kissed your forehead and kept working.

You even think about searching for a bad porno, maybe cranking the volume, hoping the awful moaning would lure him away from his screens. He'd probably laugh and ask if the acting has improved.

Or maybe you should just outright watch it and make sure he hears every fucking second. But even then, you're not sure that'd snap him out of his recon tunnel vision. Stupid sexy vigilante and his stupid crime obsession.

And that's when it hits you. No, not the regular route. Not teasing, not stripping, not throwing yourself at him. Something better. Something cheeky. You sit up slowly, a smile creeping over your lips. The kind of smile he never sees coming until it's too late. Maybe it's time to make him feel the consequences of ignoring you.

You move quietly, your steps light as you pad across the room, and Jason doesn't even look up when you come behind him. He's too wrapped up in whatever mission file he's neck deep in. But the second you drape yourself over his back—arms wrapped around his shoulders, chest flush to him, cheek smushed against the side of his neck—he softens just a little.

His hand comes up, fingers grazing along your forearm in a slow, absentminded rub like muscle memory.

"You okay, baby?"

You hum, lips brushing the warm skin at his neck. "Mhmm."

You start slow, lazy, like you're just being clingy and sweet. But your mouth is on his skin, lips parting slightly to kiss just below his jaw, and you lick a slow line up to his ear before catching his earlobe between your teeth and biting down, a little amused huff slipping from his chest.

"Don't be a little brat. I'll be done in a bit."

Another "Mhmm" is all he gets, this one a little more smug. Because your hands are already trailing down his chest, slipping over the broad stretch of his pecs, brushing lower—slow and teasing—until your fingers graze over his abs and down to where his sweatpants are slung low on his hips.

And yep, he's already half hard. The twitch of his dick beneath your palm is proof enough that all this patience you've been clinging to is not one sided.

You palm his cock through the fabric, just enough pressure to make him grunt, and God, that sound alone makes your thighs squeeze together. You rub him slow, almost affectionate, like you're not trying to be the worst kind of distraction imaginable.

He groans, hips shifting slightly, but then his hand wraps around your wrist, gently stopping you. "C'mon, baby," he says, voice strained. "Be a little patient for me."

You pout into his neck. Full on, lip jutting, pathetic pout. "I've been patient for the past few hours."

Jason snorts, "So you can wait another few minutes, pretty girl."

That tone? Casual, teasing, a little condescending, even. And it seals his fucking fate. You huff, and he hears it, but doesn't really register it for what it really is.

For a second, Jason thinks you're going to pull away. Maybe stomp back to the couch or go sulk in bed with the passive aggressive energy of the chaos gremlin he's so stupidly in love with. He's so deep into his recon shit that it doesn't even occur to him that you've never been exactly good at taking no for an answer.

But he should've known better. That huff? That tiny, dramatic sound? That was a warning shot. And the moment he hears the soft shuffle of movement, feels your body slipping down and out of his hold, it clicks too late. Because now you're dropping to your knees, sliding under the desk, and his brain short circuits like a system override.

Jason snorts. "Baby, what are you—"

You cut him off with a soft huff, "Nothing," you murmur, way too casual for what you're about to do. "Just do your thing, Jay."

And before he can argue, your hands are on him, smoothing up his thighs, trailing closer and closer to the thick bulge straining under the soft grey fabric of his sweats.

You lean in, pressing soft, warm kisses along the outline of his cock. Up the length of it, over the head, nuzzling your cheek against the bulge like you missed it since last night. His head drops back against the chair with a quiet thunk, hand twitching on the mouse like he's still trying to work, but he already knows where this is going and he's powerless to stop it.

"Jesus..." he mutters, voice hoarse.

"Mmm?" you hum innocently against his cock, mouthing over the head again before pressing your kisses down to the base just to tease him through the fabric, feeling him jerk slightly in response.

You smile against his dick as you press another kiss, then another, slow, teasing, trailing up along the heavy ridge until your nose brushes the waistband of his sweats before your fingers hook under it.

He lifts his hips when you tug, obedient without even realizing it, and lets you peel both the sweats and his boxers down to his thighs. His cock springs free—thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip—and your mouth waters at the sight.

"God, you're so hard, baby," you whisper, grinning up at him.

Your hand wraps around the base of his dick, warm and firm, just the way he likes, and you start with a kiss right against the thick vein along the underside of his shaft. Then another at the tip. Your tongue darts out, licking a little drop of precum, and when you look up at him, he's watching you. Eyes half lidded, lips parted, chest heaving.

You lick a slow, wet circle around the swollen head of his cock, tongue flicking just under the ridge, then gliding over the top again, warm and soft and teasing. He's already so sensitive there, and you know it, which is why you take your sweet fucking time. Then you do it again, this time slower, messier.

You keep your eyes on him as your tongue circles the head of his cock, teasing him in slow, lazy swirls like you're just tasting him, like you're enjoying this more than anything on earth. And you kind of are.

He's flushed and leaking, thick drops of precum painting your tongue, and you lap it up with small licks, moaning a little just from the taste, but then you get mean with it.

You press the very tip of your tongue right into the slit—soft, deliberate pressure—and he chokes on a groan above you, hips jerking as his hand shoots down and tangles in your hair. Not tugging, not even guiding, just holding, fist curling tight like if he lets go, he'll fucking lose it.

"Shit—fuck, baby, you're gonna kill me," he breathes, voice rough and so deep you feel it in your clit.

And when you finally wrap your lips around the tip slow and teasing, being a just little mean about it, Jason lets out a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. His cock twitches in your hand, already pulsing like he can't decide between fucking your throat or falling apart right there.

You moan around him—soft, needy—and the vibrations make him hiss through his teeth. Your spit slicks him up easy, sliding down past your knuckles as your lips glide further, taking him deeper inch by inch. Your throat stretches around the thickness, your jaw aching in that good way, hand stroking the base in messy, desperate pumps.

You suck harder, cheeks hollowing with wet slurps, loud and unashamed. You want him to hear it, want him to feel it, and fuck, he does.

His hips twitch, the muscles in his thighs flex, and he grits out, "God, baby—your fuckin' mouth—"

You don't stop. Just sink down slow, then pull back with a little pop of your lips, only to sink again, tongue dragging along the underside of his cock. Your chin is soaked, spit webbing between your fingers and his shaft, dribbling down your wrist, your throat working every time he hits the back of it.

He's panting above you, trying to keep still, but that hand in your hair? He's got a death grip on it. His fingers are tangled in your soft strands, his thumb pressing just behind your ear like he's grounding himself, like he might lose it if you go any deeper.

