#AND NOT ONLY DID I PASS I GOT AN A TOO WHAT THE FUCK

[hotwife-larissa-returns]

We met on a party and an good old friend introduced us to each others. The party was great, we danced, we got drunk… we kissed.

He had eyes only for me that night, I was corrupting his mind and I enjoyed it. His girlfriend has left him some weeks ago and I could see the lust in his eyes… the lust for me.

My old friend was doing great, he knew the chemistry between us would be great and he distracted my hubby. Showing him around, introducing him as my hubby to guys, who have fucked me in my past… without telling him. They all congratulated him for taming me. Huh, yeah, right��� as if that would be possible… especially for him.

From time to time I just feel the need to smoke some weed and I just made a joke to that new guy and told me, that if he had some grass, I‘d be in the mood to go home with him and do naughty things with him throughout the night.

He just took my hand, pulled me from the dancefloor and said „let‘s go!“ He lived in an apartment nearby, it was a short walk and he already pulled out two joints. I deeply inhaled the smoke and got high fast.

As we shut the door of his apartment we stripped out of our clothes in no time, we were heading for the bedroom, he was walking behind me and I felt his big cock rubbing against my ass. Oh my, I was totally in the mood to have wild nasty sex now.

I opened the door to the bedroom and that guy whispered in my ear „Ready to meet my dad?“ I tried to act shocked, by it turned me on and my mind was too slow to think about if he‘s just kidding or if he’s serious and the next moment I saw a grey haired man, lying naked in his bed. Hung like a horse and already hard, he must have been waiting for us. I remember that he texted someone on our walk.

I just smiled at him, took the next steps to the bed and bend over him to kiss and suck the tip of his old man‘s cock. He tasted great, his mushroom fitted so nicely into my mouth… as if it were made for it. Meanwhile I felt his junior feeling my ass and teasing me by sliding his cock through my crotch.

I got totally screwed that night, they took turns on me, dp‘ed me, came all over my body. I was their nasty slut and they made me see colors as I orgasmed several times. I passed out after my last one that night.

As I woke up in the morning, I had a bad hangover… the son was already awake, lying next to me, caressing my body. His dad had already left. I asked him for a favor, I needed another joint and wanted to take a bath. My pussy was sore and my ass burnt, they were quite rough with me, had absolutely no mercy, used me like a fucktoy.

I climbed into his tube and he told me, that he has an urgent desire and before I realized, what he was talking about I felt his warm pee on my body. I was too surprised to say a thing, I usually don’t like those things, but I must say, it turned me on that day and I let him clean the cum-strains from my body with his piss.

He filled the tube with water afterwards and offered my a joint, the smoke and the hot water helped me to recover and relax, he joined me in the tube and well yeah, I made him hard again and we did one last round before he reminded me of my hubby and told me to call him to pick his slut up.

Hubby just hates, when I smoke… but he got excited as I told him about my slutty adventure that night.

👩���🤗😍🥰😘💋🫦🔥💍💨🍆🍆😈💕🤷🏻‍♀️

via weheartit

[moonstruckme]

hi mae you mentioned new girl au asks and so i have arrived!

i've lived alone most of my adult life and while i'm content pretty much all of the time, there is a specific situation where i've wished i had roommates.

it's those days where i've fucked up at work or a friend is mad at me and I miss the bus and have to wait in the rain without an umbrella, and I get home to a completely empty and cold apartment and just start sobbing as soon as i get through the door. during those days i feel like the most pathetic girl in the world and really just wish i could text my roommates to make extra food or turn on a heated blanket or just like, offer a hug lol.

i would love to see how the marauders would react to their new roommate on a shitty day like that, if you feel like writing it <3

Thank you lovely <3

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s all you can do to make it inside. Your throat has been tight the entire last two blocks to your building; your eyes start to burn in the elevator, small puddles of rainwater forming beneath your shoes. By the time you’re fitting your key into the lock, you know you won’t make it to your room. You only hope that no one is home to witness your upset. 

Of course, with three flatmates who all have incredibly varying schedules, that is never the case. 

“Hey!” says James, not immediately visible but evidently having heard the door. “Do you wanna come say something to Mr. Palmer? We’re trying to make him believe in ghosts.” 

You look into his room as you pass by. James is lying stomach-down on his bed above a heating vent situated low in the wall. His smile is all mischievous anticipation. When he looks up at your approach, it falters. 

“You alright?” 

“Who’s Mr. Palmer?” you ask. 

“He’s…” James blinks, sitting up. “He lives below us. Hey, are you okay?” 

You shrug pathetically, pressing your lips together as your eyes burn even more furiously. You take a step back, retreating automatically to your room, but James frowns and opens his arms, beckoning you towards him. It’s too tempting an offer to pass up. 

“What happened?” he asks, rubbing your back. He hugs you like you’ve known each other for years, unreserved in his touching. “You’re soaked, babe.” 

You give a little laugh. “I know.” 

“Did you walk in the rain the whole way to your interview?” 

“I got kinda wet on the way there, then bombed it, then missed the bus coming home.” 

James makes a sympathetic noise. “Why didn’t you just get the tube? Or call one of us to come get you?” 

Your heart warms at the thought that one of your flatmates would have left the flat and taken their own public transportation just to bring you home. “My phone died.” 

“Oh.” James rubs your back again. “I’m sorry, babe. That’s tough luck.” 

You sniffle. You feel bad for crying into the shoulder of this boy who you really only met recently, but the hug actually is helping. You feel half as anxious as you had when you came in, though nothing really has changed. James must just give really good hugs. 

You look over your shoulder when you hear footsteps approaching. Like James, the impishness in Sirius’ expression dies when he sees you. “Good god.” He lowers the plastic recorder he’s carrying. “What happened to you? You’re soaked.” 

What is it with these boys and stating the obvious?

“I know,” you say, using the butt of your palm to wipe your face, “thanks.” 

“James, what’ve you done to her?”

“It wasn’t me!” James holds up his hands. “It was the weather. And the TfL.” 

“Well get the poor thing a towel!” Sirius tosses the recorder onto the bed, stalking from the room. “Christ, I have to do everything around here.” 

You eye the recorder. “Why did he bring…?” 

“We were trying to make Mr. Palmer think he’s hearing ghosts,” James explains. “Thought woodwinds might add to the effect. Do you want tea?” 

Tea, you’ve learned, is how your flatmates sometimes refer to dinner. Most of the time this sounds far preferable to you than the actual beverage. 

“I could eat,” you say. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t leave a trail of water from the door,” says Sirius, returning with a towel. “Here.” 

You take it, not keen on admitting how you wrung the moisture from the ends of your hair before entering the building. Too humiliating. 

You allow James to shepherd you into the kitchen, where Remus is busy with something on the stove. His brow creases with concern at the state of you. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“She missed the bus,” James explains succinctly. 

Remus frowns. “Oh, that’s shit. How did your interview go?” 

Your throat contracts all over again. You try to keep your mouth from wobbling. “Not very good,” you say quietly. 

“I’m sure it was better than you thought,” says James. 

Remus hums his agreement. “I’m making pasta. Would you like any?” 

“But I…” You clear your throat, trying not to seem too pathetic. “I didn’t pay for any of the groceries.” 

He tsks. “Don’t worry about that. Would you like some?” 

James nudges you towards a chair beside the one Sirius has already taken. “Um,” you hesitate, “sure, please. Thank you.” 

Sirius smirks. “And people say the English are overly polite.” 

You don’t speak much. You aren’t in a mood for talking, and Sirius and James do well enough to fill the silence anyways. They don’t seem to mind letting you mope, though after a while their chatter does lighten your mood some. They’re just so at home with each other, it’s difficult to be around them and not feel like you’re home too. 

“Thanks,” you murmur when Remus brings you a plate. 

He sets a hand on top of your head, a brief solace. “Don’t mention it.” 

The more familiar you become with English accents, the more distinct Remus’ sounds to you. You can hear it in his vowels sometimes, the way he says news or orange, the soft lilt when you try to help him in the kitchen and he tells you to sit down, love. You wonder if he’s from a different area than James and Sirius. You’ll have to ask him sometime. 

“Can I ask for something ridiculous?” you say. 

Sirius raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re always being some degree of ridiculous,” he drawls, in the sort of tone you’ve only recently learned to recognize as teasing, “so why stop now.” 

“Is it, like, treasonous to ask to have actual tea with your tea?” 

James looks delighted. “You want tea?” 

You squirm, oddly sheepish. “It sounds sort of comforting, I guess.” 

He hops up, kissing the top of your head enthusiastically as he goes for the kettle. “We’ll make a Brit out of you yet.” 

[vicorices]

18+ mdni, collage au, use of marijuana, high sex, blink and you'll miss perv!vi, you smoke while she eats you (feral), spit, stoner!vi that got out of hand.

masterlist // requests // wc: 1,931

dealer!vi who’s deep down a damn loser when it comes to you, an unmeasured crush that started out when you bought weed for the first time and she got your number under the premise of talking to you whenever she had good stash.

she stares for a good while at her phone after, trying to find out a reason to talk to you without sounding lame, the last time she was so afraid to talk to a girl she was what? sixteen? so fucking lame.

dealer!vi who leaves in the middle of a party cause you texted asking is she was up and well, it's her fault when she's spoiling you rotten, constantly selling to you her very best stuff at a stupid low price: she wants you to keep coming to her, so she makes sure of making an undeniable offer.

she's knocking at your door and it's way to late to be in the streets, standing with her hands shoved inside her jacket as she waits for you to open up.

dealer!vi who's impressed actually by your rolling skills cause how the fuck did you learn how to roll a joint like that? you have such a good technique she finds herself looking at it, fingers in perfect control as they swiftly pour the green from your purple grinder into king-sized pink rolling papers — is it indirect kissing when you're licking the paper and she can visibly see strings of your saliva? must be.

she looks at you when you light up the joint and the air is quickly filled with the intense smell of weed, a subtle fruity and citric aroma as you passed her the joint. indirect kissing. indirect kissing when vi's smoking from the very same spot you did, sitting close to you after selling you a good amount of weed and accepting a sudden invitation to stay for a while and smoke, make the journey at least a bit more worth it and not leave after five minutes with you.

it doesn't have to be just pure business.

you're oblivious to it, but her gaze lingers in your legs and the subtle way your shirt rides up showing more and more skin without you noticing, worried you'll find out she's right there high and dry in your sofa.

stoner!vi who laughs at your jokes, leaning forward when talking to you cause even high she just thinks about how beautiful you are, eyes red, half lidded, relaxed in the comfortable of your small apartment close to the uni.

and like a good stoner she forgets about she's holding the joint at some point, too busy with the conversation, your company and the atmosphere you’ve so easily created, the ashes falling to the ground now. she has sold you marijuana for months, yet she's not able to talk to you for more than explaining you what strain she's carrying to sell until well — now.

liking your photos, flirting but not at all, it's absurd the amounts of times you appear on her mind without even trying to, messy haircut, she's sure you have a tattoo hidden under the winter clothes cause she can be a proud stoner, but she pays attention, at least when she wants something, when it comes to you.

"are you ever going to make a move on me, vi? cause i'm getting tired of waiting for you to snap out of it."

and maybe it's the weed, that dizzy and nice sensation on her chest that makes her smile, cause she's sure you're pulling her closer even when she's the one moving on her own.

"a move, you want me to make a move on you?"

you're taking the joint from her fingers and she swears it's the hottest thing she's ever experienced, the way you were suddenly so close to her only to pull away after, letting the smoke linger in the air when you light it again: she has felt that very same thing before, the awful need of pulling you into a kiss.

"i thought it was obvious when i texted you in the middle of the night, but you don't seem to get it much" the music seems to drown her unsteady breathing, the loud guitars by the speaker in the table while your bratty attitude only seems to turn her on even further. "should i spell it out for you? send a formal invitation?"

stoner!vi who's really bad in controlling her force when high, cause her hand fist in the fabric of your shirt and she's finally erasing the distance she was once polite to keep, moving you without much effort across the cushions to pull you closer to her, make you lay on the sofa to pin you down beneath her.

her muscles flex on top on you and she's finally aware of the effect she has on you, when she's finally kissing you and you're responding to her even when she barely touches you — so maybe it's not as lame as she thought, cause her kisses travels down your throat, messy, sloppy open-mouthed kisses she places as she holds you there, still and where she wants you to, not lame at all when you cannot control yourself either, squirming, already asking for more.

and fuck it's good. she can smell the subtle smell of weed in your clothes, and swear could choke 'cause you're parting your legs for her, a silent invitation she just gets with no need to spell it out for her now.

"gonna smoke it all by yourself?" vi's messing with you at first, watching you take the joint you forgot in your fingers to place it over your lips — "or are you gonna share that with me?"

stoner!vi who fantasizes with the thought of spitting right over your parted lips when she's helping you smoke, lighting up the joint as she sits on top of you. she's slower, but her hips press down against yours just right, and trapped in between her thighs is a damn sight. her blushed cheeks match her cherry hair who's much longer now since the first time you meet her, and you, a demon as always, let your hand find the skin beneath her shirt, the pad of your fingers roaming against her hip bone, trailing it down her pants.

with two fingers, she places the joint over your lips. your breathing collides against her hand, and she can feel the softness in your lips for a moment before you're blowing the smoke in her direction, slightly and for nothing more than five seconds but enough to make her think about kissing you again, yearning when she's stealing kiss after kiss, taking away the joint to have you pay attention to her instead. needy.

the weed makes her like that she'd say, but in reality vi's going to pieces even before her eyes become glassy. shambles when the music on the speaker is not enough to muffle your gasps, the irregular sound of your breathing after she slowly begins to ask you for more — hungry even when she's full fed.

she's building you up, taking her time since she dreamed about this a lot, and she desperately wants it to make it last, savor it as long as she can have it, so vi's dragging your shirt upwards, enough so she can see the obvious lack of a bra, latching on the skin of your breast until it's bruised and sensitive, purple because of her.

you do have a hidden tattoo, only for her to see.

yet it's her name on your swollen lips what she enjoys the most, how she's there in your lungs inside you, the sound of your moans when you ask if she could keep going. your always perfect hair lays now messy, and god she just want to imprint the sight of you in her brain, how your skin shiver when she's kissing the expanses of your belly, that flirty look on your face she can see even when she's completely on her knees for you already.

"you forgot about the joint again, peach" vi mutters against your navel, her chin presses against your stomach and the mere contact makes your skin burn "you okay up there? 'cause last time i recall i was invited to smoke with you love, you're making me feel a little betrayed here."

stoner!vi who likes the fact you're smoking from her weed. may seem stupid but she damn prides on knowing you choose her every time even when uni is fucking plagued with providers all around: you praise about her quality, chanting about how good your high was, how she never disappoints.

the world seems to stop against your skin, the time dies between your thighs, the intense smell of your arousal clouds her with longing and her mouth waters at the compulsion to lean forward.

"it's not fair, making me feel so- fuck so-" the words die on her tongue, cause your panties are soaked through, clinging to your folds and she's already drunk on it, lost in the haze as she looks up to you, barely illuminated by the lights in the apartment, the ember of the joint lighting every once in a while.

"talk to me," your voice is rough as your hand reaches down to her hair, taking the long strands of the mullet between your fingers — "how do i make you feel, huh? tell me vi."

stoner!vi who's a chaotic eater. she whimpers at your praises as her tongue laps from over your slick underwear, drool escaping from the corners of her mouth as her nose rubs against your sensitive cunt and she doesn't really care if she stinks like pussy after, if you're gushing all over her cheeks as she's making your underwear to the side; she's surrendering entirely, spreading you with her fingers and sinking her face in your puffy, swollen lips already sticky with a sheen of arousal.

she cannot seem to have enough, one arm tangled around your leg as she's comfortable enough to gather a good amount of saliva on her mouth so she can let it fall against your already leaky pussy, scooping it with her fingers to use it as lube when her digits are forcing themselves against your entrance, opening you up for her as vi's mouth sucks greedy around your clit.

so you forgot about the joint laying between your fingers as you hold her face against your sex, moving your hips against her mouth until she's looking at you through half lidded eyes and you can see how her face seems to glisten thanks to you. vi seems to be hitting all the nice places when her fingers scissors inside you, rubbing on your walls as you become pliant in her touch, inviting as you seem to suck her in deeper.

stoner!vi who pays attention, cause she's fixated in your face when you fall apart, dissolving into pleasure, splintering in lust for a brief moment she prolongs as much as it's possible, slowly pumping her fingers inside your tight entrance to keep seeing that pretty face all constricted in need, babbling about how good she's eating you, how full you are when her fingers fuck you dumb like that.

stoner!vi who shoves her fingers in your mouth right after fucking you, using her thumb to trace them along the seam at first, coaxing you to open them for her, pushing down on your tongue as soon as she's granted permission.

it's her turn to smoke now.

[loveln4]

PART 1 , PART 2

tags: @adoredeanna @f1fantasys

LANDO NORRIS x GIRLFRIEND!READER

The whole facade

Seemed to fall apart, it's complicated

- Gracie Abrams, I know it won’t work

synopsis: Y/n comes back to the apartment after she had left to cool off. Lando wasn’t there, thankfully and she thought she could at least clean up the mess he left. But what happens when Lando comes back with a guest?

warnings: vulgar language, guilt, cheating, sexual scenes.

She walked into the large apartment hoping that he was gone. Fortunately, he was. The place was a mess from the last time she was in there, which was only four hours ago.

Y/n had told him that she’d be back in an hour or two but was then caught up with a meeting with her employees. As she entered the bedroom, she was met by a waft of cologne, Lando’s scent filling her senses. It broke her to see the room an absolute mess. What did he do?

She pulled her duffel bag from the top shelf of her closet and started shoving clothes inside. She didn’t even look at what she placing in there, she wanted to be out of there as soon as she could.

The duffle bag was full and heavy when she was done shoving all her belongings into it, needing to grab a second one that was hiding beneath Lando’s clothes.

She ran around the bedroom, picking up things of her’s that were flung onto the wooden floor. Y/n felt a sharp pain beneath her toe, lifting her foot up slightly revealing a shard of glass.

“Fuck me.” She cursed harshly. Y/n plucked the large piece out, “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” She hopped across the room, her blood dripping on the hardwood floor. By the large window a picture frame that was originally perched upon her bedside table was cracked, the photo still intact.

This view in front of her broke her. The photograph displayed Lando and Y/n at the beach, both of their hairs salty, skin bronzed by the hot sun.

