#I just love how shiny his armor looks

[cheekylittlepupp]

[hwan-g]

( 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯 ) ୧ ⠁

ೀㅤ۪ pairing. biker/drug dealer! chris x fem! reader : genre. age gap, dark romance, angst, smut : warnings. read at your own risk — mdni ! use of pet names, smoking, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, obsession, severe anger issues, violence, flawed characters that make mistakes : word count. 10.1k

ೀㅤ۪ synopsis. he was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. it’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. no. peace is a foreign word. reserved only for you.

PROLOGUE.

You cannot begin telling this story if you don’t first punch your own mouth. His gun, safety off, shiny and awful in the dead of night, the barrel of it pointing at your temple, a patient irony. It’s three in the morning and the red bleeding is sweet, oh so sweet.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know? He loves you so much, he’ll kill you. He loves you so much, you’re calling for help. Of course, it cannot be your voice, and if he gives you another chance, you’ll say everything differently this time around like—this bed is where he fucked me slow and rough, I think he was trying to bury some part of himself in me, and here, you see, the sheets smell just like his cigarettes, and this, here, is where he brushed my hair, just like this, so careful, but never mind the cracks in the mirror, the shattering is always the same, it has nothing to do with me, everything to do with him.

You hear his voice in your head all the time, haunting, your dutiful ghost; he’s there when you sleep, he’s there when you wake up, a nightmare concealed as a daydream, and you want him to do his worst, you want it to hurt, to scar, to be a permanent mark, because it’d mean you’d loved him; that love has been here and it was ugly and terrifying, and you survived it, even if you could never survive him.

Upstairs, the bed is unmade, stained with wine and your climax. Chris is gentle in all the ways he is not, which is to say he kisses you with teeth, he holds you with fists. You saw him on a black motorcycle once, an impressionable girl in a dark place, lost, searching for purpose, and he looked like a knight in shining armor, he looked like hell and heaven combined, a savior and captor, and you’d wished to crawl inside, to make a home out of him. You’d smiled and waited, you've always waited, you always will.

When he came, he was so cruel, he burned brighter than fire—you believed in him; after all, how can a man be so consumed by flame and not put his own hands around his neck, not succumb to his charcoal painted flesh? You were a fool, and he saw it, and you paid the price for it. He wants to keep you forever now, he’s never going to let you go, do you understand that? Why, why, why did you go ahead and do that?

For what? A scrap of metal heart and a ribcage, bone and muscle?

What about your own heart?

What about the eternal winter residing when he's not there?

ACT ONE: before.

He smiles and the world expands. His face blooms into a thousand different shades; the pink of his mouth curving, the red of his cheeks rounding, the dark of his brow straightening. A stop motion picture, the beginning of autumn, the turn of the leaves, the crisp air replacing warm winds.

His fingers weave through yours, interlocking, thumb running down index, mouth a breath over yours, so close he could graze your lips if he wanted to. You look between you, noses touching, then back to brown so deep you imagine raw honey gliding, real amber in the face of the sun.

Chris. You whisper his name in your head. It sounds like a secret. Your best kept one. Chris, Chris, Chris . . .

There’s blood on his shirt underneath the leather jacket. There’s a loaded gun on his belt strap, a knife tucked in his boot, a razor engraved on the ring he wears, and he’s not so careful with it, and you don’t think you want him to be. You assume it’s normal to want this—if his blood mixes with yours, well, isn’t that enough to take you with him? Isn’t that almost a wedding ceremony, isn’t that almost a declaration of war?

Do you think I’m crazy, you think to yourself. Do you think I’m crazy, would you want me if I am, would you want me, do you want me? You don’t dare say it out loud, but he’s staring at you as if he could eat your face raw—a demon, a demon—and shove the rest of you in the deep freezer, so you decide to bite him instead. You get on your tippy toes and nuzzle into his neck, biting the soft flesh underneath his earlobe.

He doesn’t exclaim, not a hiss, not a gasp, not even the slightest of inhales. He withstands the pain you inflict him, and you feel his desire digging into the inside of your thigh. His arms reach out around you, pulling you to him in that all-encompassing way, and you’re left to witness what can only be the slow consumption of your beating heart. His bike groans under the sudden weight, but he’s got you. You don’t think, then, of what that entails.

“(Y/N).”

The night sky comes into focus, all dark indigo, starless, and the streetlights flicker bright, sounding the late hour. The light never seems to go anywhere near you two, it refuses, it hesitates, and back then you found it all so mysterious and exciting, ignoring the warning bells, swallowing down the instinct of danger, danger, danger.

“Yes?”

Your eyes fall shut at having his rough palm grabbing hold of your face, thumb tilting your head upwards to meet his sizzling gaze. You hold onto his wrist for support, your body floating, mourning the loss of his body heat against the biting cold. He notices this, and moves to shrug off his huge jacket, wearing it over your shoulders in one swift move.

“What will I do with you?” It’s a plea. A threat. Both.

Chris looks down at you, and the earth shakes to its core. He looks down at you, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. You want this, this, this, every day, all the time, forever. You wish to wake up in bed next to him and know he’s yours, wake up and not wish for some other dream so you can find him again. To be awake and want to be awake.

His big hands caress your face, sink into your hair. He stares at you intently, as if he’s holding back from saying whatever’s turning over and over in his head. It can switch so fast, that look, faster than you can blink, a clipped temper, a quick anger. 

You’ve only seen it once, and you’d been quickly turned away. He’s got people watching everywhere, he’s been haunted by darkness and shadows long before you served him that drink in The Bloody Muse. You almost forget about returning to your shift, time slipping away, responsibilities fading whenever you’re near him.

Seungmin will be missing you, Felix will be looking for his good luck charm before he goes on stage. Midnight means you return from dreamland. Still, you have a couple of minutes left. Enough to hear the gunshot, enough to panic and let out a scream and have Chris slap a hand over your mouth, willing you with his gaze to calm the fuck down.

You breathe hard, stiff with fear. He appears perfectly composed, relaxed even. It’s then you realize who he is and what he does, and how this is probably his or his club’s doing. There’s misdirected anger in you ricocheting on all corners. You want to bite his fingers, you want to demand an explanation. You work here, dammit, and he’s kept his bullets away from this place so far, for what you thought was your sake.

Chris was a handsome hypocrite, a skilled liar.

“It’s not what you think,” he says simply, removing his palm from your mouth, shaking his wrist off. “Don’t overreact.”

All of his previous warmth disappeared, instead, the cold, menacing man you know very little of and have never dealt with taking its place. You understand he has to be this way, but you hate that he has to act like this with you too. Because of your reaction. Because you couldn’t keep your cool.

Silly girl.

“What is it, then?” A naive question, so many untrue answers he could give you.

He passes a finger over the cut on your cheek. The cut he gave you. You lean into his touch, desperate for anything, hungry, starving, even. You don’t want him to leave, but he won’t stay. You hate, hate, fucking hate this part.

“Something that needed to be taken care of,” he chooses the words carefully, you can tell, and you decide that, if he wants you to stay in the dark, you will. You have to.

You love him.

“Someone,” you correct, quietly.

Chris smiles, mouth curving, and his hand moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is tender, affectionate. Something inside you cracks and caves, it melts. You would withstand too, you think then. You would deal with anything, put up with everything, for that single touch. For that one single look.

“Someone,” he echoes, his own voice smooth blue velvet, an overture. “You should get inside.”

A sharp pang of bitterness in your chest. “I should?” Because I questioned you?

He drops his hand, and brings his arms over his broad chest, crossing them there. Closed off and done for the night. You unconsciously take a step back, hurt from the sudden change, whiplashed and upset.

“If you don’t want to be late,” he states matter-of-factly, but he says it in this kind of open tone, a mere suggestion rather than a complete dismissal. Yes. “Don’t look at me with those damned eyes, sweetheart, what can I do against them?”

You wipe at your cheeks, and try to fix the mess, try to smooth over, to make right again. “I’m not, I’m sorry.”

“Come here.” A command. 

You go like a kicked puppy, your leash short, your loyalty unshaken, despite the scolding. He reaches out and slams you to his chest, a hand pressing the back of your head there, and you inhale him, all of him, memorizing his scent, trying to hold on to whatever parts of him you can in case he decides to never come back for you again. It’s pathetic and it’s pitiful, but this is what you know. This is all you know.

“You’re my girl, you know that?” He mumbles in your hair, his breath hot on your scalp. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around him, and almost cry yourself dry from the prospect of ever losing him. 

You’d die. You’d die, it’s entirely unthinkable. It’s the worst pain imaginable. 

“You’re my girl, baby. I’d never let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?”

You nod your head yes. He squeezes you against him tighter. You feel so safe, then, the safest you ever have. Of course you believe him. You’d believe his every word, you’d follow him into anything, blindly, willingly. You want to please him. To make him happy.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, suddenly and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are manic, black. “I need your words, (Y/N). Do you believe me?”

“Yes. Yes,” you yelp, your mouth falling open from the sting.

In your stomach, something lights on fire. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve it. He glances down between you, curses. 

You started it. 

The descend. 

It was your fault. 

He’d never touched you so savagely before that night, he’d never shown the same need you had. That he could want you the same way you do. . .You felt so giddy you could squeal, so happy you would gladly reduce yourself to schoolgirl-and-her-stupid-little-fantasies.

“Is this fucking getting you wet?” And he pulls harder, tilting your head all the way. His tongue comes out to lick from the base of your neck all the way up to your lips. You’re on fire, you’re on fire! You moan hoarsely and try to keep your footing. “You like me being rough with you, sweetheart?”

You’re too embarrassed to respond. So, you guide his hand under your skirt. Chris curses again, more lewdly this time, nasty things, words you’ve never heard him say before. Oh, this fucking cunt, fuck me . . . So goddamn wet, baby girl, I bet it tastes so sweet. Will you let me? Will you let me have a taste right here?

“I— I have to go back, I’m—” but his fingers are already dipping into your underwear, his palm cupping your burning sex.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls into your ear. “You hear me?”

You jump, and look around, paranoid. He grabs your face and forces your eyes back on him. He’s got that crazed look again, the one that lets you know he’ll stop at nothing to have this. Out here, in the open. And he’ll fucking make it worth it. You succumb, too flushed, too bothered, unbecoming in his arms, as he backtracks you into the wall next to the exit door, and gets on his knees, tugging your undergarments down with both hands, hooking your leg over his shoulder.

Your fingers dig into his hair, dark eyes staring up at you. In your mercy, kneeling in front of you. Do you love me? Is this you, saying it? Is this your way of showing it? You caress the soft strands, staring back, overwhelmed. The beginning of the end for you. You’ll never escape him after this. He’d never accept it. You’d never survive it.

When his face gets lost in between your legs, you almost collapse, your entire body shaking with the forceful need to come. He licks and laps and sucks your clit into his mouth, and it’s too much, it’s fucking unbearable, it’s incredible, it’s so much, it’s everything, you want more, you want him to stop, more more more, oh my God, please, please—you’re being so loud there’s no way they haven’t heard that, that Seungmin hasn’t, he’s really only around the corner, and what about everyone else, oh God, oh God, you’re close, you’re so fucking close, if he could just—oh, fuck yes, fuck yes . . .

Chris pulls away, his lower face glistening with your juices. You whine at the loss of contact, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching. 

“Don’t fucking come,” and he’s getting up, he’s unzipping his pants, and you’re eager to help, you’re eager to reach inside and grab him, free him. “I have to get inside you, baby.” 

His cock is standing rock hard, angry. He wraps one hand around your neck, and the other slides over his length once, twice, you’re so entranced you can’t look away; he’s so big, he’s so erect, and you want him so fucking much, you’d do anything right then, you’d be anything.

He turns you around, and you barely have time to get a good grip on the wall, before he’s entering you with one long, violent thrust. You scream out, pressing your temple on the cool brick, allowing him to take whatever he needs. His fingers squeeze around your neck, tighter and tighter still, until all you see is stars, until all you feel is him slamming into you, his hot body over yours, your mixed moans of pleasure.

I could come to this image forever . . . Look at this fucking ass, you beautiful fucking girl, I never want to stop . . . fucking tear you apart, lay inside you . . . Taking cock so well, made for me, made for me, made for this . . .

His movements turned sloppy and primal, reaching the end, and you, forever following him, forever after him. He was no more than beast, pistoling into you with vigor, all animal, your sides bruised from the way he was holding onto you, but you loved it, you wished he’d never stop, exploding into a million pieces, coming apart under him in vibrant streaks of color and tears. His head dropped on your lower back, whispering there she is, there you go, sweetheart, there you are, my baby, as he gave one, two, three final thrusts, before reaching down and removing himself from your soaking cunt, flipping you around, and forcing you on your knees, his cock in his hand, on the verge of climax.

You open your mouth wide, and he shoves in, fucking into it no more than three seconds before you feel his cum hit the back of your throat, warm and salty. 

“You fucking vex me, woman. Look at the sight of you.”

You breathe through your nose slowly, as he grabs your face and makes sure you swallow, fingers rough, before pulling out at once, tucking his softening length back in his jeans, and lifting you up by the waist.

He fixes your skirt over your ass, and smoothes over the edges, making sure no indecent part of you shows. When you catch his eye, he winks at you. You bubble over like a soda can, spilling everywhere, and he chuckles low and raspy, before reaching for your hand and pulling you flush against him, trailing kisses on your shoulder, your knuckles, your cheeks, your brow.

This is the Chris that looks at you and sees you. The one you love, the one you miss the most when he’s gone. This Chris comes out only when you’re alone, when he’s forgotten what else there is, what he has to do after you go back to the club. For now, he loves you, no violence, no hunger.

You almost weep at the sight of him.

“I’ll talk to your boss,” he murmurs, pecking your lips over and over.

You giggle, and he twirls you once, your arms extending as you try to go towards the door. He pulls you back in at the last minute, handsome, glowing, smiling.

“I haven’t lied to you,” he says, and half of you doesn’t miss the solemn way in which he says it. “I won’t let anyone touch you. Ever.”

You pause for a split second, still remaining in the post bliss of your orgasm, but then you’re moving again, slipping from his grasp, heading back to your drinks and suggestive conversations.

“I wouldn’t want to be touched by anyone else, Chris,” you retort, blowing him a kiss, and disappearing through the big black door, letting it close behind you.

You don’t see the way you leave him standing there, how he closes his eyes and has to breathe through the loss of you; how he drags his feet to go pick up his jacket from the floor. How he inhales your sweet smell, and instantly wants you back, a corpse in his arms that can’t go nowhere.

The corruption began when you told him your name. It invaded his bloodstream and blackened his mind.

He’d rather kill you than have you walk away from him like that.

ACT TWO: in the midst.

Chris fucks you with the purpose of possessing you.

There’s not a minute of peace when you are with him, he envelops all senses, he erases all other thoughts, until all you know is him, his touch, his cock. Months into sharing a bedroom, and coming apart underneath him every night, he’s never once mentioned that incident, the first one.

He’s never apologized for how he treated you, never brought it up. But he’s never once treated you the same since. Now that you live together, he gets to call all the shots, know your exact whereabouts, control what you wear, what you eat, how you come, how many times—he’s fucked you in places you never thought possible. He’s fucked you in front of people, shamelessly; on the banister, in the pool, on the kitchen counter and the office. Against walls and on the hood of his car, parked in the garage, Changbin, the road captain, working on his bike not a few steps away.

No one ever said anything to you, tried anything. They didn’t have a death wish, or they respected Chris too much. His influence was a testimony to his abilities. No one questioned him, but everyone obeyed him. They treated you like one of their own, they protected you when their sergeant would leave the house.

Other things—the shitload of drugs hidden in every trinket, every crevice, places you’d never think to check, and the meticulous way they deliver said product, how the trucks come in the middle of night, motorcycles deconstructed, filled to the brim with cocaine and sent to wherever, distributed to whatever unfortunate person. Chris never touched the trucks, you never saw him near them.

That was Minho’s job.

You spent entire days in bed after the deliveries, fucking, improvising stories of hunters and angels falling in love, how the hunter is always attracted to the angel’s light, how the angel forgives the hunter for his nature, and willingly dies by his axe. Chris bathes you and washes your hair with lavender, then carries you over to the vanity and brushes the strands with such care, you think he’s always loved you, in every life. That, perhaps, he was born loving you, and that this was predetermined; inescapable, inevitable.

He doesn’t sleep. He spends hours making love to you, feeding you; he works for even longer, meetings with the president, meetings with the suppliers, mountains of paperwork that you see him burn afterwards in the fireplace downstairs. If he does close his eyes, it’s flitting, twenty minutes here, an hour there; after he comes down from the high of being buried inside you, after a shower, at night as he watches you sleep, you pretend to close your eyes and feel him get comfortable on your stomach, his lips kissing any spot of naked skin he can find. When he does drift off, you lift your head and observe a man such as Chris Bahng sleep, how he does it, so unaware and off guard, so unlike his usual self.

It’s endearing. You love him the most when you find him in those positions, so peaceful, and a part of you thinks, ashamed—at least no one is dying by his hand tonight. His soul is something you think about a lot, the wretched, poisoned thing, paying for his actions. You asked him once; what keeps him up, why is he so unable to fall asleep?

“Nightmares,” he mumbled against your neck, teasing the sensitive flesh there. “Every time I close my eyes . . . someone is waiting for me. It’s always different, but they always end up dead. Everyone I care about— you. When you’re in my dreams, I can’t stand it. I’m always the one holding the gun. You’re always falling, or— fucking . . . walking away from me. When I wake up, I always check if you’re next to me,” his hand travels to yours, interlocking your fingers. He avoids your gaze. “If you’re not, it’s . . . it gets hard to breathe. I think I’ve killed you, that I’ve finally fucking lost it and, and done it, and the walls close in around me . . . Christ, I sound fucking insane.”

It’s difficult for you to say anything after that, so you slowly make your descend at the foot of the bed, making sure to kiss every inch of him, to let him know you’re right there, that he’ll never lose you, that the day it’ll come to that you’d rather he does kill you, that he does make that decision for you, because you’d have clearly gone mad; you cannot see yourself beyond him, cannot see a future where he’s not there, even as a fixture, even as someone who’s loved you once, a very long time ago. A friend, a lover, it’s all the same, and it’s all him, and you’ll always get whatever version of him you can.

You know you sound crazy, and maybe you are, maybe you deserve each other in that way, but it’s irrelevant to this story. This is not for the faint of heart—loving someone like him does not come easy, it’s not one of those ridiculous words—fate or destiny—or anything simple like that; loving him is hard fucking work, it’s torment and agony, it’s excruciating, and it’s a choice you make every single day, because you need it to live. An addiction, perhaps, though you’ve never been an addict.

You know this is how it feels. The needle in the vein. The snow on your nose. The smoke in your lungs. The burning, the boiling. This is it. When you take his cock in your mouth, when you hear that broken gasp fall from his lips, the familiar groan, the guttural sounds from the back of his throat, and how he grabs the back of your head, forcing you down to the hilt of him; when you’re so full you might as well inhale him entirely, become part of his crotch, his most private part, the one he keeps to himself—you think this is what it’s like to wait on someone’s steps, a beggar, a desperate girl giving her heart on a silver platter for the one in the house, the one holding the reins.

Chris is kind and generous. He opens the door, he allows you to come inside. There’s light and warmth here, but there’s also shadows in the corners, there’s locked doors and no one else around. It’s a lonely house, but he’s right there, all you need, all you’ll ever need. He welcomes you with open arms.

You get lost in the labyrinth of him.

“What the fuck was I doing before you, sweetheart? Who was I, who was I without this fucking mouth, fucking hell, baby . . .”

It’s a savage act, some would call it cannibalism, but it’s only been known as love to you. Your insides are aflame, roasting a pretty crackling orange, when he finally comes on your tongue, his hips lifting, eyes shut tight, your head in his big hands, keeping you there, making sure you’re swallowing every last drop. You do. You do. You‘re licking circles around the shiny, swollen tip one moment, and he’s got you bouncing on it the next, manhandling your ass, facing you away from him, wrapping muscular arms around your waist, ravaging your back with his teeth, biting and soothing, putting out the forest fires himself, braving the danger.

A devouring hunger. Stripped to its most primal state. Everything within you is jumping. No one talks about this—screwing for the sake of the flesh. You need to come, and keep coming, and he does too. There’s no other thought, no other reason. He’d mount you if he could, knot in you for hours, pump you full of his seed. If this is the way it’s meant to be, then let it be. Let him fuck you until he’s satiated. Let him fuck you into your last dying breath.

But his words. You want those for yourself. He whispers them in your ears, his mouth everywhere, the hotness of his breath, the raspiness of his voice—just as lost as you. This is how you need him.

“This cunt is mine, fucking mine, mine . . . Say it,” he drills into you, skin slapping on skin, sweat like water, and your tears, so uncontrollable, so many— “Say it, damn you.”

“Yours,” you comply, your arm reaching out to wrap around his neck. He kisses your shoulder, he bites, he marks. “All of me. Forever.”

“Swear it. Don’t ever leave me.”

“No . . . no . . .” You moan loudly as he reaches deep inside, to spots that make you see stars.

He shoves your face in the mattress, and gets on top of you, pistoling his length into you, hard and fast, chasing after the high he craves. You cry out and take it. The pain is so intense, bleeding into pleasure, overwhelming your body. You can’t feel your own heartbeat anymore, only Chris, only his pounding.

“Such a goddamn slut. Look at you,” he slaps your ass once, “fucking look at you,” twice, three times, four. You sob into the sheets, grab onto them. He’s relentless, he’s so close, you’re so close— “Why are you crying, huh?” He pulls you by the hair hard, lifting your head. You gulp down air, you’re glutinous, deprived. “Did you need my cock that bad? Have I not fucked your needy little hole enough?”

“You have, you have, please . . .”

Let go for me, sweetheart, fuck, you feel so fucking good . . . Never get tired of this pussy, taking me so well, baby, so fucking well, come on, one more, one more, that’s it . . .

Coming felt like the gates of heaven liquifying inside you. Your orgasm tore through you so savagely, you forgot how to breathe for several moments, your limbs unresponsive and extremely sore. Only thing you could do was convulse under Chris’ massive body, and let him ride his own, his nails digging into raw flesh, voice groggy and incredibly deep after three rounds of sex.

“Did I hurt you? Did I hurt you, baby?”

You hadn’t realized you were still crying ugly, terrible sobs. You immediately missed the weight of him as he got off you at once and flipped you on your back, panic-stricken honey eyes searching your face, your chest, any part of you he might’ve harmed.

“Where does it hurt? What have I done?” He kisses your temple, your eyes, he tastes your tears. He’s so worried you almost feel guilty for not responding. “(Y/N), I need you to tell me, sweetheart, I can’t see it, I can’t—is it your—”

“I’m fine,” you pacify him, placing your hands on either side of his face. You’re still breathing abnormally fast, but so is he. The room is spinning. “You didn’t hurt me anywhere, I’m fine, Chris.”