But you want him to. You want to ruin him with your mouth. So you look up at him through your lashes, cheeks flushed, lips stretched around his cock, and suck him down harder, deeper.

He lets out a broken noise, hips bucking, and groans, "Fuck—fuck, I'm not gonna last, baby—"

And you just hum around him like that's exactly what you want. Because it is. You don't ease up, not even close. You fuck him with your mouth like you've got something to prove, like you need to make a point with every wet glide of your tongue and every sharp suck around the head.

But you are still annoyed with him, after all. He thinks he can get away with pissing you off and then sitting pretty like this? Not a chance. Not without you using that dick like it's yours to play with. And it fucking is.

You grip the base tighter, letting your spit drip down because it doesn't matter how messy you get. Your jaw works, mouth hot and greedy, bobbing up and down as you take him again and again. A twist of your wrist, a roll of your tongue just underneath the head, right on that sensitive spot that makes him twitch. He jerks, breath stuttering, and you moan around him with a smile.

God, you love this. Love how this big, scary, brutal man—Red Hood himself—melts under your mouth like this. He's all muscle and grit, scars and guns and growls, but right now? Right now he's fucking trembling. His thighs are tight, his abs clenching, one hand fisted in your hair like he's praying you don't stop, the other digging into the edge of the desk like he knows better than to touch you without permission.

And his head is spinning. Jason's trying to hold it together, but fuck, it's hard. You know exactly how to suck his dick. You're not just sucking it, you're devouring him. Tongue flicking under the crown, lips wrapped tight, cheek hollowing just enough for that perfect pressure. Every time he thinks he's about to get a breath, you take him deeper, sloppier, wetter.

His thoughts are scrambled as hell. He can't even form a full sentence in his head anymore, not with the way your throat clenches around him like you want him to lose it. And God, he is losing it. Fast.

He grunts, rough and ragged, his voice raw. "Baby—fuck, I'm close, I'm—"

And that's exactly when you stop. You pull off with a wet pop, spit glistening on your chin, your lips swollen, your eyes glassy. Your hand stays on his dick, stroking just enough to keep him there, but not enough to push him over.

"Ah-ah," you hum, licking the corner of your mouth. "You don't get to cum yet."

Jason makes this wrecked noise—half growl, half desperate moan—and his cock twitches in your fist, so painfully hard and so fucking close. His chest is rising fast, muscles taut, eyes blown wide as he stares down at you like he doesn't know whether to beg or curse you out.

You blink up at him from under the desk, all wide eyes and fluttering lashes, like you're sweet and innocent. Like you didn't just edge him to the brink and snatch it away like it was nothing. Like your mouth isn't still glistening with spit and precum, lips shiny and swollen from how deep you took him.

And Jason? Jason's stunned. He's got that shell shocked look, like you just short circuited the last few working brain cells he had left. His mouth is slightly open, breathing shallow, brow drawn tight. His dick is still throbbing in your grip, soaked in spit and precum, and your hand—fuck, your hand just keeps moving. Slow, deliberate strokes that make squelching noises in the silence, slick and lewd because you want him to hear every wet slide of your palm over his shaft.

He's not used to this. He's used to being the one in control, used to having you begging, whining, melting under his touch while he teases you until you're crying for it.

His brain is a mess. Fuck—she's never like this—what the fuck—what did I—Jesus, she's so hot like this—look at her—holy fuck, I'm not gonna survive this shit. What did I do? What the hell did I—

You lean in closer, your breath ghosting over the head of his cock, lips curled into the tiniest smirk as your fist strokes him—tight at the base, twisting when you reach the slick, sensitive tip.

"You ignored me for four hours, Jay."

Your voice is sweet, pouty, dangerous and he flinches like the words physically hit him.

He stumbles for an excuse, lashes fluttering, "I didn't—baby, I wasn't—"

But then you twist your wrist right at the head, and his hips jerk forward with a grunt. The sound he makes is raw, desperate, and he chokes on whatever half assed excuse he was about to offer and swallows it back down with a harsh breath.

You tilt your head, all faux sweetness. "No?"

He shakes his head immediately, eyes wide, lips parted like he wants to speak but can't. He's quiet for once, but not by choice, more like every word has been knocked out of him, replaced by nothing but the ache between his legs and the way your hand keeps pumping him slow and steady.

And you—God, you grin like you've already won. Without warning, you lean in again and take all of him in one smooth motion, your lips parting, your throat stretching, your jaw flexing around his dick until your nose nearly brushes his skin. He lets out this choked sound, one hand flying to the underside of the desk for balance, the other trembling where it's still tangled in your hair.

You slide off just as slowly, letting your tongue drag the whole way, spit connecting your mouth to his skin until it breaks with a wet string when you pull off.

You tilt your head just a little, voice all sweet and syrupy like you're not holding him by the fucking balls right now.

"You wanna cum, baby?"

His breath hitches, chest rising and falling fast as he nods, eyes glassy, completely at your mercy. "Y-yeah."

You hum like you're thinking about it, hand still working him slow and mean as your thumb brushes right over the slick head, teasing the slit. He twitches in your fist, and his abs clench like he's trying to keep himself from bucking up again.

"Yeah?" you repeat, all fake sympathy and sugar. "Why would I make you cum, huh?"

And fuck, the look on his face is priceless.

Jason stares at you like you just asked him to solve a riddle in a language he doesn't speak. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, just another choked little sound as your thumb circles the head again, catching on the mess of precum that's already smeared everywhere.

He's got no idea what the fuck to even say. Because this? This is new. You never tease like this. Never leave him speechless like some desperate, trembling mess. That's usually his job.

You can't help but grin. Because seeing him like this—so fucked out, so helpless—is better than any orgasm you could've given him right now. Usually, even half awake after a long patrol, hair a mess, still in his suit, he's got that smug little smirk and some bullshit line ready to go. He always has a comeback. But right now? He's fucking silent. And God, you live for it.

Your panties are sticking to your soaked cunt, clinging to your folds like a second skin. You don't even know if it's the taste of him on your tongue or the sight of him—Jason Todd, Red Hood, this big, grunting, gun slinging menace—reduced to this that's got you dripping. Probably both. Definitely both.

You don't even let him think too hard about it. You lean right back in like you've made your decision, but really, you're just not done ruining him.

You take him deep, no hesitation. Your lips seal tight around his cock, and you slide down all the way until your nose brushes the base, throat stretched wide, swallowing around him like your only mission in life is to make him lose it. Your hand drops to cup his balls, rolling them gently as your mouth works him, wet and sloppy, drool sliding down your chin.

Loud, slick squelches fill the room, his dick gliding in and out of your mouth, your tongue working every inch you can reach, humming low just to feel him twitch.