She picked the frame up and slipped the photo out, placing it in the back of her jeans. Y/n looked around the bedroom where they had once made love, but all she could see was hatred, anger.

Y/n decided to clean the bedroom up. Picking up shards of glass, vacuuming the floors, wiping the blood off the floor, and making the bed.

When she looked at her phone again, the time read: 7:23 PM. Three hours passed as she was cleaning the mess Lando had left. She just finished folding the throw blanket, placing it on the edge of the couch when fatigue hit her. She hadn’t eaten since eight in the morning and the meal she ate was thrown up after pictures of Lando were sent to her.

Y/n walked into the large kitchen, opening the fridge and scouring for food. A small container of tomato soup she cooked two nights ago gained her attention. She placed it in the microwave while she prepared a grill cheese sandwich to pair with the soup.

She placed herself on the couch, food in hand. She was scrolling on the tv, looking for something to watch, taking large bites of the grilled cheese sandwich was when she could feel tiredness taking over her body.

Y/n quickly finishing up her food, sitting back watching the documentary she had put on when she suddenly fell asleep on the comfy couch.

Lando was left frustrated as Y/n walked out on him. As soon as she walked out those doors he was filled with guilt. He instantly started throwing stuff. Anything he could find, it didn’t matter if it was his or hers, it was going to end up broken on the floor.

He had broken down on the floor as he looked at the mess in front of him. The photograph of them together, hand swung around her waist, her smile big, eyes crinkled as the sun was far too bright for her to open them fully.

They were happy, healthy. But this was before Mclaren started to overwork him.

His phone had started ringing under the beds covers. He dug through them, finally finding it and answering the call from his boss, Zak.

“Lando, we need you at the MTC,” He said in a rush. “We’ve got a lot more testing before the end of the break and we’ve got to talk to PR, got it?” Zak sighed loudly over the phone, “If you break up with your girlfriend you have to tell us before doing so.”

“Yeah, sorry mate.” He replied as steady as he could, his breath shaky from his breakdown that had occurred a few minutes ago.

“Just get here as soon as you can, okay?”

Lando hung up and started to get ready. He walked over the objects on the floor toward his closet. The closet he shared with Y/n.

All of her stuff was still in there. Her colourful dresses and her worn out jeans folded neatly on her side of the walk-in-wardrobe. Her floral, vanilla and musky sweet perfumes were lined up perfectly, untouched. He hoped it would stay that way.

He sprayed his cologne on after changing into a simple outfit; jeans and a sweater. Lando grabbed his keys and headed out, the kitchen and living room just as messy as their bedroom.

Lando was in such a daze he didn’t realize he had torn up every room in the apartment. But he left anyways, leaving the apartment, wishing that she’ll be there when he comes back.

The meeting with Zak and the PR team ran longer than expected. Lando told them that he didn’t know where Y/n and himself stood after she had found out about the pictures posted.

Zak, being the loudest man in the world had said, “If she doesn’t leave you, she’ll never be happy.” Was he lying?

This sparked a rage in Lando. He was angry, needed to blow off steam, but where?

Lando drove to his best friends house. Max Fewtrell was shocked as Lando waltzed into his closet and started grabbing a dress shirt, slipping it on with ease.

“The fuck are you doing?” Max followed him into his bedroom, “Hey!”

Lando couldn’t hear his best friend. He was torn. He has been torn. Lando didn’t know who he was anymore.

“Max, what’s—Lando, what the fuck?” Max’s girlfriend walked in as Lando was exiting, pushing past her and down the stairs. “Max.” She warned her boyfriend.

Max had ran down after him, “Lando!” He grabbed him, “Hey, man.” A slight smell of alcohol lingered in Lando’s breath, “Have you been drinking.”

“Maybe.”

And with that, Lando walked out of the house and drove to the club he was at last night.

Lando’s hand grasped her thighs, needing her all to himself, though this action made him feel sick.

Opening the door with one hand and pushing her into the apartment, he paused and looked around, hands leaving the girls body.

The house was clean. He knew y/n couldn’t live in a dirty environment. She had been there.

“What is it Lando?” The girl asked him innocently, biting her lip and running her hands down his front.

“Nothing.” He responded coldly, his jaw clenched as he could smell her familiar scent.

Y/n woke up with a startle. Looking up from her curled position on the couch, Lando and his mistress were both staring at her.

“Fuck, Lando.” She whispered as she immediately stood up, “Fuck you.” She bit as she grabbed her two duffle bags and walked past them both.

She grabbed her keys from her duffle bag pocket. She had finally found them underneath the bed as she was vacuuming glass shards.

After packing her bags into the back of her car she sat in silence. The garage was dark and empty.

She broke down. Earlier, when she had first seen the photos, she was angry. Y/n was crying because she was mad at herself that she didn’t see the signs earlier, that she didn’t communicate with him sooner.

Now, she was crying because she just lost who she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.

She truly loved him.

Maybe too much as she still wanted him after the sight she saw upstairs.

A/N: i wasn’t planning on making a part 2 but people requested it. enjoy..? you probably won’t because i don’t want yall to have a happy ending 😼

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[lizardho]

The Halloween Story

As with most of my life stories, I have to clarify beforehand: Yes, this is real, and it is real because (and ONLY because) I am stupid. This is not something that happens to normal people because they wouldn't ever get close enough to a situation like this for it to happen. That being said, without estrogen my brain's "keep this idiot alive" switch was not turned on and I was, I think, biologically incapable of making good decisions.

Another thing to know is that I did not have a lot of friends as a kid because I'm terminally awkward; additionally, most of the friends I did have were maybe better described as "people who tolerated me but who I would take a bullet for." This is important for later.

Anyways, I was like 9 or 10 when this happened, and my littlest brother was like...5 or 6? This was his first Halloween where he was allowed to Trick-or-Treat past the end of our block, and he HAD to be accompanied by me or another older kid so he had begged me for DAYS to take him. And while I held the title of oldest brother, I feel like I put my whole pussy into being a good oldest brother, so I of course took the family's babiest of babies for his first ever trick-or-treat adventure!

I went dressed as Dartanian because I've been gay for a while, and he went dressed as a skeleton because he's adorable. We went trick-or-treating only in areas I knew, so mostly within the boundaries of our l'il Mormon ward, and we had fun. About a half-mile away from home, he started saying he was getting tired, so I told him we were gonna turn back and watch "Scary" movies, which was actually just two old VHS Scooby Doo episodes my mom let us watch because she only let us watch episodes where the monsters were fake because if they were real we'd get nightmares. So we start walking back. It's not too far and we know the way so it's going great. Littlest bro's first trick-or-treat adventure went swimmingly, we've got pillow cases full of candy, and we're about to watch scooby doo and eat skittles until we pass out. Life, for us, literally could not have been better.

BUT

As I walk around the corner of my old street, the far end of it, by a bush, I hear my best friend whisper-shout at me from a bush:

"Lizard, Lizard, stop, hide, quick!"

In most cases, my thoughts can be summarized by a humble: "Bwuh?" and in this case I'm pretty sure I said something like that out loud. I look into the bush, and I see it is JAM-FUCKING-PACKED with kids my age. Like 6 of them hiding behind this tall oleander bush shaking like they just saw a ghost. I wave to them, because I don't know what's going on, and tell them that Littlest Brother is tired so I'm going home. That's when one of them angrily grabbed me and littlest brother and tugged us into the oleander with them.

I think they thought we were hidden, but this was one shrub currently occupied by like 7 kids and despite how small we all were that was still more shrub-per-kid than the shrub could hide so me and littlest brother didn't actually fit. And I was squirming trying to get away because it was poky and scratchy and smelled bad and also I didn't know why I was being pulled into a shrub to begin with.

The ruckus of my squirming was freaking my friends out, who were all telling me to shut up and hide, and I was telling them I wasn't playing hide-n-seek and Littlest Brother was REALLY getting tuckered out so PLEASE let go so I can go home, when around the corner came three Big Kids on bikes.

These kids seemed HUGE and SCARY to me at the time, although realistically they were like in 8th grade and also dork-ass losers. They were on bikes with handlebar breaks, though, and they were wearing costumes ironically under hoodies, so they seemed scary at the time. They see me thrashing in a bush and correctly deduced that the kids they had been hunting down were in the bush too. This is when I learned that my friends were all scared because they'd been being hunted for sport by older boys. Like, actually, for real, we were being bullied on Halloween by kids who called us "dweebs" and shit, I cannot explain how that was actually happening in the early 2000s, that was a worn-out trope in the 80s, but it for real, actually, swearsy-realsies, happened to me.

They're bigger than us and have at least started puberty so they're a lot stronger than us. They fished us all out of the bush pretty easily and made us all line up. This was all happening on a well-lit suburban street in a Mostly Mormon neighborhood so again, I don't know how it all got this far, but it did.

Once we were lined up, they start quipping about our costumes and harassing us a little bit. Again, this is like STRAIGHT out of a shitty campy overdone 80s sitcom so I get that this sounds fake, but we were literally getting pushed around and called dweebs and nerds by some fuckass 8th graders who were all smoking a cigarette one of them stole from their mom. Finally they were getting bored so they told us that their terms to releasing us were that we give them our candy.

My friends, who are smart and wanted to be alive, immediately started grabbing fistfuls of candy from their buckets or bags to hand them. But I am stupid, and was trying to be a good older brother, and didn't understand the concept of mortality because HRT had not yet flipped that switch in my brain, and I saw littlest brother getting scared. His lips were trembling like he was about to cry, he was clinging onto me for dear life, and one of these kids comes over and is being all mean and calling him a baby (which he basically was, so like what even is the point?) and I got mad. So I took my prop rapier from it's sheath and started jabbing his ribs and head until he rips it out of my hand.

"Jesus Christ, you little faggot. I'm keeping this, you're not getting your sword back."

"K, fine, just leave my brother alone."

"I leave him alone if you give me ALL your candy."

He says it with this shit-eating grin, like he's got the upper hand. But I'm mad and suicidal in the same way a horse is suicidal, which is to say I don't care if I die as long as this fucker dies too, so I tell him if he wants my candy he can have it, and I wallop him with the candy sack. Hard. I put all 70 lbs of 9-year-old rage into that whump, and to my credit it caught him off guard. He steps back and rubs his face and the biggest kid in the group steps into his place.

"You wanna fight?" He's trying to act tough but he's also trying to square up with an unquestionably faggy 9-year-old Dartanian so it's tough. It's also a stupid, stupid question to ask, since I literally DID want to fight and he was just posturing.

So I hit him too. Again, all the rage my 9-year-old body possessed channeled into a pillow case filled with Dum Dums and skittles slaps into his face. I move to smack him again, because he's looking at me all incredulous like he doesn't think I'm serious. He tries to grab the bag but I kick his shin and he has to step back for a second because he was on his bike with only one leg on the ground and I had just kicked it so he was trying to keep balance. I took advantage of the momentary distraction and whapped him in the belly. That, I think, was the final straw for him, because he (seriously, yes, for real) took out an actual knife.

It was a real folding knife, I could hear the little mechanical click as he flicked the blade out and the locking mechanism secured it in place. He looks at me with murderous intent for like a tenth of a second before one of my other friends asks,

"Dude, are you serious?"

And it clicks that he just threatened someone with a real weapon. He takes a step back and tells me, trying to sound brave but now far enough out of his own comfort zone that he's starting to wonder what happened in his life to bring him here (which is dangerous, confused people do confusing shit).

But I'm horse-style suicidal and I honestly didn't think it was real, so I swing at him again. Full-body swing right for the face, and he slashes at the candy pouch and it tears. And I'm like "Oh shit, that's a real knife!" and he's like, "Oh shit, this kid is gonna beat me until I stab her or run!'' And that's when my Knight-in-Emo-Armor arrived!

The kid was like the archetypal "Bad Boy" of my childhood. He wore black hoodies to church and said "damn" instead of "dang" and "shit" instead of "shoot." He listened to metal music and told his grandma (who adopted him after his mom lost custody for drug use stuff) to shut up sometimes. He smoked. He was a moody goth/emo/scene/whatever enigma of rage from his shitty family life. He was also known for being actually real-life dangerous. The kid in front of me was contemplating stabbing me, but my Knight had actually broken someone's jaw in a fight before.

The whole time we were getting held up, he was just walking down the street listening to an honest-to-God MP3 player, stoned as all hell, angry at the world, and watching this all unfold. And he recognized a bunch of kids from church he barely gave a shit about, but then he recognized *me* and although he didn't know *me* super well, he fucking LOVED my dad because my dad was super nice to him at church, and he knew I was my dad's kid. And he knows the kids talking to us are bad news because he's friends with some of their friends and he knows they're all wannabe tough guys. And he makes a decision.

This guy, my knight, was tall, mean, scary, and crabby, and EVERYONE knew that, not just the Mormons in my life. And in all black, with black hair and black nail polish, he had remained almost perfectly hidden as he walked in the middle of the road on the tar-black Arizona asphalt until he suddenly emerged from the shadows right behind the kid with the knife.

"Bruh, what the fuck are you doing?"

This kid whips around and sees my knight and just blanches. Like, all-the-way white-as-a-sheet scared.

"Oh, Knight, h-h-hey, I didn't see you. You know these kids? We're just teasing them!"

"Hilarious joke, cocksucker. That's a real knife. Fuck off."

They almost left a cartoon dust cloud in the shape of their bodies as they left. My friend and "friends" from church all followed suit - Knightboy was BAD news with a capital B-A-D and they were probably more scared of him than the original trio. But I knew Knightboy because he teased me a lot in his last year elementary school and sometimes came over to talk with my dad so I knew he wasn't a bad kid. He bends down and picks up the plastic sword the first kid dropped and gives it back to me.

"This is yours, I think."

I took it, sheathed it, and said, "Thanks! You shouldn't swear."

"Man, I'm too stoned for this shit, just get out of here."

"Ok, thanks Knight! See you at church tomorrow!"

And I toddle off with Littlest Brother. I take him to some of the best houses on our street for a second round of trick-or-treating so he can calm down, and we go home. My mom puts Scooby Doo on and asks me how everything went - I tell her it was fine, it was fun. She said that Littlest Brother said something scary happened, and I said "Oh, I think he got spooked by Knight is all." And she just shrugged and walked off. By the end of the night, I honestly forgot it even happened. I was more invested in trying to figure out how to grow up to be like Velma and lining my skittles up by color so I fully did not even remember.

BUT.

My mom is friends with all the other moms at church - she has to be because she has a master's degree in a church that teaches that employed women are failing God and their families so she ended up as a high-achieving woman working as a stay-at-home mom and if she didn't make friends at church she would fully go insane.

And at church the next day, my mom is approached by a tiny pack of mothers all saying "Wow, Lizard is so brave, aren't you so proud of her?"

And because she's a Good Mom who Loves Me So Much, she says, "Yeah, totally, why do you ask?"

And they say, "Because she tried to fight off some muggers last night! She hit them with her candy bag!"

And my mom says, "Haha, Yeah, she's fierc-wait what in the fresh hell did you say?"

And they all tell her the story, and my mom is PISSED that I didn't mention, but she also knows I am capital-D Dumb, so she pulls me out of Sunday school and asks me,

"Lizard, baby, did you scare off some muggers last night?"

And I said, "Oh yeah, kinda! Knight was the one that actually scared them though."

And she says, "Lizard, baby, why did you not tell me?"

And I said, "Oh, I forgot."

And she just nodded and tried unsuccessfully to push my little "Alfalfa sprout" strand of hair down, and gave up, and then pushed me back into class. And later that day she made like 3 lbs of chocolate chip cookies and drove them all over to Knight's house to thank him. And basically ever since then I was in Knight-in-shining-armor's good books (although he wasn't very good at showing it for a bit), and I had an undeserved reputation among the kids in my church as a badass for like a year, which I felt pretty good about.

Anyways, the Halloween Story is so weird that sometimes I question my own memory of it, but I am telling it now based on my memory as best as I can recall and after fact-checking it with my mom a few times.

[icyowl]

You discover Dragon!Sylus

Pairing: Dragon!Sylus x reader

Request: none

A/N: not proofread. LADS is my current obsession, however I don't have the game so forgive me if it's not lore-accurate. Thank you for being so patient with me :). 2k.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He always knew you’d be his undoing, he just didn’t think it would be so literal. Perhaps it was one too many resonances, or maybe the depth of your bond had reached some sort of fever pitch.

It began with a headache. Nothing noticeable - given his line of work, headaches were too common - but devolved into a skull-wrenching migraine. Candlelight was too bright, the needle of the recordplayer was too loud, the continuous air conditioning couldn’t keep him cool, even the scratch of the softest silk dress shirt nagged at his irritability.

No hospital would see him, and no doctor could help him given his physiology. The only thing to do was wait it out in the dark cave of his bedroom and hope it didn’t kill him.

It looked like it well might.

The phone on his nightstand screamed, but he used one hand to keep his head from splitting open and used the other to reach for it anyways. He’d permitted only your calls - you soothed the gouge behind his eyes and eased the booms in his chest. Sylus was soothing you before you had a chance to speak.

“I’m alright,” he grimaced at the pain in his throat and the gruff in his voice, “just a cold.”

“Sylus, what’s going on with you? You’ve never asked me to stay away and you sound like you’re really sick.”

“I’m fine, sweetie, i’m sorry if it’s made you upset.”

You paused, gathering strength, then whispered, “did I do something wrong?”

“No. Fuck,” he flexed his jaw through a groan when his head throbbed, “never.”

The ache in his chest ignited, expanding and pressing against his ribs and biting into his sternum. Was the great leader really going to be done in by a heartattack?

“Sylus?!” You called. His voice had turned into something unrecognizable.

The truth was worse. His eyes were open but his vision was little more than vague swaths of browns, blacks, and reds. Fire singed his nerves until it was all he could do to keep from shouting. A slow heartbeat plugged his ears. His fist gripped the sheets, ripping it under his nails. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“It’s too late!”

“I need to go.” He swallowed though saliva was impossible to find. “I’ll call you when it passes, promise.”

A harsh crash berated your ears just before the line cut out. Keys were in your hand, shoes in your feet, and jacket forgotten even before the screen timed out.

