#*pipe murder noises
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ineffablewhovianholmes · 13 days ago
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Bro was ceaselessly watching
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ashpkat · 6 months ago
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old men i am in love with (an updated list, from a woman kisser):
- elias bouchard (as of Now)
- master joseph (as of [REDACTED])
- emperor belos (i’m stopping this as of bullshit you don’t wanna know)
- claude frollo (um)
thank you and goodnight
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uncarbonatedmilk · 10 months ago
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*checks watch* oh would you look at that its time for my daily mandated autism
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thebookofthefaeries · 2 years ago
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It's Peter's third eighth divorce gift for Elias
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funniest art interaction i’ve ever seen
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conspicuousval · 4 months ago
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Just random appreciation post but man I really do love my mom. I feel like she has every right to be way less supporting and accommodating of me than she is but she's always been my number one defender for all the things that aren't normal about me. I know that if someone tried to judge me for asking constant simple questions like that she'd honestly probably try to fist fight them but it's nice for reassurance that she's not sick of it. Even if I'm constantly asking questions like ok but this is actually our address right? This is the number? This is how exactly I go about every small step of this? I'm not majorly fucking it up right? These *long list of every worst case scenario* aren't going to happen right? Right? Honestly a true pro at assuring me I'm not gonna die every single day.
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tittiesnhrtz · 2 months ago
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prisoner!ellie hcs
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ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ mostly keeps to herself and spends most of her time reading or drawing in the shabby prison library, or jogging and working out in the yard, trying to stay out of trouble. but, she ends up making enemies anyway because of her snarky mouth.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she either got in for selling drugs or murder, there's no in between. if it's the latter, she cries herself to sleep some nights, too sorrow-stricken—even if she believes they deserved it—to care about waking up other prisoners.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ who’s trying (keyword: trying) so hard to not get a shot from the prison guards everyday. but her stubbornness and temper know better.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she tries to ignore you when she finds out you’re her new cell mate. but let’s be honest, who doesn’t get lonely in that shithole? so she eventually warms up to you and even offers her commissary sometimes.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she finds herself growing attached to you; like a wasp to the saccharine nectar of an entrancing flower. she goes wherever you go and the whole prison knows you both are inseparable.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ it isn’t long until she’s catching feelings for you, trying so hard to not look or blush when you’re taking a shower in the communal bathroom, and she’s waiting outside, holding the towel for you.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she would never make the first move. she’s too busy overthinking and trying not to read between the lines, that the whole prison realises you're flirting with her before she does.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ when the prison lights are off and the other prisoners are out like light, she makes space for you in her bottom bunk so you can lie down next to her and have your daily deep conversations. she’d find herself transfixed, listening to you ramble about the most random things, drawing deeper meanings even from the ridiculous, the only source of light being the moonlight spilling through the tiny window. she’s truly grateful for having found someone like you when she’d lost hope and succumbed to the darkness.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she broke out into a fight with one of the prisoners who was calling you names, punching the other girl in the eye and what not. the prison broke into a commotion and poor girl got sent to shu (solitary confinement) for a week. when she returned to your worried face and puffy red eyes, her heart ached and she swore she’d never let her temper get the best of her again. but she had to admit, she was in cloud nine seeing you cared about her just as much as she did for you.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she fumbles over her words and blushes so hard when you call her your prison wife jokingly. she mumbles a 'shut up' though she's not opposed to the idea, not even a bit.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ you finally make a move when you realize she's never going to and she'd go as far as to learn how to live with her feelings suppressed.
she's walking back from her work that pays less than a dollar, after having helped fix some broken pipes, when she sees you waiting for her.
“you waitin’ on me?” she questions after approaching you in long strides. she was sweaty, covered in dirt and grime and in desperate need of a shower.
but that didn’t stop you from leaning in and kissing her. after being in a prison for months, hygiene was the least of your concerns.
a surprised noise leaves her lips, but soon she’s fluttering her eyes close and relishing the moment. she smelt like a mix of the mango sorbet scented soap you both shared and sweat. when the kiss starts to deepen, she pulls away, conscious of her state.
“i’m pretty nasty.” she laughs awkwardly, her cheeks flushed.
“do you wanna be my prison wife?”
her eyes widen at the question, you sound serious and you’re not joking this time. she stares at you for a whole minute, processing your words before she breaks out into a giggle. she gives you that smile, her dimples on display.
“i’ll consider it.” she says, although, internally she’s screaming ‘yes’ and fighting the urge to hug you.
kinda nsfw
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ a lot of quickies in the bathroom or behind the secluded cabin in the yard. head buried in each other’s shoulders or hand clamping the mouth of the other’s to not get caught by the creepy guards or other prisoners.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ when you finally get some privacy, she makes sure she can hear every sound you make, watching your reactions closely like she’s trying to memorise it and hold onto it for thinking about it when she’s away from you.
“you like that, baby?” her words vibrate against your clit, eliciting a moan from you.
“yeah, you like that.” she giggles as she looks up at you through her eyelashes, making eye contact, before she goes back to devouring your pussy.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she’s not satisfied until she’s pulled four orgasms from you on most days. she just loves seeing you all fucked out, knowing she was the one who caused it.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ always groping your ass in public or smacking it when she thinks the guards aren’t looking. when you’re in the prison cafeteria feeding her her meal—because to her the slop they serve is bearable only when it’s your fingers wrapping around the spoon and bringing the food up to her mouth—she’ll slide a hand up your thigh and rest it awfully close to your cunt, drawing stars near the area, as she looks at you with an innocent smile.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she’s extremely needy some days. especially after a tiresome day at work and not being able to see you as the officers piled extra work on her. not even two minutes into kissing and she’s already humping your thigh, her slick sticking to her underwear. she’ll whine pathetically, all the while complaining about how tired she is and how much she missed you, making you just give in instead of teasing her.
bonus
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ when she finds out you’re getting released, her heart feels heavy, like someone just squeezed lemon juice on her open wounds. she sucks it up and pretends to be happy for you nonetheless, knowing you’ll finally get to take a proper shower, eat normal food and sleep on a bed that doesn’t give you neck pain every single day.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ but, what if she mattered to you only in the confined grounds of prison? what if you’ll forget her the minute you step outside? you’ll just walk out into the world, make new friends, new experiences, and a life that will no longer include her. these thoughts gnaw at her but she never asks you about it.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she doesn’t do a very good job at hiding her worries though. you see right through her facade and assure her you’ll be waiting for her on the other side. and you stick true to your words, sending her letters, calling her during ‘phone time’ and visiting her almost everyday during visitation hours. you tell her about your life and how the parole officer is still a pain in the ass while she tells you about the prison gossip and how lonely it feels without you.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she’s on her best behaviour all the time, her main motive being to serve her time and get out so she can be with you, properly. so when she finally gets released, the first thing she does is ask joel to buy a diamond ring, saying she’ll lend him the money back, and meet her outside the prison. she knows you’d be waiting for her in the car to pick her up from the prison. after bidding joel goodbye, she jogs over to your car and throws herself in the passenger seat.
“hey, baby.” she grins, buzzing with excitement, anticipation and anxiousness. she was finally free and it took all her self control to not fling herself onto you and make love to you right here after yearning for the warmth of your touch for so long.
“hey.” you manage a smile, feeling overwhelmed by seeing her, and this time without a guard monitoring interactions between an inmate and a visitor.
“fuck, that was the longest five years of my life.” she leaned back in her seat and let out a soft sigh. her hand reaches over the centre console, coming to rest on your thigh. her fingers tap a nervous rhythm as she looks at you. she’d been planning this moment for months, but now that it was happening, she felt nervous as hell.
she pulled her clammy hand away from your thigh, inhaling sharply as she averted her gaze. her fingers fiddled with the small ring box before pulling it out. “uh..do you want to be my prison wife, but without the ‘prison’?”
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bruciemilf · 1 year ago
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The Wayne manor is not a quiet place.
Someone Is always doing something, talking about anything, teasing, bantering, playfully slandering, so Bruce grew accustomed to noise. Its hard not to, with his nest of birds.
But this particular topic has him on mute;
"Why do YOU get him when he's old?"
" Oh my GOD, Jason, I'm LITERALLY the oldest. You ALWAYS have to get everything!"
Jason isn't at all interested in Dick's dramatics. He wraps all 6'4 inches around Bruce's leg like an affectionate leech. "You're the fucking meanest! You'll probably feed B those gross ass protein shakes and force him to watch re runs of Realest Housewives of Gotham!"
"YOU TRIED TO BLOW HIM UP!"
Cass is strong like a tsunami and silent as a snake, jumping on Bruce's back, beautiful eyes full of threat. " Dad stays. Mine."
Bruce pipes up, " I have a retirement plan--"
"Getting railed everyday at the Kent farm isn't a retirement!"
Tim gives Steph a look of disgust. "Gross."
Damian isn't above pulling out his swords. " If I don't get Baba, everyone is dying. Me included. "
"Damian. What did I say about threatening your siblings with murder?" Bruce asks expectantly.
" Oh, I'm not threatening, baba. I'm making a vow."
Alfred doesn't pry his attention from the chamomile tea he's preparing. " Master Bruce stays with me."
"...Alfred, I don't think you'll...You know, be around when Bruce retires--"
"Was that a contradiction?"
They all gulp. The argument is settled quickly, and Bruce spends the rest of his evening with head on Alfred's lap and his hand in Jason's hair, petting like a cat, and listening to RHOG on the TV.
He loves the noise.
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matsunoluvr · 3 months ago
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୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ taking a steamy bath with rafayel
warnings: suggestive content, rafayel and my delusions, slight nudity (male), not proof read bc i’m too ashamed of what i wrote
character: rafayel
link to master list here~
author’s notes; written because of rafayel’s misty invitation card.
i don’t write smut because i think i’d pass away from embarrassment but this card? this card almost turned me to the dark side.
more under the cut :3
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“Hey cutie, why don’t we wash off together?”
painting and baking are not similar. at all.
one is the creation of visual art and one is the creation of edible art
so i don’t know why you and rafayel are surprised when your cake just, exploded. well not the cake but the icing bag sure did.
rafayel claims it wasn’t his fault, but he tried to pipe the icing without cutting the fucking bag, so he was just squeezing the bag until it popped.
good job.
now you’re both splattered with bits of red icing - and if you squinted hard enough it looked as if you two where the prime suspects of a murder
you don’t even get mad at the now very messy cake - instead opting to laugh at rafayel who is clearly distressed at the icing covering his hands and upper half of his body
“Ugh, is this going to stain my shirt?”
of course, typical rafayel whining.
you notice some icing dripping down his jaw - down his neck - and grin, thinking of a new way to tease the distressed lumerian
so of course, rather than just wiping it off with a tissue, or your thumb, you decide that sticking out your tongue and gently lick his neck.
you lick his neck.
his neck.
rafayel immediately flushes, a delicious look of utter confusion, fluster and shock blend into one as you pull back
oh the emotions on his face are just priceless, or very hot.
depends if you like your men partially dumbfounded and partially (very) attracted simultaneously
“Hey… [YN] what are you doing?”
awwwwhjswhd he’s going to be turning so red, he flushes too easily for his own good
you notice the flush, how it spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, down his neck and chest
silently you wonder if his nipples blush too
keep licking up small bits of the icing on him, caressing your tongue over his collar bones, make sure to suck off every last drop of that icing
the icing is sweet - or is it rafayel?
his breathing gets heavier, and small sighs of content leave his lips every now and then
his face is kind of scrunched into a frown, you’d think he was walking in baked beans with bare feet with how displeasured he looked (specific i know) but really he was just trying not to make more noises
one of his hands are covering his mouth, palm facing outwards, as if he were trying to muffle his own noises
unfortunately that concept doesn’t sit well with you (nor me) - so you decide to get a little more frisky…
as you kiss his neck, pop open the top button of his shirt and part it, dip down and nibble along his collar bone
his hands that were pushing you back are now just holding onto you, his eyes a little dazed, trying to focus on your face - but whenever you look up at him he gets too embarrassed and looks away
kiss, bite, lick at his freckles/beauty marks on his skin and he’ll shudder - trying to prevent any blood travelling south
now he’s letting out more noises, and his grip on you tightens again as he pants
when he finally pulls you up his face is dusted in a beautiful blush, eyebrows furrowed but his pupils are dilated - his chest is exposed showing you that his nipples do in-fact blush - horray!
pushing you back, rafayel takes in your figure, eyes scanning you from bottom to top before they focus on your eyes
“You’ve got icing all over you too… [YN]”
you sometimes forget how strong rafayel is - yet when he scoops you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom you quickly dismiss the idea of a frail, unfit painter
he swiftly switches on the bath before you go back to absolutely ravaging the poor man
i’m talking shirt open, mouth-on-chest, eye rolling goodness
at some point your shirt and trousers were discarded on the floor - and his shirt was flung out the door as you two continue to caress each other
trail your fingers down his abdomen, trace his subtle v-line, tease the skin at the hem of his trousers before you pop open the button and slide them off
his eyes never leave your hands, you notice his breath hitching every time your nails stretch gentle against his skin…
dance your finger-tips around his very obvious ‘problem’ and listen to him whine disappointed as you pull away, opting to wrap your arms around the back of his neck
the bath finally fills and you both tumble into it, the warm water and soap soaking into your under garments
rub soap along his waist and abdomen and he’ll repress a small moan, causing you to comment on how sensitive his skin is
“In the water my senses are heightened, including how you feel against my skin…”
maybe it’s a lumerian thing? or maybe it’s a rafayel thing?
either way it’s enticing how easily he reacts to your ministrations so you’re not complaining
cup his face in your hands and caress his cheek with your thumb, rubbing against his smooth, milky skin and watch a small sigh tremble out of his lips
thumb at his bottom lip, and watch his eyes flutter slightly as he waits for more
slide your hands from his face to his chin and hold it, glide your hand down his neck then chest and watch his breathing visibly quicken with the rise and fall of his chest
“Your way of triggering my senses has only touched the surface…”
this comment makes you want to tease him more, i mean watching him shiver and twitch under your fingertips?
who doesn’t want to see rafayel like that??
so, as any sane person would do, you hook your fingers under his silver necklace and tug him towards you - both your half naked bodies sliding together as he groans at the contact
you lean into his collarbone and suck a hickey into his skin, tongue gliding over the bruise as he audibly gasps at the realisation
his eyes visibly glaze over with lust as you mark him up - his restraint snapping as he pushes himself on top of you
his arms cage you beneath him, and his gaze looks starved, as if just being with you you wasn’t enough he needed you to be his, and his alone
rafayel’s sudden surge of dominance jolts you as he holds your chin to face him
despite his dominance you see his fluster and arousal plastered across his face as he whispers out -
“Your body is warm, I like that.”
- before he finally leans in to kiss you
his lips are soft, a stark contrast to the intensity of which he kisses you
his hands are trailing all over your body, savouring the feel of your plush skin against his palms
you can feel him bite your bottom lip - eliciting a gasp from you as he slides his tongue between your lips
rafayel is lost in you, the taste of you, the feeling of you against him, the sounds you let out, the fragrant smell of the bath soap and the sight of you oh rafayel is absolutely gone
his grip on your waist tightens as he fully immerses himself in you, only thinking of you, only knowing you and what you taste like in that moment.
when you two finally break apart, there’s a small saliva bridge between your spit-soaked lips - and you can see just how flushed rafayel is
red lips, hickey-ed up, and you’re not daft enough not to notice something prodding prominently against your thigh…
“[YN], how about we test my senses a bit more…”
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AN; again i wrote half of this last night and half of this when i woke up but when i was writing i had this sharp pang of shame like… this poor poor man doesn’t even know half of the shit i’d like to see him doing and also the fact that my parents migrated to an english-speaking country only for their daughter to use that power to write about a fictional character ANYWAYS I HEART RAFAYEL 🗣️
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ja3yun · 4 months ago
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I'm a Virgin, Not a Murderer | CH.2: Saturn and Uranus
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virgin!heeseung x sex worker!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (m.rec), slight throat fucking, whiney heeseung, strip club and dances, mentions of alcohol and anxiety, anything else lmk! wc: 18.8k ch.2 synopsis: with you and heeseung fleeing the scene of your accidental crime, you weave through the trials of finding safety and making some cash, leading you straight to saturn strip club. a/n: hi! thank you so so much for the love and support on the first chapter <3 i'm sorry if it seems slow but it picks up the pace in the following chapters so please stick with it! i love this series sm and i am so appreciative of each and every one of you! as always, reblogs, likes, comments, and feedback are all welcome
chapter 1 | masterlist | chapter 3
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Your precious car begins to slow down despite your foot firmly pressed on the pedal, causing you to glance at the dashboard quizzically. The needle on the fuel gauge hovers perilously close to empty, a sight that sends a jolt of anxiety through you. 
There’s no way it has already run out of petrol, you only filled it up two days ago; then again, you have been driving for the better part of six hours down winding roads. You start to wonder if perhaps you were overly optimistic about that refuelling. There also might be a small, tiny chance that you only filled it up halfway because you ran out of money for an entire tank.