“But if you were, you’d tell me, yeah?”

He was so handsome, so handsome when he loved you.

“I would.”

His gaze was piercing, honeycomb giving way to molasses. His hands were trailing off again, doing their own thing, what they knew best; how to please you. His thumb on your clit, rubbing soft circles, your creamy entrance making lewd sounds that had the man over you growing impossibly hard again.

“And what about this?” A warm, tingly sensation grew low in your belly. “Does this hurt?”

You trap his hand with your thighs, and he smiles. You smile back.

“Maybe a little,” you lie, stretching.

He doesn’t let up. His fingers slip inside again, his other hand moving on himself, veiny and sure. Chris masturbating to the sight of getting you off is perhaps the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your body is a tool he’s acquainted well with, and has made his sole expertise. So many hours on this bed, learning each other naked.

“Your cunt says something else,” he smirks, pumping his fist over his girth slowly, deliberately, growling low in the process, making you wetter, making you want, want, want. A chain of chemical reactions, you’ve become. “I wanna eat you out, (Y/N), you think you’ll be able to handle that?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he mumbles on your stomach, placing a kiss there, and traveling down, nose dangerously close to where you want him most. “Your face when you come apart on my tongue—I wish I could die between your legs, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” you hide your face in embarrassment, as you feel him get in position, opening your legs wide, staring shamelessly at your swollen pussy.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want,” he licks it once, tongue pressing flat on your clit and flicking, and you’re fucking gone. You’re writhing, trying to get away, moaning so loudly the whole house must’ve heard you. “This is mine, you’re fucking mine, and you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

He doesn’t get to work much on you, you’re coming apart in minutes. You’re so overstimulated, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, the muscles twitching. He doesn’t seem to care though, because he’s fingering all of your cream on his cock and finishing himself off, an ungodly sight, something out of a renaissance painting, the most explicit one, all well defined abs and veins popping on his neck, mouth formed into a perfect silent scream, as he pumps, and pumps and shoots on your thighs, white thick streaks, hot and sticky.

There’s a knock on the door, a throat clearing.

“Bahng,” Changbin’s voice. “It’s important.”

The room drops in the negatives. You see the abrupt change on your boyfriend’s face, his expression freezing over, his jaw clenching, moving, as he stares at the door like he wants to break it, and then beat his friend’s face in. You get on your elbows and whisper softly, “It’s okay,” to which he ignores.

“What the fuck do you want?” He calls out, furious, getting off the bed and grabbing a pair of discarded jeans from the floor.

“Meeting in ten,” his captain replies, and then there’s footsteps shuffling away.

“I need to shower, anyway,” you try to lighten the mood, reaching over the bed for your shirt. “We’ve been holed up here for hours. I don’t even know what time it is.”

“Why do you need to know?”

You don’t let his tone ruin what you’ve been building for the entire day. He was perfectly fine up until two seconds ago, it has nothing to do with you. You repeat this to yourself as you move around the room, clipping the hair away from your face, wiping the makeup from your cheeks.

“It’s really alright, Chris, you’ll only be gone for a bit.”

He ignores this as well. What he does—he takes two big strides towards you and grabs your face roughly. You meet his eyes, dark and menacing, and keep your cool. You don’t let his anger scare you, you’ve seen it all before. It has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with you.

“All you need to know, is I’m still in this fucking room and you smell like my cum, and there’s a lot of fucking things I can do in ten minutes,” he snarls, patting your hair down, bringing your hips together. “All you need to know is you have no use for clocks, because you’re not going anywhere. Am I fucking clear?”

You try not to let your body take over your mind, as it’s happened many times before. He knows your weak spot, he knows how good he can make it feel, and he uses it to his advantage any chance he gets. 

You will not be manipulated. You will stop falling for his words.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” you retorted, suddenly sad. “You’re only being like this because you want to stay.”

To that, he visibly calms, he mellows. “Of course I do. I never wanna be anywhere else. I wanna fuck you until you’re on the verge of passing out, and then I want to take you in the water and make it all better,” he tries to kiss you but you turn your head. There are no words to describe the hurt etched on his face, then. “You’re the only thing that matters, (Y/N). The only true thing.”

“Why do you treat me like this, Chris? Hot, then cold, again and again.”

You might’ve as well slapped him. He untangles himself from you at once, and walks over to the closet for a shirt. Your stomach drops. You definitely said something you shouldn’t have. Who knows how he’ll be now, what he might do. You might not see him for days. He knows how to hurt you and keep hurting you. One coin, two sides.

Nevertheless, you have to know. He never gives you any answers. You’ve given away so much to be here, to be with him. He walks the thin line of having something like that, a line between holding you—broken glass on his shaking palm, recklessly picking up the pieces when they fall, unafraid of the blood, of the cutting and maiming, and the repercussions afterwards.

His self destructiveness has never been more prominent before. Now it’s all you see.

“One true thing, Chris. Please.”

He looked so severe, the set of his jaw, the glint in his eye. When he punches the closet door closed and smashes the mirror with his fist, you don’t think he’s quite there in the room with you anymore. He’s in that faraway place again, in that hole, so hard to find.

Of course, the blood. The blood is always there. It’s been there from the start.

He motions for you not to move, his hair a mess sticking in all directions. Such violence and it’s all within him, there’s nothing you can do to pull it out of him. Only when it lashes out, only when he becomes the weapon.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” he barks, and you stop, you remain perfectly still, your gaze locked to his knuckles, bleeding profusely, staining the carpet. “I will never hurt you,” he rasps, and there’s iron will behind his words. “I will never fucking hurt you, I’d sooner die. I’d sooner fucking die . . .” His eyes fall closed, his breathing deepens, and you’re pretty sure you only have a few seconds before this all goes to shit.

You grab your clothes, and shoes, and where’s your phone, where’s your stupid phone—

“Get out of here. Get out of here now.”

You bite your lip until you taste copper. You won’t cry. You won’t fucking cry. This is not your fight. This is not your problem.

“I love you,” you squeeze out, before you throw the door open and spill down the stairs, the beast bellowing behind you, “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Changbin puts his hands out, grabs your shoulders. 

Felix doesn’t even have to look at you; he curses, and climbs the stairs three at a time, calling for backup. The demolition has already begun.

You won’t cry. You refuse, you refuse, you refuse.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know?

ACT THREE: intermission.

In a fight, he’s devastating.

You’d told him time and time again, none of it meant anything, not a thing, just some mindless flirting to get better tips, it was part of your job, it was silly, little, nothing, nothing at all. You’d warned him against coming inside the Muse. It’d only cause trouble.

He would only cause trouble. It’s why he had Minho permanently positioned in there, it’s how the club was under Strays payroll, it was his excuse for visiting that night.

Making sure the product was being distributed properly. Keeping an eye out. Bullshit. You were so mad at him. He never showed up for these things, they went through other people. Chris was too important for it. And yet, here he was, disrupting your workflow, beating your regulars into a pulp.

You didn’t recognize anything from the man he was the last time you saw him. He had none of the tenderness, none of the ember in his gaze, no softness; only sharp, obliterating cruelty and the gun on his strap. His fists were bloody, his anger palpable.

Your tables had emptied out, unpaid. You were so angry.

“Try it, motherfucker,” your boyfriend smashed the poor guy’s head against the hardwood floor, repeatedly, in succession, until your voice was scratched raw from shouting for someone to stop him. “Try getting near her again, let me see you. Walk a straight fucking line to my girl, see if you get to live another goddamn day.”

“I didn’t know she was your girl, man! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man had been reduced to tears, his face so beat up you could barely make out his features under all the blood.

Minho stood in one corner, observing passively, while Seungmin tried to keep his friend back, ever the security guard. Chris was gone, though. There was no way to bring him back. There’d be a death tonight, and all of you would have to pretend it never happened. You think about that. About the first time you lied for him. For them.

“Bet you wanted to fuck her, hm?” He pulls his head up, only to bring him to his knee, kicking his nose broken, and throwing him back on the floor, chairs wobbling and falling over in the storm of him. “That’s what you’ve been coming for, isn’t it, you sick fuck?”

The whimpering is what did it for you. “I didn’t know. Please! Please!” You couldn’t just stand aside; you couldn’t let this go on.

The stage was empty, the band long finished with their set, now sitting at the counter over at the bar, glancing curiously your way. It was infuriating how none of them wanted to get involved. It was too late for this. Too fucking late, and you were tired.

So, you walked over to where Chris was stomping on the man’s ribs, making sure you were in his line of vision. When you got as close as you could, you called out his name. Nothing. You tried again.

“Chris. Chris.”

“I’ll fucking kill him, baby, he’ll never look at you twice, he won’t be able to, I swear it to you.” In what dark, dark place have you crawled into, my love? How do I get there?

You try to keep your voice steady, reasonable. From the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin shaking his head at you, motioning you to step back, away, out from the line of fire. 

“I don’t want that, Chris. I want you to let him go.”

“What?”

“And then I want you to go home.”

In retrospect, you should’ve heeded the bouncer’s advice. This version of Chris does not belong to you, it has nothing to do with feeling or logical thought. It festered in some terror-stricken hole he’d found as a child, and grew into a large open wound, the heart tree of all inhumanity in him. You’d have to carve it out if you’re to ever save him. But to carve it . . . No. You couldn’t. Not you.

Two terrible things happened that night, things that you’d quicker forget than let yourself remember fully.

His calloused hand attacked your neck, wrapping around it with such brutal force, it knocked the air out of you. Immediately, four men jumped to your rescue, circling you like hounds, yelling at Chris, trying to snatch him away from you.

“Stand the fuck down,” he snarled at them, never taking his black eyes off you. “You think I’d actually fucking hurt her? She can take this, can’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod, willing yourself to breathe through your panic, to combine this touch with the one he uses when he makes you feel good, the pain only pleasurable, only flitting, almost enjoyable. He watches you do this, and something flashes in his expression, a recognition, a moment of clarity. It’s gone as soon as it arrives.

“Don’t ever tell me what the fuck to do, you understand? I’m doing this for you, so you can be safe,” he’s never raised his voice at you, and he’s not doing it now, either. You’d take the screaming over this eerie calmness, this polite rage.

This is the monster under your bed, the demon in your closet. You can’t do anything about this, you don’t even know what’s hiding there.

“I didn’t ask for that, Chris,” you manage to say, placing a hand over the one on your throat. No one speaks, no one moves.

“You’ve no fucking idea what’s good for you, do you?”

“Clearly,” you reply, calmly, bitterly.

You see him swallow, and fight with the shadows clouding his judgment. You see the split decision—and the way he shoves you away, the way he refuses to look at you any longer. 

“Have it your way,” he snaps. He’s still so beautiful to you, even like this, the way a severe thunderstorm is, the way gray clouds can cover an entire sunny day in minutes. Not despite, but in spite.  “But this fucker dies today.”

In a split second, your life—an infinite whirlwind, a dizzying dance with no end in sight—it changes, it shifts, because—Chris takes his gun out, a single click, and shoots the man on the floor beside you. All it takes. A blink of an eye. No one seems to get what happened, probably accustomed to the death looming over, but you—you’re covered in blood now, blood that’s not yours, and you’ve never seen someone die before. You don’t even think it registers in your mind, really. You just stare, and stare, and hope that he’ll get up and go to a hospital, because he looks terrible.

“Don’t feel too bad, princess,” Felix whispers somewhere from behind you. “He was a registered sex offender. Boss found out today. Chris had to do it.”

“Chris is not a hit man,” you say mechanically, paralyzed, something else looking through your eyes, inhabiting your body. 

Where are you? Where’d you go?

“No, he’s not,” he agrees. You faintly feel a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react. “But he’s the one that’ll always get the job done. No matter what.”

This is the second thing. Learning that your boyfriend might be more of a collection of ghosts than an actual person. That the blood sprayed on your legs could be anyone’s, could be yours. The thing is, you weren’t truly scared before, but you are now.

And the terrifying truth—you still love him. You love him, you love him, it beats as sure as your heart, it fills you with guilt and despair, because . . . you don’t even really care. You should, surely. This is a horrible situation. But Chris is standing a mere few feet away from you, and he wants nothing to do with you, not when he’s like this, and somehow that’s more severe, that’s—that’s the real tragedy.

“Take care of it,” he cracks his neck, addressing no one in particular. Any of these men would do anything for him, for the club. Honor and loyalty, above all. “Bring me the books. There’s still business.”

Minho and Seungmin get to work, while a third person goes in the back. You don’t know who, you don’t see them, your gaze hasn’t moved from Chris. You whisper his name again, like back in the alley, over and over, and hope for him to turn around, to look and see, to dance with you, to shake you and make you spill. But he doesn’t. You don’t think he ever will again.

You’re one of them now. He didn’t keep you away, he failed, and so now you know.

“And for fuck’s sake, someone take her the hell away from here.”

You kickstart. “No, I won’t go.” You’re here, you’re here, where would I go if you’re here?

He won’t even spare you a second, a moment. He’s walking towards the bar, he’s lighting a cigarette, his hands are still raw and bleeding. The club is closed for the night, you’re no longer needed. Just another witness, just another person in the room. He can make you feel so small, so incredibly small, like you never mattered at all.

Felix steps up and offers to drive you.

“To the house,” Chris instructs firmly, skimming through pages of numbers. “Stay with her until I come back.”

There’s tears stinging your eyes. You fight not to let anyone see them. There’s so much movement around you, it’s making your head spin. Red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue—the lights never stop turning, they bleed over everything, a dream, a technicolor dream. You lift your hand to your cheek to confirm you’re still real, that you’re still breathing.

You’re sick to your stomach. Not enough. Not enough.

“Why are you sending me away?” You try again, foolishly hoping he’s going to pay you any mind, give you any explanation.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Felix mumbles close to your ear. “You don’t wanna be here for the clean up, trust me.”

Why are you sending me away, why are you sending me away . . . You don’t remember the ride to the club house. You don’t remember much of anything after the click of that gun. It echoes. The man’s eyes roll to the back of his head, a loop of red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue, redfuschiaorangeyellowblueredfuschiaorangeyellowblue

Someone screams.

ACT FOUR: after.

“I’ve never had a moment’s peace.”

Shirtless, with bandages running down his chest and over his shoulder, he looks like a tortured man returned from war. Burned. Turned inside out.

He was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. It’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. No. Peace is a foreign word. Reserved only for you.

You listen, you let yourself become the body he loves. You can’t find it in you to be angry at him, not anymore.

“How can I hold a thing like you in my hands and not break it? When you asked me for the truth . . . I couldn’t think of anything, (Y/N), not a single fucking thing,” he wraps a towel around your head, sure, capable hands pulling you up and helping you out of the bathtub. “What I feel for you is poisonous, it’s disturbing. You don’t want that. You shouldn’t want that. It’s not what you deserve.”

“You’re saying all this like you’re saying goodbye,” you whisper, letting him dry your skin, noticing the way he won’t allow himself to linger too long.

You see his mouth curve, his brow furrow. A strange image. It’s almost as if . . .

“I’ve only ever been a monster. A pathetic fucking excuse of a man, and I cannot keep you caged, I can’t keep being selfish with you,” when he’s once again met with your silence, he circles around you, hides behind your back. “You’re incredible, you know that? Other girls would’ve been running for the hills, but not you,” when he lets your hair fall, there’s a horrifying sound, like the earth ripping apart, the heavens falling—

Chris is crying.

Chris is crying and something is very, very wrong. Nothing feels right. He won’t let you turn around. His hands hold you still, his face is buried between your shoulder blades, and he.won’t.let.you.turn.around.

Your eyes sting with the effort it takes not to break down alongside him.

“You just—won’t—fucking—leave. You won’t give up,” he sobs, and then he’s hugging you, he’s hugging you so tight your ribs burn, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because you never in a thousand years ever pictured this man crying, much less in front of you.

“I’m never giving up,” you reassure him, trying to soothe the boy trying to come out, to escape. “Because I love you. Whatever that means for you, Chris. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He feel him shake his head, his hand wraps around your throat, bodies flush against each other. “I want you. I want you without . . .”

He lets go.

You turn to him, tilting your head, looking for his eyes. He exhales shakily, and moves away, grabbing his lighter from his back pocket, the cigarette from behind his ear. He rubs his face raw, then lights it, tip cherry red and burning fast, and he uses a hand to sit on the tiled floor, one arm resting on his knee. You get in front of him, towel forgotten, numb, completely numb.

“The club?” You say, quietly, so as not to anger the spirits, the demons. For no one else to hear but him. “You want to leave the club?”

He chuckles bitterly, and scratches his brow with a thumb, avoiding your gaze completely. Smoke swirls around you like snakes hunting for prey, an ominous presence. “I can’t even fucking say it. It’s been my whole life, my whole life. This fucking place—I know nothing else.”

“We‘ll figure it out. If you want out, we’ll find a way. Chris, these people look up to you, they trust you—”

“No, the fuck they don’t. That trust goes out the fucking window as soon as I walk. If I leave I’m a fucking traitor. If I leave I’ve betrayed all of them.”

You reach for his empty hand. He pulls away. You can’t ignore the Deja vu of this action. “And what about you?” You press, still. “What about what you’ve given for them, for their laws and rules? Your soul, Chris—”

He laughs, then, a proper laugh. When he does, finally, meet your eye, you see it all. The tortured, the choked, the repressed. It will never be easy. Ever. He might not ever make the decision, he might not ever leave. But dreaming about it . . . He has the right. No matter how unattainable, how unrealistic it seems to him. Why has no one ever shown him how?

“That battered, old thing,” he muses at his cigarette. “Lost it a long time ago, baby. Nothing there.”

“I don’t believe that.”

His smile breaks your heart. It looks so defeated, so devoid of any real happiness. “This is why I can’t let you go,” his fingers reach out and touch your bottom lip, the intention pure, nothing more than a reminder you’re still there, still his, but his gaze speaks of something darker, something you’ll never be able to quit.

“I got charges against me,” he says. “If I take the fall, the club remains. If I don’t, it all goes to hell.”

No. No. “Let it,” you choke out. “Let it! Chris, we can leave. We can go. Let’s just go. Please, I don’t—I can’t, I don’t want to lose—”

The biker puts his hands on your shoulders, shushes you, cradles you like a baby. You comply, a million different things bubbling inside you, ways to get him out, words you never said, everything you didn’t get to do yet. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

“Listen to me,” he continues, cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. “It’s already done. I’ll be gone for a long time, alright, and I need to make sure you’re fucking taken care of. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Listen to me, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t. You were crying too hard, you missed him already. What you two had was nothing but burrowed time, you knew this, and you still mistook it for forever. This was why he didn’t want to get too close. This is why, every time you tried to hold onto him, he slipped away like quicksand. It was all coming down to this.

“Sweetheart, come on, stop crying. You know who I am, yeah? Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Listen to me—I’ve hidden money away. I want you to have it, okay? Use it to get yourself a place, somewhere safe. And don’t fucking go back to that club, I don’t wanna hear you went back, you hear me? Do something for yourself, go to school, I know how fucking smart you are, you’ll fucking blow them away. Hm?” He lifts your chin with his thumb, kisses your forehead, staying there, lingering for one, two, three seconds, before he pulls back and looks into your eyes, willing you to agree, to accept the money, to go on living without him. “I love you, alright? You got all of me, whatever’s still there, it’s all yours. Don’t wait for me. Live.”

“I don’t want to.”

He deflates, sighing heavily. “Don’t make this harder than it is, (Y/N). Do what I say.”

You shake your head, sniffling, wiping at your cheeks. “Not without you. I’m not doing any of that without you. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”

His expression is pleading, his nails digging into your skin like he wants to crawl inside and change your mind. “It’ll be years, baby. Too many. You’ve no fucking idea the shit I’ve done. They got it all, some fucking snitch went and gave it all away. I’m turning myself in tomorrow, I’m not—I’m not fucking asking you to wait. You’re not. Find some lucky boy that’s got nothing to do with this life, and be normal. I never meant to bring you into all of this. You didn’t—didn’t fucking deserve it.”

“Just like that?” you ask, defeated. You could never picture yourself being with anyone else, no one at all.

After Chris, nothing. Alone. Lonely, forever.

He chuckles, crushing you to him, his arms strong, and steady, and home, home, home. “Just like that. I’ll wring his fucking neck out if he’s not good to you, though. I’ll always keep an eye out, always make sure you’re safe.”

“Can I hear it again?” Such a quiet request, barely anything.

He knew exactly what you meant. Your heart broke, fresh tears making their descent on your face. He wiped all of them away. He held you as if, if it was up to him, he’d never, ever let go.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, sweetheart. You’ll be alright. I got you. I got you.”

You reach to where you know he keeps his gun. His hand flies out to stop you, gaze flaming with fear, with anger. Ash burns your arm, but you don’t even feel it. You’ve seen him use it; undo the safety, press down on the trigger. It was so easy for him. It’ll be easy for you too.

“Shoot me, then,” you bellow. “If you’re not gonna let me do it myself, shoot me! I don’t fucking want this, I’m not losing you, I’m not getting with someone else! What about me? You got this great plan—did you ever stop to think about what I’d want? If I’d be able to move on like how you’re expecting me to? I can’t just switch off my feelings for you, Chris, it doesn’t work like that, okay? I’ve gone through too much, I’ve seen too fucking much to just—to just—”

He wrestles you down, pinning your body on the floor, and getting on top of you, his smooth, cold gun resting on top of your heart. His mouth had curled into a tortured snarl, a bitter smile, his eyes shiny, crazy. You were shaking, he was shaking. You started crying, he started crying. With his thigh against your cunt, you felt his erection, hard and twitching.

“You think I didn’t think of this first?” He said roughly. “Christ, (Y/N), I’m trying to do the right thing here. You think I’ll be able to fucking kill you? I fucking adore you. I’d rather shoot myself in the head first, get it over with. Don’t ever fucking ask that of me again. I’ll be a dead man the second I do such a thing. I’ll be a dead fucking man if I’m not able to have you. Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Coward,” you spit in his face, and fight against his death grip. “Sentence us both then. I’ll be dead either way.”

He smashes your lips together. It hurts, it hurts, you wanna say, but you don’t think it’ll ever stop. There’s nothing in his way, everything in yours. In the time it takes to unzip his pants, grab his cock and guide it inside you, you’ve mourned him a thousand times over. To never have this again—him, again. . . You’ll die from missing him. You’ll cry yourself dry. There’s absolutely no way to escape this fate. You’re not ready, you’ll never be. How ridiculous it all seems in the end, faced with losing him.