—

Sylus’s estate loomed dark and massive even against the pitch of night. Whistling wind, thunder, and rain broke up the perfect quiet. Shivers broke out across your skin. Still, you paused. The burgundy front door was wide open, tilting back and forth amidst the occasional gust. Nothing else dared make itself known.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Luke:

GET OUT OF THERE NOW

You didn’t listen. You couldn’t. Worry strangled the survival instinct clawing around under your skin, allowing you the courage to ease the door wider. Sylus’s entryway looked mostly normal, with only the rug slightly off kilter and the lights out, save for the wood panel near the door sheered off its hinges, exposing the house’s raw flesh underneath. Wires were tangled, mangled, or missing. The few that remained crackled and arced.

Someone had destroyed the electrical box.

You crept farther into the lair. With each room, the carnage got worse. Furniture lay overturned, paintings were thrown on the floor, broken glass from vases, windows, and tables forced you to zigzag, even a marble statue the size of you had been thrown through a wall.

You braced yourself on the wall only to hiss and jerk back when a splinter dug into your palm.

A crack of lightning jerked your head up. Though fleeting, the new light let you grasp the details of your surroundings.

Blood.

Smearing the rich wood floor, spattering the walls and ceilings, dripping off a chair’s broken arm. Blood everywhere.

You swallowed the cry of his name. Speaking would only alert your presence to the enemy, perhaps distract Sylus, and kill the element of surprise you still had. The intruders hadn’t seen you yet, and the lack of bodies meant Sylus was still fighting them. He could take care of himself.

Another bright flash glinted off the wall of guns adjecent to you. Who would break in and leave the weapons alone?

Avoiding more glass, you hustled to the last remaining room: Sylus’s bedroom. Blood continued, as did damage to the walls. Something sinister skittered up your neck when the cuts in the wall arced in a ragged quintet. . . claw marks.

The thing in here with Sylus wasn’t a person, but a monster.

You ran to him room, restraint evaporating, throwing yourself through the doorway and crying his name. . .

“Stay back!” Someone yelled, freezing you. A moment later your mind caught up and whispered to you where a double-toned voice had roared. That was Sylus.

The bed was mostly intact, though the sheets laid on the floor in a shredded heap and the gossamer canopy had been ripped off the ceiling. Your heart wilted in your chest - he’d never yelled at you like that. A shift in the shadows on the far side of the bed drew your attention.

“Sorry, my love.” Sylus tried again, this time more normal. It still sounded like a ghost lived in his throat, but now it resembled your Sylus. “I don’t mean to scare you but. . . I need you to listen to me.”

“O-okay. I will, but. . . I want to help you. The wanderer-”

“There is no wanderer.”

“Then-”

“Yes. Everything you saw was me.”

Silence impregnated the space between you and the shadow on the other side of the bed. What could you say? What should you do? Sweat shimmered on your upper lip in the flash of a lightning strike and the canon shot of thunder made you flinch.

“It’s okay that you’re scared-”

“I’m not-”

“I can hear your heart, smell your cortisol-”

“What?” That was not one of Sylus’s abilities.

You could hear the heavy breath befor every sentence, “I know what’s happening - I’ll be fine. Go. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

“No!” You exclaimed. How could he send you away?

“No?”

“I know you’re hurt.” you said, spotting more red on the ceiling. Altogether, he’d bled enough for several men. “I want to help, if I can.”

“I don’t want you to fear me.” Then, he let out a bitter, half-broken moan. It turned your heart to thorns.

“I don’t. I love you.” You said, taking a step into the room.

Unbeknownst to you, the man zeroed in on the soundless tap of your foot on the floor. His eyes glowed. You were right there, close enough to get - to hunt - to catch - to take - Sylus held a clawed hand to his face. Her voice - focus on her voice. Hear how worried she is for you. “I do too, but. . . just. . . I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You think you might?”

“I don’t want to, but. . . I’m not certain I can help it right now.”

“Let’s just take a breath. We’ll work this out together.”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you’d do it for me-”

“I would.” He replied without a breath. Sylus imagined you transforming as he was: scared, pained, ashamed, but still oh so beautiful, adorned in the flesh of his species. Fuck, you had him there. He’d have a difficult time containing himself if he knew you were hiding something like this from him.

“So. . .” you pressed, “what can I do.”

“Just. . . I need a moment to think.” Sylus had you right there, willing to help him amongst a bloodbath and house full of carnage. . . he couldn’t survive if he messed up such a precarious moment.

Something beastial knocked against his cage. Damn, not now. Pain skyrocketed. The inside of his eyelids turned white. If he knew the snarl he let out, he’d hate himself for it, but he didn’t bother to hear anything through the ripple of scales under his tearing flesh. Tearing, bursting, surging, the match lit behind his eyes finally caught and exploded. He felt the bone erupting from his skull, brought a hand up to shield himself from your gaze, and shouted to try and stop you but it was too late.

The massive stony tail curled on the floor between you was the first thing you saw. His entire lower body had erupted in black plates and armor, pulsing with glowing fissures of red. Feet and hands were thick, clawed, and razor sharp, like a wanderer’s. His pale chest, neck, and chin was interrupted by jagged bolts of red that all led to a swirling ruby imbedded in his chest that seemed to breathe with him. Stone even framed his face. Spearing up from atop his head were the cause of his scream: a crown of two lethal, rocky antlers. Blood stained his hair and ran down his face from the fresh wounds.

People had always called Sylus a monster.

You’d just met his eyes when he slammed them shut and cried out - roared - again. The sound more than his appearance was what pushed you back, but not far enough to miss the grotesque push of his antlers further out of his skull. The transformation must have nicked an artery, because more blood dripped from his forehead and a small spray burst out, covering your shirt. He let out a final, quiet snarl as his pain settled, showing off four large canines that turned silver in the flashing light outside.

You both stared at the blood covering each other for a long time. Sylus held a clawed hand up to his face and used the other one to shuffle away from you.

“I was never supposed to let you see this. Forgive me.”

A reply was impossible, but, being the kind heart that was still so obvious, he took your silence as disgust. A new kind of discomfort showed on the part of his face you could still see.

“There’s keys on the kitchen counter. Take whatever you want. I won’t contact you again. It’ll be like I was never there-“

“Sylus,” you whispered, moving to sit on the ground. It stopped him dead. “It’s. . . okay. Who cares what you look like. I just. . . I’m worried. You’re clearly in a lot of pain and can’t seem to stop-“

Now it was your turn to gasp. You’d closed your fist, pulling at the cut and causing your own rush of blood down your arm. Sylus gave no warning that he’d been affected by the sight of your blood, but in a single second you’d been pounced on, taken down until your back pressed into the wood floor and Sylus was over you: leg between yours, tail hugging your ankle, one clawed hand pining your good wrist to the ground while the other held your wounded palm up for intense scrutiny. Sylus’s eyes didn’t look different, but you knew he wasn’t there when he brushed his nose up the major artery on your wrist, then licked the blood rushing to greet his warm lips.

The taste of your blood engorged his pupils, but you only caught sight of it for a moment before he slammed them shut and yanked your hand down to the floor.

He’d always been good with words, but now they were a desperate rush. “My deepest apology. I didn’t mean to. I saw you were hurt and I-“

“Sylus. Breathe.” You tried. He followed your command, and a little sanity returned to him. Your blood wasn’t the only thing he could hear anymore, and it finally seemed like the transformation had subsided. Pain faded to soreness.

Even with the weight and danger of his claws, he relented when you moved your good hand from the ground to wipe some blood drying on his cheek. He took a long inhale, closing his eyes and easing into your touch. Then, Sylus’s tail caressed your calf, a gentle, unconscious kiss on his part. It was warm and kind, just like the real kiss he’d given you the day before. Despite being covered in rough, sharp armor, he’d yet to even scratch you, and his eyes hadn’t changed - they still watched you for any hint at a need or wish. Only his exterior had changed. “You’re beautiful.” You breathed.

Sylus gasped under his breath. The very notion was incomprehensible. You? Calling him that? Now? He rushed out another quiet apology when his tail slithered around your waist and pulled it flush against his. You didn’t retreat, however. All he could find was a genuine, if not sheepish, smile gazing up at him. Sylus didn’t dare breathe when he felt your fingers touch at the plates on his neck, and he heart all but stopped when you thumbed at his lip, asking for permission.

How could he say no?

“You’re certain?” He asked. You nodded. So, he eased back his lips to let you touch the fangs there, slick and waiting. Sylus, try as he might, couldn’t stop the quaky shiver nor the bone-deep rumble when your fingertip stroked the steel-like enamel. Your eyes were so curious when you saw the glow of the gem in his chest. Fcking hell if he wasn’t in love before, he sure was now, if only because the innocent look in your gaze did something to the blood in his body. His evol was ready to explode. He hoped his voice sounded normal when you took your hand away and all he could say was: “do you know how fascinating you are?”

You watched him hold your wrist, careful to keep his claws off your skin, and kiss you there. “I don’t know about fascinating. . . but. . . when you can, can I get a bandaid?”

[ldolbybts]

Forbidden - Part 2

Pairing ➜ Dealer!yoongi x Female Reader Warnings ➜ 18+, sex, male receiving oral, little bit of angst Summary ➜ You never meant to lock eyes with the beautiful stranger at Namjoon’s house party, you also didn’t mean to completely fall for him. Word Count ➜ 7.7K

Part 1

The next morning you woke up with a killer headache and a dry mouth. You turned to your right and saw a passed-out Taehyung lying next to you.

Your eyes widened as you quickly tried to recall last night’s events.

After your phone call with Yoongi, you had quickly stripped Jin’s sheets and replaced them with a fresh pair, looking for a washing machine you threw them in, hoping no questions would be asked. It was a strange challenge to complete when drunk but luckily nobody had seen you and you had got it done relatively quick.

You had then went back downstairs and partied. Hard.

You remembered at about 5am you were too tired and Jin had announced you could sleep in any of the bedrooms, Taehyung had followed you to talk but you both had just ended up passing out.

You smiled, remembering Taehyung had been concerned with no ulterior motives, you two were just talking complete nonsense however for about an hour before you both had just fallen asleep.

You reached out to the bedside table, where you had left your phone and checked the time.

10AM it had read, only 4ish hours of sleep? Why the hell were you awake?

You saw you had a message from Yoongi, but you were pretty sure you needed a few more hours of sleep if you wanted to text back anything that made actual sense.

You did however make the valiant effort of plugging your phone into a charger before passing out again.

When you woke up again you didn’t know how much time had passed.

You reached out for you phone again to see it read 1PM, Taehyung was still miracuously passed out beside you.

You took a minute to examine his features, how the fuck did anyone deserve to be that beautiful? Especially after a night of partying? Jackass, you thought before sticking an elbow into his side.

“Tae,” you called out in a singsong tone. “Tae wake up.”

You earned a small groan from him and knew you were getting somewhere.

“Taeeeeeeee,” You called again.

You rolled over onto him, straddling his hips and leaning into him.

“Tae wake up!”

Semi awake - you knew this because he has consciously grabbed your hips to keep you in place – he groaned again, probably unaware of who you even were.

“Wake up you loser!” You said, cupping his cheeks and shaking his head side to side a little.

“M���awake.” He replied, his grip on your hips tightening when he finally realised who you were.

He smiled, his eyes still closed.

“Hm, I always have dreams of waking up with you on top of me like this.” He murmured.

“Never thought it would happen though.” He said as he slowly opened his eyes.

You were 100% sure you’ve probably never looked worse, but Taehyung only smiled wider when he saw your face.

“I was just trying to wake you up…” You trailed off, suddenly very aware of how your crotch was literally sitting on his.

You rolled off him, leaving him to fully wake up, pulling your phone off the charger.

You remembered the message from Yoongi, unlocking your phone.

A smile crossed your face as you remembered the events from last night. You felt giddy and a little ashamed at what you had actually done last night, but the giddy feeling overwhelmed you and you pushed away the hangover blues that were threatening to loom.

9:39AM

Yoongi: hey, text me when ur awake

You grinned even harder, typing your reply.

1:13PM

You: hey sorry my lazy ass is only awake now, i stayed in Jin’s, let me call you when im home and showered T_T

“God you must have it bad.” Taehyung said from beside you.

You glared at him “I don’t know what your talking about.” You replied.

“Well if how hard your smiling at your phone is anything to go by, you must clearly have it bad for somebody.” He said.

You rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m going back to my dorm.” You said, standing up, feeling a little dizzy.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you.” He said, winking.

You mimicked gagging as you threw your shoes on and fled Jin’s house.

*

As you stepped out of the warmth of the shower and wrapped a towel around your hair, you threw on a long t-shirt and got settled into your bed.

You pulled out your phone and opened up your recents, hitting Yoongi’s name, you watched it as it began ringing.

You became a little nervous, your mind thinking back to everything that had went on last night.

You put the phone up to ear listening to the sounds as you closed your eyes letting out a heavy sigh of exhaustion.

They sprung back open as soon as you heard the “Hello?” from the other side of the line.

“Hey.” Was all you could manage, your anxiety sky rocketing.

“Hey,” Yoongi replied. “So how bad is your hangover?” He asked.

You laughed and scoffed. “Leave me alone! I am currently dying and in serious need of unhealthy food.”

“Maybe I can help with that?” He asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, like you were going to tell him no.

“What do you mean?” You asked, a smile on your face.

“I can pick up anything you want, bring it to you. We can talk.” He said.

“Oh yes please that sounds amazing!” You said, glee overwhelming you.

“Okay text me what you want and your address.”

And with that the conversation ended, you quickly jumped up to dry your hair and put on a pair of shorts.

When there was a knock on the door you leaped up, heart about to beat right through your chest.

You opened it up with a smile and Yoongi smiled back holding up food in one hand. You grabbed his hand and pulled him in.

Your dorm room was small so you didn’t really have any other choice but to sit down on your bed and pat the space beside you.

“Here is the chicken strips your majesty ordered.” He said, sitting beside you.

“Thank you so much, you have no idea how hungry I am.” You opened up the bag getting stuck in like some depraved animal.

“I didn’t know you lived in a dorm,” He said, gazing around your room.

“Yeah,” you said, munching on fries, you swallowed and began again. “I’m in my 3rd year.”

“Wow, I don’t know…I pictured you to live in some ridiculous mansion like the rest of them do.” He said with a shrug of the shoulders.

“No, believe it or not I am in no way rich, far from it actually, I met them because my mom used to clean Namjoon’s house actually, she used to bring me along. That’s how we all met.”

You weren’t  ashamed that you had significantly less money that your friends, far from it actually, your mom was a single mother who did her best for you, still was.

“Oh really? That’s actually quite surprising.” Yoongi said, his eyes skimming over your face, meeting your eyes.

“I’m not ashamed! Those rich dicks help me a lot actually, they’ve definitely made sure I didn’t I go hungry or anything, they treat me well, I’m super thankful.” You said, taking another bite of your food, it was going down a treat.

“Thank you for the food, I have some money in my coat pocket-“ You made a move to stand.

“Please, it’s on me.” Yoongi said, putting a hand on your arm to stop you getting up.

You laughed. “I probably just made it sound like I’m some sort of charity case.”

Yoongi shook his head, “Not at all, I just wanted to do something nice.”

You looked up at him again, his dark hair was falling in his eyes a little.

“Listen,” he began “About last night, I hope you don’t regret it.” He said, he wasn’t looking at you anymore.

You put the rest of your food to the side, wanting to move closer to him.

“Of course I don’t.” You reaasured him. “Do you?” You asked.

Now Yoongi looked at you once again, “No.”

“See? We both don’t regret anything. I’m glad.” You said, resting a hand on his thigh.

“I want to talk though,” He started, his eyes focused on where your hand was. “I know it’s no secret. What my job is.”

It was your turn to listen to his story and you did, you nodded, letting him continue.

“I know what I said to you the first night we met, and I won’t lie I still feel like that a little, I’m a first class scumbag right? I mean what else kind of person deals drugs.”

He said, scoffing at himself.

He kept going, he clearly wanted to get everything out on the table.

“I never wanted this, my dad’s side of the family are all like this, my mom ran off, I guess she was afraid of him, but she didn’t take me with her. I grew up with this and I never wanted to do his dirty work for him. I tried to fight him on it but what can I do? He wouldn’t let me leave. I know I’m a bad person, I try so hard not to be, I only sell to people I can trust, no addicts, no one underage, just mainly rich kids who want to party ya know? I know that doesn’t make it any better…”

You could tell he was struggling to get this out, but it needed to be done.

“My dad’s a hardass, he doesn’t even do any of the dirty work, just sits on his throne all day, keeping his hands clean. He threw me into this, his own son, said he wanted me to get a taste of what it was like out there.”

You were listening intently, afraid to speak. Him saying this made it all so real.

You knew what he was doing was wrong, but the fact that he was basically being forced to do it made your heart ache, he didn’t ask to be born into that life and running away from home when your father was that kind of man…it wasn’t an option either you guessed.

“I’m not making excuses, really I’m not, I just. I like you a lot and there is no way I can take this any further without you knowing all this. I understand if you don’t want to see me again.” He said.

You looked at him, he was still looking down unable to meet your eyes, was he really that ashamed?

A part of you wanted to tell him you didn’t want to see him again, to not let yourself get into this sort of situation, but something about him was so damn infatuating, you wanted to keep seeing him, get to know him, his hobbies, his hopes and dreams.

It had been a while since he spoke and you realised you hadn’t replied to him.

“Look I get it, I’ll just go.” And as he made a move to stand you hastily grabbed at his wrist.

“No please don’t go Yoongi. Please. This was just a lot to process, I’m sorry. But I definitely don’t want you to walk away.” You said giving him a - what you hoped looked - reassuring smile.

Yoongi smiled back but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I know it’s a lot, that’s why I don’t date or get involved with girl’s at all for that matter. But then I saw you at Namjoon’s party…I couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, I’ve never felt like that before after seeing someone for the first time.”

Your heart swelled.

“I thought the same about you, I mean I tried to flirt from the damn bathroom.” You said, laughing a little.

“I know,” Yoongi replied, laughing a little too as he recalled the memory. “I said that cheesy line aswell, I felt like a damn moron for that.”

You laughed harder. “Don’t worry, I liked it.”

“You were drunk!”

“I wasn’t that drunk…well actually…” You trailed off as you recalled.

You both were laughing hard now.

You couldn’t believe how natural this all felt, being like this with him.

And that’s how the rest of your afternoon with him went, just talking about anything and everything, you were getting to know each other and it felt amazing.

So when he announced he had to go you had pouted and he gave you a quick kiss on said pout and promised to call you.

*

You were sitting with Jungkook in your local coffee shop, both stressing about assignments, but avoiding them like the idiots you were.