As these thoughts race through your mind, the car gives a tired shudder. The engine's steady hum falters, replaced by a series of splutters. The tail of your vehicle emits a loud, desperate noise, gasping for something to quench its thirst. You turn just in time to see a thin, ominous layer of black smoke drifting from the exhaust pipe.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles turn white as you scan the deserted road ahead for any sign of a petrol station. The vast, empty stretch of asphalt seems to mock your predicament. Panic sets in as you realise the gravity of the situation. The distant horizon offers no solace, just an unending ribbon of road under the setting sun.
“Fuck!” you exclaim, slamming your palm harshly on the steering wheel as the car comes to a halt.
Heeseung twists his head to look at your disgruntled expression before noticing the puff of smoke in his peripheral vision, his eyes widening in fear. The only time he had seen a car fog up like this was when Jongseong decided to do skids in the Tesco car park at 3am after too many Red Bulls and exam stress. The next day, his friend had to replace every tyre and pay a fine after being caught on CCTV.
This consequence might be drastically worse.
“We could phone AA. They can pick us up or fill the tank,” he suggests, as if he can magically conjure a phone booth in front of you.
Huffing, you suppress the silent rage coursing through you due to the recent life events. You sit back, gripping the wheel tightly. “Heeseung,” you begin, keeping your voice slow and steady, “you do realise there is a dead body in the hotel room that has probably been found by now, and they will be looking for us!”
You don’t mean to get agitated with the timid boy, but the gravity of the situation is pushing you to the edge. You don’t even want to think about the scene back at the hotel or who the poor person that found your attacker would be. If it was Kat at reception, she definitely would have already called the police, given a character description, and probably found a way to help them locate your National Insurance number. She always did hate your guts, and it would be a joyous occasion for her to watch your demise unfold with her playing a key part in it.
You grab a bobble from the glove compartment and pull your hair back into a ponytail, closing your eyes briefly as you try to devise a plan. The tension in the car is palpable, a mix of fear and frustration hanging in the air. "I'll walk and see if there's a petrol station nearby," you say, flicking two framing pieces of hair out and holding your hands out to Heeseung. "Can I get some of the money you brought?"
Heeseung looks at you with arched brows. "You don’t have any?" he asks incredulously. It’s not like he expected you to be a billionaire, but with thousands of horny men and a girl as gorgeous as you, he figured you had more than enough cash.
If only he knew you were eating out-of-date beans two weeks ago and that your water was shut off because you couldn’t pay the bill. The reality of your life is far removed from the glamorous facade you sometimes project.
"I only carry £20 with me in case a client tries to rob me. I can't ever be too careful," you explain, understanding the irony in your attempt at safety when you were two seconds away from meeting the man in white at the pearly gates not too long ago.
Heeseung doesn’t fully grasp your logic, but he also isn’t a sex worker, so he trusts your judgement. "Okay, let me grab my..." he begins to say, nodding in agreement and patting his chest in search of his jacket pocket. His eyes bulge, and his heart sinks like a stone in water.
Frantically, he searches his body, as if this would magically make his brown jacket appear. Sweat from his terror seeps from his pores as he chants a few tiny 'fucks', looking around your car with panicked eyes. His breaths become shallow, and you can see the fear creeping into his features.
"What’s wrong?" you ask calmly, not matching his urgent state. Your voice is steady, a stark contrast to the chaos bubbling beneath the surface.
He turns to you slowly, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t know how to tell you the unfortunate information he has just realised, so he stays silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder in the tension-filled car.
“What is it? Just tell me.”
"I...I left my jacket in the hotel room."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Heeseung!" you shout, throwing your hands up in the air to punctuate your disappointment in his forgetfulness. You can’t believe how stupid he is considering you told him to grab his things. When you said that, you meant everything.
Heeseung shoulders the blame but gets defensive at your attitude towards his blunder. "I’m sorry! It’s not every day I kill a man and have to flee with a prostitute, okay? I wasn’t thinking," he exclaims, his voice cracking with stress. He can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, making his hands tremble slightly.
"Oh, you think I go around whacking my clients on the regular?" you argue back, eyes burning with a dangerous fury. The absurdity of the situation, coupled with your rising panic, makes your temper flare. 
"Well-" he starts but cuts himself off because he doesn’t know how to argue with you. His eyes drop, and he lets out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair in frustration.“My ID is in the pocket, Y/N. They’ll find me for sure…”
Looking at him, you suddenly wince in sympathy. If the cameras and Kat didn’t rat him out to the authorities, his ID certainly would. The sheer panic on his face is a reminder of how dire your situation truly is. 
You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "We need a plan," you say, your voice steadier now. “We need to walk, it's nearly 9pm and we can’t be out here like sitting ducks.”
“We’ll be walking all night, Y/N. I can’t do this, I can’t…I have an exam on Monday,” he whines, chest heaving up and down as he puts himself in a state of panic by thinking about the final assignments of his academic career - much to your dismay. His eyes dart around frantically as if looking for an escape route that isn’t there.
Out of all the things for him to worry about, his exam should not be taking priority. “Heeseung, that is the least of your concern. We killed a man, me and you - we can’t go back. What part of that do you not fucking understand? Do you seriously think I would be sitting in a dead car with you in the middle of fuck knows where if I could just go back to my flat and move on with my life?”
Your anger is flaring through your nostrils, each breath you take feeling like it’s stoking a fire inside you. The reality of the consequences to your predicament crashes over you in waves.
Heeseung’s face pales, and you can see him physically shrink back, his shoulders hunching as he tries to make himself smaller. He looks at you with wide, scared eyes, clearly cowed by your outburst. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, almost inaudibly, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear and guilt.
You take a moment to look at him and your heart breaks. He never asked for this, the same as you didn’t, so you shouldn’t be yelling at him as if this is all his fault, or that his feelings and worries are any less valid than your own, even if they are misplaced. He came to you looking to lose his virginity, not gain trauma and a criminal record - and that’s exactly what he got all because he saved you.
Closing your eyes, you rub your temples, trying to gather your thoughts. The night is closing in around you, the impending darkness feeling suffocating. The horizon is a blur of shadows, with the last traces of daylight fading into an oppressive twilight. You can’t afford to waste time arguing. You need to move, and you need to move now.
Pondering for a while, you realise your current state of dress isn’t helping the situation. Sitting in nothing but a robe with no bra and only lace panties underneath isn’t practical for a night trek, let alone safe. The robe, which barely provides any warmth or coverage, feels utterly inadequate against the encroaching chill. You glance at Heeseung, who’s still looking down, avoiding your gaze, biting the skin from his lip in anxiety.
“Heeseung,” you say more gently, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. “Can I borrow your shirt?”
He looks up, confusion clouding his eyes for a moment before he registers your request. “Yeah, sure, anything,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation and a need to atone for his earlier mistake. He hurriedly rids himself of his plaid shirt, almost fumbling in his haste, and hands it over to you. His movements are frantic, a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil.
Even the way he says "anything" makes the guilt suppress the anger towards him. The boy is so sweet and gentle, you never knew someone like him could ever exist, not in this grotty city anyway. 
You take your robe off, revealing your erect nipples to him once again, this time in a much less sexually charged atmosphere. The night air feels like icy fingers brushing against your skin, making you shiver involuntarily. With the sun disappearing to let the moon say hello, you rush to get the shirt on, shielding yourself from the settling cold. The plaid shirt, still warm from Heeseung's body heat, provides a semblance of comfort and much needed warmth amidst the chaos.
As you’re getting dressed in Heeseung’s shirt, he tries his best not to look at you and give you even a shred of privacy. He might have seen them earlier but that does not mean you consent to him catching a swatch right now. His gaze remains fixed on the ceiling of the car, his hands clenching and unclenching as he battles with his own thoughts.
But god, he can imagine them now, how perfect and delicious they looked, like something out of his wildest fantasies, the feeling of them cupped in his hands and how squishy they felt. Despite his efforts to maintain some decorum, the images linger in his mind, a thought he desperately tries to push aside. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and shuffling in his seat to adjust the twitch in his balls, he tries to focus on anything else, the guilt gnawing at him.
Once dressed, you notice how Heeseung’s shirt, though oversized, fits snugly enough to offer some semblance of modesty. The fabric, soft and slightly worn, smells faintly of him - a mix of soap and something uniquely his. 
“Heeseung, we need to keep moving,” you say, your voice firm but gentle. He nods, swallowing hard but still avoiding your gaze. You can see him fidgeting in his seat, his hand tugging at the zipper of his jeans, seeking relief from the friction.
Stifling a laugh, grateful for the distraction, you snap your fingers playfully. “I know you have a bad case of blue balls, but we need to focus.”
Heeseung’s face turns a vivid shade of red as his eyes widen in shock, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. He can’t believe you noticed him fiddling with his trousers to alleviate the discomfort. Yet, just like you, he welcomes the distraction, though he would have preferred it to come from something less embarrassing.
“We need to ditch this car and find a motel or something,” you suggest determinedly, scanning the deserted road for any signs of life or guidance but there’s nothing but darkness.
You swing open the driver’s door and step onto the slightly damp grass, cringing internally at the cold, wet sensation between your bare toes as you circle around to the boot to rummage through your belongings. You always keep a bag of spare work clothes and some makeup in there for emergencies. In hindsight, you really should have packed proper clothes and not a tiny set of lingerie, but for now, Heeseung’s shirt paired with your six-inch heels will have to do.
As you slam the boot shut, you take a moment to look at your car, preparing yourself to say goodbye. This trusty vehicle has taken you across the country, creating memories filled with both joy and sorrow, all of which have shaped who you are today. This is just another memory to add to the collection, no matter how unpleasant.
You glance at your gleaming custom registration plate, panic rising within you. It’s a beacon, a glaring signal that could lead anyone straight to you. If they’re searching for you, it won’t take them long to find you with a plate like that. Stroking the hood of the car, you pout. “I’m so sorry for this, baby,” you whisper lovingly to the motor before bringing your stiletto down with a harsh crash against the metal. The pain shoots up your leg, but it’s the crack in your heart that hurts the most. You never imagined you’d have to hurt your precious car, let alone abandon it.
Heeseung hears the commotion and scrambles out, his eyes wide with alarm. He sees you attacking the back of the car, unaware of your intentions. Your face is flushed with exertion as you put all your might into battering the plate off its screws. Strands of hair fall out of your ponytail, which you angrily huff away. Despite himself, Heeseung finds this display of dominance strangely attractive. The way you assert control over the metal makes him wonder how you would have treated him if things had gone to plan.
The sight of your heels jamming into the rear only fuels his thoughts further. His mind races with images of you dominating a man, your heel tearing into his flesh like extinguishing a cigarette. The picture causes an ache in Heeseung’s groyne, making him shuffle uncomfortably. This feeling is something he’ll have to explore; perhaps once he gets past his virginity, he can figure out his kinks.
If he ever does lose it, that is.
“W-what are you doing?” he asks shyly, scared to break your concentration.
Huffing, you look up at him, seeing the bewilderment in his eyes. You can’t blame him, you must look deranged like a bull charging at a red flag. “I’m breaking these off so it buys us some time, just in case a cop car comes by,” you explain, wiping sweat from your brow. If you were cold before, you certainly aren’t now.
He watches you soothe your aching leg, his concern genuine and heartfelt. “You need to be careful, Y/N. You could hurt your ankle,” he states, his voice filled with worry.
You’re about to snap at him, but his soft expression and worried eyes make you relent. Taking a deep breath, you calm yourself before replying. “Can you get the one at the front, please?” Your voice is steady, though the aggression of your kick shows you’re not in the mood for further discussion. Heeseung nods and heads to the front of the car, obediently following your instructions.
Heeseung, slightly shaky but determined, crouches down to work on the front plate. You watch him, grateful for his cooperation despite the circumstances. The dim light from the casting moon creates long shadows, and the quiet night amplifies every sound: the rustle of leaves, the distant call of an owl, the metallic clinks as Heeseung fumbles with the screws. The whole scene feels surreal, as if you're in a suspenseful film.
Returning to the back of the car, you take a deep breath and assess the damage. The number plate is now hanging by one screw, bent and battered but still attached. You give it another firm kick, wincing as the stiletto heel digs into the metal. With a final tug, the plate comes off, and you toss it into the nearby bushes, hoping it will be concealed well enough to buy you some time.
“Heeseung, how’s it going up there?” you call out, trying to mask the urgency in your voice.
“Almost done,” he replies, his voice strained. A few moments later, he triumphantly holds up the front plate, looking to you for approval. You nod, giving him a small, encouraging smile. He seems so happy, like he just won a month of free rental at BlockBuster. 
This is the first time you’ve seen him smile and it melts your heart, his toothy grin and smile lines accentuating the sun that seems to radiate from his face. He probably smiled like that all the time before all of this, you think to yourself with a pang of remorse.
Following your lead, he tosses it into the high bushes, listening to the rustling leaves as the metal cascades down the intertwined branches. He wipes the fallen paint and dust from his hands on his dark jeans and moves to the back of the car to reach you, his happiness dims a little as he sees you hobble slightly.
Before you can place the coveted bag on your shoulder, Heeseung clasps his big hand around the strap and steals it from you, wrapping it around his neck and shoulder so it can swing idly under his arm. You don’t get to protest at his snatching because he’s already walking forward, stirring up his energy for the long walk ahead.
_____
You haven’t seen a single inch of light or hope in the past two hours of walking along the countryside. The skies, once adorned with a pale twilight, have now succumbed to the inky darkness of night. The narrow dirt path stretches endlessly before you, flanked by skeletal trees and picked-apart bushes. The cold, relentless and unforgiving, seeps into your bones, making each step more laborious than the last. The only sound accompanying your journey is the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures.
Your soles are burning, a searing pain that intensifies with each agonising step. The God-forsaken heels feel like instruments of torture, biting into your feet and reducing your stride to a painful shuffle. Every uneven stone and hidden root sends jolts of agony through your body, making you wince involuntarily. The cold, having long breached the feeble barriers of Heeseung’s shirt, wraps around you like a cruel, invisible shroud.
Hunger gnaws at your insides, a relentless beast that roars louder with each passing minute. Your stomach grumbles an angry, persistent sound that echoes through the stillness. You're convinced Heeseung can hear it.
And he does. 
Heeseung, walking beside you, casts worried glances in your direction. The concern in his eyes is unmistakable, a silent testament to his awareness of your suffering. He can see the pain etched across your face, the way your lips are pressed into a thin line of determination despite the evident exhaustion.
His gaze drops to your feet, noticing how you wince with every step. Your once resolute stride is now reduced to a limping hobble, the back of your shoes digging mercilessly into your sore, blistered skin. Your feet, barely able to withstand the pressure, threaten to give out beneath you. The muscles in your legs tremble with fatigue, each step a monumental effort that pushes you closer to your breaking point.
Heeseung's concern manifests in his actions; he slows his pace to match your faltering steps, offering a steadying hand when you stumble over an unseen obstacle. His presence is a small comfort, a reminder that you are not alone in this desolate landscape. His words, though few, are gentle and encouraging, urging you to hold on just a little longer.
Hating the sight of you in pain, Heeseung places a timid hand on your shoulder, causing you to pause in your steps. “Maybe you should take those off?” he suggests, eyes pointed down to your bruised feet.
“And walk along the British countryside that has needles and shit lying around?” you ask rhetorically, a bite in your voice due to the irritation you’re being overstimulated by, “Unless you want to swap, these heels are staying on.”
Despite only knowing you a few hours, he has grasped that you are a stubborn and independent woman who seldom takes help from those around her. You can hold your own against the world, not a single crutch to lean on; when Heeseung had offered you a piggyback a few miles back, you snapped at him, telling him that as much as you appreciate the gesture, you are not a child in need of comfort.
He never offered again.
That’s why even as he suggests a solution to your problem, he does it with a shaky voice. He has always been scared of women in general, so having to navigate around an angry and short-tempered one who is also hungry is something he is having a problem with.
“Look, I’m fine, Heeseung. Really, just st-”
Your sentence is interrupted by the distant sound of an engine. Both your and Heeseung’s eyes expand at the beautiful noise, each of you having similar thoughts that this could be your get out of jail free card. The sound grows louder, cutting through the oppressive silence of the night like a beacon of hope. Your heart leaps, adrenaline surging through your veins as the possibility of escape becomes tantalisingly real.
Quickly thinking, you unbutton the shirt that covers your most valuable assets in a situation like this and scoop your tits up slightly, to give you a more voluptuous look. You whip the bobble out from your hair and ruffle it to a bouncy state. The cold air hits your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but you ignore the discomfort, focusing instead on the potential saviour approaching.
Heeseung watches you, his eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and anxiety. His mouth opens as if to protest, but no words come out. He’s torn between his instinct to protect and his hope that your plan might actually work. But you’re putting yourself in more danger by trying to lure the driver in with your body, and he can’t face whacking another person to ensure your safety.
“Y/N, what are you doing? People don’t do this anymore, not since the 70s,” he argues softly, trying to stand in your way as the headlights illuminate the dark road you walk on.
Pushing him to the side, you shake your head, plastering on a smile and sticking your thumb out. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Heeseung. We need a lift and I’m making sure we get it,” you retort.
Granted, you have never hitchhiked in your life and the only reason you have an inch of knowledge on how to do this is through movies, some of which end up as well as Heeseung is imagining, but there are two of you and if today has taught you anything, you make a great team when it comes to defending yourself.