He makes love to you slow, gentle, like he’s never done before. It’s not so much to get you off, than it is to make you understand. He could kill you both, but he’ll never be able to see you again. His place will be hell, the lowest level, the one he’ll have to keep walking for all eternity, while you’re up with the angels. If he doesn’t, if he hides the gun and never thinks of it again, at least he knows you’re somewhere out there, where there might be a one in a million chance he gets to be with you once more. If you’ll take him. Old and grey. He’ll never see you again as you are underneath him right now.

You stay like that on the floor for a while, with his seed spilling from between your legs, your scent all over him. You kiss him and for the first time, he kisses back. No teeth, no fists.

When he moves you over to the bed, he sleeps for the first time since he was born.

He sleeps and he dreams of you, of little hands reaching out, of being away from all this, far, far away. What he would give.

Everything. Everything.

[yandere-wishes]

Hi!!

I have a question... what do you think sentinels prime punshiments would look like? :3 what would be the worst one?

｡˚ ❀ ˚｡ He's so evil and sadistic...so why do I love him so much?!?!

𝄞 Real Men by Mitski

❀ The Icon of Iacon

❀ He loves the rogue sparks that fly inches from his face as he burns or rather "engraves" you. Sentinel uses his torch to engrave his name (Or rather a pretty cursive signature) somewhere on his darling's chassis. Similar to what he did to Megatron. He'll trail his digits over the resplendent scar later on. Making sure he feels every dip and curve of his name across her armor. Every shiver and shutter that runs ramped through his beloved darling's frame.

❀ Sentinel Prime isn't a gentle bot. He prefers to not see himself as barbaric just determined, steadfast. That's why he plucks the tires from his darling's body, not because he's cruel but because he'll do anything to keep her by his side. Although it's hard to find an excuse for how he relishes in the warm energon that coats his digits as he thrusts them into her open lacerations. Hard to find the right words when he's trailing open-mouthed kisses between gaping iron and savoring her ethereal taste as he eagerly licks her gushing wounds. Not cruel, no immoral...just in love.

❀ Her alt mode is rendered utterly useless. Pretty shiny thing that can't move. It leaves his darling ruined emotionally. She can't bear the state she's in. The grotesque useless thing she now has to transform into...

❀ So Sentinel rips out her T-cog. He does it to preserve her mental state, he swears. Does it so she won't have to turn into the form she's come to despise so wholeheartedly...And maybe if he's allowed a moment of selfishness he'll confuse in hushed tone whispers that he may have also done it to prevent her from running away.

❀ Although the procedure entirely depends on how his darling behaves. If she's sweet and docile, only ever trying to escape from his golden grasp. Then he'll take pity on her and permit her to remain unconscious through the whole thing, he's only doing this for her after all, he doesn't want her to suffer but it's necessary to keep her safe. Things are always "necessary" with him.

❀ However if his darling is feisty headstrong and constantly putting up a fight, a constant threat, metallic rose throne at his side, daring even to try and harm him. Then he'll definitely rip her T-cog straight from her chest, making sure she feels each wire snap, the grotesque unnatural expansion of her metallic chest. The rigorous pop of your diodes. The gory crunch of circuits snapping, forced to release the precious organ. He wants her withering in the pain. Looking into his optics and finally understanding that he owns her.

❀ The thing about a bot like Sentinel is that they can so easily look in a mirror and only see justice and golden paragons. Blood-soaked rhyme and reason that always ends with them draped in innocence relishing in the thing they want most. Bots like Sentinel, bots whose deific power ripples through every vein of a planet. Can never be painted as monsters, as wretched. They have too much authority and excuses to be anything but wholly perfect.

❀ You'd been so used to internal pain. The righteous crack of sparks, blunt anxiety cascading through your circuits. Maybe it's cause there isn't much that can harm a Cybertronian, not much that dents and rips celestial steel. But with him, everything is outwards. The churn of a nervous stomach is nothing compared to the rippling agony of a broken leg. Sentinel rips the pain from your metallic viscera, baths you in your own ichor, bedaubs you in pain as he calls you his "sweet little lover".

❀ "I hope Primus sends you straight to Unicron!" You can't help but scream between tears and traumatized sobs. You straighten your spine, knees folded to your chest. Your energon pools beneath you, pouring from his latest mauling. Open-ended wires spark as they make contact with your blue essence.

❀ Sentinel only chuckles, sky-hued optics playfully darting to the ground. 'Dear Primus, I don't believe in you'... but all he offers his darling is a sweet sugar-laced smile and a saccharine peck on the cheek.

❀ Sentinel will never admit it, it's hard to show such benignity when you rule an entire planet, but maybe -just maybe- at the end of the cycle his favorite misery to besiege upon you, is when he grips your chin or cheek and tugs you towards his lips. Savouring your ethereal taste. When he guides your servos to his chassis, pulling you closer till both are one. When he can just hold and kiss you. Just be with you. A romantic scene framed eternally by Cyerbtron's setting sun.

❀ If you close your optics, you can almost pretend to be in love...

[sungjinhos]

IS THIS TOO MUCH?

When Mingyu helps you up with your boxes, you don't think too much of it, really, but when he shows up in the hall with a kid in his arms - something changes.

✦ KIM MINGYU - f!reader

✦ Genre: neighboors-to-lovers, daddy!Mingyu (slightly), angsty (slighlty), smut (minors don't interact), a little bit of health problems, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected sex (don't do this at home), reader has a few insecurities so keep that Mingyu.

✦ word count: 11k+

✦ Title inspired by Carly Ra Jepsen - Too much.

✦ Thea note: Mingyu is so boyfriend coded I want to punch a wall, lately been thinking about daddy!mingyu a lot and how that would look like, but also Mingyu is not an easy character I swear this was a struggle, but here it is - and of course, it has a pussy drunk mingyu scene. Also thanks again @ni-aaaaaaa for helping me with this one 🫶

Moving is hard. Moving places is hard. Moving places almost across the country is harder.

So here you are - struggling to hold the elevator and a load boxes, but then he arrives - a knight in shiny armor or just a fit guy in gym clothes and sweats.

"Do you need help with that?" he asks pointing to the boxes.

"Hi, hm -" You start, and you want to be the crazy strong independent lady who doesn't need help, you listened to Destiny Child for fuck sake, you can pay your bills and load your boxes on the goddamn elevator, but you are so freaking tired. It's the second round of boxes and you will probably need to do more and drive to hand over the moving truck, but all you need and truly want is to take a shower, get rid of the sweat, and lay down with arms and legs open on your bed like you are a starfish. But then you remember, did you pack the body soap in the backpack? Suitcase? Boxes n 03 with bathroom-related things? And the bed sheets? Fuck.

"Do you have more or?" The nice guy with strong arms and gym clothes asks already lifting the three boxes at once, putting them in the elevator and stepping in the elevator door and letting you in.

"I have a few more in the truck but-" You click on the fourth floor button.

"Oh" He says pointing at the button and at you. "We’re neighbors, nice. You’re probably in the Mrs Smith apartment, right? Lovely lady, it was nice that her daughter took her in after she moved." The guy continues and you don't quite follow but hey, he is already unloading and leaving the boxes at the 03 door so you gonna take all the help. "Do you want to put them in or do you want to pick up the other boxes on the truck?"

"You don't actually need to-" You ask trying to be a polite neighbor and not a pushover, but Mr. Nice Guy and nice arms cuts you off.

"Oh don't worry, I didn't do back or arms today, if I don't need to squat too much it's alright" He says, big smile gracing his face as he tilts his head and, oh god ,he is quite hot and he is just so nice and big all over and you’re way too tired so you don't want to take the last few boxes and do a fourth trip to the garage when you can do just two - maybe one if the nice guy with big arms lift more than you think in his everyday trip to the gym. So, you just accept, because he could do what your noodles arms could never: lift more the two boxes at once.

"Look,” You say tidying the boxes near your door because you are a good neighbor and you don't want someone to trip in the hall because of you. "I'm very grateful, and I drove for like, more than ten hours, so I'm taking all the help I can get. And I don't know your diet but I'm so buying pizza after this so if you want you can joy. Like paying for all your service with a half of pizza."

So that's how you end up with nice-guy-strong-arms-buff-chest in your new apartment and learn that his name is actually Kim Mingyu and that he’s a software engineer and that he mainly goes to the gym to see people otherwise he would not get out of the house because he works remotely. So you also give your resume-of-life talk that you worked on rehearsing in that ten hour drive - needed to change cities because working on research isn't easy, new PhD in town, works on gender studies, and has a side hustle with a nonprofit.

"Oh, so you are smart smart,” Mingyu replied with a mouth full of pizza, trying to wash it down with coke.

"Nah,” You reply in the same situation. "Dumb enough to go into humanities actually.”

"Hey! That's nothing wrong with humanities," He says. "Once I wanted to be an archeologist - that goes into humanities, right?"

"I don't really know, probably?"

And you and Mingyu guy don't really turn into friends per se - and that's mainly your fault. He’s easy going and always talks to you in the elevator or hall when you’re going to the university and he’s going to the gym. He tells you to knock on his door for a movie, tells you that you both can go to a coffee shop nearby, and tells you that he knows nice restaurants, but you never quite follow his ideas.

You could say that it was because of your routine.  Kind of excruciating; you had a few classes to actually teach, research to plan and execute, and because you were the new one in the department, all the extra winter and summer courses to plan and teach was your obligation. Yey new job!

But the actual reason is that, yes, you are overloaded with your new job, and with the new city, and with new everything. So, when Mingyu asks you just can't bring yourself to actually do it. Part of you thinks he is just being nice, just trying to be friendly, he does have that kinda puppy energy going around him - too big, too excited, too much all over the place and knocking into everything. But part of you is scared that Mingyu nice-guy-all-over might be trying something with you that you can't actually handle right now. 

Because sometimes you catch how Mingyu looks at you - eyes lingering.. And God, this works wonders to your self-esteem. Once, when you actually wore your gym clothes and he was in his jeans for a change, you could see him visibly gulping on the hallway. He asked why he never saw you at his gym, you answered the only way possible, you don't go to the gym, you are one of the runs at the park lunatics, and he said it was a pity really, maybe he can start running and going to the park.

Or that time when you had to go to a nice dinner - fundraising and meeting people was the worst part of the job, but hey, you needed the money and the funds to go around interviewing women in politics across the country, so you put the nicest black dress you had and a pair of high heels. And when you leave the house, you scream to the person in the elevator to wait and do the silliest run in those shoes and it was Mingyu – dressed joggers and hair ruffled, contrasting to your polished appearance. "Hot date?" he asked in a small voice head tilting to look at you because even with your highest heels, he was still taller. "I wish, work, and you?" You answered. "Bad day.  Gonna pick up some beer." And you left the elevator just to see Mingyu ogling at your ass and getting flustered because of it.

So maybe when he asked you out you always brushed over, never actually said no. But you never said yes either. Because even though you were actually trying to handle all the other things in your life and a relationship did fall into the 'not-now-category' or in the 'probably-will-make-me-insane', you liked having Mingyu there, in the back of your mind, filling up your fantasies and what-ifs. It may be a bitch move, but it was what you could handle right now, because really, handling the new job, in a new city, basically friendless, and almost crying at your kitchen table, because one of the students needed a week extension and that alone was almost driving you insane. 

So having Mingyu on the back of your mind was the only thing you could handle right now. Mingyu and his big hands, strong arms and his nice fucking smile, and oh god, he did smell good. Your mind could - and would - wonder when you both got together on that dumb elevator and how you want to climb him like a goddamn tree. And sometimes you let your mind wander and think how everything would go if you said yes. If you went to a nice restaurant, what would happen? Would everything go smoothly and you end up on his sheets? Or yours? How would it feel having Mingyu in your bed? You have all the questions and none of the answers.

So, when you see Mingyu with a mini-Mingyu at his side, arms full of bags, and struggling to close his kid’s coat, you get a little mind blown. You think a little and Mingyu never actually talked about having a son or a daughter you couldn't really tell, and then you blame yourself maybe he didn’t say anything because you never said yes. You never went to the nice restaurant or the coffee shop. And then it fucks you up a bit, because what else do you not know about him - maybe silly things like what is his favorite food? What movies does he like? What in his binge-watch list?

Did Mingyu get married? He’s probably divorced - you think - because you never saw that kid before so mini-Mingyu didn’t live with Big-Mingyu, and also you never saw a woman and you think that if Mingyu was married he would not be looking at your ass in every step of the way down to the garage - or at least you hope not. Oh god, you don’t want to be a homewrecker, but then again, Mingyu doesn’t look like the guy who would do that: hit on you if he was in a relationship. Then it dawns on you, maybe, maybe he was just being friendly.

Right?  

But when Mingyu picks mini-Mingyu in his arms, still with too many bags and gives you a big, warm smile, you almost freeze.

“Hey,” He says clicking the elevator’s button. “Going to the Uni?” He asks as you go to his side, Mini-Gyu’s big eyes on your face - so you just give the little kid your best smile.

“Yep, one professor is out of town so I have a few extra classes this week to teach the kids the joy of classical sociology,” You say eyes leaving Mini-Gyu and actually going to Big-Gyu, and your mind gets fucked up a bit, because one, how do genes work? That kid is actually Mingyu's carbon copy and of course, you have not stepped in biology classes in a few years - but you are pretty sure that cloning is not yet allowed - maybe you should check it out in the ethics committee or something. Maybe Mingyu is committing some kind of crime.

“Nice,” And Mingyu finally looks at the kid who is still staring at you. “This is Minseok.” He says kind of rocking the kid up and down trying to adjust the begs on his shoulder. “Minseok and I are going to the park for a picnic date, aren't we, Minseok?” But Minseok doesn't actually answer, Minseok just hides his face on Mingyu’s shoulder, looking a little shy and you smile because he looks like he just got caught staring.

“Do you need help or?” You ask seeing how Mingyu continues to struggle.

“Nah, this little guy will just walk. He is just being shy he doesn’t know how to act in front of pretty girls,” And you can actually feel the pink in your cheeks and now you quite understand Minseok and the urge to hide. And maybe, maybe Mingyu is hitting on you in every damn elevator trip.

"Poor baby," You coo and you can actually see Mingyu's legs giving up a little and picking himself up. Minseok looks at you, hand closed in your direction, you give him an open palm and he shyly drops a little sticker. "Oh! Thank you very much," You say hand closing against your chest, analyzing the little Pikachu sticker.

"Oh god, I'm raising a womanizer," Mingyu says ruffling the kid’s hair. "Did you already feel in love with noona?" Mingyu asks Minseok and strokes his pink cheeks with his massive hands. You actually can't figure out Minseok's age, is he tiny? Or it is Mingyu that is bigger than the average person?

"I'm old enough to be his auntie, Mingyu." You say actually putting the little sticker in your bag. And for once you are the one that holds the elevator door for Mingyu and the scene looks so domestic that makes your heart clench a bit. You don’t even want a kid, you don’t even know if you are ready for it, but why does Mingyu with little Minseok in his arms make you feel jealous? Jealous of the person that you don’t even know, someone who doesn’t even have a face in your imagination.

"Nah, pretty girls are always noona," Mingyu says and you can feel how your cheeks are turning pink because you feel them hot.. "Anyway, good luck with the classes. We would actually invite you over for our little picnic date but I guess you’re a busy girl."

"You know the real professor is always on my ass, Mingyu." You say heading towards your car.

"Well," Mingyu says finally letting Minseok on the floor, Minseok’s hands tiny on Mingyu's and your heart kinda swells because it is a heart warming picture really. Because you know Mingyu is a fine ass man, with a nice personality paired with a mindblowing body, and he just looks like such a father with Minseok on his hand, well it didn't help that Minseok was the cutest kid you ever laid your eyes on, even though he looked a little shy, a little sad. "You know I am always free, so you can hit me up anytime."

So, when you are talking about how Marx and Weber see the society and the conflicts in it you can't quite stop thinking about Mingyu and Minseok and you could actually cry.

Cry, because you somehow, even with all that Mingyu said to you and all the little flirtatious jabs going on you feel like you lost an opportunity. But at the same time, you want to cry because the relationship gets more complicated if a child is evolved. You may be a bitch over the fact that maybe you lead Mingyu on without actually saying no, but a child? You can't lead a child on, you can’t just kiss-kiss peck-peck your neighbor and say hi to Minseok, or even worse, you can’t start a relationship with Kim Mingyu and then break up with Kim Mingyu after being involved in Minseok’s life. You can’t picture going every weekend to the park and then just vanishing because your life is too busy and the relationship doesn’t quite work. You think that you may be a bitch and break Mingyu’s heart - even though you don't think he’s crazy in love with you to you actually break his heart, but you couldn’t break Minseok because his big eyes and small pout is too cute.

And you want to cry because Mingyu is hot. You noticed that when he picked your boxes and his arms bulged against his sleeve. You have eyes so you can see, every time you see him really, or going to the gym, or in his lounge clothes, or when he is a little bit tidy but still in not formal clothes, you stop a little and you think you never actually saw Mingyu going on a date, or in formal wear. And now it makes sense: having a kid doesn’t actually make dating easier.

But now you see another side of him. Mingyu is endearing, he is cute and you suspect that he could treat you well. He looks reliable, he has a good job, and he is a nice guy. But all that went to a new level when he had a kid in his arms, it made you twitch a little. The way that he looks at the kid in his arms makes your heart inflate like a damn balloon and makes you think about all the other things that you don't know about Mingyu, all the little secrets, all the gaps in his personality.

And oh damn. You had a new problem on your hands. Cute dilf Mingyu was the problem.

So, when you and Mingyu see each other in the hall, you breathe deeply. Afraid to say you are a little relieved when Mingyu is kid-less, but still hot in his gym clothes.

"Park today?" Mingyu asks with a gym bag in his hand.

"Yeah, I'm almost near my 10km mark so I'm pushing it a little bit." You say self-conscious tugging on your clothes, fixing your leggings and top. Fuck, maybe you should've put that baggy shirt on. Why the hell you got out of the house looking like a crazy lady without even brushing your hair? Ok, you said to yourself that the run was the last thing before washing your hair and putting a mask on it, but still, you knew that Mingyu was always in the hall.

"Nice. I heard about the run, right? Some people at my gym are going." Mingyu says eyes still on you, making you twitch. And you know is not Mingyu’s fault.  He;’s always like that - he looks at you, pays attention, not even once you felt like you were not being heard when you were talking to him, not even when you were bitching because someone left the trashcan open.

"Oh god no, I'm not even close to the run’s entry level." You say tongue itching against your mouth. Mingyu has that quality really, he makes you curious and he makes you bold and afraid at the same time. But even if your mind says no, you still go for it. "So, no Minseok today?"

"Ah," Mingyu scratches his neck, almost shy, almost. "No, he is with his mom, the little guy was sick and had a few days off so no school for him, that's why he was so shy he was actually moody, but he liked you enough to give you his treasured Pikachu sticker."

"Oh yes." You actually pick up your phone and show Mingyu, and you feel a little silly but every time you see the Pikachu behind it makes you smile. "It’s not a sticker anymore, it evolved in the lucky charm category."

"Oh" Mingyu says looking at you and at your phone with an endearing look on his face that you couldn't quite puzzle. "That's actually cute."

"I mean," you shrug.

"Well, I gonna tell him that you treasure his Pikachu. It's not like he doesn’t already have a big crush on you." Mingyu teases looking at you like he wants to see every little reaction, like he wants to put the puzzle of you together like every detail matters.

"Stop, he was just being cute and polite you should be proud." You shove Mingyu but he doesn't even bulge. Damn, he was strong.

"Oh I am, but that's not polite, that's his love language, he even talked about you to his mom." Mingyu says eyes still on you, and you think for a second how funny it is, that he actually makes you feel this way, make you feel opposite worlds at the same time, makes you want to run and hide but and makes you want to stretch and bath of every ray of attention he gives you. "And he calls you elevator noona."

"Nooooooo," you say feeling pretty good that you stole the kid's heart in one elevator trip, Minseok was easier to win over than Mingyu.

"Yeeeees," Mingyu mocks you, and again he looks shy but Mingyu is not a shy person so that makes you think, makes you ponder. "Actually, he is going to be around for a few days so if you want to go to the park or-"

"Are you free today?" You ask, and you can see Mingyu's eyes bulge, his face making sure that you know that he is not understanding what you meant.

"Hun?" He says, head moving almost like a dog.

"Today, are you free? I mean I know that you are going to the gym, but we can go to that coffee shop you said and just chat a little." When the elevator stops, Mingyu, like always holding the door for you.

"Oh, hm-" He looks at his bag, then at the elevator door closing, then at you.

"Don't worry,” You say trying to soothe him, hands gesturing and all. “It was dumb to ask when I know you have plans, we can rain-check it."

"No, no, just-" Mingyu start to pat himself searching for his phone, chest, then front pocket, then back pockets, then looking at his bag. "Let me just call Chan and tell him I'm not going to the gym."

"Noooo," You feel so silly that you almost stomp your feet on the ground like a child. "You can go, we can just meet up or rain-check it, don't worry, you always understand when I'm too busy so-"

"Noooo," He copies you. "I’ll tell Chan that I'm doing cardio today," He starts typing on his phone. "I’m doing so much cardio in the park, running is the best exercise ever."

“Now, you’re just mocking me,” You say trying to push him again but this time he pretends you are strong enough to make him move.

“Nah, not doing anything.”

Mingyu doesn't make a big deal of changing plans - which is so weird to you, a planner and an avid checker of to do-lists. The only detour he needs is to stop at his car because he can't run with his gym bag. And that's how you end up running with Mingyu, and even though you have a good pace, Mingyu's legs are just way too big, so you always end up getting a little behind.

And again, Mingyu is so caring and nice that sometimes he dashes off but when he sees you are not following his pace he stops a bit, running in place waiting for you with a big smile. Damn, you are fucked because you feel like every time Mingyu smiles, a halo of sunshine forms against his figure. You knew he was pretty, you knew he was handsome, and you knew he was hot, but now you know that he may be mother's nature favorite and that is just unfair.

Mingyu has long legs, but you have endurance, so when he is almost dying you are good to go - maybe not so good, but you can keep going for a few more kilometers.

"See you could totally go for the run. You can take a lot more than I do." Mingyu says panting, hand on his waist, bending over.

"Nah, that would make running serious and with a goal, that ruins the fun." You say fixing your hair, tying it in a high ponytail again.

"Sometimes I wonder how your mind works," Mingyu says, seriously, making you stop in your tracks, making your head tilt, and actually look at Mingyu who looks like he is trying to puzzle you. "You say things like that and the way you think is so-" He trails off again, looking at his feet, then at everything but you. "The way you think gives me a new perspective on things."