“This has got to be the worst week of my life, I feel like I’ve been hungover for about 5 days and this essay is due in in 2 days, how do they expect me to write five thousand words whilst trying to party? I go to college to party, not to work.” Jungkook was moaning, you weren’t really listening to him, you rolled your eyes.

“Jungkook you’re gonna flunk out if you don’t start doing some work.” You said sighing.

“They can’t flunk me,” he began with a cocky smirk, “When your dad’s on the board there are some perks, for example, doing the bare minimum and getting away with it.”

You scoffed at him, hitting his shoulder.

“And where is that attitude going to take you in life? Hmm?” You were tired of dealing with his rich boy antics.

“I don’t know, hopefully surrounded by some good pussy and parties 24/7.”

You were pretty sure if you rolled your eyes any harder they were going to fall out of your head.

“Well, unlike you, I have to actually put some effort in, I’m going to the library, it’s due on Monday.” As you got up Jungkook stood with you.

“I’ll walk you over.” He offered and you didn’t decline.

As you walked across the grass, Jungkook had his hands in his pockets.

“So does that mean you’re not going to the party tomorrow?” He asked.

You shook your head a firm no, that was the last thing on earth you needed to be doing.

“Awh no fun, I hate it when you’re not there.” He said and you gave him the side-eye.

“What are you talking about? We barely speak at parties your always too busy trying to get laid by the first brunette that walks through the door.” You stated.

“Oh come on! Not fair. Me and you know how to have a good time, you’re the only person I can count on to get as fucked up as me.” He said, smiling at you.

You hit his shoulder again. “Why are you so proud? Us embarrassing ourselves isn’t cute.”

“It is so.” He retorted.

You just shook your head, walking in silence until you were back on campus.

“Hey look… isn’t that Min Yoongi?” Jungkook asked, nodding his head in the direction he was in.

You shot your head up immediately, Jungkook was right, Yoongi was there. Standing in front of what you could only assume was his car, it was sleek, black and look like it cost more than a house.

You looked away, turning to Jungkook. “How do you know who he is?”

“A lot of people on campus know who he is, he’s infamous, you know he used to go here? He dropped out, turned into… ya know…a drug dealer.” Jungkook said lowering his voice.

“He refuses to sell to me. I’m pretty sure he’s Jin’s dealers though, I see him around sometimes.”

You widened your eyes in surprise, smacking Jungkook on the shoulder for what had to be the 15th time today.

“Ouch! What did I do now?” He said, faking hurt.

“You tried to buy from him? What are you, some sort of idiot?” You scolded.

“He’s a cool guy ______, I’ve heard the rumours about him selling to only a select few, but I thought I’d chance my arm anyway, see if he was down, he most definitely was not.” Jungkook said, laughing at the obviously funny memory.

“Jesus Christ Jungkook, you really are shameless.” You stated, distracted.

Yoongi had spotted you, he wasn’t making it obvious but he stole a few looks your way.

“Is he…looking at you ______?” Jungkook said, suddenly aware of the situation.

You immediately turned bright red.

“Oh my god, he is!” Jungkook half shouted.

“Jungkook oh my god, shut up!” You said back at him, suddenly irritated at his childishness, if anyone were to find out about you and Yoongi – well let’s just say Jungkook would’ve been dead last on your list.

“I can’t believe this…wait, how do you even know him?” He asked, he stopped walking and suddenly turned to you, going into full blown interrogation mode.

“I don’t! Well not really, I just talked to him at Namjoon’s party once, I didn’t even know who he was.” You said, it technically wasn’t a lie, you just couldn’t let Jungkook know it had went so much further than that.

“Jesus…” Jungkook breathed out, he was clearly in deep thought.

“Please stop making it sound like such a bad thing Jungkook, it isn’t that deep!”

“He’s a fucking dealer _____, do you know how dangerous that makes him!” He shot back, clearly worried for you, it would be almost endearing if you hadn’t felt such a strong need to defend Yoongi.

“You know he doesn’t even want that life? His dad forced him into it, he didn’t have a choice in the matter…” You trailed off, hoping Jungkook would be reasonable.

“How well do you know him, really? I’m sure that makes it seem like it’s all okay _____, but it doesn’t.” He wasn’t budging on his opinion.

You wanted to fight him on this, but honestly…how could you?

“You didn’t...get with him…did you?” Jungkook asked, seeing how worked up you were getting up over the situation.

“Jungkook, I swear to god, if you don’t stay out of my business, we won’t be friends anymore.” You shoved him out of your way and stormed on, you heard him call your name but you ignored him.

As you were walking it suddenly hit you, Yoongi had just witnessed your whole confrontation, he hadn’t been close enough to hear but anybody with two eyes could clearly see you and Jungkook had been arguing.

You didn’t look over at Yoongi, you put your head down and powerwalked all the way to your dorm.

As you closed your door you threw your bag on the floor in anger. Who the fuck did Jungkook think he was? He wasn’t in charge of your life you were a big girl.

You began shedding clothes, suddenly feeling too hot, you were getting far too worked up, ready to burst into tears.

Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your back pocket and you finally took it out, looking to see who it was;

Notifications:

JK: iMessage(s) (8)

Yoongi: iMessage(s) (2)

You sighed and threw your phone on the bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to read any of them, your head was hurting and you just wanted to crawl into your bed.

So you did.

It was only 2pm, but a nap couldn’t hurt, your problems would still be there when you woke up, but you could avoid them for a few hours.

*

When you woke up, it was due to the sound of your phone vibrating once again, you didn’t know how long it had been doing that exactly, but the fact it had been seeping into your dream, you figured it had been a while.

You picked it up from beside you and squinted at the bright light in your face.

Incoming call: JK

You hastily declined the call and when you did you saw the notifications on your home screen.

Notifications:

JK: iMessage(s) (14)

Missed calls (6)

Yoongi: iMessage(s) (5)

Missed Calls (1)

You groaned at the time, you’d been asleep for about 2 hours, but Jungkook obviously had a lot to say to you, you knew he had been saying everything to you out of his love for you, that he didn’t mean to be mean or hurtful. Heck you knew what kind of situation you were in and damn you and Yoongi had beat that horse to death the first time he had came over to your dorm, you were taking it slow, unaware of where you two wanted to take this, but you both knew how badly you’d wanted to keep seeing each other.

You took a deep breath and unlocked your phone, staring at the messages Jungkook had left first.

2:07PM

JK: _____ I’m sorry about how that went down, we need to talk

JK: Please don’t ignore me, i know i annoyed you

JK: i know i didnt even take the time to really hear you out

JK: You know how much i care about you

JK: How could i stand by and let you just do something like that?

JK: Wht kind of friend would that make me?

JK: please please don’t shut me out

JK: i love you sooo much don’t be mad at me :(

3:13PM

JK: i promise i wont say anything to anyone

JK: i do think you should tell Jin though

3:56PM

JK: _____ please pick up the phone

JK: im going fucking crazy sitting here

JK: i just need to know you don’t hate me :(

JK: ik im being a stalker here, but just one word to reassure me you’ll talk to me again is all I need :( ur my best friend ,,,

You sighed heavily as you scrolled through his texts, he was obviously annoyed at himself and clearly demented at the thought you may never speak to him again, he'd always had a flare for the dramatic.

You put your anger aside to type one quick reply.

4:04PM

You: I don’t hate you, I just don’t know how to talk about this with you yet, give me time.

He typed a reply right away.

JK: okay !! i understand im so glad you replied

You really needed to set things straight with Jungkook but you knew you both needed to speak to each other in person, you would in due time.

As you took another heavy sigh you clicked over to yours and Yoongi’s text conversation.

2:04PM

Yoongi: Hey is everything okay with you and your friend (jungkook I think, im not sure…)

Yoongi: I wanted to come say hi but things look a little heated, do you wnt me to come over?

3:45PM

Yoongi: im sure youre busy I don’t want to be that person who worries over not getting a reply, but I really do hope ur ok…

Yoongi: ive tried calling u sorry if that’s annoying lol, let me know ur okay?

Yoongi obviously didn’t realise your argument with Jungkook had been over him, so how could he know you couldn’t even tell him what you two had been arguing about, you didn’t want to lie to him he clearly seemed to care, but you thought the truth would be more damaging than good as you began to type back.

4:07PM

You: hey im sorry! Ur not annoying i just accidentally fell asleep, sorry if i left you to worry about me although it is very cute tho,,,, me and jungkook were just talking about one of my close girlfriends, he said he something about wanting to fuck her and i got angry…it’s the norm with me and him, nothing to worry abt :)

You read over what you typed about 5 times, hoping it was believable, you pressed send.

You lay in your bed waiting for ten minutes before you got a reply.

4:19PM

Yoongi: it didn’t look like nothing, my offer to come and see u still stands ya know… im still about campus

You heart felt heavy. You thought about how much you wanted to see him, and you knew that even though Jungkook was right he was also so very wrong.

4:21PM

You: yeah i would actually really like that…you remember where i am don’t u?

After about 10 minutes you heard a knock on your door and you bounce up from your bed, you probably look a hot mess but you don’t care.

You pulled open the door and were practically beaming at him.

“Hi.” You said.

“Hi yourself.” He replied as he walked in, you took a step back still watching him as he closed the door behind him.

You were still awe of how effortlessy beautiful he was, the dainty silver chain around his neck, his hair was getting a little too long but the way it was falling into his eyes made him even more beautiful.

“What is it?” He asked a small laugh escaping him, clearly confused by your staring.

“Nothing really…I just think you’re cute.” Your eyes widened after you finished speaking, that sounded a whole lot better in your head.

Yoongi let out an amused scoff.

“You think I’m cute?” He retorted.

He took a step towards you and you felt your heart rate began to go a lot faster.

“Well…I d-,” He was getting closer. “I don’t know – it just slipped out.” You said.

“It just slipped out?” He repeated.

You had never felt more flustered in your life and it only got worse as he finally got close enough to rest his hands on your hips and pull you close to him.

“Do you…wanna watch a movie or something?” You asked, god he really was fucking you up.

“No.” Was all Yoongi said before he leaned in and kissed you.

You welcomed his kiss immediately, leaning into his touch and wrapping your hands around his neck, teasing the ends of his hair with the tips of your fingers.

You slowly began incoporating your tongue into the kiss and let out a pleased moan when Yoongi began lightly sucking on it.

“You make the prettiest noises…” He said breathily between your kisses.

“Hmmm.” Was all you responded.

“Even better hearing them in person rather than over the phone.” He stated.

You froze a little feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at the memory of Yoongi talking you through your orgasm over the phone.

“I must’ve jerked off to the memory of that about a million times, god it was so fucking hot,” You were staring wide eyes at him, you could feel the familiar heat growing between your legs.

“R-really?” Was all you could mutter as Yoongi began kissing your neck his hands reaching round to grab at your ass.

“Are you kidding me? Of course, you sounded amazing baby, did so well for me.”

Fuck.

You could feel yourself getting more flustered by the second, all you could think to do was to kiss him again.

As you both grew more heated you let Yoongi guide over to your bed and your stomach was doing flips in anticipation.

You let him lie down and crawled over ontop of him stradding his hips.

You pulled off your top leaving you in your bra and Yoongi just stared at your chest.

His hand reaching up he moved round to unhook your bra.

You shuddered at his touch and slender fingers getting to work and when he finally let your bra slide off your shoulders his hands reached up to palm at your breasts and you let out a small moan when he teased your nipple with his fingers.

“You’re beautiful.” He murmmured.

You could feel him under you, hard and heavy.

You began grinding down allowing you both to have some friction.

“Fuck, I think I could come like this.” You moaned, grinding down on him harder.

Yoongi was smirking, “Yeah why don’t you try?” He challenged.

You smiled back at him, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, you went to town.

“Fuck, I can feel how big you are Yoongi.”

You swore you felt his cock twitch at that.

“Want you so bad, so fucking bad.” You were talking yourself up now, getting yourself more and more worked up, you were so close.

“Yeah? Show me how bad you want me baby, fucking use me.” Yoongi said while he continued to tease your nipples, he sat up slightly, using his mouth to suck one into his mouth.

“Fuck!” Was all you managed before you came undone, riding yourself on Yoongi through your orgasm.

“You really weren’t lying.” Was all Yoongi could manage before you began moving your body down his.

You pulled his jeans down, revealing the outline of him through his boxers, your mouth watering.

You palmed over him, “You really are big, fuck.” You whispered, almost to yourself.

“You want to suck my dick baby?” He offered.

You nodded like a crazy woman, you wanted him so bad and him asking you something like that only spurred you on.

You pulled his briefs down letting his cock spring free.

“Jesus.” Was all you could say.

Yoongi laughed, clearly amused at your reaction to his dick.

“I mean it’s no Jesus but I appreciate the compliment.” He said.

You laughed, hard. You couldn’t believe you had his dick in your hand and he was making you laugh like an idiot.

“Okay stop or I won’t be able to do a damn thing.” You stated trying to get your breath back.

“Hm okay sorry I’ll stop.”

You just smiled as you lowered your head taking him slowly into your mouth.

You wrapped your hand around what you couldn’t put in your mouth, beginning to really get to work.

You heard Yoongi’s breath hitch and let out a small groan at your actions and mentally congratulated yourself.

“Fuck you’re good at that.” He said breathless.

“Hmmm.” You moaned around him.

“Ah fuck baby please.” He said an encouraging hand on your head willing you to take more of him in your mouth.

So you did just that, you took more of him, he hit the back of your throat and as you tried to suppress your gag reflex Yoongi clearly appreciated what you were doing.

He moans. And oh god it is such a sexy noise you want to just start touching yourself then and there, you were insatiable.

After a few more minutes your jaw was beginning to ache but you never faltered wanting to finish the job, it’s Yoongi who stops you.

“Babe stop, I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna be inside you.” He stated and you felt yourself suddenly become nervous, looking up at him you could see his fucked out expression and it only turned you on more, you pushed your nerves to the side; you trusted him, and you’d wanted him this way from the moment you set your eyes on him.

“Do you have a condom?” Yoongi asked as you sat up to remove your skirt and underwear.

You turned to him to see him taking his shirt off, only to pause when you remembered you couldn’t even remember the last time you purchased condoms.

“Shit…No actually, I don’t.” You said.

Yoongi looked at you laughing a little in disbelief.

“No it’s okay, I’m clean and I’m on the pill!” You said as you straddled him, you weren’t going to let this ruin your first time with Yoongi.

“I’m clean too, to be honest it’s actually been a while-“

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” You interrupted him, “you still want to do this then?”

You saw his cock twitch at your teasing and you laughed a little only to gasp in shock as he grabbed you by the hips and all of a sudden you were underneath him.

“Of course I want to do this.” He said into your ear.

“Then do it, fuck me Yoongi, please.” You could hear the neediness in your voice but you didn’t care.

Yoongi buried his head into the crook of you neck and let out a groan of frustration before pulling away and looking at you, he gave you a small kiss before muttering something that sounded something like ‘what are you doing to me?’

Yoongi lined up at your entrance and you were so wet the tip slid in with ease.

You let out a small whine as the initial feeling, you couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

“Baby jesus chirst…you are so wet…so tight…fuck you feel amazing.” He said.

You merely nodded in agreement, you didn’t trust yourself to speak, he was all in the way in you now and you had to bite your lip to hold back a scream.

“Please…move…Yoongi.” You managed.

And with that Yoongi started thrusting into you, hard.

You were moaning loudly completely lost in the pleasure.

“Baby you sound so pretty, keep moaning like that, you want me to fuck you harder?” he asked.

He was breathing heavily but when you gave him a small yes he complied, fucking into you at an unbelievable pace, you body started moving a little up the bed but Yoongi grabbed you by the hips to keep you in place.

“Yoongi just like that oh my god just like that.” You moaned.

Yoongi reached his hand down to rub at your clit and you jerked at the bolt of pleasure, it was almost too much. Almost.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you like this…” Yoongi murmured, “underneath me moaning like this.”

You smiled “Really? Did you get off to the thought of this a lot?” You asked teasingly.

“Fuck more than I care to admit.” He breathed out.

You lifted your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

He was hitting you deeper now and his relentless attack on your clit was only causing you to reach your end quicker, you put your face in the crook of him neck and let out a loud whine.

“Baby are you close already?”

Yoongi had slowed now but he was rubbing your clit faster and you could feel you orgasm about to wash over you.

“Yes – fuck – I’m gonna come.” You said.

Yoongi was panting heavy, picking up his pace again, he could feel you clenching around him and you knew he was just as close as you.

“Come for me please baby.” And with a few final strokes of your clit your orgasm hit you like a train.

You were lost in yourself, lost in your orgasm you took a moment to come back down to earth you put your hands on Yoongi’s shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist encouraging him to come.

“Baby please come, please fill me up.” You said in your fucked out moan.

And he did, spilling inside you the feeling of him filling you up was so blissful you moaned again.

“Oh fuck,” Yoongi whispered you almost didn’t hear him,  but the way he said those words just confirmed he had enjoyed himself just as much as you had.

When he pulled out of you you were both still breathing heavy the both of you so fucked out you couldn’t even speak yet, Yoongi rolled over to lay beside you.

After a minute of silence Yoongi finally spoke.

“That was-“

“Amazing.” You finished.

Yoongi laughed, leaning over to kiss you, a small affectionate peck that left you smiling like an idiot.

“Let me get you a cloth.” Yoongi offered, getting off the bed he pulled back on his underwear and walked into your small en-suite.

You could feel Yoongi’s cum seeping out of you and as gross as it was it only caused you to smile knowing what had just happened.

“Here.” Yoongi said, as he walked back out handing you the cloth, it was hot and you appreciated the fact he had taken the time to do that for you, it was sweet.

“Thank you.” You said sitting up to clean yourself.

You climbed off your bed aswell, throwing on Yoongi’s shirt to cover yourself up.

“Looks good on you.” Yoongi said.

You scoffed, “I’m gonna shower I’m sure I look like a mess…give me a minute?”

“Yeah no problem –” Yoongi was muttering as he reached for his phone to check it, after a second he was bouncing up.

“Actually I’m sorry I have to go – god I really don’t want to be that guy that just leaves right after…” He trailed off, his eyes wondering over your body until you realised he was looking at his own shirt on your body.

You nodded trying not to show your upset at the events that were unfolding in front of you.

You hastily reached for your dressing gown to cover up your naked form as you pulled his shirt up over your head.