The vehicle comes into view, an old pickup truck, its paint chipped and weathered. It slows as it approaches, and for a brief moment, you hold your breath, praying that the driver will stop. With one final push attempt, you jump slightly, flailing your arms around as your bare breasts bounce freely under the shirt. If it doesn’t catch the driver's attention, it quickly catches Heeseung’s, who diverts his eyes up to the starry sky.
Luckily, your tits seem to work and the car pulls up beside you both, the engine purring softly and the exhaust pipe offering you a tiny blanket of warmth. The window rolls down to reveal a man, roughly your age or possibly younger, licking his lips and eyeing you up and down.
“Need a lift?” he asks casually, not bothering to even look at your face.
And Heeseung said it wouldn’t work.
“Yes, please!” you giggle, shifting into one of your many work personas, hiding the irritation and pain that you are in. 
Stepping forward, Heeseung attempts to place a hand on your back to urge you to reconsider, perhaps ask the boy for directions and keep trudging forward on your own, but before he can, you are already clambering into the passenger seat, sinking into the comfort and taking the weight of your distressed feet.
Following your lead, even if it’s apprehensively, Heeseung climbs into the back, setting your bag on one of the seats as though it were a passenger itself. Although alarm bells are ringing in his mind, he appreciates the instant envelopment of contentment as his legs relax, the tingles from hours of walking and anxiety slowly leaving his limbs.
The warmth of the truck's interior is a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and you let out a sigh of relief as the heater's warm air washes over you. The driver puts the truck in gear and pulls back onto the road, the engine's hum vibrating around you as you slip into a relaxed state. 
The driver glances at Heeseung in the rearview mirror, a curious look in his eyes. “Where are you two headed?” he asks.
“Is there a motel nearby?” Heeseung inquires, buckling his seatbelt with a mix of hope and caution.
Nodding, the man smiles. “There is one about 30 minutes away, just beside the memorial hall.”
The confirmation of a place to rest being within reaching distance makes Heeseung’s heart patter with relief. As you settle into your seat, you can’t help but notice the driver’s striking appearance. He is incredibly handsome, with jet-black hair that catches the faint glow of the dashboard lights, thick, dark eyebrows that frame his intense eyes, and a few beauty freckles scattered across his face that add to his rugged charm. His strong but gentle manner is magnetic, and you find yourself drawn to his presence.
You didn’t know people so gorgeous existed in this country, having thought Heeseung might have been the only exception. Yet, here you are, in a four-wheeler with probably two of the fittest men you’ve ever seen. You glance back at Heeseung, his sharp features softened by the warm glow of the truck’s interior lights. Despite the exhaustion etched on his face, there’s a calmness in his expression that wasn’t there before, a quiet acceptance of the situation.
The driver’s gaze flickers to you occasionally, a hint of curiosity mixed with lust. “You don’t look like you belong here, baby girl,” he says, his voice low and smooth, carrying an undercurrent of intrigue.
Twirling your hair with your pointer finger, you bat your eyelashes and smile sheepishly, becoming the woman most men want you to be, and for him, you just might submit to the role. “Is it that obvious?” you say, giggling softly and biting your lip seductively. “I could say the same to you…” Trailing off, you subtly ask for his name, your voice dripping with playful curiosity.
“Sunghoon,” he replies, his name rolling off his tongue with a confident ease. He extends a hand, which you happily take, intending to shake it, but instead, he lifts the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. The unexpected gesture sends a shiver through you, making butterflies erupt in your stomach.
The warmth of his touch lingers long after he releases your hand. Sunghoon’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer, a silent exchange of mutual attraction that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and slightly off-balance.
“I’m Y/N, and this is Heeseung,” you offer your names casually, still swimming in his allure. You had set off with the intention that he would fall for you and give you the lift, but now that you’re here, you feel like a bunny trapped by the bear.
Heeseung shifts slightly in the back seat, his eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. The moment is not lost on him, but he says nothing, simply watching with a guarded expression. He isn’t jealous of your interaction with Sunghoon per se; it’s more that he is envious of how easily the driver has put you under a spell. The boy’s charm even captivates him a little bit, watching as Sunghoon’s eyes return to the road with not an ounce of trepidation or fear of you. 
That is who he wants to be, everything that Sunghoon is. He probably has girlfriends and lovers coming out of his ears, all probably just as equally as beautiful as you. It makes Heeseung recoil a little in the seat because the only reason he has been able to talk to you so freely is because of your trauma-bonding experience and the fact he has been stuck with you in the same car for hours.
You and Sunghoon continue to converse for the whole journey, flirting so blatantly that Heeseung starts taking mental notes on how to talk to women just to pass the time; he wishes he had brought his notebook with him. Sunghoon’s easy laughter and smooth compliments weave a web of enchantment, and you find yourself responding with a level of flirtation that surprises even you.
In the distance, you start to see lights shining and you instinctively lean forward, your body craving the need of a grungy motel and some much-needed rest, even if it is only for a few hours. The neon sign flickers invitingly, casting a welcoming glow over the worn facade of the building. 
Sunghoon notices your movement and smiles. “We’re almost there,” he says, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.
The truck slows as it approaches the motel, and Sunghoon skillfully navigates into the parking lot. He parks and turns to you with a warm, lingering gaze. “Here we are. I hope this place meets your needs.” His tone is sultry, his eyes hooded as they drop to your cleavage.
You lean over, placing a hand on his chest, your fingers crawling their way along his left pec as you move in closer. Your lips are now so close to his that you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face. “Thank you, Sunghoon. You’re the best,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. You close the distance and press your lips to his and he eagerly responds, his large hand cupping your face and pulling you closer to deepen the kiss.
Sunghoon's tongue swiftly makes its way to play with yours, licking into your mouth with measured ease. The kiss is hot and intense, and if you weren’t on the run for murder and a certain virgin wasn’t in the backseat, you might have taken things further right there in the truck.
But that wasn’t your plan. You had something else in mind.
Heeseung watches with his jaw slack and mouth open. He knows how good your lips feel and how skilful you are with your tongue, having experienced it firsthand. His eyes widen with a mix of awe and something else - perhaps envy or longing - as he observes the passionate exchange between you and Sunghoon.
After what feels like both an eternity and a heartbeat, you pull back, your lips tingling from the kiss. “We should get inside, get some rest,” you whisper, your voice breathy. Sunghoon nods, his eyes still locked on yours. “Thanks for everything, Hoonie,” you say, the nickname rolling off your tongue and making Sunghoon close his eyes in want.
“If I didn’t have to keep driving, I would be coming with you, fucking you so good,” he admits, his voice low and husky. The rawness of his words shocks Heeseung, but you seem unfazed by the idea; rather, you look a little disappointed.
Despite your feelings, you smile and place one more kiss on his lips before waving him goodbye in some sort of hurry. You step out of the car and slam the door behind you with ease. The sound and vibration jolt Heeseung out of his horny trance before he quickly thanks Sunghoon, picking up your bag and following suit, albeit a lot more clumsily than you.
You send him off one final time as his truck pulls out of the motel parking lot. You grin widely and hide the shooting pain that has found its way back to the sole of your feet. God, you cannot wait to get into a room and take the heels of death off. 
Turning to Heeseung, you see him looking at the poster underneath the illuminated ‘open’ sign. His face is contorted in a mix of horror and dread, his tongue coming out of his mouth to wet his parched lips as he begins to overheat with worry. “What is it?” you ask, puzzled.
“The motel,” he starts, pointing to the board before him, “It’s £40 a night and we only have £20.”
Smirking, you look up at him innocently before rustling something in your hand, bringing it up to his face as a badge of honour. “No, we don’t.”
Heeseung’s eyes leave the board to meet yours but are quickly pulled astray by the notes that sit snugly between two of your fingers. He has to blink a few times before he truly accepts what he is seeing - at least £80 in tens and twenties invades his vision. “When did you…” he trails off, examining the money closely.
“Sunghoon owed me for the kiss,” you shrug, placing the money in your breast pocket while making your way to the entrance of the motel.
Stuttering, Heeseung carefully grabs your arm and pulls you back before you can enter the building. “Y/N, you stole from him, that’s not okay. He helped us out and you robbed him.” His voice is stern but lacks the confidence to back it up, so it comes across as a little pathetic. Although his conviction is feeble, his morals have always taken precedence over anything else, even in moments like this, he cannot sit by and watch you do this so casually.
“Heeseung,” you shove his hand off your arm, “It’s not like I wanted to steal it, okay? But we are desperate and need it way more than he does. We can’t be law-abiding citizens when we literally murdered a man,” you whisper, eyes pleading with him to see your side of the tracks.
And he does somewhat; he agrees that you guys are in a tough situation and resources won’t come easily to you, but he also thinks there have to be better ways to go about this. Relenting, Heeseung nods. “Okay, this one is fine because we need it, but we have to remember that just because that happened in the hotel room doesn’t mean we need to start acting like we’re criminals. We should still keep our values, Y/N.”
You see the worry etched on his face, his eyes pleading for you to agree. “I know, Heeseung. I promise I’ll try to find better ways,” you say, your voice softer, trying to convey your understanding. 
Heeseung exhales deeply, tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “Alright, let’s just get inside and get a room. We can figure things out tomorrow.”
Stepping into the motel foyer instantly blasts you with warmth and the smell of mould, the interior is shabby and the once-white walls are stained yellow with what you can only presume is cigarette smoke. The carpet is damp and you can hear it squelch underneath your heel, the light above the reception desk flickers. Despite all this, it feels like you’re at the Ritz right now due to the exhaustion flowing through your body.
The reception desk is manned by an older man reading the paper, his hair white thinning atop his scalp, his beard in desperate need of a wash, and the remnants of his midnight snack splattered on his light blue shirt. 
He doesn’t notice you at first, his nose too far pressed into yesterday’s edition of the Daily Mail to pay attention. Gingerly, you knock on the desk in an attempt to draw his focus to you and Heeseung, but to no avail. Too tired to start a fight about respect, you decide to speak politely.
“Um, can we have a room, please?” you ask, pushing down the disgust you feel towards the man.
Grunting, he reaches for a key with a brown, leather tag on it before throwing it to Heeseung, who scrambles to catch it. The key jumps from one hand to another as though it was hot as lava, eliciting a panicked state within him.
The man points down a dark hallway. “Condoms are in the vending machine at the end. Use one or I’ll charge you for the sheets,” his hoarse voice instructs, clearly assuming you are both there for something other than sleep. To be fair, it is almost 1am, you’re dressed provocatively, and Heeseung is carrying a tiny travel bag. Although you hate the assumption because it is literally none of his business, you bite your tongue and go with it.
Snapping his fingers, he holds his hand out, eyes glued to an article about how the internet is the first step to alien abduction. Heeseung looks at the man with cruel intent, wishing he were stronger and more confident to cuss the receptionist out for treating you with zero regard.
You throw the two £20 notes at him with the same lack of enthusiasm he gave you and walk towards the room that you know is ridiculously overpriced for what you’ll be given.
And unfortunately for you, it is.
As you open the door and switch on the light, your eyes come across a room so bad that you wouldn’t even let your worst enemy spend a night there. Stains cover the walls, a mixture of blood and piss, though you aren’t quite sure which is which. The ceiling light is half hanging down and flickering rapidly, making it hard for your eyes to focus. The bed sheets are an ugly geometric pattern, clearly chosen to hide whatever atrocities have been conceived within these four walls.
A sour, musty smell permeates the air, a blend of mildew and neglect. The carpet looks damp, suggesting that it’s soaked up more than just water over the years. You gingerly make your way to the bed, pulling back the covers to reveal dingy, threadbare sheets that have seen far better days.
Heeseung stands awkwardly in the doorway, looking around the room with wide eyes. “This place is... something else,” he mutters, the understatement of the century.
“Yeah,” you agree, trying to keep your voice light despite the overwhelming urge to retch. “But at least we have a roof over our heads for the night.”
Heeseung nods, though his expression remains dubious. He drops the bag near the foot of the bed and wanders around the room, looking for any cameras of rats hiding in plain sight. “We’ll make do,” he says, more to reassure himself than you. He has been in far too many dodgy hotels in the last 24 hours.
You sit on the end of the bed, groaning as you take off your heels, your toes happily wiggling with freedom as they thump in agonising pain. Now that you have a moment to relax, your feet are developijg their own heartbeat, banging against your nerves as they scream in pain. 
Heeseung notices the blisters, some just forming and some already burst. There are dark purple bruises on the base of your foot which has now turned bright crimson. He knew the heels were damaging your feet but he never expected it to look like a massacre - it looks like your feet have been put in a shredder during a workplace accident and he’s ready to call on your behalf for some compensation.
“Are you okay?” he asks, knowing the answer already.
“I’m okay, I just need to let them breathe for a minute,” you reply, massaging your feet before they begin to swell any further.
Finding the bathroom, he rummages around for something while you ease your pain. You accidentally run your thumbs too harshly over one of the forming blisters and yelp out, tears pricking your eyes. 
Heeseung comes out from the bathroom, sees a tear slip past your cheek, and instantly shifts into caring mode. He kneels before you, taking the foot that you are grasping and gently lifting it up, pressing a cold compress to your wounds. While he was in the bathroom, he found a face cloth and dampened it, hoping the cooling sensation will somehow ease the pain you’re feeling.
He washes your feet with so much care that it makes your heart do a front flip, the feeling of someone looking after you is almost so foreign that your body doesn’t know how to take it. You could have guessed Heeseung was the caring type, what with how he offered to carry you until you found a place to rest or how he took your bag from your grasp so you had one less thing to worry about. He was so gentle that you mourn all the women who missed out on him because he was too shy.
After a few minutes of silence, Heeseung speaks up. “It’s impressive,” he states simply, keeping his eyes and hands on the task of easing your pain.
Tilting your head, you look at him quizically, “What is?”
“Being able to walk in heels. Particularly ones like those.” His head points to the devil shoes beside him, shuddering at even the thought of you having to put them back on at some point.
“I think you would look good in them, or maybe a pair of Mary Janes is more your style?” you laugh, albeit followed by a suppressed wince as he tries to press out a knot in the arch of your sole.
Heeseung cocks an eyebrow and scoffs. “You might as well give me a pair of stilts, I’d do a better job with them.”
The casual conversation is desperately needed, the tension in your bones slowly fading as you relax. There hasn’t been time to breathe or process anything that has happened, or even share a normal conversation with Heeseung, your minds too busy focusing on getting away with murder, so you welcome the moment to breathe.
Your feet are beginning to feel better, his magical touch is bringing the nerves in your feet back to a normal state. “You’re good at this,” you say fondly, admiring his work.
“One of my friends is a football player, he asks me to do this all the time for him,” he says, sharing a piece of his life with you.
“Was that the one on the phone when you called me?” 
“No, that was Jongseong. He would rather play guitar than play football,” he smiles, thinking of his friend. But that gleeful smile quickly fades into a sorrowful one as he remembers there is a high possibility that he will never see his best friend again.
The boy he has grown up with, the one he used to play basketball with at the park just by the rundown council estate, the scheme he used to call home. He won’t ever get to taste his cooking again or wear matching pyjamas on sleepover nights that they host because ‘it looks so much fun when girls do it’, and he certainly won’t get to hug him again when he needs someone to lean on; the boy is his saving grace and he can’t even speak to him about all of this. 
Heeseung’s breath shakes as he thinks about the implications of his actions. What if Jongseong sees him differently after all of this? Will he believe that it was all in self-defence? Surely after knowing one another for nearly 20 years would warrant some understanding or rationalising.
Quickly, Heeseung clears his throat and shakes his head, blinking back his tears as he stands up and avoids your eyes. You’re confused for a moment but then you observe the upset features and understand. You don’t have friends or family so talking about them would have little to no effect on you or your mind, but Heeseung must have had a bustling friend group and a supportive family, talking about Jongseong must have triggered something inside him, an awakening to the situation that you both find yourselves in.
Reaching out, you try to take his hand but he moves away before you can offer him any solace, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m…going to shower,” he informs you, already making his way to the mould and limescale-filled bathroom.
Unfortunately, the silence he has left in his wake now allows you to dwell in your own dark thoughts. Rather than what Heeseung is feeling regarding friends and family, you’re having to process the fact that while he will have people searching for him, clearing his name because he is ‘too sweet’ and ‘gentle’ to do such a thing, no one will bat an eyelid at you or your character.
You’re a sex worker with no real goals or aspirations, just trying your hardest to get by. No family because they’re either dead or won’t speak to you, the only friends you have are those in the brothel but they quietly distanced themselves once you left, envious of the independent life you chose while they work for half their earnings and have no such thing as flexibility to pick and choose.
When the news eventually breaks out, what will they say? ‘Prostitute Turned a Good Boy Bad in Sexual Murder Fantasy’? You’ll be pinned for all the blame but not for the right reason. Heeseung protected you by murdering that man, he has run away for you so you don’t get caught and charged. He could have gotten away with this, pleaded self-defence just like he said yet you’re the one that forced him to run with you for your selfish reasons.
This is all your fault.
As the weight of your situation crashes down on you, a tear escapes your glossy eyes. You catch it quickly, composing yourself before Heeseung returns. You are determined not to show your weak side too much in front of him; you have to be strong for both of you. God knows his kind and wholesome nature isn’t up for carrying the burdens that this journey will entail.