And you could almost cry. Because at the same time, you feel so seen yet vulnerable. You feel more naked than when you are actually naked with some random guy. And you breath so deeply, because sometimes you run laps just to keep things hidden, you go through mental gymnastics trying to keep things under the rug. And it clicks in your head. Maybe that's why you avoid Mingyu, that's why you always say no because to him, you are so easy to read that actually scares you. So, you do the best you can, avoid.

"Ok Mingyu, you called me weird and now you are paying for coffee," you say storming off in front of him.

"I did not call you weird, don't put words in my mouth," He grins, again next to you because of his long legs. You almost think about kicking him in the shin and storming off. "What I am saying is that we are very, very different."

"And that's a bad thing?" You ask self-conscious, feeling your body actually shrink.

"It's not bad, it's different," Mingyu says opening up the door for you. "We think differently, that's all."

"A latte please and a-" You ask Mingyu.

"A latte and an Americano," Mingyu says.

So, you both get your drinks and sit on a pretty outside table per your request. The weather is good enough for it.

"That's what I am talking about," Mingyu says with a sip. "When I am all sweat what I want is to just be inside with the AC on, you prefer to sit outside."

"I'm sweat I feel sticky in the AC." You shrug.

"You see, I feel sticky outside," he responds.

"Do you want to go inside we can-" you say already picking up your drink and getting up when you feel Mingyu's hand on your arm.

"What I am saying is that we are different." Mingyu gives you a soothing smile. "I am data-driven, you lean towards contexts. I need goals, clear goals, otherwise, I feel unmotivated, but you feel like goals take away the fun. We are different and that's nothing wrong with that, so maybe that's why I feel so interested in you."

"I'm not that interesting," you say, taking only a sip to buy more time. Actually, I'm boring."

"See, you can't take a compliment either! I love compliments, just could play a 24h audio just praising me." Mingyu says shamelessly, making you laugh.

"Yeah, I'm not good on that but I'm serious. Like, there’s not much going on here." You say pointing to yourself.

"Oh, like the poets said, if you could see yourself though my eyes," Mingyu says making you blush and look away.

"Don't say things like that." You complain, pouting like a kid.

"Oh, come on," Mingyu’s smile is big, and you see that he’s enjoying making you shy, making you embarrassed. "It's not like it’s not clear that I'm into you, I even asked you out and you were the one that dumped me."

"I didn't dump you," You say almost kicking his shin below the desk, not because you want to but because you almost had a Pavlovian reaction. "I never said no and I'm truly busy."

"Not saying no is not the same as saying yes. I know that I'm being a little pushover, but I am a simple guy. I don't see why hide that I’m into you or find you hot and interesting. And I know that you know that, and I also know that you are not into me so" He shrugs. "It's not a big deal really."

"I-" You start but you almost freeze. "Fuck, I'm so bad at this," You say to Mingyu giving him your best I'm So Sorry Smile "Look I'm not good at this, I don't flirt, and honestly small talk almost kills me. And I gonna sound like such a bitch, but it's me it's not you?" You say again giving Mingyu that smile, searching for any trace of reaction on his face "You are a nice guy and you are funny, and god you are so good looking like almost unreal good looking -" And you laugh because Mingyu is liking the shower of praises, he is enjoying every step of the way like he said he did. "But, I feel like I'm not that ready, all the changes is making me freak out and it is making me so unsure and I need time to put myself up, and I can’t ask for you to wait-"

"Oh, I’m so waiting," Mingyu says, leaning on the chair, crossing his legs and arms and looking so smug.

"I cannot ask you for that because I don't even know when I will feel ready and-" You continue, behaving like Mingyu didn't say a thing.

"Once a week," He says still looking smug it makes you stop in your tracks.

“Huh?”

"Once a week, we can see each other once a week. It can be a date in a nice restaurant, it can be run, it can be a trip to the market, anything really, just-" Mingyu breathes changing positions, and taking a sip of his coffee. "If you don't feel ready or don’t want me like that I will understand and if doesn't work out at least we can be friends, like you said I’m a nice guy."

And that's how you end up entering in Mingyu's life and letting Mingyu enter yours. That's how you end up on Mingyu's sofa, two weeks later, on a Friday night, chilling, Mingyu's head on your lap, fingers threading through his soft hair, paying more attention to him than the movie really. And that’s because Mingyu was kissing you before you two chose the movie. He kissed you against his door, and gave you a peck when you put your bag on his table, and he kissed you again on the sofa, make you whimper because the way he is holding your hips. But he is a nice guy, and you said you were not ready for all that, so he goes back to his good guy persona and lays on the couch, head in your lap, leg almost entirely off the couch.

And then his phone rings and rings, so Mingyu breathes deeply and annoyed, because who dares disturb his head-rubbing time and sits up.

"Hey," Mingyu says and his face changes so fast you can almost feel in the air "Okay okay, just-" he says already getting up and doing his back pocket tap that he always does to go out. "Okay, just give him some Tylenol, ok? I’m already on my way, I can call when I'm about ten minutes away so you can go down, ok? It’ll be faster."

He stops to look at you. And he looks so afraid that you just know it is about Minseok.

"It’s ok. Go." You say because it is, the change of his demeanor says is something important.

"Fuck," Mingyu says, hands going to his hair and tugging it "It’s just Minseok. We just found out he has Crohn's disease and he is having a flare up. We need to take him to the hospital, he is down with a fever so it’s not a good sign and I should go really."

"I can drive," You say getting up as well.

“Oh no, no you can stay really finish the movie, you can totally feel at home, you can cook something or shit-"

"Mingyu," You say searching for his hand, big against yours. "You are shaking." And you can almost feel the energy trapped inside him, making him tremble all over. "Hey it's gonna be OK, Minseok is gonna be fine. I just need you to calm down. I’ll drive and everything will be OK. Minseok needs you calm."

"Ok, ok. Thank you."

So you guys storm off. You guys ended up in Mingyu's car, you fixing up his car seat and his rear view mirror to make comfortable to you. And every time you stop on a red traffic light you check Mingyu out, breath still fast enough for you to notice, face full of worry. And in that moment, you think you care so deeply about Mingyu, because seeing him like that is making your heart break in tiny little pieces.

Because Mingyu is just not like that. To you, Mingyu is always warm, always full of energy. He’s like a warm soft blank that has just enough weight so you can feel grounded on your bed. Mingyu is a night sky - big but so full of stars, those same stars bright enough to guide you home.

When you finally arrive at Minseok's place you see the little guy in his mother's arm and that makes your heart break all over again. You see Mingyu open the door for them, and he goes to the other side putting Minseok in his little chair, the woman doesn't even look at you, her full attention on Minseok, but still you feel uneasy. Out of place. You feel like you are barging in in a scene that is not yours, like an extra ruining the shoot. But then Mingyu is at your side again, hands on your thigh, big in contrast, and you feel his warmth and assurance, so you just drive.

At the hospital, everything seems kind of hectic, and you again feel out place again, asking yourself if you should be there. In your mind, you know you did the best of the situation: you helped Mingyu, and that should be enough. But emotionally, you feel so damn invisible in it all, and that makes you feel even worse because it makes you feel so egoistic. For God's sake, a child is sick needing a hospital and here are you feeling like you need to cry because fuck you feel out of place? Feeling pathetic about it makes you want to cry too.

So, when you and Minseok's mother are side by side, coffee in hands and Mingyu on the loose searching for food, you want to just get up and leave without giving a proper explanation, but you think you need to be a reasonable adult.

"You see…" Minseok's mother starts. "Mingyu never brought a girl home." And you kinda feel strange what she is saying but hey her kid is on the hospital, she may be going crazy. "I never actually even saw one of his girlfriends, ever."

"Oh, I’m not his girlfriend, we’re just friends." You start, but the taste of the phrase feels weird against your tongue.

"Yeah," She laughs, and you know she is laughing at you, which makes everything worse. "I know my brother and I know how he looks to someone." She says, holding her head, elbows on her own thighs, and she looks so so tired, and that too, makes you want to cry. "But I’m glad that you are here. I may not seem glad because my kid is right now on a hospital bed, but-" she says laughing again, and now you are not so sure why she is laughing, she looks so exhausted she is almost out of it. "But since Minseok's father passed away Mingyu is just giving his all you know? He bends over backwards for us. He picks Minseok on school when I can’t get out of the work on time, he was the one who could actually take care of Minseok the last time he went to hospital because I was too damn busy, and he actually cooks for us and he just goes to my home to leave side dishes. He is doing more than he should. He is doing what a father should be doing." She says and you hear her heart breaking, you almost see the blood, because she is so transparent, so worried, so sorry, and all that don't make sense in your head. "What I’m trying to say is that my little brother is precious, so if you fuck up, I might kick your ass."

"I thought he was-"

"Minseok's father? I know I gave birth to a mini version of my brother, but like, it's a little screwed up you didn’t know. Maybe you guys should work on your communication."

And that stays on your mind. Stays on your mind when it gets too late to get an Uber so Mingyu insists on you driving his car back because ubers can be weird and unsafe. Stays on your mind when he doesn't text you. Stays on your mind when you are at university, yet again lecturing about sociology classics and some passionate kids are debating about communism, and you can't even make yourself worry that you are not that older than the people you call kids. Stays on your mind when you arrive home and you can't quite bring enough courage to knock on Mingyu's door.

But then two days after the whole not-Minseok-daddy’s fiasco, Mingyu is at your door. Looking like a truck just hit him, the same clothes from a few days, body a mess, and you suspect that mind too. So, you let Mingyu in, guide him to your shower, go to his home pick up his clothes, and you roll your sleeve and start making Mingyu dinner. You are not a good cook, and Mingyu is certainly better than you, but still, you try your best. It’s what you’ve been doing all your life really.

You are putting garlic and onions in the pan when you feel Mingyu's arms going around you. He puts his forehead on your shoulder, and you can smell your soap’s scent on his skin.

"I'm sorry I vanished."

"It's okay it must have been tough. I understand."

"I know you do, and I'm very thankful for that but-" Mingyu turns his head to your neck, and you can feel his smell you and his hot breath against it. "I still shouldn't have done it. It was a dick move. You were also worried."

"Yeah, but it’s okay. Is he okay?" You say lowering the fire.

"Yeah, he is already talking about how his mom should give him a better cellphone so he can play Pokémon go at the hospital because everything is so boring."

"See? He’s okay. Minseok is fine." You say turning and giving Mingyu a hug, his head going again to your neck, almost rubbing himself on you.

"Yeah, we just need to pay more attention to his diet." He says still bending to hug you.

"See, Minseok is fine, but you don't look so good sir, so let me treat you to a nice, homemade meal." You say giving his butt a little tap because one more second in Mingyu's and everything will be burned in the pan.

"What I did do to deserve you?"

"A lot of things, Gyu, a whole lot of things."

Mingyu eats, and it seems to improve his energy a bit because he insists on watching a movie with you, even tho you know he looks like he may fall asleep at every minute - he didn't actually sleep soundly for two days and you said that to him, but, being the stubborn guy he is, he still insists. So you two end up in your bed, bodies tangled, Mingyu's head on your chest, your fingers going through his hair - he favorite thing in the whole world he says and that makes your heart bloom, full of tiny little flowers.

You wake up in a different situation. Mingyu's body now pressed against your back, his thigh big against yours, and his hand splayed against your other thigh. Mingyu's strong arms around you, and he is warm against you and surprisingly soft. You squirm a little trying to change position until you can face Mingyu, face soft and peaceful.

And fuck.

Maybe you don't just care about Mingyu.

Maybe, just, maybe you have fallen in love with him. Maybe now, after having him on your bed, you will continuously think about how you want to wake up in his arms. Maybe you will continuously think about how you want to be Mingyu's shelter, how you want to be the place he comes back to when times get rougher. Maybe you want to be Mingyu's night sky clear enough and starry enough to guide him home. And all that makes you feel like you want to cry and weep because maybe you are not ready enough. Maybe you will never be. But you want to be, you want so much and that makes things even harder.

So when Mingyu gives you a peck on the lips when he is going home to change for the gym and you are ready for a day in the university you also feel like crying.

And when Mingyu sends you a message asking you out - on a proper date he makes that clear enough you also feel like crying.

And when Mingyu is knocking on your door because you didn't answer and he saw your car in the garage when he was back from his market trip you are already crying before even answering the door.

"Hey-" He freezes and his demeanor changes. "Hey, what's wrong?"

You just continue to cry, feeling like a dumb little kid, feeling like a pan full of water in the stove, boiling and overflowing.

"Hey, babe what's wrong?" Mingyu says, hands on your cheeks making you look at him. "You’re making me worried."

"I just-" You try to say, cleaning your face but you just hiccup harder.

"Are you feeling unwell? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No, I'm OK." And you say because you see Mingyu's face squirm in agony.

"Ok, ok. Do you need anything? Do you want me to buy anything? Fix anything? Did someone mistreat you?" Mingyus continues to try searching for something in your face.

"No I-"

"You can tell me if it is someone from your work or-" He tries again.

"It is not about work, it is about us." You finally say, not because you summed up the courage, but because the way Mingyu is acting is breaking your heart all over again.

"Us?" Mingyu bends his head to the side. "Okay, what's wrong with us?"

"Sometimes I get too wrapped up in my head and that's not your fault." You say, just leaving him there and sitting on the sofa. And you feel the urge to just tug at your hair and scream. "And the whole I'm not ready thing and your sister-"

"What did my sister say?" Mingyu cuts you, closer to you, arms folded against his chest.

“It’s  not because of what she said, she is actually right about it-"

"Look babe, I love my sister to death, I love Minseok to death, I’d die and kill for both of them, but my sister is overprotective so whatever she said-"

"She said we don't have good communication." You blur out at once.

"Oh, for fucks sake,"

"And she’s right because I thought Minseok was your kid right?" You tell Mingyu a little exasperated. "Like we've been hanging out right? And I didn't feel comfortable to talk about it with you"

"Everyone thinks Minseok is my kid." Mingyu says like is not a big deal.

"Yeah but your maybe girlfriend shouldn't and I found out on a trip to a hospital when all the time I was thinking about how worried you were because it was your kid." You say bringing your knees to your chest because all this is fucked up, you shouldn't be talking about this with Mingyu because you have no right to, you were the one that spent too much time not saying yes, and when you said yes didn't even feel like a yes to be honest.

"I was worried, and Minseok is my kid in a way.”

"Mingyu,” You breathe deeply, because you feel stupid, and you feel like you are asking too much "Maybe that's my fault too, I'm not blaming you, that's why I told you that I was not ready for a relationship because I always fuck things up. I get so scared that I fuck things up before people realize I'm not good enough fo-"

"For fucks sake," Mingyu says opening his arms and tilting his head again. And you think is the first time you see Mingyu mad or frustrated, or both at the same time, you really can’t tell. "What the fuck do you mean with not good enough? You are caring, you are smart, and you actually drove me to the hospital and stayed there until I kicked you out. All that when we’ve been seeing each other for two weeks, how is that not being good enough?" Mingyu take your hand that is laying against your knee and caresses it with his thumb. "You make me go crazy every time we are together and I feel the happiest I've ever been in these months fuck this year actually has been a hell for me." Mingyu kicks nothing, and you feel so sorry for bringing it up, for crying, because you can see that this is hard for him too. "So yeah, maybe you are not ready so what? Maybe we don't have communication, yeah sure we fucked up, but if you get out of your head, maybe it’s all because I'm the asshole, I'm the one who loves his nephew enough to want to actually fit the dad shoes because Minseok deserves a father figure. I-" Mingyus says and you can see that his knee almost buckles, making him change positions. "I'm still lacking too, maybe I'm a mess too, fuck, maybe I'm not ready too, but I prefer not being ready together than being ready at the wrong time." Mingyu takes another step, and his hand goes to your cheeks caressing it, making you closer your eyes and just enjoy his faint touch. “So don’t feel pressured ok? You are not in this alone, and I told you I’m all okay with waiting and I’m- I may not seem like it, but I am a mess too, I have my doubts too, and I get into my head too. So when you are getting all crazy and stuff just, just let’s have a talk, ok?”

“Okay, yeah. Okay.” You say catching his hand and kissing his palm. “Can we order food? Can we order Chinese?”

“Of course we can, baby.” Mingyu says with a chuckle.

“And then, " You start unsure of yourself because you still think you are asking too much and giving too little. "Then can you tell me about Minseok? Can we talk about the whole history?”

“Of course, we can” Mingyu says, looking at you fondly again, and for once you feel that being transparent to Mingyu is not that bad because you feel like he understands you need. “I may cry though, so…”

“It's okay, I'm pretty sure you gonna be cute crying.” Mingyu gives you a big smile and that makes you feel alright.

So Mingyu tells you a lot. He tells about Minseok's dad death, he tells about his own father's death and how that impacted him, and how he draws the parallel between Minseok and himself. He talks about how his sister is so protective of him even tho she is half his size, he talks about how his sister always picked his fight. He tells you about Minseok favorite things - Pokémon, ice cream, and dinosaurs. He tells you everything he can think of until you two finish up dinner, and he continues to tell you everything when you are laying in his arms, his hands on your hair, your body over him - legs and arms across Mingyu, because you feel the need to hug his big and beautiful heart, but you settle the need hugging him instead.

And you and Mingyu just fall into a routine easily. You sleeping on his bed or him sleeping on yours, even though his feet always hang on the end of your bed because he is just too damn big and tall. You always say goodbyes at the door, or on the elevator, Mingyu going to the gym, you to your work. Sometimes, when Mingyu has a deadline you stop at your favorite restaurant and order food to cheer him up. Sometimes, Mingyu picks you up so you guys can eat out for a change. But the thing is - its always more than once a week.

So when Mingyu knocks on your door, maybe the fourth time this week (without counting the times you knocked on his door) you are ready to give a pretty and polished version, with heels and all, because Mingyu is taking you to the new fancy restaurant across town.

"Hey-Wow" Mingyu says and you almost throw yourself at him, you almost drool and make a fool of yourself, because Mingyu is wearing black slacks and a white button-down, and god your boyfriend is so hot. "You look amazing babe." He says holding your finger up and making you twirl.

"Thanks," You give him a kick peck and spread your hands against his chest. "You don't look so bad either."

The restaurant is nice, the place is beautiful, the food amazing, and the wine Mingyu ordered tastes so good against your tongue. But the only thing you actually think of is him. His pretty skin pecking out of hir shirt collar, his pretty lazy smile against a few cups of wine, his strong arms and peck against the fabric of his shirt.

When you guys finally settle on the Uber, Mingyu does one of the things he does best - he thinks and conjures in his mind that every damn living thing is in love with you, and it is endearing really. He is so protective and caring and that makes you want to jump him too. He nods to the uber and his big ass hand rest on your thigh, just where the hem of your black dress ends.

And you want to kiss him so bad, if it wasn't for the Uber, you could probably ride him in the backseat. You tug Mingyu's arms making him bend a little in your direction, while your other hand is splayed on top of his, fingers interwind. You kiss Mingyu’s jaw and feel his arm up, god, he is so strong and so hard all over it makes you go crazy, makes you want to merge your body with his, so you just try to get closer to him even if you know it's not really possible.

“You smell nice,” You say almost sniffing Mingyu, hand on his biceps and face on the slot of his neck.

“I smell like I always do?” Mingyu answers you but is more a question really. His hand still on you thigh, but this time giving it a squeeze.

“Yeah, but you always smell nice, baby.” You hands travels up - stopping on his chest. Well, fuck the uber really, he probably sees couples feeling eachother up all the time, so you just paw Mingyu chest.

“Thanks babe but,” He says, holding your hand and giving you a chuckle when he sees you pouting on his shoulder.

“No fun.” You say still trying to get your hand free, to feel Mingyu up in the backseat like a fucking teenager. And to be honest you like the prospect of it giggling a little, feeling dumb, but oh so happy.

“No fun?” Mingyu asks you. “I’m the most fun guy you’ve ever met, I love fun. Fun and I are synonyms.”

“Well, I’m trying to feel you up in the backseat of an uber and you’re not letting me, so, you are the most boring guy ever.” You say on Mingyu’s ear, whispering the words, and you just see his body jerking. He starts to cough, looking at you disbelieved, and you do the only thing possible and laugh.

You take pity on Mingyu's situation, because he is almost choking on the backseat. So you behave like a little girl, hands on her lap, no more touching his boobs, or trying to lick his neck and jaw. But you still think about every other thing you want to do to him. You think about how Mingyu’s hands are big and the way he always put on the small of your back, and you question how it would feel against your neck.

You also want to discover every nook and cranny of Mingyu. Because you love the way he is so reliable in every aspects of adult-life that you struggle a little, he was the one that dealt with the new ac installation in your apartment, but you also love the way he gets so silly and pouts with the smallest and easiest things, and deep down you know Mingyu can do that task, he was big and strong, yet you were the one taking the grasshopper off his balcony.

But when Mingyu is glued to your back, hands on your hips and mouth on your neck on the elevator you think that you settle to discover this version of him today. The version that has you wrapped up in his arms, and the version that has the audacity to feel you up in the elevator.

“You are such a jerk.” You say to Mingyu still latched on your neck.

“Me?” Mingyu asks trailing his hand till they stop on your ribcages, fingers digging in.

"Yes, you." You say trying to get out of Mingyu's embrace but he’s just so clinging, glued to your back, and he is actually keeping you in place with his strong arms. "You can do everything and I can't feel up in the uber. It’s unfair."

"Baby, the uber was right there." Mingyus says guiding you though the hall and stopping on your door.

"Yeah and the crazy lady from the 07 can show up at anytime." You say trying to up your door but Mingyu hands are still on you, now on the hem of your dress, toying with it. "I really shouldn't you let get your way with me today."

"Don't even think about that." Mingyu says, hands again on your hips, this time he starts rutting against your back. "I might die." And you two almost trip when you finally open the door and Mingyu's body weight makes you go forward.

"Yeah, but I’m still mad with you." You say tugging on Mingyu's shirt, his large body pressing you against the wall.

"Baby’s mad?" Mingyu coos, and your legs almost give up because the condescending tone his uses make your brain stop. "What can I do then, hmm?" Mingyu says already lifting your dress up. "What can I do so my baby is not mad with me?"

So you do the only thing you think really, you put hands on Mingyu's neck and bring him to a kiss, it is sloppy but you don't even care, because Mingyu's lip feel so soft, and you can trace the taste of the wine on his tongue. And you are so distracted that you only realize Mingyu is getting you naked when he breaks the kiss to take off your dress.

"Fuck-" Mingyu says actually looking at you, hands on your waist holding you back enough so he can see the way that the black lingerie you bought a few days ago cling onto your skin.

"Come here." You say grabbing Mingyu's shirt again, wanting his mouth back on yours. But Mingyu cuts the kiss short again, leaving sloppy kisses on your jaw and neck. "Babe." You call again, hand going to his hair and tugging.