“______ please don’t get quiet on me like that, you do know I care about you and I would not be leaving unless this wasn’t an emergency, right?” He said as he pulled on his shoes and stood up.

He made his way back over to you and took both your hands in his, encouraging you to look up at him.

“I’m sorry, I really am, please don’t be upset, please tell me you understand.”

It took everything in you to nod and give him a small smile.

“I’m fine Yoongi, go, I understand.” You lied.

He took another 10 seconds to further examine your face to make sure you weren’t upset, you were definitely giving him a convincing enough expression.

He gave you a small nod before grabbing his keys and phone giving you a small peck on the lips and leaving out the door.

You let out a huge sigh, you felt tired again.

*

You woke up the next morning and let out a frustrated groan as you remembered yesterdays events.

After Yoongi had left you stood there for a minute before you let the shame wash over you, you felt like you had just been used for a quick fuck, you wanted to believe Yoongi wasn’t like that but it was hard not to when he was already out the door even as his cum was still inside you.

You had showered for a long time, trying to rid yourself of the negative thoughts that were overwhelming you.

Yoongi wasn’t like that, he had shared himself with you, told you details of his private life and in turn had listened to your story as well, but was this a regular occurrence with him?

Was the time that you were able to spend together going to be far and few between?

You decided the best thing for you was to simply distract yourself, so as you sat on your bed you opened up your laptop to get started on the assignment you had due, you decided to switch off your phone, you knew if you didn’t you would be checking it every 5 minutes waiting on a text from a certain someone.

A few hours passed as you really began getting into your work you figured you’d be able to get it finished by tomorrow, but a sharp knock on your door made you jump out of your skin.

“_____ , open up please.” You heard a muffled voice come from behind the door.

It was Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, you hadn’t been mentally ready to see him for a while, but here he was.

You stood up off your bed, walk to the door you hesitantly opened it just a crack as you peered out to him.

He looked good as usual, black jeans, black cap and that damn black leather jacket. He immediately looked at you as you poked your head through the gap in the door.

“What do you want Jungkook?” You asked, you really weren’t in the mood to get lectured right now.

“What am I, some stranger? Let me in and we can talk.” He said moving closer to the door.

“Jungkook – I’m really not in the mood right now.” You said.

He pushed the door open anyway his strength no match for you.

“What are you deaf now?! I don’t wanna talk Jungkook.” You stood back from him as he closed the door behind him, he really did look huge in your small dorm room.

“Please just let us talk this out, you know I hate fighting with you, the other guys… I will freeze their asses out when they’re mad at me I don’t care…but with you.” Jungkook looked at you with those bigs eyes and you let out a huge sigh, you had a soft spot for him.

“Okay, let’s talk.” You said with a heavy heart, you weren’t ready for the dose of reality Jungkook was going to hit you with.

He took a seat on your bed, your dorm room didn’t even have a desk so everything had to happen on your bed, you cringed a little when you realised you hadn’t even washed your sheets since you and Yoongi had had sex on them.

You took a seat beside him folding your legs up underneath yourself.

“You wanna tell me how this happened?” Jungkook said, you got the vibes he wanted everything out on the table.

“I wasn’t lying yesterday. I met him at Namjoon’s house party the other week. He was there because you all cried in Jin’s face about getting coke.” You said, you were definitely on the defence.

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows a little, you know he could tell you were going to be snarky about this but he had the patience of a god when it came to you, lord knows you could be difficult.

“Okay…” Jungkook began slowly, “So you two just…what?”

You rolled your eyes. “Jungkook, I saw him at Namjoon’s party I flirted with him even after I found out who he was, I saw him at Jin’s again and he kissed me…he actually was here yesterday…” You didn’t know what else to say, how did you tell your best friend you were fucking a drug dealer, it wasn’t exactly something you just said, but you knew Jungkook was smart enough to already know what you were saying.

“What?! You mean you two have already…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence, he trailed off looking like he was deep in thought. “Aren’t you moving a little to fast here _____? I mean if you only met him at Namjoon’s party then –" You took second to blink at Jungkook before hitting his shoulder.

“Excuse me?! You fuck the first girl you see at any any party within an hour of meeting her and you’re going to lecture me about whoring it out?!” You weren't really that angry more, just in shock that Jungkook had actually said something like that to you.

Jungkook laughed a little at your reaction “I didn’t mean it that way, I’m sorry I guess it’s just because of who he is…you have to know this is a bad idea right?” He was looking at you a lot more serious now.

You nodded solemly, “I know Jungkook, fuck believe me, we both know.”

“But…let me guess, he’s not entirely what I’m picturing? Cause I know damn well you wouldn’t let get this worked up over someone if you didn’t like them a lot.” He said, resting a comforting hand on your knee.

Sometimes you forgot how attentive Jungkook was, a lot of your relationship was joking around with each other, so when shit got serious you were reminded of the fact that he actually cared about you a lot and that he actually knew you pretty well.

“Yeah, it’s new but…I like him a lot, although I’m not even sure if the feelings are one hundred percent reciprocated. Maybe it’s just self deprecation thinking that… I don’t know it’s been so long since I’ve wanted to see someone more than once. I forgot how hard this shit is.” You scoffed out a laugh, you were pretty sure you sounded stupid but you weren’t sure how to talk about this.

“Please, are you kidding me? If the feelings aren’t reciprocated then he is a total dumbass because any guy would be so lucky to have you.” Jungkook said.

You didn’t know where to look, Jungkook speaking like this to you felt foreign.

“I know that was cheesy,” Jungkook laughed a little. “But it’s true, I mean look at Taehyung, he embarrasses himself all the time trying to get you to go out with him.”

You rolled your eyes.

“All Taehyung wants is a quick fuck.” You deadpanned.

Jungkook scoffed “Are you kidding me? I’m pretty sure Tae’s been in love with you from the moment he set his eyes on you, remember when he gave you his favourite toy to play with and we all were in shock cause it was the first time we’d seen him share anything.”

You laughed at the memory, but Jungkook had no idea what he was talking about, Taehyung only saw you as a friend and possibly another notch on his belt.

“Listen, what I’m trying to say is _____ at the end of the day this is your choice obviously but please be careful, please, I can look out for you but I don’t think I stand a chance against a drug lord’s crew if it came down to that.”

You looked at him in shock. “Jungkook don’t say shit like that oh my god! Nothing like that would happen!”

You shivered at the thought for a second, thinking about how you only saw Yoongi and not his world, it probably was a dangerous as Jungkook was imagining.

Jungkook put his hands up in defence. “I’m sorry okay, I’m just going to be worrying like crazy from now on, you know that right? Let me be the overbearing overprotective friend please.”

You let out a heavy sigh chosing to not say anything for a moment as you got lost in your own head.

“______, I respect your choices always. But please be careful.”

You nodded, “Thank you Jungkook, and you know I will.”

“Listen I gotta go, but I’ll text you okay?” Jungkook said as he stood up.

You stood up with him following him to the door.

He leaned in and gave you a hug, it was warm and you felt safe in his arms for the short moment they were around you. You really did have great friends you thought. With a quick goodbye Jungkook left you alone with your thoughts.

[milla-frenchy]

Rotten luck

4k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: forced to work for Escobar's men as a driver until the day you escape, a DEA agent finds you in the countryside, at the home of friends you've been hiding. You yearn to start over and get a visa, but things aren't so easy, especially when feelings complicate the situation Warnings: 18+ mdni. Angst, slow burn, La Quica kills a cop, oral (f), piv, masturbation (m), cumplay, Javi is a broken man emotionally, closed towards other people, cold/soft Javi

a/n: this is written for @almostfoxglove 's Let's get angsty challenge- thank you for the event Freya 🙏🧡 your mood board was the perfect inspo and absolutely gorgeous, so I kept it 😌 | Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 | dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏 Same Javi as in And all that could have been. This story happens after the events of that fic but it can be read alone

You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have done what they told you to do, but what other choice did you have, in the end? Say no? Fucking joke.

You couldn’t even complain about your bad luck in knowing someone who was involved in Escobar’s business, because the guy was everywhere. Everyone probably knew someone who was involved with him. 

There were surely a lot of people like you, used because their record was clean, because they were doing legal work, because they seemed innocent. And innocent they were, until one of Pablo’s henchmen got their hands on them and blackmailed them. Just like they did with you.

Until a cop approached the car you were about to drive, and La Quica blew the cop’s brains out, leaving you covered in blood and in shock, unable to drive. He yelled at you to start the car but it just increased your shaking. He got out and opened your door, grabbed your elbow and left you on the sidewalk, your white top now covered in red.

So you did the only thing you could think of, you packed a bag of clothes and headed out into the countryside to some of your friend's farm. You were so scared for your life that it was the only option you could think of. You left your apartment, your job, your other friends, everything. 

It was four days ago. 

The place was surrounded by fields and valleys, no other houses in sight. So when a car pulled onto the road, your blood ran cold. You didn’t know where to go, they would see you if you ran to the fields. The sheepfold was the only place you could hide so you hurried there, hiding behind bales of straw.

When the door to the barn opened, you covered your mouth with your hand to prevent your cry from crossing the barrier of your lips. You heard a lamb bleat, then a male voice.

“What are you doing here all alone?” 

You didn’t know if he was talking to you or the lamb, didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t change anything. You didn’t know all of Escobar’s men anyway.

“I know you’re here. I saw you running towards this place.”

The male voice was calm, low. And you were terrified. All he had to do was to step a little further into the shadows of the barn, pass the straw, and he’d find you.

“My name is Javier Peña. DEA. I’m not one of Escobar’s men.” He paused before adding “I guess they’d say the same,” he chuckled, but his tone was cold. 

“But you and I both know that those men wouldn’t have the patience to wait for you to come out of the hay, or waste their time petting a lamb. They'd just pull out their guns and shoot in your direction.”

You were fucked. Either he was one of Escobar’s men and that game of hide-and-seek would end soon, or he really was DEA… and who knew what would happen.

You slowly came out of the darkness and found yourself face to face with him. A dark-haired man with a moustache and an indefinable stare.

He put the lamb on the ground and took out his badge. DEA.

“See?” he said. “You’re not safe, here.”

“What do you mean?” you stammered.

“We found you,” he added with a shrug. “They’ll find you too when they start looking for you.”

He explained that they followed a lead that gave them two locations. His partner had gone to check the second one.

He took you to a safe house after calling the DEA. You were lost, wondering how long you would stay there. How long before you could resume a normal life, if you ever could. You asked him if they could get you a visa. There was nothing left for you there anyway, and you didn’t want to put your few friends in danger. If it wasn’t too late for that.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he told you abruptly as you were sitting at the kitchen table in the safe house, facing him and his partner who had joined you. Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. You didn't know if you could trust them, but for now you had no other choice anyway. They wanted information, wanted you to give them something useful. You told them everything you knew.

A few days passed where you couldn't go out for your safety, until one day Javier came over, anxious, checking the windows. He told you to pack your things, that you had to move quickly. Steve was waiting for you in the car.

“What’s going on?” you asked once seated in the back seat.

“We intercepted a conversation between La Quica and some other Escobar’s men,” Steve told you as he started to drive. “The safe house is compromised.”

“Where are you taking me?” you questioned, your gaze going from one man to the other.

They looked at each other, and Javier shook his head.

“We have no choice, Javi. And it won’t happen again, we’re prepared this time, it’s different.”

Javi scoffed at Steve's words but didn’t reply when you asked what they were talking about. He grabbed a cigarette nervously, rolling the flint of his lighter several times before managing to light it.

“You’re gonna stay at my place,” he told you. “For a while. But we have to make sure no one follows us, that no one sees you go in.” He threw you a large sweatshirt and a cap.

“Put these on, that will do it.” His tone was sharper than ever.

“Why don't I go to Steve's, since you can't stand me?” you asked him aggressively. He'd always been so cold with you, and the idea of ​​living in the same apartment as him for the next few days or weeks didn't appeal to you.

“Steve’s got a wife and a kid. We can't put them in danger.”

So you settled there. 

He was rarely present, coming back home late and leaving early. He slept on the couch of his one bed apartment and sometimes he didn't even come home at night. When he was there, you felt like you were looking at a cat, bored by the company he was being forced to deal with.

One evening while you were having dinner together, which happened rarely, you couldn't contain your worry, even if he clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“Do you know when I’ll get a visa? I’m scared here... They’ll kill me if they find me.”

“I don’t. But they don’t know you’re here, we made sure of it,” he answered coldly once again, your need for comfort and warmth remaining unfulfilled. You went to bed, trying to calm your anxiety and forget how lonely you were, but you ended up crying face against the pillow. You didn't want him to hear you. Didn’t need to annoy him even more.

You started to transfer your thoughts on paper. Hoping that writing them down would help you to process them, in a way. You had no one to talk about your feelings, so you expressed them to yourself. It was better than nothing.

One night you heard him come home and turn on the TV. You fell back asleep, and when you woke up a couple hours later, the TV was still on. You got up and saw him sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette. He seemed lost in his thoughts. Sad. 

He looked up when he heard you.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked after clearing his throat.

“No, no. I was thirsty.” You hesitated then added “Can I sit down?”

“Sure.”

You stared at the TV, your glass of water in your hand, then asked if he knew how long you would be staying at his place. 

“I don’t know.”

You knew he hadn’t cared about you, since the moment you’d met, but seeing day after day that it wasn't changing was weighing on you.

“Aren’t you ever afraid of coming home one day and finding your door broken, and me dead in your apartment?”

“No. I doubt they think we’re stupid enough to hide you at a DEA agent's place.”

Oddly enough that made you both laugh, and you watched the TV with him for a few minutes before going back to bed.

After that night, you started to talk a little more. He was less cold and came back home earlier. Step by step, you began looking at him differently, maybe because he was the only person around. Or because you felt alone. Or maybe because you didn't really see him as an asshole anymore. You put his attitude into perspective by telling yourself that it might have pissed you off too, if you were forced to live with a stranger because of your work.

You started to look at him, to really look at him, days after days. And one night, after slipping your hand into your panties, longing for a physical touch that you missed terribly, it was Javier you were thinking about. Imagining his hands on you, wondering how he would touch you.

The next morning, you didn't dare to meet his eyes, and he noticed immediately, like a hunting dog smelling the scent of prey.

"What's going on?" he asked. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and he stared at you as if he knew. You cleared the table before returning to your room.

He often came home exhausted, and one morning, he seemed as tired as the night before. You wondered if he was sleeping properly and you told him that he could have his bedroom back, that you could sleep on the couch. He refused but when you saw his under eye bags you couldn't help yourself and placed your hand on his to give him a little warmth, a little empathy, a bit of comfort. He looked at your hand for a few moments and you were sure he was going to pull it away, but his gaze rose to yours, and you could read clearly what was in them.

His lips crashed against yours, and he led you to the bedroom where he removed your clothes and asked you to lie down on the bed, before throwing off his own. You looked over his body, your legs slightly apart, arousal already flowing from your folds. He was magnificent, to the point that you thought his body must have been sculpted by an artist. Your throat was dry as your gaze moved slowly from his lips to his chest, his biceps, his happy trail. When your eyes landed on his cock, a low "fuck" escaped your lips. It was gorgeous too, thick, hard, and you were wondering how it would feel when he pushed inside you. Your gaze moved back up to his face to find some doubt in his eyes, as if he wasn't so sure it was a good idea anymore.

Doubt turned into desire and he knelt on the bed, squeezed your thighs between his hands and licked your pussy until you came in a shamefully short time, back arched, toes curled, fingers lost in his hair. Your trembling hadn't stopped yet when he settled between your thighs, sinking in slowly, his gaze lowered towards you. It wasn't affectionate. Just two bodies needing to release some pressure. You came a second time under his fingers while he was thrusting in you, and it was more intimacy than you'd had in weeks.

The next night you heard him come home, hoping he'd join you, but in vain. You touched yourself, thinking of the night before.

The night after that, you called him as he settled down on the couch. A few seconds later, his broad frame was in the crack of the bedroom door.

And then you started having sex every day. Morning, evening, or night. He began to sleep with you after you told him it was ridiculous to stay on the couch. You found yourself curled up against him in the night. He was way softer with you now, showing a side that you could never imagine. You loved when he kissed your cheek or forehead, rubbed his nose against yours. You started calling him Javi, and that was probably even more intimate than anything else.

You wondered a few times if he was seeing someone else, until you felt the blade of jealousy dive slowly, painfully in your heart. You didn't expect it. It couldn't lead you to anything good, so you pushed it away.

Sometimes he could see your hands shaking. “I’ll protect you from them,” he used to say, wrapping you in his arms or holding your hands in his. He was comforting, using a confident voice that made you believe it.

One night, you saw that something was bothering him, but he didn’t bring it up until you pushed,

“Javi, please. What’s going on?”

He sighed then said “Another safe house is available. But... I'd like you to stay here. I want to be sure you're ok and I don't trust anyone else to protect you.”

You nodded. Of course you’d stay here, with him. He was your everyday life, your protector. 

He called you ‘baby’ now and your heart was melting.

Weeks passed. Not everything was perfect. He often came home stressed, losing himself in cigarettes or alcohol. Or between your thighs. 

You were ok with that. But even when he was thrusting into you, his gaze was sometimes vacant. You would have liked to tear away the worry that flowed through his veins, and you would often take his face in your hands to make him focus on you and on the present moment. You succeeded, more and more often, but irremediably his stare would wander off again, at one point or another.

You didn't care that sometimes as soon as he got home he would kiss you and quickly press you against the wall, pushing his cock inside you. You needed it as much as he did, whatever was between the two of you. It made you feel alive.

Nevertheless when you fucked, it seemed like it meant something.

You often had late night talks, and sometimes he would tell you about his day. The horrors he had to face, the deaths he had to witness. His impression of an endless and unequal war.

Something had been lingering on your mind for several weeks now, and you couldn't resist talking about it lying in bed, while he was having an after sex cigarette.

“The day you brought me here… Steve said it wouldn’t happen again,” you started to say. He shook his head as if to dismiss the subject.

“Please, Javi,” you insisted. “Tell me.”

He brushed his moustache with his thumb, considering his reply. 

“I can hear it, whatever this is,” you added in a soft voice.

He sighed, then said “ok, ok. There was a woman… I put her in a safe house. I thought she would be ok there. Escobar’s men found her….” He lowered his head, unable to say more, but he didn’t have to. His body was tense and his eyes filled with sadness.