Hearing the water turn off, you quickly wipe your eyes and sit up straighter, putting on a brave face. It’s difficult to be tough in these situations but for your sanity and hit, you will have to.
Emerging from the shower, Heeseung is draped in a low-hanging towel, his toned tummy now fully visible to you for the first time. His skin is a delicious shade of honey and whiskey and the water droplets running from his chest to his pubic area make it look sweet and inviting. His muscles aren’t overly prominent but just enough to flex and reveal some veins, and his stature somehow looks longer, taller than when he is clothed.
You can’t help but admire the sight before you, feeling an involuntary tug of desire. The damp hair clings to his forehead, and the fresh scent of soap mingles with the steam still lingering from the shower. He looks almost ethereal in the dim light, a contrast to the grimy room surrounding you both.
Your mind drifts to a tantalising fantasy - crawling towards him, begging him to let you take his virginity right here on the filthy, stained bed. The thought sends a shiver down your spine but you know there is a time and a place for such thoughts, and now isn’t ideal. 
He pats some of the water from his left ear before shaking his hair like a dog coming in from the rain. Pushing his hair back, he catches you staring at him and immediately blushes, a tint of rose travelling from his neck to his cheeks.
“Sorry, I should have put my clothes back on,” he says bashfully, quickly retreating to the bathroom to grab his boxers. 
You shake your head to clear your thoughts and respond to his statement. “No, no. We only have one set of clothes each, so it’s best we don’t sleep in them for now,” you say, offering a pragmatic approach to the sleepwear arrangement. 
Taking off his shirt from your body, you stand up and hand it to him. “Thank you for letting me borrow this. I might need it again tomorrow though.” You walk over to him, handing the material back.
His eyes hover on your chest for a second before quickly looking away, careful not to meet your gaze or make eye contact with your erect nipples. Inside, his internal monologue is screaming at even the prospect of seeing your boobs again, but just like in the car, he wants to remain respectful.
You cock your head in surprise at his reaction, not understanding why he won’t even spare you a glance. Looking down at your bare chest, you inhale in understanding and let out a small, huffed laugh. “Heeseung, you were holding my tits not even 14 hours ago, you can look at them.”
“I know, but I still need to be respectful,” he replies, his eyes still not daring to look at any part of your body. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it’s simply the fact that he wants you to feel comfortable. And how comfortable can a woman be with a man’s prying eyes all over her?
Heeseung might be the most considerate man you have ever met, so hearing him say even the word respect in your presence fills your heart with warmth.
“Do you want me to put it back on?” you ask, waving the shirt in his face. You also have to respect him, and if he’s uncomfortable with you being topless, you need to honour his wishes.
Those Bambi eyes come out once again as he shakes his head. “No, if you’re comfortable, then so am I.”
You smile at his genuine concern. The room’s dim light casts soft shadows on his face, accentuating his gentle features. “You really are something else, Heeseung. You’re so sweet,” you say softly, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence.
Heeseung’s blush deepens, and he shifts slightly, clearly not used to receiving compliments. “I just want you to feel safe,” he mumbles, his eyes still focused on anything but you.
“Thank you,” you reply sincerely. Reaching up to his cheek, you gently pull him to look at you. “I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.”
It’s true. Sure, you might have the police on your trail by now and there is no working lock on the motel room door, but with Heeseung, you feel protected, even if just emotionally. And as Heeseung leans into your touch, you know he feels the same.
If there was anyone to be in this nightmare with, you’re glad it’s him.
“Why don’t we go to bed?” you suggest, pinching his cheek ever so slightly before removing your hand from his face. His cheek wishes to follow you, to keep the heat and easement of its touch, the cold air from the draught now washing over him uncomfortably but that could be due to the fact that he is still only in a towel.
“You don’t want to shower? It might help your feet,” the boy suggests.
“No, I just…I need to rest right now.” The thought of going in for a shower and spending any more time on your feet makes your skin crawl. You’ll shower in the morning but right now, you need to lie down and drift out of this nightmare, even if only for a couple of hours.
Heeseung nods, trying to muster a smile despite the obvious discomfort from the chill and the situation. He stands, turning away slightly to hide his lingering embarrassment as he slips into his boxers, leaving his upper body bare. He twists to turn the overhead light off and makes his way to the uncomfortable bed.
You, meanwhile, pull the blanket up and over your shoulders, creating a small cocoon of warmth and a barrier between your tits and his eyes, just in case he overheats at the sight of them in his face. As you settle in, you can’t help but glance at Heeseung, his body now framed by the dim light of the moonlight and his ass is just peachy enough to make you want to grab it. He slips under the blanket beside you before your mind can wander away once again, careful to maintain a respectful distance.
The bed is small, forcing you both closer than you might have intended but the shared warmth is a welcome relief from the chill. You can hear the steady rhythm of Heeseung’s breathing, a sound that somehow manages to soothe your frayed nerves. He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours and you offer him a reassuring smile.
Heeseung can’t help but admire your beauty, your eyes that speak of the strong woman you are, how you have handled yourself so well throughout all of this, and yet he can still see the vulnerability in your pupils. He believes that there isn’t a woman as beautiful as you in this entire world and he wishes under different circumstances things could be different for both of you.
With a trembling hand, he reaches to push the strayed hairs from your face, a caring gesture that your heart isn’t acquainted with. His fingertips ghost your forehead so lightly that a butterfly could do more damage. You smile and find your body melting, even if only slightly, caving into the comfort.
He smiles back at you, a little more confident in his touch once he sees you visibly at ease. He won’t let you know how much his heart is racing or how the water from his back is out of nervous sweating and not the lukewarm shower he just took. He is nervous to even be in this bed with you, yet he knows you don’t need to hear about that right now, you just need someone to lean on and Heeseung will make damn sure to be that person for you.
“Heeseung?” 
“Hmm?”
“I’m really sorry,” you begin, voice breaking a tiny bit as you apologise to him. “This is all my fault and I dragged you into this mess. You should be sitting that exam on Monday and you sure as fuck shouldn’t be with me in this shithole of a motel, god knows how far away from home.”
Your words make Heeseung’s heart break, the cracks allowing his empathy to seep through into his touch. His hand cups your face, his thumb gently stroking the apples of your cheeks, each caress a silent kiss of reassurance.
“Y/N, you couldn’t have known all of this was going to happen,” he says softly, his voice laced with sympathy. He knows you’ll shoulder the blame, even though you never asked for the brute of a man to almost murder you.
Your hand covers his, and you clasp it, bringing it to rest between you both. “I think I did, in some way. He didn’t take it very well when I told him to shove his money and never come back.” The memory of the man’s red-clad face and angry words winces in your chest as you speak.
“What did he do? Did he…hurt you?” Heeseung swallows the last part of the sentence, already aware of the horrors that can happen in your line of work. His heart sinks into his stomach as you sit in silence, contemplating what to tell him. Part of him wishes he hadn’t asked, fearing the confirmation that the man’s earlier attack wasn’t his first attempt to harm you. Heeseung might have approached this life with pure intentions, but he knows other men certainly do not.
You look down at your interlocked hands and squeeze his fingers tightly. “He was a nice guy at first, paid well and always respected my boundaries. Then one day, he asked me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with, almost forcing me to,” you choke back the tear-filled lump in your throat and close your eyes, the memory overwhelming you. You haven’t spoken out loud about what happened, making it difficult to process emotionally.
Seeing you struggle internally, Heeseung brings your hand to his mouth and kisses it softly, taking a leaf from Sunghoon’s book in an attempt to console you. The meaning behind his gesture compared to the drivers is vastly different and you can even feel it in how tenderly his lips press on your knuckles. 
There is a rumble in your chest as you look at Heeseung who is staring back at you with a shy grin, hoping that his attempt to comfort you has worked. Somehow, it has, and the tears that threatened to spill now make their way back to the ducts as you blink them away. It’s amazing how quickly a simple comforting touch can change the direction of your emotions. As quickly as you want to break down and succumb to the negative emotions, Heeseung has turned the plane around into overwhelming thankfulness. 
Breathing in, you compose yourself again and return his smile. “Thank you. I’m really okay,” liar, “I’m just…sorry I got you into this mess and took you away from your friends and family.”
"Hey, stop apologising. This is no one’s fault but that scum of a dickhead,” Heeseung replies almost instantly, not giving you a chance to take the blame any longer.
You unclasp your hand from his and tuck his long hair behind his ear. His face instantly reddens at the intimate action, the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. How he swallows dryly and closes his eyes to calm himself down makes you giggle. “You really haven’t been around girls, have you?” you ask with one eyebrow raised, genuinely curious. You believe him, but you also don’t understand how someone so attractive and kind-hearted has gone 22 years without catching the interest of even one girl.
“No, I haven’t,” he admits, his voice matter-of-fact. But as he sees your eyes urging him to elaborate, he continues, “You’re all just so amazing and beautiful that even thinking about you all puts me in a cold sweat. Every time I talk to a girl, I stutter.”
“Well, with how sweet you are and how big your cock is, you’re doing my kind a disservice here,” you chuckle and he soon follows, although his titter is one filled with nerves due to you mentioning his cock, never mind complimenting it. 
Even this subtle moment of laughter eases the sadness that engulfs the small, suffocating room. Your body relaxes instantly as you share the tender moment, the worries subsiding if only for a few seconds. You truly believe that with Heeseung here with you, there might be a white light at the end of the tunnel.
“We will get through this, yeah?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, betraying the nerves beneath your bravado.
Heeseung, lying beside you, feels an overwhelming rush of emotion at your words. The term ‘we’ makes his knees buckle and his body melt, even in his reclined position. The idea that you are now a ‘we’ fills him with a strange pride; it feels right. In the midst of the chaos and uncertainty, this newly formed bond with you is the one thing that makes sense.
Taking your hand gently, he brings it up from under the covers, the warmth of your touch grounding him. He holds out his pinky, a simple yet powerful gesture of solidarity, and intertwines it with yours. “Together,” he murmurs, his voice steady and filled with conviction for the first time since you met.
You squeeze his pinky, conveying a depth of emotion that words cannot. The weight of the world still presses down on you both but in this moment you feel a sense of unity and strength that gives you hope.
Heeseung's gaze softens as he looks at you, his eyes reflecting the unspoken promises and shared resolve between you. “We’ll face whatever comes,” he continues, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. We’ll find a way through this.”
A lump forms in your throat, deeply moved by his sincerity. “Thank you, Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything.”
You lean forward and press a tender kiss to his lips, shocking him still before he responds. His lips are soft and warm against yours, and you can feel the initial surprise melt into a gentle acceptance. He moves his lips timidly against your gentle motions, embracing your bottom lip between his. When you pull back, your foreheads rest against each other, and you can feel his breath, a soft, comforting rhythm against your skin.
Heeseung's eyes flutter open, filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “Y/N,” he breathes, his voice low. “I... I don’t....”
“I won’t charge you for that one, don’t worry,” you joke, eyes shrinking in size as you smile at him with adoration. 
“You can add it to my bill,” he jabs back, the ease between you both settling softly in his heart. He’s in this with you for however long you can both keep running; he’ll never run out of breath with you by his side.
You both settle back down, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with you. As you lie there, facing one another, the connection between you creates a sanctuary, a haven amid the storm..
“Goodnight, Heeseung,” you murmur, your eyes closing as sleep begins to pull you under.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies softly, pressing another nervous gentle kiss to your forehead, hoping you don’t mind it. “Sweet dreams.”
_____
It has been three days since you and Heeseung embarked on this desperate journey. The days blur together into a surreal montage of fleeting rides in strangers’ cars, restless nights spent in makeshift shelters, and scavenging through lost and found bins for essentials. The denim booty shorts were a tight fit, the crop top strained against your curves, and the trainers were a comically mismatched pair that made walking more of a challenge than usual. But they were clothes and that counted for something; you’re just thankful to keep your heels firmly off your feet.
On the plus side, the witch hunt hasn’t caught up with you yet. There have been no news articles or TV broadcasts with your faces plastered on them, which means the authorities are probably still focusing their search on your home city. Maybe they think you’re hiding out somewhere familiar, not realising you’ve already slipped away. There’s also a slight comfort in knowing you’re not their top priority, what with a lunatic serial killer on the loose taking up most of their attention. The murder of a local cheater seems low on their list, giving you a small, but temporary, reprieve.
But you can’t afford to get too comfortable. It’s only a matter of time before they widen their search and your faces become recognisable as wanted criminals. Every day, you wake up with a jolt, wondering if today will be the day they catch up to you. Fear is a constant companion.
You’ve settled into a rough routine. By day, you move from place to place, never staying too long in one spot. By night, you find whatever shelter you can and try to get some rest. Sleep doesn’t come easy, not with the constant worry of being found, but having Heeseung beside you helps. You take turns keeping watch and your trust in each other grows stronger with each passing day.
There’s an unspoken bond between you now, forged by the hardships you’ve faced together. You’ve seen each other at your lowest, your most vulnerable, and yet there’s a strength in that vulnerability. You’ve learned to rely on each other in ways you never thought possible, and it’s this reliance that keeps you going, even when everything else seems bleak.
Heeseung has also gotten over the virgin nerves and talks to you casually, the stuttering and awkward glances to you now significantly less.However, his newfound ease doesn’t extend to other girls. One driver you hitched a ride from was a beautiful brunette with tanned skin and tattoos along her neck. At first, you thought he might have been nervous due to her rugged appearance, but that was quickly debunked when you caught him fumbling over his sentences, even when she asked for something as simple as his name. He was clearly taken aback by her beauty. You can't help but slightly miss how he used to be like that around you, though you have more pressing concerns at the moment.
As you both approach a convenience store, you turn to Heeseung. "Do we have enough money to buy ciggies?"
Heeseung sighs, shaking his head. "No, we don’t. We used the last £2 we had on the bottles of water and that pack of Opal Fruits," he replies, the defeat in his voice palpable. The thought of no more delicious fruit-flavoured cubed treats to munch on for a burst of energy or to get the taste of dehydration from his mouth makes him want to whine out like a displeased child.
The convenience store is a small, rundown building with flickering lights. As you step inside, the smell of stale bread and cleaning detergent hits you. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare on the faded linoleum floor. You glance around, hoping to find something cheap enough to stave off your hunger, but your pockets are painfully empty.
Heeseung starts browsing the shelves, his eyes lingering on the snacks and drinks you can't afford. You both know stealing isn’t an option - not between Heeseung’s morals and the possibility that getting caught could mean the end of your freedom. Still, the gnawing hunger and the need for a smoke make it hard to ignore the tempting sight of cigarettes behind the counter.
You notice Heeseung's gaze fixed on a pack of Hobnob biscuits, his expression is a mix of longing and resignation. “Maybe we can find some loose change outside,” he suggests half-heartedly, already knowing it’s a long shot. None of you have found even 20p in all the time you’ve been walking.
The shopkeeper, a grumpy-looking old man with glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, eyes you both suspiciously, your raggy clothes and dishevelled appearance enough to put any shop owner on high alert. You try to ignore the weight of his stare, feeling more like fugitives with each passing second.
"Let's just go," you mutter, pulling Heeseung towards the door. "We'll figure something out."
Outside, the scorching sun beats down relentlessly, turning the air into a furnace that makes your skin tingle and your clothes cling uncomfortably. There’s not much around besides the convenience store, a few gas pumps, and an old, forgotten bus stop that provides a meagre shelter from the blistering heat. Exhausted and desperate, you flop down onto the narrow seat of the bus stop, letting out a sigh of relief tinged with despair.
Resting your head against the plastic shelter, you shield your eyes from the glaring sun with your hand. In a swift move, Heeseung positions himself in front of you, casting a cool shadow that eases the strain on your eyes. The reprieve is brief but welcome in this sweltering heat.
While taking a moment to catch your breath, something catches your eye - a flyer hanging askew on the bus stop wall. It flutters in the hot breeze, its edges worn and corners curling from exposure to the elements. You reach out and grab it, fingers brushing against the weathered paper. Despite its faded appearance, the bold, colourful graphics are still discernible, and your heart skips a beat as you read the headline:
“Saturn Club: Where the Stars Align for a Stellar Time.”
Your eyes widen as you scan the flyer. It's an advertisement for a local strip club, promising quick cash for performers. The advert is as though it was made for you, what with all the countless times you’ve had to do strip teases for clients.
"Heeseung, look at this," you say, handing him the flyer with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "There is a strip club not far from here!” you exclaim. Never in your life did you think you would be so happy to see a strip club in rundown Britain, yet, it might as well be a casino in Vegas for you both right now. 
Taking the poster from your hand, Heeseung inspects it carefully and his brows furrow in contemplation between concern and pragmatic consideration. “Y/N, this…are you sure? The men at these places can get pretty handsy.”
“I’m a sex worker, Heeseung, all I know is handsy,” you laugh, still elated by the idea of earning enough money to survive even just a little longer. “It’s only one night and the least I ever made was £300.”
Heeseung sighs, torn between his protective instincts and the harsh reality of your current situation. The thought of you subjected to the leering eyes and groping hands of strangers doesn't sit well with him, but he knows you both need the money urgently, and he can’t exactly argue that £300, or even £50, wouldn’t do you both the world of good.
"We need the money," you add softly, seeing the turmoil in his eyes. "And right now, this might be our best shot. Let me do this."