"I know, I know" Mingyu says kissing your collarbone. "Fuck-" He says taking a step back again and you can feel your body going in his direction, but Mingyu's hand steadies you against the wall. "Just- you look so pretty." Mingyu says looking at you and you’d almost feel shy if you didn't feel so needy. "Look at you." He says hand traveling to touch your boobs so fucking softly you almost melt, fingertips grazing against your lingerie.

"Babe," You whine again, trying to get Mingyu's attention, but he doesn't care, too lost kissing your chest.

"Fuck-" Mingyu says grabbing your hips, toying with your panty line. "Wanna eat you out so bad," He says like almost begging and you need to balance yourself on his shoulders. "You’ll let me right?" Mingyu says looking at you, eyes still against on your skin.

And you feel like your mouth is not working properly so you just give him a nod and it's enough for Mingyu trails his lips lower and actually kneel in front of you. And that alone should be fucking illegal, so when he plants a little kiss on your mound you think you are ready to go straight to hell because you just want to shove his face on your pussy, but instead you just hold Mingyu's face, hands on his jaw.

"I-" he starts, hands on your ass, fingers digging on your skin. When you look at him again he looks so out of it, so lost, so pussy drunk you can almost cry. And when Mingyu actually starts to lap at your pussy, your lingerie still in place you feel actually insane, clenching around nothing and the feel of your wet panties against your core makes you tug at his hair. The way Mingyu looks - eyes closed, hair a mess because of you, eyebrows furrowing in concentration makes your hips buckle against his mouth, but he just keeps going, like there is no other thought in his mind.

"Babe please I need-" You say breathing rapidly, and you feel the urge to cry again, because is so good but at the same time is not enough.

"Hm?" Mingyu says mouth still on you, eyes opening looking at you.

"Need more." You say pathetically, but if you need to beg, you will beg.

"Yeah?" Mingyu asks. "Gonna give to you baby." He says just so he can get his mouth off of you to tug your panties to the side. Then his mouth is on your pussy again, like he can't really spent more than two seconds apart. And you just mew, one hand on Mingyu's hair, and another one trying to keep your body straight against the wall. "Fuck-" Mingyu says again tugging at your panties to the side again, and you can feel it digging at your chest but you don’t care. "How can a pussy taste so good?" Mingyu asks but you doesn't really have an answer, and you feel Mingyu's strong hands on your leg, manhandled your into position, leg against his shoulder, hand splayed on your thigh, while the other one goes to your pussy opening you up. "Pussy’s so pretty fuck, could eat you out for days." He says almost breathless before going back to lap at your pussy, fingers still keeping your open and sucking at your clit.

And everything makes you feel insane. Of course Mingyu's tongue against your entrance makes your knees give up, of course the way he keeps you open for his mouth makes it so dirty, but whats really keeps you going, what makes you reach the edge so fast is the way he hums against your pussy, like it's his favorite thing in the world, the way he is so fucking desperately laps at it, the way the everytime your hips buckle Mingyu just follows the moviment because he can't take his mouth off you for a fucking second and it's what makes you cum. And you actually need to hold Mingyu's head for a minute so he leaves your pussy in other to you catch a breath.

"Need a minute," You say explaining when he looks at you puzzled. "Sensitive."

"Did you just-" Mingyu stops, looking at you and at your pussy making you laugh a little. "Did you just cum?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck, you are so hot." He says giving the leg that still on his shoulder a bite. "But you can take more right?" He says fingers tracing your pussy, pressing your clit making you jump a little. "You need to take more babe, gonna eat your pussy again, open you up with my fingers," he says fingers on your entrance "and then will you make you come on my cock I know you will take so fucking well-" and he plants a kiss on you clit again. "Pretty pussy taking my cock hm? Gonna make you enjoy it, promise, gonna make you feel good."

And you don't doubt for a second that he will make you feel good, fuck he just made you cum against a wall two steps away from your door, but before you can say anything Mingyu is attatched to your pussy again.

"Wait, babe" Mingyu says. "This damn thing is getting on my way." He says letting your legs fall down and he finally takes off your panties, not even bothering to get really off of you, Mingyu just let one of your legs free while your panties sits on your feet. "God, if you let me, I will eat you out everyday, lick this pussy everyday before getting out of bed." He says like he is telling you about a new habits like drinking water first thing on the morning, or have a juice everyday - but he is talking about how he wants to bury his face on your legs like he is doing now, tongue going against your folders, arm going around your leg and opening you open again for him, while the other one goes to your ribcage keeping your body upright. And you loose track of time really, just focusing on Mingyu's tongue against you, humming all over again. "Fuck, how can a cunt taste so fucking good." Mingyu says mouth leaving your pussy as his fingers tacking its place. "You are making me insane, going to cum at my pants if we keep going like this." And you can actually see Mingyu palming himself.

"We can-" You try to start but he just chuckles.

"Oh no, don't worry about me." He says eyes leaving you and going again to your pussy, and you feel so exposed in Mingyu's hand, his digit finally entering you which makes you whimper, until know you didn't really paid attention on how empty you felt. "Making you feel good is enough for me." He says like he is not fingerfucking you to the second orgasm of the night. And again is not really the actions itself, of course. Mingyu’s longer fingers entering you is so fucking good, the way his thumb goes at your clitoris rubbing it in circles makes you cry, but when you look down and Mingyu barely blinks, eyes on your pussy and licking his lips like he didn't eat your pussy for minutes, is what makes you break, the way he looks so fucked blissed about giving you pleasure like he doesn’t need anything else.

And you come on his fingers and almost melting, but Mingyu lifts and holds you up, giving your ass a squeeze.

"So fucking hot-" Mingyu says his strong arms around you making you move towards the sofa, and you are pretty sure he is just dragging you around because your legs gave up. "Could use my mouth to clean you up-" and you almost scream when he is laying on the sofa, letting himself get comfortable between your legs.

"Babe, I love your mouth," you say tugging in Mingyus shirt, and how the fuck he is not naked. "but really I need your cock, otherwise I might go crazy." And you use your last few working neurons to start open the buttons on his shirt but suddenly stop when Mingyu just shoves two fingers inside you again.

"Hm, but you look stuffed enough baby." Mingyu says lowering himself and giving you a kiss, you feeling the taste of your pussy on his mouth.

"Mingyu, please" You beg. "Please, I-"

"Shh, it's okay, gonna give it to you." He says finally getting off his shirt and you feel so empty you can feel yourself clenching over nothing, and you can see how Mingyu just watches your pussy. "Fuck, baby, don't worry" He says already opening up his pants. "Gonna give to you real good, gonna make you feel so full."

"Oh, thank god." You say making him laugh before getting naked, and fuck, he was pretty and big all over. And you almost drool because, shit, even his dick is pretty. "Can I suck you off?" You ask already crazy enough that you mind-mouth filter just vanished.

"Oh fuck," Mingyu say hips buckling, making his cock sits on your mound, and he looks so big. Thank fuck he stretched you out. "Yeah, yeah not now though, might cum on your mouth."

"That's alright."

"Babe," Mingyus mewls, head resting on your collarbone, looking defeated. "Don't say things like that I almost-" He says hips buckling again. "Wanna fuck you properly."

"Ok, ok, but later…"

"Yeah, you can choke on it later, I won't be against it." And god, you want Mingyu to shut the fuck up because if he keeps talking to you, you’re gonna cum again without his dick inside you. "Fuck, might not last long" Mingyu says, and you almost laugh at him, because he is acting like you are not one step away from being spent just because of your mouth. Mingyu guides his cock with his hand, mouth watering looking at it, and when you feel hime ntering you you actually sees your boyfriend gulp.

And then you think about Mingyu saying how different you both are from each other. How his main sense is his vision, while for you, every touch sends you overdrive. And how both of you are so different but fit so well, because when Mingyu is fucking you, his body against yours, mouth at your jaw and hand holding yours, you feel like earth could collapse and the world could end because you already had the taste of the most important thing in the world; the taste of being loved by Mingyu, and you are sure nothing will come close to it.

You feel the urge to make Mingyu feel the same way, so loved and so cherished. So while Mingyu is fucking you, you try your best, you kiss his jaw - and it's messy and sloppy, but it's the best you can do when his dick is stretching you out. You claw at his shoulder, and you put your legs around his waits.

"Fuck, baby-" You try to speak again but you feel unable to, like your brain are not even trying to put more than two words together.

"I'm so fucking close." Mingyu says with his thrust getting faster, out of rhythm, body more pressed against yours.

And you just let the wave wash over you. You can feel Mingyu getting even more unruly, babbling things that you can't really make sense because, fuck, you are so gone. The way that he fills you up in every corner is just different, the way that he stretches you almost makes you feel like you arrived at a point of no return, and when you cum, clenching around him, Mingyu reaches his breaking point.

"Fuck-" He says getting off of you, and getting his hair out of his face, and his smile is so big, so beautiful and so lazy you could just kiss him if your limbs were working really.

"Hey baby, can you please take my bra off?" You say already turning on the bed but when Mingyu's laugh reaches your ears you are so fucking glad that you moved.

[bexalert]

Stardust crusaders having a crush on you

(Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki Kakyoin, Jean Pierre Polnareff, Mohammed Avdol)

Stardust Crusader stuff because I just finished part V and I miss them 😔

Also, I started this a WHILE ago, and it’s just been sitting in my drafts, so here you go.

I’ll also probably be making something for part V soon because I love them all. My accounts about to just become Jojo I’m so sorry 😭

Jotaro Kujo:

• He’s such a sweetie (he will literally ignore you)

• He doesn’t know how to just care about people??? So he won’t say anything

• But he will be very protective of you

• Atleast he’s not insulting you 😭

• He’ll just be watching you at all times, making sure you’re ok.

• He gets flustered, and then gets more flustered since he’s flustered

• Not that most people would notice

• He just starts sweating a bit and looks away.

• but you know who’s NOT shy???

• Star Platinum will not hesitate to play with your hair, stand by you, stare at you

• Obviously Jotaro will try to control him, but sometimes it just subconsciously happens

• He gets frustrated because people (POLNAREFF COUGH COUGH) will tease him

• But he bluffs well enough so you can’t tell

• When he does ask you on a date (if he does)

• It’s short, and almost a demand 😭

• “Go out with me.”

• He moves his hat so that you can’t see his face

• But he’s lowkey shaking

• Bro could defeat dio, multiple other stand users, and stop time without breaking a sweat, but when it comes to you?

• He’s just very out of his element, give my boy a chance

Noriaki Kakyoin:

• He’s just naturally so charming

• Especially if you’re around Jotaro and you’re a woman 😭

• He’ll comfort you if Jotaro makes any rude remarks

• “Pay him no mind.”

• He acts like you don’t affect him as much as you do

• But not to the point of being rude to you.

• He tries to impress you, but might not even realize he’s doing it

• Like he’ll do something cool and then immediately look to you to see if you saw him

• Might act just a smidge more charming

• Oh you need to walk through this door? He’ll open it for you. You’re having a seat? Here, let him pull your chair out for you. There’s a puddle? Oh, don’t get your shoes wet! He can carry you across- for your safety of course!

• He’s very polite, and respects you so much

• Always want to hear your input

• What do YOU think is the best route? Which hotel do YOU like?

• “What do you think, Y/N?”

• Just cares about you very much.

• He’ll be confident but humble when he asks you out

• “Y/N, I like you. Would you go on a date with me?”

• He’s shaking in his boots

• He just always has this content smile when he’s with you.

Jean Pierre Polnareff:

• Oh brother we got ourselves a yapper 😭

• Everyone knows he likes you

• It is absolutely not a secret

• You just assume he’s joking, or think he doesn’t really mean it

• But he is DEAD serious

• Shameless simp- he doesn’t care who makes fun of him

• “Ah, Y/N, do you need help with that? I’ll help!”

• You didn’t need help, he just can’t stand to see you working

• “Mon amour, someone as beautiful as you shouldn’t have to do work like this. Hohoho! leave it to me!”

• He’s incredibly corny and will say the cringiest things at any time.

• “Ah! You’re eyes are as beautiful and shiny are Silver Chariots armor!”

• and you’re just like thanks???? I guess???

• He will ask you out constantly. Just got done fighting? He’ll ask you out to cuddle in his sleeping mat (and also proclaim his undying love) you’re hungry? Please! Let him take you out to eat (and proclaim his undying love) you said you’re tired? He’ll ask you if he can carry you (and of course proclaim his undying love)

• When you finally take it seriously enough to give him a chance, he is over the moon

• He’s telling everyone

• “they said yes! We’re dating!”

• He’s so head over heels and just adores you

Mohammad Avdol:

• Dude he is SWEATING

• Like you won’t notice because he’s very calm and collected, but he’s freaking out

• It also doesn’t help that Magicians Red always comes out when you’re around, and he just keeps getting hotter.

• Like if you’re having a long conversation with Avdol, it will just progressively get more hot

• He tries desperately to keep Magicians Red under wraps, and for the most part he does

• But he gets so embarrassed when he cant

• He’s super respectful, like feels bad for even liking you

• He thinks he’s being gross for thinking of you like that especially if he doesn’t think you like him 😭

• He feels embarrassed outright asking to just have a conversation with you, so he always tries to cover it up with something else

• “Y/N, do you mind helping me read this?”

• HE COULD READ IT!!! He just wanted an excuse to talk to you ☹️

• Since he’s also the groups stand teacher, he’ll use his knowledge to his advantage

• Like you’ll made some off comment about “hmm wonder why that happened.” And he’s going into nerd mode

• 🤓☝️ “Actually when a stand user…”

• Like it was not necessary for him to go off like that, but the way you listen so intently makes his heart flutter.

• if you take his advice into account or say something reminded you of him, he is DEAD

• You actually thought about him, even just for one second, and that is wild to him

• He is also a simp, but no one would notice. Pouring your tea for you, helping set up your mat, bandaging your wounds, etc.

• You just think he’s being a good friend

• When he finally asks you out, he’s so flustered, but tries to keep calm.

• “Y/N, when this is all over I would like to take you on a date. Is that ok?”

• He’s just the sweetest nicest big ol’ teddy bear.

[holylulusworld]

Unwanted mate (2) - Flufftober 25

Summary: Unwanted. Rejected. But desired, nonetheless.

Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Alpha!Bucky Barnes, Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Bucky Barnes

Warnings: angst, past unrequited feelings, past implied cheating, established mm relationship, a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, sneaky/manipulative Steve, possessive Steve, scenting

Catch up here: Unwanted mate

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2024

Square filled for @marvelfluffbingo (2022): Square 7: Early morning

Square filled for @buckybarnesbingo2023: K1: Wish

Square filled for stuckybingo (2023): G3: Protectiveness

Square filled for stuckybingo (2024): G5: Cuddle puddle

Square filled for sweetspicybingo Square 7: touch starved

Square filled for @steverogersbingo C3: Free Space - Stucky

“Steve, we need to talk,” Bucky whispers to not wake you. You’re sleeping peacefully on the bed you shared tonight. After they took turns for half the night, you passed out on your alphas.

“All we did was talk,” the blonde grins at Bucky. “I have had enough of talking and took matters into my own hands. I wanted her and you. It’s done. You’re both mine.”

“This is so—” Bucky huffs. “Steve, how could you trick me to get your hands on my Omega? I thought you loved me!”

“I love you,” Steve cups his lover’s face, “with all my heart. But the three of us belong together. I knew it the moment they announced that Y/N presented Omega. She had to be ours, just like you had to be mine.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “If we are yours, are you ours too, or will you simply move on when you find someone new picking your interest?”

“Buck, I’m as much yours and hers as you are both mine. We are a union, a powerful and undefeatable triad.” Steve glances at you wiggling on the bed. He sighs as you move toward his side of the bed to sniff at his still-warm pillow.

Watching Steve crawl back onto the bed to play the big spoon for you, Bucky doubts his lover’s words. Can he still trust his heart with Steve? He lied to him once; he can do it again.

“Buck, stop overthinking our bond. Y/N is touch-starved thanks to you. I want you to come here and give her the safety and love she needs and deserves.”

Bucky snarls at Steve. “I know what she needs! She’s my wife and omega. How dare you act like you aren’t the reason for her touch-starvation? You distracted me to make sure I wouldn’t be around much. Suddenly you play her knight in shiny armor!”

“Bucky!” Steve snarls and sits back up on the bed. He slips out of bed, walking around the bed to stand in front of your side of it.

“Steve!” Bucky bites back.

“Alpha?” Your eyes snap open, and you suddenly sit up. Bucky watches you crawl toward his side of the bed to grab his pillow and hug it tightly. “No fighting.” You’re still vulnerable to everything happening within the last hours. “Please.”

“Y/N.” Bucky drops his head in shame. He’s got no right to call himself your alpha or husband. For months, he neglected you and favored Steve, his childhood love. Offering redemption won’t fix the damage he caused.

“Alpha,” you rob toward the edge of the bed to look at Bucky. “Why did you—?” You sniffle and look away. “Am I not good enough for you? Why?”

“Bucky can be a fool, sweetness,” Steve softly says. “He likes you a lot but can’t show it. It was my fault. I wanted Bucky all for myself, and then I wanted you both. I was selfish and distracted your alpha. Please forgive me.”

Steve kneels in front of the bed, begging for forgiveness. It’s the first time you saw an alpha kneel. They’d rather die than show weakness. Especially in front of a fertile omega.

“I wish I could take away the pain I caused and earn your forgiveness with my words,” he whines when you look at him with teary eyes. “I wanted you to be ours.” Steve shakes his head. “No, that’s a lie. I wanted you both for myself. I wish I could steal you away from the world to make sure no one even dares to look at you.”

Bucky gapes at the blonde alpha. It’s the first time that the alpha is speechless. He doesn’t know if he should punch Steve for his admission or kiss him breathlessly.

While your husband stares at Steve, you consider the other man’s words. Is it so bad that he wanted Bucky and you? It’s all so new to you. Having two men wanting you. Watching them kiss each other and make love. It was confusing and arousing at the same time.

“Well—uh,” Bucky clears his throat. “It’s still early in the morning. Y/N should sleep a little longer. This is not the time to discuss our relationship. She’s exhausted and confused. We must give her time to adapt to the new situation.”

Steve cocks his head. He wants you all to be happy and have the life you deserve.

“We can’t make the same mistakes again and again, Bucky. It’s the time to talk things out and move our relationship in the right direction.”

“No,” Bucky snarls as he steps toward the bed to kiss the crown of your head. “It’s the time to take care of Y/N, my wife, and our omega. This is not about you and me, but Y/N. We have been selfish and greedy for the longest time, only thinking about our luck and pleasure.”

Bucky helps you lie down again and joins you in bed. He wraps his arms around you from behind and nuzzles you. Inhaling your scent deeply, Bucky hums in delight.

“Either join us, Steve, or go home. You decided to bring us all together. Now you’ll be a good alpha; come to bed and join the cuddle puddle. We can think about the future tomorrow. Right now, Y/N needs to calm down and feel safe.”

Steve eagerly crawls onto the bed and scoots closer to you and Bucky. He snuggles into you and wraps one arm around you and Bucky. Steve sighs and closes his eyes.

Being close to Bucky and you, just lying there, feels more intimate than everything you did last night.

“We will protect her at all costs, Steve. No discussion. Y/N is the center of this triad, and we’ll never hurt her again.”

Tags in reblog.

[alexlwrites]

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: OT7 x Plus Size! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "What was so outrageous about someone like you, you asked yourself and the universe. You had tried your best to compensate for any shortcomings with everything else that was expected of you: femininity, understanding, a sense of humor. Never enough, those were never even the first thing that came to mind when people thought of you.

Why bother then? If nothing you did made any difference at all, why try? If people hated your body just for existing, why not give them a reason to hate your personality as well?"

OR  

The one where seven campus princes who are used to getting everything they wanted get enchanted by your distrust and brattiness, climbing over each other to get a smile from you who could not be bothered to give them a single second of your day.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, College AU

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I wanna leave this here as sort of a trigger warning: this work features a plus size main character and throughout the story there will be mean comments from characters about her body and her journey dealing with said comments. A lot of it comes from my own experience as a (now ex-ish) plus size girl myself and my path to living peacefully within my body. And although this work is about Y/N's relationship with the boys, I like to think that she still would've continued to grow and blossom happily on her own. Let this be something you learn from this fic, as I say right on the first chapter: You don't have to love the way you look right away, you just can't let it stop you from doing the things you want and, in a greater scale, from being happy and treated with respect.

Thank you for reading <3

P.S: Red daisies, like many red flowers, represent love and romance. Florists often use them to communicate affection to someone who doesn’t know how beautiful they are—a.k.a. beauty unknown to the possessor. 

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

The pattern in your relationships - if you could call them that - was tiring, to say the least. Once, they might have been soul crushing, but time and repetition took away the novelty of your pain and now the endgame was a mild, resented disappointment.

It started with kindness and a gentle smile, mainly from your part. You treated anyone who gave you any smidgen of attention with the utmost sweetness, hoping your energy would be matched. And sometimes it was, for a while. Sometimes you got to be on the receiving end of a blinding smile or a casual touch and you allowed yourself to hope - no, pray -that that could be it. That someone, some modern day knight in shiny armor , saw through your looks and decided that you were deserving of love, despite societal norms,

But men had a way of setting you up for disappointment. A talent, truly.

You were tired, you decided that night. No, beyond that, you were exhausted, scarred, bitter, hopeless, resentful… You could keep going. You could list every bad feeling you had been carrying in your chest by alphabetical order or by how badly they hurt and honestly you just wanted it to stop.

Would you have to change everything about your body to be happy, you wondered watching the boy you had been seeing for a few weeks make fun of you in front of his circle of friends at the party you were both at. Would you never be allowed to be happy just the way you were?

Would you have to change everything about your body to be happy?

“Yeah, she’s nice” Junsuu said, winking suggestively at his giggling friends “if you know what I mean.” you felt your face heat up in humiliation at the renewed round of laughter “But we just don’t match, like, physically. You know, looks-wise.”

“Right” someone agreed way too enthusiastically, sending a spear through your heart “I really just can’t see you with someone like her.”

What was so outrageous about someone like you, you asked yourself and the universe. You had tried your best to compensate for any shortcomings with everything else that was expected of you: femininity, understanding, a sense of humor. Never enough, those were never even the first thing that came to mind when people thought of you.

Why bother then? If nothing you did made any difference at all, why try? If people hated your body just for existing, why not give them a reason to hate your personality as well?

“You’re right” you said out loud, drawing attention to yourself. Filled with hatred (for him, the world, the circumstances), your heart had no room to be mortified when all eyes turned to you “we don’t match.”

You watched as Junsuu’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting you to hear, much less reply “I am a big girl” you continued, words dripping with rage “And I know for a fact that there’s nothing big about you.”