“I’m sorry, Javi,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m afraid sometimes…” he added, his voice shaky. “Afraid I won’t be able to protect you either, afraid to fail again.”

“Hey.” You cupped his cheeks with your hands. “I’m safe here, I know I am.” You searched for his eyes, showing unwavering determination in yours. “They won’t find me, you hear me?”

Caressing his cheeks with your thumbs, you added “you will keep me safe. I know it.” 

His eyes were still showing concern, so you persisted. “Javi! Listen to me. I know I’m safe. Nothing will happen to me, baby.”

His brows furrowed as he looked at you, seeing determination and certainty in your stare. He nodded, hugged you, and kissed your forehead.

Sex became different. Intimate. He was passionate and generous. 

You knew you were falling in love with him, a little more each day, even if a part of him remained a mystery, an insurmountable block, even in these moments. You didn't tell him about your feelings, afraid of pushing him away. Even though he wasn't as distant as before, it was still difficult to fully know him.

His apartment often echoed with your moans and sweaty bodies.

His hands were soft on you, and you started to think that maybe you became dear to him. During the day you thought of him, craved him, eager to feel his body every time he got back home. 

You realized that he did, too, one evening, when he hurried to you as soon as he threw his keys on the cabinet.

“I need to… need to taste you. To eat you.”

He looked wrecked, his hair disheveled, his shirt collar unbuttoned, messy. 

“I can't think of anything else. Every day, every hour, I think about you and your cunt. About your scent lingering on my moustache after I made you come on my tongue in the morning, before leaving. And I can't… couldn’t focus at work, I need to be between your legs all the time. I'm fucking obsessed with your cunt. Wanna drink it all day long. Please… please, baby. Can I eat you out?”

You nodded, stunned by his statement. Your pussy wasn't questioning it, drooling as soon as you heard his key in the lock.

He took off his jacket and shirt then his pants, letting them fall to the floor, as he walked over to the couch where you were sitting. You weren't sure if he wanted to go to the bedroom and didn't move, but he knelt as soon as he was within reach, grabbed the elastic of your pants and pulled them off. He paused for a moment as he looked at your panties, and the gaze he gave you electrified your body. Animalistic, feline. A wild beast ready to devour you. 

His fingers grasped the waistband of your panties but didn't remove them. Holding onto them, he leaned down and when his tongue lapped at the fabric, you couldn't hold back a deep moan. 

His fingers tightened on your panties when he heard you, still lapping, to the point where your folds were outlined by the fabric, soaked by his saliva and your need.

He forced himself to slow down, just long enough to push your panties to the side, grunting, before finally licking your folds with nothing between his tongue and your skin.

“Javi,” you whined, gripping his hair, rolling your hips towards him.

You were almost on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by your emotions. His greed and eagerness were radiating from his body as he was pushing his tongue into you. Licking, lapping, sucking, keeping your folds open with his thumbs, his nose rubbing deliciously against your clit.

“Javi…” you begged.

“Tell me,” he murmured against your folds, without stopping.

“Fingers, please…”

He lapped at your cunt again, slowly, so slowly you thought you might faint.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

He placed them against your pussy, without moving at first, just letting you feel the warmth of his digits, and kissed your clit. He didn’t lick, didn’t suck. Just peppered kissed over it, and his moustache lightly tickled your skin. Each light kiss was giving you goosebumps. You heard him chuckle.

“So needy, baby… just like me.”

Then he slid his fingers down to your entrance, his middle finger already slick with your arousal slipped between your folds and he pushed in a knuckle, making you gasp. His lips curved around your clit, sucking lightly, barely more than a touch. He pushed his finger in and started pumping.

“Oh god,” you whined. Your clit was throbbing under his tongue as he was pushing in your pussy faster and deeper. A second finger joined the first, rubbing perfectly where you needed it.

You vaguely felt his other hand leave your hip and when you opened your eyes, you saw him spread the precum on his shaft. He gripped it with his firm hand and began slowly jerking himself, his eyes closed as he sucked on your clit and kept fucking you with his fingers.

“I’ll never get enough of your cunt,” he murmured, before playing with your clit with the tip of his tongue.

You looked down at him. This gorgeous, protective, caring man. So eager to please you, to make you come. You couldn't believe the worst day of your life had led you to cross paths with him. 

Your mind went blank. You could only vaguely hear the indecent sounds of his fingers in your soaked pussy, and his wrist fucking his shaft. His grunts faded into moans, until he came, cum spraying against the floor and down his fist. 

Thinking that he had been unable to stop himself from coming was the last straw and you came, arching your back against the couch, fingers hooked in his hair. Panting, trembling against his mouth, clenching on his fingers.

“Javi, I need your cum,” you whined without realizing it. And his cum-covered fingers replaced the ones coated in your juices. He was fucking you with his digits dripping cum.

“Fuck, baby,” he said. Grabbing your hand with his, squeezing it, until he slowed his thrusting between your thighs, feeling that you were on the verge of overstimulation. You cupped his face in your hands, pulled him to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips and his moustache.

He lay on top of you, catching his breath against your breasts.

You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, as much as it echoed in your own body. You wondered if he understood the meaning of that rhythm, so fast and so strong.

You wondered if his was beating as strongly, and for the same reasons.

His hand found your breast, cupping it carefully, as if it was something precious.

You thought about the time when fate had brought you together, and smiled as you stroked his hair.

Two days later, when he came back home, you felt that something was wrong. 

“I got your visa,” he said harshly. His eyes were off, so was his whole body. He was distant, and fear grabbed your weak heart in its hands. Squeezing it hard.

“What?” you asked in a trembling voice.

He avoided your  gaze, and added “you wanted a visa, right? And you can't stay here, it's not safe. We knew that.”

“What?” You repeated. “Wait a minute, can we talk about it?”

He shook his head, without even looking at you.

“What are you doing, Javi?” you insisted, your heart begging for help, for answers. 

“You can leave Colombia, be safe. Go on with your life.”

“Please, Javi, don't do it. Not like that. I'm not… I'm not her. What happened was awful but please let us talk about it.”

“Steve is waiting for you downstairs. He'll take you to the airport,” he said stubbornly.

“Javi…”

Tears obscured your vision and you could only see a blurry shape of him, standing a few feet away from you. Out of reach. Your Javi wasn't there anymore, he had shut down all his emotions.

Your heart was ripped in two, the pain so intense that you wondered if that Javi had ever existed. And right now, there was nothing left for him to give you.

You packed your things, unable to believe what was happening, hoping it was a nightmare. You looked at him from time to time. Brows furrowed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Have you ever felt anything for me? Have these last weeks meant anything to you?” you asked. He didn't reply, and barely glanced at you. You never thought his confession two days ago would lead to this. 

Your mind knew what was making him act like this, but you couldn't accept that he was cutting it all off.

You slammed the door when you left, a “fuck you” escaping your lips.

He thought about the whisky he was going to drink to forget. Forget how he could have done it to you in such a cruel way. He liked to tell himself he was good at compartmentalizing. But tonight, lonely in his apartment, he couldn't believe it anymore.

A few days later he found the letters you had written to yourself. He sat down on his bed and read them all. 

He was reading about your growing feelings, the complete trust you'd had towards him over the past few weeks. He wondered if you'd left them there on purpose, or if you had forgotten them, but he quickly shook the thoughts from his mind. It didn't change anything. He wanted you safe, now you would be. No matter the price you had to pay. Or he had to pay.

He burnt the letters and poured himself some whiskey.

If you wanna know more about what happened to the woman Javi speaks of: And all that could have been

javi p masterlist

More Javi angst: The constant

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[marginofthought]