Heeseung nods reluctantly, handing the flyer back to you. "Okay, if this is what we have to do," his voice is tinged with resignation. Deep down, he wishes there were another way, a safer way for you to earn the cash you need.
“You need to sell me though,” you say, already trying to fix your hair in the reflection of the shelter window panes.
Tilting his head, he looks at you quizzically. “What the hell do you mean ‘sell’ you.”
You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before explaining. "I mean, I have to look appealing, desirable. These places thrive on attraction, Heeseung. Men only want what they think is in high demand," you say earnestly, meeting his concerned gaze. "So I need you to present me to the owner, assuming it's a man. Tell him that I'm highly wanted all over South London. That should seal the deal."
Wanted was not an intentional word choice but technically then, Heeseung wasn’t lying. You technically are wanted.
“You mean you want me to pimp you out?” he gasps, clutching onto your bag with might as he fathoms the idea. He doesn’t want to ‘sell’ you, he wants you to go in there, sit on a few laps and then dip.
But when he looks into your pleading eyes, he knows there is no point in arguing with you. You’re going to that club whether he likes it or not, he might as well support you, protect you. Although he doesn’t know if he’ll be any use, you do a damn good job at that all on your own.
Heeseung takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he says, his voice more resolute. "Let's do this. But I'll be right there with you, okay? I'm not leaving your side for a second."
“Good, you can watch me in action,” you smile, winking as you begin the walk to the sleazy club.
_____
After a twenty-minute walk and Heeseung running his fingers through your hair to make it look presentable, you both stand outside Saturn strip club. The sign above the entrance flickers with an image of a planet and rings, casting an ethereal blue and orange glow that adds to the futuristic atmosphere. Despite it being only late afternoon, the music is already blaring, and the car park is packed with vehicles, a testament to the club's popularity; which means more money for you and Heeseung.
Grabbing your hand, Heeseung pulls you back before you head to the bouncer, causing you to whip around. His iris’ gleam with apprehension as he eyes you one last time. “If anyone touches you or does something you don’t like, give me a signal and I’ll be the first one there,” he says calmly, though his voice box shakes slightly. It’s one thing to imagine you in an uncomfortable predicament, but somehow knowing he is benefiting from this too makes him feel queasy.
You squeeze his hand reassuringly, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “I promise, you’ll be the first I run to,” you say, offering him a wide grin to ease his nerves. You want him to know that you’re ready for whatever lies behind those black double doors.
Heeseung nods, taking a deep breath as he lets you go. The bouncer gives you a brief nod and opens the door, letting you both step inside the entrance area of the club. The interior is even more dazzling than you anticipated, with laser lights cutting through artificial smoke, creating an atmosphere that feels otherworldly. You wouldn’t think it was broad daylight outside, so much so you have to adjust your eyes.
An eager host comes up to greet you, her eyes already trained on Heeseung only. She is gorgeous, more beautiful than you could ever imagine being which makes you wonder how on earth she ended up in a place like this. 
You take her in, unable to resist admiring her curves in the skimpy outfit she clearly chose to maximise tips. She is adorned in white leather, her bra providing minimal coverage and accentuating her cleavage. Pastel pink buckles run along the seams of the cups, matching the pretty pink buckled collar around her neck. The bottom half of her outfit is equally provocative: a white leather thong, complemented by pink straps on either side of her hips. Her thighs are wrapped in matching buckled straps that draw your gaze directly to the intricate cherry blossom tattoo on her thigh. The overall effect is mesmerising, her outfit both alluring and carefully crafted to captivate attention.
And attention she has gained, particularly from your tall companion, whose mouth hangs open as he twists his neck, a telltale sign of his overstimulation. The girl places her hands on his chest, rubbing his pecs slightly, her touch both confident and teasing. Heeseung's eyes widen, his breath hitching as he tries to process the sudden intimacy. The girl smirks, clearly enjoying the effect she has on him, her fingers tracing gentle patterns over his shirt.
"What's your name, handsome?" she purrs, her voice low and sultry.
Heeseung stammers, trying to find his voice. "H-Heeseung," he finally manages to say, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. He thinks you’re beautiful - no, he knows you’re beautiful. But this girl is like something off the VHS tapes he keeps under his bed. Her full lips and honey-toned skin are enough to send him into overdrive, never mind how good her touch feels.
“Pretty name, I’m Mars,” she whispers, looking up at him with innocent yet deadly eyes.
“Like the p-planet?” he stutters. He had thought he got over this - speaking with you so freely, seeing your body more times than he could have ever imagined. It was easy with you. But now this girl, Mars, had booked him a ticket right back into Loserville.
Giggling, she pushes her chest into his, bringing her lips to his ear. “Yeah, like the planet. Do you want to explore it, baby?” Her teeth nibble slightly at his lobe and he swears he starts to hear colours as his cock leaps for joy.
The sultry invitation has Heeseung frozen in place, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and sensations. He's completely out of his depth, his body betraying him as he tries to maintain some semblance of composure. His breath comes in shallow gasps, and he struggles to form coherent words.
You watch as Mars absolutely devours Heeseung’s ability to do anything, and jealousy spikes inside you. Are you envious of the way she makes him feel? Absolutely, and you’re doing a poor job of hiding it. Your face twists in disgust as you glare at the girl, feeling a pang of possessiveness.
“Mars? Hi,” you say, tapping her shoulder with exaggerated politeness. “We’re actually here to see your manager. I need a job.” Your tone is sharp and direct, devoid of any negative emotions toward the hardworking girl. It’s not her fault she’s pining over Heeseung - who wouldn’t? But it doesn’t make it sting any less just because you understand she has a job to do and that your partner in crime is insanely attractive and innocent.
Mars blinks, momentarily taken aback by your interruption. She recovers quickly, though, flashing you a fake professional smile. “Of course, babe. Follow me,” she says, stepping away from Heeseung and giving you a small nod of acknowledgment.
You follow Mars through the club, feeling Heeseung's presence close behind you, his hand constantly on your back for assurance, for him more so than you. The music grows louder as you weave through the throng of patrons, the air thick with the scent of perfume and sweat. Neon lights cast an otherworldly glow on the scene, dancers moving with hypnotic grace under the cosmic-themed decorations.
Reaching a door marked "Manager," Mars knocks lightly before pushing it open. “Boss, I’ve got someone here who’s interested in a job,” she announces, stepping aside to let you and Heeseung enter. 
Before Mars shuts the door behind her, she lets her hand trail down Heeseung’s arm, creating a fleeting contact that sends a shiver over his body. “Come find me when you’re done here, hmm? I’ll take you to the stars,” she whispers with a sultry smile, her words hanging in the air like a promise.
Heeseung audibly gulps, caught off guard by Mars’s bold flirtation. His cheeks flush pink as he nods in response, his movements almost automatic under her gaze. Mars gives him a knowing smile before finally closing the door, leaving you and Heeseung alone with the club manager.
The manager, a stern-looking man with a grizzled beard and piercing eyes, studies you both intently. He gestures for you to take a seat opposite his desk, the room lit dimly by a solitary desk lamp that casts deep shadows across his face.
“So, you’re looking for a job as a dancer?” he asks, his voice gruff yet measured.
“Yes, just for tonight,” you reply, in hopes that it sweetens the deal. “Heeseung will tell you, I’ve done this gig before, tell him.” You pinch Heeseung’s elbow to get him out of his Mars-like trance and he stands to attention, nodding eagerly.
The manager sits forward, waiting to hear Heeseung’s pitch, stroking his beard as he assesses the nervous boy in front of him. Nudging him forward, you look at Heeseung with desperation. It’s humiliating, having to rely on a man to get you work but that’s the business in this day in age. Perhaps one day, women will be able to take the reigns of sex work and enjoy the industry freely without judgment or men involved.
Heeseung shifts nervously, feeling the weight of his words as he describes you to the manager. "Y/N, she is uh…" He pauses, searching for the right thing to say that will convey admiration without making you uncomfortable. "She’s gorgeous, more beautiful than any of the women you have here already," he continues earnestly, his cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Her body is to die for, seriously. She’s got curves in all the right places, and there’s this cute little freckle on her ass, like a beauty mark. And her smile…she can pull you in so easily with it."
The honesty in his voice shocks you a little and melts your heart all the same. He’s talking about your body but not once did he make you feel like a piece of meat, his words oddly sending a fleet of butterflies to your stomach. His cheeks tinted rosé only add to the sincerity of his words, showing that he's not accustomed to vocalising such thoughts openly. It's clear he's navigating unfamiliar territory, trying his best to convey his admiration without crossing any boundaries.
“Okay, enough lovey-dovey shit. Turn around for me, Princess,” the manager's gruff directive breaks the tender moment, pulling you sharply back into the stark reality of the strip club's business. His blunt manner contrasts sharply with Heeseung's earlier sincerity, reminding you of the transactional nature of this environment. Swallowing your discomfort, you comply with his request, turning slowly as instructed.
"I have my own lingerie and I can dance to any music," you assert, trying to negotiate terms that will give you some control over the situation. Your eyes plead with him, hoping to strike a balance between earning your keep and maintaining a semblance of autonomy. “I’ll give you 10% of my tips, directly to you, not including the commission from private dances.”
Now that makes the man's ears perk up. Clasping his hands and rubbing them together, the sound mimicking that of two sandpapers, he nods. “Start now. 10% fees and your boyfriend stays away from you.”
"Deal!" you exclaim, relief flooding through you at the prospect of securing work for the night. The excitement in your voice is genuine, tempered by the grim reality of your circumstances. You know there are far better things to be enthusiastic about than exposing yourself for money, but the promise of earning enough for basic needs like a hot meal and a decent bed feels like a small victory in this moment of desperation.
You grasp Heeseung's hand firmly as you exit the manager's office, eager to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere and find some privacy to prepare for your unexpected performance. The hallway is dimly lit, the walls adorned with faded posters advertising past events at the club, their colours muted under the flickering red lights.
"Heeseung, come on," you urge, your voice a hushed whisper tinged with urgency. You guide him down the narrow corridor, following the manager's directions to the dressing room where you can change into the lingerie you brought along. “Can you pass me my bag?” you ask, already shedding the clothes that have clung to you for far too long.
You don’t miss the thongs or the bra, but god did you hate the clothes you were stuck with.
Heeseung nods, silently searching in the bag. His brow furrows slightly as he retrieves your heels, recalling the pain you endured on your first night on the run. Next, he carefully pulls out the baby blue lingerie, decorated with delicate lace details and dainty white bows. Fortunately, you had packed a garter belt and matching fishnet stockings, adding a touch of allure to the ensemble. This was the outfit meant for your most generous client, designed to be slowly peeled away piece by piece to maximise his enjoyment.
Turning to Heeseung, you take the outfit and begin to dress yourself. He feels a pang of discomfort on your behalf, averting his eyes as you start to remove your denim shorts and underwear. He catches himself thinking about how much he’s seen of you and vice versa, how much you’ve shared on this chaotic journey together. Perhaps you are closer than he initially realised, having been through so much in such a short period. Yet, he respects your privacy and understands there are parts of you that should remain yours alone.
As you adjust the lingerie, ensuring everything fits just right, you steal a glance at Heeseung. His cheeks are flushed, and he shifts awkwardly, clearly grappling with conflicting emotions. “Heeseung, how do I look?”
His heart skips a beat at your question, grateful for the permission to openly admire you. You look even more beautiful than the day he first met you, the soft blue hue of the lingerie complementing your skin perfectly. The garters and fishnet stockings add an allure that both excites and unsettles him, stirring desires he’s tried to suppress amidst the chaos of your circumstances.
“Well?” you prompt, twirling gracefully, a playful smile dancing on your lips. His breath catches as he watches you spin, a sight that simultaneously ignites a fierce longing and a protective instinct.
“You look… stunning,” he manages, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. “Ready.”
He tacks on the last word to offer you more than a mere compliment; it’s a declaration of ability, a reassurance that you’re prepared for whatever lies ahead. Despite the ache in his chest and the turmoil in his mind, Heeseung’s smile remains steadfast.
You meet his gaze, gratitude reflected in your features. His encouragement steadies you, reminding you that despite the circumstances, you are more than capable of taking control of your destiny tonight. You are Y/N L/N, and you can do this.
“Thank you, Heeseung,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His touch grounds you, a tangible anchor in the stormy sea of uncertainties that surrounds you both. “I’ll try and make as much money as I can.”
“And if anyone makes you uncomfortable—”
“Call to you, I know,” you finish his sentence with a sheepish smile, not accustomed to being under someone’s protective watch but grateful for it nonetheless. You lean in and place a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling a sense of ease knowing he’s there for you.
With a final nod and a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you turn towards the door leading back into the club. The music pulses louder now, beckoning you into the atmosphere of flashing lights and swirling bodies. Adjusting your mindset and your bra strap, you step forward, ready to face the night.
_____
Four hours later, Heeseung remains firmly planted in the same velvet-covered seat, his nerves fraying with each passing minute. The club is now teeming with activity, a veritable circus of swirling bodies, flashing lights, and pounding music. Businessmen in expensive suits mingle with scantily-clad dancers, the scent of perfume and cologne blending into a heady cocktail that fills the air.
Heeseung's leg bounces incessantly, a physical manifestation of his anxiety. He's on edge, eyes darting around the room, trying to avoid making eye contact with the dancers who occasionally drift his way. Each time, he mumbles a polite yet firm, "Not here for that," and though some of the girls give him puzzled or slightly annoyed looks, they leave him alone, recognising a dry well when they see one.
His mind keeps drifting back to you, wondering how you're holding up. The thought of you out there, flaunting your body for money, makes his stomach churn, but he knows there's no other choice. You need this, and he has to be strong for you. He can’t help but glance at the clock every few minutes, each tick of the second hand stretching his patience thinner.
Despite his tension, each time you return from a private dance, your presence alone is enough to soothe his tempered nerves momentarily. Your face is a beacon in the dim, neon-lit haze, glowing with a mixture of triumph and exhaustion. You shoot him a gleeful smile and a thumbs up, your eyes sparkling with excitement and relief, signalling that you're making a decent amount of money.
Heeseung feels a mixture of pride and concern. Pride because you're handling this so well, dancing with grace and charm, turning a dire situation into an opportunity. Concern because he knows the toll this must be taking on you, physically and emotionally. Each time you disappear into the back rooms, he holds his breath, praying silently for your safety.
His focus is jarred back to the present as a particularly loud group of businessmen settles into the seats next to him. Their raucous laughter and crude jokes only amplify his discomfort. He shifts in his seat, trying to block out their conversation, but their words seep through, unfortunately. This is just one of the times he wishes that he had a backbone and could tell them to stop being derogatory but he’s already on a boat without a paddle in this place and if he gets kicked out then he can’t be here for you, so he sits quietly and focuses on your upcoming performance.
You’ve done so well over the past couple of hours that the manager has given you the go-ahead for a special 'one night only' stage performance. This is where the punters can throw as much or as little money as they want, as long as the club gets half of your earnings. In Heeseung’s mind, it’s not worth the effort, but you know even with the cut, you could easily make at least £200 from this one dance alone.
Heeseung’s anxiety spikes as the announcement is made, attention from everyone in Saturn is now glued to the stage. However, just as he is about to get comfy, he’s barely settled back into his velvet seat when suddenly, there’s a weight on his lap - unfamiliar but not unpleasant. His heart skips a beat and he tenses.
Looking down, he finds Mars, the sultry hostess from earlier, perched comfortably on his thighs. Her perfume envelops him, a heady mix of vanilla and spice that adds to his already heightened senses. She smiles seductively, her eyes glinting with mischief as she twirls a lock of her hair around her finger.
“You looked a little lonely,” she observes, her eyes trailing up and down his body. She brings a shot glass to his face. “Here, have a drink on me, you seem a bit dehydrated.”
“I-I don’t drink, sorry,” Heeseung stammers awkwardly, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the stage as he waits for you to appear. He isn’t exactly uncomfortable in her presence, but he doesn’t know what to do. Talking to women is still an issue for him, so what is he to do now that Aphrodite’s daughter is on his lap and showing him interest?
Mars giggles and shoots the shot of tequila back herself, shrugging as she places the glass on the table in front of them. “You’re a good boy, huh?”
Heeseung shifts nervously, his hands resting awkwardly on the sides of the chair in a desperate attempt not to touch her. "I just...don't really drink," he explains, his voice barely audible over the swell of the music.
Mars leans in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "That's okay," she whispers, her tone playful yet reassuring. "I like good boys."
Heeseung's cheeks flush even deeper, his mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. He's trying to focus on the stage, waiting for your performance to start, but Mars's proximity and the beautiful tone of her voice are incredibly distracting. He wishes he had the confidence to brush her off more assertively, but he's too polite and too nervous to do anything but sit there, stiff as a board.
The first few notes of ‘I Touch Myself’ by Divinyls send a shiver down his spine, and his attention is immediately captured. The stage lights dim, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. Then, you step into the spotlight. The transformation is immediate; you move with confidence and grace that mesmerises everyone in the room, including Heeseung.
The baby blue lingerie hugs your curves perfectly, the lace and bows adding an innocent allure to your otherwise sultry appearance. The garter and fishnets complete the look, drawing appreciative murmurs and wolf whistles from the crowd.