Jason chokes on a moan, hips jerking forward like he needs more, like he's gonna fuck your mouth if you don't give it to him, so you stop. Again. You slide off with another wet pop, spit trailing from your bottom lip to the head of his cock as he gasps, completely wrecked.

He looks ruined, and you haven't even let him cum, but he already looks like he has.

You lean in close, so close your breath ghosts over the flushed head of his cock and you press a single, featherlight kiss right to the tip. Just a little peck, all sweet and innocent, like you're not the reason he's trembling in that chair right now, leaking and desperate.

He lets out this strangled noise from the back of his throat, his head falling back against the chair with a soft thump, eyes fluttering shut. His thighs are twitching, muscles flexing like he's trying to hold still, trying not to fuck up into your hand. But his cock throbs helplessly in your grip, and you know—oh, you know—he's suffering.

And you love it.

Your hand keeps pumping him slow, slick sounds filling the quiet space between you. His dick is soaked—your spit, his precum, it's all smeared over your fingers, dripping down your wrist, sticky and warm. Every stroke is just enough to keep him on the edge, just enough to make his legs shake.

Then you lean in again and lick that fat bead of precum right from his slit, tongue flicking over the sensitive tip like it's your favorite treat. You do it again, lapping at him with slow, teasing licks, until you feel him start to tremble under your touch.

"Beg, baby," you murmur, voice low and smug.

His head snaps up so fast it's almost dizzying. His eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing what's left of that pretty blue, and he stares at you like he can't fucking believe what you just said. Like he's not sure if you're serious or if this is some cruel joke.

"Doll—" he says it like a warning, but there's nothing sharp about it.

It comes out broken. Wrecked. Like a man on the edge, like a man barely holding on. His voice cracks halfway through, and you feel his cock twitch again in your hand.

You smile. So innocent. So fucking mean.

"You've been so mean, Jay," you coo, placing another soft kiss on the underside of his tip, just to watch him shiver. "Ignored me for hours. I mean, the least you can do is beg for me to make you cum."

And your hand doesn't stop, not even close.

Your strokes stay slow, mean, teasing, obscene with how wet his dick is. It squelches under your palm, your thumb smearing the precum over the flushed skin as you drag it back down.

He makes a sound—somewhere between a whimper and a grunt—and his hips twitch again like he's right at the edge, body taut, straining for release that you refuse to give. He's panting, jaw clenched, veins in his neck standing out as he tries so fucking hard not to just break.

"Please."

It's soft, almost inaudible, murmured like it physically hurts him to say it. His eyes flutter shut like if he doesn't look at you, it'll be easier. Like it won't strip every last ounce of pride from his bones.

But you're not letting him off that easy.

Your grip stays steady, tight and slow around the base of his cock, thumb pressing into the underside every time you stroke upward.

He's leaking, throbbing in your hand, so hard it has to ache, but you just smile and coo, "What was that, baby?"

He lets out a shaky breath, head falling back against the chair again. "Please," he rasps. "Please let me cum."

"Hmmm," you murmur like you're thinking real hard about it. Your hand never stops moving. You just switch up the rhythm—faster for a second, then dragging your palm down just slow enough to knock the edge out from under him again. "Didn't hear that, Jay."

He grunts, biting back a groan, and then he laughs. A short, breathless thing that's more frustration than humor. "Jesus Christ, you're a fuckin' menace, aren't you?"

You hum sweetly, unbothered, still jerking him off in that same torturous rhythm. His thighs are flexed so hard they're shaking, abs tight like he's doing everything he can not to lose it.

Then, quieter this time, full of rough desperation: "Please, pretty girl. Let me cum. I'll do anything you want."

That makes you giggle, sweet and dangerous. You slow your strokes just enough to let your thumb drag across the head again, watching his breath catch in his throat.

"Anything, Jay?"

He nods instantly, like the word yes is the only thing left in his vocabulary. "Yeah. Please," he pants, hips twitching uselessly into your hand. "Just—just let me cum."

“Will you fuck me after?” you murmur, voice low, breathy, filthy, like the words themselves are enough to make him burst.

You lean in closer, your tongue flicking out to taste him again, just a soft, slow lick right across the tip because you know how sensitive he is right now. You swirl your tongue lazily, then pull back just enough for your breath to tease him again, warm and cruel.

Jason groans loud. His hand flies to the desk, like he needs something to hold onto or he's gonna break. He looks down at you, eyes half lidded, pupils blown so wide they're nearly black, and that cheeky fucking smile you're giving him?

He hates how much he loves it. He fucking hates it. But deep down? You both know it fucks him up.

"Yeah. Yeah, fuck—anything you want, baby. Just lemme cum."

"Good boy," you murmur, soft and syrupy, the praise sliding off your tongue like sin.

And then you're on him again, no warning, no teasing, just your lips parting, mouth stretching around the flushed, aching head of his cock like you've been starving for it.

You take him deep, your throat working around the thick length of him like you need it, greedy and unrelenting, spit already bubbling at the corners of your mouth as you sink down, swallowing more and more. Your hand wraps tight at the base, guiding what your throat can't handle yet—slick, obscene, absolutely fucking devoted.

Jason loses it. His hips jerk up with a ragged curse, and you let him, his dick sliding deeper into your throat as you choke around it, eyes watering, nose brushing the base. He growls, the sound scraping low from his chest like it was dragged out of him, raw and ruined.

You're not even mad. You knew this was coming. You keep sucking him with that same hungry little desperation, tongue swirling when you pull back, cheeks hollowing when you go down again, throat stretching every time he thrusts up into you like he can't help himself. You're gagging a little, drool dripping down your chin, clinging to your fingers where you still stroke what you can't take, but you don't care.

You like it messy. Because nothing compares to the way Jason sounds when he's right there, when he's got no snark, no self control, just that tight, needy edge in his voice as he pants your name like a prayer.

"Fuck, baby—fuck, fuck, your mouth—"

His grip in your hair tightens, not rough, not painful, just possessive. Desperate. Like he's two seconds from completely falling apart and you're the only thing holding him together. And really, he's not wrong.

You moan around him and the vibration makes his hips stutter, his thighs trembling. His dick is a mess, broken gasps and little shaky groans leaving him as he keeps fucking into your mouth, deeper, harder, chasing the edge.

And yeah, okay, you're definitely gonna regret teasing him this long. But fuck, isn't it worth it? Because God, you're fucking soaked.

Not just wet, you're dripping. Your panties are clinging to your cunt, hot and slick, the mess between your thighs getting worse every time he groans, every time his cock hits the back of your throat. You shift your hips against the floor without even meaning to, chasing the tiniest bit of friction, but it's useless. Nothing compares to this.