You turned around to leave the room, cringing at the petty comeback, ignoring the murmurs and Junsuu’s panicked calls of your name. Walking fast, you fled the scene of the last heartbreak you would allow yourself to go through, deciding that a change was needed, but not the change everyone wanted from  you.

Despite the rumors, you didn’t turn into a huge bitch overnight, didn’t start kicking puppies or spitting on the poor. Truly, the only thing you did was establish boundaries and reevaluate the amount of respect some people deserved, but very quickly people started seeing you as some sort of villain, especially when they realized how little you cared for how they saw you. How disrespectful of you to not allow yourself to be disrespected, right?

At first, there was still an air of uncertainty about you - years and years of non-reciprocal niceties drilled into your brain, habits hard to quit. But the more you let go of those things, these tiny acts of self-aggression disguised as pleasantries and altruism, the lighter you felt; Your days became easier to get through, existing within your body felt less and less like a punishment. You had yet to reach an Instagram-worthy level of body positivity, but you had become accustomed to body neutrality. You didn’t have to love the way you looked right away, you just couldn’t let it stop you from doing the things you wanted and, in a greater scale, from being happy and treated with respect.

And respect you started to demand and much happier you became, living in relative peace and solitude - safe by a few close friends - up until your days started being pestered by seven headaches you could not seem to shake away.

—-

Jungkook was the one that saw you first.

It was 3 weeks into the semester and he finally decided it was the perfect time to start going to classes, sitting in the back and only listening to about 25% of what was being said, mind floating towards more important subjects such as the package of ramen waiting for him at home. Only mildly interested in what the professor had to teach, he couldn’t help but to be startled when everyone started getting up from their seats to shuffle around the room. “What’s going on?” he asked the guy sitting next to him.

“Professor gave us a duo assignment.” the other man said, standing up “You're with Y/N.”

“Who?”

The guy just pointed towards you with his chin, redirecting Jungkook’s attention before leaving. You were sitting a couple rows further down, hunched over your little green IPad as you wrote something with impressive velocity. Jungkook walked over to you, already mentally going over what he would have to do to charm you into doing everything on your own “Y/N?” he called and you raised your head.

You were pretty, he noticed with satisfaction, all bright eyes and lovely features, curves everywhere he looked “Yes?”

“I’m Jungkook.” he extended his hand with a casual smirk “The professor put us together for this project.”

There had been a small, but pleasant and polite smile on your face up until he said those words, replaced by pursed lips and an arched brow. “Yes, I know. We’ve had classes together for over a year now and been partnered together before.”

Uh oh. “Right” he coughed awkwardly, fumbling under your hardened stare “so, about this project…”

“We will meet once a week,” you said, straightforward as you turned your eyes back to your sticker-filled IPad “I will go over the theme and split the work evenly, so give me your number and I can text you with what you’re supposed to do.”

“Woah, woah, asking for my number already?” he said in a flirting manner, sitting on top of your table so he could be directly in front of you.

“Would you prefer it if I emailed it to you?” you asked without looking up.

“Actually, I was thinking you could help me out a bit,” he placed his finger under your chin, raising your face towards him “you know I have soccer practice and…”

You pushed his hand away “Unless you’re playing at the World Cup, I can’t see how that would be more important than your studies, so you either do your part of the assignment or get an F in it, I don’t care. I won’t do all the work for you, Jeon. Not again.”

Again? Jungkook winced, trying to remember when you had met before. Surely he would remember getting his head bitten off by a snappy, pretty thing like you, wouldn’t he? Surely your attitude would stand out to him amongst all the sweetness and compliance he received just for existing and smiling.

“Here’s my number.” you gave him a piece of paper with your digits written in gel sparkly ink “Text me when you decide if you want to pass this class. Good day.” 

You looked down again, going back to your notes, signing that the conversation was over before he even had the chance to add anything more. He jumped off the desk and stepped away, looking back to see if you were looking at him, but there wasn’t a single glance from your part.

Shit. Shit. He actually did have to pass this class, otherwise his overbearing soccer coach would kick him off the team. He stared down at your number, wondering what he would have to do to get you to cut him a little slack and forgive him for absolutely forgetting about your existence. 

—

“Hey, this is Jungkook” the text from an unknown number said “looking forward to us working together. We should get dinner sometime, get to know each other better.”

You read over the text once more, willing your heart to slow down its beating. Sure, Jungkook was charming and handsome, but you had seen this dance before. He would talk his way into your good graces, making you laugh and giggle until you had a four thousand word essay done with both your names in it and your texts to him would go unanswered and unseen. 

This was not your first hurtful rodeo. You put your phone away, facing down, ignoring as the poor device vibrated itself off the table with the upcoming texts.

Meanwhile, across campus, Jungkook was fuming.

“Or breakfast. We should get breakfast. I know a great place.” he tried once again, but his message was left unread. Still, he persisted.

“I have a lot of great ideas for this assignment. Don’t you want to know them?” he texted, even though he didn’t have the faintest idea on what the assignment was even about.

“You know, it’s rude to leave a guy hanging.”

“How can we do this if you won’t even text me back?”

“I thought we were in this together.”

“You know, like High School Musical.”

He kept typing out absurdity after absurdity, hoping you would dignify one with an answer. He just needed one opportunity, one opening…

His text stopped going through.

“She blocked me!” he gasped out loud.

“Who?” his roommate, Taehyung asked from where he laid on their couch, feet up on the coffee table.

“This girl in my class. We have this project together and she blocked me!”

Taehyung sent a disbelieving look his way “Were you actually planning to do the work?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously not.”

His friend rolled his eyes “Obviously not. So what’s your plan here?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, too busy looking for alternative ways to contact you. After a few minutes of research, he found your Instagram. You were cute, he noticed again, scrolling through your few posts, all relatively recent. You had a very specific style, a tasteful mix or dark and edgy with splashes of pink and bows, tight corsets under leather jackets that he couldn’t help but stare appreciatively, the flattering material clinging to your waist line and pushing your breasts up, exposing the soft freckled top of cleavage to his always hungry eyes. In your pictures, your eyes shone brightly, crinkling at the sides from your ever present smile and he could not understand why you hadn’t directed one of those to him. 

It was unsettling, to say the least, but he could not allow his annoyance to take over. He needed your help if he wanted to pass that class and if he had to use unconventional ways to get your attention, he would. 

And so, much like a little boy pulling at a girl’s braids, he started liking and spamming the comments of every single post you had.

—

There were whispers all around you, your worst nightmare.

You were at the school library, getting work done while drinking from your fourth cup of coffee, hands shaking due to caffeine and anxiety, your ever present friends. You tried to focus on your books and carefully written notes, but every word you could barely hear and every look you felt over your shoulder seemed to dig claws into your skin. You knew what they were saying. You heard it all the way from your dorm to your classes and couldn’t seem to escape them. 

“Did you see Jungkook’s comments on her pictures? What’s that about?”

“It’s not like there’s a lot to comment, is there?” 

“Maybe he thought it was someone else?”

“It’s probably a prank.”

“I bet he was hacked.”

Of course, why else would someone like Jungkook - a campus prince, popular soccer player, heartthrob - show interest in you? 

It hurt, but a small part of you still agreed with those mean spirited whispers. You closed your eyes, trying to even your breathing and will those thoughts away. You knew better, had learned better than to measure your value by how interested some boy was in you.

When you opened your eyes again, Jungkook was in front of you.

You barely had time to process his presence when the voices picked up volume, your skin prickling and eyes aching to remain dry. 

“What’s Jungkook doing with Fat Y/N?”

That word shouldn’t be as hurtful as it was - after all, it was just an adjective, just the current state of your body that served only to carry your thinking mind, your feeling heart. But people always said it like a curse, wielding it like a sword.

You closed your eyes again and when you opened once more, Jungkook was still there. Looking furious.

“What are they saying?”

“What they always said” you shrugged, avoiding his eyes by looking down at your papers.

Jungkook didn’t move for a while, hearing people pretend to whisper around you but it was clear that the motherfuckers wanted you to hear. Was it always like this for you, he wondered, watching as you focused on whatever book you had in front of you, hunched over with tense shoulders, your face a far cry from the luminescent one he saw on your Instagram, not a hint of that smile he wanted directed at him so unreasonably.

He couldn’t just stand there and watch you struggle to keep your posture. 

You felt him standing up and leaving more than you saw him. Good, you thought. He should leave, like everyone did, scared away by that one word that followed you around like a brand. He was probably embarrassed to be seen with you, you assumed bitterly, and there was no place in your life for people who didn’t want you proudly by your side…

Jungkook sat back in the chair in front of you and you couldn’t help but gape at the impressive bouquet of red daisies he extended towards you.

“Take it” he said, but you couldn’t move, could barely hear the furious voices around you over the roaring beat of your heart.

You… You had never gotten flowers. 

“Take it” he repeated “I almost got run over because of this, the least you can do is accept it.”

“Jungkook” you whispered, dumbfoundedly accepting the bouquet “what’s this?”

“People keep doubting I could be interested in you” he said and there was an edge to his tone you did not expect “maybe this could help clear up some rumors.”

“This is not your battle to fight” you held the flowers close to your chest carefully, looking up at him with distrust, unable to understand his motives “I’m used to this sort of thing and I don’t care about those stupid rumors.”

You were used to it? That just made Jungkook angrier. How could you be used to that sort of treatment? 

Jungkook was a lot of things - spoiled, a little lazy, sometimes a dick. But he wasn’t a bigot and he wasn’t about to stand around and let you become used to being disrespected if there was something - anything! - he could do about it “I like picking up fights”.

“Is this just pity?” you asked and he could see walls around you that stood thousands of feet tall “Is this because of that stupid assignment? Because I’m not going to do all the work just because you got me some flowers…” 

He raised his hands and smiled at you “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll do my work” he said, a new goal in mind as he saw you recoil from him with eyes filled with wariness like a suspicious kitten “You said once a week, right? How’s friday for you?” 

You still clung to your bouquet like a lifeline “That works, I guess.”

“Great!” he clapped loudly, standing up and catching the eye of those around him “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart” you mumbled, but he pretended not to hear as he crossed the table around to your side, quickly leaving a kiss to your heated cheek before you had the chance to react.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’ll see you around” he said, making sure everyone in the library could hear him “do me a favor and unblock me, ok?”

You flipped him off, both for stealing a kiss and that stupid nickname, but he just laughed it off.

“That’s my girl” he said and the library erupted in renewed whispers.

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

°•. ✿ .•°

[Red Daisies taglist: @purplelady85 ]

[Permanent taglist: @imknewattis ; @dreamamubarak ; @onlythebest-106 ; @betysotelo18 ; @havetaeminforbreakfast ; @uno7 ; @chimchimmarie ; @anaya123world ; @junecat18 ; @kayleefriedchicken ; @jkselcouth ; @ivrose21 ; @svnbangtansworld ]

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for derpsheep; "a fake cryptid and a real romantic". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim doesn’t say anything; just curls in smaller on himself, visibly cringing even through Robin’s wings. His Robin is heavier than Dick’s was. Bigger and layered and armored in ways his Robin wasn’t. 

Armored in ways Jason’s wasn’t. 

( it’s Dick’s fault, that Jason’s Robin wasn’t armored. Jason wore HIS Robin, so it’s his fault. he didn’t–he never– 

it’s his fault. 

his ROBIN’S fault. )

No one could cut Tim out of Robin’s wings without consequences. Not and survive Gotham after, anyway. Gotham is dark and cold and brittle, unstable and uncaring and perfectly, brutally unjust, but Gotham is selfish, too, and Gotham will break even her own rules when she wants to. 

And Gotham loves her Robins. 

Dick still doesn’t understand how Joker ever stepped foot in the city again without her eating him alive. 

But he also doesn’t understand how she ever let him leave her for Bludhaven without eating him alive. 

He’d really thought she would, when he’d molted his Robin and run away to Nightwing’s bright and burning shadows. 

Gotham loves her Robins so, so much. 

“Robin’s yours,” Tim says, and Dick doesn’t say anything about Jason. “I’m just . . . being what the Batman needs. Somebody has to do it. And if I go around telling just, what–everyone I ever hang out with the big secret, that’s just–I mean, I barely know him, the guy hasn’t even been alive long enough for anyone to be able to say they really know him, including himself, probably, and it’s just–I don’t know! I just don’t know, and this nest looks so stupid and he’s just really, really cute and he made me a diamond, Dick! Because he thought I’d like something shiny! And he stalked me because he thought I’d like that!” 

“I mean, to be fair, I’d assume that about you and I know you’re not actually an eldritch city splinter,” Dick replies with a shrug. “Presumably literally anyone who’s spent more than five minutes with you would assume that, in fact.” 

Except his parents, anyway, which Dick is pretty sure why things like someone paying that much attention to him is something Tim would instinctively appreciate, even without the Batman’s influence on his socialization the past couple of years. 

“That’s not the point, Dick,” Tim huffs, re-folding his wings sullenly. “The point is–I don’t even know what the point is. I have to tell him, don’t I? Like–it’s lying, if I don’t tell him. But it’s not–I only told Steph because I thought I had to, and I didn’t want to. So I don’t know if I won’t, you know . . . resent him, if I tell him. Except he’s not even asking, so like–that’s not fair, if I resent him for something I thought I had to do.” 

“Are you doing anything Tim Drake wouldn’t do?” Dick asks. “Aside from, like, the screeching bird noises.” 

“Huh?” Tim says, turning his face towards him. The mask doesn’t change, but the confusion is obvious. 

Even if it weren’t, Dick still knows how to read a Robin. 

He’ll always know.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Alastor: (voice low, laced with authority) "You know, darling, you could use a little more… coverage. That costume is just… too inviting."

Reader: (playfully rolls her eyes) "Oh come on, Alastor! It’s just harmless fun. Look at how cute I am!"

Alastor: (eyes narrowing at a passerby) "Cute? Yes. But you don’t need strange eyes lingering on you like that. I’d have to remind them of their place."

Reader: (smirking) "And what would that be, my knight in… well, maybe not so shiny armor?"

Alastor: (taking a step closer, voice dark, joints cracking as he flexes his fingers) “Anyone who dares to gawk too long might just find their evening cut short. I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”

Reader: (laughs, but there’s a hint of nervousness) “You’re overreacting. Besides, I thought you liked showing off your girl a bit.”

Alastor: (sighs, his voice softening) “I do, just… let me wrap you in my coat, love. I'm just protecting what’s mine.”

Reader: (finally relenting) “Alright, alright… but only because you’re cute when you’re protective.”

[ashdreams2023]

Can you please do Loki reacting to reader if they asked for him to keep his horns on while doing the dirty 🤭 and also maybe it’s usually really soft and sweet but she wants Loki to be rough and he’s initially taken aback? 🙃 -can be whatever writing style you want, thanks

The horns stay

Loki x fem reader {NSFW}

Loki loved your lip, your eyes, your hands and your curves, every inch of you made him his blood boil with heat, he wanted to take his time lavishing you and making you feel special.

"Loki" you moaned as he took off your clothes, enjoying the way you squirmed under his cool hands and your back arched.

"I’ll be there my love just one second" he pushed you into the bed, not too strong he doesn’t want to hurt you.

He takes off his armor with a flick of his finger then reaches for him helmet but your sudden movement stop him, you sit Straight on the bed and reach for his hand, you pull it away from the helmet and pull him into bed "leave it, please"

His eyes darkened before slamming his lips onto yours, your arms warped around his neck in perfect harmony, pressing your naked chests together.

"Don’t hold back, please, I want you to make me yours, all the way"

Loki cursed underneath his breath, he licked his lips and bite your bottom lip teasingly before running his hand over your chest and squeezing your breast making me moan louder.

"You want me to mark you? Bruise your pretty skin my dove?" He breathed into your ear causing you to shiver.

"Yes, yes please, do your worst to me!" Loki grinned devilishly before pulling away and flipping you on your back, making you face the huge mirror near the bed.

Loki pulled you by your hair and lifted your head up slightly so you can get a good look at yourself and him in the reflection of the mirror.

His helmet horns still stood tall and shiny on his head "Beg me more, tell me how much you want it"

"Loki, my prince, please, take me, now!"

He slammed his cock inside of you and didn’t leave you any time to adjust like he did many times before, it was exciting and you were so wet and needy, it drove him crazy.

"You like that? That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?" He said thrusting rough into you, rocking your body with each slap and slapping your ass with his strong hand.

You watched with lust fogging your vision, all you could feel is him filling you up again and again.

Those horns made him look sinister, so intimidating, so powerful and Royal.

And you were his very own dove, the prettiest, most spoiled dove.

"Fuck you’re so wet and desperate, don’t cum yet" he said breathless then pulling out of you. You whined looking back at him and reaching your hand back to touch him but he held your wrist and pulled you on top of him.

"I did what you wished for my beautiful dove, now work for it like the little princess you are, take your throne"

You blinked away a few tears of frustration and grabbed onto his horns then seated yourself down, you were so close and just needed a couple of jumps in.

"Yes, just like that use me, use your prince" his words made your throat dry and your hips faster, he gripped your sides the whole time, digging his fingers into your soft flesh, edging you till your orgasm reached its peak and you came on his cock.

You still kept holding onto the horns, letting him thrust into your sensitive pussy until he finally came shortly after.

[forestdeath1]

People say that Sirius never realised how offensive his words were until James or Remus said it to him.

I personally disagree with this take. I think, Sirius was very aware of how offensive his words and actions were. James didn't realise, but Sirius did.

Sirius finds people's sore spots and deliberately hits them. This is not James's "morally orientated" and rather impersonal bullying, this is a deliberate way of humiliating people Sirius doesn't particularly respect. People want to believe Sirius "didn't realise" what he was doing because it's easier to love Sirius and justify their Wolfstar that way, but Sirius always understood what he was doing, unlike James. Sirius probably rarely crossed the line beyond psychological bullying, but didn't stop James from physical bullying – he found it fun. But he himself hardly participated in physical aggression, although he obviously could have, being magically and physically gifted. It seems Sirius had drawn the line for himself.

Sirius wasn’t a little stupid boy, he matured very early, he had a very good understanding of boundaries and was always very aware of where he and James were crossing those boundaries.

“Bad luck, Prongs,” said Sirius briskly.

Sirius knew about James's crush on Lily and found it even funny that she rejected him. Because Sirius understood that James often crossed the line, and Lily’s reaction was quite fair.

‘What is it with her?’ said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him. 

‘Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,’ said Sirius.

While James played the splendid knight in shining armor, Sirius found it all amusing. Because it was fun for him. And no one told him he was doing anything wrong, he already knew it. Remus mostly stayed quiet, sometimes making them “feel ashamed", haha. He's just much more socially anxious than Sirius, he doesn't like being "unliked." Sirius has zero social anxiety, he didn't care whether people loved him or not (besides, James loved him, what else did he need? Right, nothing).

And I think Sirius truly only respected James. Someone who Sirius truly respects, he never hurt. The moment when Sirius "hurts" Harry in book five is a pretty harsh moment, because Sirius loses respect for Harry for a brief moment because Harry turns out to be different from James. But then Sirius shows a new and even stronger respect for Harry. It's a good moment. This moment allowed Sirius to grow in his relationship with Harry.

And it's obvious Sirius respected Lily by fifth year. And after Azkaban, he "learned" to respect others (he reacted pretty gently in his argument with Molly), but his arrogance still showed sometimes (ie, he rudely cut off Hermione, not letting her finish her thought).

Anyway, what had changed with age wasn't that Sirius had realised that his words and actions were offensive. He always knew that. And he had shown even after Azkaban how cruel he could be to those he didn't respect. The only thing that changed was that Sirius started respecting random people more, instead of sitting around like a shiny royal arse.

But there is a NUANCE here. Sirius most likely always treated girls with respect by default. Idk why I just feel it :D With Hermione, they just didn't see eye to eye.

[hyperactively-me]

tension

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again. His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact. "Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

massaging din’s sore, aching muscles ... leads to ... yeah. I'M SORRY (not sorry at all) PUT ME IN HORNY JAIL FOR THIS IDC. it started off so innocent but then the horny monster came out and took over.

tags: smut, OILED UP DIN DJARIN, I REPEAT, OILED UP DIN DJARIN. established relationship

Din has no issue praising and worshipping you with nothing but love and adoration. In fact, it feels like second nature to him.

When he's the object of your praises, though, he doesn't know how to act. He's caught off guard by your doting attention, your quiet praises, your gentle touches.

The gruff exterior that comes so naturally to him becomes a bit more pronounced when faced with compliments and affection.

His usual response was to deflect and downplay, wanting to be the one in control, the one doing the praising rather than receiving it. It's not that he didn't appreciate your words; it's just that the vulnerability of accepting them was difficult for him.

In those moments, you read his body language like the back of your hand. You could see the conflict in his eyes, a mixture of gratitude and discomfort. He had been alone for most of his time in this cruel galaxy, had spent so long being self-reliant, not needing validation from others, that being on the receiving end of such genuine affection challenged his identity of being the stoic, impenetrable Mandalorian.

So, when he finally comes back to the Razor Crest after catching an elusive bounty, you know exactly what to do to put him at ease, to show him how much you love him, your riduur.

You catch his hand before he can take any of his armor off.

"Don't. Let me do it," you say gently, tugging his hand away.

He stares at you with that ever stoic expression you know he has on his face right now beneath the helmet. A few beats pass, and he relents, letting his wrist fall limp in your grip.

"Thank you," you whisper quietly, now running your hands up his shoulders.

You start with his baldric and belt, catching it in your grip as you unfasten the clasps. It's surprisingly heavy in your hands, and you're already a bit weary to take off the beskar.

Next, you slip his worn brown cape off his shoulders, the rough material scraping across your fingers. You can still feel traces of warmth around the part that was settled around his neck and shoulders.

Din stands before you, now with his baldric, belt, and cape out of the way, the beskar armor still encases his form. You take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of the beskar, tracing the shiny metal with your fingertips. The material is cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body you can barely feel radiating off his form. Din still stands rigid, hands flexing at his side.

His gaze remains steady, a silent acknowledgment of your request. You take charge again, delicately unfastening the clasps of his shoulder pads and removing the plates, and you can feel just how tense even just his shoulders are.

You set them gently to the side and start to work on his chest plate, easing it away from his torso with careful precision. The beskar plates release with a loud clinking sound, revealing the fabric of his flight suit beneath. You can clearly see Din's chest rise and fall with a steadiness that betrays the controlled exterior he presents to the world. With a small grunt, you ease the heavy beskar chestplate to the side, shooting Din a look when he tries to take it from your grasp.

"You said you would let me do it," you whisper, a playful yet stern glint in your eyes.

He sighs through the voice transmitter, yet allows you to continue your process of taking his armor off.

His shoulders sag forward ever so slightly as the weight of the chest plate is removed from his body, grunting with relief as he rolls his shoulders back a few times.