Mars shifts slightly, pressing closer to Heeseung in an attempt to lure his attention away from you, but he’s too engrossed in your performance to pay her much attention. You meet his gaze briefly, and the connection is electric. Your smile, despite the suggestive dance, is warm and genuine, a silent reassurance that you’re okay, in fact, you’re enjoying yourself.
You didn’t get the chance to perform like this much at your old job, in front of a crowd and void of clammy hands roaming all over your body. It was a nice change to just perform and feel comfortable. The clients here are actually quite respectful, each of the men you’ve taken for a private dance has only asked for what’s on the menu and nothing more. They’ve respected your boundaries, which is more than you can say for the men you usually encounter in your line of work.
This dance wasn’t even necessary in terms of making money; you have made more than enough for you and Heeseung to get by for at least a week. But as you look at Heeseung, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you despite the eager house girl doing everything in her power to grab his attention, you feel even happier you decided to do this.
There is no denying in your mind that you’ve grown fond of Heeseung, maybe you like him even a little bit, so to have him captivated like this is boosting your ego and putting an extra beat in your step. He isn’t your boyfriend or lover but he makes you feel content like one should.
That probably explains the jealousy creeping up in you. Despite his avoidance of the girl touching his chest and arms, you can’t help but feel like that should be you, that you should be the one to have him squirming and swallowing thickly as you whisper sensual words in his ear.
Why do you feel like this all of a sudden? Maybe due to the fact that it’s the first time you’ve seen him with a girl since you’ve known him and it’s bringing a protective instinct out in you, maybe it’s because you see him as more than the partner in crime you keep painting him to be.
Whatever the reason, you can’t stand by and watch it happen any longer.
Despite the manager's warning for Heeseung to stay away, you can't help but devise a plan to draw him away from Mars while also delivering an unforgettable performance for the eager men ready to spend their money. Determined to keep Heeseung's attentiveness and secure a hefty tip from the men beside hin, you approach the pole with calculated confidence.
Gripping the cool, polished metal, you begin your routine with a graceful twist, your body moving fluidly. As you spin, your leg wraps around the pole, securing you in a seamless motion. Your movements are deliberate and skilled, every turn and twirl executed with precision. The pole becomes an extension of your body, allowing you to showcase your strength and agility.
Using the momentum, you propel yourself into a daring inversion, your legs splitting elegantly as you hold yourself upside down. The crowd's cheers and whistles grow louder, their excitement palpable. The money flows your way with ease, but your focus is on a bigger prize.
You glance over at Heeseung, seeing him mesmerised, his eyes locked on you. The sight spurs you on, and you walk to the edge of the stage, elongating your legs and exaggerating each movement, your gaze never leaving his. You bend down slowly, getting on your hands and knees, crawling across the stage with the slow, sleek grace of a lioness stalking her prey. Tonight, your prey is Lee Heeseung.
And fuck, does he know it.
Heeseung sits up straight, his eyes glued to yours as you draw him in, smiling at him half innocently, half predatorily. His reaction causes Mars to stumble off his lap, forcing her to catch herself on the arm of the chair. He doesn’t mean to cause the disruption and should rightfully apologise, but all he sees is you. It's as if you're casting a spell on him, and as you beckon him forward with the curl of your finger, he stands up like a mindless zombie, following your request without hesitation.
Your seductive crawl leaves the audience in awe and the anticipation in the room heightens, you can feel the collective breaths being held. As Heeseung approaches the stage, the connection between you two becomes electric, a tangible force that captivates everyone watching.
You reach out, taking his hand and guiding him up onto the stage. The crowd's whistles and catcalls reach a fever pitch, but all that matters is the look in Heeseung's eyes, a mixture of awe, desire, and something deeper. This is your moment, and you savour every second of it, knowing that you've not only captivated the audience but also claimed Heeseung's undivided attention.
Pushing him gently so his back is against the stripper pole, you smile at him softly. “Just enjoy it, yeah?” you murmur, your voice a seductive purr that sends goosebumps all over his skin. He nods quickly, trying to ignore the sweat trickling down his forehead as he attempts to relax, however, the strain of his cock tingling in his boxers is proving it rather difficult.
You begin to sway in front of him, your hands splayed across his chest, moving them slowly downward past his stomach and hips. Hooking your fingers into his belt loops, you sit back on your heels, looking up at him through your long lashes. The crowd is mesmerised, their attention entirely on you, wondering what you plan to do next and wishing it was going to happen to them.
With a fluid motion, you rise and turn your back to Heeseung, pressing yourself against him as you grind slowly. The sensation of your body moving against his is almost too much for him to handle, and he clenches his fists to maintain some semblance of control. If he pops a boner in front of at least 30 grown men and the dancers, he might just die on the spot. You glance over your shoulder, catching his gaze and giving him a playful wink. 
Heeseung’s eyes widen as you slink your hands down your body and to your thigh, slipping off one of your garters, the lacy fabric sliding down your leg with ease. You twirl it in your fingers, dangling it in front of the shocked boy’s face before wrapping it around his wrists. He watches, transfixed, as you skillfully tie his hands behind the pole, effectively rendering him unable to touch you. The act is both tantalising and torturous for him, his desire evident in the way his body tenses and legs shuffle to find any sort of distraction from his throbbing cock.
Addressing the audience, you wag your finger playfully, utilising your drama skills from the youth centre to emphasise that the bound man can't lay a finger on you, much to the delight of the eager crowd.
You continue your dance with hypnotic grace, the fabric keeping Heeseung firmly restrained. Your hands explore your curves, accentuating every movement, while the lyrics echo the theme of self-indulgence, allowing you to lose yourself in the performance.
Turning away from the audience, you unclasp your bra, your back now fully exposed. The crowd's eegerness grows as you slowly let the straps slide off your shoulders. With a flick of your wrist, you toss the bra aside, eliciting cheers and whistles from the captivated onlookers.
Your eyes are fixed on Heeseung as you approach the finale of the routine, striding towards him with confident allure. “You’re doing so good for me, baby,” you purr, the affectionate nickname slipping out so naturally that it momentarily stuns him. Yet, the look in his eyes tells you he’s far from displeased. 
With a few grinds and touches to Heeseung, the routine comes to an end and you face your adoring fans, the money showering onto the stage in notes of £10s and £20s. You smile and blow kisses to some of the men, bouncing slightly to make your tits clap, earning you a few more whistles and cheers. 
Striding back to Heeseung, you untie the garter from his wrists and pull him to the back, both of your chests heaving in exhilaration. 
“Oh my god, Heeseung! I couldn’t even see the floor for money,” you exclaim, clapping in excitement. With the private dances and your most recent performance, you’ve easily earned over £500, enough for a warm meal and then some.
Heeseung looks at you, smiling shyly, hoping you don’t notice the bulge forming in his trousers. He’s never encountered anyone like you before and can hardly believe he had the privilege of you grinding on him for a good two minutes. The dryness in his mouth is a testament to how long he stood there, mouth agape, watching you perform. If this was his first and last strip show, he’s glad it was yours.
“You did amazing, Y/N,” he says sincerely, causing you to turn your head to face him. His eyes are filled with adoration, but you can see the lust ghosting over them. “I almost busted in my pants out there,” he adds, attempting to joke, but you know he isn’t lying.
Smiling, you step forward, gently pushing him to sit on one of the white tables behind him. The shock is evident on his face. “How about…you bust somewhere else?”
“W-what?” His eyes widen as your fingers begin to fiddle with the button of his trousers.
“Well, you did so well, and I do owe you, considering we got interrupted last time.” Heeseung shakes his head, mouth moving but no words coming out. You laugh softly, finally unbuttoning his jeans. “I’m not taking your virginity in a sleazy strip club,” you assure him in a teasing tone, “But how about I give you some relief?”
His breath hitches as your hand slips beneath the fabric, his body reacting instantly to your touch. Heeseung’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back as he surrenders to the sensation. Your fingers wrap around his shaft loosely, to the point you might as well not even be touching it, only driving him further to need.
You kneel in front of him and Heeseung’s breath quickens, your fingers deftly working to free him from his trousers, and his erection springs forth, eager and ready, his tip already on the edge of exploding. You glance up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and the anticipation in the air is suffocating. He can’t believe this is happening and he is just praying to whatever higher power will listen that you won’t get stopped by a maniac trying to kill you.
Slowly, you lean forward, your lips parting as you take him into your mouth. Heeseung lets out a choked gasp, his hands instinctively reaching for the edge of the table to steady himself. The warmth and wetness of your mouth envelop him, and he can hardly believe the pleasure that courses through his body. Somehow, this feels so much better than it did the first time, perhaps because he didn’t spend hours worrying over it and instead, the spontaneity of it all is only adding to his arousal - the less time he has to think, the easier it is to let himself go.
Your tongue swirls around the tip, teasing him with delicate flicks and licks. Heeseung’s eyes roll back, and his grip on the table tightens. Every movement of your mouth sends waves of ecstasy through him, and he’s powerless to do anything but feel.
And what a sensational feeling it is.
You hollow your cheeks, creating a delicious suction as you take him deeper, your tongue pressing and swirling against the underside of his shaft. Heeseung’s breathing becomes ragged, each exhale a desperate moan. You can sense his restraint, the tension in his muscles as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. It’s cute how wriggly he is, how even just your mouth is enough to get him fumbling beneath you.
“Oh, shit,” he hisses out, biting his bottom lip just harsh enough to break skin. “This is what heaven feels like, I know it.” He speaks his inner dialogue, the words slipping out by accident as he loses all sense of control to your skilled mouth.
Your hands gently massage his thighs, adding to the sensory overload. You glance up, watching his expressions shift between pleasure and awe, his face red in embarrassment as he whimpers a succession of tiny pleads, willing you to go faster.
The sight of him unravelling heightens your own arousal, spurring you to intensify your efforts. As you bob your head, your right hand wraps around the base, stroking in tandem with your mouth. Heeseung’s body begins to tremble, his legs shaking as he edges closer to release. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so close,” You quicken your pace, the sounds of your movements filling the room.
Grabbing his hand, you guide it to hold your head, puppeting his fingers to grasp at your head. The silent instruction computes itself to Heeseung’s dazed self and he wraps your hair around his hand, gripping onto you for dear life as you quicken your pace.
You squeeze the bottom of his shaft and thigh in sync, causing the boy to jerk his hips up and his cock to hit the back of your throat. “Fuck!” he yelps out, his length throbbing in your mouth at the action so much that you can feel it on your tongue. You hum around him which only adds to his pleasure.
“Y/N, please, I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming,” he whines as his voice hits a higher octave. His hips shallowly jitter, forcing his cock deep into your mouth, taking away half the work as you let him control the situation. For the first time in his life, he is free of embarrassment and nerves, the only feeling he has now is pure need and desire, and it’s all thanks to your mouth.
With a final, deep thrust, Heeseung lets out a guttural moan, his release hitting hard and fast as his balls tighten and the vein that lays underside of his cock protrudes. You feel the warm spurt of his climax run down your throat and fill your mouth, which you swallow eagerly, your tongue continuing to caress him as he rides out his orgasm. The overflow of his cum drips down your chin and onto your bare breasts. The whole scene would turn anyone on and you hope you can get a copy of the CCTV when you’re done.
When he finally begins to relax, you pull back slowly, giving him one last long, teasing lick up his shaft, swirling it around his bell to collect the rest of his glaze before releasing him completely. You look up with a satisfied smile, your lips glistening with the remnants of his seed. Personally, you think it’s the nicest lip gloss you could ever wear, and Heeseung agrees.
Heeseung’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of wonderment and gratitude. He can’t ever repay you for helping him out like this, for giving him his first ever orgasm that was at the hands of someone else.
“Feel better?” you ask playfully, already knowing the answer.
Heeseung nods, a dazed smile spreading across his face, his eyes glazing over with satisfaction. “Much better,” he murmurs, his voice filled with thanks and amazement. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know but you helped me out and I couldn’t have you going out there with a raging hard on, not with Mars about. She’d bounce on it all night and we’d never get out of here,” you jokingly explain.
Heeseung tucks his cock back in his trousers and zips it up, eyes staring at you the whole time. “You think she would have?” His question doesn’t come from bewilderment but rather curiosity, causing you to roll your eyes and walk away.
“Come on, let's get our money.”
_____
Counting the £565 you made from the club, you smile wide, the ends of your mouth splitting your cheeks. The night has been exhilarating, and the weight of the money in your hand feels like a victory. You and Heeseung are making your way back to the convenience store to buy supplies, the thrill of the night still buzzing in your veins.
Heeseung walks beside you, his steps a bit unsteady, still reeling from the intensity of the experience of being in a strip club for half of his day and then getting the best head he thinks he will ever get in his life. He steals glances at you, his expression a mix of admiration and bashfulness. “I still can’t believe how incredible you were,” he says, his voice tinged with awe.
You chuckle, the sound light and happy. “Thanks, Heeseung. I couldn’t have done it without you. You were amazing too. Y’know, you looked really good tied up.” The playful compliment brings a blush to his cheeks, and you can’t help but find his shyness endearing.
As you approach the convenience store, the lights casting a soft glow on the pavement, you feel a sense of contentment when suddenly, someone stops you in your tracks, hand in front of you pointing accusatorily. The gesture makes you feel uneasy, and you grasp Heeseung’s hand with your left and hold onto the money tightly with your right.
“Hey, do I know you two from somewhere?” the man asks in a rugged voice and thick Liverpudlian accent. His eyes are sharp, scrutinising, and it sends a chill down your spine.
Heeseung sees your nervousness and steps forward protectively. “I don’t think so, mate. Sorry,” he says, his voice firm but polite. He gently pulls you out of the man’s way, his grip reassuring on your hand. The words Heeseung spoke are enough to have the man leave you alone, but the encounter leaves you both on edge.
Quickly, you pocket the money in your daisy dukes’ front pocket, keeping your eye on the man as he fades into the night. You have grown accustomed to shady men at night, what with being on the run for nearly four days, but never has one spoken to you so blatantly, especially to ask you a question like that. Unless he was at Saturn earlier, you don’t know how he could know you.
Unfortunately, Heeseung does. Detaching his hand from yours, he looks through the store window to stare at the TV, arms hanging loosely by his side as though he could no longer feel them. In fact, he couldn’t feel any part of his body.
Sensing his tension, you look up at him. “What’s wrong? The guy is gone now,” you reassure, but that isn’t what he is worried about. You follow his gaze to the low-resolution TV perched in the top corner of the store and suddenly, you’re feeling sick and weak, the ground falling beneath you as you read the headline scrolling at the bottom of the screen, pictures plastered as clear as day to complement the words.
BREAKING NEWS: Search begins throughout the UK for suspects Y/N L/N and Lee Heeseung in a brutal passionate murder of local man, aged 56. Authorities say the two fled the scene a few days ago and urge caution to the public. If anyone knows anything please contact Scotland Yard.
Falling back a little, you shake your head in disbelief.
“They’re looking for us…
taglist (closed): @yzzyhee @intromortal @zerobaseone-zhanghao @hooniehon @deobitifull @alvojake @sageryuri @slut4hee @binniesbabe @vveebee @minniejenseo @jebetwo @seunghancore @laurradoesloveu @yongbokified @jaehoonii @jaeyunluvr @melonvrs @criminalyun @enhastolemyheart @fakeuwus @flwrhoes @rayofsunshineeee @moonlighthoon @jaehyuniewifeu @en-ternals @haechonly @got-sunghooned @brownsugarbaybee @heeseungspookie @sunpov @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan
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illusioninfnty · 17 days ago
Text
"I'll Gut You Like A Fish!"
જ⁀➴ Ghostface : Day 19
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feat. Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto ᯓ★ What's wrong with your boyfriends killing a random sleazebag here and there? You just like to indulge in the celebration that comes after.
warnings! : NSFW 18+, college au, exhibitionism, breast play, fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, male masturbation, oral sex (m and f receiving), creampie, cum eating, blood play, knife play, murder (not of reader), fucking over a dead body, everyone getting bricked up over murder
ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3
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The familiar hands of your boyfriend find themselves around your waist, swaying to the beat of whatever techno song plays as drunk college students stumble along to the bass vibrating across the walls.
“Got a present for you upstairs.”
Gojo’s lips ghost the shell of your ear, nipping at it teasingly as you throw your head back into the crook of his neck. 
“Oh?” He presses his front up against your backside. You can feel the way his cock strains in his pants as he subtly grinds up against you.
Gojo trails kisses down your neck and you shiver. “Come on, babe. Suguru’s getting a little impatient. You know how he is.” His hands move down to grab at your ass, motioning you along in the frat house, up the stairs to one of the rooms at the end of the hall.
The metallic, iron-like smell of blood fills the air as you open the door, making you halt in place. In front of you stands your other boyfriend Geto, dressed in an all-too-familiar black robe and holding a bloody knife.
His head lifts up as he hears you two come in. He sets the knife onto a desk and stalks across the room, grabbing you from Gojo’s hold and bringing you in for a passionate kiss. You moan into Geto’s lips, digging your fingers into his long black tresses. 
“What’s this from?” you ask hesitantly when you pull apart from him.
Before either one of your boyfriends can answer you, a broken moan sounds from the other side of the room, as though below the bed.
Geto takes your hand, guiding you to the source of the noise.