Your nipples ache where they press against the thin fabric of your tank top, hard and swollen, rubbing against it with every breath you take. You're flushed all over, body buzzing, and the taste of him—the weight of his dick on your tongue, the heat and stretch in your mouth—has you right there, right on the fucking edge. You could probably cum just from this. Just from sucking his cock like this.

Jason's a fucking mess. You feel the change first, the way his thigh tenses beneath your hand, the way his breathing shortens into ragged, panting little shudders. The way his hips twitch, losing rhythm, like he's barely holding on.

"F-fuck, I'm—baby, I'm gonna—"

And then he does. His whole body jerks, head tipping back as a low, broken moan punches out of him, chest heaving like he's been holding it in for hours. His cock throbs on your tongue, thick and hot, and then he cums. Hard.

Floods your mouth with it—thick, salty spurts that coat your tongue, fill your throat. You don't pull back. You take it, swallowing fast, lips still wrapped around him as your hand slows, stroking his base while your mouth does the rest.

You suck him through it, gentler, with slow, rhythmic pulls, tongue cradling the head as he trembles under you. His hand is shaking in your hair, fingers flexing like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and he's moaning, soft and breathless, a constant little stream of praise tumbling out between gasps.

"Fuck, doll—God, that mouth—s'good, you're so good, shit—"

You don't stop until you're sure you've got every drop. You lick him clean, spit slick and still twitching in your mouth as your tongue runs slow over the head, careful, delicate. Your eyes water from how deep you'd taken him, lashes damp as you blink up at him, still sucking, soft and sweet.

And Jason? His mind is wrecked. You're so fucking beautiful like this. On your knees, eyes glossy, mouth wrapped around his dick like you own him—because you do. You really, truly do.

No one's ever done this to him before. No one's ever ruined him so gently. So thoroughly. You tease, you torment, you push him to the edge, but you know how far to take it. You know how to bring him back.

He's had flings, hookups, girls who wanted the Red Hood for the story. But this? You?

You're it. And God, he never thought he'd get this. Never thought he'd deserve it. But looking down at you—lips still wrapped around his cock, cheeks flushed, hair messy from where he's been holding you—he's never been more sure of anything in his life.

You finally—finally—give him a break. You know he's way too sensitive, dick still twitching in your mouth, so you ease off with a soft little pop and kiss the flushed, swollen head, all slow and sweet.

Jason twitches. "Fuuuck—" he groans like the sound was dragged out of him.

And then he's moving, his chair rolling back just enough before you can even blink, and his hands are on you before you can breathe.

"Baby—" you yelp as he hauls you out from under the desk and right into his lap, landing with a little bounce, your thighs straddling him, the thick press of his dick snug right up against your soaked pussy.

Your tank top is a mess, your panties are ruined, and you're breathless from the sudden shift, but you don't get another word out. One hand settles rough and sure on your ass, the other tangling in the back of your hair, and he doesn't even bother saying anything before he kisses you.

And fuck, he kisses you. It's not sweet. It's not gentle. It's hungry. Wet and messy, all tongue and teeth and desperate moans swallowed between gasps. He kisses you like he's trying to make up for the four hours he left you wanting with just his mouth alone, tongue pushing into your mouth without hesitation, licking into you like he needs to taste himself on your tongue. And it's there, the sharp, salty taste of his cum still clinging to your lips, your teeth, your tongue, and he moans into it like he's losing his fucking mind.

It's all greed and spit and the kind of desperate, breathless kisses that feel more like gasps than anything else. He breaks away for a second, groaning into your mouth, just to dive right back in, tilting your head with a rough hand in your hair, licking deeper, slower.

You whimper into him, hips rocking down against his, instinctive and needy, and his hand squeezes your ass in response. His other one doesn't let go of your hair, holding you close, still tasting himself off your tongue like he doesn't care how filthy it is—no, he likes it. Loves it. Wants it all.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, voice wrecked and low,

"Fuckin' knew you'd ruin me, pretty girl."

You lick into his mouth one more time, dragging your teeth over his bottom lip before pulling back with a breathy little gasp, smirking as you murmur, "Your turn, Jay."

And oh, that fucking gets him. He hisses through his teeth, pupils blown wide with heat, the grip on your ass tightening for a second before his hand slides lower—fingers trailing between your thighs from behind, right over that embarrassingly wet patch of your panties.

"Fuck," he mutters, lips brushing your jaw as he grins against your skin. "You're soaked, baby. You this wet just from suckin' my dick?"

You whimper, breath hitching when he pushes your panties aside with two thick fingers, brushing the bare, sticky heat of your cunt. His fingers slide through the mess and God, you're dripping for him.

His hands slip under your thighs, lifting them effortlessly as he spreads your legs wide over the arms of his chair. Pinned open, soaked, squirming—he's got you just how he wants you, and he knows it. You grab his shoulders instinctively, nails digging in for some kind of grounding because you already know what's coming.

"Jay—"

He slaps your ass. Hard enough to sting, soft enough to make you moan, and the sound of it echoes filthy and perfect in the quiet room.

"You want me to fuck you, huh?" he growls, cocky and breathless, dragging the head of his dick through your slippery folds, teasing you just enough to make your hips twitch.

You nod fast, needy, thoughtless. "Yes—yes, please, just—fuck me, Jay, I want it—"

He scoots just a little, lining himself up, and you feel the blunt head of his cock press right against your hole before he pushes in.

Fuck. You shudder, mouth falling open, nails pressing into his shoulders as he slides in so easily. Your walls stretch around him without resistance, just soaked and swollen and ready to take every inch. He groans low in his throat, head dropping to your shoulder as he sinks deeper until his hips are flush with yours and you can feel him throb inside you.

"You're so fuckin' wet," he murmurs, voice wrecked already. "Took me like you've been waitin' for this all evening."

And you have. God, you fucking have. You barely have time to adjust to how deep he is, your body still fluttering around the stretch when Jason yanks your tank top down in one quick, rough motion. The fabric strains before it slips beneath your tits, baring them to the air—and to him. His mouth is on you in seconds, hot and hungry, groaning as he buries his face right between your tits.

You let out a breathless little moan, your hands braced on his broad shoulders as you start to move. The position is perfect—you're spread open over the chair, anchored by his grip and the way his thighs are planted beneath yours, and it gives you leverage.

You roll your hips first, then start to bounce, each slick slide down making you gasp. His cock fills you just right, hard and pulsing, stretching you perfectly as you fuck yourself on him.