Warm

Quick, unedited drabble of Dean making Sam cockwarm him. Set around S4 or 5, so you know the vibes...

~~~

“Sammy!” Dean said from where he was sitting on the kinda ratty couch in their motel room. 

Sam had opted for the chair at the small table, laptop and books spread out in front of him.

“Hmh?” Sam hummed while he flipped through one of his books. 

“Come here,” Dean said.

“No, I’m busy with th-”

“Sammy, come here,” Dean repeated, voice gruff and Sam sighed deeply. There was no use arguing with Dean like this. 

Sam reluctantly closed the book and scooted the chair back, getting up and walking towards his brother. 

As soon as he was in grabbing distance Dean clamped a hand down on his forearm and pulled him towards him. Sam stumbled unsteadily before he landed half on Dean’s lap and half on the couch. 

Dean grabbed and pulled until Sam was fully on his lap, ass pressed to Dean’s thighs. It was immediately obvious what his brother wanted when the hard line of Dean’s clothed erection pressed against Sam’s ass too. 

“Get your pants off,” Dean instructed, letting go of Sam.

Sam grumbled under his breath but got to work on his belt, opening his pants before lifting up slightly to get them off his hips. Sam did the same with his boxers and before he could try to shove them past his knees when Dean was shoving him forward. Sam braced his hands on the carpet, barely keeping himself on Dean’s lap. 

Hands were pulling Sam’s cheeks apart, a thumb rubbing over Sam’s dry hole. It pushed and prodded and Sam grumbled under his breath, tensing up at the dry friction.

One hand let go, only for two fingers to return, properly pushing against his rim now. 

“Dean,” Sam complained, clenching up. 

“Spoilsport,” Dean said but his fingers left, only to come back with some lube. 

Opening Sam up was quick and to the point, it wasn’t foreplay, it was just preparation. 

Sam let Dean pull and push and prod at him until his brother apparently was satisfied. He was shoved forwards again so Dean could get his sweatpants below his balls and then he was instructed to sink down on his brother. 

Sam was pulled flush against Dean’s lap again, his hole stretching wide around Dean’s dick. It burned a little more than necessary but Sam was used to that by now. He was expecting Dean to start fucking up into him immediately or for him to be pushed forward into downward dog again. Maybe Dean would make Sam do the work again.

A few seconds passed and nothing. Dean didn’t say anything and he didn’t move. 

“What?” Sam asked, squirming a little. 

“Just stay still,” Dean ordered, voice gruff. He leaned back against the couch cushions, pulling Sam with him. 

Sam blinked but did as he was told, letting his head rest against Dean’s shoulder and the back of the couch. 

..

It was fine for a few minutes but around ten minutes in, Sam started to squirm again. The movie Dean had chosen wasn’t very interesting to him and so all he could focus on was the rigid length in his ass, just resting there. Sam was hard by now, the pressure on his prostate just enough to excite but nothing else. 

With how this was shaping up, Sam would be more than sore tomorrow.

“Stop squirming,” Dean reprimanded him, slapping his thigh which only made Sam squirm more. 

“Well sorry, I have this pain in the a-”

Sam couldn’t even finish his sentence when Dean thrust up twice. Hard. 

The breath left Sam’s lungs in a rush but nothing else followed, no more movement from Dean. 

Sam tried to lift up, maybe to fuck himself on Dean or maybe to leave but either way, Dean’s arms only clamped tighter around his front and he was forced to remain in his place. 

Another twenty minutes passed and Sam was staring lazily at the tv, having accepted his position and that he would just have to wait Dean out. His hole was getting uncomfortably itchy from the drying lube and his erection was at half mast, not sure what was going on either. 

Sam tracked the characters on the screen, trying to find what Dean was enjoying about the movie. He felt his eyelids fall closed further and further and he knew he would fall asleep soon. 

Except that Dean chose that moment to move again. He gripped Sam’s hips tight, thrusting up and just maneuvering Sam on his cock. 

Sam whined a little but left his head on the back of the couch, worried Dean would stop once Sam moved. 

Dean grunted into his ear, hips churning and Sam could do nothing but take it. 

“Still so tight, Sammy,” Dean moaned and it didn’t take long for warmth to flood him, the dick inside him spasmed as Dean came deep inside him.

Sam moaned weakly, hoping for a hand on him but nothing came. He reached between his legs, jerking himself off. 

He barely had enough time though. He had just gotten to his climax, cock spurting into his hand and onto his shirt when Dean moved again. 

His brother tipped them to their side, Sam’s hand letting go of his cock to brace himself, the rest of his orgasm fading rather unpleasantly without the proper stimulation.

“Dean,” Sam yelped, when instead of pulling out, Sam’s hips were pulled back, Dean’s cock pushing into his ass again, to the hilt. “What are you-”

“Shut up,” Dean said, pushing his arm under Sam’s head so he was laying more comfortably. 

“You’re gonna keep me warm, alright? Be a good little brother,” Dean breathed into Sam’s ear. “Gonna keep all of me inside you. Y’r hole was literally made for it.” Dean’s speech started to slur and before Sam could reply his brother’s breathing turned even and he knew he had fallen asleep. 

Dean had fallen asleep. While he was still inside Sam. (And all he’d had gotten was a ruined orgasm and the knowledge he’ll have a sore ass tomorrow)

[kittenfangirl20]

Hypnosis Au

Lucifer needed to find Adam, the angel had fallen and he wasn't adjusting well to life in Hell. He acted like it was a mistake, that he didn't belong here and that heaven would right the wrong.

But as time passed and Adam remained in Hell the gravity of the situation set in and he started to actually freak out.

Like today for example, Adam had been doing some prep work for dinner, staying at the hotel meant he had chores. He didn't like that one bit, Adam felt like he should get to do what he wants during the day said that's what Angel does.

Charlie explained that Angel has a job and he doesn't. All he did was roll his eyes and stomp away.

It was when he cut his finger showing that he had deep red blood instead of golden angelic blood in his veins did everything click for him.

Adam freaked out, when Charlie checked on him he pushed her out of the way and ran out the hotel's front door.

That's what Lucifer was doing now, looking for him. He was going to check the only place he could that Adam would go.

Heavens Embassy.

Sure enough when he got there the lobby was trashed, raging was going on in the other room.

Adam: PETER YOU COCK SUCKER!! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME GET SERA ON THE FUCKING LINE!!!!!!

Sera wasn't going to take his meeting request, she was too busy but Adam was too worked up.

Lucifer: Adam? Hey, calm down okay?

Adam turned and glared: YOU!! STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!

He started throwing things at the devil and Lucifer knew he wasn't going to listen to reason. So he resorted to the last thing he could do, he'd have to grab ahold of Adam and look him in the eyes.

Lucifer would have to hypnotize him.

Lucifer: Adam, look at me.

Adam was in the midst of throwing something across the room when he heard the command, he felt the urge to listen to him.

Adam: Ok.

Lucifer: Good, now put that down and relax.

Adam did so, truthfully Lucifer felt bad doing this. But Adam was so upset and it upset to see him like this.

Lucifer: Let me hold you.

Lucifer held out his arms to Adam and the fallen first man just went into Lucifer’s arms as Lucifer hold him. He knew that he wasn’t going to use the hypnosis to make Adam do something sexual or violent. Just to calm him down.

Lucifer: Tell why you were so upset.

Adam looked up with tear filled eyes.

Adam: I didn’t think I would ever fall. I thought I was doing good. Everyone said I was doing good and then I fall like this.

Lucifer couldn’t help but feel bad hearing Adam talk like this, he just to not fail the people he cared for. He could even see that Lucifer’s opinion of Adam still mattered to him.

Lucifer: You are still good.

Adam: Then why did I fall?

Lucifer: Because others failed you.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[s0lidar1ty]

The Beginning

pair: toxic!rafe cameron x fem!eader cw: Toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, verbal abuse, angst, mentions of grief/loss, slight profanity.

Rafe had never been taken care of before. After his mother's death, he always fought for Ward’s attention. He tried being a good kid, showing up to school, doing his work, and cleaning up around the house, but the only thing Ward cared about was when something went wrong. That's when he finally paid attention. So, Rafe does the only thing he can and starts acting out. 

He stayed out later than he was supposed so, damn near flunked out of school but somehow managed to graduate, stopped taking care of things. He didn’t want to, but it got his dad's attention.

Deep down, Rafe is just a little boy in need of love. Of nurturing and comfort.

That’s where you came in.

You had been a family friend of the Camerons from when you and they were small. You practically lived with them. You came over every day and stayed till night, rinse and repeat. Eventually, you moved in. Your mother thought it best since she couldn’t afford to house you and deal with the expenses of a funeral. Ward was fine with it, he loved you like one of his own. 

After their mother's death, Rafe and Sarah closed themselves off from friends, Everyone gave up on them for a while, everyone but you. You knew what they were going through. You hated that you could relate, but that wouldn’t bring your father back, would it?

You insisted on being near them and helping them when they needed it but refused to ask. You were always there. Even as you three grew up and Sarah began to heal. Sarah started to do good. She helped around Figure 8, cared for the little animals and rodents the best she knew how. She found her happiness in nature. She was fine with that; she wasn’t angry or sad anymore. She was just. She was okay.

Rafe, on the other hand, went down the exact opposite path. He became selfish. He got mean, saying hurtful things to everybody, even his sister. You didn’t recognize the person you were seeing. What happened to the sweet boy in 5th grade who stood up to bullies? When did he become one himself? 

Sarah stayed out more and more just to avoid Rafe and his outbursts. But now, with her gone, all his anger is directed at you.

You’re in the kitchen prepping dinner. You and Rafe, despite being estranged, had a lot in common. Steak bites with mash potatoes being one of them. The last time you recall him eating it was a couple of weeks before his mother's passing. 

Was this too much?

I mean, it’s his childhood favorite food—what if you made it wrong or he didn’t like it because it wasn’t like his mom's? 

You push down your overwhelming thoughts and continue, cleaning the steaks and cutting them into cubes. You move to the stove, turning it on and buttering the skillet. You hear the front door open and assume it’s Sarah coming to get more clothes before heading out again.

“Hey, Sare!” You call from the kitchen. You don’t get a response, which you find odd but shrug off, going back to the steak to season it.

“Why’re you still here?” The sound of Rafe’s voice makes you jump. You turn around, chucking off the scare.

“I wanted to make dinner-”

“So you’re a nanny now?” He interrupts.

You make a confused face. “How does cooking make me a nanny?”

“Because you’re acting like we need you to cook for us. You’re always here, always pestering somebody—why can’t you be more like Sarah and leave once in a while?” he says harshly. “I mean, fuck,” he chuckles, “We don’t even want you here anymore.”

Your smile drops. “Right,” you say simply. You turn to the stove once again, your back facing him as your eyes fill with frustrating tears.

Rafe stares at you for a minute. Usually, talking down on people made him feel better, so why was his heart hurting the way it was?

He walks away.

[formiito]

drunk walk home ; soukoku

synopsis : dazai osamu's last night before he leaves for good— his last night with the only one who has ever truly seen him.

author's note : my first time writing soukoku!! i hope this isn't too ooc, god knows i tried. a bit rushed towards the end because i really should study instead (and i'm not <3) read on ao3

In the middle of the night, the only lights on are the ones near the port. Flickering street lights, late offices and the glow of distant bars; artificial stars dotting the bay city. The neon colours bleed into each other once again, burning into Dazai’s vision. Everything seems slowed, as if he was struggling to catch up with a reality that was far faster than his alcohol addled mind could keep up with. The occasional auburn blur was the only thing that reassured him that his current drinking buddy was still following along, despite being near the edge of a stupor.

Stumbling through the roads and the night marketplaces, Dazai attempted to find the shortcut to Chuuya’s home, a route he knew like the back of his hand. Well, usually. Currently, he's taken atleast three wrong turns. Chuuya’s no more helpful, considering he insisted on taking the shorter way back. They took a bit too long to realize that the main road would've been shorter, but what more can anyone expect from two absolutely drunken fools trying their level best to get home. Chuuya blinks, wondering where the hell he had left his bike. He parked it somewhere, well, obviously, but when he got back his beloved bike was nowhere in the parking lot, and after a few minutes of searching it was painfully clear to him that he's going to have to try again when he can actually walk straight. He's gonna regret all those tequila shots later in the morning, but there were just some problems wine can't drown.

That is exactly why the both of them end up in this situation every time, isn't it? The lure of relief was too hard to resist, even though they both would much rather drink with anyone than each other. Leaning his arm on Chuuya’s shoulder, much to the shorter man’s chagrin, Dazai stumbled through the narrow street. The fluorescent signs that lined this road were rendered hazy by the smoke that seemed to perpetually linger in the air, and the path itself was free of any pedestrians. Empty? Good. They hardly needed trouble at this hour, not when they both barely had the coordination to tell left from right. Even with their best attempt at being vigilant, Chuuya could only manage to note how the color of his friend’s eyes seemed to mellow into a honey like hue under the glow of a signboard. An artificial glow that, for a few moments, made him look a little more alive. Even as he pushes the thought out of his head, a strange disappointment gnaws at his heart. Like he should have stared a little longer, to remember it.

All the while, Dazai tried to hold up both their weight, even though it was quickly becoming a futile attempt; arm around Chuuya’s waist, fingers curled into the fabric of the waistcoat to make sure they both didn't just topple over one another. It's not like it hasn't happened before, but he doesn't particularly fancy another night passed out over this slug in a nameless alley. Been there, done that.

“You're surprisingly heavy for such a short guy, you know, slug?”

“What the fuck did you just call me, bastard?!”

Dazai gives his best performance of a weary sigh. “Now you're hard of hearing, too? Slug.” As if to emphasize, he spells out the word in a singsong manner. “s-l-u-g!! That clear enough for you?”

“…I think I’m gonna kill you.” Chuuya spat out, trying to not grind his teeth from the sheer annoyance this waste of bandages caused him. “I hope you get the worst hangover tomorrow. I hope you're sick for days.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, while Dazai held him up straight.

“We're both getting killer hangovers, dumbass.”

“It was your idea to go drinking!!”

“You know damn well your ass can't hold your liquor. Lightweight!”

“I ain't no fucking lightweight, I kept up just fine!”

“You gave up after the second goddamn round, slug. Now get off me, I think my arm’s going to break from your heavy ass.”

Chuuya let up a little, the faint red glow of gravity manipulation surrounding him. Making himself lighter helped stabilize him in this condition. Even after he stopped leaning, Dazai’s hand didn't leave his waist, bandaged fingers curled into the fabric as they crossed the smog filled streets. “You know what, yeah, we've been walking in circles for an hour. Let's sit down for a bit.” Dazai nods at the idea, though not without a comical exaggeration. “Tired already?”—he drawls—”I thought you'd have a bit more left in you than that!” The way Chuuya’s jaw tightens and how his brows furrow? God, that's cute.

The fuck?

A few seconds after a thought so uncalled for, Dazai’s expression twists into grimace from the sheer distaste. There's no way he just thought that. Meanwhile, Chuuya had already found himself a lovely little cargo crate to sit upon, not even humouring Dazai’s taunt, sitting down on it with that annoyed expression still on his face. Dazai follows suit, and watches as the petit mafioso flicks open his cigarette case, taking out a singular stick. Just as Chuuya’s thumb moved to close the flap, a bandaged finger slips another stick out of it.

“Hey! Get your own, damn bastard.”

Dazai twirled the cigarette with practiced dexterity. “Mmm, nope.” He pops the 'p' as he says it. Maybe a good smoke would get that thought out of his head. Whatever that was. His other hand reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, fishing out a lighter. The blue flame lights the tip of the cigarette. The familiar, acrid scent fills his senses, the dim ember makes him feel oddly warm. From the corner of his chocolate eyes, he noticed Chuuya struggling with his own lighter. That old thing was clearly was out of fuel. He extends the black lighter to his cigarette, watching how it dangles idly from his mouth. “Guess you needed me anyway, huh?”

Chuuya waited for the end of the smoke stick to burn, eyes singularly focused on the light. “…Shut it.”

Dazai shrugs off the rude remark, taking a languid drag of the cigarette. A bit stronger than the ones he usually carried with him, but they hit the spot. The puff of smoke exhaled into the air curls upwards, and then fades into the glow of the green and blue signboard lights. Pretty. Fleeting. Only such a shame their youth would suffer the same fate, even if neither will realize it yet. Perhaps in Dazai’s mind, those days were already gone, for this is the last night he'll allow himself to stick to his old ways. To stick with him.

The auburn haired man seems none the wiser about his eventual departure. A good thing, for a lie is so much easier to say than the truth. It's a burden of youth to fall in pursuit of a distant, unclear dream, the promise of light; only to ignore the glow of the bridges they were burning behind them. It's foolish, Dazai knows, but it would be the only way he could bring himself to leave this teenage wastleland of theirs. To save what was remaining of this worthless life.

But what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

The small cigarette break ends far too quickly, fingers itching to light up one more, but the night wasn’t getting any younger. Neither were they getting less drunk, and if they didn’t make it home in time for the streetlights and signboards to die out for the night, it's another night falling asleep in an alley. Once Chuuya is done, he impatiently stands up once again; an extremely dumb idea. His head swirls, disoriented by the sudden movement. Instinctively his hands reach for Dazai’s shoulders, until they both stood up, looking like absolute idiots. Dazai was going to taunt him again for being a lightweight, until something caught his attention.

Tap.

The water droplet hit his head, and a quiet 'ow…’ left his pallid lips. Right. They were in the middle of rainy days. And of course the skies had to pick just the right time to cry; when they both were utterly drunk out of their minds and who knows how far from home. Two follows one, three follows two, countless does three. The downpour had begun. Chuuya let out of a groan of utter frustration, shrugging off his coat the best he could with his balance, attempting to drape it over the both of them. Their makeshift umbrella didn't do much, but it was enough for them to get home without being miserably wet. “Ugh, hold this, mummy boy.” Chuuya did not fancy being on his tiptoes for the whole journey back, and Dazai took the edges of the coat from him, holding it up over the both of them.

“Think we can make it if we run?”

“Yeah, think you can keep up?”

“Any day, slug.”

Without hesitation, they were off with their mad dash in the rain. Stumbling once or twice over the curbs, they barely managed to keep the same pace so that they could still be under the coat’s canopy. Chuuya could feel the raindrops hitting his back, and Dazai’s bandages were damp already. They didn't know when they got back to Chuuya’s place; perhaps they should have tried this earlier instead of walking around like bumbling fools all over the place. Dazai set the drenched coat down once they were in the building; gravel streaked steps to the elevator. The two were out of breath, panting, realizing a bit too late that maybe it was a little stupid of them to run off with that kind of reckless abandon when they were drunk and tired.

Once they caught their breath, the ring of the elevator bell indicated that they'd reached their floor. Now they just had to hope they had the right number. 322 — yeah, that's mine.

Chuuya fumbled with the keys in his pocket, attempting to figure out which ones worked with this lock. Vision glazed over, the ridges looked far too blurry; hands clumsily undoing the lock. One of the keys worked; fifth try was the charm. The shoes were kicked off, flying to god knows what part of the living room; the two drunken idiots stumbled in. Dazai didn't hesitate without collapsing right there on the couch, although his friend seemed to atleast have a bit more sense to get himself a glass of water. Not like it mattered that much anyway when thirty minutes afterwards they were both puking their guts out, crawling out of the bathroom like zombies from a b-rated horror film. All those shots were definitely a bad idea, and they were feeling it. If reading minds were possible, one would find that they could only think the same thing.

I’m never drinking with shitty Dazai again!

I swear, this is the last time I get drunk with that hatrack!

And it was true for it was indeed the last time they did drink together.

By quite a bit of effort, they managed to reach the couch once again. Legs over chests and arms over heads, they fit in the most uncomfortable way, but they did manage to not fall over. “Get off me, you're heavy!” Dazai whined, and in truth, he would've shoved him off if he could tell where his hands ended and where Chuuya’s began. “Shut up, I want to sleep!” Perhaps he was right for once, maybe sleep would do them well. With an annoyed grumble, his bandaged fingers settled to curl themselves into the auburn locks that tickled his neck, legs tangled on the velvet sofa. Gloved hands reach to turn the light off.

It was no easy to ignore his thoughts in the dark, not when the silence festered thoughts of his eventual departure; the uncertainty that will grip his life for the days ahead. Perhaps if it weren't for that man’s final words, the promise he drew out of Dazai, he wouldn’t be so willing to upend this life. He wouldn't have even considered saving himself.

So, when we ask once again, what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

It is worth a promise. One that must be kept.

Dazai’s mind drifts away once this resolution is made. The symphony that plays in the space between the waking and the asleep is the soft breathing of the man beside him. Focusing singularly on the nearly inaudible sound, looking at the back of his eyes, he allows himself to feel the moment for a final time before he gives away to sleep. Trace away the weave of the fabric that makes the back of his shirt, feel the soft strands that sometimes pricks skin, take note of the sleepy mumbles that leave Chuuya through his dreams. And before the subtle sensation fades, his mouth opens to form the words he feels he must say or they will rend apart his mind forever.

“...I think I’m gonna miss this.”

[cryiingoutloud]

☽〝 don’t you mind? — matty healy!reader.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You come back for your things.

Matty’s still Matty—barefoot, bitter, and impossible to leave clean.

What happens next isn’t forgiveness.

It’s something worse.

And maybe something better.

warnings: NSFW / 18+ only. post-breakup sex. angst. rough sex. unprotected PIV sex. oral (m. receiving). hair pulling. spanking. choking. orgasm control. degradation. marking. spit. face fucking. pain kink. possessive behavior. matty is very mean.

w.c. : 10.1k

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

It’s been twenty-three days since you last saw him.

Not that you were counting.

You told yourself you’d send someone else to grab your things. Let Jamie do it. Let someone else deal with Matty—his moods, his smirks, his sideways looks that always knew how to find your soft spots and dig into them.

But here you are.

Third floor. Same black door. Same dent in the wall where his guitar case cracked the plaster last year. You hold the spare key in your hand like it’s burning your skin.

It’s stupid, maybe. A little weak. But you knock anyway.

Three short, sharp raps.

No answer.

You knock again. Harder.

This time, you hear movement. Footsteps. A muffled curse. Then the sound of the deadbolt sliding, the chain rattling.

When the door opens, he’s standing there in a pair of low-slung sweatpants and nothing else.

His curls are flattened on one side, like he’s been passed out on the couch. Eyes bloodshot. A cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth, still burning.

He stares at you.

You stare back.

The silence is thick.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he mutters, stepping back and letting the door fall open.

“You don’t check your texts.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you meant it.”

You step inside without asking. The apartment smells like stale smoke and leftover curry. There’s an open bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. An ashtray overflowing on the coffee table. A hoodie tossed over the lamp. Two guitars leaning against the wall like forgotten toys.

It looks like he’s been living inside a hangover.

You don’t comment.

Instead, you walk straight to the hallway closet. The one you used to keep your coats in. Your shoes. Your umbrella he always “accidentally” borrowed.

“Just here for the rest of my shit,” you say over your shoulder.

“Didn’t realize you had any left.”

You shoot him a glance. “You packed any of it?”

“Nope.”

Of course not.

You kneel and start sorting. A pair of heels. A scarf. The leather jacket he used to wear more than you did. You bundle it all quickly, trying not to breathe too deep, trying not to think about the way everything still smells like you.

Behind you, you can feel him watching.

You ignore it.

“So,” he says, voice flat. “You seeing someone?”

You pause. “Really?”

“Just making conversation.”

You stand. Turn to face him.

His eyes are heavy-lidded, ringed with shadows. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, but the smile pulling at his mouth is still sharp. Still that same grin he wore the first night he told you he liked how mean you got when you were horny.

“I’m not here for small talk, Matty.”

“No, you’re here to punish me. Right.”

You toss the scarf in your bag. “I’m here to get what’s mine.”

“You already did that when you left.”