You gasp and take a step back, falling into his chest as you’re greeted with the sight of a bloodied man, writhing across the floor. Through his light colored shirt you can see multiple stab wounds, courtesy of Geto. The man coughs, and blood spurts out of his mouth, covering his neck and chest.
Gojo then pipes up, throwing an arm around Geto’s shoulder and jerking his head to the man. “Recognize him?”
You can’t seem to place who this is at first. But then when you look past all of the blood, you’re able to place why he seems so familiar. Just an hour or two ago, when you first arrived with Gojo and Geto at this party, this guy was in the kitchen with all the alcohol. When you went to get some for yourself, he groped your ass, something you complained about to your boyfriends later on.
The guy coughs again, and it sounds like a gargle. He clutches his side, a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding coming out of multiple wounds.
“Help me,” he moans, blood dribbling from the sides of his lips.
It’s a gross sight, really, and you sneer at the sight of him. No way in hell were you helping someone like him. Especially if it would be your boyfriends that you would hypothetically be up against.
You narrow your eyes, turning and walking away from him. “Maybe you should keep your hands off of women and you wouldn’t end up like this, asshole.”
“Ooh,” Gojo hisses from behind you. “Sorry, bud. Better luck next time.”
“You,” —the guy spits out more blood— “bitch.”
“Now, now, enough of that.” Geto grabs him by the curls on his head, dragging him forward so that he’s positioned in the center of the room, closer to where you stand near the bottom of the bed.
Gojo strides on over nonchalantly, standing right behind you. He starts to caress your sides, his hands moving sensually up and down your body. If it was possible, Gojo seems even harder now. His cock throbs in his pants as it presses against your backside. “Watch,” he whispers to you.
Geto stands in front of you, still holding the man up by his hair. He’s on his knees, and the blood from his mouth and his wounds are slowly starting to stain his clothes and his body a pinkish color.
The man winces as Geto’s grip on him tightens. “You’re here because we need to teach you a lesson.”
You gasp as Gojo’s hands move under your shirt, pulling it and your bra up in one fell swoop. He starts to pinch and pull at your nipples, which stand hard with your aroused state.
Geto hums in satisfaction at the sight, his eyes hooded with pleasure.
“Did you really think we would let you touch her like this?” Gojo chimes in. He relishes in how your body wriggles against him, craving his touch. One of his hands moves lower, and lower, and lower, and then disappears into your pants.
You moan as Gojo starts to play with your pussy, fingering at your slit. “Can’t believe how wet you are,” he croons in your ear, “getting worked up over something like this.” He tuts at you, playing with your folds as you let your body fall into him.
“Like—” you’re interrupted by your own involuntary moan as Gojo sticks two fingers inside of you with no warning. “Like you’re one to talk.”
His cock jumps as he laughs. He curls his fingers, and then begins to pump them in and out of your pussy.
“You see that?” Geto says. He’s talking to the bloody guy. “Only we get to touch her like that.” He leans down, staring at him eye to eye. “This is why you’re here. Because you touched something that’s ours. And for that” —he reaches behind him, brandishing the bloody knife— “you’ll have to pay.”
Seeing your typically calm and collected boyfriend take control like that was doing things to you. You feel your body heat up, and your core clenches around Gojo’s fingers, your imagination running wild with the change in your boyfriend’s behavior, thinking about all the things he could do to you.
Your moans are uncontrollable now as you whine and buck against Gojo, craving more.
“Shit, Suguru. Look at him, he’s hard!” Your boyfriend jeers at the man on the ground, but you don’t care enough to take your attention off the pleasure. “Aw man, what a fucking loser. Gotta get hard over our girl ‘cause he can’t find one on his own.”
Geto lets out a sound of disgust, sending a kick to the guy’s kidney. “Filthy fucking monkey.”
You can feel your peak approaching, and as you tighten around Gojo’s fingers he’s able to sense it, too. “Fuck, Suguru, I think she’s about to cum.”
“Not yet.” Suguru reaches out behind him, grabbing one last thing—a Ghostface mask. He fastens it onto his head before turning back to his soon-to-be victim.
“Fuck with our girl, pay the price.”
With that, Geto holds the man’s head up and slowly digs his knife across his throat. Blood pours out in waves, splashing against his body and the floor beneath him. Geto drops him without a care, and the man’s body falls face-first onto the floor as his blood surrounds him in a giant pool.
You gasp, and the shock of the scene in front of you paired with Gojo’s fingers wildly fucking into you has you cumming before you can even notice. Your eyes squeeze shut and your legs shake as your orgasm hits, your body going weak as Gojo holds you up.
When you open your eyes, Geto stands in front of you, still donning his bloody mask and knife.
You pant heavily, staring up at your boyfriend who slowly tilts his head while staring down at you.
“So you’re really Ghostface?” you ask, feeling dumb as soon as the question is out. You just watched him kill a man right in front of you. He rustles around his cloak, pulling out a small device. He clicks the button on the side of the device, bringing it up to his mask. “Not just me.” The device is a voice changer, you realize, and the voice that comes out is different from his own—much more gravelly, much more like that of a killer. You know exactly what he’s implying. You crane your neck to look at the man nuzzling into your hair.
“You too, Satoru?”
He places a kiss on the side of your head. “You know it, baby.”
A moment of silence passes before you speak up again.
“Is that why we also have the best sex coincidentally after the news hits of the killings around town?” 
Your question is answered not by words, but by the cheeky grin on Gojo’s face.
“Clearly you enjoy it just as much as we do.” Geto continues, he runs his hands over your breasts, tracing the curves of your body until he reaches your wet folds, fingering at them. You gasp, still sensitive from your release.
“You’re not the only one who got worked up all over it.” He moves his robes around, and you see that Geto is sporting a boner.
“Fuck, that’s hot, babe,” Gojo whines from behind you. You silently agree.
Geto smirks. “It’ll be hotter once it’s inside of her.” His hands grip around your hips, pulling your pelvis closer to his. He deftly strips his lower half, his cock springing free from its confines in front of you. He goes to lift his mask up, but you stop him with a hand on his wrist.
“K-keep it on, please.” You can feel your face heat up, from embarrassment or arousal though, you aren’t entirely sure.
You can just imagine the smirk that Geto has on his face beneath it. “Dirty girl.” He agrees to the request, and the mask stays secured to his face.
Gojo breathes heavily from behind you, no doubt entranced by Geto just like you are.
“So greedy,” Geto hums. He gives his cock a few tugs and then lines it up with your pussy. You both hiss at the stretch of him inside of you, your insides pulsating with the new sensation.
“Oh, God,” you moan, clutching onto Geto’s shoulders like your life depended on it.
“There’s no God here,” he whispers into your ear, his hips pumping into you at a rapid pace, “only us.”
Gojo drops to his knees, his eyes focused on where you and Geto are connected. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “look at you too. He leans up, his tongue licking a long strip from Geto’s balls all the way to you opening. He slurps at your wetness as it sloshes out of you with Geto’s thrusts.
“Oh, yes, more!” you cry out. Gojo’s tongue feels like perfection as he expertly moves it around to hit your most sensitive spots. You can tell that Geto is also affected by the way his hips stutter, his rhythmic thrusts becoming more jerky.
“Such a whore for us.” Geto’s hands come up to grip your face, and you finally notice how the two of you are now covered in the blood of the man he just killed. The realization causes you to gasp and your walls flutter around Geto.
“Oh?” He looks at the way your pupils dilated on seeing the blood across both you and himself. “You like being covered in blood? So naughty,” he teases.
From his position on the ground, Gojo is able to reach the man’s corpse, and he sticks his hand in the puddle of blood that has yet to dry. He brings his blood-covered hands back up to your body, rubbing them all over your stomach and chest.
You moan as Gojo covers your body in blood, smearing it all over you. Your boyfriend reveals a toothy grin. “I like this look on her.”
Geto hums in agreement, dragging a hand down your body. “Get back over here,” he says to Gojo. He obeys, alternating between putting his mouth on your pussy and Geto’s cock.
“’M gonna cum again,” you stutter out, nails digging into the black robe.
Geto laughs. “Are you?” Suddenly, he pulls out his bloody knife, positioning it up to your neck. Your pussy grips him even tighter, your arousal so close to reaching its peak. “Such a bad girl. Squirming all over my dick with a knife to your throat.”
Gojo chimes in with a laugh. “Getting fucked by a killer’s cock while his victim is right next to you. Fuck, she’s clenching so hard around you, Suguru.”
You don’t even have time to protest or talk back before you cum, releasing your juices all over Geto’s cock, remnants falling onto Gojo’s face.
Geto’s release isn’t far behind your own.
“Fucking take it,” he groans, and his dick pulsates as he finally cums inside of you. His warm cum feels so good in your pussy, and you whimper when he finally pulls out of you. 
Gojo’s tongue quickly replaces the feeling, however, and he greedily licks up both your arousal and Geto’s cum. You dig your fingers through his white locks as he eats you out like a man starved. Geto stands back, surveying the scene in front of him with pleasure.
When Gojo pulls away from your pussy, you practically collapse on top of him. He brings you down into his lap, bringing his lips up to your ear. His next words send a shock of pleasure down your spine and arousal churning in your core.
“Next time, you can watch me get a kill.”
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tender-rosiey · 1 year ago
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loud and clear — gojo satoru x gn!reader
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a/n: @xhamper I hope this is up to your liking! I couldn’t find the request in the inbox 🥲
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as a high school student in jujutsu tech, you have learned to take any chance to sleep.
however, said sleep of tonight is, unfortunately, disturbed by something.
trying to ignore the noise, you turn groggily in your sleep. the ruckus doesn’t pipe down; you toss and turn. finally, done with everything, you slowly open your eyes, “what the…”
you concentrate and you hear a song playing. albeit a bit muffled, it’s still pretty loud.
perhaps your neighbors are having a party again? but they just had one yesterday; in addition, the sound is pretty close to you unlike before.
when you finally get up, you head towards the window and you’re met with something you would’ve never expected.
you see nanami, geto and haibara dancing: nanami is frowning and his dancing is as stiff as the tree beside him, geto is smiling but he also just looks defeated and helpless, and haibara is having fun and making the most out of it.
it’s a sight to behold and you want to scurry and get a camera, but the rest of the scene catches your attention.
you also see dj shoko, who looks like she is about to commit a murder, frowning and holding the speakers behind the boys as they do their ‘part’.
lastly, there is gojo, your crush, holding a mic and obnoxiously singing golden hour, “it’s yoUR GOLDEN HOOOOOOUR!”
he is really into it, knees on the ground, clutching his chest, and everything, “YOU SLOW DOWN TIMEEEEEEEEEE—!”
so it’s no surprise when your very kind neighbor throws a bag of cashews at him.
“GET YOUR TEENAGE ROMANCE OUT OF HERE! SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!”
and it is also no surprise when he yells back, but you don’t expect his response, “WHAT’S WRONG WITH CONFESSING MY LOVE, YOU CRANKY OLD LADY?!”
geto tries to hold him back, “satoru, let’s not create a bigger scene than this, yaga will have our heads—“
satoru shakes him off and looks at you, determined and with a very annoying smirk on his face. he walks to his bag and gets out a megaphone.
he holds it up and once again surprises you, “I!LOVE!YOU!Y/N!”
“I LOVE HOW MESSY YOUR HAIR CAN BE IN THE MORNING!
I LOVE HOW CRANKY YOU GET WHEN YOU DON’T GET YOUR SNACKS!
I LOVE THE WAY YOU SMILE AND ROLL YOUR EYES AT MY JOKES!
I LOVE WATCHING YOU FIGHT CAUSE YOU LOOK SO SEXY!
AND YOU LOOK SO HOT WHEN YOU’RE ANGRY!
DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, SWEETS?!”
he is panting, by the time he finishes his rant. you know he is waiting for a response, but in your shocked state you cant get anything out except, “what?”
shoko snaps, “OH HELL NO! WE’RE NOT REPEATING THIS AGAIN! Y/N GET YOUR ASS DOWN!”
you nod hurriedly and run down the stairs. the moment you open the door, shoko pulls your arm and pushes you on satoru, who holds you up easily and whispers a small ‘hey’ with a smile.
geto pats shoko’s back and takes over, “so y/n, satoru likes you as you may have guessed by now.”
satoru, glaring at him, corrects him, “love! not like, thank you very much!”
you intertwine your fingers and it flusters him, but you don’t notice—geto does, however, and satoru is one second away from mixing colors.
nanami walks up to you guys, “and y/n obviously likes you back.”
finally haibara runs, smiling and excited, “now kiss!”
you laugh, “as if we would do that in front of you guys—“
the words die in your throat as satoru connects your lips gently. his hand is settled on your cheek and his other is pulling you closer by the waist.
shoko’s gagging, nanami’s groaning, haibrara’s clapping, and geto’s nodding proudly.
with all of that, you can only focus on the guy in front of you who pulls away with a cheeky smile, “that was nice, no?”
you mutter weakly, “s-shut up.”
he laughs and leans into your ear, “do you want to dance to the song?”
another bag of cashews is thrown on your—now—boyfriend’s head, “ YOU CAN DANCE TO THE SONG IN YOUR MOM’S—“
a kind neighbor indeed.
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taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso
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copyright © tender-rosiey
do not copy or plagiarize or i will send the kind neighbor after yo ass
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Text
Catch Basin | J.M.
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Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader
Summary: Crawling through the sewer to find a murder weapon should be pretty straightforward right? Definitely not life threatening.
A/N: This is kinda short but I hope you enjoy! I couldn’t find a good gif of this scene which I’m sad about
As I am an adult, all characters I write for are written as adults. Any minor characters will be aged up to the general range of their actor’s age.
Warnings: near drowning, dead animal?, very gross sewer
Word Count: 1.1k
-
“If it's not in the trash, then it's gotta be somewhere in the storm drain,” Pope says glumly.
“Of course it is.” You shake your head, wiping some sweat off your brow. “Half an hour cleaning up trash with you two hooligans for nothing.”
JJ feigns an offended expression next to you, reaching around the drain to his backpack. “Hey, at least this hooligan thought to bring the crow bar.”
“So how are we doing this?” you ask, “Like rock paper scissors? Or alphabetically?”
“Nah.” “No.” The two boys grunt as they pull the grate loose.
“Or, like, the oldest goes?” JJ and Pope just turn to stare at you. “Really? Neither of you are gonna take the fall? You're really gonna make me do this.”
Pope just shrugs while JJ nods in agreement with your statement, gesturing toward the open pipe.
“Oh, I get it.” You nod to yourself. “You guys are scared. It’s kinda cute.”
“I’m not scared, Y/N,” JJ protests indignantly, but neither boy makes a move toward the sewer.
You give them both an incredulous look. “You should’ve just led with that. You don’t have to be scared. I'll do it.”
“Okay, just, you know, be careful,” JJ adds as you're already halfway in the sewer.
“I’ll be so careful,” you respond sarcastically.
“Yeah, just yell if you need anything.” Pope chimes in.
“Great, yeah, I’ll do that. You’re both so helpful.” Your voice echoes as you yell back to the idiots you call friends.
You should've known you’d be the one stuck crawling through the sewer. If you were smart you would’ve sent JJ and Pope to complete this task on their own, but then who knows what problems they would’ve gotten themselves into without you.
“Shit.” You flinch as your hand hits something slippery on your crawl through the pipe. “Ew, ew, ew, ew.”
“Y/N, do you see the gun?” JJ’s voice echoes through the sewer.
“Nothing yet.”
“It’s probably at the bottom of the catch basin,” Pope informs you.
You're panting hard by the time you reach the end of the tunnel. You pull yourself into the foot of water at the bottom of the basin, feeling around for the gun and trying hard not to think about the things you could be touching.
“Oh my god, this is disgusting.”
It takes a few minutes, but finally you feel something that seems like it could be the same size as the gun.
You yell back in the direction of Pope and JJ. “Guys, I think I found something.”
As you lean down to reach for the object, something foul smelling and distinctly hairy floats toward your face.
“Oh, oh my god!” You push the creature away, scrambling. “You guys, there’s something dead in here!”
Pope calls back, “What, like a person?”
Something else touches you back making you scream.
“Y/N, don't touch it! That's how you get worms!” JJ yells, making you scream and yell even more.
“You guys owe me for life!”
“Just find the gun. Find the gun and get out.” Pope cuts over the noise, trying to get you back on track. He smacks JJ’s arm. “Dude, stop freaking her out.”
“Okay, okay.” you mutter to yourself, taking a deep breath. You turn back toward the water, continuing your search, but a noise makes you stop in your tracks.
“Oh, shit. Guys, the water! The water’s rising!” You turn frantically looking for a way out.
“Y/N! Get out of there now!” JJ’s panicked voice carries through the tunnel.
The water rises quickly, blocking off the way you came, making it impossible to crawl back out of the sewer.
“I don’t have time! Guys!” You hear them call back, yelling your name, but it all sounds muffled over the rushing of the water.
Turning to your only other option, you start climbing the ladder to the manhole. Panic courses through your body, fueling you to move faster and faster. The water chases you, rising just as fast as you can climb.
Your hands reach the top, straining against the hard metal of the cover, but it doesn't move. “Please! JJ! Guys!” You scream for your friends, pushing as hard as you can to free yourself. “Help, I’m over here!”