He groans against your skin, cupping both your tits with those big, rough hands, squeezing just hard enough to make your back arch. "Goddamn, baby, these fuckin' tits..."

And then he's licking you. Everywhere. His tongue drags between your nipples, slow and wet, before he sucks one into his mouth, lips wrapping tight around it as his tongue flicks and rolls. You whine, hips stuttering, and he doesn't stop—switches to the other nipple like he can't pick a favorite, sucking it hard enough to make you gasp again.

"You ride me so good," he mutters, voice all fucked out, his hands kneading your tits like he owns them. "Bouncin' on my dick like a good fuckin' girl."

Your breath catches as he pulls back, his mouth slick with spit, and you don't even get a second to adjust before his hands are on your ass. One rough grip on each cheek, and he slams you down, holding you there, pinning you as he starts fucking up into you.

Your head falls back with a whimper, the wet sounds between your legs growing louder every time he slams into you. Your arousal coats him, slick and messy and everywhere, and you can feel it. The way it clings to his skin and your folds, shiny and sticky. And Jason? He's watching all of it. Losing it.

"Look at this pussy," he groans, hips snapping up fast and hard. "Look at how you take me—fuckin' swallowin' my dick."

He fucks you like he means it. No holding back, no teasing. Just deep, hungry thrusts that stretch your soaked pussy wide every time he buries himself inside you. Your thighs twitch, muscles straining as he slams up into you with enough force to make the chair creak underneath you both, and all you can do is hold on.

You feel full, stuffed to the hilt, every inch of him hitting so deep, like he's fucking your pleasure into the deepest part of your pussy. Your tits bounce with every snap of his hips, heavy and slick from his spit, and he watches them like a man obsessed.

"Touch your pretty little clit," he pants, voice wrecked with how hard he's breathing, how tight your pussy is squeezing him. "C'mon, baby, rub that messy little thing for me."

And you obey without thinking, how could you fucking not? You slide one trembling hand between your thighs and find your swollen clit instantly, already throbbing and slippery with your arousal. You rub it in fast, messy circles, breath stuttering from the pleasure overload of it all—your soaked cunt getting pounded, your clit aching from how worked up you are, his dick splitting you open so perfectly.

"That's it," Jason growls, his hands gripping your ass. "Look at you—ridin' my dick, rubbin' that sweet little clit like a good girl. You're fuckin' perfect, baby."

And you fucking break. Your body shudders once, then again, your voice catching in your throat before a moan punches out of you, high and desperate. Your fingers never stop moving, and neither does he, fucking you through it, even as your legs seize up and your back arches.

And then it happens. You squirt, just like that. Your orgasm crashes through you in wet, pulsing waves, hot and intense, your pussy fluttering wildly around his cock as fluid gushes out of you. It soaks your fingers, his dick, his lap—everything—your slick arousal spraying out with each deep, perfect thrust. Your hand is drenched, your thighs are dripping, and Jason moans so loud, head falling back as he watches you come completely undone.

"Holy fuck," he hisses, fucking up into you harder, rougher. "So goddamn pretty when you make a mess, baby."

You tremble, panting, overwhelmed and wrecked, barely able to moan out a soft, broken "Don't stop, Jay—please—" even as your walls keep pulsing from aftershocks.

You lean in, still trembling from your orgasm, thighs quivering on either side of him, and Jason doesn't even wait. His hand flies up to the back of your neck, rough and greedy, and he pulls you down into a kiss like he needs your mouth just as much as your pussy.

It's messy, all spit and panting breaths, tongues sliding together in a wet tangle. He groans into your mouth like he's starving for you, and you swallow the sound greedily, hips rolling as his dick keeps driving up into your soaked cunt.

You moan into him, the slick drag of his cock inside you still hitting every swollen, overstimulated nerve, your pussy fluttering around him. You're still so fucking wet, everything between your legs an absolute mess, your arousal smeared all over his cock and clinging to your thighs, pooling under your ass with every grind of your hips.

His tongue licks into your mouth like he owns it, like he can't fucking help himself, and you kiss him back just as hungrily, both of you panting into each other's mouths as your bodies slap together, wet and obscene. You can feel the way his hips jerk every time your walls clench down, hear the little grunts he makes when your nails dig into his skin.

You break the kiss with a gasp, lips slick with spit, your breath coming in short, helpless pants, and Jason's eyes are blown wide when he looks at you—wet mouth, flushed face, tits bouncing every time he drives into you.

"Fuck," he grits, hips stuttering just for a second. "You kiss me like that while I'm inside this pussy, I'm not gonna last."

But that doesn't stop him. He licks into your mouth again, sloppy and hot, like he can't get enough, and he doesn't stop fucking you even for a second, your cunt sucking him back in again and again.

But then he stops. Just fucking stops, cock buried deep and throbbing, and your whole body twitches when he stills, when that perfect stretch suddenly halts, and all you can do is let out this desperate, broken little whimper against his mouth.

Jason grins. That smug, shit eating, cocky little smirk that makes you want to slap him and fuck him harder all at once.

"Oh, you didn't think I'd let you finish me off like that, did you?"

Before you can even beg, his hands are under your thighs, and he fucking stands with you still on his dick. You gasp, clinging to him as he lifts you, and then, with a little thud, your ass hits the cool surface of his desk.

"Jason—"

Papers scatter. A pen clatters to the floor. His cock slips out for the briefest, aching second, but he's already lining up again, one hand sliding under your thigh to lift your leg, the other grabbing your neck.

You moan sharp and high, head falling back as his dick drags in deep and fast, hitting that perfect spot again and again, every thrust brutal and wet and perfect. Your pussy squeezes him tight—too tight—and he groans, deep and ragged, his hips stuttering just a little.

"Shit—yeah. Just like that. Fuckin' stranglin' my dick—"

His hand around your neck squeezes just enough to make your pussy clench hard, and that makes him pause just a second as your walls squeeze his dick like a fucking vice.

"Jesus—fuckin'—Christ," he groans, eyes flicking down to where he's buried in you.

And God, it's filthy. Your pussy is drooling around him, soaking his dick and his desk and your thighs, the slick wet sounds echoing with every thrust as he rails you, fast and deep, making the desk creak. You cry out when his thumb suddenly slides down between your legs, rubbing tight little circles over your clit—slippery and fast, making your thighs tremble where they hang off the desk. Your whole body twitches, hips rocking forward instinctively, chasing that pressure even as he fucks you.

"Yeah?" he pants, circling it hard and fast, smirking at the way you squirm. "That what you needed, baby?"

You nod, frantic, breathless, clutching at his biceps while he ruins you, rubbing your clit in tight, messy circles as he keeps fucking you, every thrust sending wet heat sparking down your spine.