Next, you move on to his vambraces, unlocking the beskar from his arms. As you work on removing the vambraces, the sleeves of his flight suit ride up and you notice the subtle scars and markings on Din's forearms. You're careful to not drop the one loaded with bullets and other small weaponry.

Your hands move with a practiced gentleness, and you can sense Din's quiet appreciation for the care you're taking.

As the small pieces of armor joins the growing collection of beskar beside you, the room is filled with a sense of intimacy, a shared vulnerability palpable between you two.

Din stands before you now, the upper half of his body free from the encasement of armor. The warmth of his skin is more perceptible, and you can see a slight relaxation in his demeanor.

You move lower now, unfastening the straps securing the beskar that adorns his thighs. Your hands brush against his skin, and that's when he starts to shift side to side. You smile to yourself as you set the pieces to the side, letting your hands drag from the back his knees down to his shins to remove the final pieces.

Beskar greaves protect his shins, and you get on your knees to remove them. You don't miss the way his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees before him, but he refuses to move a muscle.

Carefully, you unfasten the straps securing the beskar greaves, allowing them to slide down his shins. Your hands move with a deliberate gentleness as you catch them, setting them on top of the stack of armor. Now that all of his armor is removed, you can clearly tell Din is now more relaxed, not as rigid.

His head his angled directly at you, the black t-visor of his helmet piercing through you. You smile softly up at him, pushing yourself to standing but not without him grabbing your hand to help you up.

You know what he's thinking. You know what he wants. He'll just never say it.

You press up onto your toes, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hands finally move, coming to rest on your waist as you lean into where you think his ear would be.

"Later," you whisper seductively, and he firmly squeezes your waist in his grip.

You take a step back, now turning your focus back to his leather gloves. Taking his left hand in yours, you spread his fingers out so you're able to slip his glove off his easier. The leather glove comes off smoothly, revealing his calloused yet gentle hand beneath. You set the glove aside, repeating the action on his other hand.

Din watches you with that unyielding gaze, his helmeted face betraying no emotions, and the tension in the air does anything but subside.

As you remove the second glove, you can't help but admire his hands; how large they, how strong they are. They're the tools of a warrior: skilled and precise, calloused and graceful. With his hands now bare, you step closer to him, your fingers tracing the lineaments of his palm. The warmth of his skin contrasts with the coolness of the beskar that once covered him. His hands are strong, yet there's a gentleness in the way he allows you to explore them.

You finally look up to his helmet, clicking your tongue with disapproval. You couldn't really get his shirt off without stretching out the neck over his helmet, and we can't have that, can we? Poor shirt, all stretched out. Oh well! Looks like we have to see your beautiful riduur's face!

You run your hands on the underside of his helmet, tracing the hard edges with the pads of your fingers. Suddenly, you latch onto the edges and slowly start to pull it up and off his head. Din's breath catches as the helmet is lifted, his nose twitching ever so slightly.

The helmet comes clean off, revealing his face, his dark hair tousled from the snug fit. You're met with his intense gaze, and for a moment, your own breath catches in your throat.

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again.

His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact.

"Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

His lips twitch in a hint of a smile, eyebrows quirking at your playful comment.

"Are you going to finish, cyar'ika? Or are you going to finish undressing me with just your eyes?"

You roll your eyes at his remark, fighting back a laugh at his nonchalant comment.

"I guess I do have some unfinished business," you reply, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

You guide his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off his form and letting it fall to the floor. You're met with his tanned, toned chest, marked with scars, the silent stories of the battles he's fought.

You run your fingers lightly over the contours of his chest, savoring the feeling of his tight muscles and soft stomach. He shivers under your touch at the way your nails drag across his skin, pressing into it ever so slightly. Din watches you closely, his gaze never leaving your hands. With a soft smile, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin between his shoulder and upper chest.

Din's fingers find their way to your hair, but you pull back, now grabbing the waistband of his pants. You tug them down quickly, helping him step out of the pant legs, but leaving him in his loose boxers.

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and guide him to the bed. There's no rush, no urgency. For both of you, it's a moment to savor, to appreciate each other in a quiet, peaceful moment. Before he lies down, you pull him down for a chaste kiss, savoring the way his lips taste, the way his patchy mustache tickles your face. As he finally moves to lay down, you wordlessly motion for him to lie on his stomach, and he complies. He settles onto the bed, propping himself up with his forearms.

You retrieve a bottle of oil from a nearby table, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air as you warm the liquid between your palms. You straddle his lower back, and immediately Din is biting his tongue to withhold any premature sounds.

The moment your hands come into contact with his broad shoulders, he's a goner. Your touch is firm yet tender, your fingers finding all of his knots and tension, coaxing them to release.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional satisfied hum or grunt from Din. As your hands move down his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, you slowly feel the tension in his body dissipating.

Your fingers trace the faint lines of his scars, and you can't help but marvel at the beauty of the man beneath you. He finds solace in your touch, a promise that in this moment, he can let go and just relax.

Din's body responds to your touch, his tension gradually melting away. Your hands move with a soothing rhythm, exploring every inch of his back and shoulders. The oil makes his skin glisten in the soft light of the room, and you revel in the way his body looks as though it was carved by the Maker himself.

As your hands work their way down his spine, you occasionally lean down to press soft kisses on his back. The combination of your mouth and hands on him causes Din to shudder, the sensations pulling him into a deep state of tranquility. The rise and fall of his breath shifts into something more rapid, yet you don't catch on quite yet. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, and he responds with a soft hum of contentment

Shifting off his back, you move down to his thighs and calves, continuing to massage his muscles with the same deliberate care. His fingers twist into the thin sheets of his bed, groaning as you knead into his thighs. The tension in Din's muscles seems to subside even more as you move farther down his legs, the oil dripping from your hands creating a smooth glide as you knead his skin.

As your hands move down his legs towards his feet, you notice the subtle tremor in his muscles, a sign that your touch might be affecting him more than he's letting on. You can't see that he's biting the inside of his cheek, stifling every pathetic groan he wants to let out.

You reach the soles of his feet, and he reflexively curls his toes at the sensation. A small chuckle escapes your lips, and you gently press your thumbs into the arches of his feet, eliciting a low, appreciative groan from him.

With a soft smile, you decide to shift the massage to his upper back and shoulders again, allowing your hands to linger in the areas that are the most tense from his heavy beskar. As your fingers work their magic, you lean in close to whisper in his ear.

"Almost done," you murmur, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine. "Does it feel good?"

Din responds with a throaty, affirmative noise, and you can't help but smile at the effect you're having on your typically stoic Mandalorian.

Your hands trace patterns over his skin, kneading, massaging, and occasionally trailing higher than expected. His breathing becomes more uneven, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

The atmosphere in the room drastically changes from innocent and relaxed to something more sultry, the air thick with repressed tension. You can sense Din's arousal, the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his muscles tense beneath your every little touch. A playful smile crosses your lips, realizing the effect you're having on the usually composed man.

The occasional brush of your fingers against more sensitive areas elicits involuntary reactions from Din, his groans growing more audible.

"Enjoying this, aren't you?" you tease, your voice a sultry whisper as you lean down to place soft kisses along his shoulder blades.

"Teasing me, aren't you?" he growls back, looking back at you with a heated expression.

"Maybe a little." You smile innocently. "But the best things are worth the wait, aren't they?"

Din responds with a low, husky chuckle, a sound that reverberates through the room.

"Yes," he states simply, his voice catching in his throat when you slide off his back.

You beckon him to turn over onto his back, and he complies. Once again, you straddle him, now sitting directly on his hips, over his crotch. Taking more lavender scented oil, you lather it onto your hands and start to knead into his chest. His hands reach up to grip your ass, squeezing your flesh.

You feel Din's chest rise and fall faster as your hands start to work over his toned muscles. The oil slicks up his chest, and your fingers glide smoothly over his skin. You can practically feel his desire for you that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. Din's gaze is intense, and you meet it with a playful yet innocent smile.

"Fuck, cyare," he groans as his hands trail up your sides, the touch possessive yet gentle.

As your hands continue their ministrations on his chest, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. The taste of his mouth is intoxicating, and Din responds with a hunger that surpasses your own. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you to grind you down over his crotch, and you can feel the pressure of his cock against your core.

"Easy there, Din," you murmur as you pull away from his lips. "We've got plenty of time."

The sound of his name rolling off your lips never gets old to him, and he shudders at the sound.

You sit back, your hands now trailing down his abdomen as you move to sit in between his thighs. Grabbing his hands, you knead into his palms with your thumbs, maintaining an eye contact that you know drives him absolutely crazy. Din's eyes are dark with arousal, and he watches you with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

Eventually, you finish the massage after you feel the tension fully dissipate from Din's body. He lies there, relaxed and content, basking in the afterglow of your touch.

Without waiting any longer, you finally give the man what he wants. You bring his hand up to your mouth, and without hesitation, you stick two of his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his thick digits as you maintain eye contact with him, eliciting a low growl to escape from the depths of Din's throat.

"You- you fuckin' tease, mesh'la," he growls as he starts to sit up. You take your free hand and push him back down, not letting him sit up.

You push his fingers deeper into your mouth, sucking them harder as your tongue runs over the pads of his fingers. Your other hand comes up to his thigh, resting dangerously close to his now fully erect yet still clothed cock.

After a moment, you release his fingers with a wet pop, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Din's breathing has become more ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with anticipation and arousal.

"Feeling better?" you ask innocently, sliding your hands up and down his thighs.

Din nods, swallowing thickly as he locks his eyes onto yours. Without breaking eye contact, you start to slide off your shirt, slowly revealing your skin beneath. Din's gaze intensifies as you slowly lift it up and off your form. Once your shirt is fully off, you let Din rove over your form, and you revel in the way he looks at you with a thirst that mirrors your own.

He tries to reach out for you again, but you stop him.

"I'm still not done. Be patient," you say gently, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

"Mesh'la, how can I be? I have to reward you; you've been so good to me, too good for me—"

You press a finger up to his lips, silencing him.

"Please, let me make you feel good. Please. You always take care of me. Let me take care of you. 'M gonna make you feel so good."

He takes a beat, studying your face with his mouth slightly agape.

Finally, he nods in agreement, his eyes on fire. You remove your finger from his lips, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile.

Your hands trail over his shiny, slick chest, down to the waistband of his boxers. Din's fingers twist in his bedsheets, a silent reaction for what he wants: more.

With deliberate intent, you dip your fingers beneath the waistband, teasingly close to his cock. His arousal is quite evident, straining against the fabric, and your fingers brush over his length; a feather light, teasing touch. He watches you with a hunger that's impossible to ignore, and you can't help but feel giddy at the way you make him feel so good, so appreciated, so loved.

Din inhales sharply, his knuckles going white at the grip he has on his sheets. You move your hands back up and delicately hook your fingers into the waistband, pulling it down slowly. The boxers slide down his legs, revealing his cock, and you discard the fabric on the floor.

You take a moment to appreciate your Mandalorian naked in front of you, vulnerable, and yet as powerful as ever in his raw masculinity. What a sight for sore eyes. Every square inch of his skin is coated in the lavender oil, his skin shining under the dim lighting of the Razor Crest. His body is sculpted perfectly, strong and lean, the power of his muscles evident from one look. The scars that span his skin, small and large, have their own story. You reach out, tracing the lines of a particularly prominent scar on the side of his abdomen with gentle fingertips.

Din studies you with a soft intensity, his eyes holding a warmth that he reserves for you, and only for you.

Your eyes trail up to his face, studying every lineament and pore, every little hair and freckle. He's so extremely handsome you could pass out.

How he chose you, you're not sure. All you know is that this man who has promised to be your protector, stay by your side, and be your partner loves you, and you love him.

"You're beautiful," you murmur, pure admiration coursing through your veins as your fingers now trace the curve of his jaw and the contour of his lips. "Absolutely perfect, in every single way. My big, strong, handsome riduur."

Din's mind goes blank, face and ears heating up as his mouth falls agape. He just studies your eyes, your lips, your nose, every little unique feature you have. Swallowing thickly, Din nods his head just a fraction of an inch, but you catch it; he's acknowledging your words, accepting them in his own way.

Your fingers finally find their way down the shaft of his cock, shifting your attention to his member. His breath hitches as your hand wraps around the base, and you begin to move in a slow, teasing rhythm. His eyes flicker to the sight of your hand wrapped around his cock, staring at the way you pump your fist up and down. Your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Din.

You lean in, pressing a tender kiss to the base of his neck, then to his chest. You start to kiss down further, from the top of his chest to his happy trail.

"Kriff..." he mutters, his hands loosely grabbing at your face.

You keep moving, now pressing kisses on the length of his member. His grip becomes sloppier as your lips trail down his cock towards the tip, pressing a feather light kiss on his leaking slit. He grunts as the sensation, sensitive and aching for your pretty lips to be wrapped around his cock. You give a swirl of your tongue around the tip, earning a sharp, deep moan from Din.

"Kriffing- perfect," he groans, his hips bucking a few times at your touch, begging you for more. His fingers weave through your hair, a silent encouragement.

With that, you finally lower your mouth over his cock, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from the man. You rest your hands on the base of his cock, pumping the bottom half of his length while your mouth takes the top half. Din absolutely revels in the way your mouth feels against his cock; hot, wet, and velvety soft. His head rolls back against his pillow as your hands squeeze tight around the base, stimulating every inch of his length. You take him in your mouth inch by inch, sucking his cock gently at first, but providing more pressure the farther down you go.

"Fuck— fuck- ing perfect, pretty girl," he groans breathlessly, making you hum in satisfaction. His hips involuntarily buck up as he feels the vibrations from your hum, causing the tip of his cock to poke the back of your throat. You choke on it, but you steady your breath enough to keep going down.

Din fights the urge to fuck your mouth, gripping onto his sheets tightly with one hand as his other hand tugs at your hair. You release a quiet moan of your own when he pulls your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper.

Din's eyes are half-lidded now, a primal need burning within them. He watches you with an intensity that makes your own desire flare. His sounds of pleasure, the way his hands feel on you has yourself throbbing with need, your core painfully clenching around nothing. Your panties are surely soaked through by now, your arousal having built up just by making him feel good. You press your thighs together, alleviating the throbbing pressure in your pussy.

You continue to move with purpose, lowering your hands to knead his oily thighs as you take his entire length in your mouth, the tip of cock hitting the back of your throat with each bob of your head. You suck your cheeks in, running your tongue along a prominent vein with each stroke.

His ragged breaths and the soft squelch of your saliva and mouth on his cock fill the room, and suddenly, Din is pawing at you. The need for more becomes undeniable, and Din, unable to restrain himself any longer, pulls you up with a sense of urgency.

"Wanna- come in you—" he gasps, pulling at your neck.

You press your thighs tighter together at his admission, moaning on his cock.

"Kriff, cyar'ika, j- just, please," he grunts, and you lift your head off his cock, saliva dripping down your chin.

When you finally look up at him, his eyes are blown wide with need, and he's fully sitting up now. You feel the sudden shift as he drags you onto his lap, his still erect cock pressing into your stomach. You push up onto your knees as Din's hand desperately claws at the hem of your pants, yanking both your pants and panties off at the same time as he mouths the tops of your still covered breasts. Once your bottoms are off, he unclasps your bra expertly, letting it fall to the side.

Once you're bare in front of him, he laps his tongue over your breast, sucking at your nipple as his other hand squeezes and massages your other. The sensation send an electric jolt through your body, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Din's touch is both possessive and tender, his free hand coming to knead the flesh of your ass.

In one solid motion, Din is lifting you up high by your hips, positioning you over his cock. Utterly desperate and aching for your cunt around his cock, he slams your hips down, splitting you open on his cock inside your dripping cunt. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, a warbled scream and moan slipping from the both of you as he plunges deep inside of you, filling you up perfectly. You give yourself a moment to breath, steadying your breath. When he rolls his hips once, you whimper.

"Maker, y- you feel so good," you moan, biting your bottom lip in pleasure.

You squeeze his cock tightly, back arching as you feel every ridge of his cock inside you. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as your hands run down to his chest, and you start placing open mouthed, messy kisses on his jawline and neck. He lets you adjust around him, giving you some time to feel his cock molded perfectly inside you.

"Take me so good...s- so kriffing p- perfect, my beautiful riduur," he growls, fondling your breasts as you sit on his cock. Your thighs press against his as you try to clench your thighs at his words, darting your tongue out to give his skin kitten licks.

Ever so slowly, you start to roll your hips against his, moaning at the sensation. Din hisses, forehead falling on your sternum, his hot breath fanning against your breasts.

"Riduur," he groans again, darting his tongue out over the tops of your breasts again. "Ride me."

Your hands find their way into his dark curls, tugging at them lightly as you start to lift yourself up his cock. The drag of your pussy against Din's cock makes him shudder in pure ecstasy, moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

"You- you're the best thing that's e- ever happened to me," you whisper in his ear, then you sink all the way back down on his cock.

He moans, sucking bruises onto the junction between your shoulder and neck. Din's face is flushed from your words and the way you feel on top of him. You lift yourself up a few inches and drop back down, relishing in the way he feels underneath you.

"Never thought I'd find s- someone like you, cyare," he admits in his gravelly voice, tightening his grip on you. "Someone I- I could c- come back to."

"You're m- my home, Din," you reply, your voice a breathy whisper.

You start to set a steady pace, rocking and grinding on his cock. Din grunts at the sudden change in pace, helping you up and off his cock as his broad hands help lift you up and down by your hips. With each bounce, his cock stretches you out deliciously, dragging along your slick walls with ease.

You move your hand down to your catch your clit, circling the bud slowly, building up the pressure bubbling in your core. Your back arches as you start to tease yourself, pussy clenching harder around his cock. Din's head is thrown back in pleasure, hands firmly on your hips as you keep bouncing, reveling in the way you squeeze slightly tighter around him.

Your walls start to flutter around him at the stimulation of your clit, picking up the pace as you chase your orgasm. You lock eyes with his, the rhythm of your hips against his causing him to paw at every square inch of your body.

With your free hand, you guide his strong jaw towards your face, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. You don't stop moving on top of his cock as you slip your tongue into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip with each kiss. His lips are warm and demanding against yours, responding with a fervor that has you leaning back.

The taste of Din is intoxicating, yet something you can never quite put your finger on. His low growls mix with your soft moans, your hands threading in his curls.

Din breaks the kiss, but rests his forehead on yours. His pants mingle with yours, warm breath tickling your nose.

"Can't believe I'm so lucky," Din grits, and without hesitation, he deftly maneuvers you until you're lying on your back.

You admire the way his chest heaves with a controlled intensity as he hovers over you, his cock still fully sheathed inside you to the hilt. Moving his hands, he presses your legs up against your chest, angling them in such a way to allow for a deeper penetration. The newfound angle sends waves of pleasure coursing through each of you, each movement building up the pressure in your lower muscles.

"Maker, Din," is all you can say as his cock reaches deeper inside you. You're utterly engrossed in everything about him; how perfectly he fucks you, how he protects you, how he always puts others before himself, how he never backs down from a challenge.

You watch as his mouth drops open when he starts to move again, pounding into you with a slow, measured pace. Every motion has your hot, soaking walls sucking him in greedily.

"Fuck me so perfectly, you're perfect," you murmur as Din pulls your legs up onto his hips, effectively spreading you wide open. His whole chest presses flush against yours, kissing your words away when he leans in.

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms that cage you under his body, nails pressing into his skin as he fucks you slowly. Each thrust is met with a soft whimper into Din's mouth as he takes his time, relishing the way your chest feels against his own. The measured pace of his movements builds a heavy tension in your core, drawing out the pleasure and anticipation with each deliberate stroke.

Din's hand finds your clit again, pressing his thick digits against your swollen bud. The added pressure sends electric pulses through your body, and your back arches involuntarily as the pleasure intensifies. Your pussy clenches around his cock, drawing a throaty groan from Din, who revels in the tight embrace of your walls.

"So strong, s- so good," you gasp, your words punctuated by your unrestrained sounds of pleasure.

"S' perfect, cyare," he murmurs against your lips breathlessly, pressing a kiss on your lips once again. He nips and bites at your bottom lip relentlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to you as you mewl into his mouth. Your fingers find their way back into his soft hair, scratching your fingernails on the base of his scalp.

With each enthusiastic response from you, he quickens his pace, the unforgiving rhythm pushing you both closer to the edge.

The feeling of his cock moving inside you faster and harder elicits a cascade of moans and whimpers from your lips, your clit being stimulated nearly to the point of your impending release. He's fucking you hard into the mattress, unrelenting in the way he wants to feel every part of you.

Din, ever the attentive man, knows you're about to cum just from the way your face contorts, from the way your body reacts to the slightest touch.

You can also feel him nearing the edge, the tension in his body reaching its peak with each stroke. His skin is warm and still slick with the lavender-scented oil, intoxicating your senses and making your mind go blank.

"Please, come in me," you beg, wrapping your legs around Din's waist to pull him closer to you. "Please, please, Din."

His skin glides against yours, your hands travel across the expanse of his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves with unrestrained strength.

Din's eyebrows are pinched in pleasure, mouth parted open as he pants. His fingers find the sweet spot of your clit, causing you to nearly scream in pleasure.

"That's it," Din encourages, coaxing your orgasm out of you as he maintains the pressure around your sweet spot.

Before you know it, you're cumming around Din's cock. The first contraction of your cunt around his cock has Din shuddering from his own orgasm, the feelings of your muscles spasming around him pushing him over the edge. His breathing is erratic, hot against your skin.

You writhe underneath Din, whimpering his name as you ride out your orgasm. Din pulls you in for a messy kiss as he cums inside of you, cupping your jaw with one hand as he guides your lips to his in a searing kiss.

Settling down from his orgasm, Din falls on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Your hands run up and down his back, soothing him with the light scratching of your nails against his skin.

The gentle scratching of your nails against Din's back seems to lull him into a state of relaxation, his body going lax on top of yours. His breath and mustache tickles the sensitive flesh of your neck.

Both of you are still panting, trying to catch your breaths from your shared climax. Din's weight atop of you feels grounding, a comforting, welcoming presence that reminds you once again that he is yours.

"Feel better?" you inquire softly, your hands coming to rest around his neck.

Din lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness he reserves only for you.

Din mumbles in agreement, his body completely pliant in your hands. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the remnants of his panting gradually subsiding.

"Thank you," he murmurs, eyes studying your face intently. "Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum."

Your fingers move from his neck to gently trace lines over Din's flushed cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I love you."

Din's eyes soften even more. His hands, calloused and strong, come up to gently cradle your face. Thumbs brush over your cheeks in a tender caress, as if he's committing the feeling to memory.

He pulls you in for another kiss, a sweet, tender meeting of your lips in the aftermath of your care for him.