“Y/N!” You hear JJ’s voice moving closer. “Y/N, we’re coming!”
You stick your hands through the grate, gesturing frantically with your fingers, trying to show your friends where you are. “Please!” Your voice comes out in a broken sob. “The water’s coming up!”
“We’re here!” The boys grunt as they pull against the stubborn metal. You push up, providing any bit of help you can, but the water is overtaking you.
“JJ, JJ please,” You plead as the water rises to your chin.
“We’ll get you out of there. I promise!” JJ pulls out his knife, cutting around the edge of the cover as Pope pulls.
You slam your hands against the grate once more, panic coursing through your veins. “JJ-” The water covers your face. You feel his fingers on yours and all you can do is pray that he gets you out of here.
It feels like an eternity that you stay stuck in that position, your lungs burning, but finally, the cover pulls away with a clang. You pull yourself out of the hole, retching and coughing. The boys move back giving you a minute to recover. You pull yourself onto your knees, sucking in the clean air as fast as you can.
“Y/N?” JJ’s soft voice comes from beside you. He tentatively places a gentle hand between your shoulder blades. “You okay?”
You give him a weak thumbs up. “Never better,” you rasp out, making both boys chuckle.
Taking a steadying breath, you sit back on your heels and reach toward the small of your back. “This wasn’t what we were looking for, right?” You pull a gun out from your waistband. Handing it towards JJ with a small smirk.
“Holy shit,” Pope breathes.
“Oh my god.” JJ laughs, taking the gun from your hand wrapping it in a bandanna. He reaches his other hand out to you, helping you to your feet. “You did it, Y/N. You did it!” He scoops you up in a tight hug, nearly knocking you off your feet. “That’s my girl.”
“Okay, a little tight. I almost just drowned, remember?”
“Right, sorry!” He pulls back quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, just thought we lost you there for a second. You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” You smile softly at him before pulling both boys into another quick hug. “Now let’s get this bad boy to Shoupe, so I can go shower.”
“Deal,” Pope agrees, “Good job.”
“Yeah, you definitely need a shower. You smell like shit.” JJ jokes, earning himself a hard shove from you. Pope nods solemnly beside him.
“Okay, assholes. Next time, you guys get to crawl through the sewer.”
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dronebiscuitbat · 5 months ago
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Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 16)
They had done a decent job hiding this all from Khan until this point. The man had been busy fixing a malfunctioning main door and she had gotten quite good at hiding things from him. However that had to end when she was going to be forced to spend at least a couple of days staying in N's apartment, looking after his new daughter.
Khan decidedly did not need to know that her name was also on those adoption papers, and the longer she could keep that hidden the better, as much as N was someone she could let her guard down around, the same couldn't be said about the rest of the bunker, there were already rampant rumors flying around the bunker about her and N, not helped by them walking together with a baby to his apartment she was sure. She didn't need to give them any more fuel.
So now she was near the front of the bunker, looking for her dad to break the news that yes, N did end up adopting the baby they'd literally just told him he wasn't like… a few days ago.
She was sure that conversation was going to go well.
“Dad?” She called out, her voice echoing out in the much larger hall, absent of other people. At this hour, most sane people would be asleep, but not her, and it would likely be a little bit before her old man would want to stop working, that was one of the few things they shared; when a task needed to be done, neither of them stopped until their bodies demanded it.
“Here dronelette!” His voice came from above, and so her head turned towards it, only to find Khan awkwardly wrapped around a pipe, tightening a gasket on Door 2, honestly it almost looked like one of the weird ass positions she would take while writing something that caught her attention.
“How did you even get up there?” She asked, looking around for any evidence of a ladder or a stool and found neither.
“I scaled the pipes! What? Didn't think your old man could climb?” He chuckled lightly without loosing focus, tongue sticking out of his mouth as his eyelights scrunched up
“Uh no, actually.” Was all she said, watching as he worked for another minute before he wiped the nonexistent sweat of his brow and looked down.
Then with a semi-impressive level of balance and grace, jumped down from the rather high ceiling, using the other pipes as monkey bars before landing safely at her side.
Only to wince as his joints made a rather concerning noise.
“Agh, so it's been awhile…” He chuckled again, although this time a little sadly before turning to his daughter with a smile that seemed genuine.
“What did you need?” He asked, and Uzi shook off the strange feeling of awe watching her dad do something that was actually sort of risky like it was normal for him.
Only for it to be replaced by the nervousness of the reason she'd actually sought him out. Great…
“Uh yeah. I was just letting you know I need to stay over at N's tonight…”
Khan looked confused, but a smile still graced his face.
“Is that all? You normally wouldn't come find me for something small like that.”
“And… for possibly the next few days?” She finished, at which then Khan’s face fell, becoming more confused and a little concerned.
“Why's that? N's not sick is he? Can murder drones even get sick…?”
“No! He's fine, well mostly. It's just he needs my help with… uh something.” She was trying to avoid the inevitable. She knew playing the pronoun game with her dad was a habit, but one she'd only truly win if she had a door to slam in his face.
“Which is?” She winced, sweat appearing on her visor as she grinned warily, shifting her fingers together nervously.
“N ended up… adopting Tera. And he needs my help in taking care of her until he gets everything ready for her.”
Khan’s jaw was on the floor, put of all thing he'd expected out of his daughters mouth that was… not at the top of the list; along with “Bite me” or “Mind your freaking business.”
“He told me he wasn't going to.”
“He wasn't, but… Tera has an overheating issue and no one else seemed to want to deal with it.” She tried to explain without concerning him further.
Khan didn't say anything, so she felt the urge to continue impulsively.
“We talked about it, and we agreed that Mrs Rayn is a little too old to raise a baby. And We have a lot of experience with overheating… with him getting his new apartment, we thought…” She stopped suddenly. Realizing she had gone from talking about N to talking about them. As a unit.
“We?”
“I-uh yeah, he talked to me about it first and I talked him through it all to make sure he was serious about it. I-I'm not on the papers or anything!”
She probably could have omitted that last part, but the way Khan was looking at her was making the usually rather quiet part of her brain requiring his approval speak up slightly louder.
She wasn't sure Khan entirely believed her, squinting at her with extreme suspicion, she glanced to the side, eyeing the way she came as if she regreted the entire trek up here.
“If you're just doing it to help them settle in. Wouldn't that only take a few hours? Or a day?” He began again slowly, still processing the sudden information.
“Normally, and that was the plan. But uh, he lacks the hardware to take care of her properly.”
“Rayn should have given him the cable and the bottles, what do you-”
“He doesn't have a side panel.” She interrupted him blunty, pausing whatever he was about to say next
Khan was quiet.
“What?”
“No, you didnt mishear me. He doesn't have a side panel.”
“Everyone has one.”
“He doesn't.”
Khan blinked before he sighed heavily, thinking deeply on everything that was just discussed. He felt one of his hands start shaking, but he gripped it to make it stop.
“I had about the same reaction, but it makes sense, why would a disassembly drone ever need that kind of hardware?”
He nodded at that, before a different thought entered his head entirely.
“How do they raise their kids then?”
At that Uzi paused, she knew N's background, how he used to be a worker drone and had never been a pillbaby. So that thought had simply never entered her mind, but it did get her thinking…
Could N even pass down his code at all? Did it work the same way as with worker drones?
And if it did, what would his kids even look like? White eyelights? Yellow? Would they carry the same traits as a disassembly drone or would they just remain a worker drone?
“I don't think they do…” She answered, she didn't want to expose too much of N's past, that wasn't her story to tell, but her dad had been being… more tolerable as of late. “N was a worker drone before he became… what he is now. So I think all that hardware was removed.”
“He was? What did he used to do?” He asked, head tilted to the side.
“He…” She paused for a moment, deciding if N would mind if she said anything, he was pretty sensitive about his time at the manor; she decided giving him the very basics was enough. “He was a butler, he had white eyelights.”
“White. Huh.”
At that the conversation stagnated, and Uzi sighed, beginning to walk away.
“Now that you know, can I uh… go?” She gestured in the direction she was currently going, clearly not waiting for his answer as Khan seemed to be frozen, processing all of this information.
But he nodded, dumbly. And she took that as her que to book it, not stopping until she was certain that even if her dad wanted to catch up, she'd be long gone. Perfect for making an undetected journey back.
She didn't take the normal way back to N's apartment either, trying to avoid more stares from more judgemental faces, it was somehow worse now than it ever was, at least before they'd done it quietly, too scared to be noticed by her and be met with violence, but they seemed to sniff out her now softened edges, because now some drones didn't bother to hide it.
“Looks like the freak found a boy toy.”
“Of course she'd be freinds with a murder drone, she's all kinds of gross.”
“You think she let's him bite her? She's probably into it…”
One of those came from Lizzy, which was honestly so typical she barely even registered it. (Although she hadn't said anything in awhile, V probably had something to do with that.) But the other two, the one about N being a boy toy and her letting him bite her, were new, and came from a brand new mouth.
She wasn't sure if this particular girl had a thing for N, because both of those were rather strange places for someone's mind to default to, but whatever the case she'd made comments like that rather often, her name was… Chloe? That sounded right.
She was quiet before, Uzi thought, because she was a brand new face and voice for her, orange eyelights and rich black hair that went down to her shoulders. But that was literally the only thing Uzi could remember about her.
And the only reason she hadn't bitten back when she'd heard it was because N had been next to her, oblivious to it all, walking back to her place after the craziness that was prom. She'd also been tired, injured, and freaked out, but those things didn't stop her nearly as much as N's presence.
N didn't deserve that ridicule, not in the least. He was the sweetest guy on the entirety of Copper-9. And yet those comments were derogatory to him too, essentially calling him easy, for Uzi to be able to “get him.”
First. Ew, Not that Uzi wasn't attracted to him, she was. (Not like she was ever going to say anything.) But talking about anyone like that was gross, and this was N, Her best freind.
Second. How dare she drag his name in the dirt with her! She could drag Uzi's name around all she wanted, it would just be treading old ground. But N? He'd done nothing to Chloe, except maybe make her feel things? She didn't know, those comments were so weird and uncomfortable.
She pushed out the thoughts from her mind when she reached N's door, partly thankful for her switch to being a night owl, she rarely saw any of her classmates anymore, except Thad. And when she did it was incredibly brief, when she was turning in her work.
Because yes, she was still going to school. She just did all of her work at home. What else was she supposed to do after murdering half her class? V had taken the blame, but that didn't mean everyone else didn't know the real culprit.
The door swished open, revealing N still on the couch, watching Tera as she rolled around playing with her jingling roll toy, he smiled when he looked up at her, worry leaving his visor somewhat.
“What'd he say?” He asked, motioning her to sit across from him, which she did, her eyes going back to Tera, who rolled over to her, jingling all the way.
“I mean, he asked a bunch of questions. But he didn't stop me sooo…” She flashed him a smirk and he felt his eyes roll, even still his smile didn't leave, instead he tried to relax, keeping an eye on the pillbaby as Uzi picked her up, looking down at her with a small smile.
“She's getting sleepy… do you know where that charger went?” N looked over and noticed that Tera's eyes were substantially dimmer, as well as her normal rolling had slowed down.
He plucked the charger put of the bag and handed it to her, and Uzi began the process of lifting her hoodie and undershirt enough to plug it into herself, thankfully, this didn't time it didn't seem to be painful.
She plugged the normally excitable rolling machine into her side and her eyes immediately brightened, and Uzi's visor immediately filled with a warning, telling her a foreign entity was drawing her power.
She closed it instantly, old JCJenson warnings that no longer applied. The pop-ups were still annoying regardless.
“There you go, happy now?” She asked the infant as if she could respond, and she did, by rolling into Uzi's chest and yawning, before quickly falling into sleep mode.
N just watched, smile never once fading from his face. He'd known that he rather liked seeing Uzi interact with Tera, as she was normally at her softest. But with that added context that this was now his daughter she was interacting with left him with his core full of fuzzy cotton.
“You're really good at that.” He pointed out as Uzi tried to get get comfortable with a baby attached to her, though it was rather difficult, as the cord was quite short and didn't leave much room to menuver.
But she still looked up at him, a small blush on her face that he caught a glimpse of before she turned away.
“Just practice is all.” She waved off, finally giving up on being comfortable and just sitting awkwardly stuffed into the couch with Tera laying on her stomach.
“You're still amazing at this. I would be totally freaking put right now without you being here.” He admitted, trying to make her take the compliment without waving it off, it was probably never going to happen though.
“Your instincts would have kicked in, and you'd get all fatherly on her without my help.” She laughed, and put a hand over Tera to steady her, as the action disturbed her slightly.
“Seriously, you're way better at this then you think you are.” She hummed, presumably to get him to shush about it.
At that moment Tera became unplugged, starting her into a fall off Uzi, rolling off and beginning to plumet to the hardwood floor, N immediately rocketed forward, catching the little pill before she ever touched the ground, even if it left him in the rather awkward position of his legs still on the couch as the rest of him was on the floor.
Tera giggled sleepily before going back into sleep mode, satisfied with her mischief.
“See? You already have the reflexes.” Uzi pointed out and caused N to look back at the pillbaby with a smile.
Maybe he could be alright at this after all.
Next ->
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magpod-confessions · 3 months ago
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...the extended sounds of brutal pipe murder are kind of underwhelming and didn't really sell the moment. doesnt sound brutal doesnt sound like a pipe doesnt sound like a murder and it doesnt last very long so its not even extended. kinda just sounds like someone whacking a punching bag with a baseball bat a couple times. i love me some bpm shitposting as much as the next person but the fandom really overhypes the actual moment. like yeah they didnt exactly have the resources to make super convincing bespoke sfx but leitner doesnt even gasp or make a noise or go "ouch". that can be explained by leitner either being knocked unconscious by a blow to the head or him getting the breath knocked out of him, but if it was the former case the sound shouldnt have been so soft, and in the latter case we still shouldve heard leitner getting the wind knocked out of him (see: that one lord of the rings bts clip with christopher lee demonstrating being stabbed.) tl;dr extended sounds of brutal pipe murder overrated
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astronomer80 · 24 days ago
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I never post my fics here, but I decided to give it a go, so
What if it was Dipper, and not Mabel, closer to the button that turns the portal off? (angst, bad ending)
Someone screamed, something thrashed in the corner of his vision, grey spots were dancing everywhere. It was bright. And scary.
Everything went upside down – Mabel hit her back on the ceiling, Soos met a broken pipe in mid-air. It was like the earth jumped, but didn't land; like an airplane descending, or an elevator coming to a stop between floors. Dipper's shoe caught on a cable stretching above the ground. Blood rushed in his ears.
There wasn't any grunkle. There was... This. Maybe not even human: another shapeshifter, traitor, villain – liar, murderer and thief.
Thief – it's not so bad. Isn't it? Conman – there were conmen everywhere, they were on TV every day.
Why didn't Dipper tell on him to FBI? He could just say – grunkle doesn't pay taxes, and he did time, but in another country, and he drives over eighty while having cataracts, and he prints money in his basement, so, arrest him, please. A threat to public security, and all that.
And all of this wouldn't have happened. No armageddon.
But Dipper didn't know, because – it's not so bad to be a thief, and they let conmen on TV, and many people did time. He didn't know grunkle Stan was bad, a villain, a murderer, and maybe even. Not human.
In the bright light of the portal, Dipper saw for a second slitted pupils and vertical eyelids. Stan and Soos were floating together, turning, and his grunkle – not a grunkle, an alien someone – raised and lowered his fist. Mabel watched and cried, without whimpers, silently.
Dipper pulled the cable up with his foot, grabbed it and started to climb down, to the ground. Now the big red button was right in front of him.
Big red numbers were beeping, changing – everything was too blurred, but he knew there was little time. And Dipper, he always wanted to hit a big red button.
There was noise in his ears. Someone screamed, but he couldn't hear it. The room was all upside down, machine pieces floating around, Soos held his grunkle, Mabel cried.
Dipper pressed the button with both hands, just to be sure.
Everyone fell. The pieces crumbled down, Mystery Shack crashed above them. Dipper hit his knees, Manel fell on her side and hugged herself tightly. Soos and Stan fell in a pile, and Soos let go. Grunkle Stan wasn't pulling free anymore. He wasn't even going to stand up.
Dipper, he always wanted to be a hero – save everybody, help everyone.
He never saw his grunkle cry. Not even when they were in his head, when he saw little Stan. But now grunkle Stan... He was still on the ground, like something broken, and he wheezed and whimpered – and howled. Dipper never saw someone cry like this. He never saw people howl.
There was something tightening inside Dipper. There were no big red numbers, but the seconds still ticked away.
And his grunkle didn't stop crying – did not stop whimpering.
Dipper turned around to look at the portal. He could now see the old basement wall on the other side. The lights were off now, and it smelled of burnt rubber. Dipper felt around for the button and pressed it again – but nothing happened.
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felinecryptid · 10 months ago
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see i don't give a fuck if colin is fucking everything up, he is my man and he is doing the correct thing
never trust anything that can connect to the internet, wireless or cabled
i say that as a hobby programmer, like i don't even do that for a living or study it, computers are wildly untrustworthy, ykw i don't think what i do even qualifies as programming
but computers, man...
if it makes a noise i explicitly didn't specify it to make, its brutal pipe murder time
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