"Sound so fuckin' pretty when I touch you," he grits, watching how your face crumples with every swipe of his thumb. "Wanna see you cum again. Wanna feel this little pussy soak my dick."

And the way he says it? Low and wrecked and hungry? You know you're not gonna last long.

"J-Jay," you whine, voice high and ragged, words tumbling between shaky breaths, "T-too much, baby, I can't—"

But he shuts you up with a kiss, rough and hot and wet, mouths mashing together like he's trying to taste every moan you're too wrecked to hold back. His tongue licks into your mouth, greedy and slow, and it's all spit and gasps and his quiet groan when your lips cling to his like you're starved. Which, you are. You always are.

"Yeah, you can, doll," he murmurs between kisses, words rumbling against your tongue. "C'mon, give it to me."

And you try—God, you try—but your thoughts are fucking gone. Just a mess of heat and Jay and the stretch of his cock pounding into your soaked cunt, over and over again. You haven't even cum more than once, but you're already seeing stars. Truth is, you were pent up before you even dropped to your knees under his desk—fuming, needy, aching.

So now, with his dick hitting just right, his hand tightening a little more around your throat, his thumb still teasing your soaked, swollen clit? You fucking shatter.

Your mouth drops open, a choked little moan spilling out as your pussy clamps down hard, gushing around his dick in a hot, wet rush. You tremble against him, thighs shaking where they're pinned open, and all you can do is feel—your cunt clenching, fluttering around his cock, your soaked skin sticking to the desk, the way his thumb never lets up.

"Fuuuck—that's it, baby," he groans, watching it all, voice all heat and adoration, worshiping the way your cunt flutters around him, "Jesus, look at you. So perfect. So good for me."

He slows down just a little—not stopping, no—but just enough to feel every squeeze of your pussy, every twitch. Jason doesn't even say anything, just presses one last kiss to your lips before he straightens up and gently pushes you down onto your back. Files and papers scatter everywhere as he clears the space with a sweep of his arm, but he doesn't give a fuck.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, drunk on the sight of you laid out for him, pussy wet and glistening and taking him so fucking good.

And when he starts moving again? It's deep. Deep enough that your toes curl and your hands claw at the edge of the desk. Deep enough that you gasp his name like a prayer, like you've already forgotten how to breathe.

Jason's thoughts are fried. All he can think about is this. You, flat on your back, eyes all glassy, tits bouncing with every hard thrust, that tiny little bulge low in your belly when he bottoms out. He's obsessed. Addicted, even. No one's ever looked this good on his cock. No one's ever taken him like you do, like your pussy was made for him.

"Fuck," he breathes, leaning over you, bracing his forearm beside your head. "You feel so good, baby. So fuckin' good."

His mouth is back on your tits like he missed them, like he can't stand being away for more than a second. He licks up the slick curve of one, all heat and filthy little groans like he's getting drunk off the taste of your skin. And he kind of is. He sucks your nipple into his mouth with this greedy little noise in the back of his throat—deep, wet, messy—while his cock keeps fucking into you.

Your back arches off the desk the second his teeth so much as graze you, and he fucking smirks against your skin, the asshole. He switches to the other, tongue flicking lazy little circles before he sucks hard. One of his hands slides up to hold your breast, big and warm and possessive, while the other stays locked on your thigh, pinning you down so he can keep pounding into you.

Your fingers slide into his hair without even thinking, tangling tight at the roots because you need him right there, mouth locked around your nipple while he fucks you deep enough to make your toes curl. And he doesn't complain. He groans when you tug, hips stuttering for half a second like it gets him off, like he likes being kept there, held in place with your hand in his hair and your thighs starting to shake around his waist.

His hands drag down your sides slow, palms hot and possessive like he's trying to feel all of you, like he wants to memorize the way your body trembles under his. Jason grabs under your thighs and lifts, just enough to tilt your hips, to fold you open a little more for him, and then he's fucking into you harder.

Like full body, desk rattling, brain melting hard. You gasp—loud, messy—arms wrapping around his neck as the desk underneath you starts to groan with every deep, punishing thrust. It's all slick skin and filthy moans, your tits bouncing with every snap of his hips, one of them still wet from his mouth. You can feel him grinding deeper, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, his breath hot against your chest, jaw tight, barely holding himself back.

And that's how you know he's close, when he gets like this. When his rhythm goes from slow and controlled to desperate, deep, rough enough to shake the furniture.

Every thrust punches a whimper out of you, every grind of his hips drags a broken moan from your throat, and all you can do is babble—slurred, fucked out praise spilling from your lips without a single filter.

"Just like that, Jay," you breathe, voice all high and wrecked, like it's getting fucked right out of you. Your nails are digging into his shoulders now, legs trembling where they're hooked over his arms, and your head falls back with a broken little cry as his dick slams into you hard. "Fuck—fuck, you feel so good, baby—don't stop—don't stop, please—"

You're barely making sense, the praise through mixing with every breathless moan because your brain has gone fuzzy from how deep he's hitting. And it works—God, it always works. You know exactly what it does to him when you talk like that, when you gasp his name and whimper about how good he fills you up like you need it to breathe.

"Fuck, baby—God, you sound so pretty when I fuck you like this—"

Then he loses it. His rhythm stutters, gets all rough and desperate, and then he's muttering something low under his breath as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"Shit—gonna cum—fuck, baby, I'm gonna—"

He slams his dick into you deep, so deep it punches the air out of your lungs, and then he's there, hips jerking as he cums hard, cock pulsing deep inside you while he moans against your skin, low and wrecked and so goddamn gone.

You feel the heat of it the second he lets go, thick and hot, spilling into you in long, desperate pulses that make your whole body jolt. He's buried as deep as he can go, cock twitching inside you as he fills you up, and fuck, it's so much—you can feel it flooding you, pooling deep in your cunt, so warm it makes your toes curl.

It's messy and raw, the way it leaks out around the base of his cock with every little grind of his hips, like your pussy is too full to take all of it, but you want to. You're clutching at him like you need to be filled, like you ache for it, moaning brokenly into the side of his neck as your walls clamp down, greedy and pulsing, your pussy desperately trying to drag every last drop out of him.

And that's it. That's what sends you over. Your back arches off the desk with a cry, eyes fluttering shut as your orgasm crashes over you—hot and blinding, slick and overwhelming. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight and messy you feel him groan deep in his chest, his hips giving one more slow, grinding thrust just to fuck it deeper. You're gushing around him, wet and desperate, your whole body shaking as you cum so hard it almost hurts, like every nerve has been set on fire.