A thank you, if you will.

As Din's lips part from yours, he rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

You snuggle close to him, the scent of lavender surrounding you both. In the quiet aftermath, the only sound that remains is the beating of your hearts.

. . .

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist

[muzansfangs]

Heh... Gonna send a thirst here of course for my baby girl ge- Sukuna, I love sukuna, I know he's bad I know he's killed millions of people, but come on guys, he's just a girl, he's just a silly little girl that may or may not have traumatized millions if not billions, I can honestly picture sukuna being a person too man handle his Beloved a lot, like picking them up by the back of their shirt maybe throwing them over his shoulder when he's bored or just wants them around, also I can definitely see him sitting his beloved on his shoulder while fighting others, because he knows they won't get hurt, not when he's around, also I know damn well he has two (≧∇≦)/

Handling his girl.

Starring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader;

Format: drabble;

Warnings: nsfw, language, manhandling the partner, bruises, creampie, hint to double penetration, Sukuna has two cocks, kind of yandere behavior, red flag, slightly controlling tendecies, if you squint objectification;

Plot: Basically, this is Ryomen Sukuna dealing with the girl who sticks around with him.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Sukuna. Ryomen Sukuna. Massive body, giant menace terrorizing every human being and curse existing, a brute, a man who often showed up at your door reassuring you that the dried blood on his skin was not his. Crimson bloodshot eyes capable to stay vivid in the memory of his victims, he terrorized everyone around him, probably even purposefully. However, not you. He had no interest to scare you away.

You piqued his curiosity, you could not leave his side.

There were very few selected people that had impressed him in his long life and you were certainly one of them. Congratulations, honey. Or, as sorcerers would say, ‘sincere condolences’. Your beauty whetted his appetites, without the shadow of a doubt, but what had always kept him around you was the fact you were, in terms of stature and weight, the equivalent of a small kitten to an elephant. No matter how tall and strong you were, you would have always looked small to his eyes.

If you expected him to be a knight in a shiny armor, hopping down from his white purebred, you were oh so wrong. The fact that he was, as a matter of fact, the person you were dating, did not mean he was going to reserve you a special treatment. Your head was still secured over your shoulders, of course, but he was born to yank you towards him roughly, to haul you over his shoudler whilst walking, or if you needed to distance yourself from a possible dangerous situation.

He did not want you to get hurt. A broken toy was not fun after all, was it?

He always came up with the perfect excuses to unceremoniously grip you by your hips and hoist you over his broad, tattooed shoulders.

“Your legs are too little to run for miles. You’d end up dead”.

Clinging onto him for dear life, feet kicking the air, you were often silenced by harsh spanks making you jolt forwards, stomach flexing as you recoiled like a hedgehog. How dare you being a pest? He was involved in the middle of a serious conversation with a man he was going to dismember. Woman, what exactly were you doing?

And what was that? Were you really trying to run away from him after a silly argument? If you did not change your mind and came back to him, apologetically hugging his knees, you were met with a leash and collar. He did not particularly like the idea of having you trail behind him like a lapdog. He was so used to have you sitting comfortably over his shoulder that he had startedd calling you his little ‘parakeet’.

All of his manhandling left bruises on you. He never apologized, after all he did not beat you up. Those were the effects of being simply gripped too harshly by his huge hands to tug you back against his chest… Or what came along by sexually satisfying the King of Curses.

Mindblowing sex that left you sore for, at least, a couple of days. Your muscles were on fire, you core enduring that dull pain that lingered over the area after rough sessions. The sadist man you were involved with loved having you ride him to exhaustion.

“Jump on it. Come on, take it all. I know you can. Yeah, look at this greedy pussy sucking me in, tsk. Be good and I’ll give you the second one too” he cooed, grasping your chin roughly as you struggled to move up and down his length.

And, when he told you he was going to give you the second one, you always left the room limping around. Wrecked, you were in a desperate need of a bath. Being folded in half, stuffed full, sticky, you knew your life was not easy. Still, you were probably the closest thing to a ‘friend’ and ‘girlfriend’ he had ever had.

This was how he handled you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Not a big fan of Sukuna, but I believe this little shit is kind of fun to write for! I hope you liked this small thirst. See you in the next ones! Likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated!💫

Luce

[heliads]

Ok so I saw how you said you wanted to write for narnia in your request guidelines so, imagine if you will:

Reader and Caspian with a sort of rivals to friends to lovers. Charting the transition from "My prince" (Sarcastic) to "My prince" (playfull, joking) to eventually "MY prince" (loving). Hope this makes sense, lots of love <3

when people check the request guidelines <333 also this request was so good that i had the people vote upon it. soldier reader for the win

masterlist

You’re not sure what makes you more angry, the fact that you broke your sword or that the prince was there to see it. If it were not enough of a ruination to your day to have your blade break in half like a child’s wooden toy, if it were not enough to have to retreat through the storms of other fights and clashing metal and skulk to the background to get another, you were witnessed by the one person you detest most of all.

You should not be hating Prince Caspian. He just makes it rather easy to do so. He is the physical embodiment of this world, the crown on high, the savior of your every waking hour, all because he happened to be born into the right family at the right time. It is not his fault that he is one of the most powerful men in all of Narnia, but it is not the result of his labor, either. He is simply the prince, and there is nothing more to say on the matter.

That is quite different from you, then. You had to claw your way up through the ranks, sacrificing skin and sweat so you could eke out a win time and time again. Your trials served you well, gilding your brow with the title of captain of the guard, but it wasn’t like anything was handed to you. No, not at all. Yet, by virtue of his predestined position, Caspian technically has control over every soldier in Narnia. He outranks all of your efforts by the crown put on his head when he was just an infant.

This is the way of the world, and the way that it has always been. It makes no sense for you to hate him so fervently over something he cannot control. Caspian is an easy scapegoat, though, a figurehead for you to heap your regrets upon like laurels. It is not his fault that he was made prince. It is not his fault that you despise him for being one.

You’ve had time to grow accustomed to your life of blood and sweat, however, and today should have been no different. This morning was an amalgamation of at least a dozen different mistakes, though, and that ruined your day before it hardly even started. You woke up a little too late, you snapped at your friends then regretted it half a second later, and now you’ve gone and broken your blade, too.

It wasn’t your best weapon, at least that counts for something. Your finest sword is your most prized possession, and lies in careful hiding back in your quarters. This was merely your practice weapon, one designed to be battered and beaten all in the means of furthering the skills of you and your men.

Still, it stings to see it lying on the dusty ground of the training yard, shiny metal fragments already beginning to cloud over with grime. You sigh, signaling to your partner that you’ll have to abandon the match for now, and carefully pick up the pieces. When you stand, cradling the shards of your sword like a child, you look up and see Caspian of all people staring at you from across the training yard. Evidently he’s arrived just to see your sword fail.

Wonderful timing as always from him. You have to marvel at how he does it. You half think Caspian carefully plans his excursions into the swordsman's arenas when he believes you to be least ready to see him. You meet his gaze for a moment longer, then turn, heading back towards the rows of equipment on the far side of the yard.

You murmur at least half a dozen curses as you go, running them over your tongue like a prayer. The broken pieces of your sword can be turned into the armorer in the hopes that something will become of them, but you highly doubt that. In the meantime, you’ll have to dig up the coin to buy yourself a new sword, and risk damaging your primary weapon in the meantime. How splendid.

A voice sounds from behind you, one that makes you grit your teeth despite the soothing intonations. “You know, if you’re stabbing our own men so hard your weapon shatters, I’m afraid to see what you’ll do to our enemies.”

You grimace to yourself, then turn around to face Caspian, expression resolute. “Fear not, my prince, your men will be spared from me today. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to break swords when a battle arises.”

Caspian arches a brow, perhaps at the tone you direct towards his title. “If you speak with that much thrill over the thought of war, I’m beginning to fear that you may not be my best advisor regarding the maintenance of peace.” 

As if he’d ever listen to you long enough to consider you an advisor. The two of you snap at each other’s throats every time you get within shouting range. “Perhaps I just like a chance to fight.”

“I think I’ve noticed that,” Caspian murmurs, bemused.

It takes great strength to keep from glaring at him, strength that fails you by the second. “You’ll have to excuse me, I must go to the blacksmith for repairs.”

His face falls. “You won’t be continuing in the ring today? I had hoped to best you yet again.”

His lips quirk up as he says it, making the insult lose some of its barb, but it still makes your temper flare. “I’m afraid not. Blades are not as easily bought by soldiers as princes, I must see if I can salvage this one before going to the trouble of a purchase.”

Caspian seems half a second of self control from rolling his eyes. “There are more swords in the yard, L/N. Simply select another and we can go for a round or two.”

He gestures towards the training yard expectantly, and you feel the weight of your difference in stations come crashing down around you. Caspian will not stop asking until you fight him, that is his birthright. He does not know what it means to be disobeyed. And, as the captain of his guard, you cannot argue. This you know to be true, even if Caspian is unaware of just how he’s wielding his influence. There is nothing you can do to circumvent him.

You force your expression to go icily cold, devoid of any and all emotion. Even the anger, which was sparking through you so readily before, vanishes from your disposition. Caspian blinks in surprise at the sudden change, more so when you abruptly drop the pieces of your broken blade to the ground, where they send up a small storm of dust.

“Of course,” you say, even-syllabled, “how could I ever think to do anything else? Your word is my command, my prince.”

You pack as much loathing as possible into those syllables. Caspian flinches as if you’ve hit him, and then his confidence is gone, his eyes downcast. “If you don’t want to–” He begins in a whisper, but you’re already moving briskly towards the rows of extra blades.

“I most certainly want to,” you answer him, the borrowed blade seeming to cut into your hand despite the smooth leather grip, “you have asked, and that is all the motivation I should ever need.”

Caspian swallows hard, opens his mouth to say something, but you swing your blade at his head before he can manage it. This is utterly wrong behavior for a soldier towards a prince, but Caspian has never seemed to have a problem with your actions before, no matter how challenging. It’s as if both of your prides are so strong that they could overcome any class barrier set in your way.

Caspian barely parries your sword before it cuts into his head. Grunting with effort, he twists his weapon, forcing you to step back as he disengages, striking towards you in return. Seizing the opportunity, Caspian presses his advantage, taking a few quick steps and maneuvering the two of you further into the training yard and into the designated spaces for fighting.

Words are clearly still clinging to his tongue, begging to be spoken aloud, but this is no longer a place for conversation. It takes everything in you to counter his attacks, to spot when he’s off balance and lunge with piercing precision towards every gap in Caspian’s defense. You may hate the dark-haired prince with every fiber of your being, but you cannot deny that he is skilled. He might be the only one here capable of providing a challenge to you. You might hate him even more for that, or worse, not at all.

Caspian feints to his left, then his right. You ignore both distractions and plunge your weapon straight towards his heart. Expecting your belligerence in regards to his ploys, Caspian parries the strike and returns it with one of his own. You move to take a quick sidestep, but the ground is slick beneath your feet with mud from yesterday’s rain and you stumble. It’s the slightest of missteps, but for someone at Caspian’s level, it is enough.

He lunges forward, and you feel the shadow of the stone wall on your back before he pushes you into it. The rock is cold against your back, driving the air from your lungs. You try to force your way towards the center of the yard again, but Caspian has his sword at your throat, and any movement would lead to you cutting your own neck.

Unwilling to yield quite yet, you stay silent. You and Caspian breathe in and out, the deep gasps for air first discordant and then slowly, steadily, joining in a shared rhythm.

Caspian speaks first, you know he’s been waiting for it. “You hate me.”

You scoff. “You hate me. This is not an exclusive feeling.”

He exhales harshly, exasperated. “Stop deflecting everything onto me. We could have been friends.”

You laugh, tilting your head back to give him a better chance to slit your throat. “You are a prince. I would never have been anything but nothing to you.”

Caspian’s eyes widen. He moves away from you unsteadily, first closer than he’s ever been, then gone, halfway across the yard in what feels like just a second. You let your eyes shudder closed, exhausted from the intensity of the fight but perhaps something more as well. When you open your lids, he is gone. He had just arrived, but he is nowhere to be seen now. That could be no one’s fault but yours. He is not your friend. But. He could be so, so much more. 

Three days later, a gift arrives in your quarters. You unwrap the cloth bindings to reveal a sword nestled within the folds. You can tell at once that it has been perfectly selected for you– the heft is just right for your level of strength, the grip matches your hands exactly, and the edges are razor sharp, ideal for those slashes towards the forearms you’ve been so fond of as of late.

It comes swathed in a rich purple cloth, the sort of color you’ve only ever seen decorating Caspian’s frame as he walks with his troops or speaks to his nobles. An angrier, more bitter part of you wants to reject the gift entirely, to toss it from your room like refuse or return it back to him at once. Still, it is a fine blade, and you know that were you to just pick it up, it would feel exactly right, an extension of your arm into shining metal.

So, the sword joins the rest of your collections, and the purple linen ends up tucked away in your desk, carefully folded into a neat square of color and creases. You cannot explain why you do either, not even to yourself. 

The next time you’re called out with your regiment to guard the prince and some foreign powers on a diplomatic mission, the sword is on your belt, your hand resting on its hilt. Caspian sees and something changes in his expression; a deepening of a smile, a pleased spark in his eyes. For some reason, you cannot hate him for being proud. Not today.

He finds you later, once the crowds have dispersed and he doesn’t have to be a prince, just a man. “What a fine sword that is,” he remarks pleasantly.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t. Don’t even.”

Caspian spreads his hands, the picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about.”

“You had better not,” you grumble.

He nods solemnly. “Of course. Just a random thought, however, it really is a nice blade. It must have been picked out by an exceedingly good swordsman. Perhaps even the best in the castle.”

You should be irritated with him for being so bothersome again. Instead, you find yourself fighting a smile. “It’s a shame, then, that the only swordsman here worth his salt is me.”

Caspian’s mouth drops comically. “That cannot be true.”

“It is,” you reply as casually as you can, “I come to you with only the best information, my prince. Only the best.”

He starts to respond, but something stops him, something that makes him smile quietly. Your stomach flips with the unsettling feeling of having missed out on a joke, but for once, you don’t entirely mind it. Instead, the two of you walk all the way back to the castle, and only when the diplomats arrive again must you be parted. It is not the worst use of your time.

Caspian finds you again two nights later. You’re on a shift guarding a section of the castle walls, which gives you an excellent view of the foreign powers riding away into the darkness. They’ve been here for days now, testing Caspian’s patience like no one else, not even you.

He joins you soon enough, exhaustedly leaning his arms up against the stone battlements. “I think I hate politics,” he murmurs into the night air.

You chuckle, the quiet sound abnormally loud in the darkness. It should make you self conscious, and it does, but not as much as it would for anyone else. The hot prick of awareness in your stomach is both doubly strong and doubly weak because you are next to Caspian; why, you cannot explain, but it is true.

“You are a prince,” you point out, “politics was always something you would have to do.”

Caspian groans. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. That’s why I always envied you, you know. You got to carry the banner and fight the battles without any political conniving.”

You stare at him in shock. “That cannot be true. No future king could ever want to be a mere soldier.”

He laughs derisively. “As if you’ve ever been a mere soldier. Not to me,” he adds on afterthought, and you’re not sure that it was even meant for your ears, “no, not to me.”

You shake your head slowly. “But I thought you hated me. All this time, you’ve merely wanted to join me in fighting without a care?”

Caspian’s brow furrows. “Hate you? No, no. I never hated you. I never could hate you.”

He straightens up, slowly walking over to you. There is no one else on the castle wall to see you, no one below. Even still, your eyes feel like more than enough of an audience to find some reason to stop this before the pounding in your heart blocks out your ability to breathe properly.

“My prince,” you say, a warning. It doesn’t make him flinch like it used to, a blow grown familiar, worn down to the weight of a feather instead of that of a blade.

Caspian sighs, the listless air leaving him and vanishing just as quickly on the wind. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted this. That you’ve never thought about it.”

“I couldn’t,” you whisper, and something in you cracks in half when his face falls, “but you could.”

Caspian’s eyes dart cautiously up to you again. “Are you sure?”

Neither of you have to specify what he means for you to know. “Yes,” you breathe.

You did not anticipate this night to end with you kissing the crown prince of Narnia. That being said, you would not want to have it any other way. There may be foreign dignitaries out there plotting the end of his reign, or political turmoils present to claim most of his time, but tonight, Caspian is yours and yours alone. It makes you smile into him. It makes everything that much better.

narnia tag list: empty for now!

[eobe]

Folks 🫶 You drive me crazy in the best way, I can‘t believe it but…

200 FOLLOWER Celebration 🎉 

Whattttt!? 🤩 Where do you beautiful people suddenly come from? You amazing crowd, we‘re a more than a clone trooper COMPANY now! Do I need to design armor for us now? I may do this, beware! 🤩

Now prepare for an appreciation post full of buzzing light flash!

I‘m a fuzzy floof ball again! 🦉 Chirping, fluting and hooting in my caf corner! I blissfully crosshatched myself through this artwork for you and now I‘m drunken from dopamining ✨ I‘m sending out big Wrecker hugs to thank youuuu 🫶♥️

All started on 3rd September 2024 with a timidly frist drawing of this underrated gorgeous clone – Captain Keeli! I thought myself, for this one there’s too few fan art, but why? He is a hero and the most stylish clone and I still headcanon, that he shove the creative pattern on his head himself without a plan, just going how it feels good, because he would make art in his few free time. I mean – look at his armor! 

And today I mark this date red in my calendar, because I’d never imagine how I‘d be able to improve my skills from there until today and additionally receiving so much support and love here on Tumblr ♥️🫣✨

For this occasion I made my very first Jedi artwork ever to your honor! 🏅It’s Captain Keeli’s General Ima-Gun Di and I needed to show you this badass scene of these two heroes!

Have a closer look for the intensity:

I'm not sure how correct those lighting shadows are, but I love Keeli's cheekbone 🙈

This glare is deadly 👀

Have a close up for Keeli's golden eyes (I know it's a thing with me and shiny eyes 🤩 ):

Like a drrrrrragon!!! 🐉 ✨ a bit proud just a bit

My personal ALT-Text mission (at least 1 additional ALT-Text for a previous artwork with each new art posting!):

The mentioned first Captain Keeli drawing and

the full armored Captain Keeli (for the previous 100 Follower celebration!)

Taglist: @eclec-tech @lonewolflupe @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @vrycurious @dystopicjumpsuit

[late-draft]

Hello, Dema here!

First off—I have fallen desperately in love with your artworks. You have a very particular style, strong and fluid all the same, and I can't help but admire the way you draw and how you approach character design.

And talking about character design...

I saw your post about Zuko's bold design in S1 when compared to what we got in S3 and—as much as I love S3-Zuko—I completely agree with you. Something I've always loved about Zuko in S1 is just how striking he was, how much of a presence he had, even when he was being tossed around by a twelve-year-old. That being said, I love Zuko, I love him in armor and pointy shoes and with a ponytail, and I loved your alternative design for him.

What do you think about his S2 character design? How does it flow with the story beats and his overall character arc? Much has been said about the Hair-Growth-Means-Character-Growth (and I find it interesting, also, that he cut his hair again before joining the Gaang), but I'd like to know your opinion on how that translates to character design and how the decisions made in the show could be either good or bad in that regard.

Sorry about the long ask! I've just been thinking about this a lot, lately, and would like to know what you think. Hope you have a good day ❤️

AAAA Dema hii!!! I'm so happy I got a message from you, I didn't expect it!!

I'm super glad to hear, I'll wear it as a badge of honour and I must tell you that I also love your art, you wonderfully do volume and the shading done through a contrast of sharp and soft areas! Super solid anatomy too and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look up to your art!

Yess the character designs in the show actually are rather strong, I like a good balance between memorable and functional. Zuko is just *chef kiss* but, considering just how many appearance changes he goes through, some are bound to be weaker than the starting one. That said, I'm gonna go through a few of his S2 looks and make this reply long, ha!

The starting one when he ends up huddling with uncle Iroh with other poor refugees, fits extremely well for the narrative at the moment. It's actually one of my least liked looks for him, and that's great!! It's precisely how it should be, because he's also arguably at one of his two lowest moral points in the story - he basically lost almost all hope, no clear goal, nothing to fight for, he's desperate precisely because of the lack of orientation and thus his morals degrade and sink veeery low. He gets on my nerves so goddamn much in this period LMAO I want to beat him up, he looks like a recovering drug addict... annoying, entitled whiny jerk stealing food and anything shiny for his uncle, but even then he just does not cross the moral event horizon. Excellent characterization. He just looks atrocious and it's great because it fits this low point.

Next he gets the standard boyish square of a hair, no notes here...

But theeeen, he arrives at one of my favourite looks of his, and it's not just because the clothes fit him very nicely (I've seen fandom say they look too big for him which, maybe?? But it doesn't look like he's swimming in them to me) And a thing I've noticed which, maybe it was just an accident on design part but I'm not sure considering they colour coded the entire cave scene; in this part his clothes match the shape of Katara's, first one in bottom then the one in top. The collar is the same haf-circle design but I don't know, maybe there was a limited pool of clothes designs guide which they cycled through. Or, he really is meant to come close but miss Katara by a beat, like sine and cosine chasing each other.

But besides this outfit fitting the inconspicuous Earth Kingdom customer service persona, it also (perhaps inadvertently) does this VERY cool thing:

It makes his shape look closed off and guarded, supposedly non-threatening. It's most visible in his fight against Jet, whose shape is open and goes in many directions like an aggressive star. But then look at what Zuko's shape does:

When he attacks, it opens up to reveal the hidden aspect, again the aggressive star shape shows up! The same thing happens in "Zuko alone" episode but I think it's most clearly visible in this fight against Jet because here he has a direct contrast and comparing with Jet. I think this is an example where the outfit, whose similar design exists irl, overlaps with a great visual metaphor and enhances the narrative at that moment in story. He's still that combative firebender but he has to keep that aspect concealed most of the time. Plus it just looks badass as hell!!

Animators really knocked it out of the park with many frames. I think Jun was too early and missed his better hairstyle, but Katara was just in time.

I agree it's super funny how his hair in the Beach is awfully long, covers his face to an uncomfortable degree and then he apparently shortens it before joining the Gaang, insane behaviour Truly an "I'm so angry and depressed I won't show my face nor be capable of seeing anything because there's nothing nice to see in my life" look...

I guess all his appearances in S2 cover his mental states, but only one of them is extremely Extra (the tea server, doesn't even take the apron off and goes to fight) and I don't see any spot where a similar tier design could be shoved in, narratively speaking. So all in all, S2 did as much as S2 could have. More tea server arc please though, the Guru episode really feels like it skipped 800 km of plot and everything that happened in it is so crammed and pretty sus in terms of character behaviour.