The words cut. Not because they’re clever—but because they’re true.

You look up at him. “If you wanted to keep me, maybe you should’ve given a fuck while you had me.”

He laughs—bitter and hollow. “Oh, don’t do that. Don’t act like I’m the only one who fucked up.”

“I’m not acting. I left, remember?”

“Yeah. You walked. But you still show up. Still knock on my fucking door like you want me to do something about it.”

You’re across the room now. Face to face. Too close.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice drops, cruel and quiet. “You don’t come back for a pair of boots. You come back because you want to be fucked.”

The silence that follows is violent.

Your breath hitches. His eyes flick down to your mouth. Your fists clench at your sides.

And for a second—

Just a second—

You wonder what would happen if you slapped him. Or kissed him. Or told him you dreamed about his mouth last week and woke up soaked and furious.

Instead, you say: “Get out of my way.”

But he doesn’t move.

He just looks at you with that sharp little smirk.

The one that says I know you hate me. I like it that way.

He still hasn’t moved.

You’re standing inches from him now, your bag slung over one shoulder, breath catching hard in your chest. The apartment feels too small, too loud with silence, and all you can smell his skin, his sweat, the smoke still curling from the cigarette in his fingers.

“Move,” you say again, voice sharp.

“Make me,” he says, without blinking.

And just like that, something snaps.

“You know what?” you spit. “This is exactly why I left.”

Matty raises a brow, casual like always. “Because I wouldn’t jump when you said so?”

“Because you didn’t listen. Ever.”

“Oh, I listened,” he says, stepping closer. “I listened to you bitch and moan and slam doors like that was going to fix either of us.”

Your mouth twists. “You didn’t want to be fixed. You liked being broken. It gave you a fucking excuse.”

“Better than pretending I was fine just to make you comfortable.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

You shove past him, hard enough that his shoulder hits the wall. He lets it happen, laughing under his breath.

“You think you were some kind of savior? Just because you cooked twice a week and sucked my cock when I was too drunk to ask for it nicely?”

You whirl around. “You think you deserved nice? You were a fucking mess, Matty. You treated everything—me—like it was disposable.”

“And you kept coming back for more,” he snarls. “Don’t act like you didn’t love it. The chaos. The late-night fights. Me making you come so hard you cried.”

“Fuck you.”

“You already said that.”

“I meant it.”

His eyes flare.

You stare each other down, chests rising and falling fast. You don’t realize your fists are clenched until your nails dig into your palms. He doesn’t realize he’s dropped the cigarette until it hits the floor and burns out between his bare feet.

He steps forward. Close. Closer.

You don’t step back.

“You want to hit me?” he murmurs. “Go on. Do it.”

You grit your teeth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He smiles. “You were never scared of hurting me. You were scared of needing me.”

Your jaw tightens.

“You were scared of how much you liked it when I choked you and told you not to come,” he adds, his voice low and filthy. “You were scared of how much you begged for it.”

Your breath catches. That sharp, bitter twist low in your stomach.

“I hated you,” you whisper.

“No, you didn’t.” He leans in, lips almost brushing your ear. “You came for me.”

You slap him.

Hard. Across the face.

The sound rings through the room like a fucking gunshot.

His head jerks to the side. His cheek burns red instantly.

And then—

He laughs.

Low. Dark. Fucking feral.

He turns his head back to you, tongue running over his lip like he’s tasting blood.

“There she is.”

You don’t even know who moves first.

All you know is you’re suddenly against the wall, your back hitting it with a dull thud, his hand gripping your wrist, mouth hovering over yours but not kissing. Never kissing.

“You want this?” he growls. “Tell me to stop.”

You stare at him, chest heaving. Your lips tremble—not with fear, but fury. And need.

You don’t say a word.

His hand slides up, wraps around your throat, fingers pressing just enough.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

“So are you,” you bite back.

He smirks. “Still wet for me?”

“Still hard for me?”

A low sound escapes his throat—half growl, half groan.

Then his grip tightens. “Get on your knees.”

You don’t move.

He steps back half a step. Not letting go, not backing down. Just giving you enough space to decide.

You stare at him. Your mouth is dry. Your thighs are soaked.

This isn’t love. This is need.

And it’s about to ruin both of you.

He says get on your knees like a fucking dare.

And for a second, you think about slapping him again.

But instead—your breath hitching, your blood boiling—you drop.

Hard.

You kneel on the wooden floor, your bag sliding off your shoulder with a thud, your eyes never leaving his. There’s no softness in your expression. No shame.

Just heat.

Just fury.

His jaw ticks, eyes locked on yours like he can’t believe you actually did it. His sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, already tented with how fucking hard he is.

“Of course you obey,” he says, tone cruel, smug. “Even now. Even when you hate me.”

Your lip curls. “I don’t hate you. I hate that I still want to choke on your cock.”

His chest rises. Sharp. Violent.

And then he grabs a fistful of your hair.

Not gently.

Not for show.

He uses it—pulls you forward until your face is an inch from his crotch.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” he hisses. “Mouth full of me. Nothing else to say. No arguing. Just gagging.”

Your eyes flash, but you don’t answer. You just slide your hands up the back of his thighs, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks, and bite the waistband of his sweats.

He hisses. “You’re such a fucking bitch.”

You smirk, tugging his pants down with your teeth, then your hands—rough, no teasing. His cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking, and you don’t give him the satisfaction of a long look.

You take it.

You spit on the tip, just to be cruel. Just to watch him twitch.

Then you slide your mouth over it—fast, messy, all the way until your throat closes around it and he groans like he’s being strangled.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, hand gripping your hair tighter, rocking into your face like he owns it. “There’s that pretty mouth. Knew you couldn’t stay away from this.”

You choke, just a little. Let him feel it. Let him hear it.

His hips jerk. “God, I fucking missed this.”

You pull off with a slick pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“This is why you’re alone,” you spit, voice ragged. “You fuck like you’re punishing people.”

He grabs your face, thumb dragging across your spit-slick lips. “And you love it.”

He hauls you up like you weigh nothing, spins you around, and bends you over the dining table in a second flat.

Your cheek hits the cold wood. You yelp, but not from pain—from shock. From how fast he still knows your body. From how much you want it.

“Still dress like a fucking tease,” he mutters, dragging your skirt up your thighs. “Bet you wore this thinking I’d fuck you against a wall.”

“No,” you hiss. “I wore it so you’d choke on the idea of touching me again.”

He yanks your panties down so hard the elastic snaps. “Mission fucking accomplished.”

You try to push up, but he shoves you back down with a firm hand between your shoulder blades. You’re bent over now, ass out, cunt exposed, dripping down your thighs—and he stares.

“Still so wet,” he murmurs, fingers sliding between your legs. “Pathetic.”

You whimper. You hate how it sounds.

“You miss this cock, baby?” he coos mockingly. “You miss the way I split you open, made you scream into the fucking mattress so your neighbors heard?”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re about to.”

He spits between your thighs, slicking your cunt with it. Doesn’t prep you. Doesn’t ease you in.

He shoves two fingers inside—fast and deep.

You cry out, body jerking.

“Shut up,” he snarls, curling them inside you. “Take it. You used to be able to handle more than this.

He fingers you like he’s trying to prove something. Fast, brutal, angled just right to make your knees go weak. Your hips buck, but he slaps your ass so hard the sound echoes.

“I said fucking take it.”

You grit your teeth, back arching, throat raw with half-screams.

“You’re such a fucking mess for me,” he grunts, watching his fingers disappear into your cunt again and again. “You leave me and you still end up dripping all over my hand like a whore.”

He pulls them out suddenly, and you gasp—empty, aching.

Then his cock presses to your entrance.

“No condom,” he mutters.

“I don’t care.”

He pauses.

You twist to look back at him.

“I said I don’t fucking care, Matty.”

His eyes go dark.

And then, he slams into you.

He slams into you like he’s trying to split you in half.

No warning. No slow thrusts to get you used to the stretch. Just one brutal drive of his cock, filling you to the hilt in one move that knocks the fucking air out of your lungs.

You cry out—loud, raw, ugly—and he groans right behind your ear.

“Fuck,” Matty grits. “You’re still so fucking tight. Like your cunt knows who owns it.”

You reach forward, gripping the table, nails scratching down the worn wood as he starts to move.

Not slow. Not smooth.

Rough. Brutal. Mean.

His hips slap against your ass with every thrust, your body jerking forward each time he slams into you. He grabs your hips, hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into your skin like he’s holding on out of spite.

“You left me,” he hisses, teeth at your ear. “You fucking walked out and thought you’d be fine without this?”

You try to speak, but the words die in your throat—he’s hitting so deep, so hard, you can barely breathe.

“Answer me,” he snaps, yanking your hair back so your neck arches.

“I—I didn’t want—” you gasp.

“You didn’t want what?” He fucks you harder. “Didn’t want to crawl back just to get ruined again? Too late.”

You moan—loud—when he slaps your ass again, the sting shooting through you like fire.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he snarls, watching his cock disappear into you over and over. “You hate me, and your body’s begging.”

“I do hate you,” you spit.

He laughs, breathless. “Good. Hate me while I’m buried in your fucking guts.”

He pulls out suddenly—your body trembling from the loss—and flips you over onto your back in one savage movement, lifting you up onto the table like you weigh nothing.

Your legs spread for him without thinking.

He growls.

“Look at that,” he says. “Still open. Still dripping. You want me to fuck you like this.”

You glare up at him. “Shut the fuck up and do it, then.”

He smirks.

Then grabs your throat, hard, and shoves himself back inside.

You scream.

The sound bounces off the walls.

He fucks you with one hand around your neck, the other gripping your thigh, driving into you like he’s possessed. Sweat drips from his chest, his curls sticking to his forehead, his teeth gritted as he watches your tits bounce with every brutal thrust.

“You look ruined,” he growls. “Just like I fucking like it.”

You whimper, lips parted, eyes glassy.

And then he slows.

Stops.

Your brows knit in confusion as he reaches behind him—for the jeans he tossed to the floor. He digs through the pocket.

Pulls out a cigarette.

And a lighter.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you rasp.

He lights it. Inhales slow. Exhales through his nose.

“Dead fucking serious,” he says, voice low, deadly. “You want me to stop?”

You stare at him. Chest heaving. Cunt throbbing.

You don’t answer.

He takes another drag. Steps closer between your legs again. Brings the cigarette down.

And presses it to your hip.

You scream.

The burn is white-hot—sharp, real—but brief. Controlled. A second, maybe two.

He pulls it away.

Blows smoke in your face.

“Now you’ll remember,” he mutters. “Now no one else can fuck you without seeing what I did.”

You’re shaking. Trembling. Tears sting your eyes.

But you’re soaked.

He kisses the spot. A soft, filthy contrast.

And then he fucks you again.

Harder than before.

You’re crying out—half pain, half pleasure—gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping you from flying apart.

He’s relentless.

“You feel that?” he pants, fucking you with abandon. “Feel how deep I am?”

“Yes—yes, Matty—”

“You’re gonna fucking come on this cock,” he growls. “And you’re gonna say thank you.”

You’re close. So close your whole body is shaking.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say thank you.”

You choke out a sob. “T-Thank you—fuck, thank you—”

“That’s right, baby,” he pants. “Cry for me. Show me how much you fucking need it.”

Your orgasm hits like a fucking explosion.

Your vision goes white. Your back arches. Your cunt clenches around him like a vice and you scream so loud it hurts.

Matty grunts, buries himself deep—and comes with a broken, guttural noise that sounds like pain and heaven all at once.

His head drops to your chest.

You’re both shaking. Dripping. Fucking wrecked.

And that burn on your skin?

Still hot. Still stinging.

Still his.

The room is silent now.

Except for your breathing. His. The drip of sweat down your temple. The throb between your legs. The sting on your skin where he marked you.

Matty pulls out slowly. You flinch.

He doesn’t notice. Or maybe he pretends not to.

You sit up, legs trembling, still bent back against the table, your dress bunched around your waist, your panties torn and useless on the floor. You’re not sure how long you sit there like that—wrecked, still wet, still open—but eventually, you reach for your bag.

When you glance at him, he’s staring at the wall. Not at you. Nowhere near you.

His chest is rising hard. His fists clenched at his sides.

You open your mouth.

“Don’t,” he says.

You pause. “Matty—”

“I said don’t fucking talk to me.”

The slap of his voice hits harder than anything else he did to you tonight.

You blink, stunned. “Are you—what the fuck is wrong with you?”

He turns on you, suddenly wild-eyed, suddenly full of fire again—but it’s not the fire that fucked you. It’s the one that burns down houses.

“You need to get your shit and go,” he snaps, voice raised now. Shaky. Unhinged. “I’m not doing this. I can’t—fuck, I can’t look at you right now.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Your heart’s beating too fast now, but not from sex. From something else. Something worse.

“You were the one who started—”

“And now I’m ending it,” he cuts you off, stepping back, dragging a hand through his hair. “Take your fucking bag and go. You said you came for your things? Great. Now fucking leave.”

His voice cracks on the last word. He looks away.

You don’t move.

His hand slams against the table. “NOW, goddamn it.”

You flinch like he hit you.

But he didn’t. He didn’t touch you at all.

And somehow that makes it worse.

You pull your dress down, scoop up your scarf and coat. You don’t look at him again.

You walk out, one foot in front of the other like you’re in a dream.

When the door shuts behind you, it feels like the end of something important. Something holy and ugly and unforgettable.

You make it halfway down the stairs before it hits you.

Not the sex. Not the burn on your hip.

But the sound of his voice, telling you to go like it meant nothing.

Your legs give out. You sit down on the steps, hand gripping the railing so hard your knuckles go white.

And then you cry.

Not pretty. Not poetic.

It’s ugly, broken, gasping sobs. Shoulders shaking. Eyes stinging. Your whole chest aching like your heart is too big for your fucking body.

Inside, Matty hasn’t moved.

He’s staring at the door, jaw clenched, knuckles white.

He can still smell you in the room. Still feel your body on his skin. Still taste you in the back of his throat.

He can hear your footsteps on the stairs. Then he hears them stop.

He steps forward.

Slow.

Reaches for the doorknob.

He wants to follow. Wants to run down those stairs, wrap you up, say fuck, I’m sorry, stay, please, I didn’t mean it, I never meant it, I love you—

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

His fingers rest on the door, trembling. His forehead presses against it, eyes squeezed shut.

And then he sinks.

Drops to the floor like someone cut his strings, back against the door, legs sprawled, hands gripping his hair.

And finally—finally— he cries.

Not the kind of cry you hide.

The kind that wrecks you. That hollows you.

He shakes with it. Silent at first. Then ragged. Then broken.

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he lost you…

Or because he let himself.

[angelwowings]

Hi so uhm I don’t usually post this type of stuff but about this and this.

This is a serious post of how this fandom has dehumanized me and mistreated me for my symptoms I cannot control

Tw: misogyny , ableism , mistreatment, bullying

A lot of people know that I was called out for bull shit friend group drama like a year ago. Adults are still shit talking me and my friends. Something I’ve noticed is that the appear to especially dehumanize me for “not caring about the damage I did” which is not Tue in this context. I do not feel remorse for a lot of stuff I do or shame or empathy and I am “recognized” with conduct disorder and extreme behavior issues + npd. So yeah I do not care about the harm I’ve caused I’m not able to because my brain won’t let me it’s totally understandable if people hate me for that but guess what?

They praised the other person for the exact same thing and said it’s okay to not feel empathy and remorse since they can’t. I do not have aspd but I do have issues with empathy and npd I don’t Talk about it a lot since it’s personal. But I’ve recognized the pattern in this I’m a teen “girl” (I’m not a girl I’m trans) and the other person is amab adult. I have a word that describes this perfectly misogyny! This fandom especially the adults (not any of my friends or mutuale You’re all very nice 🙁🙁) has absolutely dehumanized me for my symptoms the exact same symptoms they praised other people for. Mind you alot of the stuff I said was during a psychotic episode where I couldn’t think logically and insulted people because I thought they were going to hurt me since they triggered something in me. That does not make it right! And i know that but why does everyone accept for me get the pass? Why does everyone get accepted for their symptoms expect for me? Talking about not the perfect victim I am a very ugly result of what happens to a person when it went to extreme trauma I’m not a fawn I get aggressive and defensive and rude because I’m scared but no one seems to get that and just call me fucking evil.

I mean it has come to the point where I was dehumanized so bad some people were too scared to interact with me or be publicly associated with me because I was seen as a monster by half of the fandom. I was only fucking 15 and I’m still only 16. There’s still the same adults that refer to me and my friends as “angelwowings Group” as if I control people like hello what? My friends are their own people are you insane? Oh and let’s not forget the time people full grown adults btw blocked people who interacted with me! No they did not do anything besides interact with me and get blocked. People were scared to interact with my publicly but even then my friends still supported me.

And guess what? A lot of people I’ve met who saw the whole thing go down said you guys were sick for making a whole blog about me hating me and making posts AS ADULTS while I was 15! And I couldn’t agree more! Every adult who has interacted with that account in the way of boosting it is sick because everyone knew my vents were in there and did not care about leaking a 15 year old vent.I could go on and on about how much I got mistreated for my symptoms by this fandom

You can call me ableist all you want but In the end a lot of you were fucking ableist towards me! Oh no how dare I be a mentally ill teen online that is perfectly capable of being calm and civil unless I’m triggered into something caused by my symptoms! Oh no how dare I?! How dare I have a flight or fight mode! How dare I get aggressive when threatened! Oh how dare I not be the perfect victim! Sorry for not being your perfect victim? But guess what!

I can recognize on that I was hurting people from the doc and it was stressing them. I didn’t mean to hurt any of them that was never my intention I never wanted to hurt people so I thought I never did in the first place but I did. So I apologized to them I talked it out and realized that no matter if I was in the right or wrong I still hurt people and I need to make up for that wether or not it was intentional or not. People were hurt through me and I don’t want to hurt people especially not kids. Although I cannot feel shame or remorse for the stuff I said I can recognize that they’re wrong and take accountability for it. No I do not feel sorry for all of the stuff I said to that one adult because guess what? I’m not able to neither is he! So why did everyone get mad at me for having the same reaction? Would they not understand why I acted this way? They understood so well with the adult man so why not turn everything around when I “female” kid does it? Odd isn’t it?

I’m tired of not speaking up about this I’m not evil or ableist or whatever else you people I don’t know have called me. I was 15 going through a psychotic episode where I got triggered and did awful shit. Not an excuse at all but I was not evil none of the stuff I did was because I thought it was fun or because I was bored I’m 16. Get that through your big skull thanks.

[venusbyline]

about Aegon being a pathetic whimpering mess, i cannot stop thinking of him tied to the headrest, whilst been teased over and over again, constantly edged until he begs for release...

⚠️: Targcest (older brother/younger sister), dubcon, orgasm denial, orgasm edging, cowgirl position, vaginal sex, dacryphilia, overstimulation, squirting, referenced infidelity.

Aegon messed everything up, he knew that. He should not have cheated on his little sister with some cheap whore in a filthy brothel, but he was so needy. The Maester had been very specific about the young girl needing to rest and have no sexual activity for a few moons, due to the childbirth that had almost killed her. As much as Aegon's sex drive was too high, he managed to control it for a while, until he finally exploded. Her blowjobs and handjobs were no longer enough and he needed to stick his cock inside some cunt, sneaking out to the Street of Silk on a night when his sister-wife was too tired from taking care of their baby and their older twins to even wake up in the middle of the night after his absence.

Obviously, Aegon felt guilty after that and tried his best to hide what his unfair infidelity. He did not know whether to tell her or not, afraid that she would become melancholic and hate him forever. As the moons passed, Aegon finally had the opportunity to fuck her again, and he did it every night. However, during a silly argument between the couple, he degraded her, telling that he cheated on her with a random whore. At first, he thought it would make her cry or fight back even more. Actually, after a few minutes of silence, he feared that she would never want to have sex with him again.

Aegon thought about many hypothesis, except being tied up while his sister-wife — who had always been a sweet and innocent little thing — bounced on top of him nonstop for hours, not letting him cum. She rode him hard, so angry, so hurt... Her nails dug into her older brother's pale skin, denying him any orgasm.

She had already cum several times, her cunt already red and sore from squirting so much on top of the boy's thighs. She always enjoyed the overstimulation. But for the first time, she felt a mean pleasure watching Aegon moaning and crying like a pathetic whore, being pushed so close to the edge over and over again, only to deny it when he rolled eyes in lust and whimpered, his body showing the first signs of high.

"Fuck, no... no, no, no... I was so fucking close." Aegon sobbed, trying in vain to arch his hips upward as the girl got off him, his sensitive cock all wet with her juices and slapping against his own stomach. "Please, my love. Please, little sister... I am so sorry, I am so sorry... Let me cum. Let me cum, please... I beg you." He whined, his pretty face streaming with tears, soft lips and thick thighs trembling. The unfaithful brother-husband turning into a complete whiny mess.

[so-writing]

don't forget to water the plants (3) - Quinn Hughes

‘It’s lovely. Don’t forget to water it.’

It feels similar to a kick to the fucking gut but Quinn expects it. He knows you aren’t going to cave easily, maybe even not at all, but he has to try. You’re too important to him. He knows he’s done a shit job of making it known, but he’s got to start somewhere, right?

‘I won’t forget. Do you have any tips? Never really paid attention to plants before, what a fuck up that was.’

It’s a pathetic excuse, as flimsy as cardboard, but if it buys him a tiny bit of your attention, he’ll take it. Quinn lets out a sigh of relief because you’ve taken the time to respond to him, but on the other side of the city, you roll your eyes and scoff at his message. 

Vancouver feels like the biggest city in the world, until it doesn’t anymore. 

This isn’t what you want, and it’s the opposite of what you expected. You figured Quinn would leave easily and without commotion, hopefully moving on to the next one eager to jump into his bed.

He’s never really had any issue removing himself from anything he doesn’t want to be a part of but this isn’t that. Quinn is reaching out because he wants to. After dropping the ball for as long as he did, he’s now trying to pick it up and continue with business as usual. 

It’s fucking infuriating. 

Just when you feel like you’re ready to release Quinn and all his bullshit into the wild, here he fucking is, coming back begging to be leashed again. 

‘I have a few tips, but you’re absolutely not getting them. Are you kidding me with this shit?’

He isn’t ‘kidding you with this shit’ but he can’t help the chuckle that passes his lips. You’ve caught him, just like you always do. Quinn has always thought himself to be pretty intelligent, but he’s never been as sharp as you. It’s one of the things about you that he misses most. 

‘I’m trying here. Please talk to me.’

He regrets it as soon as he hits send because he knows, he knows, it’s going to make you go fucking nuclear. He should probably try to respond with something to fix what he’s just said but he’s scared, because he knows that will only make it worse.

What he doesn’t expect is a phone call. He answers and fully expects to be ripped apart. 

Quinn gets exactly what he expects.

Nearly twenty minutes of you yelling at him about how bad he fucked up and how entirely too late it was to change anything, and he just took it. You shouted into your phone until your voice went a little hoarse and he didn’t try to refute any of it. 

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!”

He wants to, he wants to say a lot of things but after all the yelling you’ve done, and to be fair, points you’ve made, Quinn isn’t really sure there’s anything left he can do. 

“You done yet?”

Quinn smiles a little because he knows that he’s going to set you off again. He struggles with that because he loves to fire you up and see the light in your eyes when you’re passionate about something. In the past, you’ve always been his girlfriend and (mostly) on his side, so this disdain you’re spitting at him is both brand new and entirely too familiar at the same time.

“Yes, yeah, Quinn, I’m fucking done.”

The call ends and Quinn hopes, though he knows it’s probably in vain, that you’ll send a follow up text. 

You don’t. He sleeps like shit that night, and a decent amount of nights after.

--

final part coming next week <33

part one || part two