And all the while, you can feel him still twitching inside you, his cum leaking out around his cock and dripping down onto the desk under you, warm and slippery and so much it makes you whimper. He stays there, buried deep, panting into your neck, and you both just hold onto each other, sweaty and shaking and so fucked out you can barely remember your own name.

Your walls are still twitching around him, little aftershocks rolling through your belly while his cock stays buried deep, keeping all that warmth right where he left it. You're both still breathing hard, your legs loose around his waist, one of your hands threaded in his hair while the other just rests over his heart like you're trying to steady the way it's still pounding.

And then he starts kissing you.

Soft, slow, sweet, like he's making up for every hard thrust with something gentle. His lips drag over your throat first, right where he'd been moaning your name seconds ago. Then your jaw, your cheekbone, your collarbone—he presses messy little kisses over every inch of skin he can reach, warm and lazy and full of affection, even as your pussy still flutters faintly around his dick.

By the time he reaches your lips, you're already tilting your chin up for him, mouth parting instinctively like it's muscle memory, like you're wired to kiss him the second he gets close.

And God, when he kisses you? It's everything. It's hot and deep and messy, more tongue than precision, like neither of you care about finesse, just the feel of it. His lips press to yours with this greedy, aching sweetness, like he missed your mouth even though he's been wrecking you for the past half an hour.

His tongue licks into your mouth slow, lazy and possessive, tasting every moan you don't even mean to let out. You whimper into it, walls tightening again with oversensitive need, and he feels that too—groans into your mouth and presses his hips a little deeper, just to feel your pussy squeeze down around him.

You kiss him back wet and open and hungry, lips parting wider, tongue sliding against his in a way that says please don't stop. And he doesn't. He kisses you until you're breathless, until your thighs twitch around his waist, until he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his dick still pulsing faintly inside your soaked, aching cunt.

Jason chuckles against your lips, breath still ragged, chest rising and falling like he's just barely gotten it under control again. You can feel his cock twitch inside you, still not soft, still hot and hard and so deep, and it's got you grinning already, even before he speaks.

"Jesus, doll," he mutters, voice rough and warm and fucked out. "You're such a fuckin'—"

You squeeze around him. On purpose.

"You little—" he huffs, trying to sound pissed.

But then you giggle. That soft, sweet little sound you make when you know exactly what you're doing, when you're all pleased with yourself and looking up at him like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth.

And he can't even be fucking mad at you. He wants to be. He should be. But your eyes are sparkling and your smile is too damn pretty and your skin is still flushed and glowing and sticky with sweat and sex, and all he can think is fuck, I love my girl.

You smile up at him, all smug and satisfied, knowing exactly what you just did. You know he won't say it—he won't admit it out loud—but you know. You know he's ruined for you, and you wear it like a crown.

You sigh, soft and happy, still full of him, still stretched wide around his cock and completely fucked out.

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head like he's exasperated, but his mouth is curved just a little too much to sell it. "Happy now, you gremlin?"

You brush your nose against his, still smiling like you just won the damn lottery. "So happy, Jay."

He just looks at you for a second like he's trying to memorize the stupid, blissed out little smile on your face. Then his lips are back on yours, and it's slow this time. Lazy. Tender. The kind of kiss that makes your toes curl even though you're already fucked out and cock drunk and full of him.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth and you moan into it without meaning to—soft and breathy—because fuck, he's still inside you. Still warm and thick and deep, and every tiny shift of his hips just rubs the right way, dragging over that raw, overstimulated spot that makes your whole body jolt.

He groans into the kiss like he feels it too, like your moan goes straight to his cock. And maybe it does, because it twitches inside you again, and your hips shift instinctively, chasing the friction even if it makes you whimper from how sensitive you are.

By the time he pulls back, you're dazed all over again, lips swollen and slick, eyes fluttering open like you're trying to remember where the hell you even are.

Then he kisses your nose. Just a quick, sweet little peck right on the tip of it, and you giggle like an actual, honest to God giggle. Completely, helplessly dick drunk.

He grins, because he knows exactly what kind of mess you are right now, and then his big hands slide under your ass and he lifts you off the desk.

You squeak, arms flying up to wrap around his neck, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist to keep him close, cock still buried deep inside you and dragging deliciously against your walls with the motion. Your head falls to his shoulder with a breathless little moan, and you feel him chuckle like he loves every second of it. Because he does.

"C'mon," he murmurs against your temple, voice low and still a little hoarse. "Let's get you cleaned up, doll."

You sigh, all dreamy and content, arms still looped around his neck like you've got no intention of letting go anytime soon. He carries you through the apartment with that same casual strength he always has—like you weigh nothing, like he wants you in his arms. And you just bury your face in his neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses to his skin as you go. Right under his jaw, just beneath his ear. He smells like sweat and sex and a little bit of cologne, and it makes your head spin.

By the time he steps into the bathroom, the warm light hits your skin and you start to come back to yourself a little right up until he pulls out.

You whimper at the sudden emptiness, thighs twitching as his cum starts to leak out of you in a slow, sticky trickle. Jason curses under his breath, eyes flicking down between your legs, watching the mess drip down your thighs, and his grip on you tightens instinctively.

"Fuckin' hell, baby..."

He presses you against his chest again like he knows your legs won't hold up and yeah, he's right. You're limp as a ragdoll, legs jelly, brain soup, and you don't even pretend to argue. You just lean into him, face pressed to his chest, nose brushing over his skin while his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.

He reaches into the shower with one hand to turn the water on, testing the temperature like he's done it a hundred times before, and you just stay where you are, warm and safe and so thoroughly used you feel like you're floating.

Once the water is going, he shifts his grip, easing you down to your feet—barely, just enough to start tugging at your soaked panties. They cling to your thighs, damp with sweat and slick and the mess he left inside you, and he peels them down slow, steady, not saying a word.

Then comes your tank top, and he helps you out of that too, his fingers brushing your sides as he eases it over your head, careful not to jostle you too much. Both pieces of clothing go straight into the washing machine with zero hesitation. You hear the soft thunk of the lid closing while he checks the shower one more time, then turns back to you.

Naked, warm, and still kind of wrecked, standing in the soft light with your thighs sticky and your chest rising and falling—his girl. And you just look up at him, dazed and smiling, because you'd let him do it all over again if he asked.

The shower is warm, steam curling around both your bodies as he pulls you in with him, keeping you close, keeping you safe. You sigh into it, forehead resting against his chest, arms draped around his waist.

He grabs the body wash and works up a slow, soapy lather between his palms, then starts to run his hands over your skin, so gentle even though those hands were gripping your hips and fucking you into the desk not even fifteen minutes ago. He washes you carefully, like you're fragile, like he's undoing every rough touch with something soft and slow now.

His fingers slide down your back, over your thighs, across your belly, lingering just a little between your legs, wiping away what's still dripping out of you with careful swipes.

You moan softly at the touch, even if there's no heat behind it, just sensitivity and love and the way his hands feel like home.

He presses kisses wherever he can reach while he works—your shoulder, the side of your neck, that spot right under your ear that always makes you sigh. You tilt your head up to meet his mouth when he leans in, and the kiss he gives you is slow and sweet and deep. Just tongues brushing lazily, mouths open and soft because you're both too blissed out to care about anything but the taste of each other.

When you pull back, you're both smiling. Dumbly. Lovingly. Pure adoration in his eyes. Like he's still a little wrecked from the way you clung to him back on the desk, like he can't believe he gets to touch you like this, kiss you like this, love you like this.

By the time you're rinsed off and clean and completely melted into him, he shuts off the water and helps you out, holding your hand like you might tip over on the bath mat if he doesn't. You probably would.

He wraps a huge, fluffy towel around your body first, tucking it tight under your arms, and you can’t help the little shiver that runs through you when his knuckles graze your skin. Then he grabs another for himself, slinging it low around his waist and raking a hand through his wet hair before turning back to you.

"Don't move, doll," he says, soft and amused.

And you don't. You just stand there in your towel, still warm and a little pink from the water, watching him disappear into the bedroom like some kind of domestic dream.

He's back less than a minute later with exactly what you knew he’d bring. A clean pair of panties and one of his t-shirts, big and soft and worn thin in all the right places. You snort a little when you see it.

"Didn't even bother with my clothes, huh?"

Jason just smirks, holding them out for you. "Why waste the effort when I know you're just gonna end up in this anyway?"

You roll your eyes but your heart melts, and he looks so smug about it you almost want to kiss him again.

He tugs on a pair of boxers, grabs some soft drawstring shorts from the dresser, and slips them on low on his hips, still damp, hair messy, towel slung over one shoulder as he moves around like a man with a mission. The second those towels are tossed in the bin, he turns back to you with that warm, post shower glow and holds out a hand.

"C'mon, gremlin."

You giggle as he helps you back out to the living room, and yeah, you are kinda shuffling like a little creature in his oversized shirt, clean and soft and half asleep on your feet. He settles you on the couch with way too much care, like you're some fragile thing that might tip over if he lets go for too long, tucks a blanket around your legs even though it's not cold.

Then he leans down, kisses your forehead and says, "Stay here. I'll be right back."

You hum, content, watching him as he turns and walks off and, naturally, the moment he's out of reach, you flop over and twist to rest your chin on the backrest just in time to see him stomping toward his desk. Like full blown damage control mode.

You watch as he shuts the monitors with a bit more force than necessary, muttering something under his breath, probably about how the fuck am I supposed to get work done when you keep doing shit like that, and then starts stacking the files you so rudely distracted him from. You can't even pretend to feel bad.

Especially not when he looks down at the mess on the surface—your handprint, the faint fog of sweat, and probably a little bit of cum—and lets out this put upon little sigh like he's not absolutely delighted with himself.

He wipes it down quick, grabs his phone, and you hear the soft beep of him opening his food app. Because yeah, no one's cooking after that. Dinner shows up faster than you expect, and Jason's already halfway through pretending he's not gonna baby you tonight.

"You could've gotten up to get the door," he grumbles, grabbing the bags and carrying them into the living room like he didn't just tuck you into the couch ten minutes ago. "Y'got legs."

"Jelly legs," you remind him sweetly, stretching like a cat under his shirt, bare thighs peeking out. "Your fault."

He shoots you a look but it's useless. His mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile, and before he can stop himself, he's nudging your legs apart and pulling them into his lap as he sits beside you.

"You little shit," he mutters under his breath.

But then he's opening the containers, poking around for your favorites, and feeding you bites between kisses to the top of your head. Like fucking clockwork. You hum after every one, leaning into him, basking in the warmth of his lap, and he gives up the fake grumpiness entirely once you nuzzle against his chest like the clingy little menace you are.

Eventually, dinner's forgotten somewhere on the coffee table, TV flickering in the background while you’re curled up half on, half under him, both of you pretending to watch.

It starts small, your fingers absently toying with the hem of his shorts, his hand smoothing down your spine in slow, lazy strokes. Then your nose brushes his jaw. Then your lips do. And then he turns toward you, and it just happens. Slow. Drowsy. Addictive.

His lips press to yours, soft and easy, and it's like you both breathe out at the same time, sinking into each other without thinking. Your mouths move together like you've done this a thousand times before, wet and slow and deep, his tongue brushing against yours with this teasing little flick that makes you whine into his mouth.

Jason groans low in his throat, one hand slipping under his shirt, palm warm and rough on your bare waist. You gasp into the next kiss, thighs shifting on either side of him, and that sound—that needy little noise you make—has him chasing your mouth like he can't get enough.

There's no rush. No angle. Just the quiet slide of lips and tongues and soft gasps between kisses that get deeper, longer, messier. You tug at his hair and he huffs a laugh against your mouth, pulling you tighter to him, completely wrecked by how much he wants you even now.

But eventually, your mouths slow down. Kisses taper off into soft little pecks. Your breathing evens out. His fingers stroke along your thigh, and your eyes flutter shut, head tucked under his chin like you've found your home and you're not leaving it.

Jason exhales like he's never been more relaxed in his life. "Needy little gremlin," he murmurs, but there's no heat in it, just affection, worn in and real.

You smile sleepily against his chest. "I love you too, Jay."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, like he's pretending to be over it but his arms tighten around you all the same.

You don't say anything back, too far gone already. Your breathing has gone slow and even, face squished into his chest, lashes fluttering against his skin. And then it happens, that first soft snore.

Barely there, just a tiny little puff of air through your nose, but Jason hears it. He always does. And he can't help it—his chest shakes with the little laugh he tries to smother.

Because you swear you don't snore. Every time he brings it up you're like "no I don't, Jay, you're lying, I sleep like a princess", and maybe you do. But you're also snoring like a baby animal, and it's the fucking cutest thing he's ever heard.

He looks down at you, completely dead asleep on him in his shirt, wrapped up in his arms like you belong there, and honestly, those files on the desk can rot. He knows he's not done, knows he should've closed out those reports or replied to that one message before knocking off for the night. But all that can wait.

Because right now, you're laying on top of him, breathing slow and even, little snores puffing against his chest, and he's got one hand tangled in your hair and the other cradling the soft curve of your thigh, and he couldn't give a single shit about anything else.

There's always tomorrow.

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